Author Unknown: Glenda gets hers

Sadistic passion strobed through Rigorettino's body. Grunting thickly, he scooted forward, squatting on her big, bouncy breasts. Roughly, Hank pulled the soiled jock strap from between Glenda's teeth.

He was jacking his pulsating tube steak hard and fast, the savage heat mounting in his throbbing, bloated nuts. Grabbing a handful of Glenda's hair, he dragged her face forward, slapping and rubbing his twitching dong all over her cheeks and lips and nose and eyes.

"Open wide, slut!" Hank muttered in a taut, strangled voice. "Get ready for my thick, hot stud-juice! Take it, bitch! Y-Yeah! Take it! Aaaaaarrrrgggh!"

Rigorettino's boner went off like a Roman candle. As body-searing jolts of bestial rapture seared the handsome jock from head to toe, his jerking dong pumped thick, steamy jets of sperm all over Glenda's gasping face. His heavy load soaked her cheeks and chin, spattering over her hair.

Big gobs of semen blasted over Glenda's sluttishly extended tongue, fountaining in her hungry mouth, running in warm, yummy rivulets down her greedy gullet. Hank shuddered and gasped, tossing his head from side to side, beads of sweat spraying from the short ends of his straw blond hair. He slapped Glenda's face a few times with his aching pecker, smearing sperm across her flushed cheeks and pouty red lips.

Bob Smith and Moose, who were watching, were masturbating their own solid truncheons. Now, as Hank stood up and swaggered to where his clothes were discarded, the big brutes scrambled up to Glenda's head.

They forced the bound beauty to suck and lick their musky dicks all over, cramming them down her throat one at a time. They pumped their pricks in a frenzy of lust, swiping her panting lips and darting tongue with their fat cock-knobs.

They worked their peckers vigorously, till almost in unison, Bob and Moose roared in savage pleasure and let loose with torrents of pungent man-cream, saturating Glenda's face and pumping her mouth full with fresh wads of gooey sperm and semen…

Hank bent down and cut the ropes which bound together Glenda's hands and feet. The stunned, exhausted red-head lay sprawled on the hard concrete, moaning feebly. She ached all over. She was dizzy. She didn't even think she would be capable of moving for quite some time.

The three studs who had just brutally raped her were guffawing and joking coarsely as they zipped up their pants and put on their shoes and shirts.

Hank strode up to where Glenda lay and squatted down to look at her.

"Forgot my shoe-laces, baby," he drawled mockingly, unknotting the strings which dug painfully into her bruised knockers. "Thanks for the date! You ever need a good, hard fuck, just give me a call!"

With a loud laugh, he sprinted over to the car, into which the other two guys had already piled. The car went screeching away from the deserted warehouse, leaving Glenda alone and naked among the tattered remnants of her clothes…

Somehow, Glenda made it home that night. She managed to pin together her clothes in a semi-respectable fashion and took a cab as soon as she saw one.

She felt numb and blank. For a few days, she seemed to live in a dream world where nothing made sense and everything was routine.

Then, a wild surge of energy possessed her. She decided to make her mark on the world. She quit college and prepared to leave for the Big Apple, New York City! She was going to sear across the modeling scene and make it on the covers of those fashion magazines if it killed her!

Glenda Farrell the spoiled, naive little princess was no more. In her stead was a woman, a woman with passion and ambition…

A woman with needs, deep needs, dark needs. Needs which plumbed the depths of her soul. She was confused, excited, frightened, but above all, determined to Live with a capital L!

Police Chief Rupert Farrell had wanted to fuck his daughter for years. Ever since his wife, Sharon, had died, in fact.

Rupert and Sharon had had an idyllic marriage. He was a hot shot policeman in Potter's Bluff, the son and the grandson of mayors of the city. He liked the power and the good a policeman had in the community. It gave Rupert a sense of strength and self-worth.

Sharon had been a vivacious, lovely thing, a redhead like Glenda, and she was the winner of several major beauty pageants, including Miss Arkansas, before she married Rupert.

Glenda, their only child, was their pride and joy, and when she grew up to be such a bright, gorgeous, popular young thing, they were proud as punch.

Then, Sharon died and Rupert was all alone in the wood frame house on Lothario Lane with his buxom teenaged daughter. He tried dating other women for a while. He was a ruggedly handsome fellow, and became the youngest Police Chief in the state, so he was considered quite a good catch.

But he couldn't get very interested in the other women. His memories of Sharon obsessed him, and he found himself looking at Glenda and seeing Sharon; seeing Sharon slowly, voluptuously become all of those things he had found the most exciting in his wife…

Rupert began to drink quite a lot. He lavished affection and money on his spoiled child, and mentally punished himself for the incestuous desires which started to burn in his brain and in his balls…

Lately, he had begun to frequent prostitutes. He chose red-haired girls in their late teens. He created elaborate fantasy-scenarios in sleazy motel rooms, and paid through the teeth for this luxury.

Sometimes, when he had drunk enough and was lust-crazed enough, he made the girl say she was "Glenda" and call him "Daddy". Later, he would be almost prostrated with remorse…

When Glenda announced one day that she was planning to leave home and move to New York, it affected Rupert terribly. It was as if his wife had told him she was leaving him for another man… He felt guilty about this, and tried to be happy and supportive of his daughter's momentous decision.

"What's good for my Princess is good enough for me!" he said.

Glenda gave him a strange, tender look, something subtle flickering in her long-lashed hazel eyes. She had penetrated a barrier of her father's personality, and had seen things that had been invisible before.

Glenda was especially kind and sweet to her father during the last few weeks before she left town. One day, about a week before she left, Glenda said to her father, "Daddy, on Tuesday night, I'm going to have a special party for you, so don't make any plans."

"What kind of party, Glenda?" Rupert Farrell inquired, curious.

"A party for you and me. Your birthday is next month, and I won't be there, so we'll celebrate early. And we'll celebrate my big step towards fame and riches!"

Tuesday night, Rupert was sprawled in his big arm chair in the den, watching a football game on the boob tube. He had a Heineken clutched in one beefy paw, and about six empty beer cans were scattered on the floor at his feet.

Rupert Farrell was a strikingly handsome man. He was forty, and seemed in his prime. He was big and brawny. A two year stint in the Marines had taught him self-discipline and bodily pride.

Now, he took great care of his physique, working out at the gym at the police station at least three times a week.

Six foot three, Rupert Farrell weighed two hundred and sixty pounds of beefy brawn. He had a squarish head with a belligerent, lantern-like jaw. Thick, surly brows shaded his deep-set, storm-gray eyes.

He had craggy, copper-toned good looks, like one of those rugged guys in Marlborough commercials. His black hair was cropped within a half inch of his scalp in military fashion.

That evening, Rupert's red and black checkered lumberjack shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the heavy slabs of his chest muscles and thick coils of the dense, dark hair which foamed over much of his body. His well-worn dungarees bulged massively at the crotch. His legs were long and thick at the thighs, trunks of powerful muscle.