Rape Machine

by Randi Masters

  "I didn't tell him anything. I'm stalling him.' I told him I'd think about it and let him know tomorrow."

  "That's what's bothering you. You can't decide what to tell him."

  "I guess it is what's bothering me. What in hell can I tell him? I don't want his money."

  "Take his money. Don't be silly."

  He knew she was joking. "He wants to help on the case. I've been thinking ... it might be a good thing to let him help."

  "You always said you hate amateur detectives."

  "I never said I hate them. I said they get in the way. But ... with Vaughn ... it might be a good thing to let him work on the case somehow. He's quit his job. Not exactly quit, but he claims he can't work ... won't be able to work until the rapist is caught. I think he has a guilt complex about his wife's death."

  "Why should he? There's nothing he could have done."

  "It's what he didn't do. I started asking questions at the office where he works ... You know, to find out if some jerk at the office knew his wife and wanted her so bad he raped her. There was nothing like that but one of the secretaries there thinks Vaughn and his secretary are having an affair. This particular secretary noticed that now and then Vaughn and his secretary would walk up the stairs from the coffee shop to the floor where his office is instead of riding the elevator. She claims it often takes Vaughn and his secretary fifteen minutes to walk up the three flights of stairs."

  She whistled softly. "Hanky-panky on a stairway! We never tried that, honey."

  "It doesn't make sense. I went up and down those stairways just for the hell of it. People use those stairways now and then. There's no way to lock the doors at the various levels. I don't think Vaughn is crazy enough to lay his secretary where somebody could see him."

  She flicked her cigarette over the ashtray on her stomach. "You men always think of only the ultimate. There are other things besides laying."

  "Such as what?"

  "Such as holding hands and whispering sweet nothings. We women like to hear sweet nothings now and then."

  He pulled the sheet aside and unbuttoned his pajamas. "I got your sweet nothing right here!"

  "Beast!" She slapped his face lightly.

  He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. "But ... I think they were having an affair. Sometimes he went home for lunch. Sometimes he didn't. I think ... the day his wife was raped ... he was probably whispering sweet nothings to his secretary instead of going home for lunch. If he had gone home for lunch, his wife probably wouldn't have been attacked. The thing that bothers me is that it seems to be bothering hell out of him. I saw him the same day his wife was attacked ... and a few days later. He was upset then but now there's something new. He looks as if he's cracking up ... maybe he'll go berserk."

  "So ... helping on the case might help ease his conscience. It might keep him from going berserk. What's his secretary like?"

  "Beautiful."

  "Did you walk up and down the stairs with her?"

  He ignored her. "There's something else weird about the case. The detective who questioned Mrs. Vaughn at the hospital said she didn't remember being attacked ... only remembered waking up on the bed and knowing she'd been attacked. She couldn't give a description of the man ... claimed she never saw him."

  She finished her cigarette and returned the ashtray to the bureau. She slipped out of her negligee and leaned against the bureau with her hands on her hips. "Vaughn will feel better if you let him help on the case. At least you can let him follow you around as you question suspects and all that. So ... let him go with you now and then. He'll be company for you too. He'll feel better if you take some of his money. So ... take some of it. Let him give you a couple thousand dollars for the privilege of bothering you by being with you when you question suspects. Tell him to make the check payable to the Trenton City Youth Center. It'll help pay for that bowling alley you were talking about and you won't be personally taking his money.

  Any more questions, Fearless Fosdick?"

  "Why are you standing there with your naked tits swinging in the breeze?"

  She knelt on the edge of the bed and walked across the bed on her knees until she straddled him. She grasped his cock with both hands and held it aimed directly at her womanhood as she lowered herself. She clenched her teeth with the intense joy as she completed the task of impaling herself upon her husband and began to slowly raise and lower herself, aware of the still greater swelling and hardening of his cock, gliding into the rhythm.

  "Any more questions?" she asked huskily.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  From his position at the bar, he could see the top of his car through the window that faced the street. It was early in the evening and there were only a few men and women at the bar. A gray-haired man and young blonde were dancing on the small dance floor off to one side while the jukebox blared.

  He sipped the beer and glanced at the car every few minutes. The TV was in the trunk. So no one would see it and try to get it. But, still, there was always the chance some punk might steal his car. They'd never know how much the TV was worth. If anybody ever stole his car and found the TV in the trunk, they'd probably sell it for a few bucks. Hell, that TV was worth millions!

  He thought about the two girls at the tennis courts, remembered the pleated white skirts and the feel of their cunts. It had been good ... but not as good as he wanted. None of them were ever as good as he wanted. All of them, once they were hypnotized, were like zombies, it was always something like fucking lifeless slabs of meat.

  One of the best times had been the time he caught the two young girls on that road in Maryland. It had been a back road, long and straight with fiat fields on either side. He had seen the two girls walking beside the road and stopped the car, holding up the TV. He had not said a word to them, it had not been necessary; they looked at the TV automatically and he had pushed the control button. As soon as he saw they were hypnotized, he ordered them into the car.

  He had intended to rape one or both but soon found they were so young, he was actually afraid to rape them ó partly because they were both virgins and there might have been a lot of blood splattered inside his car ... and partly because, although they were pretty little girls, their cunts were so goddamned small that it would have been painful and perhaps physically impossible to jam his penis into them.

  So ... he had contented himself with playing with them. He ordered one of them to sit on either side of him and then he had unzipped his fly, his cock springing upward. Even in the depths of the hypnosis, the two young girls had acted startled, as if they had never seen a man's cock before, as if an exotic animal had burst into their presence. He had ordered them first to kiss and lick his prick; trained them to simultaneously start licking his prick down at the hairy base and then keep pace with each other as they licked toward the knob. He trained them to ó when they both reached the knob ó take turns drawing it into their mouths. It had been one of the greatest kicks in the world just to sit there and watch them work so industriously ó watch the flicking of the moist pink tongues, the bobbing of the young heads.

  He had removed their panties and played with their cunts while they worked on his cock. Jabbing his finger into them, he had been able to get both of them excited, but had not been able to bring either one to orgasm. They had not licked his cock hard enough, so he had experimented and told them that his cock was a large chocolate bar. He had used the hypnosis numerous times to order someone to do things even against their will, but he had never planted a "false suggestion" as he had seen professional hypnotists do so often on stages. He found that it worked perfectly, they began licking his cock harder and harder, murmuring, "Ummmm," smiling and covering his throbbing cock with a layer of their spittle.

  From the licking, he progressed to teaching them how to simultaneously suck on his cock ó not the glands but the length of it; one of them on each side fastening her mouth on that side as close to the base as she could get ó both keepi
ng pace sucking their way up to the top. During this process, his cock had grown throbbingly close to an explosion and he had ordered one of them to stick the tip in her mouth, keep it there. He then ordered them to use both their hands to jerk on his cock. The four small hands had obediently fastened themselves around his prick, many of their fingers overlapping and covering his prick completely with a jerking mass of soft fingers. They had jerked him off into the girl's mouth and he had ordered her to swallow all of it. After he rested awhile, smoking a cigar, he had ordered the other girl to suck his cock. It had taken a long time since it was so soon after another orgasm, but it had been long minutes of pure joy, playing with the girl's budding tits and her pussy while she kept sucking and sucking until finally he spurted a warm gob of come into her mouth.

  Later, thinking back on the incident, he felt a regret that he had not raped both of them. He could have ordered them into one of the fields and taken both of them quickly. Virgins were rare as hell and he could have had two if he'd had more guts. He wasn't sure how old the girls had been, but they had been probably only a matter of months away from having their cherries taken by some stumbling, eager country boys. He could have had those two cherries himself.

  But, despite the regret, the incident had been one of his most exciting ó almost as exciting as the incident with the two girls at the tennis courts.

  He finished the glass of beer and lit a cigar. He toyed with the nagging problem. He could get any woman he wanted. Any woman at all if he could be alone with her long enough to hypnotize her and make her go somewhere with him. But where could he go?

  Whenever he stopped at a house with the talk about selling portable TVs, if he wanted the woman, the only place he could take her was somewhere in the house. In almost every house, even in the cellar, there was no safe place to break the hypnotic spell and take the woman while she was fully aware of what was happening. There would always be the chance someone might hear her scream for help and always a chance she might somehow get away from him.

  Hunting lodge? A hunting lodge might be good, he decided. If he could find a hunting lodge, rent one maybe, he could take a girl there, break the hypnotic spell and take her while she knew what was happening. Then it wouldn't be like a slab of meat, she wouldn't be like a zombie. Even if he had to tie her to a bed or something, it would be better than taking them when they were zombies. Hunting lodge. It might work. Find out where a good one was, rent the damned thing. Find a woman, hypnotize her, take her there.

  Tie her to a bed. Break the hypnosis. Then, while she knew exactly what was happening to her, rape her. She would be alive. She would scream and shake like hell ... When he was through with her, he could hypnotize her again, instruct her not to remember anything that had happened ... drop her somewhere ...

  Another glass of beer had been placed before him. He watched as the bartender took the necessary coins and rang up the amount on the cash register. The bartender had assumed he wanted another beer. He drank more slowly. These damned bartenders could get you drunk, putting one beer after another in front of you. He couldn't afford to get drunk ... not with that TV in his car. Maybe he couldn't afford to get drunk ever again. When he was drunk, he had the biggest mouth in the world. When he was drunk he usually said anything that popped in his mind.

  Hunting lodge? No, a hunting lodge probably wouldn't work. How in hell could you be sure a goddamned hunter might not be nearby ... might hear the woman screaming? It could be done with the woman gagged so she couldn't scream, but that would be half the fun, listening to her scream ...

  Tonight he'd have something different, he decided. Tonight he'd get a call girl ...

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When he left the bar on Washington Street, he noticed the heavy dark clouds rolling across the graying sky. After he maneuvered out of the parking slot, the first drops of rain speckled the windshield and in a few minutes he had to turn on the windshield wipers. He drove south through Trenton, slowly, soon turning on his parking lights. A new fear crept into his mind. Suppose he was involved in an automobile accident?

  It was something that had never occurred to him before. An automobile accident could be almost as disastrous as having someone steal the TV. If his car were in an accident, if he were seriously injured ... the TV might be damaged beyond repair, or, equally disastrous, if he had to be rushed to a hospital, an investigating policeman or insurance man might open the trunk of the car and see the TV ...

  He drove more slowly and toyed with the idea of building a secret compartment in the trunk to hide the TV. It wouldn't be too hard to do and, actually, a hidden compartment in the trunk of the car to conceal the TV would eliminate the worry of someone stealing it. He told himself that worrying about an automobile accident was foolish but it would be smart to build a secret compartment for the TV.

  South of Trenton, on the other side of the bridge, near the Burger King, he pulled off on the side of the road. The rain was so heavy it washed across the windshield as if someone were spraying it with a garden hose and the road ahead was almost hidden completely. It couldn't last too long. Rain like this never did.

  Realizing someone might see his tail lights and think he was on the road and moving, he turned off the ignition and the lights. With the vanishing of the dashboard light, he seemed suddenly engulfed in a wet darkness and a strange new fear swept over him. He could not identify the cause of the fear until he realized it came probably because it reminded him of the time Pop made him go out on the fire escape. It had rained then ... He must've been damned young then.

  He'd been playing with a plastic truck in the living room, rolling it across the floor. Wooden blocks in the truck ó ABC's on some surfaces of the blocks and carved figures of cats and dogs and trains on some of the other surfaces. He'd found the truck on the sidewalk. Some other kid had left it there, a big plastic truck, and it had been one of his favorite toys because he'd found it ó it was completely his because Pop or Mom hadn't bought it for him ó he had bought it himself by finding it and taking it.

  A man had come to the apartment earlier. Mom called him "John." Mom and the man named John went into the bedroom and locked the door. He didn't pay much attention. Mom often went into the bedroom to talk with men. At first he had tried to remember their names and faces but then, when one he especially liked ó one named Bill ó never came again, and after he found it was hard to remember all their names and faces, he gave up trying and paid little attention to them. Most often Mom would give him some money for candy and he would go to the drug store five or six blocks away to buy Hershey bars. When he came back, the strange men were most often already gone. But, sometimes, when it seemed as if it would rain soon, his mother let him play in the living room while she talked to the men. They'd never bought him a raincoat.

  It was funny they never bought him a raincoat. Once or twice his mother had said she'd buy him one but she always stopped in a bar on their way uptown and, somehow, she never got around to buying him a raincoat.

  Pop came home that day. He heard the key in the lock. He started to say something but Pop put his hand over his mouth and held it there tight. His father knelt next to the bedroom door, holding one of those big hands over his mouth ... listening. Mom and John were in the bedroom ó talking, laughing. They stopped talking and then the man named John seemed to be grunting as if he was lifting something heavy and his mother seemed to be moaning as if something were hurting her. It didn't make sense but all he could think of was that something heavy had fallen on Mom and the man named John was trying to lift it away ...

  His father carried him to the hall outside the apartment and told him to go play with his friend, Joey. He didn't want to play with Joey but he was too scared to say so. There was something strange about his father's face ó twisted as if something were hurting him.

  He went down the hallway to the fire escape and across the maze of fire escapes until he reached the living room window. Looking in the room from the fire escape,
he saw his mother, his father, the man named John. His mother and John were putting on their clothes. His father stood in the bedroom doorway until John was dressed and hit John. John's face was bleeding when he went into the hallway. His father raised a fist as if he'd hit Mom ó he was shouting something.

  He started to scream, No! Don't hit her! but the words choked in his throat and tears blinded him. He rubbed at the tears and pressed his face against the brick wall before him ó inches beneath the window. He wanted to look but he was afraid to look. He covered his ears with his hands to hide the sounds of his mother and father and it began to rain while he crouched there on the fire escape ó raining harder and harder ...

  He never saw his mother again. Pop changed after Mom left. He began drinking more and more. It seemed he was always trying to find a job. Sometimes there was hardly anything to eat and gradually, after Mom left, it seemed Pop didn't care ... didn't care about what they didn't have to eat, didn't care about anything ...

  Pop died and then he was sent to the orphanage. He could remember many things about his father ó could remember especially clearly the way his father held him so tight after Mom left that day ... could remember the walks through the park ... the heavy hand patting his shoulder, ruffling his hair ... But he could remember only one sentence from his father's lips.