dk.nightchills-第25部分
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hat she loved it； she would love it。 No plaints afterward。 No recriminations。 Just the act…and then to hell with her。 Here； ready for the first time to use a woman exactly as he wanted； he found the reality more exhilarating than the dreams he'd had so many years to elaborate upon。
She regarded him quizzically。 〃Is that all？〃
〃No。〃 His voice was hoarse。
〃What do you want？〃
He went to the nearest lamp； switched it on； and sat down on one of the sofas。 〃You stand where you are；〃 he said。 〃Answer my questions and do what I say。〃
〃All right。〃
〃What's your name？〃
〃Brenda。〃
〃How old are you； Brenda？〃
〃Twenty…six。〃
He took his handkerchief from his hip pocket； wiped his face。 He looked at the paintings of sailing ships。 〃Your husband likes the sea？〃
〃Then he likes paintings of the sea。〃
〃No。 He doesn't care for them。〃
He had only been talking to pass time while he decided how he wanted to proceed with her。 Now； her unexpected answer confused him。 〃Then why the hell do you have all these paintings？〃
〃I was born and raised in Cape Cod。 I love the sea。〃
〃But he doesn't care for it。 Why does he let you hang these damned things everywhere？〃
〃He knows I like them；〃 she said。
He wiped his face again； put the handkerchief away。 〃He knows if he took them off the wall； you'd freeze him out in bed。 Wouldn't you； Brenda？〃
〃Of course not。〃
〃You know you would； you little bitch。 You're a pretty little piece。 He'd do anything to keep you happy。 Any man would。 Men have been running to do your bidding since you were old enough to fuck。 You snap your fingers； and they dance。 Don't they？〃
Puzzled； she shook her head。 〃Dance？ No。〃
He laughed bitterly。 〃A game of semantics。 You know I didn't really mean 'dance。' You're like all the others。 You're a bitch； Brenda。〃
She squinted。 Frowned。
〃I say you're a bitch。 Am I right？〃 Her frown vanished。 〃Yes。〃
〃I'm always right。 Isn't that true？〃 〃Yes。 You're always right。〃
〃What am I？〃
〃You're the key。〃
〃What are you？〃
〃I'm the lock。〃
He was feeling better by the minute。 Not so tense as he had been。 Not so jittery。 Calm。 In control。 As he'd never been。 He pushed his glasses up on his nose。 〃You'd like me to strip you naked and screw you。 Wouldn't you like that； Brenda？〃
She hesitated。
〃You'd like it；〃 he said。
〃I'd like it。〃
〃You'd love it。〃
〃I'd love it。〃
〃Take off your halter。〃
Reaching behind her back； she slipped the knot； and the polka…dot cloth fell to her feet。 The flesh beneath was white； in stark and erotic contrast to her dark tan。 Her breasts were neither large nor small； but exquisitely curved； upthrust。 A few freckles。 Pink nipples not much darker than her untanned skin。 She kicked the halter out of her way。
〃Touch them；〃 he said。
〃My breasts？〃
〃Squeeze them。 Pull on the nipples。〃 He watched； found her movements too mechanical； and said； 〃You're horny； Brenda。 You want to be fucked。 You can't wait to have me。 You need it。 You want it。 You want it more than you've ever wanted it in your life。 You're almost sick with wanting it。〃
As she continued to caress herself； her nipples swelled and turned a darker shade of pink。 She was breathing heavily。
He giggled。 He couldn't suppress it。 He felt terrific。 So terrific。 〃Take off your shorts。〃
She did。
〃And your panties。 You're a real blonde； I see。 Now； put one hand between those pretty legs。 Finger yourself。 That's it。 That's good。 That's a good girl。〃
Standing； her feet wide apart； masturbating； she was a stunning sight。 She threw back her head； golden hair trailing like a banner； mouth open； face slack。 She was gasping for breath。 Shivering。 Twitching。 Moaning。 With her free hand； she was still caressing her breasts。
The power。 Good God； the power he had over them now； would always have over them； from this day forward！ He could e into their homes； into their most sacred and private places； and once inside do whatever he wished with them。 And not just with the women。 Men too。 If he ordered it of them； the men
would mewl and crawl to him on their hands and knees。 They would beg him to screw their wives。 They'd give him their daughters； their girl children。 They wouldn't deny him any experience； however extravagant or outrageous。 He would demand every thrill； and he would enjoy each of them。 But on the whole； he would be a benign ruler； a benevolent dictator； more like a father than a jailer。 No jackboots in their faces。 He laughed at that last thought。 Ten years ago； when he was still conducting lecture tours and writing about the future of behavior modification and mind control； he was subjected to extensive ridicule and vehement condemnation from some members of the academic munity。 In lecture halls； all but forcibly detained at the end of his speeches； he had listened to countless self…righteous bores droning through homilies about invasion of privacy and the sanctity of the human mind； They quoted hundreds of great thinkers； epigrams by the score…some of which he remembered to this day。 There was one about the future of mankind amounting to little more than a jackboot in the face。 Well； that was crap。 Jackboots； and the cruel authoritarian state they symbolized； were only a means of keeping the masses in line。 Now； with his drug and the key…lock program； jackboots had bee obsolete。 No one would have a jackboot pushed in his face。 Of course； for selected women； he had something else to push in their faces。 Massaging himself through his trousers； he laughed。 The power。 The sweet； sweet power。
〃Brenda。〃
Shuddering； gasping； her knees bending slightly； she climaxed as her index finger worked industriously between her legs。
〃Brenda。〃
At last she looked up at him。 She was beginning to perspire。 Her hair was dark and damp at the brow。
He said； 〃Go to that sofa。 Kneel on it with your back to me； and brace your arms against the pillows。〃
When she was in position； her white butt thrust up at him； she looked over her shoulder。 〃Hurry。 Please。〃
Laughing； he shoved the coffee table out of the way； sent it sliding off the carpet； across the hardwood floor and into the
magazine rack。 He stood behind her； dropped his trousers and his yellow…striped shorts。 He was ready； the veins about to burst； hard as iron； bigger than he'd ever been； big as a stallion's gun； a horse cock。 And red。 So red it looked as if it had been smeared with blood。 He ran one hand over her buttocks； over the golden hairs on her back； along her side； under to the swinging breast； pinched the nipple； smoothed her flank； pinched her ass； slipped his fingers between her thighs； to her pubes。 She was wet； dripping； far more ready then he was。 He could even smell her。 Giggling； he said； 〃You're a bitch in more ways than one。 A regular little bitch dog。 A little animal。 Aren't you； Brenda？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Say you're a little animal。〃 〃I am。 I'm a little animal。〃 The power。
〃What do you want； Brenda？〃
〃I want you to screw me。〃
〃Do you？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃How bad do you want it？〃
〃Real bad。〃
Sweet； sweet power。
〃What do you want？〃
〃You know！〃
〃Do I？〃
〃I already said！〃
〃Say it again。〃
〃You're humiliating me。〃
〃I haven't even begun。〃
〃Oh； God。〃
〃Listen to me； Brenda。〃
〃What？〃
〃Your cunt's getting hotter。〃
She groaned softly。 Shuddered。 〃Feel it； Brenda？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Hotter and hotter。〃
〃I don't… I can't…〃
〃You can't stand it？〃
〃So hot。 Almost hurts。〃
He smiled。 〃Now what do you want？〃 〃I want you to screw me。〃
See； Miriam？ I am somebody。
〃What are you； Brenda？〃
〃I am the lock。〃
〃What else are you？〃 〃A bitch。〃
〃I can't hear it often enough。〃
〃A bitch。〃
〃In heat？〃
〃Yes； yes。 Please！〃
Poised to enter her； dizzy with excitement； demoniac； electrified by the power he held； Salsbury had no illusions that his orgasm； deep within the silken regions of this woman； was the most important aspect of the rape。 The spasmed outpouring of a tablespoon or two of semen was only the punctuation at the end of the sentence； at the conclusion of his declaration of independence。 During the past half hour； he had proved himself； had freed himself from the dozens of bitches who had messed in his life all the way back to and including his mother； especially his mother； that goddess of bitches； that empress of ball…breakers。 After her came the girls who were frigid and the girls who laughed at him and the girls who whined about his poor technique and the girls who rejected him with unconcealed distaste and Miriam and the contemptible whores to whom he had been forced to resort in later years。 Brenda Macklin was only a metaphor； written into his life by chance。 If it hadn't been her； it would have been someone else this afternoon or tomorrow or the day after tomorrow。 She was the voodoo doll； the totem with which he would exorcise some of those bitches from his past。 Each inch of prick he jammed into her was a blow to the Brendas of years gone by。 Each stroke…the more brutal it was the better…was an announcement of his triumph。 He would pound her。 Bruise her。 Use her until she was raw。 Hurt her。
With every blade of pain he sent through her； he would be cutting each of those hated women。 By mounting t
