"Go Down Payments" - читать интересную книгу автора (Starr Danny)

Chapter 6

When Marge finished with her study class after school, she saw it was three-thirty, which meant she had plenty of time.

All during the day, the idea of meeting Elliot Bessel had run through her. The thought intrigued the girl, and now, with time on her hands, she decided to do something about her daydream.

When she found the near-slum in which Elliot Bessel had his apartment, Marge also saw one of Walter's goons. Obviously Bessel had listened to her warning and had gotten out. The thug was watching the place, waiting for Bessel to return.

Bessel lived on the top floor, five flights up. Going up the five flights, Eva found Bessel's apartment. Putting her ear to the door, she listened, but heard nothing. The doorjamb was splintered and it was obvious the goons had broken into his place the previous night.

The door was loose and the lock didn't hold. Eva walked in. A huge skylight let lots of sun into a very small room with a smaller bathroom off to the side. In the far corner was an unmade cot with dirty sheets on it. A small night table was next to it.

The middle of the room held an easel and painting. The painting was a self-portrait of Bessel, one of two dozen he had in the room. Marge noticed the rugged look of each of the portraits and wondered if Bessel really looked that way, or if that was the way he saw himself. Her answer carne a moment later, when a fuzzy voice with an accent she couldn't place, said, "What are you doing in my apartment?"

Turning, Marge saw a short, almost emaciated man who bore a very faint resemblance to the individual in the many portraits. He had come from a vacant apartment across the way. The door to the other apartment was wide open, and she could see it was completely bare.

"A-are you Mr. Bessel?" she asked, looking at his dirty shirt and stained pants. His mustache was the old handlebar kind, and seemed to weigh more than the rest of him.

"I'll ask the questions," he told her. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"Gosh," she muttered, "my name is Marge. I was the one who called you last night."

"You? You're just a kid."

"Does that matter?"

He looked at her, his eyes running up and down her body. Then he shut the apartment door. "No, no it doesn't matter. Thanks for the call, kid. I really appreciate it."

"There's a man still watching the place from downstairs."

"Yeah, I know. But what they don't know is, all the other apartments on this floor are vacant. So I can always duck into one or another of them whenever I hear someone coming up the stairs, like when I heard you a few minutes ago."

"Yes, well I'm glad I was able to help you, Mr. Bessel, but the time has come for me to leave."

"Stick around, kid," he told her. "You and I could have a couple of laughs together. Besides, I want a chance to sort of thank you for what you did."

Marge was very conscious of the way he was looking at her, and realized what was on his mind. The same look had been in Cousin Walter's eye, the day before. He was admiring the shape of her fourteen-year-old body, and she could see him swallowing his drool. Elliot Bessel was definitely not a hero. He was the farthest thing from a hero. And when he began walking toward her, she started backing away.

"Look, I think you'd better let me out of here," she whimpered.

"Sure I will," he assured her. "After you and I ball."

"Get away," she cried, backing further into the room. "I'll scream. I'll scream very loud. Someone'll hear me and call the police. You'll see."

"In this neighborhood, everyone minds his own business," Bessel told her. "But there's no reason for you to be afraid, kid."

He was leering at her, though she could barely see his yellow teeth under his shaggy mustache. Her intestines seemed to freeze.

"No," she screamed, hoarsely. "No, no, no. Get away from me!"

She wanted to run as fast as she could, to get away from this wicked-looking man. But terror rooted her to the spot.

There was a small table near her, and on the table was an old broken vase. Turning, she saw the phone near his cot. Maybe she could reach it and call someone. Picking up the broken vase, she threw it at Bessel, then went running to the phone. The vase crashed to the floor as she reached the phone. Turning, she saw Bessel coming closer and closer, moving as if in slow motion. Her hand reached for the phone, but froze. She couldn't move, watching the skinny man come closer and closer.

Terrified, she felt him grab her shoulders and hurl her down on the cot. Then he was kneeling over her. When she tried punching him, he grabbed her wrist, showing amazing strength for a man so skinny.

"Please… " Marge screamed. "Oh, please, please, let me go. I didn't hurt you. I was the one who warned you."

"Stop sniveling like some brat," he ordered, and his hand whipped across her face, jerking her head to the side.

She cringed, trying to pull herself away from him. The pain against the side of her face dazed her. He pinned her to the bed, and she realized he was too strong for her. There was no way she would be able to fight him. And the helplessness of her situation totally overwhelmed her. This was a man, in his late thirties or early forties, and though he was thin, he was very strong. Her struggles seemed to make him very angry, and he had hit her. For now, she would have to go along with him and hope he wouldn't hurt her any more. Maybe she would find a chance to get away.

"Look," she said, trying to keep the shiver out of her voice. "Why are you doing this to me? If it weren't for me, you might be in a hospital. Why are you repaying me by hurting me?"

"Now look, kid," he said, his breath smelling of some kind of cheap wine, "I don't wanna hurt you. I just wanna be nice to you. Jesus! It's been so fucking long since I've dicked a broad. And now, like heaven sent you, you're here. You did me one favor last night. Now you're gonna do me another favor, and if you behave, maybe you'll like it, too."

"L-Look, why can't we talk about this? I mean, I'm just a girl."

"Cut the shit, honey. You have a cunt, and you have tits. In fact, you have nice big tits, which means you're old enough to be fucked. Now stop with this crap, because the fact of the matter is, my cock is going inside your twat. And there isn't a damn thing that'll stop it."

"But why… I mean… " and she was unable to finish, terror gripping her, strongly.

"Just shut up, little girl," he told her. "You think you're the first young kid I've ever fucked? Christ! This neighborhood is full of pre-teen whores. You'll probably be the oldest cunt I've fucked in the past two years."

"What are you talking about?" Marge asked.

"Stop the shit," he snapped. "Just because you have a better-looking body than most of those other little cunts doesn't mean I'm gonna pay you anything. I didn't pay them, either."

"Pay? I didn't come here to get paid."

"Look, kid. I told you to stop bullshitting me. You called me last night and warned me. Now you came here hoping I'd pay you a little some thing for your trouble. Then you flashed this terrific body at me, thinking if I wouldn't pay you for the phone call, maybe you could coax money out of me another way."

My God! Marge thought. This man is a real sickie.

"Now, wait a minute… " she said aloud, but she was cut off when he slammed his mouth against hers, shoving his bushy mustache into her nostrils. She jumped because of the savage way he was kissing her, feeling his sharp, yellow teeth cutting into her tender lips. She could smell his heavy breath and it almost nauseated her.

Taking a deep breath, Marge mustered her strength and pushed. She caught him by surprise, and he went shooting away from her. Desperately she tried getting up from the cot, but he grabbed her dress and pulled. For a moment the dress held, but the strain was too much, and it began tearing. He kicked her and she slammed right back down onto the cot. She lay there, panting, terrified, watching him leap to his feet and move to his easel. He grabbed a paint-covered palate knife and stumbled toward her. She saw the glint of the metal under the many paint colors, and her heart turned to ice.

Fear totally paralyzed her, as if she were surrounded by a cold, icy blanket. Her eyes remained locked on the palate knife, realizing a man crazy enough to show her such a weapon might also be insane enough to use it. This maniac had her totally at his mercy. No wonder Cousin Walter had sent goons to beat him up. She wondered why her Cousin Walter had bothered loaning him money in the first place. This man wasn't a bad risk, he was a horrible risk. He was criminally insane, and she was completely at his mercy. She wouldn't dream of challenging the knife. He could do whatever pleased him, and she didn't dare fight it.

Elliot Bessel was an ego-maniac. As far as he was concerned, the world had been created just so he could have a place to exist. Had he not come into existence there would never have been any need for the world. Therefore, everything in the world rightfully belonged to him, even if the other morons who shared this planet with him couldn't understand that. Their puny laws were meant for their own protection. Bessel needed no laws. He was a law unto himself. Even if the rest of the world was unable to understand that, he knew it. He was wise enough to let them think he would be subjugated by their rules and regulations, but whenever possible, he flouted them. He had raped more young girls than he had fingers on his hands, but in the past few months he had curtailed that activity a bit, knowing the foolish police might hurt him if they caught him. This was why Marge seemed like such a godsend to him.

He sensed her surrender when he brandished the palate knife, and wasted no time wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her to him, tearing off the rest of her dress.

Marge lay cowering on the cot, clad only in her bra and panties as he pulled off her shoes. He was still pointing the palate knife at her, but the fear which had initially seized her was rapidly going away, leaving only a dull ache inside her to finish whatever it was he had in mind. She shut her eyes, praying he would let her leave without hurting her.

She felt his hands grab the elastic waistband of her panties and draw them down over her ankles, and off. Now she felt the cool air blowing against the golden curls covering her pussy. Then he sliced the band holding her bra, and pulled it off, as well, and the air seemed to waft over her nipples, making them swell a little.

She whimpered, terrified that this man should treat her so cruelly. He was the most frightening thing she had ever encountered. Cousin Walter was one of the good guys compared to him.

"Uuuunngghh!" she squealed, jumping as she felt the cold of the palate knife press between her breasts. Her eyes opened and stared at it, and she gasped, seeing him press the edge of the knife lightly into her flesh, tracing chilling trails around each of her breasts, being careful not to touch the fleshy mounds. Then the knife moved slowly down the flatness of her belly, stopping only at her navel. Marge was thankful the palate knife didn't have a point on the end of it. From the wicked gleam in the man's rheumy eyes, she thought he might be tempted to dig into her belly button. And then the knife slid lower, moving through her blonde pubic curls.

"Golly! Golly! Don't… no!" she screeched insanely, trying to pull deeper into the mattress to escape the probing, poking prod of the blade at her naked tenderness.

The man grinned his evil smile at her, getting a perverse thrill from watching her cringe. To him, she was one of many frightened rabbits, good for toying with. He felt thrills curl through him, knowing he was the cause of her fear. Yes, at the moment he was God, and if he so desired, she would bow down to him. Even if the girl didn't realize it, she had been made for his pleasure, and if it pleased him to watch her scream and shudder, then he would make her do so. And if it pleased him to make her bleed, then he would do that, as well.

"Look at all the pretty colors on my palate knife," he said to her. "Aren't they beautiful?" he asked, lightly pressing the cold, flat of his blade against her vaginal lips, making her violently tremble.

Marge felt herself shaking beyond control and realized she might cut herself on his knife with her trembling. But she was unable to help herself.

"Pleeeaassse… " she gasped. "Oh, gosh! Don't hurt meeee… "

Her body tightened with horror as tears drib bled down her cheeks.

"Tell me," Bessel asked, "would you prefer I use my cock over here? Huh? Would you prefer it if I stuffed my fat cock into the tight little pussy between your legs? Or should I stick my palate knife into you?" And he began lightly scraping the instrument up and down against her tender vaginal lips. He pressed the outer labia a little. more insistently, and Marge was afraid he was cutting into her.

"Not that, not that," Marge screamed involuntarily, her torso trembling in terror from the vicious touch of the cold metal.

"You'd rather have my cock, wouldn't you?" He continued, tormenting her, knowing it was expectant that she answer in a positive way. He had to hear her say it out loud, so she could hear herself admit it!.

His free hand reached out and tangled itself in her blonde hair. Her eyes moved like rolling marbles, alternating between his diabolical face, and the palate knife she could feel pressing against her vaginal lips. As she watched, he slowly moved the knife higher until it once again rested between her breasts. Then he pressed the dun edge of the blade against her right nipple.

"Don't… don't… " Marge begged, looking up into the man's face, hoping to find some compassion. But the look hadn't changed. His dark eyes glowed with feral lust, a raw animal craving with no sense of right or wrong. And she knew he was hungry for her young, virginal body. Stretched out on the cot, she felt so totally at his evil mercy.

"Tell me," he insisted. "I want to hear you IY it. I want to know whether or not you'd prefer my cock filling your cunt to this knife. Come on, kid. Talk! I haven't cut out your tongue… yet."

He sneered at her, wickedly pulling her hair as he spat his obscene desire to her. She didn't know what to do or say. She was trapped. Her mother wasn't here to help her. No one could help her. This man could kill her and dump her in one of the empty apartments where she might not be found for days.

But to let this foul, disgusting man touch her? To allow him to make use of her naked body for his own lascivious, wanton desires? How could she submit to that? Yet, if she didn't, he might hurt her with his palate knife. Would he really harm her if she refused him?

Her eyes looked once more at his face. He seemed even older, now, the face seemingly prematurely lined and hardened with contempt. She saw many emotions in his face at once, but none of them was mercy. He might even kill her after he was through with her, but as long as he ravaged her body, she would be alive, and maybe, just maybe she'd be able to escape from him.

"O-okay," she finally gulped, dryly. "I prefer it."

"Prefer what?" he screamed like a raving maniac. "What would you prefer?" he asked, moving the edge of the knife over to her other nipple, all but cutting into it.

Gee! she thought to herself, feeling the pain of the knife-edge against her breast point. Why was he behaving like this? She was letting him do what he wanted. Why was he trying to make her say so many things out loud?

"Okay, okay," she sniveled. "Your cock. I'd prefer your cock to the knife," she managed, feeling ashamed and helpless, trembling to think he might be toying with her before starting to mutilate her body.

She thought of her Cousin Walter and how rough he had been with her, at first. But his roughness had been an act more than anything else. She had been able to sense the genuine affection he'd felt for her as the minutes had passed. And whatever he'd done to her, he had done with a strong desire to please her as much as he had made her please him. But this terrible man was only interested in himself.

Her grudging agreement to let him use his cock seemed to satisfy Elliot Bessel, and she heard the metallic zzzzz of a zipper going down. The weight on the cot shifted as he moved between her thighs. With almost wicked force her long, smooth limbs were tugged farther apart, baring the delicious pink trough of her vagina. He stared at it, taking it in, admiring the rich coral color surrounded by the heavy blonde fluff of hair. He thrilled to see the outer folds protectively closed around the narrow strip of curried inner lips. The delicately fluted inner labia were almost completely hidden. Just staring at her tender young pussy made him lick his lips, his eyes pasted to the luscious sight of them. He quietly put the palate knife down on the floor, his attention completely riveted to the white, trembling body of the young girl under him. She felt like heated satin, and her flesh was soft, yielding foam rubber.

Marge lay there, terrified when he moved, more terrified when he didn't. His hesitation seemed to unnerve her all the more, and she noticed he still had his dirty slacks on, even if his cock was protruding from the fly. Some of his jet-black pubic hair was also visible, making everything appear even more obscene. She couldn't pull her eyes away from it. Her body shuddered with revulsion as fear continued spasming through her. She knew he would be forcing it into her at any moment, and it would hurt. He wouldn't know she was a virgin until afterward, but she was certain her telling him beforehand would make little, if any, difference. Considering how thin and lanky Elliot Bessel appeared, his throbbing cock seemed immense. Maybe it wasn't quite as large as Cousin Walter's, but it was big, very big.

"I'm going to fuck you now, kid," he snapped, evilly. "You might say this is my way of thanking you for warning me, last night. I got a good cock, so you'll really like it."

Marge tried not to listen to the stupid things he was saying. He kept talking about how lucky she was to get his cock, but she knew, all she really wanted was for him to get this over and done with. She dug her heels into the flimsy mattress, preparing herself for his vicious onslaught, trying to make herself totally unfeeling.

Then she felt the thick, hardened knob of rubbery flesh slowly move forward. She could feel the excitement in his shuddering cock as the point pressed cruelly against the tender, cringing moistness of her vaginal lips. His hands were pressing down and out on her inner thighs, his clenching fists holding the softness of her loins, digging brutally into her. He was probing with his cock, aiming it at the slightly moist flanges of her totally defenseless vagina. She moaned and gasped, feeling the swollen, bulbous head slither between the inner lips, then slide up and down in the crevice, trying to find the tight, narrow hole. It rubbed up and down repeatedly, and more and more lubrication began seeping from her tight vagina, getting it ready for the unwanted penile invasion.

When she felt the first agonizing pressure, she jumped and cried out. Pain, strong, overpowering pain was flooding through her helpless body. Then, as if encouraged by her agony, the man attempted to surge forward between her sopping vaginal labia, only to feel her tightness preventing his entry. His hands pressed more strongly on her inner thighs, as if hoping to widen her tight cuntal tunnel as the girl shrieked out her terror. Little by little he started forcing his steel-solid cock into the soft, hair lined, vaginal mouth.

"Yaaaagghhh!" Marge screamed, feeling the tight-skinned cock starting to press into her hymen. The pain was agonizing. It shot up her spine again and again.

"Like it?" Bessel asked, actually anxious to hear her admit she was thrilled by the agony he was causing her. He was leering down at her pain-wracked body, and urged on by her wild screams, he pushed forward, trying to ram his broadsword more deeply into her seething tunnel. His mind his the resistance of her cherry from him. As far as he was concerned, the only reason she was so difficult to enter was, she hadn't been wet enough, inside. Not that it made any difference to him. He had thought the same thing about all the little girls he had raped. Virginity, to him, was a state of mind and nothing physical.

He pressed harder, and Marge felt her hymen suddenly snap inside her, like a rubber band. And then he was ploughing his maddened cudgel deeper and deeper, filling her virginal tightness with it.

"Eeeeyyyaaaggghh!" she screamed, writhing and wriggling like a worm impaled on a fishing hook, totally helpless to do anything but die.

With a deep grunt he completely filled her up, stuffing his entire cock into her. The dark, domelike head battered itself against her tender cervix as his balls seemed to slide into place between the widely separated cheeks of her buttocks.

"No more, no more, no more," she screamed. "Please… please… it hurts so much… so… much… oh no more!"

She squirmed under the cruel, painful impalement.

Bessel, feeling tight, crushing thrills surrounding his cock because of her virgin tightness, held it nailed into her, enjoying her writhings. The more she squirmed, the stronger the sensations for him. He ignored her cries of pain and shame.

Cruelly, the lust-aroused man wrapped his arms around her hips, forming a tight vise, tugging her even closer to him, driving his cock a final eighth of an inch into her, causing even more agony as the tip of his penis almost forced her cervix to open and contain him. The savagely inflated dong scoured her cuntal walls, scrubbing the soft, tender flesh. The pain was so great for her, Marge thought the bulbous cock would splinter her vaginal tissues, ripping and tearing her delicate inner flesh with its probing and thrusting.

With a groan of delighted thrills, the evil-looking man began slowly withdrawing his prodding penis from her pain-filled passageway, scorching the tender walls as it carefully slid out.

The helpless girl's face was wan and her body felt agonized with ten thousand different pains.

Gee! she thought, crying inside. How could the man do this to me after I saved him from such a cruel beating? I should never have called. If he'd been beat up good enough, they might have put him in a hospital and discovered what a sickie he is. What kind of monster is he?

"Yaaaaggghhh!" she screamed aloud, feeling a bit less pain as he ploughed into her tender softness again, slamming into her with full force. His long, rangy cock seemed to bloat itself even more now that it was inside her again.

Fresh, new tears began coursing down her cheeks, though the pain was lessening more and more swiftly, now. The mere idea of being so totally at the mercy of this maniac continued terrifying her. He was raping her and there was no way she could fight back.

The man started a wicked, powerful thrusting in and out of the widely stretched passage, forcing it to dilate even more to accept the thick broadness of the in-plunging staff. For the moment, Marge could feel nothing but a dull, thudding ache inside her, and a raw tenderness running through her vaginal walls. Now his hands reached up and clutched the fullness of her round, ivory orbs, pulling on the cherry nipples. He squeezed them roughly as he continued pounding into her, his fingers massaging her nipples into extending themselves to their full length. He had long, dirty nails, and they dug into the white, pliant globes of creamy flesh, leaving deep red marks in their wake. Then he lowered her mouth to his, instantly forcing his long, bitter tongue between her pearl-white teeth, seeking, and finding her own oral organ. He licked it again and again, as if trying to wipe the wine on his breath off, into her mouth. Her brain fought against this new invasion of her, because he was constantly letting her know, by his actions, she was his to be used, sullied, dirtied, even though she had never done him any harm.

The pain in her ravished depths had all but disappeared. And the dullness was starting to fade away too as the man's thick cock now began surging in and out of her with greater ease. He was constantly flexing his heavy phallus inside her, corkscrewing it through her velvet channel.

The lessening of the pain inside her was like a great weight slowly sliding off. She sighed, able to relax a little, letting muscles which had been keyed up because of his cruelty, slowly calm down. The relaxation became even greater with the final disappearance of all pain. But hidden behind the pain was something of which she had been unaware, simply because of the man who was fucking her. Because Bessel was the man mounting her, she was totally unprepared for the wispy tingles of warmth seeping through her. Her mind was completely unprepared for it. Now she began feeling a heady sensation trying to take control of her, wiping out all lingering traces of the pain which had permeated her youthful flesh only moments earlier. She was beginning to slowly drift upward, like smoke.

Now the man's inward plunges were feathery soft against her relaxed vaginal nerve-endings, and without realizing it, she raised her wide-open vagina even higher to gratefully accept his knifing cock, enjoying the complete engulfing of it.

"Uuuuuhhhhmm… " she sighed, her tight twat contracting and dilating, closing and opening in rhythm around the long, solid length of cock tightly buried inside her.

Bessel grinned an evil grin of triumph, recognizing the girl's surrender to her own mounting desire. He had not really expected her to enjoy it like this. Most of the other girls he fucked ended up screaming and crying, even when he was finished with them. But all of them had the good sense to keep their mouths shut, afterward. After all, without a witness, who would believe them, anyway. But God! To think this little bitch was really enjoying his cock. Shit! She was really made for fucking. Too bad he couldn't hold onto her.

Now he felt her interior completely yawn open, like a budding flower, to receive him. And she was sighing and groaning incoherently as her body began spasming with each of his forward jerks. He ran one hand over the smooth mound of her asscheeks, feeling the firm, resilient spheres fill his palm as they bounced up each time he rammed his plunging dong into her.

Marge's entire body began wildly gyrating, twisting, turning, and spinning as her face became lined with the strain of building passion. Her forehead was drenched with perspiration, and her lips seemed to ceaselessly work with endless mewls of delight. Shuddering delight filled her entire body from top to bottom, and she realized she was going to come, just as she had when Cousin Walter had licked her pussy. Only this was going to be a stronger climax. It was building in the depths of her tight vagina. She had been forced into this rape, and her cherry had been violently ripped out of her, but he would repay her for all of this with a maddening orgasm.

Anxious to reach fulfillment, she moved her own body more quickly now, pumping and hunching, trying to speed him up with her movements. All feelings of fear and shame were, for the moment, totally overridden. Her body had taken control of her mind, dictating its own needs, making her forget the horror she'd experienced to get this far.

The man seemed to be squirming deeper and deeper into her, thrusting with all the strength in his skinny, flat hips, feeling the smooth, wet flesh of her tight vagina clinging ever more tightly around his swollen dork. She was wriggling and gyrating under him, unable and unwilling to gain any kind of control over her mad passion. Her anxiety was inflated to never-before-felt peaks by the violent pleasure this savage man was pounding into her. She wallowed in his mad, brutal, unceasing thrusts as the cock slid in and out as if constructed solely for her tight cunt. He wildly fucked into her naked, helpless torso, building her wanton thrills, but not really caring, since his sole interest was the mounting passion shooting through him.

In spite of the shame and degradation he had brought to her, Bessel felt his body wrapped in the cocoon of her winding arms as her hands ran up and down his skinny back, touching his spine and his ribs, pulling his narrow, hairy chest against the fullness of her heavy breasts. This time it was her mouth that sought, and found, his, kissing him with agonizing hunger. She seemed to become an inhuman dynamo of overpowering want, forcing her thighs wider apart, pulling them back until her knees were touching her shoulders, seeking to completely swallow him into the heated red depths of her hotly frothing, lewdly gaping infinity of wide-open cunt.

"You… uhh… love it… " he snarled. "Say it, say it… you love it. You… ahhhh… love my cock…"

"Oh, golly, yes, yes, yes, I love it… uhhh… don't stop! Ooooh, please don't stop now! Ahhh, harder… drive it in, harder… oooooh…"

Her climax was fast approaching. Nothing would be able to stop it. She had gone past the point of no return as her pelvis continued pounding up into his groin, swallowing the full length of his spearing cock as it moved with wild, abandoned lust into her hotly pulsating depths.

"Eeeeyyyyaaaaggghh! I'm… uggh! Aaaarrrgggh… commmiiinnnggg!"

She screamed, and then her body arched up off the cot. Her thighs were tightly locked around him, and she clung to him like a frightened child would cling to its father as she quivered and trembled and shivered and began spastically shaking in an insane vibrating rhythm which spewed her climactic lubrication in a warm flood all over his moving cock. Blast after blast of blistering heat flooded through her nakedness, inundating her white body with burning power. Her head spun as if caught up in an undertow of some kind, increasing and heightening the thrilling enjoyment of sensuality while nearly rending her senses into wild shards.

The power of her orgasm unleashed the internal control Bessel had maintained over himself. His prolongation of orgasm had nothing to do with the girl, but he knew the longer he held off, the better it would feel when he finally did come. All thought of anything was completely driven from his mind as he finally released his sputtering shots of thick sperm. He gasped and sighed, feeling the heavy pressure in his balls become unbearable, thrilling to the way his scrotum whacked against the tiny raisin of her asshole. He could feel the wild, bursting explosions in his loins. With long, loud, shattering grunts he continued blasting into her, shooting his scalding semen deep into the silken depths of her anxious, receptive womb. He thrust forward again and again, keeping time with the spurts he was shooting into her body, and finally, when the spurts had diminished, and his long cock had shrunk to near-nothingness, he fell back, pulling out of her and plopping on the floor.

Marge wanted to lie there and ride out her after-climax, but it would have been foolish on her part to wait for Bessel to regain his strength. She could see she had sapped him for just a few moments, so she got to her feet and slid into her shoes. But the rest of her clothing was in tatters. Hurrying to the lone closet in the room, she opened it and found a clean pair of dungarees and a pullover shirt. She hurriedly put these on, and she was about to leave when the door was kicked open and the four goons who worked for Walter came trouping in.

"See," the one who had been watching below, said. "I told you guys I saw shadows moving around in here."

"You, girlie, get the hell outta here right now," another of the muscle men said.

Marge didn't have to be told twice. She ran for the door and began hurrying down the stairs. But long before she was out of hearing range, she could hear Bessel screaming as the four men started working him over. She would have felt sorry for him had he been decent. Now she was glad to hear him yell, and for the first time she could understand why her cousin had to employ such men as the four beating on Elliot Bessel.