Oh Christ... ! What would it taste like... its cum? Less than human? Gamey? Sweet? Tangy! As hot and pungent as Mark's? God, it didn't matter now! She wanted it... wanted it shooting hotly into her mouth... to swallow his animal jism, feeling it dribbling down her throat, filling her raging belly just as Caesar's massive cock pummeling into her maddeningly stretched rectum was going to fill her bowels to the bursting point from behind! Together, they could drown her in their scalding, beast- sperm and... and she would cum like a boiling geyser! A-Any minute now... ! Ooohhh... she wanted them all to cum together... together... !

She sensed the-oncoming explosion of the wolfish brute beneath her, its hardness abruptly swelling in her mouth and wildly she sucked it! It's tongue ceased in the blazing, wet crevice of her inflamed cunt, a weird whine come from down between her wide-spread legs as the first squirt of animal-cum gushed hotly up into her greedily working mouth! Then, it spurted an unending stream squirting from it! Lustfully, she swallowed in thick hungrily absorbing gulps, locking her lips tightly around the rhythmically ejaculating cock, determined not to lose the tiniest drop of the fiery cascading liquid!

Caesar growled fiercely from deep in his powerful throat. Uncontrollably, Lydia whimpered around the brute-cock slowly deflating in her mouth, feeling the thickly boiling liquid of Caesar's animal-sperm shoot far up into her rectum, and detonating her own final, shattering climax! Delicious spasms of insane release frantically rocketed through her! She could feel every contraction of his huge, hardened animal-cock as it incessantly squirted its load of wild, burning semen deep, deep up into her eager, inwardly sucking bowels!

On and on it went, like some pagan ritual performed as an offering to the devil himself, human gasps and animal growls filling the morning air in that alter-like alcove... until finally it was over, and the disheveled auburn-haired girl was left lying obscenely spread out on the earthen spot dampened by her own urine. Once, she raised her head to look around as a gasping tremor seized her half-naked young body in its lewdly splayed position. She was alone... quite alone... !... And then, she remembered, clambering to her knees to frantically search around her... ! They were gone... gone! The bastard... the goddamned animal bastard! He'd taken the pictures between his teeth and vengefully loped away!

Chapter 18

Mark Blakely was roused from a sound sleep shortly after noon by a keyed-up Steve Foster furiously shaking the exhausted young deputy, at the same time rasping in a coarse whisper: "For Christ sake, wake up will you, guy? Wake up... all hell's broken loose... !"

"Wha... ? What's wrong?" Mark confusedly stammered, bolting upright in the guest-room bed to stare blankly at his obviously distraught friend. "What the hell is it... ?"

"Easy, keep your voice down!" Steve gestured with his hand, still speaking under his breath. "I don't think we should upset the girls with it... ! Lydia Newell, she was attacked and gang raped this morning by two dogs from the wild-pack... right in broad daylight, for Christ's sake! The whole fucking town is up- in-arms... !"

"Jesus... !" Mark swore, his trained mind quickly shedding the web of sleep, his mental capacities immediately beginning to function. He swung from the bed and grabbed at the clothes he'd left draped over a chair. "Fill me in fast! How is Lydia?"

"Taking it well enough as near as I could make out," the red- bearded writer replied in hushed tone, stepping back and nervously lighting a cigarette while Mark dressed. "I was at the college trying to talk to the Purcell girl when I saw this red sports car come screaming crazily into town. It figured to be something, so I jumped back into my wagon and followed it to the Town Hall. This slick, auburn-haired chick jumped out and ran, half staggering, inside to the Chief of Police's office with me and a half-dozen others not ten-feet behind her! Then, we all heard her spill it to Morgan! She'd been horseback riding, stepped down for a rest, and suddenly this Caesar bastard and another wild-mutt charged out of the woods and attacked her... just like that!"

"Two of them!" Mark half-choked. "She said they both raped her?"

"That's what she implied... chased her horse off and went at her!" Steve said, his eyes lighting with unhidable flecks of excitement at the thought. "Said she had to walk some three-miles back to her ranch... and she looked pretty disheveled, all right...

"How about her mental state?" Mark questioned, running a comb through his hair, then buckling on his holstered weapon.

"Christ, that was the part that got me, Mark!" Steve replied. "She was as composed as a queen at a coronation! Refused to see Doc Emory, or be treated in any way... just raging, fucking mad is all, and demanding that something be done!"

"That figures," Mark hissed drily, never surprised at any reaction from the stone-hearted girl who treated others as subservient, personal possesions. But... but raped by two of those wild bastards... ! Christ, if this was any indication of what could happen... ? "She was sure one of them was Caesar?"

"She swore one animal had a Roman medallion around its neck!" Steve answered, then: "Goddamn, Mark... how do a pair of dogs, wild or any other kind, fuck a woman? Shit, I mean... not only the actual approach, but where the hell does intelligence... the motivation come from?"

Mark ignored his guest's question. It struck too close to home. Instead, he said: "You're right about keeping it from the girls. Jean's in no condition for this kind of jolt. How is she, anyway, have you seen her?"

"I looked in. She's resting and Carol's with her."

"Good. We'll give them a little story and head down town," Mark said, scooping up his hat. "I don't like the sound of things at all, Steve. That wild-sonofabitch, Caesar... the brute's gone too far attacking Aaron Newell's daughter! God knows, any woman in the valley would have been horrible enough, but Lydia Newell! Damnit, what I've been trying to avoid all along may be well out of control now!"

"You mean, a hunting posse?" Steve pressed, butting his cigarette.

"I mean a bunch of drunken wild-men swarming over the hills and shooting at everything that moves!" Mark bitterly snapped, remembering the death of his own father... !


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The bond of intimacy so fervidly born between Jean and Carol only hours before had brought a new dimension to their relationship that Jean neither understood, nor intended to question. She was solely contented that it existed. A warm smile, or an affectionate touch from Carol was sufficient to keep her new exciting emotions simmering without blatantly racing into a sensual consummation. That would simply happen at precisely the proper moment, she felt certain, and it would be beautifully fulfilling between them! As well, the blonde young wife was confident that their liaison would have no effect on their marriages; they both loved their husbands too much and were intellectual enough to understand the infatuating workings of bisexuality!

Privately, each had chosen separate moments to contemplate their revealed, sensuous feeling toward the other, but it was only Jean who tried to truly analyze them. Her long-time friend needed no self-acknowledgement: she had always been a little hot-box, and as well she had forever harbored secret lesbian desires toward Jean. Besides, her voluptuous blonde friend was not, after all, the first girl in her swinging life, was she... !

With Jean Blakely, her short interval of avid soul-searching had been somewhat different. Convinced now that she had been under the influence of some drug the night before, probably LSD, she was unceasingly conscious of the wanton passion it had unleashed within her, for lustful desire still smoldered in her warm belly and moistened loins like banked, hot coals, as if waiting to be stoked into roaring flames once more! Her mind continuously filled with vivid mental pictures of her own naked performance, her face lewdly nuzzled in Lydia Newell's exposed, wet loins, their heat, aroma, and taste as graphic to her senses as if she were still enframed between those long, white legs! God, was it any wonder that she should turn to beautiful Carol, her oldest and dearest friend, with such forbidden cravings awakened inside her?

Jean couldn't help but think of the many warning articles she had read concerning the hallucinogenic acid, of its untimely reoccurances, a chilling little tremor rippling through her young body as she lie there in the bed. Supposing that happened to her and she uncontrollably went into a... a fit of lesbian lust... ? God forbid, but should it happen, there was no one she'd rather have with her to make love to than, darling Carol! She had protected her, avoiding Mark's questions, even washed and cleansed away Link Morgan's raping sperm from her... her drenched pussy... !

God, she was getting all hot again just thinking and remembering! If Carol was in there with her at that very moment... but she wasn't; Jean could hear her washing dishes in the kitchen, and she, herself, was supposed to be napping, getting needed rest according to Doc Emory. That sweet old darling. Had he known... suspected? If he had, he hadn't shown it... simply blamed it all on the bump she'd received to her forehead... the throbbing lump she'd gotten from Link Morgan's huge fist when they thoght she was unconscious!

Damn them both! Why had they done it to her? It made no sense at all! Oh... she knew she was doing wrong in not telling Mark everything, but how could she? Even knowing the way they had drugged her, would he ever understand her uncontrollable acts with Lydia Newell? Link Morgan's raping her was one thing; though she hated to think what her husband would do to the vile brute if he knew! But he'd understand that wasn't her fault! With Lydia, she felt certain there'd be no such forgiveness! How many times had she heard him say that homosexual acts couldn't be forced onto anyone with an ounce of backbone! And he so deplored even the thought that up until the night with Caesar, she had been afraid to attempt oral sex with him, her own husband... !

Caesar... ! Her wonderful animal-lover... she hoped he was all right... and now, she knew he had come on Carol's first night there, just as she'd suspected. Another shivering tremor rippled through her, but this time a warm, sensuous one as she remembered what Carol had told her. Accompanying it, was an undeniable feeling of jealous envy she wished didn't exist, but it did. Carol had sucked him... actually sucked her handsome animal-lover's wonderful cock until she had made him come in her mouth! Oh damn, she was so hot... so hot! Why didn't Carol come in, she feverishly thought, smoothing her small hands down over her sensitively moving breasts and belly, finally cupping the gossamery feeling puffiness of the moistened, hair-fringed crevice between her limply spread thighs... caressing and gently pressuring until at last, she dozed into an uneasy, mind-spinning sleep...


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"Goddamnit! Something's gotta be done, Blakely, before that vicious pack sweeps down and rapes half the wives and daughters in the valley in one mad orgy!" Link Morgan bitterly roared to the agreeing multitude of male voices gathered in the bar of the Crescent Inn Tavern. "We've waited long enough for your fucking conservationists to show! This time, it was Lydia Newell, and no less than a pair... two of the wild bastards! Christ, Aaron Newell's daughter! What the hell'll happen next if we don't take action ourselves... ?"

"You know you're off-limits, Link!" Mark barked sharply, while Steve, behind him, began to scribble notes. "You've got to give the authorities time to get men up here... !"

"And in the meantime, we just stand around and let those savage brutes attack and rape our women, eh, Mark?" someone in the group sounded out, the pointed question rousing a clamor of liquor-raged agreement.

Mark raised his hands. "Now wait a minute, all of you! Wait... ! Hold it down! Let me finish... !" They quieted verbally, but the tensioned atmosphere let the Deputy Sheriff realize he was fighting a losing battle. "Some of you men here have seen... ridden with a no-head nor tail posse... a band of whiskey-soaked, frantic men with loaded weapons... firing at every leaf moving or, breaking twig! I don't have to tell you that innocent people, animals, whatever, can die from that insane action! That's why I'm asking you to wait for the conservationists. They'll be here right away... perhaps tomorrow... !"

"Tomorrow's too late, Mark!" someone shouted. "At least, it's too late for me! I've got two teenaged daughters and a wife to protect, and I don't intend to do it after they've been raped!"

"Right! Abe's right!" another threw in, until finally the entire, unruly group was in accord.

"Maybe, they've got a point, Mark!" Steve hissed into his ear. "Damn, what would you do?"

"Not this, for Christ's sake!" the determined deputy snapped back at his friend. "Use your head... a band of drunken men with weapons in those hills? You ever seen a swarm of hopped-up soldiers attacking an objective and wind up shooting at each other... ? Well, I have... and if I can, I'm going to avoid it here! As well-meaning as these men are, they're in no mental condition to go out there... !"

"Blakely! Blakely!" It was link Morgan's gruff voice. "It's three o'clock in the afternoon on the twenty-third of June! We'll give you until seven o'clock this night... the twenty-third of June, to produce your tree-planters! If they're not there by then, we ride!"

Again, the outburst of agreement re-echoed through the bar room.

"You're... you're leading these men into certain trouble, Chief Morgan!" Mark shouted at the top of his lungs. "Leading them into certain trouble. You know the law as well as I do... or should! I order you not to do this... !"

"To hell with you, Mark!" someone half-screamed. "They're our wives and daughters... not yours!"

Once more, the agreeing men shouted their yeas!

"That's it, Deputy!" Link Morgan roared. "You've heard the mandate of the people! Seven o'clock, and that's it! We've been more than patient, waiting for state help! No one can condemn us for protecting out homes and families! My own niece was the first, and I've waited this long! No longer! Seven o'clock, Blakely... then we saddle up, regardless of the consequences... !"

The overwhelming shouts and backslaps to Link Morgan let Mark know that he'd done little but gain a few hours grace. For a moment, he watched the teeming assemblage of liquored, up-tight men crowding around the big police chief, then he turned and walked from the Inn.

Steve Foster, directly behind him, caught up and said: "Christ, Mark, their point is well taken, you know! How would you feel if it was Jean that was threatened... ?"

"You think, goddamnit, that I don't know?" he stopped short and spat at his friend. "Put down that fucking pencil for a minute, Foster, and do some figuring! You have any idea what that mob is going to look like, be like, act like, by seven o'clock tonight? And carrying loaded guns?"

"Well... I suppose...

"You suppose shit!" Mark spat, hating himself for taking it out on his best-friend, despising the knowing that he'd lost, aware that there'd be no state help for two days hence, and not blaming the men for the course of action they were going to take! Christ! Wouldn't he like to ride with them? Put a bullet right between that german shepherd's wife-fucking eyes! But he couldn't... wouldn't, and at the last minutes he'd still try to stop them. That was his job... !

"I'm sorry, Mark," Steve said, walking along beside him and climbing into the patrol car. "Don't get me wrong. I'm all for law and order... but hell, man, there's never been anything like this I just think of myself... and Carol... the same way those men must think of their wives and daughters, eh?"

"I know... I know! You think it's easy for me, buddy? If you only knew... !" Mark heard himself unwillingly admit. "Forget it! Let's just not talk about it!"

"O-Okay... where, we going?" the red-bearded writer questioned.

"Rounds... specific traipsing I have to perform every day in order to fulfill my role as protector of the peace!" Mark bitterly answered.

"Wh-What about the conservationists?" Steve put to him.

"They won't be here. They're two days off... and maybe a millennium too late!"

The smaller man gaped at him. "And you knew that all along... ?"

"Anything to stall for time."

"But... but what happens at seven o'clock?" Steve shot.

"Who the hell knows? I try again, is all..."

Steve Foster tugged out a cigarette and lighted it. His whole frame trembled with the excitement involving him. Christ, it was an unbelievable story! What the hell kind of a lead-in would he ever open with? "Listen... Mark... if they ride, I'm going with them!" he said, watching the other's face.

His friend nodded. "I figured that... but just don't be surprised if you wind up with your head in your hands!"

"Oh... oh shit, what the hell... Steve gurgled, sucking deeply at his cigarette.