FOREWORD

 

The blonde with the big tits lay bound on the bed, tied and completely surrendered to the will of the two teenagers who stood over her.

One of those teenagers was a sexy girl. The other was a boy.

"You slut," the girl snarled at the blonde. "You fuck teenaged boys and you know that they should be left to teenaged girls."

"Why would any boy want to fuck your old pussy?" the boy asked with a sneer.

And she knew that, in a way, they were right. She did fuck teenaged boys and she did take from them their vitality. But she knew that deep in their hearts those boys thought of her as an old slut, even though she was just barely thirty-one.

"Worthless bitch," the girl said. "I am going to make you eat my sweet young cunt."

"Shitty slut," the boy chimed in, "I am going to fuck you with my big young cock."

"But before we do either of those things, you cunt," the girl said, "we are going to beat you. You know you deserve that beating, don't you?"

And the bound, sexy blonde nodded her head quickly.

She did know that she deserved the beating, the beating that came from the arms of youth. She closed her eyes and waited for the rest of the punishment to start, knowing that the punishment would be followed by the young and brutal lust of teenagers, a young master and a young mistress.

She would accept it all, she thought. She knew that she deserved it all.

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

The young woman lay on the floor with her hands bound behind her back, bound with a strip of leather that was tight. She would have cried out, but the rough, leather ball was stuffed in her mouth and stopped any sound from escaping her throat.

She was a dark-haired, big-titted girl. Men had always liked those big tits. But the young man who stood over her, the muscled, tanned, young man with the dark hair that was messed up, did not seem to care about her tits at all, He had wrapped a wide strip of leather around those tits and that leather was tight, so tight that she was having trouble breathing.

Except for those leather strips, the one around her wrists and the wide one around her tits, she was naked.

And she did not know what the man planned to do with her now. She looked back over her shoulder. The man was handsome and sexy. She had been planning to fuck him a couple of nights before, when he had first started talking to her in the bar in Kansas City. She had liked his dark good looks and she had also liked the wild, savage way that he stared at her. The man had seemed a little dangerous then and she had been attracted to the danger that she sensed in him.

But she had never realized that he could be this dangerous, and now she wondered if she was going to come out of this alive.

Two nights ago the man had taken her back to a hotel room in Kansas City, in the seedy section of the town.

And he had given her some wine to drink. After she had tasted that wine, she had started to feel a little tired, a little dreamy. And then she had passed out. It was only later, when she awoke, that she figured out he had drugged her.

When she did wake up, she was bound and gagged in the back seat of an old car and she recognized the dark, messed hair of the man who was driving the car and she had wondered where he was taking her.

They had wound up in this little house in the middle of the woods and the man had shot something in her veins that had put her to sleep again.

Now that she was awake, she looked at him and tried to remember the name that he had given her in that bar in Kansas City. It was probably not his correct name anyway, the big-titted bound girl reasoned, but she still wanted to know his name. She still wanted something that she could hang onto, something that made some kind of sense. In her drugged, sleepy state, she figured that, if she only knew the man's name, she would be safer, more at ease in her pain.

And then the name came to her brain, quickly like a bolt of lightning. Ralph, she thought. He had said that his name was Ralph, He had talked about serving in Vietnam, but that might have been a lie too. She did not know for certain. She wished that she could speak to him, that that leather ball was not in her mouth. She wished that she could ask him something about Vietnam and try to catch him up on his false history that he had given her. But she could not speak and she was very frightened.

Her eyes grew wide as she saw the man walk around her. He was naked and his prick was long and fat and meaty, even when it was not erect. She wondered if he had fucked her while she was drugged. She suspected that he had not. She suspected that such a man would want to do something other than fuck a girl like her.

And she saw the whip that the man carried in his hand and she thought that she knew just what it was that he wanted to do to her.

Again she saw the almost fiery danger in the man's dark eyes and she trembled there in her leather bondage.

"Slut," the man growled down at her. "You are a slut and you are going to be punished."

Punished for what? The woman did not know. She had never considered herself a slut. She was just a fun-loving secretary from Kansas City who had gone out on a Saturday night to find a man. She had just been very lonely there in the big city, lonely for some kind of companionship. Sure, she would have fucked him, she thought, but she was not a slut.

The man knelt down in front of her face and looked down on her. He touched her dark hair with his hand. His touch was surprisingly soft, but the other hand still held the whip and she knew that that whip would land on her body in a harsh, cracking way.

"Do you remember my name?" the man said softly, almost tenderly to the woman who lay there under him.

She could not answer him. Her mouth was gagged with that leather ball.

"My name is Ralph Fredericks," the man said. "Ralph Fredericks. Remember that, slut. My name is Ralph Fredericks and I was an officer in Vietnam. Remember that, too. Remember that I was an officer. Only an officer has a right to do such things to you. Remember that."

The young woman just looked at him. She knew that she would remember everything about this man.

She knew that this man would haunt her nightmares every day and every night for the rest of her life, even if she did get out of this alive.

She would never be able to forget that handsome, strange man and his whip and his cock.

"When I was in Vietnam," the man said, "I learned not to trust sluts. The girls who serviced the boys in Saigon during the night might be the ones who planted bombs during the day. One of those sluts in one of those little villages killed my buddy, you know. Did I tell you about that?"

The girl did not remember if he had told her anything about anything. She just looked at him with her eyes wide.

"My buddy was George Gleason, a good guy. He was an officer too. And he was the best friend that I ever had. George Gleason and I were out in the villages, trying to train the Vietnamese to fight for themselves. But they would not learn. We knew that they would never learn. We knew that the minute the fighting started they would turn tail and run. But we were ordered to train them as best we could and we were good soldiers. So we trained them. We drilled them and showed them how to clean their weapons and all the time, we knew that they would never be good soldiers, that they would run in battle. And, of course, they did. But the battle did not come until after George was dead. I am sort of happy that old George was not alive to see it. Seeing those Vietnamese soldiers run would have broken his heart, you know."

The young woman did not know anything anymore. She just stared up at the man with the whip.

"But it was a slut who killed George. He had a wife and kids back in San Diego, but he liked to have a good time. I kept telling him that he should stay away from those sluts, save himself for his wife when he got home after the eleven months that he spent over there in that hell-hole. But George would not listen to me. George said he wanted to have some real fun. He said that he was horny all the time and those Vietnamese girls did look sort of sexy in that strange, little animal kind of way that they had. He just could not resist the sluts over there. Every week or so he would go out in search of one, the daughter of a village farmer or something like that. The fathers would give their daughters to George because they thought that he would give them extra rice if they let him fuck their daughters. George did give extra rice sometimes and he often promised the fathers that they would be taken care of. He told them that their daughters would be able to go back to the States with him. Of course, he had no intention of taking them back to the States. He had a wife and kids in the States. But George was quite a story-teller, quite a fun guy, you know."

The naked man grinned and shook his head as if he could still not believe the fun that he and George had had together, the funny lies that George had told those poor frightened farmers, the young woman thought.

"Anyway," the man said, continuing his story, "George soon found himself a regular girl, the kind of girl that he really liked. Her name was Lin or Ling or something like that. Some gook slut name. She was sixteen and she could fuck all night. Her father was a farmer and she lived with her family until George got himself so stuck on her that he brought her over to the tent that he shared with me and actually had the girl move in with us. I would lay awake at night and listen to George grunt on the other side of the tent, grunt and groan while that little gook girl whimpered and giggled as he fucked her. She was a slut, that was all. But she was a special slut to George. It used to hurt me when I would hear them over there in the middle of the night. I was keeping myself pure and I had always thought that George should do the same thing. But I understood that some men just could not keep themselves pure, no matter how hard they tried. Course, George never tried that hard to be pure. He was a fun-loving guy and he thought that that gook girl had the sweetest little pussy in Vietnam. That is what he would tell me. He would say, 'Ralph, that gook has the sweetest little pussy in this God-forsaken country. And she will do anything. She can give head like a pro too.' One night, he was drunk and he told that gook girl to go over to my side of the tent and fuck me too. It was dark, but I heard him say that and I heard the girl get up and come across the place, giggling like a little child. I had my pistol with me. I always slept with my pistol. And I turned on the light above my bed and I pointed that pistol at the girl and I said to George, 'I don't care what you do, good buddy, but I am going to keep myself pure. If that girl takes one more step toward me, I am going to blow her fucking head off.' And George just laughed and called her back over to his bed, the little makeshift bunk that he had set up for himself in that tent. I guess you could say that he saved that little gook girl's life that night. I would have killed her if he had not called her off me. But how did she thank him for saving her life? Do you have any idea how a gook thinks a G. I. for fucking her and saving her life and promising to take her back to the States with him?"

The bound girl said nothing. The leather ball was still in her mouth and she thought that it was strange that this man should keep asking her questions when he knew that she could not answer him, even to tell him that she did not know how a gook girl repays a man for saving her life.