She huddled in one corner of the large bed, legs drawn up. Her dressing gown was gone, lost somewhere between kitchen and here. All she wore was her ripped nightie. She tried to cover herself.
“Shy?” she heard him ask. “You were pretty damned shy that first time, too. Let’s see how well you’ve gotten over it.”
He grabbed her ankle, pulled her across the bed. There was no way she could retain her dignity or decency. The torn nightie opened, stiff-nippled tits sticking out. She quivered with fear as he pulled her to him. He sat down on the edge off the bed, still holding her foot, and slid his other hand up her thigh, onto the hair-hedged mound of her twat.
“Pulsating,” he observed. “With anticipation? With dread? Or with a mixture of the two? Which is it, Caron? You have three choices, after all. Pick a winner.”
“Paul will kill you for, this,” she said through clenched teeth. “When I tell him what you did, he’ll kill you. And not, a jury in the state will convict him. They’ll set him free and they’ll give him a medal and…”
Lou raised his hand and he bit her, for the second time. Sharply, alongside the jaw. “Sometimes you talk too fucking much,” he told her. And with that he threw himself forward, onto her supine body.
His face burrowed into her cowering crotch. She screamed at the first touch of him, at the tickly wiriness of his moustache on her smooth tanned flesh, and she tried to rock him off her. But it was no go. He was a heavy burden upon her lower body and she could not move her legs. His arms pinned her hips to the bed, his face commanded her midsection, and she felt his tongue serape across the cleft of her pussy, scampering like a predator in pursuit of some fleeing prey.
He split her twat with his fingers and licked his way inside, tongue picking up speed as he raced over the slick purplish-red flesh of her vulva. He found her clit and assaulted it furiously, whipping with his tongue until her button peeked out to see what the hell was going on. Caron felt it, felt the shudder run up her body, followed immediately by the heat, oh, God, the heat! She dug her fingers into the bed sheets and she clawed, moaning, “No, no, noooooo!”
She tore, she ripped, she pawed, she panted and she whined, but still he drank at her trough. His tongue flailed round and round her stiffening clit, scurrying lower to steal into the winking mouth of her terrified hole. Sweat began to pour across Caron’s forehead. She would kill him for this. She wouldn’t wait for Paul. Paul could defend her in court. Did he think she was some kind of machine that could be turned on and off at will? Didn’t Lou know she was a human being; that he had hurt her tremendously and could never make up for that hurt? Oh, he’d pay for this! She’d see that he paid!
“Tasty cunt,” he complimented, smacking his lips. It was a vulgar gesture and she knew that he intended it to be one. His face moved a little lower down her cooze, and now it was his thick wiry moustache brushing her clitoris. Caron’s eyes threatened to pop from their sockets. It was like nothing she had ever imagined, the sensation of bristly hair slipping and sliding across her button. She husked a cry, a cry of shame, and her fingers tore through the sheet they’d been clasping so tightly. Her pussy began to lubricate, not gradually, but in a flooding river of woman juice.
It must have touched his chin, those trickling juices, because she heard him chortle and then his tongue was ramming up her hole, followed closely by two or three of his fingers. Caron screamed and tried to kick at this new violation, but she was powerless to move, as impotent as if he’d tied her down before setting about to rape her body.
Only my body, she thought, willing herself to resist with every strength left to her. He might take her body, but he couldn’t get within gunshot of her mind, let alone her heart. Oh, Lord, she thought as his tongue swirled in and out of her creaming tube. Oh, Lord God, he never did anything like this when we were married! If he had… if he had…
He whipped her clit with the end of his tongue and she knew that there was no possible way she could hold back anymore. Her body was going to come. She was powerless to prevent it. But she would fight as long as she could. She’d rob him of whatever perverted satisfaction this act might be giving him. Oh, Goddamn you, Lou Archer, she thought, Goddamn youuuuuuu…
His fingers filled her tight sucking twat. She kept herself in good shape. Paul liked a tight fit, and he hadn’t come near to wearing out her elastic pussy. She could snap it shut around him and milk his pecker with all the oozy muscles of her cunt. And right now Lou’s fingers were getting the benefit of that tip-top conditioning. He flexed them inside her, made her shake and shudder and whimper, and her pussy ate him greedily. Her pussy couldn’t tell the difference between a friend and an enemy. She knew now why a stupid person was often referred to as a “dumb cunt”. She had a dumb cunt between her own legs and she’d never known it till now.
It was too late, much too late, for Caron to send a message down to her pussy. She suffered the tortures of the damned as Lou continued to fuck her with his fingers and to lick up the hot juices that were overflowing her drippy crack. Again and again his tongue sloshed across her, and he opened her gape as widely as he could, slipping into her vulva with his nose and his chin and that damnable ugly moustache of his. She hated him! God, how she hated him! He had not been content, this wicked terrible man, with deserting her. He’d chosen to come back and totally ruin her life. Caron’s nostrils twitched nervously. She could feel the simmering excitement in the pit of her churning stomach.
His fingers stiffened inside her, fucking into Caron as if he had a cock in his hand. She screamed, tossed, bucked, and then she was coming and it felt as if she would never stop coming. Her body rocked and twitched in the throes of her orgasm and hot sticky juice leaked from the mouth of her snatch. He’d never been that good, she told herself. Not when they were man and wife. He’d never made her come, not once, in all their past relationship. She hadn’t been good either, just a frigid woman, but if he’d been as adept as he’d just shown himself to be, she’d have melted in no time. Fear began to crowd the inner reaches of Caron’s mind—tense, terrible fear.
She tried to think of other things, but it was hard, so hard. Melissa making a conquest in the house. He’d snickered something about that, grinned when she defended Paul’s devotion, when she said it wasn’t possible. And she knew it was true. Paul could never be excited by such a cheap, trashy tart. Sure, he’d looked at her tits. So had Caron. That didn’t mean she was hot for the little whore. Anyway, who could help looking at the damned things? They stuck out like artillery, distorting the printed HOORAY FOR HOLLYWOOD legend across her front; the nipples rigid under the skin tight cotton, her ass wiggling like a shithouse door in a gale whenever she walked. Some men would find that attractive. Obviously Lou had. Most likely, Lou would find a piece of moss growing on a rock attractive. He’d become an animal during his wanderings, an ugly dangerous animal. He belonged in a cage.
But what the hell did he mean about Melissa making a conquest? What the hell was he talking about? Thinking about that occupied her mind while Lou’s hands and mouth continued to ravish her unwilling but orgasmic pussy, allowed her to fog out the humiliations he was forcing upon her. Twenty-four hours ago she had thought the man was certainly dead, but this was no corpse eating her pussy.
His fingers worked in her twat and she moaned again, an unwilling and agony-full moan, but God, it felt so good, even if it was rape, it felt so good down there, the lips of her pussy raw from lust and arousal, the juice sticky wet all over her genitals, seeping out to dampen her hedge of pubic hair. His tongue, sloshing wickedly through her cuntal froth, tickling her budlike clit, working through the folds and crevices of her privates. And his fingers, stroking at her. Gentle fingers, really, she decided, not nearly so animalistic as they’d been at first. It was almost as if he were starting to make love, rather than take his pleasure in rape.