Caesar Comes His Revenge and ConquersChapter 3
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The early morning California sunshine streaming through the bedroom window awakened Jean Blakely from an uneasy sleep. For a long moment she lay quite still, letting her widening, smoke-blue eyes scan her immediate, puzzling surroundings... then she remembered. She was in their smaller guest-room. She had given Carol and Steve the bedroom Mark and she occupied because the bed was more comfortable. Now, the reminder of Carol being in the house helped brighten her troubled mood.
With that, the twenty-two year old, young wife gingerly bounced to the floor, the short see-through nightie she wore hardly concealing the provocative quiver of curvaceous white flesh rippling voluptuously from her sudden movements. Against the sheer green nylon, her firmly erect breasts lifted and strained when she brushed her long, honey-blonde tresses behind her shoulders, their tiny pink nipples in semi-hardness visibly pushing out the diaphanous material. In the vanity mirror, the lovely, oval-faced girl saw this, a trace of narcissistic admiration penetrating her disquietness. She let her eyes wander downward over the reflection in the glass, picking up her brush to stroke through her hair as they did so. The narrowness of her slender waist had always pleased her, as was the tiny dimple of her navel an erogenous fascination. She dwelt then on the sweeping arch of her softly rounded hips, and the long tapering columns of her full white thighs and shapely calves, but it was the moundish, golden triangle of silken curls at the base of her flat little belly that invariably captured her attention.
A sigh escaped her then, the reasons behind her uneasy frame of mind beginning to trickle from her memory bank to her conscious. A cold little chill crept upward along the smooth hollow of her back, with the abrupt concern for Caesar's welfare commanding her thoughts. Had he gotten through the night unharmed... ? Or, God forbid, was it possible that one of the sentries... or Link Morgan... even Mark, might have shot and... and killed him? Oh God, no... she wouldn't let herself even think of such a horror being a reality! What was it Granny Obert had said... ? "They won't catch him, stop him, shoot him... and neither will they drive him off... !" Again, Jean sighed. Somehow, the recall of the near-century old woman's words seemed to soothe her anxiety. Anyway, both Mark and Steve would be coming home shortly and she would know first-hand all of the particulars the night had wroght. Though, even if her beautiful animal-lover had managed to safely evade them, only a part of her mental strain would be relieved. There was still the intense strain of Mark and her relationship following her unbridled episode with Caesar the night before last.
Jean's mind filled retrospectively with the unashamed wantoness she hadn't tried to hide as she'd given herself to the massive animal's love-making right before her husband's incredulous eyes. God, she hadn't been able to help herself, and he might have killed Mark had she not, the beautiful brute had been that jealous! She thought these things as she slipped into her robe, a fluttering of sensual excitement gnawing in her belly at the memory of Mark uncontrollably losing his own composure and crawling onto the bed to let her suck him while Caesar had fucked into her so powerfully from behind! God, she had never done anything like that before in her entire life, but she'd hoped to do it again and again... it had been so wonderful, giving herself fully to both of her lovers at the same time... ! And then, yesterday morning, she had seen the affected expression in Mark's eyes and on his handsome face, her blissful expectations crumbling in wistful guilt.
From that moment, the tension between them had been unmistakable. Had Carol and Steve not arrived on schedule, the blond-haired young wife dreaded to think of the extent her husband's jealous contempt might have taken them. God, she loved Mark, wanted to live her lifetime loving him with every ounce of strength she had, and in the two-months of their marriage she felt certain she'd proved that! She had never bargained for the mysterious appearance of the handsome wild brute that had saved her from a vicious gang-rape, only to crawl up on her kneeling body from behind and bring her fulfilled sensual pleasure the likes of which Mark couldn't... at least, hadn't. W-Was it any wonder that she'd fallen under his mesmerizing animal-spell? He wasn't just a fierce, wild beast... he was Caesar, and she would always unashamedly love him... !
Jean walked to the single bathroom the little two-bedroom, countryish home boasted, clicking the lock softly behind her and removing her robe. She seated herself daintily on the toilet- seat, her young mind rehashing to the delicate trickle of her relief. She was so thankful for Carol and Steve's presence in the house. It was her and Mark's first trial since their marriage, and God knows, it was not a normal one, but she sensed that their closest friends being there was going to help. At least, she and Mark couldn't work into a ranting, raving argument.
She didn't bother with the usual tissue absorption, but stood, removing her nightie and knotting up her hair, then stepped into the shower, the regulated warm spray invigoratingly restoring her confidence. God, she loved them both so much, she thought, while she almost sensually soaped her soft, white body from force of habit, her mind and hands correspondingly functioning in accord. It would all work out... she felt certain that it would... God, it had to... !
"That goddamned Morgan... he frightens me," the slight young man with the neatly trimmed red-beard said as he climbed into the car. He tossed his alert green-eyes on the uniformed deputy sheriff who slid beneath the wheel opposite him. "How the hell did he ever get to be Chief of Police in the burg?"
Mark Blakely grinned, his greyish-eyes lighting in thought. "Politics, Steve, plain adulterated politics," the tall, chiseled- faced lawman tiredly answered. He set the patrol car into motion, making a misdemeanoring U-turn in the town square. "Too complicated to elaborate on this time of morning. But he's powerful in the valley."
"He killed your father, didn't he," Steve said, rather than asked, remembering the shocking event.
"An accident," Mark quickly responded. "A hunting accident..."
"But there was something between them, wasn't there?" the red-bearded writer pressed. "Didn't your dad beat the crap out of him in the street here, or something... ?"
"They didn't get on," Mark Blakely answered without looking at his friend, making the necessary turns as he moved at a slow speed toward his home.
"But they had a fight... ?"
"Yes!" Mark heard himself snap, then caught himself, aware of the edge to his voice. "Dad whipped his ass... and two-weeks later he was dead... by an accidental bullet fired from Link Morgan's rifle."
"That sonofabitch... he'd probably even cheat at Monopoly!" Steve Foster derided, lighting a cigarette.
Mark couldn't help but snicker at the remark. "You write too much crap for that expose mag you work for, Steve."
"Maybe... maybe, but I know a lousy crook when I see one... if that gentle term can qualify such a filthy looking bastard." The slender, bearded writer returned, pulling a note-book and pencil from his breast-pocket to rapidly scribble into. "You think I can get an interview with his niece, Annie? I mean, after all, she was the girl raped by this Caesar brute, that's what my editor wants... ?"
"I think so. Annie's a nice teenaged girl... nothing like her uncle," Mark replied. "She's taken it well this rape horror... goes to school everyday since it happened. Nothing psychological seems to have happened to her."
"Maybe she's got sense that huge, ugly bastard doesn't know flows in her veins," Steve said as Mark neared the house.
"Maybe. Her own folks were killed in an auto accident near San Diego. She's been in the valley some six-years... a very warm girl." He thought for a moment, knowing what he had in mind. "I might see her in a few hours. I'll see what I can arrange for an interview."
"A few hours? Christ, aren't you going to sleep, man?" his red-haired house-guest questioned.
Mark forced a smile. Christ, how he'd love to, for about forty-eight hours! But inside him, he knew he couldn't rest, not with the unwanted, jealous rancor that churned there. How the hell did you tell a friend that your wife had gone ape over a dog... a goddamned wild, killer beast? "I... I still have a policing job to do, Steve," he heard himself say in remarkably even tones. "It's a pretty good deal here, and should I blow it, someone is always ready to take my place, eh? Anyway... I intend to have a chat with Annie Purcell this morning. I'll catch her on the way to school, and I'll try to set up an interview for you."
"Hey, man, that's great!" Steve said, blowing out smoke. "I mean, I need her story verbatum, you know?"
"Sure. Annie's a sweet kid, pretty too. Maybe she'll even let you take pictures. That ought to up your bonus," Mark added.
"Like frankencense and myrrh, old buddy!" the red-bearded writer enthusiastically retaliated, scrubbing out his cigarette in the car-ashtray. "I'll call the office and have a flick-boy sent right up!"
Mark swung the patrol-car into the yard, the sight of his house and the knowing that Jean was inside, gnawing at his entrails. Christ, he still couldn't believe it! The way she'd given herself to that crazy-wild animal sonofabitch! And sucking his own cock at the same time... goddamn... she'd drained it, swallowing his cum as if it were the last drop on earth!
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