Richard Van Dorne - Ravished wife

"Who's the girl?" Jeff asked.

"She works for Wade," Sammy replied defensively. "She's one of his prostitutes."

Jeff stared at the young man for almost a minute before speaking. So Sammy did have a real woman, he thought. He wondered how Sammy felt about knowing all the men his girlfriend had been screwed by. Maybe it excites him, maybe he just doesn't care. That would have to be love, Jeff thought, knowing that he couldn't love his wife if she went to bed with another man, especially if she knew how to do all the things that Carmen did with her mouth, and with the furry little animal that breathed between her legs.

"Who is she?" Jeff asked.

"Her name's Paula Moore," Sammy told him. "She doesn't know I'm here yet, but she'll talk if I tell her. She's in big trouble with Jackson and his henchmen. That's the main reason I'm here. Two of his men came to her apartment this morning when I was there. They had a huge St. Bernard with them, and when I left I overheard them talking about how they were going to use the dog to punish her for the mistake that she had made."

Jeff listened, amazed at the cruelty that Jackson and his hoods used to get their petty revenge.

"… So that's how I heard about you," Sammy continued. "They're going to do something to you too, and I thought you'd want to be warned. That's why I wanted to tell you everything I know. If you're after them, then you can help me. There's no one else that I can turn to."

Jeff sat for a minute thinking about what Sammy had said. He tried to picture the two hundred pound St. Bernard driving his hard pink penis in and out of the girl's crotch, but his imagination would not allow him to view the thought for long. He remembered hearing about such things when he was in the service, but he always thought it too far below him to even imagine such a thing, and now he had met a man whose girlfriend had almost suffered the same fate.

"Do you know if she got the note?" Jeff asked him.

"I'm not sure," he answered. "But she said she always gets the mail in the morning, so she must have. I told her to get a hotel room and call me here at noon."

Jeff looked at his watch and back at the young man sitting across from him.

"It's one-thirty now," he said. "Maybe we'd better find her before we go on. If they did get to her, she's going to need a doctor."

Sammy looked at his own watch. God, it was late. He didn't realize that they had been talking for so long, but she had to be alright, she just had to. If Carl and Red had gotten hold of her she could be dead, or worse. That dog could have driven her insane.

"Come on," Jeff said, getting up from his seat. "We'll split up and try to find her, then we'll talk."

Just as Sammy nodded and started to rise, a waiter brought a telephone to the table and plugged it into the wall.

"It's for you, Mr. Lee."

"Hello," he said into the receiver.

"Oh, Mr. Lee," his secretary's voice said. "I'm so glad I've found you. A man called. I think he said he was a doctor or something. You're supposed to call home right away. He wasn't very clear, but said that something was wrong and you should call home immediately."

Pamela! he thought. God, what was wrong? She could be sick or hurt, or anything.

"O.K.," he said. "I'll call her right away."

Jeff hung up the phone and looked at Sammy.

"My wife's sick, or something. I've got to call home. Look, you get started in some of the spots you know," he said. "Start with her apartment. I'll get in touch with my contacts as soon as I find out about my wife. Call me at my office later on."

Sammy agreed and quickly left the bar, worried about what he might find at Paula's apartment. As he left the room, Jeff turned to the telephone and dialed his home number.

The phone rang once, twice, then…

"Hello Mr. Lee," Wade Jackson's voice came over the receiver.

Pamela Lee sat in her kitchen draining the contents of her tenth cup of morning coffee. It was nearly noon and she had spent the last few hours going over her proposed guest list for the Charity Ball that her husband objected to so often.

Jeff always seems to make things harder for me, she thought as she got up from the table. Pamela knew that her social commitment was important to Jeff's career, but he would hear none of it. As far as he was concerned, her seven-day-a-week society schedule was a complete waste of time. If only he could understand that she was doing it for him, she thought. He was so intelligent and worldly, yet he would not give the slightest bit of ground when it came to social contacts.

"Absurd," she said aloud as she walked into the large bathroom and turned on the light. Silently she reached over and turned on the bath water, checking for the right temperature. Her active mind stopped thinking about her husband for a moment and she turned her attention to her image in the mirror. She slipped her robe from her soft shoulders and automatically hung it on a hook. The bath water was heating the room and she took a deep breath of the steamy air, feeling it caress her lungs with its dampness.

"Mmmmm," she moaned softly and stretched her arms high above her head, loosening her long supple muscles.

Her eye caught her image in the mirror and she clinically examined herself. Not bad, she thought, not bad at all for a thirty year old woman. She ran her eyes along the graceful lines of her stretched body, observing the firm roundness of her breasts and the sleek sensuous curve of her hips. She lowered her arms and touched her hands to her breasts, tensing for a moment at the tingling sensation that shot through her thighs.

It was always the same, she thought to herself as her fingers toyed with the pink buds of her nipples. Every time she touched herself there softly, the tingling would start in her thighs, and sometimes, when she weakened, she would hold her fingers on her breasts, caressing the nipples until they hardened and small droplets of warm moisture would form at the mouth of her vagina. It seemed so strange, and really, even good. But Pamela had listened to her mother for twenty seven years, and whatever mother said was right. She could remember the older woman telling her of the ugly grunting that men made when they made love with their big hairy bodies.

Pamela could not understand why her husband would get so passionate, almost animal-like, she thought. She ran her fingers down her body, slowly stroking the soft skin while she recalled the last time she and Jeff had made love. He had been rough as always, consumed in his animal desire. He never hurts me, she thought, but he's never tender. He never touches me like this.

As she thought about her husband's sweating body rocking back and forth on top of her, her fingers sought the soft silken hair that grew at the apex of her thighs, and experienced the same tingling that she had when she had touched her breasts. She remembered that her mother had told her that a woman's body was to be treasured, and cared for. Maybe it would tingle when Jeff touched her too, if only he could be more gentle and civilized, she thought as her fingers explored the trembling pink lips of her vagina. If he could be gentle I might even enjoy myself, too.

This was the farthest that Pamela Lee had ever gone when thinking about sex. Always before her mother's words had had the power to curb the rising desire that she felt when she touched the soft roundness of her breasts. But this time her fingers had wandered between her thighs and were causing her mother's words to fade into the background.

Suddenly her whole body trembled and she tried to shake off the rising desire that flooded her moistening vagina. Once before, ten years ago, she had felt the same passion rise in her loins. She remembered sliding her finger back and forth across the quivering lips until the tiny bud of her clitoris rose to erection. There had been no turning back that time, and she had fallen into a frenzy of masturbation, rubbing the finger harder and harder, until suddenly her whole body had shaken with convulsions, leaving her weak.