Chapter 14

Mavis freshened her body and dressed while Terry lay sprawled in the middle of the bed, the huge dong protruding from her snatch, one end still buried in her body.

"Mick isn't going to like me having that T-Bird," Terry frowned, "but I'm going to keep it, anyway!"

Mavis watched the little sex-pot slowly fucking the dildo in and out of her snatch.

"I should go down to the store with you and get a fast fuck from Willie," Terry panted.

"I don't think he'll fuck anyone for a few days," Mavis replied, remembering how Willie's dong had been taped up just a few days before. And Becky would get his prick' if anyone did.

"What's it all about?" Terry asked shakily, in the throes of a half-orgasm, slamming the big, artificial male-bone deeply into her swat.

Mavis frowned as she stared at Terry, feet kicking in the air, thighs flung wide as she masturbated herself with the dildo. For a second, Mavis wished she had the other half of the dong scrunched into her own pussy again.

"Probably something about the robbery," Mavis muttered. "There's booze in the kitchen and the den; help yourself. I'll be back as soon as I can get back."

At the store, Willie stopped her from taking the elevator to his office. "The investigator--Ben Glover--wants to interview you about the robbery. He's somewhere in the storeroom."

Mavis' skin felt cold and scaly as that of a fish or a snake. She didn't want anything to do with Ben Glover--especially not in the darkened stockroom! But she watched Willie take the elevator to his office and she entered through the swinging doors.

A match flared in the gloom, about ten feet away, and Mavis saw Ben Glover's hawkish face reflected in the flickering flame. He exhaled smoke and shook out the match. "Come over here, Mrs. Moran--Mavis--baby--and tell me what you know about the robbery."

Her guts twinged and she sensed her vaginal passage turning cold and dry. He was a fucking beast! Hesitantly, almost mesmerized, she approached, stopping within a couple of feet of where he lounged on a crate of fresh lettuce.

Somehow she knew--he--Ben Glover--was going to give it to her. He was going to fuck her. And her guts boiled and her whole sex tract felt as if it were being seared by fire. HE WAS GOING TO FUCK HER!

"Baby," Glover said' easing forward on the crate and taking a pocket flashlight from his coat, "I think you know more about this robbery than you have told the cops."

"No no, no, no!" she muttered, recoiling mentally, but not retreating from the tiny penlight that he kept on her face, moving it from one eye to the other.

The small light almost blinded her: she couldn't see his face. But she felt his hand, rather, his finger and thumb as he tweaked one of her nipples. She wished she had worn a coarse, tight bra--instead of the filmy, lacy harness and matching bikini panties. It, probably, wouldn't have made any difference. Ben Glover was going to screw her with his long, lascivious prick!

Glover kept her right nipple in pinched captivity. The light left her face and she was in total darkness. The penlight was stabbed into her left breast and Glover twisted it against the tumescent point that seemed to burn under the pressure.

She shivered as he traced the light down over her ribs' across her stomach to poke at her navel. "Aaaaaaahhhh," she moaned, tormented and frightened.

The pressure of the small flashlight was increased on her belly button, starting nerves tingling deep in her rectum. Mavis stifled a gasp. God! It sparked wanton twitches all through her loins, into her inner thighs--all the way down into her toes.

He was going to fuck her!

And she sensed she wanted him to fuck her!

If he lucked her, she wound know together he had a wart on his prick--if he were one of the robbers! The one who had raped her!

She couldn't see. The light was dug into her belly. Yet her senses were alive. Glover's breath was on her face. She could smell him. His odor wasn't rancid, but was musky and virile. Her tummy crawled; she could almost feel his hard cock against her soft flesh!

She would not flick him back!

"Phil have a hand in it--baby?"

"Noooooo!"

"Come on, sweet cunt! Tell me what you know!"

His hand left her breast and mauled her right buttock, tugging her body toward him. A finger dug at her crotch--and she heard the hint of a skid of a zipper.

"N00000000000!" she gasped.

The light left her navel--and a hand grabbed her by the butt, her skin crawling under his hand. "He was involved! Tell me what you know!"

"Noooottttthhhhiinnggggggg!" Mavis thought her voice fairly rang with denial in the dark storeroom.

"Show me and tell me what you did at THE time!" Glover demanded.

Mavis was glad to get out of his grasp--yet she knew she was going to get his sex trunk in her! She almost giggled with relief that he was no longer touching her. Her relief was short--a hand shucked up under her short dress and long fingers were cuddling the full, long, curvy loaves of her ass as she preceded him. And fingernails were finding the upper waist hem of her skivvies. He was going to strip off her panties and fuck her!

He hooked a nail and her panties were slipping off the Saucy flirt of her upper buttocks. "Nnnnnoooo!" she protested as Glover pushed her into the deeper shadows of the stockroom.

"And you let the bandits in, huh?" Glover snorted.

THERE WAS THE SOUND OF A ZIPPER SKIIIlDDDDNNNNIING!

And Mavis could smell--more strongly than ever--the odor of prick! It was so strong it almost panted back at her! It was only a question of--not if--but when he would diddle her!

She was about to get a whole belly full of prick!

Her panties slid down around her ankles and her legs quaked. Glover heisted her skirt up over her back and dug a finger, doodled it around in the crack, and nudged the tense anal pucker.

Mavis wished her cunny would stop hungering for hard, long male meat!

"Phil had nothing to do with it!" she yelled as Glover pushed her over stacked cartons of vegetable juice, big cans.

One of his thumbs hooked her in the asshole and stabbed into her throbbing rectum. His left hand gripped her left thigh and her legs skidded apart; she hunched her rump back at him as she felt the cozy knob of his cock rake the smooth crown of her butt.

She was about to get him in her!

He was about to fuck her!

Mavis shook her head, desperate, helpless. She was about to get this terrible man's dirty old cock! She wanted to run. But she was going to take him on. Her entire rear was exposed to his attack--and his hands had captured her heaving flanks--and the thick, dripping knob of his jobber was jabbed flush against the entry to her bowels!

Not in the asshole!

She sobered slightly as Glover sagged his knees for a more direct aim and planted the knob of his cock in her bloated vulva. Damn you! Mavis swore silently at her pussy, don't look forward to getting his prick inside ME!

Mavis sensed his tensing, aiming his dong.

Here IT comes, she thought--braced herself for his forward onslaught. She moved her weight to the left when he missed and she knuckled his cockhead into her vulva.

"Dddddaaaammmmnnnn!" she complained as Glover buried his bone deep in her viscous swat, slamming the hard head against the curvature of the cervix and ramming to the very depths, stretching her coital cave.

"Daaammmnn you!" she shrieked, rearing her ass backward, trying to out-fuck his massive prick.

But he was pumping the meat into her snatch, rasping the lips of her outer pussy--and there was no wart!

There was no wart on his dong! He was not the robber-rapist!

Tears flooded into Mavis' eyes. He was no help. She thrust her ass back to meet his forward hunch, fucking her like a mongrel dog.

"It's all a waste!" she wept as she maneuvered to get all of her assailant's prick. The knob banged against the bottom of her sex canal and she almost swooned from an overwhelming orgasm.

Mavis swung her ass wildly, slamming her taut rums loaves against his pelvic region as he poured the cock to her. She tightened her sphincters in revenge that she didn't have the right one; she wouldn't have minded taking the prick of the robber- rapist!

She rotated her fanny, shoved her exposed rear back again-- unmindful of his long finger in her ass-hole. She lifted on tiptoes, trying to break off his prick in her pussy.

"Aaaaagggghhhh!" she wailed, trying to fuck him into nothing. But he was too much man. He started squirting his jizz into her; grabbed her by the ass cheeks, prying them apart; hauled his prick out of her pussy and shoved it roughly into her roiling bowels where he finished unloading his semen.

She was fearful he was going to make her suck him clean, but he left her there, skirt up over her butt, legs spread far apart for fucking, weeping in frustration, cunt and rectum well-hosed with cock Juice...

After several minutes, after letting his male sap drizzle to the floor, Mavis adjusted her clothes and fled. All she could say, starting the old car, was that he wasn't the one; he didn't have a wart on the side of his prick. The fucking had been for nothing.

Mavis was glad, for the first time, she had no cunny carpet. His jizz didn't cling and clot in pussy hair. "Ha-ha-ha-ha!" she laughed, almost hysterically.

She wept all the way home. She was glad that Terry was in the kitchen, drinking vodka over ice. "Ben Glover thinks Phil is involved in the robbery!" Mavis sobbed, taking the glass of ice and vodka that Terry pushed toward her as she slumped into the breakfast nook.

"He screwed you!" Terry shouted--and Mavis detected a tone of frenetic anger. "That bastard! Fucking you! Trying to push that robbery onto you and Phil!"

"Come home, Phil!"

A little later, she let Terry undress her, lead her upstairs and bathe her in soothing hot water. Then they returned to the kitchen and drank in half-brooding silence. The booze relaxed Mavis and she grew drowsy. Vaguely, sometime during the evening, Mavis was aware of Terry coasting her back upstairs and putting her to bed. Before drifting into deep sleep, she snuggled against the kittenish softness and warmth of Terry, thinking how nice it was to have someone in bed with her.

Sleep endured until nearly two o'clock the next afternoon, until it was dispelled by the insistent front door chimes. Clumsily, Mavis crawled from bed and struggled into a dressing gown. She left Terry asleep in the bed as she hurried downstairs to answer the front-door.

She stared stupidly at Mickey Lewis whose mouth was pursed in a grim line. "Is Terry here?" he asked curtly. "I see the car she was driving is out front."

Mavis nodded, glancing at the sleek, powerful Thunderbird. It was a pretty thing she admired. Even the colors of the Utah license plates harmonized with the color of the car; so often they clash.

"She stayed all night with me," Mavis yawned. "Come in, Mickey; I'll make some coffee and call her. God! We must have slept fourteen hours!"

Mavis left Mickey sitting impatiently in the living room as she went to start coffee percolating. She was aware of his eyes on her body as she strode back through the living room, flimsy gown fluttering about her thighs as she went to waken Terry.

She found Mick's wife half-awake, stretching and yawning. "Mickey is here," Mavis told the naked doll.

"Oh? Is he back already? How did he know where I am?"

"He said he saw the car you're driving," Mavis replied, heading back downstairs.

"She's dressing," Mavis told Mick whose piercing gaze stabbed at the loose vee of the gown and traveled downward, lingering for a moment on the pubic region, then dropping to her knees and generous length of tapering thighs. "The coffee should be done," she murmured, going to the kitchen and returning with pot, cups and saucers, cream and sugar.

As she and Mick sipped coffee, waiting for Terry to join them, Mavis wished he wouldn't stare at her that way! His intense gaze almost made her flesh crawl. And he made no effort to conceal his interest in peeling off her gown, putting his hands on her and having his way with her.

She would have liked to recross her legs, but she didn't want to give Mick that momentary view up her inner thighs toward the sensuous place he coveted. Damn! His eyes gave her chills and hot flushes that tingled deep in her womb and danced outward through her loins.

When Terry joined them, Mickey demanded, "What are you doing with that car?" His tone was flat, cold with anger.

"I want it and I'm going to have it," his wife said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

A brittle silence lasted several minutes and Mavis thought she could almost see Mickey's thought processes in action. Terry was defiant, yet there was an air of flightiness in her demeanor. Mavis had no doubt that Mickey would have his way. He was studying his next move; in a moment, she thought, he will lay down the law to his young wife.