Chapter 7

Tim Huntley sat back against one of Judy's big overstuffed pillows, thumbed absently through the morning paper. Never any news worth reading, he thought, always the same old crap: wars and bombings and riots and murders. It seemed that his whole life had consisted of bad news and violence; he didn't need to know about the greater violence going on in the world at large. He had never been happy, he thought, never in his life until now, until he met Judy.

Judy, he thought, yawning and stretching, laying back against the soft pillow. His body was tired, pleasantly tired--they had made love practically all night, falling asleep only in the last few minutes before dawn, when they were completely exhausted, completely filled with one another. They had slept then, for a few hours, locked in one another's arms, then had awakened and made love yet again. Now Judy had gone off to the store, to buy eggs for their late breakfast, and Tim had nothing to do but relax and contemplate their new love.

What a woman she was! Tim smiled as he thought back over the course of the previous evening, remembering the greasy barbecued beef at the Taco Nito, his depression and feeling of hopelessness. It had all changed so suddenly, from the first moment he had seen Judy's face in that bar. He smiled as he recalled the conversation that had started at the Gay Paree and then continued in her apartment, felt his prick stir to life at the recollection of their fiery lovemaking. Yes, he thought, I've finally found it, finally found the woman who can make me happy, and now that I've found her you bet your sweet ass I'm going to enjoy her.

Tim heard footsteps sound in the hall, the clicking of the doorknob as the door opened. "Hi, baby," he called out.

"Hi yourself," said a deep masculine voice.

Tim turned his head sharply to see Steve Paul and Slackjaws standing over him, grinning. Jay's men He had forgotten almost entirely about Jay, forgotten that he and Judy still worked for him--the gangster had seemed so far away last night. Fear rose in his throat as he looked at these two grinning hoods, the one smooth and polished, the other massive and brutal-looking. Judy had disobeyed Snyder's orders, he remembered, had turned down her boss's friend in order to spend the evening with Tim. Were these men here for revenge?

"What do you guys want?" he said, his voice trembling.

"Nothing much," said Steve Paul. "We just want to have a little talk with your girl friend, see what she thinks of our new pet. Mr. Nelson," he said, turning to the muscleman, "why don't you call for Ambush?"

Slackjaws let out a whistle, and the biggest dog Tim ever seen came bounding through the door. He looked like the dogs you see in cartoons, wading through the snow with little barrels of wine tied around their necks. Tim backed away as the dog came toward him.

"It's all right, Timmy boy," said Steve. "He's perfectly friendly. See?" The gangster began scratching the dog's head, and the dog responded by rolling over on his back, his legs in the air, his huge tongue lolling on the carpet. "Quite a tongue," grinned Steve. "Don't you think?"

Tim nodded, crept cautiously over to the dog, began to rub his stomach. The immense animal lay perfectly still except for the steady swishing of his tail, submitting himself to Tim's touch. Well, thought Tim, the dog seems friendly enough; I guess there's no harm here.

"Listen, Timmy boy," said Steve ingratiatingly, "we'd sort of like to talk to Judy alone, you know how it is. Anyhow, Jay wants to talk with you, give you some friendly advice."

Tim's eyes widened with fear. What did Jay want with him? What did Paul mean, "friendly advice?" Was he going to be fired for being with Judy; fired, or something even worse? And what were they going to do to her? He knew the dog had something to do with it, but he couldn't imagine exactly what; surely they were not here as dog-lovers.

"Does Jay want to see me right now?" Tim said.

"Right now," said Paul; his voice turning hard. "Immediately."

"OK," Tim said, standing up. "I'm on my way."

"Good boy. You know Jay doesn't like to be kept waiting. Oh, and Timmy," he called as Tim started out the door, "do me a favor and tell Jay you ran into us, will you?"

"Sure, Mr. Paul," said Tim. He closed the door behind him and walked down the hallway, making as much noise as he could. When he reached the end of the hallway he took off his shoes, tiptoed back to the door of Judy's apartment. He put his ear to the door, straining to hear the voices inside.

"... forget the gun," Steve Paul was saying. "That kid's gone. He's not dumb enough to come back and try and give us trouble. He's just a little errand boy--did you see how he jumped when I mentioned Jay's name?"

"Yeah," said Slackjaws, "I saw. I guess you're right; I just like to be ready, that's all."

"Well if you want to be ready," said Paul, "put the gun away and concentrate on Ambush. He's the one who's going to be doing all the work."

"Not all the work," said Slackjaws. Both men laughed.

"Right," said Paul. "Not all of it. This is going to be quite amusing." Already he was thinking ahead, savoring the thought of Judy spread-eagled on the bed with the dog between her legs, lapping at her cunt with his long tongue. Yes, this would be quite a scene.

"Yeah," said Slackjaws. "First we'll warm her up real good, get her ready for the dog, and then Ambush'll take over. Boy, this oughta be something!"

"Take over," agreed Paul, "and how!" He could hardly wait to see Judy writhe with pain as the dog's huge prick tore into her, split her apart. Other people's pain, particularly womens' pain, was Steve Paul's laughter. "Then when Ambush is through," he said, delighted, "we'll go over and take care of that other bastard, that cop, Kramer."

"Right," said Slackjaws, his small cruel brain racing with anticipation. "What a day, huh?"

"What a day indeed," said Paul. "Two major problems taken care of, and both so simply." He chuckled. "OK," he said, lowering his voice, "let's shut up. She'll be back any minute, and we want to be sure to surprise her."

Tim stood at the door, paralyzed with fear and rage. He wanted to smash down the door and charge those two hoods, throw them both out the tenth story window, but he knew he could never pull it off. He would just have to warn Judy, then get someone to help them. It was the only way.

He would have to hurry; she should have been back already. He ran to the elevator, saw that it was waiting on the ground floor, decided that it would take too long to get there. He ran to the exit, took ten flights of stairs three steps at a time, burst through the front door and out onto the sidewalk. Desperately he strained his vision in both directions, looking up and down the street, but Judy was nowhere to be seen. He thought of leaving a note in her mailbox, realized he had no pencil and no paper. Then he saw a small boy sitting on the front steps of the next building, playing with a yo-yo. "Hey kid!" he yelled. "Want to earn a dollar?"

"Sure," said the boy, getting up and coming over to where Tim stood. "What do I have to do?"

Tim gave the kid a dollar, described Judy and told him the message. "Whatever you do," he said, "don't leave until she gets the message. Make sure she gets it, OK?"

Good, thought Tim, that's taken care of; now to get some help. That cop, he thought, Kramer, that's the guy I need. I can warn him about Steve and Slackjaws, then I can get him to help me get us out of this. Kramer, he thought, Kramer: he's the man.

"Johnny," came a voice from across the street, "Johnny! Get over here this minute!"

The boy stopped his yo-yoing, looked up and spotted his mother. "I can't, Ma!" he yelled. "I'm working!"

"I'll work you," screamed his mother. "Get over here, now!"

Johnny reached into his pocket, felt the crinkly dollar bill. Well, he thought, I've already got the dollar. I guess I can watch from the window, catch the girl before she gets into the building. He got up, looked down the street. No girl.

"Johnny!" yelled his mother.

"OK, Ma, OK," he replied. "I'm coming."

A few minutes later Judy came down the street, carrying a carton of eggs and some cigarettes for Tim. She stopped to look up at the sky, at the two puffy white clouds that were drifting past the tops of the buildings. It was so beautiful, she thought. Everything had been beautiful since last night, since she had met Tim; now she could hardly remember a time when she hadn't been happy. Maybe it was true, maybe they could get away from Jay and go off somewhere, to Italy, or even just to San Francisco; anywhere but L.A. or Bisbee, Arizona. And even if they couldn't get away just now, still working for Jay wouldn't be so bad as long as she had Tim. Yes, she thought, everything was different now.

She went into the building, pressed the elevator button, rode to the tenth floor. There was a mirror in the elevator; Judy carefully brushed the hair from her eyes, tucked her blouse in. She wanted to look nice for Tim, always.

The elevator stopped. Judy got out, walked down the hall to her apartment, her heart starting to beat faster as she thought of Tim waiting for her inside. They would have some breakfast then make love again, maybe all day long. Oh, it was going to be good!

She unlocked the door, walked into the living room, saw that Tim was not there. Oh well, she thought, he's probably in the bathroom. "Tim?" she called, but there was no answer. Maybe he's gone back to bed. They hadn't had much sleep last night, it was true, she thought, smiling to herself; he's probably tired.

"Tim?" she called again, but there was still no answer.

She walked into the bedroom and froze with terror as she saw the grinning faces of Steve Paul and Slackjaws. They were sitting on the edge of her bed, between them the biggest dog Judy had ever seen, heaving and panting, spit dripping from his tongue. What were they doing there? Judy had heard stories about how Jay "punished" any girl who disobeyed him, and she could think of no other reason for their being in her apartment. But her fears for herself quickly subsided as she realized that Tim was nowhere to be seen. What had they done to him? Was he even now lying on the bathroom floor, beaten unconscious, or worse?

"What do you want? Where's Tim?"

"Now Miss Burton," said Steve Paul, his mouth contorted in a vicious grin, "is that any way to welcome your friends and associates? You haven't even said hello to us."

"Never mind that crap," said Judy. "You guys aren't here to pay a social call, I know that. What have you done with Tim? If you've hurt him, I'll..."

"You'll what?" snapped Steve Paul. "What will you do, Miss Burton, slap us? Pull our hair?" Slackjaws snickered. "No, Miss Burton," continued Paul, his voice becoming milder, "I don't think you'll do anything to us. We're your friends, after all. We've only come to share a little pleasure with you."

"Yeah," said Slackjaws, grinning, "a little pleasure."

"As for your young friend," Paul went on, "he's perfectly fine. As a matter of fact, he's on his way to see Jay right now, to receive a little fatherly advice. Jay just loves to give fatherly advice, doesn't he, Mr. Nelson?"

"Yeah," said Slackjaws, without the slightest idea of what Paul was talking about.

Judy didn't know whether to believe them or not. What did they mean, fatherly advice? Was Tim going to be fired, or as they said, only warned? It might not be so bad if he was fired, she thought. Then I could quit too and we could get out of here, go someplace else to live. We'll find some kind of work, she thought; we'll make it somehow. It might be rough, particularly at first, but we'll make it.

Slackjaws coughed, jerking her thoughts back to the present, to the two thugs sitting in her bedroom. She was going to be punished, she knew that, and probably punished brutally--Steve Paul's imagination was something of a legend, as was Slackjaws' strength--but she felt she could take anything they could give her so long as Tim was all right. Then, when they were through...

"All right," she said. "Get on with it." She had no idea of what they had in mind, but she wasn't going to make it any worse by putting up a struggle. They would have no help from her.

Steve Paul was disappointed. She was too passive, too tractable--he much preferred his hobby when the objects of his cruelty put up some sort of fight. Besides, they usually fucked better when they were scared, he thought. Shocks of sex began to move through his body as he recalled the many girls he had tortured, how they had screamed and begged for mercy, and how finally they all succumbed, excited much more by the violence being done to their bodies than they ever could have been by normal foreplay. Steve looked hungrily at Judy, taking her whole body in with one avaricious stare. This was a lovely girl, he thought, one of the loveliest he had ever seen, second perhaps only to Cindy, and even then... His passion began to rise as he imagined her tied on the bed, whimpering with pain and fear and lust, begging them to fuck her, to fuck her some more. Yes, he thought, this was going to be quite a party, quite a party indeed.

"Did you hear that, Mr. Nelson?" he said. "The young lady requests that we, as she so quaintly puts it, 'get on with it.'"

"Yeah," said Slackjaws. "I heard, all right."

"Shall we comply?"

"Awww," said Slackjaws, terribly disappointed. "Come on, Steve. I thought we were gonna, you know.

"You fucking idiot," said Paul. "What do you think I meant?"

"Oh," said Slackjaws. "Well..."

"Oh," mimicked Paul, "well." He looked at Slackjaws in disgust, then turned to face Judy. "Miss Burton," he said softly, "would you step over here a moment?"

Judy tried her best to blank out her mind, to use her old trick and leave her body, but fear prevented her from doing it. Although she wasn't sure what they were going to do to her, couldn't figure out why they had brought that big dog along, she knew this would be no ordinary fucking. She took a halting step toward the bed.

Steve Paul reached out his hand. "Come along, Miss Burton," he said gently. "There's nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all."

When Judy had nearly reached the bed, Steve Paul suddenly stood up, reached out and grabbed her by the hair. "You little bitch," he snarled, "get over here!" He threw her onto the bed face down, turned her over, and took both her wrists in his hand. "Slackjaws, get the rope," he said.

The muscleman brought the rope, quickly and expertly tied one of Judy's wrists to each bedpost.

"No, please," she whispered. "I'll do anything you say, whatever you want, but please don't tie me up."

"Shut up!" snapped Paul. "We're calling the shots, not you." This was getting better, now that she was complaining a little--he liked a woman with spirit. She'd be complaining, all right, she'd be complaining plenty as soon as that dog started to work on her, but she'd be loving it too, the little bitch. They all loved it, no matter what they said; and they all looked the same when it was over: exhausted, sweaty, and beaten, completely defeated, completely under his control, and oh, so satisfied!

He stood over her, slowly began to remove her clothing as she squirmed under his touch. "What's the matter, Miss Burton?" he said. "Don't you like me?" He hoped she would say something insulting, giving him an excuse to bring his open hand down hard on her face or her breasts, but she didn't respond. This made Paul so angry that he slapped her anyway, cracking his palm across her face as hard as he could. "You little cunt," he yelled. "Answer me when I talk to you!"

Judy looked up at him, her teeth clenched, tears in her eyes. "You bastard," she whispered. "I hate your rotten guts."

Paul grinned. "Much better," he said. "Much, much better." Hard words and insults were all part of the game to him--the more hate involved, the better he liked it, the more aroused he became. He continued to strip her, whistling softly as her luscious breasts popped into view, revealing her soft, brown, silver-dollar sized nipples. "Mmmm," he said. "Little Timmy-boy sure found himself a pretty morsel here. Too bad he doesn't know what to do with it, eh, Slackjaws?"

"Yeah," said Slackjaws, his eyes wide with lust, "too bad, all right."

"But I suppose," said Paul as he peeled Judy's pants from her, "that we'll just have to show him how to enjoy this little playground. He should be here to watch, of course, but that's all right. I'm sure Miss Burton will have plenty to tell him later on, if she can still talk, that is."

Judy wriggled on the bed, forgetting her resolution to lie still and take whatever they had to offer. She wasn't worried about Tim--he'd understand, she knew, and it might even help him get the courage to leave Jay, and she wasn't too worried about herself either. She'd been had by each of these punks at least once before, knew exactly how much they had to dish out, knew she could take all that and more. Still, she'd never been officially "punished" before, never with Jay Snyder's knowledge and sanction, and she knew that Steve Paul was famous for his cruelty and perversion. And the dog, she thought: what the hell was that dog doing here?

Paul was still perched on his knees above her, fully dressed. Now he began to stroke her, starting at the base of her neck, moving his open palms down her chest, over her breasts, down her stomach to her abdomen, brushing the soft black mound of her cunt lightly before returning to her shoulders. Judy found herself aroused in spite of herself--she had expected anything from Paul except gentleness, and now she found that his light stroke was beginning to stir her body, to awaken the juices of desire that lay deep within her.

"Like that?" Paul cooed. "Well, there's plenty more where that came from. We're just starting, Miss Burton; we've got all afternoon. And a very long afternoon it's going to be."

He continued to move his hands over her in the same way as before, then altered the stroke slightly, using his fingernails instead of his open palm. The gentle scraping of his nails sent chills up Judy's back--she could feel the machinery of her cunt beginning to respond, beginning to manufacture the first squishy fluids of sex. She thought of Tim, of how he had excited her so wonderfully the night before, how she had been sure that no one could ever make her feel such desire. And now here she was, with Tim just barely gone from her apartment, being aroused all over again by the touch of someone she didn't even like, someone she hated, in fact. Is this what it means to be a whore, she wondered, to be a slave to one's own body and at the mercy of any anonymous man who touched her? How could love mean anything if one man's touch was just as good as another's? No, she thought, I have to fight this. I have to reserve my deepest self for Tim and Tim alone; otherwise I'm just a no-good whore.

She clenched her teeth, tried to close her mind to Paul's stroking, tried to turn her body off. She concentrated as fiercely as she could on Tim, on her love for him; but it did no good. Paul's expert hands were like firebrands; each touch seemed to sear at her flesh, seemed to carve their way inside her body to the deepest, most hidden place--there was no denying the excitement that this man created in her, no escape from the prison of her own aching desire. Oh Tim, she thought. If only it could have been different. If only you could have been the first to touch me instead of just an interlude between customers. Then I'd never know what it was to be excited like this by another man, and I could take all my pleasure from you, only from you. Now it's too late; now I'm already ruined. She began to weep softly.

"Why Miss Burton," said Paul, genuinely surprised. "Whatever could be the matter?" Usually his women didn't begin crying until later, until his play changed from gentleness to cruelty. Again he felt as if he were being cheated--this girl would simply not play according to the rules. But on the other hand, he thought, if she's crying already, what will she do when I really turn on the pain? Maybe this was going to be even better than he imagined.

This thought made Paul want to hurry, but he reminded himself that the longer he took with her, the more satisfying would be the result. "Patience is it's own reward," he told himself, laughing inside. Yes, he thought, patience. Patience and practice and time; he had only to follow his own elaborate instincts, and this girl would soon be reduced to a condition of abject slavery, exactly like Cindy and dozens of girls before her.

Paul shifted his position slightly to allow his fingers to reach the sweet flowery confines between her legs. He began to probe questioningly at the soft flesh, softly kneading her cunt- lips with his middle finger, lubricating himself with her spicy fluids. Judy moaned softly as he separated her lips, exposing her clitoris to the cool stimulating air of the room. She writhed helplessly, straining her wrists against the ropes that held her fast while her clitoris began to harden with excitement. Already her thighs were soaked with the hot thick liquid that leaked out from her most secret places; already the thought of Tim had begun to recede from her mind as she lost herself in the lush sensations that Steve Paul was creating.

Paul, meanwhile, was lost in sensations of his own. Judy's response had sent streaks of pleasure through his body, but the pleasure had seemed curiously abstracted, unreal. His dick was still as limp and unmoved as it would have been had he been watching a baseball game or making a peanut butter sandwich. The old familiar fear began to move in him: was he wasting his time again? Would his body once again refuse to respond to the urgent callings of his mind, refuse as it had done so many times in the past? No, he thought, please not this time. Please let me be a normal man just this once, just this one afternoon; let me satisfy this girl, this beautiful girl, the way a normal man would. But his body seemed to laugh at him. All right, Paul told his recalcitrant prick, have it your way for now, but I'm going to outlast you. In the end my patience will be too much for you; you'll come around, just wait.

Now Paul began circling the entrance to Judy's cunt with his fingers, exulting at the way her sweet feminine flesh yielded so willingly to his touch. Now she was moaning softly, moving her hips just enough to push her crotch gently against Paul's finger, in perfect rhythm with his circlings. Then, suddenly, he thrust deep into her waiting cunt with three fingers, causing her to gasp with pleasure. Oh God, she thought as she felt his fingers massage the pliant walls of her pussy, what this man is doing to me! She could feel her cunt expanding as her rubbed her, greedy for more of him, and yet more. It seemed as though a million flashbulbs were exploding in her brain, as though her body was a high-voltage wire taut with electricity. God, she thought, how long is he going to take? How much more of this can I stand?

Paul was in no hurry. His dick was still cold and limp, still mocking him with its refusal to respond. He could feel the muscles of Judy's cunt clasping his fingers, could see the pinkish bumps of her nipples rising before his eyes, quivering and reaching for him, could hear his mind screaming "Fuck her! Fuck her!" but there was no answer from his stubborn little member. On and on he went, massaging, rubbing, stroking the hot flesh inside her pussy, feeling her move, hearing her groan and whimper in anticipation of the climax that was already starting to mount within her, and he could feel at the same time the first faint stirrings of his own rising panic. Could he do it? She was coming on fast; would he be ready when she was, or would he once again be forced to watch, helpless, as the girl came? No, he thought, no, please no! I have to make it this time, I just have to!

Judy was beginning to wonder herself. How long was he going to take? What was he doing? Already she was nearly lost in the rising stream of her passion; would he never come to her? "Hurry," she whispered. "Please hurry. What are you doing? I need you now, NOW!"

Slackjaws was leaning forward in his chair, his face a parody of animal lust. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, his mouth was hanging open slightly, his tongue moving back and forth along his lips. It was nice of Steve to spend all this time getting her ready, but when was he going to let old Slackjaws take over? Jay had promised him that he could make the girl suck him off, and he hadn't said anything at all about Steve Paul, so what was going on here? Slackjaws was aching to feel this girl's beautiful mouth wrapped around his prick, to feel her tongue move along the underside of it. He wanted to thrust his burning prick far down her throat, to choke her with it, make her gasp and scream for more. He wanted to feel the hot cum escaping, hear her gulp as it slid down her open throat. Even now his prick was beginning to bulge in his pants as he watched Steve finger her; he wanted his turn, and he wanted it now! Jay had promised him, so what was Steve doing taking all this time? He could get her hot enough all by himself; he didn't need Paul's help. Look at her, he thought. She's just about ready to get her rocks and that guy's just dawdling along, not even slapping her around or anything. Still, he thought, I'd better keep quiet. I guess he knows what he's up to, and besides, he'll probably just get me in trouble with Jay if I butt in. God dammit, though! This Judy Burton was sure a hot little number, and Slackjaws was having difficulty containing himself.

Now Steve removed his dripping fingers from Judy's luscious cunt, backed off and lay down on the bed, lowering his head until it lay directly between her legs. He began to lap at her with his tongue, savoring the hot sweet juices that were now flowing freely from her pulsating cunt. Jesus, how I love that flavor, he thought. This was a real woman! Quickly he thrust his tongue between her lips, found the quivering hard ridge of her clitoris. He made a point of the end of his tongue, moved the tip slowly up and down the full length of that delicious mound. Maybe this will turn me on, he thought. Sometimes the tongue works better than the fingers. Up and down he went, up and down, as Judy squirmed and wriggled above him, pushing her juicy cunt harder and harder against his face until his nose was buried in the silken hairs.

"Ahhhhhhh," she groaned. "More; please more!"

Steve was glad to accommodate her. His tongue continued to slither along her pulsing clitoris. She was beginning to feel that he was glued to her, that their flesh had melted and joined, that they were a part of the same machine, her delicious flesh and greedy hips, his probing tongue, locked together, not to be parted until she screamed out with the explosion of her orgasm. Her pussy was beginning to vibrate now, twitching and wiggling as the marvelous feeling built up in her, filling her until she thought it would break her apart.

Suddenly Paul thrust his tingling tongue deep into her cunt, causing her to thrash wildly, her body totally out of control. He curled the tip of his tongue up against the warm moist roof of her pussy, feeling the voluptuous soft muscles quiver and pump as he touched them. Still there was no reaction from his stubborn prick, even though she had been transformed into a wild-woman, a savage beast, a pounding body that demanded total satisfaction and nothing less.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh, GOD!" she screamed as her orgasm sprang up from deep within her aching body. "Fuck me, please luck me! Fuck me with your cock, oh God please, FUCK ME NOW!"

Her words sent Paul into a fury of passion and anger. He jumped up on the bed, unzipped his trousers and began flailing at his stubby little prick, slapping it and tweaking it with his fingernails. "You little bastard," he yelled, tears filling his eyes, "what the hell is wrong with you? Why the fuck don't you do something?" He went on beating it and cursing; tears streaming from his eyes. "God damn it," he kept repeating, "do something. DO SOMETHING!"

"Please," cried Judy, her body trembling and heaving with unspent passion, "please, don't leave me like this. Please help me, please make me come. Use your finger, use your tongue, use anything; just don't leave me like this. Please, oh please, make me come!" She was going crazy. Never had she been so excited, and then to be left hanging like this, her body screaming and begging for release as her orgasm boiled, so close to the surface, yet so far away. Was this how he tortured his women? She could imagine nothing worse than to be trapped like this, out of her mind with desire, her climax dammed up, exerting a pressure on her that would certainly break her apart, and with no chance for release. "Oh, God," she whimpered again. "Please help me."

"You little cunt!" raged Paul. "Shut up! You'll cum when I want you to, not before. Now just shut up!" He began to beat her, slapping her on both sides of her face, first with his palm and then with the back of his hand. "Shut up!" he kept yelling. "Just keep your fucking mouth shut!" Steve Paul, the coolest of cool customers, was now completely out of control with rage and frustration. The beating now began to take on a vicious character; the open hands changed to fists as Paul continued to pummel the helpless girl. Already her nose was bleeding, and bruises were beginning to rise on her face.