Chapter 12

Mavis awoke slowly, grateful that she could abandon the subconscious and the nightmare of reality she had lived the past few weeks. She felt funny, tingly all over. She worked a hand under the sheet and touched her highly sensitive breasts. Then her hand slid lower and she found her crowning glory was, indeed, gone. Her mound was smooth-skinned and she couldn't find a single tendril of curly hair on her puffed, sensitive outer labia. The nurses HAD shorn her completely. Phil had told her so, but she wasn't sure he had talked to her or whether it was all part of a dream.

But her crotch was smooth and slick and a trifle raw from the effects of the tape and the razor. She pulled her foot up under the sheet and spread her knees wide. Well, she thought, eyes darting about the hospital room, that bastard hadn't damaged anything but her pride, really. She pressed a finger into her vulva. "All the working parts are intact," she giggled softly.

She wondered what all those cops had thought, finding her and Willie tied up in his office, without a stitch on and their genital areas swathed in adhesive tape. She knew she should feel a sense of embarrassment at having strange men see her naked but there was only relief that they had been rescued. Poor Willie! Mavis would bet the hospital had had a hell of a time getting the tape off his hard-on--and he probably didn't have a hair left on his balls!

Mavis wolfed a breakfast of fruit juice, hot cereal toast, coffee and two poached eggs. She was enjoying her third cup of coffee when her husband swept into the room, kissed her quickly and reached under the bedclothes to cup her hairless pussy. "This will be like screwing a ten-year-old virgin," he teased.

"I was raped, Phil," Mavis frowned, worried eyes studying his.

"It could be worse, baby," Phil said, kissing her forehead and clasping one of her hands. "No real damage done."

"Did you screw Miriam that night?" she blurted suddenly.

"Let's put it this way," Phil replied softly, strolling away, his back to her as he stared out the only window in the room. "I was a little drunk--and she screwed me."

"Hank got to me, too," she confessed, holding her breath, fearful of male denunciation growing from injured ego. She almost screamed at him to say something, he was so silent for so long.

Finally, Phil turned and winked solemnly, reassuringly. "I guess we're even on that score."

Conversation was stalled for a minute as a nurse entered with a fresh pot of coffee and an extra cup, for Phil. "How about more coffee?" she smiled superfluously and was gone.

"The robbers got about $238,000 in cash and another $22,000 in checks," Phil said slowly, filling their cups. "The bonding company has banned me from the case."

"Why?" Mavis said with a start, and an old fear assailed her again. Was Phil involved in the robbery? Was he under suspicion? She had heard the men all talking about how easy it would be to rob Willie!

"I'm an acquaintance--a friend--of Willie's. Even Hank has been taken off the case by the Salt Lake Police Department--for the same reason."

"Who's investigating?" Mavis asked weakly

"The SLCPD--and Ben Glover for the bonding company."

"Why Glover?" Mavis fretted. "He's an acquaintance of Willie and Hank and you!"

"Not a close friend," Phil said bluntly, "certainly not a neighbor like Hank and me."

Mavis didn't like the tight, cold knot in her stomach. Was Phil involved? She wanted to, but knew she didn't dare ask.

"Well, I don't care," Phil laughed, seemingly relaxed and sincere. "It's going to be a tough one to crack. A real professional job. The two armored van guards--they were chloroformed or something and didn't, really, see a thing. Hell! They lost another couple of hundred grand or so from their rig!"

They finished their coffee and Mavis watched Phil pick up the small suitcase he had set just inside the door. "I brought you some clothes. Why don't you get dressed and let's go home?"

Mavis smiled happily, threw back the sheet and scrambled off the bed. For a minute, she surveyed her reddened, irritated fifties and hairless pubic mound. "I don't think I like being hairless," she complained wistfully.

"I like it," Phil grinned, a finger nudging the unwhiskered smile of her pussy and a hand caressing the smooth cheeks of her butt.

"Don't mess," Mavis said sulkily, remembering that Miriam shaved her crotch. Had her husband enjoyed fucking Miriam? she fretted on the way home. A sense of frustration almost overwhelmed her. Phil liked Miriam's slick cunt--and he hadn't diddled her in a long time! Well, she had to admit that Hank had given her a real humping in the kitchen! And Willie certainly knew how to get a girl to spin like a sex top! And Dell had made her cum, like wowee! And Erroll Flynn--the Carrs' Boxer! And les-love had its kicks! The robber-rapist she hadn't enjoyed at all!

As she and Phil approached the back door, Mavis remembered something that caused her to stop. She remembered, as the robber dropped his coveralls and shorts and she stared at his dong, she had seen a wart on the left side, about an inch back of the dark, swollen glans. And it had raked the wall of her vagina with a certain tantalizing effect.

If she saw that penis again, she would know who had fucked her! Maybe she should tell Henry Carr what she remembered! She shook her head and frowned at her own stupidity. She could just hear Hank say, "How do I put out an all-points bulletin for a guy with a wart on his pecker?"

In the house, as Phil mixed a couple of scotch and waters, Mavis was still preoccupied and troubled. Phil hadn't been perturbed that she had been raped--hadn't seem particularly affected by her announcement that Hank had pumped the prick to her. Well, he had admitted he had prickered Miriam's pussy!

Should she tell him about the robber-rapist? Maybe he would be peeved to find his wife paid close attention to a man's dingus before he socked it to her cunt!

What the hell! She was getting tired of being a sex captive, of sorts. "The guy who banged me during the robbery had a wart on his shaft!" she blurted. "About an inch behind the head!"

Instead of being irritated by the admission his wife inspected pricks before they were stabbed into her snatch, Phil seemed to beam. "Goddamn! I feel this has to be a close-to-home heist! And that may be just the clue we need!" Then he wilted slightly. "How the hell do you find a guy with a wart on his business?"

Mavis shrugged. That was similar to the comment she would expect from Police Lieutenant Henry Carr.

The gnawing worry that her husband had something to do with the supermarket robbery lingered with Mavis. "Whom do you suspect, Phil?" she asked cautiously.

"Absolutely nobody at this time," he frowned. "It was a real, professional job!" That didn't make Mavis feel any better; her husband, because of his background in insurance investigation, could qualify as an expert in such a venture.

"I wouldn't want any of the money," she said timidly.

"You wouldn't want part of about four-hundred grand?" Phil chuckled dryly. "All in unmarked, untraceable bills!" Mavis felt like crying

About three o'clock, the Carrs came over and Mavis was grateful for the break in the awkwardness between Phil and her.

"Willie has a slight concussion and the blackest eye I ever saw," Hank chuckled as Phil served drinks.

"And eight inches of the rawest meat this side of the butcher shop!" Miriam laughed. "That oughta keep his sausage out of a girl's grinder for a while!"

"When they took all of that tape off Mavis," Phil said with his slow, shy, engaging grin, "they..." he paused to sip his scotch..." I guess I'll have to get her a hairpiece."

"They shaved her?" Miriam chortled with glee.

Mavis reddened.

"Smooth as Miriam?" Hank grinned.

"Absolutely!" Phil replied.

"I'll be damned!" Hank almost choked on his drink and a sliver of ice.

"You'd be shaved--not damned!" Miriam corrected. "I've never seen a man without bushes and bushes of cockle hair!"

And Mavis knew that Phil, truly, had screwed Miriam--and Hank knew it. And Phil and Miriam knew that she had been plundered by Hank's cock; his stallion had stampeded all through her sex corral!

Mavis glanced at Phil and recognized he wasn't about to mention her knowledge that one of the robbers had a wart on his dong! And she wouldn't say anything, either.

"How much does the police know about the job," Phil asked, rising to mix another round and sauntering out to the kitchen for a couple of cigars from the refrigerator.

"I found out that there was no death in the family of one of Willie's employees--the cashier, I think. That's about all I found out before I was taken off the case early this morning. The notice really came from Ogden, not Los Angeles."

"What do you really think, Hank? An 'inside' job?" Phil pursued.

"Who can tell, at this time? I know that I took two weeks of my vacation, starting today when I was relieved of the investigation."

Were their friends and neighbors involved? Mavis fretted, wishing she wasn't getting drunk so she could think clearly. She tried to recall, in detail, the animal-like thrusts of the robber's cock into her cunt. She remembered, not quite clearly, the rasp of the wart in her vagina as he fucked her. It had sent sharp electrical sparks all through her pelvic region as it rasped the wall of her channel. Then he had sunk his cock deep and shot her full of his jizz.

She couldn't remember--but she didn't recall that Willie had a wart on his dong. And she had watched it all taped up. Hell! She had even jacked him off to make him hard! But she couldn't remember. Oh, that didn't figure. He had been bound into his chair and the guy who had screwed her while she was all tied up was the guy with the node on his pussy-knocker! I guess I am getting drunk! She hadn't seen Hank's packer. He had fucked her from behind, in the dark kitchen. She didn't know whether she had felt a wart or not. She had been tense and apprehensive. Who else had fucked her? She wasn't sure about Dell Emerson; that had been almost like rape--under threat. Who? She had seen Glover's cock, vaguely, as he plunged it into Terry Lewis. But it had been dark. Oh, damn! She was starting to suspect everyone she knew. It probably was none of them--she hoped.

But, if she could find the guy with the wart on his penis, she would have one of the gangsters. And that might lead to the others. There was one thing she had to do--that was clear in her alcohol-fuzzed brain--to find the guy with the raspy little lump on the side of his peter!

How? Maybe she would start up or down through the ranks and screw the most likely suspects. Why not Hank first? He was here!

The prospect of a hunt for a certain pecker started a warm tingling in her loins and Mavis sensed hot juices perking all through her itching vagina. She nodded as Miriam excused herself to go to the bathroom. Then Henry remembered a telephone call he wanted to make and said, "I'll use the extension in the kitchen."

As soon as Mavis and Phil were alone, her husband asked, "Do you suppose Hank might be THE guy? You really don't remember from the night he pumped his prick to you?"

Mavis frowned. "No, I don't."

She remembered the exquisite sensation of having her twat filled with mammoth prick and his harsh hairiness rasping against her fanny cheeks and the backs of her thighs. But a wart on his sex-pole? No.