Chapter 29

Bill Canning and Sam Quade sat in their Mercedes in the upmarket housing area of Pickford's Meadows, watching the comings and goings of the residents. This particular house they had been watching for quite some time while the former's feverish brain plotted revenge for the murder of his older brother John. In his mind, Desirée Denning was equally to blame for Clete Anderson's murder of the young man. Desirée, he believed, had enticed John into raping her and thereby incurred the wrath and revenge of the amoral black sheriff. Bill knew that his brother had been disembowelled by a garden tool, wielded by Clete and which had torn him open systematically from groin to gullet.

"You know what we're talking about is killing a politician's wife as revenge on the town sheriff," Sam said conversationally. He was not at all worried or repelled by what they were contemplating, but was weighing the realities of an act that excited him more by the minute as they planned it. Desirée was the kind of girl he, or his companion, could never hope to win. The only substitutes he could hope for were those impressed by his ill-gotten wealth from drug dealing. Desirée, the blonde-haired angel of everyone's dreams deserved what she had coming, just for the pain she caused to men like Sam in withholding her charms.

Just now, Desirée was arriving home from somewhere in her modest but new little Chevrolet, almost colliding with her husband's own BMW as he was pulling out of the driveway. The two young criminals watched the young newlyweds adjust their approaches, Desirée allowing Mark to back out before pulling into the crescent-shaped driveway. While the husband drove away, they saw the blond girl get out of her car and gaze wistfully and lovingly after her departing love.

"Let's take her now," Sam said breathlessly. "Let's cut that soft little pussy in twenty pieces and hide the parts all over the station house. In the desk, in the frig, in the-"

"Not yet. Let's get it right first. We've got to have some place to do the dirty deed on her where nobody will hear her screams. I hear there's an old, abandoned house on the Pace farm, but I want to find out just where and check it out."

Sam grimaced. "I'm dying to fix the little bitch. I've never done it that way before."

"Yeah," Bill said, "but I want to make sure we can put the screws to the nigger sheriff, and to the max. I want films of it. Hell, we can sell it as a snuff film all over the world. A babe like that!"

And while they talked, Desirée turned and went into the house.

Closing the door, she leaned back against it, thinking. Mark had been so cold lately, so unaffectionate, and she wondered why. The dreams that had plagued her were now only vague memories, but something irritating sat in the back of her mind. And while Mark ignored her sexually, her own frustrated desire grew. It had become a constant itch between her legs, a panty-wetting ache. She wondered if it was the summer heat that seemed to singe the hairs of her tender vagina.

Desirée went to her room and took off her expensive suit that she had just worn to choir practice at the little church she attended regularly. Pastor Hemmings had been there watching her with a friendly smile and an indecipherable gleam in his brown eyes, and having his eyes on her like that while her body seemed to hunger for sex did not make matters one little bit better.

It was daring that she left off her bra when she changed into the light, white, sleeveless summer dress that came down to the top of her knee. Her nipples, she noted, were brazenly visible against the thin fabric and she eschewed nylon stockings. She never needed them anyway; her legs were so smooth and creamily tanned that nylons were redundant at any time. For further comfort, she added a pair of flat, canvas shoes and bound her long, golden hair back behind her ears.

Going to the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of orange juice and went into the living room to sit. And watch television. It was going to be a boring day.

Mark drove his car as steadily as he could toward the rendezvous he had made with Nancy Pace. He was going to have to break it off with Nancy good and proper, that was for certain. He could not afford a scandal right now as he was approaching the election that could make his political career. The teenager would have to stick to her fiancé Clete Anderson and keep things proper between her and Mark. And then there was Priscilla...

Yesterday she had been seen in a dreadful and filthy state wandering down a country road before being picked up by Dr. Hemmings-and taken straight to his office. The strangest thing had been the near hysterical phone call from Priscilla's father last night, telling Mark that he was putting a bounty of fifty thousand dollars on the head of each of the three members of the dog pack individually. And Mark now knew that Lobo and his lot had claimed another victim. Mark considered putting bars on the bedroom windows, and he had checked and loaded his pistol, making sure it was in the drawer beside the bed.

The nightmare went on, didn't it? Lobo had destroyed, or at least seriously damaged, his relationship with Desirée. At times, he thought the old feelings were coming back, and then the weird tableau of that night last week would impinge, the sight of Desirée on all fours being solidly fucked from the rear by that evil dog. It was a grotesque nightmare that gave no promise of ever going away.

Mark drove down Main Street and stopped in front of the electronics shop next to Hemmings' office, exactly where Nancy had told him to stop. Though he saw nothing, suddenly she was there, slender, fresh-cheeked, and unbearably pretty in her short skirt and airy blouse. Looking at her he found it hard to imagine that she had undergone the same ordeal as Desirée had last week, that it had all started with her. The advantage was that Mark had not been there to see it, had not been pushed from his copulating position and made to watch the debasement of the young female by the rampant canine.

"Let's go, Mr. Denning," she urged. "We don't want to be seen."

"Look, Nancy, we've got to talk about-"

"Yes, we do, Mr. Denning. Mark. We need to talk a lot. Please, let's go. Out by the airport."

Mark gunned the engine and moved forward, unaware that Dr. Hemmings, gazing from the second-storey window of the apartment he kept over his office, had seen Nancy furtively slip into the BMW under very suspicious circumstances.

Within ten minutes they were near the airport and Nancy told him to pull over at a motel. With a start, Mark realized that this was the motel where he had been seduced by Priscilla not so long ago. Running around to the other side, Nancy swung his door open and tugged him out, dragging him along to a doorway. While he gaped in disbelief, she produced a key to one of the rooms-was this the room where he and Priscilla had had their sexual assignation not long ago?-opened it and pulled him in. The crafty little bitch already had a key, had already checked them in.

Hearing her firmly close the door behind him, Mark said, "Now, listen, Nancy. I said we'd talk, not sleep together."

"Sleep?" she said coming around to face him. "I have no intention of sleeping." Her face was uplifted and ineffably lovely and vulnerable. It was hard to imagine her being raped by Lobo or in a marriage with Clete Anderson. Her hands came up to his waist, lightly, diffidently caressing. She was very unsure of herself, and it was hard to understand how she could have been crafty enough to arrange this room ahead of time and then entice him into it.

"Listen, Nancy, please," Mark said to bolster his resolve. "I'm a married man, and if anyone knew that we were in this room together, whatever happens, there would be hell to pay. My political career depends on my being morally spotless." Mark tried to disengage himself, but her hands came right back to him, shyly working at his belt buckle. "Nancy, I know we made love once and it was very, very nice, but I really can't do this again, not to Desirée. And you, what about Clete?"

Nancy's soft and cloying hands were unzipping his pants and her face was against the side of his neck, her full, red lips kissing, her little flashing tongue licking up beneath his ear.

"Yes, Mr. Denning, I know." Her hands slipped into his briefs and found the penis that was inexorably firming up for action. "But I can't get you out of my mind. Or my heart. I've loved you since I first saw you. And we both know you're not morally spotless. You were here once with Priscilla Devereaux." Her voice was small, childish, and sincerely truthful, and he felt her whole body trembling with excitement at his nearness. To still her shaking, he wrapped his arms protectively around her, and she seemed to catch fire at that moment. While one hand cupped beneath his vibrating testicles, her other arm hooked around his neck, drawing his face to hers.

They kissed, and it was a kiss warm with love and innocent passion. He was somewhat shocked that she knew about his assignation with Priscilla. He would not have thought that all that time she spent with Clete, undoubtedly fucking themselves silly, would have left her with any innocence at all, but now remembering that she had been a virgin just a few months ago and that she had sexual experience with just two men, one of them himself, he understood. She was still a teenager with a crush. Clete was an expedient substitute, not the romantic dream every girl has. Her soft, firm body was pressed desperately against him from her mouth all the way to her knees, and the way she was touching his prick was irresistible. With a groan he gave himself up to the kiss.

His hands moved on their own to close over her firm round buttocks, and he couldn't stop himself from exploring underneath her skirt, and then inside her panties. He ran down through the cleft of her butt and into her warm, moist vulva and she sensually groaned, pushing her already wet pussy down onto his two probing fingers.

"Damn you, Nancy," he growled as she sank to her knees in front of him, her mouth engulfing his penis like a child enjoying a Popsicle. Looking down as the electric sensations shot through his loins, he saw his male member disappear completely into her face. But of course, Clete had taught her to do this, and he must have some huge cock, if the size of the rest of his body was anything to go by. She was young and sweet and fresh, but her black boyfriend had taught her sword swallowing.

His cockhead pressing against her tonsils, Nancy sucked and salivated, drawing all the resistance out of him as a bee draws pollen from a flower. He felt his knees begin to buckle and he moaned, twisting around so that he fell back on the bed.

"Oh, sweet Mark," she whispered, pulling his pants down over his thighs. "I knew you'd want me again, my love." Her fingers deftly loosed his shirt buttons and her mouth followed her hands, caressing over his chest and the sensitive flesh of his nipples.

"You little vixen!" he groaned. "You're too young to be doing this."

"You think so?"

"Damn it, Nancy, I'm married." He protested and squirmed but already she was moving over him, hiking up her skirt around her waist, pressing the damp crotch of her panties onto his aching cock. She had him in the position, but to get her panties off she would have to throw her leg back over him, and she didn't want to lose him, so she gripped them with clawed fingers and, grimacing with lust, shredded them away from her belly and hips so that they clung in tatters.

Mark gaped at her passionate act, saw her move the light brown muff of her pussy over his stiff cock and with one hand fit the head of his cock into the hot recess of her wet femaleness. He looked up into her sparkling eyes, amazed at having been virtually raped by this teenager. He shook his head from side to side, trying to deny that this was happening, that he was destroying his life with Desirée in allowing her to do this.

"No, Nancy, no!" he cried, but he had no strength to get her off him. He saw her eyes burning with some deep emotion and desire, with love and lust all at once, and then she put her hands on his chest and lowered her hips, engulfing his raging cock in her dripping, wet heat. Their moans and sighs mingled in a chorus as her demanding hips took control of him.

"Oh, Mark, my love," she groaned. "I love you so much. So much." Her tight bottom began rising and falling over his hips, sucking his hard cock into her loving, giving vagina. "Don't stop, ever. Never!" And with a cry, she began making love to him with every atom of her being.

While Mark was busy committing adultery with Clete Anderson's fiancée, his adoring young bride was practising one of Chopin's Polonaises on the baby grand piano in the living room. She was finding it hard to concentrate when there was so much bothering her. Mark wasn't talking much to her lately and he had made no sexual approach for over a week. She felt neglected and unloved, and, in the words of the uneducated, horny. Adding to that were the flashes of strange erotic dreamlike hallucinations that had plagued her for the last few days, a nightmarish kaleidoscope of fantasy sexual escapades including Dr. Hemmings, Clete Anderson, Sid Buchanan, and a snarling wild dog. The name Lobo kept jumping into her mind, the name they had given the leader of the woman- raping dog pack.

Desirée's fingers moved deftly over the keys, but she noticed that there was no feeling in the music they produced. Her heart wasn't in her music today, and the sad and slightly cold parting look that Mark had given her had a lot to do with it. What was happening to her marriage, the dream that she had dreamed for so long? Was Mark having an affair? Why had he looked at her that way? Why didn't he want her anymore? Her body hungered for lovemaking and her womb burned for a baby. Would she ever have those things?

The phone rang, and she hesitated. Perhaps it was Mark. She didn't really want to talk to anyone else. She picked it up on the fourth ring and immediately regretted answering.

"Hello, Desirée?" It was a deep, masculine voice that she vaguely recognized but could not place.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"I think we need to talk," the voice said. "It's very important."

"Important? Who is this?"

"It's Clete, Desirée."

She paused. The person she liked least in the world, unattractive to her for the color of his skin and the form of his face and for the way his eyes looked at her when she had the misfortune to be in his company.

"What-wh-what do you want?" She felt her spine stiffen.

"It's about the video tape, Desirée."

"Video tape?"

"You know, the video tape."

Desirée was completely mystified, for Dr. Hemmings had made her forget the entire episode by way of the lock that the nefarious Dr. Braun had put on her innocent mind, using drugs and hypnosis to first seduce and then manipulate her.

"No, Sheriff Anderson, I don't know. I have no idea what you mean."

There was a pause and she thought she heard an obscenity breathed at the other end.

"Really, Sheriff Anderson-"

"Look, Desirée, I think you'd better see it before you do, or don't do, anything else. This is an important matter."

Desirée felt her heart begin to pound. "Is it... is it something to do with my husband?"

There was another ominous pause, and then that smooth, low voice said, "Yes, yes, it is. I think you'd better come over here to my office right away."

Words failed her. A video tape, of Mark. Doing what? He was having an affair! That had to be it, and Clete had a video tape. It was... blackmail by the sneaky black sheriff-. Mark's career would be ruined by a scandal. She caught herself and wondered that Mark's career was so important when she herself was the one being betrayed.

"Your office. Yes, I'm coming right now," she said all too quickly. Anderson was blackmailing them now and he would want money. She took her checkbook and without bothering to put on anything more than the light, wispy summer dress she was wearing, grabbed her purse and flew out the door.

Mark groaned as lightning bolts of pleasure shot through his loins as Nancy's lovely, round bottom bounced resoundingly up and down on his thighs. He grabbed her lush, jiggly buttocks and pounded his swollen cock up into her sweet, young pussy. She was just too much! He looked up gratefully into her pretty eyes, misted and half-closed in passion and pleasure.

"Fuck!" he rasped. "What have you got in there? You're eating my cock alive."

"Just love, Mr. Denning," she said huskily. "Love for you. Mark."

"Yes, yes, call me Mark," he said, pulling her hips down so he could reach with his cock as deeply into her belly as possible. She was just wonderful. As he looked into her sweet, sparkling eyes he found it hard to imagine that she could have turned on with the dog, Lobo, the way he had seen Desirée do. No, Nancy had been raped and hated every moment of it. But then there was Clete...

He pulled her face down and kissed her hot, wet lips. She sucked on his tongue, and he sucked on hers while they moved together, working together to slide his cock in and out of her bubbly cunt.

"Nancy, baby," he whispered against her cheek. "I have to know something."

"We have no secrets, dear Mark, ooooh, ugh, ugh," she grunted as the feeling of his fucking cock shot through her belly and up to the base of her skull. She squirmed and writhed and pounded her hips up and down on his throbbing prick.

"Clete," Mark gasped. "Why Clete?"

Nancy panted, sliding her pussy again over his penis. "A girl-" she gasped, "a girl has to have somebody, doesn't she? You, you had Desirée, and I was too young for you." She reared back, squeezing her lovely tits and tossing her hair back while she went on fucking him. "Wasn't I?"

Mark grabbed her and flipped her over so that she was under him. She drew her knees back and opened her cunt to him and he started to shaft her with everything he had. "Nancy, you're not too young for anything anymore. You're all woman." He fucked into her again and again, drawing joy and pleasure from her pussy as he thought he never had before even with Desirée. He bridged himself over her, his hands closing on her breasts and gave her every inch he had. Looking down he could see his cock disappearing into the furry split of her cunt, felt his balls slapping wetly between her asscheeks.

Desirée parked her car in the parking lot of the small shopping center and walked up toward the sheriff's office. She certainly didn't want anyone to see her car in front of the police station. Her feet seemed so unsure as her high-heels clicked along the sidewalk, and her knees felt wobbly. When she drew abreast of the station, she stopped and looked carefully up and down the street to make sure that no one was watching her. She waited a long time before she found the courage and then walked quickly up and went through the door.

She had never been in this place before. There were chairs for waiting and a long counter, a computer at a desk immediately behind that. And a long window running the length of the room, the dark, shadowy area beyond covered by thin venetian blinds. The place looked empty though she thought she saw movement in the back office, behind the blinds, but she was not sure. What was going on? She was frightened, very, very frightened. What did Clete want? She was sure that he meant to blackmail them with some evidence of an affair that Mark was having. She felt in her purse for her checkbook.

She stood there a long time, gazing at the bell on the counter, unable to bring herself to ring for service. This was insane! She had no business in a place like this. Why should she have to get Mark out of a jam that he had gotten himself into? Mark was the one being unfaithful, let him bail himself out.

Desirée turned to leave, her eyes fixed on the door to the outside world, away from a no-good bastard like Clete Anderson. This was no place for a good girl like her. She would send Mark to deal with the crooked sheriff and she could stay home with her music and art. Yes...

Her hand was on the doorknob when Clete's commanding voice brought her up short.

"But Desirée, you just got here," he said, and she felt his hand on her arm.

She spun around, fright sucking the breath from her lungs, and looked into Clete's dark face and eyes. He had a heavy, masculine, feral odor to him, a strong scent not altogether unpleasant but intimidating at the same time, a reek of pheromones. He was a mountain of muscle and his grip on her arm was inexorable. The fear and the heady African aroma of him drained away her strength.

"You weren't thinking of going before we had a chance to talk, were you?" he said, drawing her away from the door and toward the counter.

"I... I didn't see you, so I was leaving," she said feebly. She felt a trembling begin in her entire body. She felt that she was in some danger here. Because of the strangely vivid dreams she had had of him, though he was the sheriff, she felt that he was not altogether trustworthy. There was a sheen of perspiration on his black cheeks and his strong hips seemed to be thrusting forward even as he was walking backward.

"I was in my office in back. You didn't give me time to come out."

"Oh, well, I thought-" but what she thought she knew not, for her only desire when she entered this place was to get out again as soon as possible. She saw that he was leading her toward the gap in the counter and the half-open door to the inner office. "I needed to know, Sheriff Anderson-"

"You can call me Clete, Desirée."

"Clete, I have to know if this... this video tape concerns my husband, before I see it. I have to... to-"

"Brace yourself?" He moved to the door and she could see that the light in Clete's office was lower than that of the outer, sunlit front office, which made it hard to see through the glass and the half-closed venetian blinds from the front area. "Maybe you should."

Clete released his gentle grip on her arm and walked into the dim back office, and Desirée, spellbound to his riddle, and on tenterhooks for knowing what all this had to do with Mark, followed him in, fighting to control the rhythm of her breathing. The wide desk was strewn with papers and a television was playing a soap opera. His pistol hung on a hook with his hat, with a small iron weight with a thong strung through it. Clete folded his arms and half-sat on the corner of the desk, crossing his feet at the ankles. Her eyes were drawn to the huge pectorals that he must have used the set of weights in the corner to develop. His biceps and triceps were congruent with the rest of his solidly-- and vainly--muscled body. He was a powerful man and he appeared to have no reticence to using his power to coerce what he wanted from anyone. His obsidian eyes burned into her and he waited smugly for her to speak.

"Sheriff Anderson," she began, searching for the words and the courage to communicate. "I'm here now, and you say you have some information I should know. Now, I'd like to know what it is so I can be on my way."

Clete smiled thinly and picked up a remote control on the desk, pushed a button, and looked into her eyes. Desirée heard the dramatic dialogue of the soap opera abruptly cease, to be replaced by nothing but heavy breathing. Heavy breathing and higher-pitched sighs of a woman, and the deep, bass grunts, pants and groans of a man. Still, at first she didn't grasp the true context of the passionate sounds.

"Sheriff Anderson-" she started again, then glanced at the screen. It took a second glance to discern what was playing on the screen. It was a pornographic video! Yes, a dirty film and she could see the luscious, white upturned buttocks of a young woman in close-up, and horror of horrors, the mammoth, black penis of a man thrusting between her rosy asscheeks into her tender, pink vagina! "Sheriff-Sheriff Anderson! How dare you bring me here for this! I have no interest in pornography. What kind of fraud-"

"Desirée, please, this is no cheap pornography." Clete put his big hand on her shoulder and gently turned her toward the screen. "This is a very important film for you, and it has a lot to do with your husband."

She looked at the screen, watching closely, with revulsion, the wet and glistening black shaft disappearing smoothly again and again into the girl's ivory womb. "That's-that's not Mark's- That isn't Mark."

"No, honeychild, it isn't Mark." He smiled and Desirée caught it. "It's me."

Desirée shivered at the fact that she was in the presence of this powerful and immoral man, watching as he exhibited himself to her on the film. This was positively the most obscene thing she had ever seen, and the most sordid situation she could remember ever being in. She, a married woman, alone with this burly black man watching him perform sexually with a white woman. Her eyes stayed glued to the screen only because she was afraid to look elsewhere, while the frame widened to reveal more of the girl's darling, ripe body. He saw the great, full, hanging mounds of her pink-nippled tits jiggling beneath her to the boffing of the heavy body driving the black cock into her, revealing the flexing, pinkish halo of her tight anus between her flared buttocks, the scarlet vaginal lining clinging lovingly to the shining penis that was giving her so much joy she seemed unable to restrain her cries of passion.

Desirée glanced at Clete, shaking her head in disgust. Then her eyes were drawn back to the screen and she saw the frame widen to show that the girl there was a blonde with buttery, yellow hair that flowed over her shoulders. To Clete's face contorted with pleasure as he drove into her vagina ceaselessly, relentlessly. His white teeth bared animalistically in his dark-skinned face. The sheen of sweat on his massive pectorals and deltoids, like the glow on the girl's pumping round bottom. Back to the girl's golden tresses and hint of a profile, then to her heavy, swinging breasts, a single drop of perspiration gathering and then dripping from one taut, glowing nipple. Feminine grunts of bursting passion, her entire body shuddering with an orgasm, to the black cock swelling, throbbing, throbbing streams of thick, white semen into the girl's pure belly. Her cries of release as she came again.

And then, finally, a shot of the girl's face, the straight, aristocratic nose, fine, sculpted jaw, beautiful, wide, blue eyes beneath graceful eyebrows shining with sweat...

The face, Desirée's, and the girl was she, Desirée, and suddenly a dim memory came flooding back to her, of the night Priscilla had drugged her and led her into that evil episode. Still a dim memory, but now becoming real with the evidence of it. She had had sex with Clete, and for some reason, she had enjoyed it and forgotten it. And it must have been Priscilla who had wielded the camera, and she must have been drugged, perhaps, for she had no clear recollection.

"Yes, Desirée," he said quietly, putting his hand softly on her shoulder. "I think it does concern Mark. It's you and me making love, having hot and beautiful sex, and you can see how much you loved having me inside you."

She stared at the screen, incredulous, both dainty hands pressed against her big, heaving breasts, the nipples swelling and hardening reflexively against her palms. Her eyes were glued to the sight of her own writhing body jerking in fulfilment on the black man's deeply-buried ejaculating penis, and she cringed at the sound of her own passionate moans and grunts blending with those of her film lover.

Hyperventilating at the shock, she felt herself losing consciousness, and Clete caught her as she stumbled back, lasciviously cradling her round bottom in his big hand to set her back on the edge of the desk. Moving around in front of her, he slid his hand up the inside of her thighs toward her moist vaginal mound. He had wanted to go slow with her, knowing that he lacked the advantage of the drugs that had made her so pliant and willing before that short time ago, but the attraction of her sex was too strong for his basic instincts to resist. Desirée gasped as she felt his hand cover the damp material between her legs. The hem of her white, light summer dress slid up as his leg insinuated itself between her thighs and his free arm encircled her waist as he drew her up against him, his face inches from hers as he stared into her limpid, deep blue eyes.

"You're mine, Desirée," he hissed. "You're mine, and you'll always be mine. We made love once, and we're going to do it, again and again, for the rest of your life. No one can make you come the way I do, 'cause no one has the big, black cock that I do." His fingertips found the edge of her panties' crotch band and pulled it away from her hot spot, sliding into the wet slit, to her clitoris, now throbbing embarrassingly.