Rape Machine Read online

  ### LL-120 ###

  The Rape Machine

  by Randi Masters

  There’s a bunch of errors with the symbol “ó” appearing hundreds of times. Oh well.

  PROLOGUE

  Rodney Park was a single block of greenery in the heart of the city, bordered by the North American Building, the Du Pont Building, the post office and the library. Narrow ribbons of grass were hemmed by rows of neatly trimmed hedge and rows of small evenly spaced trees. Paths of concrete crisscrossed the park and there were two rows of benches ó a row that faced the center of the park, and a row that faced the outer edges of the rectangular park and the buildings beyond. The benches had always been a temporary haven for drifters in the city, the derelicts, alcoholics, homeless, jobless, pensioners, or old men with no destination. Occasionally the benches were a resting place for a secretary awaiting her bus, an elderly woman weary from a day's shopping, a young student with his textbooks, or a job-seeker pausing to rest between prospective employees.

  Carl Pawelski sat on the bench at the northeast corner of the park, the bench that faced the corner bus stop with its stretch of yellow curb and thin metal sign. He was a short and plump man with slick black hair receding slightly, thick mats of hair along the backs of his hands and the tops of his fingers. His face was almost absolutely round with a bulbous nose and a wide mouth turned down at the corners. A clown's face. A sad clown's face.

  His arms were too long and his shoulders were too narrow. When he walked he resembled an ape but it had been a long time since anyone had laughed at Carl Pawelski. Most men were quick to notice the thickness of his arms and thickness of his wrists. His hands clutched together in fists, became solid masses of hard flesh and bone that could crack a man's jaw as easily as most men swatted a fly and, although he resembled an ape when he walked, he moved briskly, lightly on his feet as if he could spring in any direction instantly with the deadline's of a fighter in a ring.

  The world had become a ring for Carl Pawelski an arena with himself against the world. Life had severed him from the mainstream where men and women laughed and loved. He was on a cold island that followed him wherever he went and he had killed and raped and stolen and battered his hard fists against the mainstream.

  It had been a long time since women had laughed at the sad clown face.

  Invariably, when women saw the cold black eyes, they knew this was not a man to be laughed at. Women could instinctively sense the element in the cold black eyes although it was an element they would rarely speak of and rarely sense fully ó

  their senses ordinarily registered only a glimmer of warning, like a red light flashing briefly deep inside them.

  The cold black eyes were those of a rapist ó an animal, devoid of pity and any emotion except hate and reflexive fear. As he rested on the bench at the northeast corner of the park, his black eyes were alive ó their gaze devouring the group of secretaries and typists who waited at the corner for the bus ó tracing every nyloned curve of calf, every curve of buttock and richness of breast. The variety of colors of skirts and blouses, the variety of hair styles or the purses they carried were invisible to his mind, unseen ó eyes and mind seeing only their soft bodies, imagination crystallizing only a tearing-thrusting through soft flesh, violent explosions.

  Carl watched as the bus arrived and the women boarded one by one. There was one woman superior to the others ó a haughty poise, an expensive dress, a sparkle of diamonds on her bracelet ó a tall dark-haired woman with gray eyes and a sensual red mouth.

  He watched as she stepped up into the bus ó skirt sliding to expose areas of smooth thighs. His lips curled toward a smile of satisfaction. He knew he had the power to fuck that woman ó or any woman in the city.

  CHAPTER ONE

  She dressed in her Bermuda shorts, her green sleeveless blouse and thong sandals. She put on lipstick and combed her hair then stood before the mirror to survey herself. The blouse was too thin. It showed the slight darkness of her nipples through the fabric and, reluctantly, she took off the blouse, opened the bureau drawer to get one of her bras ...

  The doorbell rang. For a moment she straightened and stared at her reflection in the mirror ó stared at her round naked breasts and then stared at her face. She counted the rings. The mailman only tapped the bell once, the newsboy had an erratic pattern, and Rosina always rang three times. It was none of those and she guessed it was a salesman. Let him wait. She wiggled into the bra, slipped into the blouse again, and buttoned it as she went down the stairs. In the living room, she made sure her blouse was tucked in securely with no wrinkles anywhere, passed a hand over her hair, and glanced through the rectangular panes. It was a salesman. Clearly a salesman. She opened the door.

  He held a portable television in one hand. She listened to him awhile and said, "I'm sorry, we have a TV."

  "Do you have a portable TV?"

  He was short and fat and balding. He was ugly too, she decided. "No, and, really, we have no need for one."

  "Do you go to the beach? If you go to the beach ... you'll be interested in this set. It's ideal to take to the beach."

  "When we go to the beach, we go there to go in the water." His insistence was annoying. He was disgustingly fat and there were droplets of sweat on his face. He wiped at the droplets on his cheeks with a soiled handkerchief.

  Some droplets of sweat trickled down his upper lip to the edge of his mouth and he caught them with the tip of his tongue in a disgusting manner she had never seen before. He was suddenly looking at her body and studying her hips and legs. His eyes focused on the area of her loins and, although she knew he couldn't see anything through the Bermuda shorts, she felt a sudden chill at the way he so frankly studied the area ...

  She began to close the door. He raised the portable TV and, oddly, he turned it on as if to show her how it worked. She watched the flickering screen, still closing the door against him. With some salesmen, you had to be ...

  * * *

  The bedroom curtains fluttered in the faint breeze. She watched them awhile and thought she'd taken a nap ... The fat salesman was in the bedroom with her and she first saw his reflection in the mirror, then saw him from the corner of an eye as he moved toward the bed. She was on the bed, she realized dully, and she tried to scream.

  He moved still closer to the bed and she saw he'd removed his pants and shorts. She stared at his cock, turned her head away, and again tried to scream. There was no sound, as if he had somehow paralyzed the muscles in her throat, and she realized at the same moment that he must have somehow knocked her unconscious and carried her up here to the bedroom ... She tried to move her arms. They were powerless.

  "Afraid to look at my cock?" he whispered. "Ah, honey, come on, look at my cock." She felt the bed sag beneath his weight and his hands gripped her head, turning it. His cock was only inches from her face; she watched the hardening of flesh, the thickening of veins, the drops of oily liquid that squeezed through the slit in the purplish knob, and then closed her eyes.

  His fingers were painfully tight as they held her head.

  Clark! Save me!

  His fingers moved to her breasts ...

  Clark, come home!

  He squeezed her breasts and fondled them. Her mind raced to the questions: What happened to my blouse? What happened to my bra? And, immediately, the answer: He removed them.

  His fingers were more and more painful. He squeezed her nipples for a while and cupped her breasts with his hands again, squeezing still more painfully.

  His fingernails bit into the softness of her breasts.

  Clark!

  She drifted away from the bed and it seemed she was somewhere else where she could think slowly and carefully. What time was it? Some
time after noon, so there was no hope at all of him coming home to save her. He did come home for lunch now and then but today it was too late for that.

  The man's fingers left her breasts and slid down the length of her body.

  Both his hands were on her thighs but now he seemed more gentle. "Open your eyes," the man ordered.

  She opened her eyes as if it were a command she could not disobey. The bed seemed to be at an odd angle and slowly she realized he had propped pillows beneath her shoulders. He had removed her Bermuda shorts and her panties.

  She felt his fingers as they caressed her ... one of the fingers pressing between the lips of her cunt and against her clitoris. She had opened her eyes but was not looking at him or what he was doing.

  "Watch this," the man ordered.

  Again she obeyed as if it were a command she could not disobey. As she watched, he spread her legs, crouched between them, and slowly lowered himself. She stared at his cock as it lowered closer and closer. She began to tremble. The man alternated between watching the expression on her face and looking at her cunt, but he was smiling, always smiling, thick lips peeled across yellowed teeth.

  "Here we go," the man hissed softly.

  She felt the first contact of his prick and she shuddered. He pressed the knob between her love-lips and then she felt him sliding the hard length of his prick into her cunt, slowly, inch by inch.

  "Ahhhh!" The fat man sighed with satisfaction as she felt the roundness of his stomach against the trim flatness of her own. With a clarity of sensation she had never experienced so completely with her husband, she could feel every inch of the man's cock within her cunt, every pulsating inch of hard flesh, could feel its warmth and heavy-throbbing. She continued to obey his command to watch and observe as his penis withdrew until only the knob remained lodged between her vagina lips, partially hidden from view by the fluff of her dark pubic hair. The man remained for long moments poised above her with the knob pulsating heavily against her vagina lips as if he wished to tease himself. She felt her moist lips trembling against the hard head of his cock as if trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement.

  The man laughed and looked into her eyes.

  "You got a good, tight little cunt," he said. "And now you're gonna be fucked harder than you ever been fucked before!"

  She saw the thick cock lunge viciously down into her cunt, a crushing, tearing pressure. He groaned with pleasure as he fucked her with long powerful thrusts and she began to feel as if he would split her apart.

  Despite the aching pain and the fear and the horror, she felt her insides grow tingling warm and felt herself oozing come against the length of the thrusting cock moments before she felt the wet gush of his come.

  He pulled away from her and sat on the side of the bed while he lit a cigar.

  She watched unbelievingly as he puffed on the cigar a few moments and then climbed above her, squatting with his limp cock between her breasts.

  "Rub my cock against your tits," he ordered.

  She saw her hand move to his soft cock, take it and rub it against her breast. Slowly ó as she worked and wondered why she could not disobey ó she felt, his cock hardening.

  He moved until his cock pressed against her lips. "Suck it," he ordered.

  "Suck it real good."

  She drew the knob into her mouth and began to suck, tasting the mixture of their come.

  "Lick it while you've got it in your mouth."

  She obeyed, flicking her tongue at the mass of hard flesh within her mouth and feeling it grow larger and harder by the moment. She felt the hard length begin to throb as the taut flesh grew warmer.

  "Suck it harder! Suck it harder!" Obediently she began to suck harder and heard the faint slurping sound she was making as she worked. He jabbed a finger into her cunt and fondled her clit while she sucked and, suddenly, he shoved his cock into her mouth as far as he could, her mouth filling with the warm liquid of his come. "Swallow it!" the man hissed, jerking his hard prick back and forth between her lips as it continued to pour. "Gulp it down!"

  The bedroom curtains drifted lazily in the slight breeze. She watched them for a while through half-closed eyes and realized she'd taken a nap. She tried to fall asleep again and heard the children playing in the yards nearby. She wished they'd be quiet so she could fall asleep again.

  Then, slowly, in a trickle of horror, she became aware of the various sensations throughout her body. Her lips were aching as if someone had kissed her too roughly. Her breasts and nipples were tingling as if someone had squeezed them, tingling as they did sometimes after Clark was too rough.

  Her cunt was throbbing painfully ... She sat up in bed and stared at her naked body. There were traces of drying semen on her thighs, droplets caught in the maze of her pubic hair ... the room was filled with odor of semen.

  She looked at her wrist watch. Two o'clock. She pressed a fingertip against her aching cunt. Someone had made love to her only a short time before. And yet ... it couldn't have been Clark. Clark would be at the office ...

  Someone had raped her! She slid from the bed, pressed both hands against her loins, and began to scream.

  CHAPTER TWO

  In the corner of The Hub, Clark Vaughn watched as the couple across the aisle left their booth. Now he was essentially alone with Elaine. There were still about a dozen other people in the place ó a quick glance over his shoulder told him ó but that dozen could see only Elaine and himself from the shoulders up. The couple across the aisle could have seen everything but they were gone and chances were there wouldn't be anyone else in that booth until much later.

  He sipped his tea and continued their discussion. "Tobin will never go any further with the company. He's lucky he's gotten as far as he has. I worked with him for a while in the Richmond plant and I guess I know him better than anyone else here in the main office. He started with the company, working with tools."

  "Working with tools?" Elaine asked. Her soft red lips curved in a teasing half-smile as she asked the question. He hesitated, studying her mouth. She had a way of asking a question that was all her own. She smiled when she asked a question ó smiled in a way with those soft red lips that made you want to explain fully anything in the world.

  "'Working with tools' is an expression I picked up in the plant. It means a man starting out as a mechanic, you know, working with his hands and tools."

  "Oh."

  "So he's never had a college education. I know he's a damned good mechanic, but he doesn't have any concept of paper work. He can't comprehend paperwork. He doesn't understand how to simplify paperwork."

  "I'm in favor of anyone who simplifies work." She unsnapped her purse and he watched her slender red-tipped fingers as she searched for her cigarettes.

  He lit the cigarette for her and continued to watch her hands. They were the softest woman's hands he'd ever seen, much softer than Alma's ... much longer and softer ... He lit a cigarette for himself and pressed his knee against her knee. Kneesies, he thought. A harmless game of kneesies.

  * * *

  It began a few weeks after they transferred him from the plant to the main office. When he first moved into his office, he was dismayed to find his secretary was a thin, gray-haired woman who pecked at the typewriter as if she hated it, and spoke to him and all men as if she hated men more than the typewriter.

  Clark saw Elaine before she became his secretary. She was the kind of woman you couldn't help noticing. Tall, slender, long lovely legs. A beautiful face and bright dark eyes that flashed sometimes as if with an inner heat.

  And a set of rings on her left hand that sparkled whenever the sunlight touched them. At the company's annual office party, with a few martinis beneath his belt, he had made careful advances. And was not only rewarded by Elaine's hasty retreat, but also lectured by Buddy Allen. "Stay away from her, Clark. Looks good, is good, I guess, but God knows, nobody in this whole company's ever got in her pants and every man under si
xty has tried."

  That was the end of it for a while. She was Bill Medkeff's secretary and had been Bill's secretary ever since she went to work for the company.

  Apparently Bill had never gotten anywhere with her because once, in Bill's office, both of them bent over a blueprint Bill had spread across his desk, they had watched Elaine come into the office to give Bill a telegram and they had watched the sensual flash of her nyloned legs as she left the office and closed the door behind her. He'd asked Bill, half-jokingly, half-seriously: "Ever get any of that?"

  "Nope. And nobody else will either, pal. Nobody but her husband. She likes to tease and play but she'll never let anybody fuck her."

  The "teasing" part had been easy to understand but the "play" part eluded him. He asked, "What kind of play are you talking about?" But Bill had completely ignored the question and began talking about the blueprints before them.