"How is she?" Mark Blakely questioned, barging through his front door-way, only to be stopped by Steve Foster and Doc Emory, both immediately launching from their places on the couch to confront the big, young deputy sheriff.
"Easy, boy, easy..." his red-bearded writer-friend stepped in front of him with engulfing arms.
"She's okay, Mark... resting comfortably right now," Doc Emory added, coming close to put a hand on the younger man's broad shoulder.
"Wh-What the hell happened?" the obviously tired, young law official asked, looking from one face to the other. "I was all the way over in Spencer County at the sheriff's office for Christ's sake... when I should've been here! What the hell happened, anyway... ?"
"Easy, man, will you?" Steve pressed. "Cut your voice down; she's trying to sleep..." Warmly, the slender magazine writer clapped his friend on the arm. "It's okay, boy... she's all right... no need to get up-tight... just a little accident..."
"How? What... ?" Mark insisted.
"It seems that her car went into the ditch just outside of town, Mark," Doc Emory replied in his always calm voice. "She struck her head against the windshield... suffered a mild concussion with contusions, but nothing to be alarmed about..."
"Outside of town?" Mark confusedly repeated. "What the devil was she doing? Where'd she been... ?"
"No one seems to know that yet, Mark," Steve quickly put in. "A ranch-hand on his way to town came across her car in the ditch. She was semi-conscious and mumbling incoherently..."
"The shock," Doc Emory hastened to add, throwing Steve Foster a glaring expression. "Frankly, Mark, the only damage is a badly rumpled fender on your car..."
"To hell with the car! I want to see Jean!" Mark exclaimed, attempting to move around them, but not too successfully.
"Hold it, big man!" Steve barred, edging his friend off. "Carol's in there with her now nursing her away to dreamland. You go barging in and she's apt to go right off the deep end again... !"
"What the hell you talking about, the deep end?" Mark replied, his eyes widening.
"Shut up, will you, Foster!" Doc Emory calmly intervened. "Of course you can see her, Mark. She's been asking for you. It'll help her to get some rest. But wait... understand that she's not quite herself... that blow to her forehead mixed her up a little and she mightn't make sense..."
Mark nodded, a tightness clutching at his gut. Jesus Christ, his Jeannie hurt... and what had he been doing but undermining everything they'd dreamed of... ! He ought to have his balls lobbed off... ! "I... I'll go easy, Doc... promise... !"
The little man nodded and smiled. "Go ahead... quietly, Mark..."
He did, almost silently opening the door to see his Jeannie beneath the covers in the bed and Carol lying fully clothed on top of them beside her, holding his wife's hand. The latter saw him and smiled, half-raising up to place a shushing finger across her lips, but the blonde-haired girl stirred to the intrusion, opening her glazed, smokey blue-eyes to search emptily about the room.
Something struck Mark at the very core of him in the manner of their wide vacancy. He saw the ugly swolleness on her forehead and tried to tie the two together, but intensive police training couldn't be denied. He moved forward to the bed-side and said:
"Hello, Baby... it's Mark. How are you, Doll? Feel better... ?"
"Ooohhh... Mark... darling... you've come!" she managed, looking elsewhere and never seeing him. "Feel better... feel better, Doll... yesss, Baby feels better... feels fine... everything's fine... fine... !"
The young deputy could only stare down at his young, blonde wife whom Carol was gently trying to console. He gaped at the rolling action of his wife's eye-balls flashing whitely at him as he stood there in knowledgable agony, growing rage beginning to seethe inside him. How often had he seen that sympton in the academy at L.A.!
"She's been drugged!" Mark blurted, re-entering the living room where Doc Emory and Steve Foster sipped bourbon over ice. "Jesus Christ, you ought to be able to see that, Doc... !"
"I can't be as sure of that as you can, Mark," the small- framed physician said, setting his drink on a table and brushing at his widening brow. "But then, I'm only a doctor."
"Shit! I've seen the same symptoms with acid-freaks a dozen times... !" Mark spat, brushing Steve's hand away. "A dozen times, I tell you, Doc... !"
"Like I said, Mark... I'm only a doctor!" the smaller man emphatically implied. "That a concussion could, and often does, produce the same effects, is merely a hypothetical diagnosis. You may well be right... but until I know different, I'll treat her from a medical standpoint according to the best of my ability! Without hospital facilities, and taking into foremost consideration her accident, I must conclude that she's suffering a concussion. Nothing that won't pass with a few days rest, I'm sure... But, if you want to take her to Spencer, we can run the necessary tests to be certain. Again Mark, you may well be right... God, I don't know anything, anymore!"
For a long moment, Mark stood there, staring almost unseeingly at the small, slender physician who had been one of his closest friends in Crescent Valley. He even read the distraught confusion in the noble little man's face. Peripherally, he saw Steve empty his glass and walk to refill it; he suddenly said: "Pour me one, too, buddy... I think I need it." Then, half forcing his smile toward Doc Emory: "I-I guess your word's still good enough for me, Doc. What the hell, didn't you save Birt Small's mule last week after the vet gave it up for glue?"
There was a tense moment before the releasing laughter; then the three men clutched their glasses in toast... yet none felt the warmth of Steve's pledge.
"Happy days!" the red-bearded writer extoled.
Though Jean had been helpless, she had never for a moment been unconscious. Her mind still wandered in unfeasible patches of incoherent happenings and exciting lust, her loins and belly ever churning with an underlying of sensual stimulation that seemed to be gnawingly insatiable. They had taken her, she vaguely remembered, and placed her in her car... Morgan driving it a long ways before he stopped and got out, pressing her over beneath the steering wheel... and then, with a tremendous jolt, it had all happened!
She lay now in the security of her own bed... Mark's bed, with Carol beside her, and the sun showing through her window. Was all of that last night? She thought it was... yes, it had to be, because Doc Emory had come, and later, Mark! Now, Carol undressed beneath the covers with her!
Last night, when she'd gone to Lydia Newell's... they had each... each... loved one another... like lesbians... she had... had put her tongue in the young auburn-haired woman's pussy! God... ! Link Morgan had fucked her! His huge, bull-like cock had savagily ravished and cum like an elephant up in her still tingling pussy! Oh... oh she was so hot, even now! Mark would kill him... kill her, if he ever knew! That's why they'd put her in her car to let it roll in the ditch! God, she had to use her head... not let anyone know... especially, Mark! He might do something horrible if he ever knew the truth! She couldn't let anyone know... anyone... !
"Are you awake, Darling?" Carol's voice came in a gentle whisper, the slight movement of her girlfriend's body behind her as it turned toward her, widening Jean's thought-filled eyes.
"Yes... I'm awake."
"How do you feel, Baby?"
"Good... fine. I feel real splendid!" Jean replied, smoothing her hand down over her flat little belly and noting for the first time that she was wearing her green, shortie nightie. Who had done that? Carol? Had she undressed her... seen her naked? Of course, she had, who else? God... had the sight of her naked body thrilled her best friend? She had a pretty, white body and she knew it! Her breasts were round and full, firmly pointed with their tiny nipples! And her waist was slender...
"What would you like for breakfast, Dear?"
"Wh-What... for breakfast? Oh, I don't know," Jean answered, rolling onto her back so that the length of her warm body crowded that of her very best friend. Dear God, she was hot... hot... unbelievably hot! But... but why? She had never known these sensations before with the nearness of a girl! With a man... with Mark, perhaps, but another girl? Yet, she felt them strongly within her... the actual urge to roll toward Carol and caress her breasts! "You decide... I'll love whatever you want!" Jean exclaimed, as if she were unfolding some forbidden secret.
"All right!" Carol answered, suddenly swiveling from the bed and grabbing her wrapper. "I'll fix us french toast with maple syrup !"
Feverishly, Jean looked up at her, eyes fixed on Carol's young thrusting breasts erotically swaying until the wrapper hid them, the excitement in her belly and loins causing her to twitch nervously, until finally she put her hands over her eyes!
"Are you all right, Baby?" Carol questioned in an almost hushed voice.
"Y-Yes... I'm fine."
"Are... are you sure, Doll?"
"Of course... of course, I'm sure!" Jean emphatically replied, rolling onto her side, again caressing the warm flatness of her softly trembling belly beneath the covers. "Go ahead... I'm waiting for that french toast..." she added sensually brushing her hand down between her hot, smooth thighs to gently stroke over the warmly curling pubic mound between her legs. She hardly heard Carol leave as she extended her middle finger and drew it up through the wet, sensitive flesh of her excited young cuntal slit. God... what had happened to her? She had never loved her pussy so much... nor been so possessed with sexy thoughts and desires! Something weirdly sensual had happened to her body chemistry, but dear God, she had no idea of what nor how! Then, it occurred to her that she seemed to be able to think more clearly now than she had the night before at Lydia Newell's. She tried to recall what her feelings had been before she had gone there, but it was difficult to remember... though it seemed that she had been normal enough, with none of this eroticism that was so tormenting her now down between her thighs...
My God, was it possible that Lydia... or both of them, had done something to her... that unaware, she had innocently been drugged? Good Lord! Wh-What else could it be... ?
The gentle opening of the bedroom door gave Jean ample opportunity to jerk her softly caressing fingers from between her warm vibrant thighs, which she sensed to be still moist and sticky from Link Morgan's flood of hot sperm up into her from behind hours before. It was Mark, peeking in to see if she were awake before entering.
"C-Come in, Darling," Jean hesitantly invited in a purposed, feeble voice, pretending-weakness from the blow to her forehead being the only sanctuary she could think of to avoid the questions he was bound to ask.
"How are you, Baby? Feel better this morning?" he probed, moving to the edge of the bed and lowering onto it.
"A-A little," she replied, offering him a thin smile. God, he was so handsome in his uniform... and she loved him so much. "H-Have you had your breakfast... ?"
He nodded. "I stopped at the Inn."
"You look so tired, Darling," she said, reaching out to cover his large, broad hand with her small, soft one. "W-Was there any trouble last night from... from... ?"
Mark shook his head before she had finished her question, knowing that she was referring to Caesar and his damned wild-pack, her concern irately edging him. He brushed his hand over his forehead, wishing to Christ he could get eight solid hours of dead sleep. Maybe he could be more rational then, though he wondered how in Christ's name he could? First, it'd been the goddanmed wild brute, and now this, whatever in hell it was she'd been doing!
"Jean... where did you go last night?" he put to her, managing a gentleness to his tone. "I didn't know you had any meeting... yet Carol seems to think you did, but she doesn't know anymore about it than that. Where was the meeting, Baby... ?"
Jean breathed a little sigh of relief within. Carol had known much more... must have heard when she'd mentioned Lydia's name over the phone, but she'd said nothing. For some reason, her best friend was trying to protect her... and thank God for that! Intentionally, she made her eyes roll in a blinking unsteadiness as she looked up at him with a pathetically empty expression. "I... I don't know, Mark... I-I can't remember. I-I've tried... but I just can't remember, Darling!"
"All right, all right, Baby," he soothed, tenderly pressuring her small hand in reassurance. "It'll all come to you later. Don't even think about it now... just lie there and rest."
Jean rolled her head away from him, biting at her full, lower lip to hold back the tears of shame she suddenly felt rushing toward her eyes. God, what a horrible bitch she was! Lying to him this way! And to protect whom... ? Then, for one brief instant, she was on the verge of blurting it all out to him, Lydia Newell, that foul Chief of Police, and the way they must have... had to have drugged her... ! But Carol's entrance into the room carrying a breakfast tray for her, brought it all to an abrupt standstill.
"Here you are, Dear," the attractive brunette smiled, setting the tray down and moving toward the bed to fix her pillows behind her and make her comfortable. "French toast, bacon, maple syrup and plenty of hot coffee. How does that sound?"
"Wonderful, Carol. You're... you're a doll..."
Mark stood. "Well... I guess I'll try to get some sleep, Honey. You take it easy now, and I'll talk to you later, when I wake up." Then, to Carol: "Has Steve left?"
"Yes. He was going to try and have an interview with the Purcell girl," the brunette replied, placing the tray onto Jean's lap. "He didn't know when he'd be back."
Mark nodded, then smiled to Jean. "See you later, Baby," he said, moving beyond the door, then turning to blow her a kiss.
Jean swallowed tightly as she watched her young, handsome husband disappear, still desperately fighting back the tears and trying to rid herself of the lump in her throat. Unseeingly, she looked down at the tempting breakfast Carol had set before her, but the appetite she'd awakened with had suddenly dulled. Instead, she poured coffee and reached for a sugar-cube, the sight of that little compressed, white square abruptly taking her back to Lydia Newell's lavish living-room... "You'll want sugar, Darling... It's very strong expresso..." God almighty, what was it they camouflaged with sugar lumps... ? LSD! Yes, that was it! They had given her LSD... ! But why? Why... ?
"Wh-What is it, Honey?" Carol interrupted her frantic thoughts in a concerned voice, moving quickly to sit down beside her and begin stroking the crown of her head with an affectionate, feminine hand. "Something's bothering you..."
Jean shook her head. "No... not really, Carol," she whispered, staring straight ahead at nothing. "I... I just remembered something is all..."
"Last night?" her friend questioned in an equally sibilant tone.
Jean slowly nodded. "They... they drugged me! I know now... !"
"W-Who drugged you Darling?" the brunette carefully probed, still caressing her beautiful blonde friend's golden crested crown. "You can tell me. I'll never breathe a word; you can be sure of that..."
"I know," Jean said, slowly facing the attractive young girl. "You've already proved that... because you knew where I went, and you didn't tell Mark."
Carol stole a deep, needed breath and let it sigh from her lungs, the action causing her full, firm breasts to intriguingly rise and fall before Jean. She whisperingly said: "I-I heard the name, Lydia Newell... and there was other troubled conversation, but... but believe it or not, I tried not to listen."
"I know," Jean replied, reaching for the other's small hand to contain warmly inside her own. "But you heard enough, and especially to give Mark actual names... Why didn't you, Carol?"
"l-I don't know," the sparkling, dark-eyed girl managed, gazing down at her lap and idly toying with a loose thread. "I suppose if... if you wanted him to know, you'd tell him yourself."
"I believe that, Carol... but I can't help but imagine there was more," Jean persisted. "You... you undressed me last night, didn't you?"
Jean leaned back against the pillows behind her. For a long moment she was reluctant to ask... then: "Wh-What else did you find, Darling... ?"
"S-Sperm... unquestionably, sperm! You were drenched with it between your legs, and... and the hair of your pussy," Carol answered without looking at her. At last, she raised her scintilating eyes to level with those of the beautiful girl who was unflinchingly watching her.
"And... and you washed me all nice and clean there?" Jean questioned, knowing it was true, but wanting Carol's admitted confirmation, the mere though sending rousing fermentations through her unquietable loins and belly.
"Yes... I washed you all nice and clean there," Carol whispered, her dark eyes searching the smokey-blue gems of her dearest friend.
"Did you... enjoy doing it, Carol honey?" Jean couldn't help but question, noticing immediately the increasing breathing of the curvaceous brunette as her full breasts began to rise and fall in rapid rhythm. "Did you... ? I mean, tenderly cleansing my cunt and thighs... knowing that someone else, another man, had squirted their cum in there?" she gasped, uncontrollably reverting to a lewdness she, herself, couldn't understand.
"Oh! Oh God, you're lovely, Jean!" Carol exclaimed, throwing herself onto Jean across the tray to the rattle of spilling dishes, clutching with both arms around the blonde girl's neck, their mouths meeting in a fusion of open, liquid passion!
For a long moment, they kissed and caressed before parting, and as Carol tremblingly arose from the bed and began to clean up the mess they had made, Jean said:
"We have a lot to tell each other, Darling... and I think some of it concerns Caesar... doesn't it?"
"Y-Yes... yesss," Carol readily admitted. "But I'll tell you everything if you tell me!"
"I will!" Jean assured. "Oh, I will, I promise... !"