Over a century ago, Thomas Jefferson, who was then ex-President of the United States, had some very important things to say on the subject of education. In a letter to Colonel Charles Yancey dated January 6, 1816, he wrote: "If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and never will be." A letter to Dupont de Nemours, dated April 24 of the same year, said: "Enlighten the people generally, and tyranny and oppressions of the body and mind will vanish like evil spirits at the dawn of day."
To William Charles Jarvis, on September 28, 1820, Jefferson wrote: "I know no safe depository of the ultimate powers of the society but the people themselves; and if we think them not enlightened enough to exercise their control with a wholesome discretion, the remedy is not to take it from them, but to inform their discretion."
To inform the people's discretion, of course, is to educate them. Jefferson thought it highly important to stress the necessity for a sound education, because many people of his time disagreed with him. Today there are very few people left who would quibble with his reasoning, and they would be found largely among the ranks of those who are uneducated and ignorant themselves. Still, the advocates of education have many disagreements among themselves, and schools and colleges face many problems that even the best thinkers of Jefferson's day could hardly have foreseen.
There is little doubt that education in the United States is the best in the world. As one means of measuring, take the statistic that today almost forty percent of our young people enter college, as opposed to the fact that at the turn of the century only about four percent of the eligible age group even graduated from high school. The main question remaining is: what kind of education are our children getting?
The rapid expansion of college enrollments began in the 1920s, and was so explosive that it inevitably created academic problems. The first and most obvious consideration is that such a huge buildup in the number of students would have been impossible if traditional academic standards had not been considerably relaxed. It became easier to enroll in college, and it became easier to graduate.
The critical reaction to this situation set in after World War II, when many returning veterans were entering school under the GI Bill. There were many complaints, and many efforts to tighten academic standards again. The decline in children's reading ability in particular took the spotlight. The book called Why Johnny Can't Read by Rudolph Flesch created a sensation. It was highly critical of our teaching standards, it hit the bestseller lists, and "Johnny" became a household word overnight.
The problem was very real and swiftly becoming acute. Because of great advancements in science and technology, American industry, the research establishment, and the universities themselves had a desperate need for skilled, trained, and generally literate manpower. Even though graduating classes were growing in size every year, the fear that much potential talent had been lost or mistrained was also growing.
In 1957, the success of Russia's first Sputnik dramatized the situation and illuminated the need for change. In 1958, during the Eisenhower administration, the National Defense Education Act was passed, providing government subsidy for improved mathematics, science, and foreign language instruction and teacher training. The American High School Today, a study written by James B. Conant, former president of Harvard University, provided school boards with checklists on ways to improve education, particularly for the most academically gifted students. In many ways, the situation has improved and is continuing to improve.
Anyone reading today's newspaper knows that there are still grave problems in specific areas of education, however. Many teachers have left the system in frustration and despair over the conditions in our schools and the apparent refusal of many students to study and learn. Because many school boards are recalcitrant and old-fashioned, countless numbers of other teachers can't find positions they are really qualified for and are assigned to jobs in which their skills and training are largely wasted.
To illustrate this problem, Warren Bisig, author of Lessons for the Teacher, has chosen a case in which the elements are so special that it may seem extreme and even improbable. We hasten to assure the readers that the story he has to tell is based on fact, and that the situation in which Carol, the heroine, finds herself is not terribly unusual. A recent college graduate, Carol is highly qualified but finds herself unable to obtain a regular teaching position. She is forced to accept a job as tutor to a rich but retarded teenage boy, Lonny Royster. The salary is attractive, but otherwise the job quickly becomes a nightmare. The Royster family is rich enough to do exactly as its members please-and they please to do things that most people would consider abnormal or perverted.
Whether or not Carol can escape the nightmare is a question best left to Mr. Bisig to answer in his incisive, enlightening, and always entertaining way. Whether or not Carol is typical of today's teachers is a question that could be debated at length. The one thing of which we are positive is that Lessons for the Teacher contains many valuable lessons for the reader and will leave him with a much clearer picture of what is going on in American education today.
The Publishers Chatsworth, Cal. February, 1972
CHAPTER ONE
"D-d-don't! Oh don't! You-you're kk-killing meeeee!" He was fucking his terrible cock up my pussy with the force of a bulldozer. I thought sure it would never go. My cunthole felt as if someone were shoving the Leaning Tower of Pisa up my pisser. And although I fought, clawed his gargantuan shoulders and chest; although I tried to close my legs against the horrid violation, Lonny-the giant I'd heard stories about for most of my nineteen years: the black sheep of the town's most prominent family-was too engrossed, too far gone with the wonder of screwing, to hear my cries or feel my nails digging into his flesh.
"Give Lonny-umph! Pussy! Give! Fuck-fuck!" Hair tangled, looking like Quasimodo when he first discovers Gina Lollobrigida asleep in the tower at Notre Dame, the brute continued to hump his awesome dick into the tiny blonde wedge between my quivering thighs.
"Nooooo!" I tried not to feel the tingly sensation that hard prick caused each time it grated across my clit. I tried not to look. But my eyes refused to remain closed. And although I was being taken against my will, raped by the backward boy I'd been hired to teach, shamed, defiled, I couldn't keep my gaze off the unbelievable thing forcing its way, inch by incredible inch, up my belly.
"It-it's too big!" I hollered. "Oh don't. PLEASE! N-No moooooooore!"
Lonny merely grinned his vacant grin, and fucked harder. His hands, the size of baseball gloves, moved from the bosom of my torn dress, to my waist, then down and under to cup my plump, trembling buttocks. I felt his fingers dig in. One sought my pinched asshole. I gasped. Again I tried to close. But it was no use. The boy was a gorilla: stronger than three men, and now, with his first taste of pussy, determined to bury his cock to the hilt. The finger slipped past my sphincters ... hurting ... driving my hips up off the cold cellar floor ... pushing, pushing, pushing toward the secret warmth, the slippery, tight little niche at the top of my vagina.
"Good pussy," he grunted. "Carol got nice hot cunt. We fuck." Gripping the cheeks of my ass, one finger curled high in my rectum, he pressed the throbbing tip of his meat in past the mouth of my upper sheath.
"Owwwwwwww!" I was being ripped open. The fat stake up my hole was slicing me in two. I was no virgin. But not since the first time, more than six years before, when Steve, my cousin, introduced me to the wonders of fucking, had I felt such pain, such resistance within. The pain spread from my hole, to my belly, my head. Lonny, the exposed beams overhead, began to spin. I felt that fourteen-inch cock-as big around as a soup can, it seemed-boring in; closed my eyes and let the nothingness, the dark of unconsciousness, lift me from the dirty cement floor, and back to the day, six days-was it only six days?-before, when it all began.
I had graduated from Community College with high grades and thought sure it would be a snap to get a job as a teacher at Community High. I hadn't figured on Mr. Phelps. I'd heard stories about him: that he'd been caught in the girls' locker room on more than one occasion. And I should have remembered my own high school days, when it was sort of an open secret that the tall, bachelor principal, who had a habit of sneaking into gym class at the most opportune times, always offered a girl in trouble for cutting a class or failing a test the choice of bringing her parents to school or "the switch." I had never been faced with the choice. But I knew girls who had-always the older girls: those about to graduate. They knew the switch was merely an excuse to get a dress up for a look at pink ass flesh. So I should have expected advances as part of the interview.
It was a hot, sunny day, weeks before the new term, when I entered the office. Immediately I saw him behind the desk-eyes big and watery behind the rimless glasses I remembered-I wished I'd worn something less revealing. The minidress rode up almost to my crotch when I sat. I watched those eyes travel boldly up my legs.
"We, ah-we haven't seen you since-." Mr. Phelps sat back and stared at the ceiling. He smiled. "It must be more than four years now, Carol. You don't mind if I call you by your Christian name?"
"N-no. Of course not. I-well, if I'm to work here-." I knew I was blushing. I uncrossed my legs. His gaze followed the move.
"Of course. Of course, my dear. We're all one big happy family at Community High. I like to know my teachers, ah-shall we say intimately?"
Oh-oh! I thought. The fucking old lecher hadn't changed a bit! I could almost see the sex wheels turning inside his almost bald head. But it was nothing unusual. My long, blonde hair, trim figure and tits too big for the rest of me, worked on most men like vino on a wine-guzzler. I returned his pasted-on smile, shrugged. "I really do want the job," I told him. "I've always wanted to be a teacher. And, well, I guess I've always wanted to do it here;"
"Fine! A commendable goal in a young woman as, ah-as attractive as yourself."
Warily I watched him rise from behind the desk. Already there was a bulge at the fly of his pants. And I knew what was on his mind as he stepped to the side of my chair, placed his hand on my shoulder, and added, "You don't mind if, ah-if I say I've had my eye on your, ah-shall we say your scholastic ability since you were one of our pupils?"
Fuck off! I wanted to tell him. But I really did want the job, and Community High was the best school in town, and I knew he was rotten enough to put my name at the bottom of the substitute list if I balked. I tried not to notice the fingers close to my breast. But my voice was shaky when I said, "I-I'm qualified for the job. My grades are excellent. I-I have a recommendation from my English professor."
The fingers inched lower; the tips caressing the round portion of creamy flesh where one tit bulged from the low neck of my dress. Oh darn! I thought. Why hadn't I at least worn a bra? Now he could see my pert nipples, I knew: the pink penciltips that always seemed to be in a state of excitement. I glanced at the hose-like stiffness in his pantsleg. My pussy grew tight. My breath caught. "D-don't!" I whispered, knowing there was no conviction in my voice, no resistance in my body.
"I think we should test your, ah-qualifications!" said Mr. Phelps. "Like fucking. Yes! I think first I should sample your charms-fuck you!"
The words stunned me. I stared wide-eyed up at him; mouth agape, not knowing what to say. I had never before heard it said so brazenly. I came off the chair at his prompting; allowed him to take me into his arms and press the big rod in his pants into the heated pocket between my parted thighs. It felt good. So good! Even though I found him repulsive, ugly and old compared with the others I'd given my curly, white-blonde treasure to, the hugeness of his cock, the way it jerked toward my lovehole, made me gasp. "I-I-I-."
His lips covered mine before I could finish what I'd begun to say. But it didn't matter. I didn't know myself what I was going to say. And his dick! Oh, his hard dick! His hands had dropped to my ass, lifted the mini, and now, even through the pants, I could feel the fat glans sniffing the dampness where the bikini briefs were sunk deep in the lips of my cunt.
The job! I thought. I was doing it for the job! I opened my mouth for his tongue, wrapped my arms around his neck, and began to grind ... mashing my pussy against the stiffness ... rolling the cheeks of my ass against the palms of his hands.
We swayed together until Mr. Phelps tore his lips away, and said, "You have a lovely round, ah-behind!" His fingers worked the panties high on one cheek. "So soft. So, ah-inviting!" He traced the crack; probed.
"Ow! N-not there," I objected as his middle finger began to toy at my anus. "I-I never-."
"Shhh!" He backed me across the room, to the desk. "Carol. Lovely Carol," he breathed, abandoning my ass to shimmy the panties down. "I used to watch you. In gym class. I, ah! I always wondered if your, ah-if your pussycat is as golden as the rest of you." Pushing the undergarment down, he dropped to his knees, and pressed his face, his mouth, to my white-blonde pubic hair.
"Ummm!" I shivered as the tongue that had explored my mouth moments before darted into my slit. It was heavenly. I sat on the edge of the desk, opened wide. The sandpapery dart raked my clit. "Ow-ow! Owwwwwww!" I gripped the ledge I was perched on, and thrust my hips, my vulva, into his face.
Mr. Phelps was no longer old and ugly. He was marvelous! Beautiful! And I would have been content to sit there forever while he sucked me off. But just as it was getting really good, just as my hips and thighs were beginning to dance, as if someone had wound me up, he pushed the panties down, to my ankles, lifted first one foot, then the other out of the lacy garment, and stood. He steered my hand to his crotch. "Take it out," he told me. "My, ah-my john thomas!"
I sobbed and fell with my head on his shoulder. I was by now too far gone, too worked up, to care about anything except the stiffness, the long, throbbing manmeat, inside his pants. My fingers groped for the zipper. It came down. My hand filled the gap. I fumbled with the opening in his shorts-found the hot, plumb-shaped head of his cock, and began to move my hand up and down the hard, veiny shaft.
"Lovely!" sighed Mr. Phelps. His hand repaid the compliment. He cupped my wet pussy; rubbed. He kissed me again: held it until I had freed his big dick, pushed his fingers aside, and was moving the purple-red tip up and down the pulsing gash his tongue had readied for screwing.
Suddenly he yanked his rod from my hand, backed away. I watched him undo his belt. I sat trembling; cunt smoking, it seemed. It was always like this. No matter how hard I resisted, how adamant I was, a stiff prick shattered my will like a hammer on glass. I thought back, to the night before, when Steve, my cousin, the one who'd taken my cherry when I was thirteen and just beginning to show a trace of down on my vulva, came to the house, and forced me-with talk of the things we'd done as kids-to undress-saying he only wanted to look at me-and open my legs as I'd done hundreds of times in the six years we'd been having our incestuous affair. A dick made me crazy, it seemed. Any dick! Anywhere! Now I stared breathlessly at the one standing away from Mr. Phelps' black cockhair. I watched him come toward me in shirttails. I stopped breathing. Stopped thinking.
"Lay down on the desk," he directed. Quickly he pushed the blotter, papers, a pen and odds and ends, to one side. "At the edge. So I can get this-" he shook his bloated cock at me-"up your, ah-up your sweet cunthole!"
Willingly I complied. But I felt the hot blood of shame flooding my cheeks. I had never before heard anyone talk so wantonly. Not even Steve-who took me roughly and didn't care if I cried or whimpered or fought-spoke to me as directly as Mr. Phelps. Still, I raised my legs, planted my heels on the mahogany, and dropped my knees wide. The faint breeze from the window behind Mr. Phelps licked my twat. I shivered; goose bumps of anticipation breaking out all over my body. The shiver became a shudder of delight as he stepped to the edge of the desk, splayed his hands on the tense white flesh along the inside of my wide-spread thighs, and set the knob of his cock at my nipping love-hole.
"Ahummmm!" I bucked as the glans slipped into me.
"Lovely!" Moving his hands over my hips, down and under, to my ass, Mr. Phelps humped.
"Oh yes! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" I felt the thick shaft part the wet folds of my sex ... began to gyrate ... to draw him in ... to set my inner cunt muscles at work. It wasn't as big as Steve's magnificent tool. But it was bigger than some of the others I'd taken, and hard-harder than the wood my buttocks were slapping against, it seemed. I whimpered and strained ... pulling him deeper. Using my belly, like a hungry vacuum cleaner, to suck him in.
"I used to-oh my! Oh tight! Lovely and wet and tight!" groaned Mr. Phelps. "I-I used to watch you every day in gym," he confided. "I-I used to think, 'That Carol! She's gonna be one fine little fuck some day!' You-ahhhh! So good 'n' fucking hot! You were better-looking than the others. All of them. But-ummmmmmmmmm! I-I never could get you in here. You never came late. Never cut class. Never-OH! Never did one fucking thing I could use to, ah-to discipline you! To get your dress up 'n' see for myself if your sweet little pussy is as blonde 'n' pink 'n' lovely as the rest of you." He pulled back, until his prick-now slick with cunt juice-almost popped from its burrow, and drove, planting himself to the hilt.
"Do it!" I cried, fucking my hips up off the desk, wanting to feel him pound, bludgeon the thing into me. "F-fuck real hard. In and-oh! OHHHHHHHHHHH! All-all the way in and out!"
He set a new pace: a steady, rapid fuck tempo, designed to coax his wiggly cumworms up from the sacs slapping my ass. I helped. I matched him thrust for thrust ... moving my hips furiously round and round ... making my cunt snap. I couldn't breathe. The room was a vacuum: barren of oxygen. And the dress, bunched high on my waist, leaving my lower body free but suffocating my breasts, seemed to weigh more than the bookcase lining the wall on either side of the window.
As if having read my thoughts, Mr. Phelps, moving his hands up my body, said, "Lift up."
When I did, he worked the zipper down my back, and slid the dress from my shoulders. My breasts sprang free-the nipples pink and rigid, wanting to be kissed.
He didn't have to be told. His lips, coming down on one taut peak, nibbled. "Lovely!" he announced, sucking the bud into his mouth, spitting it out to minister to its twin, alternating from tit to soft tit ... swirling his tongue ... licking ... sucking ... biting.
I was coming. The inside of my cunt was on fire. The orgasm began slowly-a gentle warmth spreading through my belly, my thighs-and became a geyser: Old Faithful flooding my pussy with tingly sensation.
"Owwwwwwww," I breathed at last. "D-don't stop! Oh! Ohah fuck! Fuck it up me. All the way. Hard! Don't! Don't! Don't stop fucking meeeeeee!"
"Your cunt! Oh my, your lovely little wonderful golden cunt! My-o-my-o-my-o-my!" Suddenly Mr. Phelps was coming too. He fucked rapidly back and forth-driving his stiffness like a jackhammer in and out of my sheath.
Ecstatic, I felt the first blast of thick cream. It worked on my clit. The tiny bud jerked, and fired another delicious orgasmic thrill up the quivering walls of my vagina. The walls tightened: milking, drawing spurt after good spurt of gism from the tip of their throbbing prisoner. I fucked faster. Faster and faster and faster and faster and faster. Wanting more. Wanting the cum to continue to flow. I felt it running sticky out of my cunt and into the crack of my ass. It gathered in the tuft of hair at my anus ... setting off more thrills ... making my asshole nip, drink it in. I bumped and grinded and cooed, coaxing more.
Spitting rod planted to the hilt, hairy balls leaping against my plump bottom, Mr. Phelps choked, "I, ahhhhhhhh-I used to say to myself, 'Phelps! Some day you're gonna get yourself a piece of that little girl's pussy!' But I-ummm! Never really thought-I mean, I never really expected you to walk in here and, ah-never thought I'd get this-" he made his cock expand and contract and spit another gob-"UP! Up y-your tight snatch! Um! Fucking! You 'n'me! Ah! Ahhhhhh!"
My cunt was sloppy wet. A mixture of pussy-and cockjuice had wetted the desktop, and now, each time my buttocks slapped the polished mahogany, each time Mr. Phelps pistoned, a faint splat-like someone applauding-accompanied the fuck. The sound made me crazy, wild. I reached up, snaked my arms around the principal's neck, and lifted. My legs went around his waist. I locked my ankles. "Harder!" I croaked, wrapped around him like an affectionate monkey. "Ram it into me! Screw!"
"Love-lovely!" gasped Mr. Phelps. Holding my ass, supporting my weight in the palms of his hands, he humped. It was awkward. But he worked mightily ... grinding his hips ... pulling back ... slamming it home ... pissing cum until the last gooey drop had trickled off, run down the pulsating walls of my sheath, and entangled itself in the forest of hair at his balls. Then, half-standing, half-leaning against the desk, breathing as if his lungs were about to burst, he placed his lips to my ear. "My dear Carol," he sighed. "My sweet, blonde-pussied minx."
I felt suddenly silly. The orgasm had left a pleasant warmth at my crotch, inside. But I was envisioning someone-perhaps the janitor or another girl applying for the teaching post-walking in to find me, flagrante delicto, trembling limbs tied in knots, twat engorged, impaled on the thing standing tall between Mr. Phelps' skinny legs. I giggled.
"Yes?" The principal's rimless glasses blinked into my eyes. It was the first I noticed he hadn't taken them off. I giggled harder.
It was contagious. Soon Mr. Phelps was laughing along with me. The mirth worked on his cock. It shriveled and slipped from my cunt-hole. He sat me back on the desktop. I unwound my legs and stared at the ungracious rod that had worked such wondrous pleasure moments before. "Do-do I qualify?"
The principal cleared his throat. "My dear girl. I have never met a teacher with, ah-shall we say your scholastic abilities?"
"Then the job's mine?"
Again Mr. Phelps cleared his throat. His gaze dropped from my face, to my tits, to the white-blonde wedge glistening with sweat and cum. His hand moved up the inside of one thigh. "Of course," he said, fingerfucking my slit once more, "there is more than one, ah-shall we say qualification test?"
I smiled. I had anticipated him wanting to screw again. It was always that way: my body, my tits, my sweet wedge had the capacity to make a limp dick spring back to life in a matter of seconds. I took hold of his swipe. It was icky. But it began to grow immediately my fingers closed about the long shaft.
For a moment, Mr. Phelps allowed me to whack him off. Until he was hard. Then his gaze drifted back to my face. "You, ah-you have quite a lovely mouth," he whispered. His wet fingers slipped from my pussy. He raised the hand to my lips. "Do you, ah-do you do everything as well as you fuck?"
I knew what he wanted. I could taste my own cunt on the fingers brushing my lips. Now he wanted me to taste him, I realized.
Without hesitation-not really wanting to but determined to get the job no matter what-I wiggled my ass off the desktop, and dropped to my knees.
"Lovely!" The principal stepped close. His hand came down on the back of my head. "Suck it!" he said, steering the once again bloated glans of his rod to my face. "Put it-um! In your sweet mouth! Yes! Oh yes, I think you'll do fine!"
And so I sucked him off. Twice! I gulped his cum and sucked him up hard and gulped again. We spent most of the day in that office performing one obscene act after another. It was for the job! I kept telling myself. But afterward, when Mr. Phelps simply couldn't get it stiff anymore, when my cunt was fucked out and we had dressed and were seated-discussing what I had come for-I learned the principal had indeed taken advantage of me. The only vacancy at Community High was for a lousy substitute. Oh! the prick! I thought. The crummy old bastard!
Then Mr. Phelps surprised me with another offer. Lonny Royster, he said, the youngest son of the family who owned the big stone house on the outskirts of town, was in need of a private tutor. The older brother, Brent-who I knew to be a tall, deep-chested handsome man with piercing blue eyes and wavy brown hair-had been making inquiries.
I could almost see Brent Royster standing at the door to the mansion set far back from the road. As I listened to Mr. Phelps rattle on about what a marvelous opportunity it would be for, ah-the right teacher, I remembered stories I'd heard years ago. The Roysters, it seemed, had fathered a mongolian giant-a boy they kept hidden. Lonny, rumor had it, was almost seven feet tall; had a wide, lackluster stare, and the intelligence of a five-year-old.
"The boy's as gentle as a puppy," said Mr. Phelps. "And, ah-the Roysters can be very generous."
I'll bet! I thought, recalling other tales I'd heard: stories about Lonny standing beside the road and jerking off as neighborhood schoolgirls hurried by. I'd never seen him myself. But I felt as if I'd known Crazy Lonny all my life.
"The, ah-salary is almost double what you would make here as even a fulltime teacher," continued Mr. Phelps. I watched him use his handkerchief to wipe an overlooked gob of cum from the desktop. "A superb placement," he added, grinning. "I, ah-know the Roysters socially, my dear. Fine people. I, ah-I'm a frequent dinner guest."
Uh-oh! I knew what that meant! If I took the job, I could expect horny Mr. Phelps to come calling for more of what I'd been giving him all afternoon! But there was Brent Royster to be considered, I thought: the groovy eldest son of the richest family in town. And the pay mentioned was indeed inviting. What could possibly happen? I reasoned. Even if Lonny was the brute those who'd seen him claimed-ugly and built like a hairy gorilla, and with a cock out to there-the Roysters wouldn't let anything happen to me.
"Well dear?" Seated behind the desk, Mr. Phelps tapped impatient fingers on the blotter. "I-I d-don't know."
The principal sniffled. Suddenly he was the man who'd scared hell out of me throughout my days as a student at Community High. Gruffly he stated what an absurd decision it would be to turn down a once-in-a-lifetime offer: an opportunity for an "ordinary girl" like me to serve the "cream of the social ladder."
By the time he had finished, I was blushing. I fidgeted. I never could resist forcefulness. I agreed to take the job as tutor to Lonny Royster-on a thirty-day trial.
"Fine!" Emerging from behind the desk, Mr. Phelps helped me out of the chair and patted my ass toward the door. "You'll never regret it, my dear. I'll see to that!"
I smiled uncertainly. It never occurred to me to ask why the Roysters had waited till Lonny was full-grown to hire me as a tutor.
CHAPTER TWO
Naked atop the big canopy bed in the room the Roysters had assigned me upon arrival. How had I gotten there? I wondered. It was almost night, I could see by the fading light from the high, cut-glass window, and the last thing I recalled was afternoon and....
"Oh-!" I bolted to a sitting position and almost died from the stab of pain at my cunthole. It was coming back ... how Lonny had tricked me into playing hide-'n'-seek ... had lured me into the cellar, where I couldn't escape; and, while I fought and pleaded with him to stop, had raped me.
There was blood on the inside of my thighs. That terrible cock! The mere thought made me shiver. I could almost feel it boring in ... tearing, spreading my tender cuntlips beyond normal capacity. Tentatively, hand atremble, I fingered the sore little slit. "Owwwww!"
I reached for the vanity mirror on the night table. Sitting with thighs wide, legs over the edge of the bed, I examined the bright pink gash. It was swollen from the unholy bludgeoning. The sweet outer lips pouted like the mouth of a child about to wail. And within, the brighter pinkness, the delicate folds of my vagina retained drops of the blood that had dripped down to crust on my legs.
Heart thumping, I huddled clutching the pillows. Could this be happening? I wondered. It was as if I had stepped out of reality and into the pages of a Gothic novel. Lonny, the backward boy who had grown into a man with a prick bigger than anything imaginable, had forcefully taken me, and someone-not Lonny, I was certain-had brought me to this room, undressed me, and ... and ... oh! I didn't know what all!
Leaping from the bed, I raced to the door and yanked at the curved brass handle. Locked! "Oh, God!"
My suspicions-the things I had feared since coming to the Royster mansion six days before-weren't, after all, the mere imaginings of a giddy girl. I was a prisoner. Now all the questions the Roysters had asked about Steve, my only living relative, began to make sense. And the six days ... no doubt they had used the time to check my story.
Stunned, I returned to the huge canopy bed. I stared at the high window. The Roysters had hired me as a live-in tutor-but not to teach Lonny reading and writing and arithmetic!
In the days that followed, while my body healed from the first bludgeoning, Rhonda, a blowsy maid, looked after me. I thought about escape; but was too weak to try. And by the time I had regained my strength and had mentally plotted the route from the bedroom window, down the vines clinging like jungle rope to the old house, and freedom, Brent-apparently having anticipated my reaction to "little brother's" education-appeared to shatter the scheme.
"Feeling better?" he asked, as if I were recovering from a minor cold.
"You-! You better let me out of here!" There was an ominous note in my voice: confidence I didn't feel. I knew, unless Steve missed me and began asking around, the Roysters could hold me for maybe twenty-five years.
Solicitous grin on his ruddy face, Brent eased his bulk onto the edge of the bed. He was almost as tall as Lonny, I noted. But where Lonny was lumbering and repulsive, Brent was graceful, handsome. I became conscious of my nakedness beneath the clinging sheet. My pussy no longer ached. Now I felt the familiar tingle-the tightening which always preceded the hardening of the tiny pink soldier inside my cunt-lips.
"You've agreed to remain in our employ for a 30-day trial period," said Brent finally. "I have your name on a contract. Remember?" His huge, manicured hand came down on the sheet where it hugged my thigh. He squeezed.
The prick! I thought. The fucking lousy cock-sucker! I had, indeed, signed something when I arrived. Now I could holler my fool head off because they had me-but good!
"You'll have to forgive Lonny's eagerness." Brent leaned close. I felt his breath on my face. The hand on my thigh moved higher ... almost to my crotch. "You're his first woman," he added. "Accept my apology. When I found you on the cold cellar floor-"
"Y-You-?" I clutched the sheet to my breasts.
Brent grinned. "You have a lovely body, Carol. Do you mind if I call you Carol?"
I didn't know what to say. I was his prisoner, yet he was so gentle, so nice. And now that I knew he had carried me naked up from the cellar, it seemed sort of silly to refuse him the right to use my first name. Plus I knew he would, anyway. "If-only if I can call you Brent," I said impulsively.
"I wouldn't have it any other way." The wandering had came to rest where the sheet hugged my pussy. It rubbed. "You're a rare commodity," said Brent softly. "I've met only one other true blonde in my lifetime. But she was honey-blonde. Yours is the absolute first platinum pussy I've seen."
"Oh don't!" I protested as the fingers dug in. But I wasn't feeling the protest: wasn't upset or angry. His voice had a soothing, hypnotic affect ... a warmth that spread through the hand kneading my sex, and up my belly.
Brent's darkly handsome face moved slowly toward mine. It took a long time. He was so different from Lonny, I thought, momentarily ashamed of myself-embarrassed because I wanted him. He was making love to me. Slowly. His lips coming closer, closer. I couldn't resist: didn't want to. I opened my mouth, expecting the thrust of his tongue, the announcement that his big cock was hard and ready to enter where the fingers were probing. But the kiss, too, was gentle, soothing. I hardly felt the sheet being lifted aside-realized it only when I felt his hand on my bare little mound. I gasped. Willingly I opened my thighs and took his finger.
By the time Brent pulled his lips away, my pussy, my hot hairy hole, was ready for anything he had to offer. I watched him stand and strip the clothes from his body. He was enormous. So incredibly large. But the biggest thing about him, the absolute wonder of his muscular frame, was the magnificent torpedo-shaped glans of his prick. It was red and orange, with a touch of blue. And as I watched, panting, wondering if I could take the awesome thing without blacking out as with Lonny, it began to stand away from the curliest thatch of brown cockhair, and grow and grow and grow.
The apprehension must have showed on my face. For as Brent flung the last garment away, he said, "It's a mere baby. Twelve inches. Don't fret. If you took Lonny-!" He left the thought dangling. But his fierce dick was no longer dangling. Now it stood straight-pointed at me as he climbed back onto the bed.
Again I felt the gentleness of his lips against mine. Oh, God! I thought. Moments before I had been ready to scratch out his eyes. Now I was his. His to use. To do with as he chose. To conquer. My cunt had already begun to drip lubricant, my titties were hard, and I wanted-oh! How I wanted it!-to feel his stiffness forcing its way up my belly.
I felt myself being rolled ... first onto my side; then, as his mouth deserted mine, onto my belly. "Wha-?"
"Relax. Lie still." Brent's hands moved slowly over the soft halves of my ass. Gently he coaxed my thighs apart. His fingers flipped into my anus and vulva at the same time.
"Ohah!" I threw my hips back at him. Doggie-style! I thought. Steve liked it that way. Others too. I could hardly wait to feel his body suspended above me ... feel his cock pushing up my pussy from behind.
Finally, just as I thought I would go out of my mind if he didn't fuck it into me soon, Brent's weight shifted. I felt his legs brush the inside of my thighs; moaned and opened even wider. I couldn't breathe. I closed my eyes, gripped the pillow and waited for the wonder of first penetration. I worked my cunt muscles, lifted-whimpering, straining. Then, at last, I felt him: hard and frighteningly big. But the tip of his rod was sniffing the wrong aperture. And before I could open my mouth to object, the glans, the mighty thing I had admired moments before, was grinding its way painfully past my sphincters.
"D-d-doooooooooooon't!"
Too late! The tip was firmly embedded ... biting into my pinched little asshole with the force of a railroad spike driven by an experienced lineman.
"Oh, God! Oh, God, ohhhhhhhhh!"
The gentleness was gone. It was Lonny, not Brent, crazy Lonny suspended above my plump cheeks. I felt the lengthy thing blazing a relentless path up my shitter, tried to twist away, and succeeded only in making it hurt more. Wide-eyed I glanced back at him. His face was contorted, hard. Elevated, thick arms positioned at either side of my waist, he grimaced and applied pressure to the thing reaming my rectum.
"Stop! Oh stop! Anything! Anything only d-d-don't push in any moooooooooore!"
"Shuddup 'n' open!" he growled, pushing harder. "I-ah! I wanted this-" Freeing one hand, supporting his weight on one outstretched column of tense muscle, he squeezed my ass, "-since you first walked in the goddamn door. Now shuddup 'n' fuck!"
I was dying. Again I was being torn apart by a Royster. But there was no sense in resistance: no percentage in closing my chute and making him open me up the hard way. I had never before taken a dick in the ass. And there I was, half impaled by the second biggest prick in the world, and faced with the choice of giving my bottom or having it taken by brute strength.
"Jesus fucking Christ! It-it's too mother-fucking tight this way!" gasped Brent. "On-um! On your knees, baby! Stick-oh! Stick that cute little ass in the air. Gimme some room to get my-oh, mother! Mother! Room to g-g-get my fucking joint up your roundeye!"
I felt his hands under my belly. Reluctantly I raised up. My asshole opened. And even before I had planted my elbows on the mattress, the thing, his long, veiny cock, began to make headway. "B-bbe g-gentle," I cried. "Oh please! G-g-go easy."
Brent laughed. Taking hold of my hips, he began to twist the thing into me, in short, brutal lunges. He grunted as each advance pulled me onto the meat stake. He fucked his cock up my virgin rear until all but his balls were buried in the tight niche.
"Ow! Owwwwwww! I-I d-d-don't, um! Believe it!" From my bent forward position, head on the pillow, I could see the center of action between my gaped open thighs: could see his wrinkled sacs swaying below the blonde wedge of my pussy. Yet I simply couldn't accept the fact that his awesome member was in me. It wasn't possible! The tiny hole that hurt so when a mere turd was unusually hard, simply couldn't accommodate the incredible hardness of him!
"That's more like it," said Brent, verifying the conquest. His hands slipped from my hips, around and under, to my cunt. Two fingers on each hand spread the lips. He worked my sex as if it were an elastic band. He began to grind his coarse cockhair against my upthrusted bottom. "Move it!" he ordered. "Wiggle! Get your, ah-ahhhhh ... good fucking Christ! Get your sweet little ass going, baby. Fuck!"
Tentatively I wiggled. "Ahummmmmm!"
Brent laughed. "You dig?"
"I-I d-d-dig!" The wonder I had felt at realization that the ferocious thing was in me was nothing compared with what I now was experiencing. The walls of my rectum squeezed his cock. My pussy spewed juice. It was good. So good-as if I were being fucked in both places at once.
"That's it," sighed Brent. "But go slow. Nice 'n' easy. Make it last. Ummmmmm!"
I leaned far forward-dizzy with the sensation of that awesome dick sliding out, then grinding back ... Brent fucking ... fucking ... fucking the entire length into me. "L-like this?" I choked, gyrating.
"Oh Christ!"
"And this?" I mashed my cheeks into his wiry pubic cushion. My hips became a cement mixer. Churning. Milking. I had never in my wildest dreams expected to have a prick-particularly Brent's prick: a Royster monstrosity-up my asshole: never thought I could enjoy it that way. But it was spectacular. And although he had told me to go slow, to make it last, my hips refused to obey.
"Jesus, Mary 'n' fucking Joseph! Slow down, goddammit!" Brent's fingers, his sharp nails, dug cruelly into the tender folds of my cunt.
"Ow! OWWWWWWW!" The pain was excruciating. Still my hips, my ass, refused to break pace. I could tell by the glans of the rod breathing high in my chute that Brent was about to pop. And the thought of his cum, of hot gism blasting from that magnificent spike, made the pain bearable-almost nice. I fucked faster. My sphincters became nipping pincers. "Shoot!" I yelled. "Please! Oh please! Please! PLEASE FUCK CUM INTO MEEE!"
As if my words had touched a sensitive trigger, ignited a charge, the meat up my small ass jerked and spit a thick gob of cream. "Ahhhh!"
"Oh yes! Yessssss!" I reached down, between my legs, and cupped his big balls. They leaped in my hand. Again his cock jerked and deposited goo. I kneaded his sacs and closed tight. Fucking. Grinding my ass back and onto his spitting tool.
When it was over, when Brent had pissed the last drop, pulled out and lay beside me sucking deep draughts of breath, he said, "You have an educated asshole, teacher. I think I'll major in the subject. At least one class a day."
"Wha-what about Lonny?" I asked in a tremulous voice.
"Him you're gonna teach the ropes. From A to Z. He's like a kid-doesn't know a cunt from his elbow."
I watched him reach for the shirt on the floor beside the bed, retrieve a pack of cigarettes, light one, and fill the air below the canopy with smoke. My God! I thought. He spoke of Lonny, of me, of what had happened and was going to happen, as if we were discussing an old shoe: as if I had absolutely nothing to say in what was done to my body. For a moment I had forgotten I was a prisoner. "Suppose-well, suppose I d-don't want to?" I balked.
Propped on one arm, his cock, like a soggy rubber salami against my thigh, Brent studied my tits. His mouth came slowly down on one nipple. Wetting it, he touched the lit cigarette to the vulnerable pinkness.
"Noooo-!" I yelped, frantically pushing his hand away before any real damage was done.
"Thirty days," he reminded me. "Enjoy it, baby. Lonny's not such a bad guy once you get to know 'im. And then there's me." His mouth returned to my singed nipple.
I still couldn't believe he meant to force me into giving myself to the backward brute, Lonny. In spite of what had happened, the rape; in spite of what he had forced me to do moments before; I simply couldn't accept the fact that Brent was anything but a gentleman. The Roysters had a reputation to live up to. The town looked up to them. Yet there I was, at their mercy, being told I'd fuck and like it-or else!
Suddenly Brent crushed the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. He went to work in earnest on my breasts. The limp thing brushing my thigh began to stiffen. His teeth nibbled. His hand moved down and over the round swell of my belly. "A fucking blonde cunt!" he groaned. "A real live platinum pussy. Christ! I would've given half the family fortune to be the first to stick a prick in you. Who got your cherry, baby? What lucky bastard?"
Automatically my legs opened for his curious fingers. "My-my cousin S-Steve!"
"Jesus! Did you give it up willingly or make him fucking take it?"
"Yes, oh!" I closed my cuntlips tight on the dart teasing the hard bud within. "He-he f-forced me to give," I gasped, recalling the day, soon after my thirteenth birthday, when Steve, who was two years older than I, lured me into the attic-to look through an old trunk, he said-and conned me into letting him see the new curls on my mound. "We-I lived with my aunt, Steve's mother, after my folks died," I continued, envisioning the day, the feel, the wonder of a big swipe bludgeoning through my maidenhead. "But this day we were alone in the house-me and Steve. We always fooled around in the attic-wrestling and like that. But this time, while I was bent over the trunk, he came up behind, lifted my dress, felt my ass, and said, 'Boy! You're getting big, Carol. You got any hair on your cunt yet?' I-I told him I did. But he pretended not to believe me-made fun, and said, 'Okay, little girl. If you got hair on your cunt, lemme see!' And me-oh! I was so dumb! I-I turned around, toward him, lifted my dress and showed him the down peeking from the legband of my white cotton panties."
"The prettiest fucking thing the cocksucker ever laid eyes on!" Brent, as if we were in the attic, and he was Steve-ogling my virgin wedge for the first time-drove his fingers high in my nipping cunthole. Brent's monstrous dick was full hard now. He guided my hand to it. "Wha-what happened after you showed him?" he asked, closing my fingers around his excitement, making me whack him off.
"Oh! Ohahhhhhhh!" The hotness of his rod, the length, made my hand tremble. But now I was remembering how Steve proceeded to take off my panties: how he used my dumbness, my innocence, to get his way.
"He-he pushed me down on the pile of old blankets and stuff where we wrestled," I went on, closing my eyes, seeing it inside my head, as if it were happening. "'But you don't know what a cunt's for!' Steve teased, using his knees to pry my legs open. 'You're only a kid! Bet you ain't never even seen a real cock!' Then I felt him. Hard! Digging between my thighs! But it always got hard when we wrestled, and I was too young, too dumb to know what it meant. 'You don't know about S-E-X!' he taunted, dry-humping me, making my pussy all wet and tingly inside. 'I do, too!' I yelled. 'I know all about fucking and like that. I-I know about-about what Auntie does when-when the men bring her home!' I didn't really. I was guessing. I was just too embarrassed to admit how stupid I was, and repeating what I'd heard other girls say. And when his hand went under my dress-fingers oh!" I thrust my hips off the bedding, grinding, mashing my anxious cunt into Brent's enormous hand, "-fingers fucking my slit like, ohah! L-like you're d-d-doing now, I-I let him because I didn't want to be a dumb kid."
Brent's stiff joint began to throb and jerk in my hand. His fingers slipped from my sheath. Quickly he climbed between my gaped open legs. Holding himself above me, staring down with glazed eyes, he rubbed the fiery tip of his prick in my white-blonde curls. "Tight!" he hissed. "I bet the fucking sweet thing was tighter than a chicken's ass the first time!"
"P-put it up me," I breathed, lifting. "Fuck out my cunt! Do it! Oh do it! Do it!"
Brent held back. He allowed me to steer the swollen head of his rod to my gash, but splayed his hand on my belly, pressed down-holding me off when I tried to draw him in. "What happened next?" he prompted. "After he got his fingers in you. Did you fight? Try to stop him?"
"I-oh, I l-let him take off my p-p-panties," I continued. "I-I didn't really know what he was doing because the fingers had me all dopey and icky inside. Then-oh! Oh, he took out his cock. He unzipped his fly and there it was. Long and hard. All bright red and jumping like crazy. I'd never seen one before. 'Lookit!' he told me. 'Ain't it nice? Feel how hard it is. All for you. Feel!' I-I was scared not to. I didn't know why I was scared, but my stomach was doing flips. So I felt him. I-I took hold of his dick and moved my hand up and down. I knew girls who said they jerked boys off in the movies. So I jerked. I jerked and jerked and jerked until he yelped, 'Cousin Carol! Oh man! Oh manomano-man!' Then-oh then-" Again I thrust my hips up off the bed-working my cuntlips-trying like crazy to suck the fat torpedo-shaped glans up my hole, "-he oh! Oh, God! Oh, Brent. Brent, p-p-please fuck me now."
"This what you want?" With one mighty lunge, so forceful it tore a cry-an acknowledgement of bliss-from my lips, he planted half the length of his stiffness in my forebelly.
"Oh, yes! Yes Brent! Yessssssss!"
"Finish the story," he insisted. "Tell me how he fucked it into you. How it felt."
"Not now. Please. Fuck me first."
He pulled back. The lovely, glistening wet tip of his magnificent prick popped from its burrow.
"Oh nooooooooooo!"
"Not until you tell the rest of the story," he taunted, again rubbing himself in my cunthair-torturing me with the thing I had feared was too big, too thick around, to fit in the place now screaming, it seemed, to engulf him.
"Oh-! Darn you and your big fucking meat, anyway! He-S-Steve s-s-set the tip of his rod at my virgin cunthole. 'Open up!' he told me. 'Make like you're taking a pee 'n' it won't hurt!' I did. I opened my legs as wide as they'd go; opened my pussy, closed my eyes and waited for it to go in. 'Fucking man!' Steve groaned. 'I-I always wanted to do you. Even when you was a little kid. Your fucking cute ass-man! I used to watch it go in those tight jeans. Manoman! You used to give me a hard-on even when you was ten years old!' Then he drove. Hard! So hard I thought sure he was trying to kill me. It-it hurt something awful. 'Oh Steve! Stop!' I screamed. 'Steve, it feels like a knife cutting through meee!' But he wouldn't listen. He kept going in. In and in! He took hold of the cheeks of my ass, let his weight down, and humped and humped and humped until my cherry was gone. I was crying by then. And there was blood all over the place. But the pain was suddenly all gone. And when he started to screw-moving in and out between my legs-fast-faster than anything-m-my hips just seemed to keep pace all by themselves. 'I'm fucking!' I thought. 'Oh God-I'm fucking with Cousin Steve, 'n' it's so good!'" I finally finished.
Brent fell .upon me. Where before he'd held back, he now drove furiously. It was as if the story, the thought of my cherry being busted by Cousin Steve, had ignited an inferno within the stiff meat slipping deeper and deeper, humping its lengthy way up my little lovehole.
"Ohah! Ohhhhhhhhh! Fuck it! Oh, don't stop! All-all of it! Up my belly. Make it go all the way in! Hard! Harder! Fuck out my pussy! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK MEEEEEEEE!"
"Baby! Goddamn!" Brent reached under, took firm hold of my ass, spread the cheeks, and fucked the last inches of stiffness up my belly. "Hot!" he gasped. "So fucking, fucking, fucking hot 'n' tight!" He kissed me. His tongue pushed in past my teeth and batted against the roof of my mouth. And his cock! His big, magnificent foot-long spike began to stoke, to swab, to dig rapidly in and out of my wet sheath.
I was being incinerated. My body was a mass of raw nerve being scorched by his pistoning rod-crushed under his weight. But I loved it. My cunthole was singing the theme toLove Story. I threw my legs up, high on his back, almost to his broad, muscular shoulders. I drew him deeper-deeper still, greedy, straining for more. I sucked his tongue. Moaning, wanting nothing more than to feel the cream leap from his balls, I threw myself up at him ... screwing ... churning my hips ... fucking as I had never given myself before.
Brent's lips deserted mine; slid wetly down my neck, to the taut peak of one breast. Noisily he drew the rigid pinkness into his mouth.
"Ah! Owah! Suck! Oh, suck my titties!"
"You said it, doll!" His teeth clamped tight on my nipple. Biting! Hurting!
"Ow! Owwwwwwww!" The pain was fierce-but as nothing compared to the wonder, the heat, the exquisite tingle spreading through my crotch. I was soaring. The frilly canopy was a white cloud at the gate to paradise. And inside me, inside the dick my cunthole was milking toward another powerful blast, was the key to the gate. I fucked with all my might ... hips going round and round ... ass bouncing off the bed ... sloppy wet vulva slurping with each lunge of his cock.
"Oh, Christ!" gasped Brent. His stinkfinger twisted deep in my anus. His joint held at the hilt. Biting down hard on my nipple, causing fireworks to explode before my eyes, he shot.
I thought sure I was going to black out again. His cum geysered off in my twat, bringing me to orgasm, flooding my belly with sticky bliss. "Again!" I cried. "Go again! Shoot! Don't stop shooting!"
Groaning, his huge body a-tremble with release, Brent humped gob after thick gob up my hot pussy. It went on and on: a continuous orgasm that seemed to last forever and was over too soon. "Goddamn!" he gasped finally. "Oh goddamn, is Lonny in for a treat. We couldn't have found a better fucking teacher."
CHAPTER THREE
The Roysters had renovated what appeared to be an old nursery into a classroom of sorts. The room was pleasant enough. A new blackboard covered most of one wall and faced a wallful of high, multi-paned windows. There were two desks, two chairs, a cot in one corner, and piles and piles of toys and books all over the place. It was the room in which I was to teach Lonny, Brent said.
Again I was hopeful. Why would they go to the trouble of supplying us with a classroom if my slave duties were to consist of nothing more than being a flesh object-a body for the dim-witted brute to pump copious loads of cum into? Perhaps Brent was merely trying to scare me, I thought. Perhaps he was teasing. Perhaps he had chastised Lonny for his gross indiscretion, and now, for the rest of my thirty-day stay, I'd face nothing more frightful than teaching the monster to act his age.
Of course, I knew better. But I allowed Rhonda to lead me to the big room at the back of the house with a glimmer of hope in my heart. I had been avoiding the thought of having to face Lonny since Brent showed me the classroom the night before. Now wearing the longest, loosest dress I owned, no makeup, and strategically having left my hair mussed from sleep, I prayed the gorilla-like giant would find me repulsive.
My heart seemed to stop when I entered the room and Rhonda-heartless bitch!-closed and locked the door behind me. Oh, Lord! I thought. He was there, across the room-all seven-foot of his bulk smothering a child's rocking horse, grinning insanely from ear to ear. I shuddered ... the last spark of hope ebbing away. I could tell, by the look in his lackluster eye, that although he might not remember his own last name, he most certainly remembered the tight little blonde pocket between teacher's thighs.
"Now Lonny," I offered, walking along the wall opposite him, to my desk. "This morning-ah!" I almost leaped straight in the air when he stopped rocking and grunted the obscene laugh I remembered from my first days at the house. "This morning I'm going to teach you to read from a lovely new picture book!" I hurriedly finished.
"Lonny likes picture books." He set the miniature wooden horse in motion once more. He picked his nose.
Oh! The horrible, inhuman beast! I thought ... nonetheless breathing a momentary sigh of relief. How had I gotten myself into this mess? I wondered. Quickly I selected the biggest picture book I could find in the pile on my desk, moved to the other, smaller desk, opened the reader to a pageful of horses, and returned to the relative safety of the blackboard. "Now Lonny!" I snapped with the air of authority I'd heard other teachers apply when dealing with troublesome pupils. "Be a good boy and go to your seat immediately."
With apprehension, I watched him rise from the rocker and shuffle laboriously to his seat. I was so relieved I wanted to weep. But I maintained my composure. Rhonda had been given orders to let us out for lunch at noon, I knew. I glanced furtively at my watch: 9:05. If I could maintain my control for only two hours and fifty-five minutes more!....
"Horsies!" announced Lonny, face alight as he pointed to the open picture book.
Quickly, while I had him engrossed in something other than me, I printed H-O-R-S-E on the blackboard. I repeated the letters, had him echo me-then told him to write the word five hundred times on the pad in his desk. Breathing another sigh of relief, I watched him open the pad, and wrap cigar-like fingers around the stub of a gnawed pencil. I watched the pink tip of a tongue the size of a python-almost as big as his loathsome dick! I thought-appear at the corner of his blubbery mouth. Quietly I moved to my desk. I had done it! I thought. Now it was teacher and pupil: the impersonal relationship we'd had before I allowed him to lure me into the dark cellar, and come up behind me, and....
I tried not to think about it. But my pussy grew nervous. I felt the cuntjuice soaking through the heavy black leotards I'd worn to hide my legs. Again I glanced at my watch: 9:15. If I could maintain my control for only....
But it was too good to last. Just as I was beginning to believe I had mastered the overgrown brat, Lonny slammed the picture book shut. He broke the pencil. He pouted. "I tired of this game, Carol!" he bellowed.
My gaze shot to the rocker. "You ... you c-c-can go rock on your horse then."
"I tired of horsies, too!"
Oh, my God! I thought, cowering. "Then pick your nose!" I hollered hysterically.
For a moment I thought he was going to obey the absurd command. Instead he rose from the desk. The insane leer was back on his rubbery face. "We fuck now," he said as a small boy might say "we go to the movies."
I was too horrified to budge. I watched him come slowly toward me, and thought No! Don't touch me! I'll scream! I'll scream if you dare put one grubby finger on me! But the words refused to form in my throat. I was nailed to the chair-gaze riveted to the awesome bulge at the soiled crotch of the lumbering giant's pants.
I gasped when his baseball-glove-hand closed roughly over one pointed breast. "Soft!" he exclaimed. "Carol got nice tits. Nice pussy. Good fuck-fuck!"
"N-no f-f-fuck-fuck," I managed, coming off the chair. "You mustn't, Lonny. You ... you'll hurt Carol. M-make her g-g-go to sleep like last time in-in the cellar."
He grabbed me. Locking his gargantuan arms about my waist, he crushed me to him. "Carol like!" he laughed. "Lonny know. She cry V go sleep but move round and round while Lonny do." He captured a fistful of dress, and tore the bottom half from my hips, as if it were made of tissue. One huge hand cupped both cheeks of my ass.
"Lonnie no!" I pleaded. "Carol--Carol will buy you a real horsie if you stop. Just think, Lonny. A real live horsie all your own."
The brute studied me for a moment ... as if considering the proposition in light of what he held in his hand. He pressed his cock into me. "Fuck-fuck!" he said. "You keep horsie."
"Nooooooooooo!" I wailed as he steered me back, to the desk, and began to dry fuck the bulge in his pants into the space atop and between my quivering thighs. I knew it was hopeless. The creature's arms were like steel bands crushing the breath from my lungs. And the bulge! Oh, God! I thought. It seems even bigger than the thing that had fucked me unconscious in the cellar a few days-a lifetime-before.
Again Lonny took a fistful of material. The tearing sound grated through the room. The shredded leotards slithered down my legs, to my ankles. I felt his hand at my sex ... probing ... shoving a thick finger into me. "Good pussy," he rumbled, grinning down into my face. "Carol got hot cunt. Hot-good! We fuck now."
He lifted me, as if I were a weightless rag-doll, and set my naked buttocks on the cold desktop. Mr. Phelps! I thought. He was the one responsible for the mess I am in. After I'd given myself to him ... on the desktop ... after I sucked his big stinking cock! But there was another, bigger, harder cock coming at me. Lonny had freed the terrible meat dagger from his pants; and while he held me at the edge of the desk, thighs wide, legs on either side of him, he began poking the thing-the thing with a tip the size of an orange-at my sweet little pink slit.
"No-no Lonny. Nooo! Anything you want. Only-only-oh-ohhh-ohhhhhhhhhhh!"
Too late! The brute had wasted no time. With one hump, he planted the ferocious glans up my cunthole. Now he grunted, recaptured the cheeks of my ass, and began to push ... planting inch by hard inch ... driving his fourteen-inch pole up my tender pussy.
Incredulous, mouth agape, eyes bulging, I watched his cock grind into me. It was impossible! I told myself. My hole is too small! Too close! Too fragile to take it without calling down the darkness that had overcome me the first time. But it was going! Actually going! I gasped convulsively and watched my tight cunt-lips open wider and wider to accommodate the fat intruder. I watched the shaft disappear. I watched the veins-like wiggly worms beneath the loose outer jacket of skin-expand and contract with each lunge. My hips-as if possessing a mind of their own-shimmied closer to the edge of the desk ... making my cunthole more accessible ... giving him room to drive. Already half the length was buried. Yet my twat wanted more! All of it! My clit was vibrating, crying out, it seemed-begging to have the rest of the backward boy's stiffness grate across the sensitive tip and plant itself in the moist warmth of my pulsating upper vagina.
"Iiiiieeeeeeee!" Lonny took hold of what was left of the dress; yanked. The material parted. He tore the bra from my breasts. Awkwardly he bent to suck my swollen nipples.
"Lonny I-I-"
"Carol best pussy," he breathed excitedly. "Tight!"
Best pussy? Tight? How could he know the difference? I wondered. According to Brent, the boy had never experienced sex before the day he raped me. Yet he spoke as if he'd been screwing for years and years. And, I had to admit, he knew how to use the incredible thing now stuck three-quarters of the way up my little white-blonde wedge. I pushed forward ... trying to draw the rest in ... straining so hard I thought sure I was going to shit myself. "It-it's no good this way," I heard myself saying. "Pull out, Lonny. Only for a little while. Carol-Carol wants to undress you. Then-then we can do fuck-fuck on...." I glanced about the room, " ... on the cot!"
Lonny scowled. "No on there!"
"Huh?"
"Rhonda do fuck there. We do here."
I gawked at the elephantine face, the coarse, sweating features beneath the mop of tangled brown hair above me. The maid! Poor Lonny! I thought. I felt suddenly sorry for the lumbering ox. I could imagine the blowsy woman taking advantage of him-filling her big sloppy cunt with the magnificent specimen now protruding from the tight pink pocket between my gaped open thighs. No wonder he wanted me so.
A look of utter despair crossed Lonny's face. "Rhonda stink like dead fish," he said. "Not like Carol. Carol...." His fingers went to my crotch; gathered the cuntjuice dripping from my hole and carried the smell to his nose. He drew deep of the fragrant odor of me. He grinned. " ... Carol smell nice. Best pussy!"
"Oh, Lonny." I found myself being charmed by the brute's simple admiration. It wasn't as if I have a choice, I told myself. He is going to fuck gobs of semen up my belly whether I like it or not. And now, I had to admit, now that my twat had been stretched, it did feel wonderful, fiery. Even if he remained still, went limp and never drove another speck up me, I would be coming myself soon, I knew. And I now felt responsible: the only one capable of teaching the mastiff-like giant to be gentle; to use his delectable cock not to frighten, but woo.
Suddenly, so suddenly I yelped surprise, Lonny lifted me by the cheeks of the ass. He held me suspended over the desktop-shoved and pulled me onto the stake at the same time. Another fat inch of stiff swipe disappeared up my lovehole. "Fuck-fuck!" he grunted. "Fuck-fuck now, talk later!"
"Oh! Oh, God, Lonny-w-w-wait!"
He frowned. Abruptly he dropped my ass back onto the hard desktop. "Aw. Lonny hurt Carol," he observed. "Me fix."
"OWAH! OW!" Although I had wanted him to stop long enough to take off his clothes and for me to get comfortable, I felt a stab of regret when his rod popped from my pussy. Then I was being lifted again. "Wha-?"
"Lonny kiss 'n' make better."
"Oh! Ohhh! D-d-d-d-d-doooon't!" He had me over the edge of the desk, on my belly, and now, on his knees between my trembling thighs, he was raining wet kisses over my upthrusted behind. I felt his rough, lengthy tongue glide down the crack ... pause to suck the puckered slit hidden low in the melons. My hips bucked. "Ow-ow-ow-owwwwwww!"
"Best asshole, too! Taste good!"
"Lonny you-y-y-you m-mustn't dooooo t-t-that!" But I didn't want him to stop. I forced my ass back at him. I opened my sphincters. I felt his hot breath ... blowing ... creeping high in my rectum. My clit leaped. "Eeeeeeeee!"
"Suck cunt, too. Rhonda show." His mouth moved down across the island of flesh separating front and rear hole. His hot, rubbery lips opened wide over the tortured gash his prick had only moments before deserted.
"Lon-neeeeeeeee!" My legs turned to putty. My clit twanged. His tongue had found the pink bud, and was batting, licking, coaxing it over the brink of orgasm. "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord God, Lonny, suck Carol's cunt all the way like you're doooooooingggggg!"
My sheath washed his face with thick juice. Greedily he lapped it up. His sucking noises seemed to fill the room-the only sound to vie with the roar in my head. I gyrated ... mashing my ass, my cunthole, in his face. Again I felt his wet tongue slipping up the crack of my ass, up my spine. Then he was standing, hands at my waist, bloated dick poking at but missing the anxious gaped open target. Gasping, sobbing, moaning-the love noises running together in a voice I no longer recognized as my own-I reached with trembling fingers, to guide him. The knob of his cock seared my hand. Feverishly, I set it in place. "Push in, Lonny," I cried. "Fuck it up Carol. All ... all the way, baby. Hurry. Hur-reeeeeee!"
I was hotter than I had ever been in my life. Frantically I pumped myself back ... drawing him in, in. Oh, God! Oh, Lord fucking God! I thought. It was big! So big! So big and hard and good-and now it was going, all of it, all fourteen inches and too unbelievably thick around, humping, humping, humping up my tight and tender, wet and ready, pulsing white-blonde pussy. I strained. I panted and made my inner cunt muscles tug. I did a wild backward dance ... pulling ... pulling within until I felt the rough texture of his pants flush with the soft, quivering halves of my ass.
"Iiiiiiieeeeeeeee!" bellowed Lonny, coming, shooting off gallons of gism to announce the conquest.
I was engorged. Deliciously impaled on a spike spitting me toward still another orgasm. The desk became a pinwheel of light. The cock spat and spat. The boy, the child in man's body, continued to yell as he fucked me toward the darkness at the other side of delight so powerful it demanded I retreat into unconsciousness or be devoured.
"Best pussy!" was the last thing I heard.
CHAPTER FOUR
Doughy hands massaging me. I was back in my room, in the huge, canopy bed, and the five-fingered cushions were kneading and rubbing my body. Who was it? I wondered. But I was too comfortable to open my eyes. I had passed out, I knew. Yet it was not like before: not like the time in the cellar, not unpleasant. Now there was a lovely warmth like maple syrup clinging to my insides.
A damp cloth touched my skin. I squirmed. I was being washed. Gently. Soothingly. I sighed and lay still once more, allowing the hand, the cloth, to proceed unhampered.
I thought about Lonny, crazy Lonny. Now, alone with whoever was moving the wet rag over my belly, then rinsing, then soaping, I couldn't believe I had actually urged the brute on. Yet I had. I could tell by the soreness, the stretched emptiness where the warm cloth was scrubbing. Where the fingers were searching.
Fingers? My God! What in the world were the doughy fingers doing down there?
"Wha-?"
"Lie still," Rhonda ordered.
I blinked. I watched her move to the night table, dip the rag in a washbasin, wring it, brush hair from her brow, return to the bed and apply the lukewarm, sudsy water to my soft inner thighs. I jumped. The blowsy old bitch! I cried mentally. How dare she!
"Mr. Brent says you're to be ready to receive him at five," said the maid. Without batting an eye, she shoved an end of the washcloth up my swollen cunthole.
"Hey!" I sat up, slapped her hand away. Remembering what Lonny had said, about the maid and the cot, and the sucking, I was suddenly hypersensitive about being nude in her presence. I folded my arms over my breasts. Defiantly I stared.
Rhonda sniffled. "I was merely obeying orders. Mr. Brent doesn't like to be kept waiting, and-well, you're filthy with spunk down there." She pointed a straight, stubby, accusing finger at my wedge.
Hot blood rushed to my face. She was right. I could feel the goo inside, and the crusted cum in my cute little blonde curls. I could have washed it myself. But I was mortified, close to tears, and too embarrassed to protest further when she touched my shoulder, pressed me gently back into the pillows, and began to rub the wet rag between my legs. I looked away. My gaze swept the room; settled on the drapes at either side of the high, cut glass windows. I studied the intricate design. How had I gotten back to the bedroom? I wondered. Brent had left the house that morning, I knew. Rhonda? Had she carried me back? She was strong enough. I could tell by the fingers digging the slop from my sex. It seemed to take a long time-too long! Yet the touch was soothing. And the maid, I reminded myself, is a woman: a woman who, according to Lonny, likes cocks.
"You're built very close," Rhonda observed, bending with her sweaty face very close to my pussy. "Unbelievable! How in the world did you manage that giant's roscoe?"
Again the blood rushed to my cheeks. The old pig! I thought: forty, if she's a day, and worse than Lonny because she had taken advantage of the overgrown nitwit, and now-I was certain-getting too chummy with me. "That's none of your business!" I snapped.
Rhonda shrugged. "Suit yourself. But you'll want someone to talk to before they finish with you. The others did."
I blanched. "O-others?"
She nodded. She returned too eagerly to cleaning my cunthole. Her fingers pressed deeper than before. I yipped. "Mr. Phelps sends one over every now and then," she hurriedly said. "But you're the first they've let the big fella get next to. Usually Mr. Brent, Mr. Phelps and the chauffeur keep the girls for themselves. Until they're fucked out."
Oh, my God! I thought. What have I gotten myself into? "Wha-what h-h-happens to...?"
"The girls? Oh, they go home or leave town. They never tell because then they'd have to say what was done. You know-like Mr. Brent's hang-up on sweet young assholes." Her fingers slipped into mine. "Like this one, she whispered. "Ummm!"
I was so horrified I hardly knew what she was doing. The chauffeur! I thought. I had seen him the day I arrived ... short, built like a tank, blue-black and with eyes like hot coals. I moaned-partially from the thought of a stiff, black cock poking my belly, but primarily because Rhonda, now half-lying, half-sitting beside me on the bed, had dropped the washcloth, and was fucking her fingers into both my sore hairy holes. "Oh! Oh stop!" I told her. "Not you. N-n-not a woman. I-I'm not-ow-ow-ow-owwwww! I-I-I-I'M NOT QUEER!"
The maid paid no attention to me. Her mouth came down on the tip of one breast. She sucked and drove her fingers deep in my sex, in my asshole, while I struggled and tried to push her away. Her thumb and stubby forefinger captured my clit. She jerked.
"OHAH! OWWWWWWWW!" I couldn't keep my hips still. I felt dirty-perverted! But my little pink soldier stood tall ... leaping ... seeking her knowing touch. My nipples hardened. The breath caught in my throat.
"You're the hottest one yet," choked Rhonda. "The last one, Midge, was good. But your little blonde pussy! I love it! I love every hair, the tightness. The heat!" She flattened her hand on my wedge, rubbed and rubbed. With her free hand, she lifted her dress. She was naked beneath.
"Nooo!" I tried to yank my hand away. But she was too strong. Holding my wrist in her vise-like grip, she guided my fingers to the forest of brillo-like black shrubbery atop and between her heavy, mature thighs.
"Oh dear. Oh, that's good." Rhonda set her big hips in motion. "Um! I, ahhh! Oh! I love that!"
I recoiled at the size of her slimy clitoris. Like a thin, raw hard-on, it protruded from her fat cuntlips. She held my fingers to the hideous thing. Her own hand worked incessantly at the tinier, sensitive mushroom inside my vulva. I couldn't resist. I pressed my bush into the palm of her hand. I felt the hot tongue washing my nipples, closed my eyes, and tried to think only of the pleasure building at the core of my being. I thought about Brent: about what he would do to me later that night. About his long, veiny cock! I envisioned it entering the tight niche below my white-blonde springy muff. I could imagine the bloated glans, almost as huge, as incredible, as the one that had rammed me from behind while Lonny-crazy, wonderful Lonny-yelped and called me "best pussy."
"Wait!" Rhonda leaped from the bed.
"Oh-!" Chewing my lips, half crazy with desire, I watched her strip the dress from her squat body. Her tits were enormous: two footballs, with pointed, red-brown puckered peaks. My gaze traveled down, over the paunch of her belly, to the mass of kinky hair that began at her navel and widened into a V-shaped rug. I could see her clit. It stood away from the depression at the top of her cuntlips ... vibrating, it seemed. My throat filled with saliva.
Kneeling at the edge of the bed, Rhonda moved loving hands over my body. Her touch was featherlight. She toyed with my breasts until the nipples quivered and ached. She cooed as I lifted my hips into her searching fingers. I watched her head lower ... slowly ... inching closer and closer and closer to my nipping wet cunthole. Then she was there: mouth open, tongue licking my slit.
I reached for her. It seemed the most natural thing. "Let ... let me d-do you," I breathed.
"Darling!" Quickly Rhonda rearranged her doughy body. She straddled my face, knees at either side of my head. "Eat me!" she cried. "Suck Rhondie's cunt. Suck it!"
I stared into the dripping wet folds of her twat. It was the ugliest thing! And the smell! I recalled what Lonny had said: dead fish! It was worse than that ... a musty, foul odor that reminded me of the swampland outside town where Steve and I had played as children.
"Oheeee-!" My hips shot high off the bed to meet her darting tongue. I watched her big cunt come slowly down. I looked into her stinking asshole. She seemed to be one continuous gash-beginning at the top of her wide, blubbery ass, slicing down, around and under and up, to the part in the fur camouflaging her lower belly. It was a horrible sight: nothing at all like the fresh, delectable pinkness, the hot hairy pocket between my own creamy thighs. Yet there was something about the repulsive smell, the slimy folds, the bramble-like hair, that drew me. I hugged her broad hips. Mouth wide, tongue lashing, I covered the skinny hard-on jerking like an electric wire at the sloppy gateway to her vagina.
Rhonda gurgled into my bush. As if it were a prick, she fucked her long fiery clit into my face. My own tender bud leaped in unison with her tongue. Her cuntjuice poured into my mouth. I gagged. But I gulped the icky stuff down, drank the stink ... sucking ... sucking. I was beyond caring about anything except the thrill gathering at the pit of my belly.
"What the fuck-?"
The deep familiar masculine voice fell like a hammerblow on my ears. It was Brent. He had come silently into the room, and now stood, a dark frown marring his handsome face, beside the bed. I was devastated. My body went limp-atremble and burning with shame.
"I warned you about this last time, with Midge." Brent's voice was cold. Brutally, by the hair, he dragged the maid from my body, to the foot of the bed. But his gaze never left my gaped open thighs, my pussy. With one knee, he pinned Rhonda to the mattress, and brought his hand down hard on her fat, jiggling buttocks. The maid squalled. The slaps grew harder-echoing through the room-making me wince, as if it were me, my ass, receiving the biting blows.
"No mooooooore!" pleaded Rhonda. "Oh, Mr. Brent! Oh no, pleaseeee!!"
Brent merely laughed. Gaze still riveted to my pulsing pink slit, he held the thrashing maid down and whipped the belt from his waist. "You've been naughty," he told the terrified woman. "Poaching! I told you what would happen if I ever again caught you nibbling my livestock. Now-" Doubling the belt, he brought it down across the tense mounds of flesh trapped beneath his leg.
Rhonda screamed. Bug-eyed, I watched the leather strike again and again-each bite raising a bright red welt on the maid's backside. I was petrified: unable to tear my eyes away from the spectacle. Brent's words reverberated inside my head. Livestock! Poaching! It was as if I'd become a bit player in an X-rated movie. Each lash of the belt tore a strangled cry from the maid's throat, and shot tongues of fire through my loins. And Brent! Astonished I watched the mighty hose in his pantsleg grow stiffer with each stinging blow. Was I to be next? I wondered. My ass flesh tightened. I could almost feel the leather licking flame across my cheeks. Escape! I thought. Get away!
I commanded my legs into motion, leaped from the bed, but had gone only a few feet when strong hands grabbed me from behind. "Let me goooooo!"
"Bitch! Shuddup 'n' get back on the fucking bed!" Brent threw me. I landed in a huddle beside Rhonda. "A little discipline," he barked, towering over me. "That's what you need. Both of you!"
The belt lashed out. The anticipated fire seared my bottom. I opened my mouth, to yell, but nothing more than a strangled sob came out. The hot leather whipped from me, to Rhonda, back to me. Tears sprang into my eyes. But my cunthole, my tiny love tunnel, as if the beating was merely an appetizer for what would follow, poured juice down the inside of my thighs, onto the bedding.
Finally, my buttocks raw, me hugging the bed-like a mole: a piteous animal whining and trying to burrow into the, mattress-Brent dropped the belt. "Now let's put those hot, rosy cheeks to some use," he panted.
Again I felt rough hands grip my waist. He was going to fuck out my asshole, I knew. I could see him, his reflection, in the large dresser mirror opposite where I lay. Dizzy, giddy with pain and the memory of his big, lovely rod, I watched him unzip his fly-moaned and bit down on my lip as the stiff demon appeared. "Oh God!" I gasped. "Oh God, Brent, don't! I-I'm all sore."
"You'll be sorer when I get this in you," he laughed and moved anxious fingers down the crack of my ass. "Christ! Your fucking cheeks're red hot. Like silk! Flaming fucking soft silk V hot hairy hole!"
Rhonda, wiping tears from her bloodshot eyes, sat up. Her balloon tits rose and fell like a bellows. "Let me help," she said. "Please, Mr. Brent. Let Rhondie hold it in her hand while you-let me put it in for you."
Brent paused, as if considering the maid's suggestion. My heart raced. I watched them in the mirror-saw Brent grin and nod, and stand, and shuck his pants and shorts and shirt while Rhonda held me, spread-eagled on my belly, in the center of the huge canopy bed.
"Oh! I love to watch people fuck." Rhonda moved her hand up the inside of my thighs, to my cunthole. "The last one, Midge-I used to watch her and the chauffeur screw most every night. That big, black cock! Urn!" Her stubby stinkfinger shot deep inside me. "There's something special about black and white. The contrast. I used to love to see that ebony joystick grind up that white bitch's sweet twat!"
"Never mind that shit," growled Brent. "There ain't a black cock in the world as big as this one."
"Oh my. Oh my-oh-my-oh-my!" Rhonda made a grab for his rigid meat.
Brent slapped her hand away. "Never mind that shit, either. Hold her shoulders. Carol doesn't much like a dick in her ass. We have to persuade her."
I sobbed something incoherent-recalling the pain, the torture the first time he shoved it up me back there. Legs wide and tense, I took two fistfuls of bedding; waited. I watched Rhonda-her big stinking cunt dripping all over the place-kneel at my head. Her hands came down firm on my shoulders. I felt the mattress shift; felt Brent's fingers spreading the halves of my ass as he eased into position. My belly turned over. I moaned and lifted my cheeks onto his stiffness. He was wrong-so wrong! The interrupted bout with the maid, the whipping, and most of all the memory of the first time, had me drunk with desire. I wanted him. Oh, how I wanted to feel that lovely hard prick forcing its way up my asshole.
Nor did I have long to wait. No sooner had the thought expressed itself in my mind than I felt him ... setting the torpedo-shaped head in place. "Jesus!" he grunted. "The fuckin' thing's even tighter than last time."
"But she seems willing enough," observed Rhonda.
"N-no!" I cried-not because I wasn't willing but because Brent had pulled back, preparing to drive, and I simply couldn't wait another second. I lifted as high as I could ... forcing my butt, my pinched shitter, onto the purple-red glans of his cock.
No! I thought. The tip of Brent's cock was red and orange! It was Lonny's big dick that possessed the purple-red glans. It was difficult to remember. There had been so many lovely swipes up my belly lately.
"Ahhh!" Brent's weight came down on me. The knob of his rod pushed up my rectum.
"Ooooooooooh B-B-Brent!" I worked my belly, my sphincters, drawing him deep.
"Christ almighty!" gasped Brent.
"Hummm! Aw-all of it," I told him. "Stick it in me. Up! ALL-OF-IT!"
"The dear loves it," said Rhonda. "Oh my! Oh, how I wish it was me. How I wish I had a cock and-" Abruptly she sat: meaty thighs spread open, at either side of my head, sloppy wet gash within licking distance of my mouth. "Finish eating me, love. Suck Rhondie's hot pussy."
The dick in my ass had begun to shaft mightily in and out, Brent grunting and mashing my cunt into the wrinkled bedding. I sobbed into the maid's scraggly black bush. The stink filled my nostrils. With two fingers on each hand, I opened her cuntlips and stared into the purple-pink folds of her enormous vagina. My tongue lashed out to caress the thin, slimy hard-on standing away from her gash.
"Oh dear! Oh, my dear, darling, Carol." Taking hold of my head, cupping my face in the palms of her pudgy hands, Rhonda held my mouth to her sex. She began to gyrate-rubbing the thing, the wiry hair, against my darting tongue.
"Go baby! GO!" groaned Brent.
I didn't have to be told. His driving cock had urged my hips into motion. I fucked my ass up at him. I sucked. I pushed down with my pussy ... screwing the bed. I rubbed my tits on the sheet ... savoring the heat, the friction against my taut nipples.
"Ummm! Oh! Oh, n-none of the o-others were this good," sighed the maid, fucking her clit into my face. "Midge-she ah! Ohah! She was skittish! She ummmmmmm! She had a cute way of nibbling though. Nibble-nibble! Like ahhh! Er-rrrummmmmmm! A shy little mouse, she was."
A shy mouse! How darling! I thought, fascinated. I had never tried actually nibbling a clit-though I knew the effect teeth had on a stiff cock. I studied the long pink appendage. It did, indeed, resemble a prick. Tentatively-envisioning a mouse gnawing a piece of cheese-I chewed the round tip.
"Arrrrrrrrrrr!" Rhonda's twat spewed thick juice over my chin. She began to bounce so furiously the bed shook.
I continued to nip and nibble. My neck ached from the awkward position. But in my belly, my loins, my tight asshole and dripping vulva, there was a stronger, more demanding ache. It was the pain of orgasm. The exquisite pre-tingles I was by now used to. The tiny electric-like thrills which would soon engulf me, I knew. I fucked faster ... churning my buttocks ... taunting Brent's swipe ... anxious for the hot gism that would lift and send my pleasure bud soaring over the brink.
"Man! Looks like she knows how to suck pretty fucking good, too," said Brent.
"Heavenly!" replied Rhonda.
"That good, huh?"
"Arrr! Um! B-bbetter!"
For a moment, cock motionless, Brent studied my noisy cuntlapping technique. "Yeah! But what she needs is a real hunk of meat in her face!"
Suddenly the dick up my chute was gone. I moaned, wanting something, anything, to fill the emptiness, to make me come. I looked pleadingly back over my shoulder. "Wha-?"
An evil grin crossed Brent's flushed face. "Shift it!" he barked at the maid. "Get your fat ass out of the way. What this pretty little bitch needs now is this!" He shook his long, shit-smeared rod.
I watched him push the maid roughly aside. He sat in her place: muscular thighs at either side of my head, and big veiny prick-bigger, more awesome than ever before, it seemed-bobbing toward my moist lips. I smelled my own shit: saw the dark brown slime, the gook from high in my rectum, clinging to his shaft.
The beast! I thought. The horrid, inhuman brute! Did he actually expect me to suck him-to eat my own waste?
"That's it, baby," said Brent, thrusting his dick in as I opened my mouth to protest. "Yeah! Take it! Let's see if you're as good a cocksucker as, ahhh! As you are with a clit!"
"G-nooo!" I gurgled, gagging from the bitter taste of my own excrement.
"Suck it!" Brent roared, forcing his throbbing rod deep. "If you can stand eating that pig's scruff-" he pointed at Rhonda, who now lay between my spread legs licking the hole he had vacated, "-you'll eat a dead rat!"
"OHHHHHHHHHH!" I wailed, stunned by the horrible thought. But now, as if telling me shit wasn't so bad, might even be tasty, Rhonda was spreading the halves of my ass and flicking her livery tongue into my anus. "Oh God!" I gasped, hips bucking out of control.
Brent laughed. Taking hold of my head, as the maid had done moments before, he fucked the last inches of stiff dick into my mouth. My eyes bulged. My Adam's apple worked convulsively-pumping my throat full of saliva. I could feel him, the glans, throbbing at my tonsils. My spit washed the goo from his cock. I gulped it down. Now there was a different taste: the good, clean, exciting flavor of manmeat. I rubbed my nose in the forest of coarse pubic hair at the base of his tool. I hefted his balls. My middle finger found the pinched crack of his ass. I dug in-making him grunt, making the rod in my face leap when I found and fingered his rectum.
"Kee-rist!" hissed Brent. "The-ahhhhhhh! Fucking cunt is crazy for assholes!"
"Hummmmmmmmm!" Unable to help myself, revulsion became desire, I drew long and hard on his cock, and forced my finger up, to the last knuckle.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" Brent began to fuck himself furiously in and out of my face.
Suddenly Rhonda was gone from between my legs. I bellowed. Were they trying to drive me stark raving mad? I wondered. The in-again-out-again-up-again-down-again routine had me frantic. Wanting to strangle the blowsy old bitch, I watched from the corner of one eye as she moved to the dresser sporting twin ornamental candelabra. I blinked as she removed what appeared to be at least eighteen inches of candle from a polished silver arm. Bug-eyed, momentarily neglecting the thing in my mouth, I watched her turn-an impish leer on her round, doughy face-and follow her jiggling football-tits back to the bed.
"Never mind what she's up to," said Brent. "Concentrate on sucking. I-ahhh! I, you! I, oh! Jesus! Your fucking finger is playing hell with m-my prostate. Motherfucker! I-ohhhhhhh! I'll be popping in arrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! In a m-m-m-motherfucking minute!"
Greedily, noisily, I sucked. But I couldn't help being fascinated by what the maid was doing. In the mirror, I watched her reflection grimace as she shoved the fat end of the candle up her cunthole. Then, the tapering shaft protruding like a cock from her bush, the wick bobbing like a French tickler, she positioned herself between my legs once more.
"Jesus good fucking Mother Mary of Kee-rist!" hollered Brent because I was biting ... biting hard because the French tickler end of the candle was tickling its way past my sphincters ... the maid fucking the smooth cold wax up my asshole, as if it were a dildo.
"G-g-g-g-nooooooooooo!" I cried.
"Shush up!" scolded Rhonda. "I don't have a dick. But this'll do just as well." She breathed hot on the back of my neck. Holding her thighs closed, thereby locking the ersatz rod in her twat, she humped, humped, humped until what wasn't in her was in me.
"Ohahhhhhhhhh!" I thrashed about like a snake on hot pavement. The friction of penetration had set me in orbit. Orgasm after delicious orgasm raced through my gash. I fucked my furry little mound into the bedding, moved my head rapidly up and down the shaft in my face, and worked my inner muscles on the candletip deep in my rectum.
"Suck it, baby! Suck! Suck! Suuuuuuuuck!" Brent trapped my head. Forcing me down the length of his swollen prick, bruising my face with his rough cockhair, he began to spurt cum into my throat. His legs went tense. His asshole tightened on my finger. The sacs in my hand leaped. Gob after gob shot into me-endless, it seemed. The hot, salty cream filled my mouth: seeped out and down my chin, my neck.
"Oh dear! Oh, my dear, dear darling girl!" Rhonda; too, it seemed, was coming. With the wax dart stuck firmly up my tight chute, she loosened her hold, retreated and fucked herself onto the end protruding from between my soft quivering cheeks. Then, locking her thighs and inner cunt muscles once more, she pulled back and dragged the long thing from my rear. Again she shoved the wax home, loosened and repeated the clever procedure: using the candle as a two-headed rod, the tickler end performing its magic on me, and me in turn wiggling the opposite end back and into the sloppy wet gash dripping sticky, smelly cuntjuice over my bottom.
Brent, anxious to get his hands on my hard-nippled breasts, made the mistake of releasing my head. I raised up to accommodate him just as the maid was driving the now hot wax up my asshole. I gasped. My body jerked spasmodically. The lovely thing in my face popped free.
"Sonofabitch!" barked Brent.
"Oh-!" I wanted it back. In me! Blasting off cum in my mouth! I tried to recapture the glistening, jerking wonder. But my lips merely brushed the fat glans-triggering another spurt that landed in my eye and crept slowly down. My tongue shot out to lap up the goo before it escaped. I gobbled it down: began to lick the fiery bulb where it joined the long, throbbing shaft.
"Jesus! Keep, ah! AHHHHHHHHHHH! K-keep on licking the fucking thing, baby. Lick!" Squeezing my tits, Brent raised his knees and shot another gob at me. It landed in my hair ... trapped ... oozing mournfully into the white-blonde strands ... lost forever.
Although the licking satisfied Brent, made him wild, it merely made me hot for the thing that had escaped my mouth. I slipped my finger from his asshole. I wrapped both hands about the base of his rod-awed anew by its size. More than half the throbbing length stuck up above my closed fingers. Greedily I recaptured the knob, and sucked.
Brent's feet did a frantic love dance on the mattress at either side of my head. A new thrill raced through me: the pleasure of being able to cause such delight in a man almost twice my size. I felt suddenly powerful-in command of the play for the first time. It had never been so good! Not even with Steve!
I felt Rhonda's weight fall upon me. Wheezing breath through her teeth, she lay still. "Darling!" she whispered, raining wet kisses over the back of my neck, my shoulders.
I moaned. I didn't care that the maid had stopped fucking the candle into me. I could feel it still: fat and hard, high in my belly. And each time Rhonda drew breath, the little French tickler wick jerked ever so slightly and sent another minute sensation up my spine.
Drawing deep on Brent's magnificent cock, I cupped and kneaded his big hairy balls in one hand, and again dug high in his asshole-fingers seeking the trigger, his prostate-with the other. It didn't take long. He was grunting and straining, humping and gasping and pissing more semen even before the maid had caught her breath.
The candle began to move again ... slowly ... provocatively. I welcomed the steady fuck motion. Already my clit was vibrating toward another orgasm. I thought about Lonny-closed my eyes and envisioned the tall, grinning brute, and thought about how wonderful it would be to have both brothers in the same bed, both fucking cum into me.
"God! Oh Goddamn!" The wanton idea was at once frightening and exciting. And it was so unlike me! Little more than a week before, I thought I was a normal, average girl, with a healthy enough appetite for sex-to be sure. But nothing like this! Nothing so ... so....
I didn't know what all! I knew only that the pulsing, twelve-inch dick in my face, and the rigid, eighteen-inch candle up my tight asshole, left another burning emptiness: a desire raging like forest fires in the tiny pink gash between my gaped open thighs.
"Baby, you're good," said Brent in a voice thick with unspent passion. "The greatest! The best fucking, um! Oh baby! Baby! Baby! Ba-beee! The sweetest little asshole 'n' now the best cocksucker too-oooooooooooo!"
"She's a dear," cooed Rhonda. "An absolutely precious, hot darling."
"Then fuck meee!" I stopped thinking. I set my hips in motion, keeping time with the pistoning candle; blew and sucked on Brent's beautiful swipe, and contented myself with the friction of fucking my cunt, my swollen, dripping, hungry white-blonde wedge, into the puddle of juice it had spewed on the bedding.
CHAPTER FIVE
By the end of the thirty-day trial, I had been to bed with everyone in the Royster home, and occasional guests. And I was surprised to learn that Brent actually intended to keep his part of the bargain. At his direction, Rhonda-a tear in her eye-packed my bags. A taxi was called for. And as suddenly as bondage and the perpetual orgy had begun, I was free.
I returned to my apartment in town with mixed feelings. I was angry because of what had happened to me. But, as Rhonda had predicted, I could never bring myself to tell anyone of the things that had been done to me in the big house. Everyone for miles around looked up to the Roysters. Yet there was something more: something I had not yet come to grips with. Although I had wondered about what Brent would do on the day the contract I had been tricked into signing expired-whether he would ask me to sign another or merely drop the charade-I had never expected to be dismissed with such finality.
And there I was. Home! Without a job! With money enough to last awhile, and memories enough to last a lifetime, but right back where I'd been before my interview with Mr. Phelps. I was at once confused and bitchy; and worse: although I tried desperately to shake the emotion, to avoid the implications, I was a little bit sad.
What I needed was time to think! I told myself. And occupational therapy! So I busied myself with dusting and getting reacquainted with the four-room apartment I'd lived in since graduation from college. Hair up in a bandanna, wearing faded jeans and the old flannel shirt Cousin Steve had donated to my housecleaning outfit, I paused to study myself in the full-length mirror behind the bedroom door. I was none the worse for wear, I decided. In fact, my figure was fuller, more appealing, yet my face had somehow managed to retain its youthful innocence.
It was true what they said! I thought, scowling. It didn't show! I had been fucked every which way, subjected to every perversion, and could no doubt still get away with walking to the altar in virginal white.
By early evening, the apartment was clean, but I was filthy, exhausted, and glad to be home where I could bathe and climb into bed without wondering who and how many would join me. But no sooner had I started the bath water than the doorbell rang.
"Oh-! Go away!" I hollered, not at all happy about the prospect of visitors.
The bell played the buzz ... buzz ... buzz-buzz-buzz-buzzzzz tune that was Cousin Steve's calling card.
Oh darn! I thought. I couldn't turn my only cousin away! Besides, I decided-I needed someone who understood me: someone I could talk to about things I wouldn't dare discuss with anyone else. I forgot the bath and my resolve to turn in early. Hastily I moved to the hall door, opened it, and smiled up into the gray eyes a shade deeper than my own.
"Well! If it isn't my long-lost sexy cousin!" Steve brushed past me, into the living room. He waited for me to close the door, then added, "I thought you were kidnapped or something. I've been here half a dozen times in the past month. Nothing! No lights! No notes! Telephone ringing! Where in hell were you, anyway?"
"You look well," I said, purposely avoiding the questions and admiring the brown-blond wave that hung down over his forehead ... the squareness of jaw ... the wide shoulders. My gaze dropped to his crotch. Although his cock was limp, I could see the bulge in the tight flares he wore.
Steve grinned. "You missed it, huh?"
"What?" I looked away.
"Coy? After all the times I fucked this up that hot little pussy of yours?" He clutched the hose in his pantsleg. "C'mon, cuz. Don't pretend you're not looking at me like a thirsty man just in from the desert stares at a tall glass of water."
Fire spreading through my cheeks, I moved past him: busied myself with dusting the newly waxed end tables at either side of the long, sectional sofa. I loved Steve. I suppose I loved him too much. But now, the memory of my thirty days in the Royster home still vivid in my mind, I needed him more as a friend than as the lover he'd been for years and years. "Is that all you ever think about?" I asked petulantly. "Sex? F-f-fucking? Is-is that all I mean to you?"
Steve sobered. "Man! Something's really buggin' you, huh kid?"
"Yesssssss!" I wailed, stomping my foot, and feeling silly and helpless and totally feminine.
"Okay! OKAY! I'm sorry already." He stepped close, took me by the hand and gently sat me down on the sofa. He flopped beside me. "Wanna talk about it? I mean-is it something you cart tell your favorite cousin about?"
"Oh Steve!" I threw my arms around him and buried my face at his neck. In a small, muffled voice, I told him about the interview with Mr. Phelps that had led to the Roysters-explaining that I didn't tell him, Steve, about the placement because I wanted to be sure: wanted to try the job for a few weeks before making up my mind, giving up the lease on the apartment and moving into the big old house for keeps. Then I told him what had been done to me ... about the first horrid rape, in the cellar; about Lonny and Brent and Rhonda, the chauffeur, the guests. I left nothing out. And by the time I had finished, Steve was holding me at arm's length-mouth agape, staring into my shame-reddened face with an incredulous look in his eye.
"Holy shit!" he choked finally. "Did they really make you do all those cool, kinky things? I mean-you're not exaggerating some, are you? I mean-well, shit! Wow! I never thought you had that kind-a swinging scene in you. You know? Carol? Baby? Sweetheart?"
"You're terrible!" I yelped.
"Well, for crying out loud, cuz. You never did any of that cool stuff with me. I mean-you're a straight-fuck expert. And a wild knobjob once in awhile. But multiples? And you never once let me near your cute little ass!"
"OooooohhhhhhHHHHHHH!" I wanted to belt him. His prick-his big stinking cousin swipe-was standing tall in his pants. It was as if he thought I enjoyed the horrible perversions the Roysters had subjected me to.
"Tell me about the chauffeur," said Steve. "Shit man! A fuckin' black! A hard ebony joint up your belly! I'd sure like to see that!" He pulled me close-cupped one tit and tried to kiss me.
"Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve!" I tried to push him away. He held me. I felt his teeth at my ear ... biting ... nibbling like a shy mouse! I thought. Nibbling as Midge, the girl captive before me had chewed Rhonda's long clit ... as I had nibbled the glans of Brent's big dick. And the chauffeur: as I had nipped at the hunk of purple-black meat bobbing at the tip of his filthy, uncircumcised rod.
"Your nipples're hard," observed Steve.
"They're not!"
"Shit!" He traced one taut peak with a fingertip. His free hand went to work on the buttons down the front of the frayed shirt. I hadn't bothered with a bra, and when he saw my bare boobs, he groaned and bent to kiss the bright pinkness at the summit of one succulent mound of whipped cream.
"D-don't! Not tonight. You-you were supposed to talk to meee."
"You talk. I'll suck 'n' listen."
I shivered as he drew the point of one breast into the warmth of his mouth. "Oh-! I-I can't concentrate w-while you're d-d-doing th-that. Stop. Please. Steve?"
His hand dropped to my lap. He cupped his palm over the swell of my pussy. "Tell me about the black buck," he said, kneading my sex. "About how he fucked his meat into you. Was it good? Did you dig it?"
I closed my eyes, chewed my lip and tried not to think about the flashes of light his fingers and lips were causing. "He-he used to get me late at night," I heard myself saying. "The chauffeur. After the others were done. He-he used to sneak in my room, and wake me, and-and make me undress him. Then he'd lie down beside me, naked, and suck like a baby nursing on his mother. He loved my white titties. He used to suck and suck and suck me for hours and hours. Like y-you're doing now. Only harder. All the way in his black mouth. Half my boob." I gasped. I could see him, the chauffeur, inside my head: licking my breasts and finger-fucking my slit until I was half crazy with desire and jerking, jerking, jerking his unkosher cock. The vision was so clear, so real, I couldn't tell whether it was Steve or the insatiable black man unzipping the fly of my jeans.
"Sit on my lap," whispered Steve. "Lemme feel that fine little ass on my joint."
"No Steeeeeeeve. Nooooooooo."
But he already had the jeans open, and was probing, seeking the elastic legband of my pink panties. "Lift up," he told me, "so I can get these fuckin' things off. C'mon, cuz. I haven't seen your sweet pussy in a month."
The words set my cunthole aflame. I lifted-first one hip, then the other, allowing him to work the worn denims down my thighs, off. I looked down at myself. Tiny blonde curlicues peeked from both sides of my nylon underwear. I couldn't blame Cousin Steve. I couldn't blame anyone. My sex, my adorable white-blonde wedge, held fascination even for me.
"Boy!" exclaimed Steve. "It looks better every time. I must've screwed you four million times since that day in the attic. But it's always new. Like gold. You never get tired of something that pretty." He coaxed me onto his lap ... onto the stiffness, the throbbing, full-grown hose in his pantsleg. "What about the chauffeur?" he persisted. "Did that black motherfucking white titsucker ream out your rear?"
"Owww!" I felt his rod bend beneath me, and nuzzle-like a bow almost ready to shoot its cum-arrow-in the crack of my soft ass. My vulva was dripping, wetting the panties, soaking through and staining his pants. He should take them off, I thought. So they wouldn't be ruined: ruined as the chauffeur's uniform was stained the time he came into my room and was too hot, too horny, to take off his clothes, and fucked his dick into me, and left the bed with white gook at his fly. "He-he never d-d-did me back there," I breathed, remembering where he had done me, and how, and how good it was after he humped his swipe in. "He-he didn't dig asshole. 'I ain't no bandit!' he told me. 'I likes my white pussy straight. Good 'n' hot 'n' snappin' on my John Paul Jones!' He-he told me that every time. Because he always came in after Brent-oh, fucking Brent!-had reamed out my rectum. Then, after the first time, the time I r-r-ruined his best uniform, he always stood at the side of the bed, made me sit at the edge and take off his clothes-piece by piece! And by the time he was stripped, his cock-oh, his black wonder!-and hard and long and dancing-that hunk of uncircumcised meat at the tip coming closer and closer and closer to-oh! Ohhhhhh! T-t-to my f-face!"
"Ummm!" Steve worked the panties aside and wiggled his middle finger up my pussy. "Did you blow him?"
"I-I-I-"
"You sucked his black cock!" he supplied.
"I-I didn't want to! Oh, I didn't! I didn't! But-bb-but he said, 'You'll mouth it, white girl! You gonna gimme some face else I'll beat yo' ass with the belt like Mr. Brent do. Hear?' Then he shoved it at me. That meat! That big hunk of pork at the end of his dong. But inside oh! Inside! There was a tiny red glans like no other. Bright red and fiery. He-he showed it to me. He-he drew back the foreskin, and grinned and said, 'Ain't he niz? Put you tongue there! Lick it some!' I-I couldn't say no.. I couldn't! My ass was already sore-all welty and bruised from the whippings. So I licked him. I-I took the little red tip in my face, and sucked. Then I drew the rest of it in-all the way. He-he wasn't so big. Ten inches. Nothing like Brent. Or Lonny. Only the chauffeur's was black and smooth, with no veins. And big flabby balls he made me wash with my tongue after every suck." The vision of the black prick inside my head, the one beneath me jerking spasmodically, I reached behind and under, to the fly of Cousin Steve's pants. The zipper came down. I groped inside.
"Yeah! Oh yeah, cuz-take it out! Man! Hold it awhile. In your hand. Jerk me off." Steve tore at my fragile panties. The seam gave. He flung the nylon from my hips. "Christ! Yourpussy!" he groaned. "Chrissakes! Oh man, chrissakes, lookit the fucking thing, Carol. Your hot little cunthole's breathin' like a motherfuckin' guppy sucking air."
I looked. He was right: my cuntlips puffed out, then in, as if drinking oxygen. It was the silliest thing! But my clit-the sweet mushroom pinkness protruding from the top of my slit-was anything but silly. It was beautiful! Rigid and ready! Pleading for something stiff! Moving back, wiggling my bottom into position in his lap, I opened my legs and set the fat tip of Cousin Steve's rod at the gaping wet folds of my sex.
"Wow! Holy shit!" With one upward thrust, he was in me; buried to the open fly of his pants.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh Steeeeeeeeve!"
"Finish telling!" he gasped. "About the chauffeur. How he did you after the blowjob."
"I-I-oh GOD!" I fucked myself down his stiff pole ... rose and slipped down again ... and again and again and again ... drunk with the feel of stiffness, of manmeat up my round belly once more. But I was remembering the black rod ... the big black lips at my nipples ... the white cream spewing from the tiny red tip up my hole. "He-he always propped me up on a pillow," I continued in a grating voice. "Southern style! 'Set that good pussy up high!' he said. 'So's I can drive down! Get it all in! Up you tight cunt! Ain't no white girl ever been fucked till she been fucked by a black man southern style!' Then-oh then! He-he made me raise my knees. 'High 'n' wide!' he said. 'An' plant yo' feet on the bed! So's you can push with your heels!' I did like he said, and oh! Oh G-G-God! Then he kneeled, between my spread thighs, and made me steer that hard veinless black dick up my pussy. So easy. So good. So-so oh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" I kissed Cousin Steve. I held his face in my hands, drove my tongue into his mouth, and showed him with my lips that his prick was good, too.
Steve broke the kiss. "Baby. Let's do it that way. Like you and the chauffeur."
"Oh no. Not now. Don't stop. Keep oh! Oh God, Steve, keep it in me because I'm almost ready to c-c-commmmmmmme!" I fucked my hips faster ... churning and grinding ... bouncing like a jack-in-the-box up and down the length of his cock ... straining to reach orgasm.
Without withdrawing, Steve, swiveled me toward him: using my cunthole as a fulcrum. Then he knelt and dropped me flat on the sofa. He fucked his dick in, to the hilt-the move designed to lift me over the brink. It worked. I squealed and went rigid, then limp. He held for a moment more, then said, "Christ! I hate to do this. But-!"
A cool breeze from the window across the room licked my gash as his long, slippery cock pulled free. I moaned and went rigid again: climaxing a second time from the heat of my body meeting the cool air-slapping together like hot and cold water in a clanging steampipe.
Through a haze of desire, I watched Cousin Steve strip the clothes from his muscular body. "Hurry!" I pleaded. "Oh Steve, hurry and fuck me again. Like when we were kids, Stevie. Remember? Like in the attic and out in the toolshed. In the hammock. Everywhere. When you never wanted to stop. All day sometimes. One fuck after another."
"And when I used to sneak in your room at night," said Steve, coming out of his shorts, caught up in my madness. "Boy! Do I fucking remember! Who could forget! After the first time, you used to drop your drawers at the snap of a finger. Cousin or not, baby-you're the best cunt I ever had!" He kicked off his shoes. Black stretch socks the only thing marring his nakedness, he came at me.
I opened my arms and legs to him. His weight covered me. His hungry lips rediscovered mine. I felt his coarse cockhair scratch my belly ... then slip lower as he positioned himself for reentry. Then he was there ... burrowing deep in my cunthole ... filling the wet pulsing emptiness he'd vacated moments before. His hands covered my titties, squeezed. His palms taunted my nipples. His hips began to move: fucking his dick in-out, in-out, in a slow but steady and delightful rhythm.
I paced him. I sucked his tongue into my mouth, and sucked the knob of his cock with the delicate pink muscles at the top of my vagina. My knees shot up. My legs followed. I wrapped myself around him-locking my ankles at his waist, my arms about his broad shoulders.
No longer was I thinking of the black, uncircumcised cock. Now I was remembering: recalling girlhood and times when Stevie and me sneaked off to screw in the first hideaway we could find. I remembered the first time I sucked him off: months after the first fuck, when I was used to having a stiff dick piss cum into me. In the dark, dilapidated woodshed, I thought, closing my eyes tight, fucking my hips up at him and reliving the scene ... on my back but imagining myself on my knees and almost able to taste the pistoning rod dipping faster and faster and faster and faster and faster into the trembling pink pocket between my thighs. Bludgeoning into me. Boring. Deeper. Deeper still. Fucking toward the cumload I could feel jacking itself up the throbbing shaft grating again and again against the tip of my sensitive little clitoris.
"Carol, baby!" Steve gasped against my parted lips. "Oh mother! Oh!" His hands shot from my tits, to my jiggling buttocks. He gripped the soft flesh-spread the halves of my ass and drove his finger roughly up my rectum.
I screamed into his mouth: fucking harder, faster, more intensely. I wanted his gism. I wanted every ounce of hot cream in his big, hairy balls.
When it happened, it felt as if the top of my head, my skull, had become a gyroscope. My legs turned to mush, fell. My belly became a tight little ballbearing. And my cunthole! My pussy hair stood on edge-seemed to uncoil and spring back in place-and my gash became a wild, nipping, ferocious white-blonde tigress ... milking ... sucking up semen ... making Steve pant and groan and go rigid as the slippery inner folds ripped hot joy from his loins.
We rested a moment, flesh to flesh, bodies united and basking in the warm afterglow of good fucking. It had always been good with Steve. But with Brent! I thought. God, with Brent! With Brent and Lonny I had experienced Something not even Steve could surpass.
But it was dirty! I chastised myself mentally. Perverted! And now it was over, and I was home-with no candlesticks stuck up my asshole, and no filthy black swipes popping off deep in my face, disgusting me.
I forced the thoughts from my mind. "Let's take a bath," I cooed in Steve's ear. "Together. Like when we were kids. I was about to when you came."
Steve raised up on outstretched arms and grinned down at me. He made his slack prick pulse inside my pussy. I squirmed. "I'm gonna come again before long," he told me.
"Silly. I meant when you came to the door! Now c'mon. You can wash my back." Before he could stop me, I unshafted myself and twisted out from beneath him. I stood. Cum dripped down the inside of my leg. I crinkled my nose. "C'mon!" I yelped. "I'm all icky!"
"Okay! OKAY ALREADY!"
I cocked my head and smiled and held out my hand to him. How nice it would be if we were children again, I thought. Without worries. Without jobs to find. Without memories other than those of the attic, the woodshed, the hammock, and wherever else we had dropped our impulsive young love seed.
In the bathroom, Steve became the playful boy he'd been when we were kids. He pinched my buttocks when I leaned to run fresh water into the tub, and leaped out of reach when I tried to swat him with the wet washcloth. "Sadistic bastard!" I yelped when he did it again.
"Sexy bitch!" He slapped my left tittie.
"Fuck!" I chased him into the living room, over the sofa; into the kitchen and around the table and back to the bathroom-where he held up both hands in surrender.
By then we were breathless and laughing so lard we could barely summon strength enough to step into the steaming water.
"Hey!" said Steve, grabbing the soap from the dish in the tile wall and stepping up close behind me. "Does washing your back include these?" He cupped his hands beneath the outward curve of my ass, hefted the halves.
"Ummmmm!" The warmth of the water lapping gently against my calves, my shins, was soothing. I wanted to sleep: to lie down in the tub, Steve beside me, and let the room fill with rich billows of steam. I felt Steve's hands soaping my shoulders, then down. When was the last time we had done this? I tried to remember. It was long before the time in the attic, I recalled-remembering the day Auntie, Steve's mother, first noted the down on my cuntlips, and "laid down the law!" No more baths with her Stevie! she'd informed me. We were much too old for such continued shenanigans!
"I can't believe it," murmured Steve. "Huh?"
"Your asshole! Your fucking behind looks too small to take a rod the size of the one you say that guy Brent has."
I faced him, scowled. "Bath!" I yelled, snatching the soap from his hand, and rubbing it vigorously over his wide hairy chest. "We're supposed to be taking a bath. Bath! Bath!" I sniffled and scrubbed a thick lather over his upper body. It coasted down his navel and bunched at his cockhair. His rod was beginning to stiffen again, I noted. "B-A-T-H!" I reaffirmed.
Scooping the suds from his chest, Steve grinned and spattered a handful at my neck. A speck leaped into my eye.
"Darn!" I lifted one hand to my face. "Oh-! You're just as dumb as you were when-"
"Don't rub it," he cautioned, stepping close-so close his rapidly swelling dickhead brushed my bush. His lips covered my eye. He washed the soap away with saliva. Then his lips slid down my cheek, to my mouth. His strong arms closed tight around me.
"Ste-eve!" I pushed at his chest.
"Is that the way you thank me for saving your eyesight? Some cousin you are!"
"Oh-!" I let him kiss me. I knew what he was after. Yet I let the kiss grow heated, and mumbled only a cursory protest when his hands slipped down and over the flare of my hips, to my bottom. I let him bend me back ... forcing my pussy into his hardening cock. I let him finger my anus. I let him drive his tongue into my mouth and begin to grind before I tried again to push him away.
"I still can't believe it," he said in a voice thick with lust. "A prick that big up your brown! Shit! You won't have any trouble at all taking mine!" Abruptly he spun me. Locking his arms at my waist, he rubbed the tip of his rod up and down the pinched crack of my jiggling ass.
"You bastard!" I struggled, slipped and fell forward. I reached for the tile wall. Hands splayed, I caught my weight on outstretched arms.
"Hold it like that," said Steve.
"Noooooo!" I was spread-eagled in the stance I'd seen cops force suspects into for frisking. And before I could move or protest further, he was there-standing between my thighs, opening the cheeks of my ass with the anxious fingers of one hand, and setting the glans of his stiff dick at my asshole with the other.
"Don't fight me, Carol. Baby? I've wanted to fuck it up you like this since the first time in the attic. Remember how I felt your behind? It was smaller then. Not as plump. Not as fucking pink and round!" He pumped ... embedding the tip ... moving his hands back to my hips to hold me while he completed the penetration.
"Oh Steve! I-I'm gonna fall!"
"I'll um! Um, that's so fucking good 'n' tight 'n' hot. I'll hold you, babe. Don't fret. Just bend. Let go of the wall, put your hands on your knees and ah! Bend! Bend fucking double!"
I obeyed. There wasn't much else I could do. And although I was angry with Steve for having tricked me, Brent had conditioned my asshole. It was drawing him in ... sucking him up the shit-slimy walls of my rectum. Pulling at the knob of his joystick. Breathing. Biting.
"Carol! Sweet Carol, cousin, baby!" Digging his nails into my flesh, Steve pulled me back as he pushed. His dick-hard and fiery, but not nearly as long and thick around as what I was used to back there-drilled in. Inch by jerking inch it disappeared between my upturned buttocks.
"Owahhhhhhhhhhhh!" I sobbed, unable to resist the delicious friction teasing my sphincters. My hips began to buck out of control-round and round, back, forward and back and back until the whole of his rigid cock was planted up my tight chute.
"Damn! Keep ah! Ahhhhhhhh! Keep m-moving it just like that! Wow! Oh wow! Oh m-m-motherfucking WOW!" Steve began to push slowly in and out.
Looking down and back, past my belly, my wedge, I saw his fat cubes bouncing. Frantically I reached for them.
"Jeeeeee-susssssssss!" Steve fucked faster, slamming it into me, making his nuts leap like huge jumping beans in the palm of my hand. "Honey! Sweet baby! Christ! Oh man, go! Wiggle! Move it, cuz! F-fuck that cute ass around!"
I knew how he felt. The breathless pleasure was building in me, too. His prick seemed small inside me-in the deep nipping tunnel that was used to 18-inch candles and cocks almost twice the length of Steve's. But it wasn't the size that mattered. It was the pistoning stiffness. The heat.' The stuff that would fly from the tiny aperture in the bloated, pink, red and purple, lovely glans.
"Harder!" I cried. "Real hard! Oh! Oh, Stevie! F-f-fuck it out! Ream me! Shoot!" The gyroscope that had taken possession of my head earlier now controlled my pelvis. I leaned far forward, until his rod almost popped from its glove, and lunged my ass back at him. I fondled his sacs. My rectum became a wringer: a hungry vise tightening, loosening, tightening on his stiff, driving tool.
Steve's hands moved suddenly up my sides. Leaning over my back, breath hot at the nape of my neck, he sought my firm breasts. His fingers captured the nipples. He pinched. "Best asshole fuck ever," he groaned.
I thought about Lonny: best pussy! I imagined the giant's incredible meat up my rear. Could he like it that way? I wondered. Up my asshole? Would he, as Steve was doing, pant and tell me how good it was back there? Momentarily I regretted not having taken the giant's rod up my shitter. It seemed no matter how hard I tried, how adamant I was about forgetting the big house and what had been done to me, Brent and Lonny, their cocks-most especially their awesome meat dipsticks-were constantly lurking at the back of my mind. It was as if I had, after all, enjoyed the perversion, the shame.
Again I forced the troublesome thoughts from my mind-admitting to myself only that it had at times been good, and ignoring the implications. Now there was another dick in me: smaller, to be sure. But Steve had a way, a technique of his own, that made up for the lack of hard inches. Where Brent had screwed his cock up my ass in straight, even strokes, Cousin Steve fucked erratically-driving in at an angle, shifting his hips, pulling back from the opposite side, and holding a second with the knob at my sphincters before repeating the maddening maneuver.
"The-the water!" I gasped, noting the level had risen to the rim of the tub and was splashing over and onto the tile floor.
"Fuck the water!" barked Steve.
"But-"
Steve knocked the breath from my lungs by ramming his dick so hard up my asshole I had to again reach for the wall. "The only fucking butt I'm interested in is yours!" he rasped. "I-I'm almost there. C-coming!"
"Oh God! God, do it! Do it!" I forgot about the rising water: thought only of the cream about to spurt off in my rectum. My cunthole felt swollen, empty. I wished for another stiff cock ... wondered what it would be like to have two bloated rods pissing sperm up my belly. "F-finger my pussy," I wailed, envisioning Rhonda's candlestick dildo fucking my chute while Brent popped off in my face.
Steve obliged me. His hands moved from my tits, down and over my belly, to my soft, inner thighs. He spread the lips of my vulva. Cunt-juice dripped out and down, and mingled with the bath water. Two fingers on each hand slipped deep in the wet folds of my sheath.
"Owwwwwwwwwwwww!" I fucked faster. My cunt muscles nipped. My asshole grew sloppy and wild. Why-with all the perversions they'd subjected me to, I thought-hadn't the Roysters, Brent and Lonny, the chauffeur, the guests, ever tried sticking two lovely hard swipes in me at the same time? One up my twat, the other stoking where Cousin Steve now was planted.
"Babylove!" Steve shoved his meat in, to the hairy roots, held and began to ejaculate.
I moaned. I strained. I wiggled my ass and joined him-the hot flow of pussyjuice washing his fingers, and mingling with the other, thicker, stickier cream seeping from my engorged asshole.
Simultaneously, our legs gave. We dropped to our knees, in the tub, thigh deep in warm water. The cum continued to pour into me ... each spurt accompanied by a sigh from Steve. I straightened ... closing the cheeks of my ass on his pulsing dick ... squeezing off the last drops. Reading, writing and 'rithmetic! I thought. Those were my subjects little more than a month before when I walked into the principal's office at Community High. Now my majors seemed to be fucking and sucking!
"You're great," breathed Steve, dick less full but refusing to relinquish its burrow. "Beautiful! Your ass-Christ! I never o thought-I mean, I never knew anything could be that fucking groovy."
"Pull out," I whispered.
Steve chuckled. "No way, baby."
"But you-you're going limp."
Steve breathed more gruff laughter into my ear. His hands crept back to my breasts. Affectionately he kneaded the turgid, creamy mounds. "You just keep doing whatever in hell you're doing up there, cuz. In a minute your asshole'll have me even fuckin' harder 'n before."
"I love you," I cooed, unable to help myself, craning my neck to kiss him. Shivers raced up my spine. Goosebumps popped out all over my body. Since the Roysters, I thought-since the day crazy Lonny raped me in the cellar-the mere mention of a prick growing hard was all my pink little cunthole needed to blot out morals and logic, and make me a sex machine.
CHAPTER SIX
For weeks, living off the money Brent had given me, I didn't do much of anything except sleep late, soak in the tub, and while away the day doing housework and watching TV until Steve arrived. Each evening now, almost as if we were married, he came straight to my place from work. And usually, before the supper dishes were cleared from the table, he was at me-taking what he wanted in the kitchen more often than not.
I didn't mind, I suppose. I had always loved fucking, and Cousin Steve. But the arrangement began to go sour one evening when he arrived with his boss-a short, rotund man, who reminded me of Jackie Gleason-explaining in a harried whisper that he'd been late for work that morning, and had invited Mr. Nash to dinner figuring I could charm him out of being mad.
"Plus they're thinking of pushing someone upstairs," Steve added. "Can you imagine? Christ! If I make it, I'll be the youngest assistant vice president the firm has ever had. Be extra nice to him, Carol. My promotion may depend on what happens here tonight."
"How nice do you want me to be?" I countered hotly-but out of earshot of Mr. Nash, who was watching me with the eyes of a man hungry for more than a hot meal.
Steve steered me into the kitchen. Before I could protest, he had his hand beneath the hem of my mini, and was kissing me. Fingerfucking my slit until I was passive, he said, "The old goat thinks he's a lover, Carol. You know what I mean. He's harmless. But if he pinches your ass when I'm not looking-well, do your Christian duty and turn the other cheek."
"What in heck do you think I am?" I balked.
Steve laughed and drove his fingers hard up my pussy. "C'mon, cuz. I'm not asking you to take the old bastard to bed. Just be a little bit nice."
"I won't!"
"Oh no?" Again he kissed me-this time driving his tongue deep in my mouth, and forcing the fingers not working my cunthole into the down at my anus. He kept it up until I was gasping and fumbling to get his cock out. Then he pushed me away, and added, "Now you're hot enough to be nice to a snake. And if you want me to do something about it after Mr. Nash leaves-well, like I said, do your Christian duty."
I listened to Steve and Mr. Nash talk shop all through dinner, and tried not to notice that the latter's gaze spent most of its time darting away and back to the deep cleavage at the low-cut neck of my dress. I knew he was thinking: I'd sure like to suck on her tits! Draw her nipples into my mouth while her tight pussy draws my swipe up its warmth! I'd sure like to fuck her!
But the rotund businessman did no more than look and compliment me on the meal until we were finished eating and I began to clear the table. Then, just as I was beginning to believe what Steve had said about him being harmless, and as Steve was starting for the living room, Mr. Nash said, "I, ah, I'll help your lovely cousin with the dishes, Steve. You go ahead. I'm used to donning an apron. The wife, you know."
"No, really," I protested. "It'll take only a minute if I do it myself."
"Nonsense!" insisted Mr. Nash. With a dish in each pudgy hand, he brushed past me, to the sink.
I glanced pleadingly at Steve. He winked. "Okay," he said. "You two do the K.P. But what we really need now is a good after-dinner wine. So I'll just run down to the liquor store, and be back in maybe fifteen minutes."
There was an unopened bottle of wine in the cupboard. But before I could open my mouth, Steve was gone from the kitchen, and Mr. Nash and I were alone. I heard the front door open and close. Oh darn! I thought. Oh darn! Oh darn! Oh darn it all, anyway!
Mr. Nash eyed me. "Don't we have an apron?"
Nervously I motioned to the utensil drawer beside the sink. I watched him smile, open the drawer, find the folded apron and shake it out. I never wore aprons, I thought to mention. But he was already coming toward me. And again before I could open my mouth, he was reaching to tie the cloth belt around my waist. His arms-weren't very long. And as he fumbled behind me-face much too close to the cleavage he'd been ogling all through dinner-his leg brushed gently between mine.
"I-I'll do it," I told him.
"Nonsense! I enjoy doing things for young ladies. Particularly when they're, um, when they're as lovely as you."
I stood rigid and allowed him to continue to fumble. My cunt began to tighten. Steve's earlier manipulations had left me in a state of desire. Now, as the elderly businessman's upper leg brushed my crotch, my pussy, I yearned for a stiff dick. I felt his breath at my breasts, and thought God! God, I had met the man only an hour before, didn't even like him, and my body was ready to open itself to his lust.
"Steve tells me you're a teacher," said Mr. Nash, tying the belt finally, but allowing his hands to linger at my waist.
"I-I've had only one job since graduating from teacher's college," I managed, voice hoarse. "As a private tutor. To-to the Roysters."
"I know. Steve told me about that." He smiled wickedly.
Oh Lord! I thought. Steve wouldn't! I backed into the sink, trying to escape but managing only to trap myself. The leg between my thighs pressed harder, more intimately. "Wha-what d-did he tell you?" I gasped.
Mr. Nash's hands moved down over my hips, to the curved underside of my bottom. "Not much. Not as much as I'd like to hear, anyway. Only that Brent and Lonny Royster taught the teacher a few things, and that since you came home, the only thing you seem to want to do is fuck.
I was horrified. "S-S-Steve t-told you that?"
"He was right, too. I've been watching you, young lady. Like now. You're pretending to be outraged, but your eyes say different, and I'll bet your pussy's itchin' like a bitch in heat." He hefted the cheeks of my ass, used his leg to spread my thighs, and pressed what felt like a stiff hot dog into me.
"Don't!" I gasped. "Oh don't, please. I-I-"
"You what?"
"I-I'm not what you think! They forced me! They-they kept me locked in a room, and-and made me do all those terrible t-things."
Mr. Nash chuckled. His hands slipped beneath the mini in back. He traced the split where the panties were sunk deep in the crack of my ass. One finger wiggled into the space between the back of my thighs. "You mean like I'm forcing you now?"
"Yes! I mean, nooo! I mean-oh! Oh, I d-don't know what I mean anymore."
Again Mr. Nash chuckled. "Then I'll show you," he said, nuzzling his face into the warm valley he'd been ogling. The pudgy hands beneath my dress moved up, to the waistband of my panties; and, while he rained wet kisses over the creamy upper side of my breasts, began inching the nylon underwear down.
"S-Steve may come in," I whispered.
"He said fifteen minutes."
"But you can't...."...." Fuck in fifteen minutes?" he supplied. "Why, at the office the secretaries call me a three-minute egg. Just show me to the hot water, and watch me boil." With that, he pushed the panties down my thighs, and made me step out of them. Then he guided my hand to the hard hot dog in his pantsleg. "Take it out for me," he directed. "Steve says you like to play with a cock for a while before it goes in."
The pig! I thought. Cousin Steve! Oh, the filthy, loudmouth bastard! He was worse than Brent: worse than Lonny and Phelps and Rhonda-even worse than the ugly black chauffeur! But as my fingers touched the hard little bulge at Mr. Nash's fly, a shiver ran through me. And when he worked the zipper down, and steered my hand inside, to his miniature shaft, my cunt grew so wet, so anxious, that I forgot everything except the few minutes we had before Steve returned.
"Don't jerk so goddam hard," groaned Mr. Nash as I freed the thin, red dagger. "I've been watching you with half a hard-on since I got here. And I don't wanna shoot off anywhere but-" he cupped his hand at my pussy, "-right here!"
"Then hurry," I moaned, spreading my legs, leaning back against the sink with feet wide apart, and setting the bulbous glans of his stiff little cock at the wet lips of my vulva. "Do it quick. Before, um! Before Steve gets back."
My hips shot forward as he drove the tip of his hard peg into the pulsing pocket between my thighs. I wrapped my arms around his neck, dropped my head to his shoulder, and worked to draw the length of him in. He wasn't very big: seven, maybe eight inches, I estimated. But he was a man. And he had balls. And no matter how small his equipment was, there was good hot cream waiting at the end of the thing fucking its way up my tight, blonde wedge.
"Y-young lady. Oh, lovely young lady," sputtered Mr. Nash. His pudgy hands returned to my ass-moved slowly, gently over the soft mounds of flesh, fingers probing until one found my asshole. The finger slipped in, and matched the tempo of the rod climbing higher and higher up my pussy.
"Suck my tit," I told him, already nearing orgasm. Shrugging one heavy breast free of the low-cut dress, I thrust the taut nipple at him.
"Yes. I've been wanting to." His teeth clamped tight on the tender, pink bud.
A stab of pain shot through my breast. I sobbed. Why was it that every man I knew seemed to enjoy hurting me? I wondered. And why was it I no longer objected, but found even the pain delightful-had come to accept it as part of the sex act?
"Incredible!" gasped Mr. Nash, fucking the last of his miniature prick up my belly. He rested with the fly of his pants flush to my cunthole. "Steve sure wasn't lying. You're as good as a cherry. Better!"
Be nice to him! I thought, recalling Steve's words. It was obvious now: Cousin Steve had promised his boss a piece of me in exchange for the promotion. But it no longer mattered. Nothing mattered except the meat embedded in my love hole. I lifted one leg ... moved it slowly up and down the outside of his thigh ... stretching my cunt ... opening and closing on Mr. Nash's throbbing cock. The month with the Roysters, and the month since my return, had wrought strange changes, I was learning. Not only had I begun to accept pain as a part of sex, but talk, dirty talk, particularly when it was about me, turned me on. "D-do you like me?" I breathed. "My-my pussy? Is-is it g-good?"
Mr. Nash bit down hard on my nipple-making me whimper. The finger probing my rectum dug deep. Pulling back, until he almost popped free, he slammed his rigid dick all the way up my twat. "I love it!" he growled. "Your cunt, your ass-everything! I could fuck you all night. All week. ALL YEAR! Put-put your legs around my waist."
"Oh-!" I had been hoping he'd ask for that. I loved to screw standing up, all wrapped around a man. But-except for Steve, when he wanted a piece of my ass, and Lonny and Brent a few times-I seemed to be the only one who did. Hurriedly, I raised one leg, waited for him to get set and grip the underside of my thigh, then raised the other. I locked my ankles. "Oh yes," I sighed, cunt gaped all the way open, sucking pants and all up my belly, it seemed.
Taking firm hold of my ass, Mr. Nash began to hump and grunt. His little dick stoked rapidly. I paced him ... churning my hips, my ass ... squeezing with arms and legs ... spewing cuntjuice down the front of his pants. I wished we were naked. I wanted to see him but the minidress, although short enough to bare my sex, hid the action. I wanted to watch his cock grow slimy with my goo, and slip in and out, and grow fatter and harder and redder at the moment the cum began to inch up from his balls. Leaning away, I glanced down between our straining bodies. But it was no good. All I could see was the hem of the dress moving in and out each time he lunged.
But although I couldn't see him, I could feel. I could feel his rod beginning to jerk: swelling each time the glans reached the top of my sheath. I could feel his nuts slapping against my downthrusted ass even through the pants. And I could feel his finger high in my rectum-feel the tempo of both cock and finger increase as I worked my inner cunt muscles, and the gism, the hot cream I craved, began to make the journey up his stiff shaft.
A three-minute egg! I thought, coming, filled with the giddy wonder of orgasm. I fucked faster-driving myself with all the strength in my body onto his pistoning cock. Then he was coming, too: filling my cunthole with gook, groaning and grunting and fucking the stuff up my pussy.
It was over not a moment too soon. For I had just unwrapped myself, and was climbing into my panties when the front door burst open, and Steve, a brown paper bag in hand, stepped into the living room, in line with the kitchen door. Quickly Mr. Nash hid his limp, sticky cock. But what if Steve had caught us? I thought. Hadn't he told the rotund businessman all there was to know about me, and brought him to the apartment with me as the bargaining point in his career?
And, I speculated, smoothing the front of my minidress, perhaps if Steve had walked in a moment sooner, and caught us, I'd have gotten my secret wish: one in front, one behind-two stiff dicks pissing cum up my belly at the same time.
"I think a glass of wine is just what we need to put the finishing touch on, ah-an excellent dinner!" said Mr. Nash as Steve, all smiles and awareness, stepped into the kitchen.
"Well, never let it be said that my Cousin Carol left a guest wanting," replied Steve-as if I were the only one in the room who didn't know what was happening, what they were grinning about. "Bring some glasses to the living room," he told me. "Mr. Nash and I have to talk about my promotion."
Hands on hips, cheeks burning with shame and panties wet and uncomfortable, I watched them leave the kitchen. I still wore the tiny apron, I realized. And the dishes still lay unwashed in the sink. And worse: my little blonde pussy still ached ... wanting more of what Cousin Steve had interrupted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Within a week of Mr. Nash's visit, Cousin Steve was the firm's youngest assistant vice president, and I had received a dozen long-stemmed red roses from each. But I was unemployed still. And although I'd tried every school within traveling distance of the apartment, the substitute post at Community High was the only thing available.
"There's always Lonny Royster," suggested Steve when I griped about being a qualified teacher without pupils.
"That's not exactly what I had in mind when I graduated college," I fumed. "There's only one subject crazy Lonny is interested in, and you know it. And I wish you'd stop talking about it and forget I ever told you about what happened to me there."
But that didn't stop Steve. Almost every night he teased me to the point of insanity-toying with my body, and making me tell even more about what Brent and the others had done to me. And each time I complained about not being able to find a job, he again mentioned Lonny.
"Never!" I told him one night after a particularly frustrating day of job hunting. "Not in a million years. Not-not if I were starving!"
Steve laughed and pressed me back on the bed for the second time. "You'll never starve, Carol. Not with old goats like Nash around. He's been after me to invite him over here for another dinner. Christ, cuz, if you were willing, I could set you up in business with him as your first steady customer."
"You-you'd do th-that t-t-to me?"
"Shit yeah. With your body, and me as your manager-well, we'd be able to retire in maybe two-three years."
"Oh-!" I tried to slap him. He caught my wrist; twisted until I yelped, and centered his cock between my thighs. I felt the fat glans penetrate. My hips shot up. "Bastard!" I hissed, angry with myself for wanting him so.
Mr. Nash delivered the second bunch of long-stemmed red roses in person. It was early afternoon and I'd been moping around the apartment in shorty pajamas-thinking, despite myself, about the Roysters, the comfortable salary Brent had offered, and the things Steve had said. Then the doorbell rang, and Mr. Nash was there ... holding the flowers ... grinning the way he had grinned the first time, more than a week before.
"I, ah-I simply had to see you. To, ah-to thank you personally," he said. "May I come in?"
I stepped aside: amused because both he and I knew what he had come for, yet we were acting as if the night in the kitchen never happened and this was a mere social call. Men! I thought, feeling momentarily superior.
Closing the door, I watched him walk to the sofa, turn and shift the flowers from hand to hand. "Steve told me you couldn't find work," he blurted finally. "And I thought-I thought-I...."...." And you thought you could help," I supplied, angry with Steve, but finding Mr. Nash's attempt to buy what I had given him free so cute I couldn't help smiling. Is this how girls get started in prostitution? I wondered.
Mr. Nash thrust the flowers at me. Without speaking, I took the bunch from his hand and moved to the stereo console across from the sofa. Bending slightly forward, feeling the shorty pajama bottom stretch tight across my backside and purposely taunting him, I began to arrange the roses, one by one, in a vase. I expected him to come up behind me. But I pretended surprise when he did.
"Mr. Nash-you-you mustn't," I breathed when his hand began to explore my upthrusted behind.
"I-I only want to help," he croaked, fingers insistent, tracing the split to the juncture of my thighs. "Here. Please, accept this as-as a token of my friendship."
I watched two 100-dollar bills flutter from his hand, to the top of the stereo. My breath caught. I felt suddenly dirty. The amusement of a moment before was gone, and I felt like a common streetwalker ... peddling my sweet little blonde wedge to the highest bidder. But I do need the money! a small voice at the back of my mind reminded. There's the rent to be paid, and food, and that new dress I want, and ... why not accept Mr. Nash's generosity? the voice persuaded.
But, no matter what I decided, it seemed, Mr. Nash was determined to have his way. His fingers had found the elastic legband of the frilly pajamas, and now were probing beneath ... low between the cheeks of my ass ... at my pinched anus, my already swollen and pulsing cuntlips. "Be nice to me," he whispered. "I can be very, all-very generous to a young lady as understanding as you were the other night."
I sobbed and dropped the roses as his stinkfinger slipped into me. My hips shot back ... cunthole sucking him deep. Darn Steve, anyway! I thought. Darn all men, with their big hard pricks, and curious fingers and tongues, and the power to make me so much putty in their hands. I felt him step close, and press his hot dog cock into the crack of my ass. Oh, darn him! Darn him! I cried mentally, and wiggled-telling him with my body to take the stiff thing out of his pants, and press it home, up my belly.
"I-this time I'd like to get undressed," said Mr. Nash. "And to-to f-fuck you in the bedroom. In bed. And to see you. All of you. Your body. Naked."
By now, my pussy was so tight, so wet and ready, I couldn't have resisted even if I'd wanted to. But I didn't want to. I was remembering the feel of his cute swipe shooting off high in my vagina ... the grip of pudgy hands on my churning behind ... his cum dripping down the inside of my thighs. Abruptly I turned and threw my arms around his neck. "Kiss me first," I moaned. "And feel me. Feel all over."
In the bedroom, I lay still while he stripped the clothes from his short, flabby but surprisingly vigorous body. His rod appeared bigger without the pants hiding the mass of kinky black cockhair. And his balls! His balls were low-slung, and huge-almost as hefty as the marvelous sacs that dangled below Lonny Royster's incredible meat.
"Now you," he directed, kneeling on the bed, and making me sit up so he could raise the pajama top off over my head. "Beautiful!" he announced when my titties bounced free. He allowed me to shake out my hair, then pressed me back into the pillows, and kissed first one taut nipple, then the other. Then his hands slipped down, to my waist. His fingers hooked, and began shimmying the shorty bottoms off my hips.
"Let me," I moaned, impatient.
"Yes indeed!" Mr. Nash watched. His eyes grew wider and wider as I pushed the last garment down, exposing the curly white-blonde bush he desired. His hand slid along the underside of my thigh as I raised my knees. And by the time I had kicked off the pajamas, his anxious fingers were once again digging into me.
I reached for his stiff cock. "Put it in," I demanded, jerking.
"Not yet. No. First-" he pushed my hand away, and dove, headfirst between my thighs..
"Owww!" I opened my cunt to his tongue. I gripped the sides of his head, lifted my hips, and ground my twat into his face. "Oh yes. Yes, do it."
Mr. Nash obliged. Cupping his hands beneath the halves of my ass, he lapped my sopping wet gash, my clit-eating me, as if I were a watermelon. His tongue moved down ... washing my asshole ... then back, to bore deep into my gaped open pussy. "Delicious," he mumbled, sucking and licking, and drinking deep of the smell of my womanhood.
"Ohah. OHHHHHHHHHHH!" I raised my knees; arched my spine as his mouth covered my cunthole. And sucked. I closed my eyes; tried to draw breath into lungs that refused to work. My insides were being sucked out, it seemed. Then he blew into me ... sending hot, moist air up my belly, and pressing the trigger that set my pelvis gyrating so fast, so forceful I thought sure something was going to break.
Suddenly Mr. Nash's mouth was gone from my sex. I opened my eyes to find him kneeling between my legs. Dick in hand, face wet with my juices, he stared down at my gaping, pink lovehole. Again I reached for his rod. This time he didn't object. My fingers closed tight on the shaft, and I guided him down onto my tense belly. His face came close to mine. I smelled myself on his lips. Hungrily, I kissed him, and set the lovely red tip of his meat at my pussy.
Tiny, barely audible noises came from my throat as his cock slid in. I dropped my raised knees out to the side ... forming a wide valley for him to fuck into. My ass began to move: pacing my cunt to his thrusts, until he was all the way in, then faster. I remembered the two-hundred dollars on the stereo in the living room-marveling that anyone would pay to fuck me when fucking was the one thing in the world I didn't think I would ever be able to do without.
Raising up on stubby arms, Mr. Nash glanced down, to where his prick was stoking. "Oh, my word," he groaned, moving slowly in and out, grinding his cockhair into my trembling bush with each plunge.
I, too, glanced down, and gasped. I could see the fat little dagger poking into me. It was a beautiful sight ... more so because each stroke shot tongues of fire through my agitated clit, and made my tingling mound swell and harden. I moaned. I sighed. I raised my legs; wrapped them tight around his flabby middle, and said, "Fuck me, Mr. Nash. Make me come. Oh, fuck me good."
We went at it like that until my pussy tightened up in orgasm, and my limbs went slack. Then Mr. Nash said, "I ummm! Um, I love when your little cunt does that. Tight! Yes! Lovely! But I particularly like to fuck with the woman as the protagonist. Would you, dear?"
It took a moment to get my head back on straight, to where I realized what it was he wanted of me. "You mean me on top?"
"Exactly!" He made his dick expand and contract inside me. He waited for me to unwrap my legs. Then he rolled, taking me with him, placing me astraddle-knees doubled close to his ribcage, ass and cunt tilted down and back. "Lovely!" he choked, hands slipping down over the outside of my hips, to the soft cheeks of my ass. "Now dear-move slowly. Makeahoh! Yes! Oh yes, make your hot pussy, ahhh! Make it open and c-close like th-th-that. Just l-like that."
"You mean this?" Bracing myself on outstretched arms, rising until his rod almost popped free, I worked the tip of his joint with my swollen cuntlips.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ah lovely!"
"And this?" I set my hips going up and down ... nipping the knob of his cock each time it threatened to leap free, and fucking my slippery wet sheath down the length of him, in short, provocative little wiggles. It was so unlike me! I thought. And so good!
Mr. Nash groaned and strained upward. His fingers slipped low between the halves of my bottom; spread my cheeks, and found and penetrated my asshole. He eyed my swinging breasts. His tongue shot out to graze my nipple.
"Ow-ow-owwwwwwww!" Panting, I leaned far forward-placing my tit where he could draw the sensitive peak into the warmth of his mouth. My rectum closed tight on his fingers-two, maybe three: my entire lower body was alive with fiery tingles, and I couldn't tell for sure how many fingers had burrowed into me.
Sucking my tit, making noises like an infant hungry for mother's milk, kneading my ass flesh and tickling with the fingers buried high in my chute, Mr. Nash began to fuck. His prick seemed to stand taller ... stoking my burning gash ... matching my rhythm ... retreating, and slamming back in, to the hairy roots.
Frantically I worked my pussy. I was coming again, or still: I was uncertain whether or not the delicious orgasm had ever stopped. And I knew, could tell by his increased gyrations, that the cream was almost ready to spurt from the glans of his pistoning rod. Hot cum! I thought. Good, thick gism, that would overflow my aching cunthole, coat the insides of my thighs, drip down and into the crack of my ass, and momentarily quench the urgent need in my belly.
"Arrr! ARRUMPH!" Mr. Nash's fingernails dug into my ass ... bruising, hurting me ... scratching the tender walls of my rectum. He bit down hard on my taut, pink nipple. His hips came off the bed-planting his fat, throbbing meat, to the hilt.
My mouth fell open. "You're hurting me!" I wanted to protest. But the words wouldn't come. For now his swipe was spitting ... fucking thick cream up my pulsating pussy ... dulling the pain with liquid love.
"Don't stop!" I cried, working faster to keep him from going limp. "Go again! Please! Oh please-fuck more cum into meee."
We lost track of time; dozed. I knew it was late, and that Cousin Steve would be arriving soon, when I opened my eyes and found Mr. Nash propped on one elbow, looking me up and down, as if we hadn't already screwed twice, and he was ready to climb aboard for the first time.
"Wha-what time is it?" I asked, not really caring, but not knowing what else to say-feeling the old guilt, the shame of having given myself wantonly to a man whose first name I didn't even know.
Tracing the fine gold hairs that began at my belly button, and grew thicker, spreading to meet my wedge, the rotund, grinning businessman said, "Time for us to try something Steve has been telling me about you."
I blinked up at him. "What?"
In reply, his hand slid through my bush, past my cuntlips, to my anus. Gently he probed.
Fucking Cousin Steve again! I thought. Was there anything he hadn't told his boss about me? "I-I d-don't really l-like it that way," I sputtered.
"Nonsense!" objected Mr. Nash. "Why, you practically ate my whole hand before when I was fingering you back there. Even now-" his middle finger twisted up my pinched shitter, "-it's nipping to beat all hell. Steve tells me you're absolutely fantastic that way. And he hasn't been wrong yet."
Utterly humiliated, wanting to die, I allowed him to toy with my body. I hadn't escaped the Roysters, I realized. The month I'd spent in the big house on the outskirts of town was only the beginning. And the biggest mistake I'd made was trusting Cousin Steve: telling him what Brent and Lonny and the others had done to me. Now, it seemed, he saw me only as a female receptacle-to be used and abused in any way he saw fit. And my body! Oh, my insatiable body! Despite what I thought, what I knew, despite the shame I felt afterward, I simply couldn't resist the persuasive male hands ... the hands Mr. Nash was moving over my firm breasts, in between my smooth, trembling legs. The convincing fingers. The sleek stiffness with its torpedo-shaped head beginning to stand away from the elderly businessman's cockhair. No matter what I felt morally, physically I was exactly what Steve and Mr. Nash thought of me. A wanton! A common trollop! A teacher whose major subject was all the variations of sex a man could ask for.
"Roll over. On your stomach," Mr. Nash directed in a husky, excited voice. "Let me see your lovely ass. I won't hurt you, dear. I'll be as gentle as a doting father pampering his own precious little sweetheart."
Lord! I thought. Not only were all men horny bastards, but they all seemed to have suppressed, perverted desires! I could imagine Mr. Nash directing his own precious daughter to turn onto her belly, and climbing aboard, and fucking his hot dog up her sweetheart asshole. Like fucking Steve! Just as he had taken advantage of me in the attic ... almost before I was old enough to come.
"Hurry dear," urged Mr. Nash. "My cock is up again. And we mustn't let all that good stiffness go unused."
His swipe was indeed hard again-poking the side of my thigh as he helped make up my mind for me. Hands at my waist, he rolled me over ... onto my belly ... round, white and pink and deep-clefted ass exposed to his hungry view. A chill crept up my spine. I shivered. Again I wondered what it would be like to have two men at me at once. I recalled the long candlestick: Rhonda's ersatz dildo. But a dildo, I knew-no matter how long, how good-couldn't begin to compare with a living, breathing, semen-spitting meat rod. Again, forgetting all my earlier thoughts and reservations, the degradation of being used, I wished for another big dick ... one to fill my cunt while kinky Mr. Nash was having his way with my rectum.
As if having read my thoughts from afar, Cousin Steve appeared suddenly at the bedroom door. "Now, that looks inviting," he said, leaning back against the doorjamb to watch Mr. Nash spread the soft halves of my ass; and, as he had done earlier to ready my cunthole for fucking, press his mouth to my sphincters.
Caught! I was speechless. Would it never end? I wondered. Was I destined to spend the rest of my life in humiliation? But the tongue licking between the cheeks of my ass was creating the desired result. My breath quickened, and my hips-my wanton pelvis: the thing which wanted two cocks at once-began to jerk erratically. Two stiff pricks! I thought. Already I could see Cousin Steve's growing inside the pants. I wanted it! I admitted to myself finally. It wasn't my body, it was me: all of me! I wanted more than anything-more than pride, or being the girl I was before the day in Mr. Phelps' office-to see Steve take off his clothes, and....
"Lemme give you a hand," offered Steve, approaching the bed in long strides. "Cousin Carol likes it better when someone sorta makes her perform."
"I don't!" I yelped in my own defense, so angry I wanted to hit him with the lamp on the bedside table. I tried to twist away from the mouth sucking and licking my asshole.
"C'mon, cuz," said Steve, coming out of his suit jacket and shirt, and fumbling with the buckle on his belt. "What about all the passive stuff you said happened at the Royster mansion? Like the black chauffeur-the first time he made you suck him off. You dug the hell out of that, baby. Maybe you don't know it, but that's your bag. You've been crazy for cock-sucking ever since. Like never before. And that goes for being forced, too. Like the night in the bathroom. Man! You sure fought like hell, and made me take that sweet little ass, but you fucked like never before once I was in you."
I was too numb with longing to object to the things he said. I watched his pants fall; saw his mighty hard dick spring like a live industrial cable from the fly of his shorts. Mr. Nash was unconcerned with all but driving his tongue all the way up my rectum, it seemed. And by the time Steve stood naked beside the bed, head cocked, as if trying to decide how best to use me, I was so hot I would have spread my legs for a leper with a rotting stump where his cock used to be.
Easing himself onto the bed, Steve cupped his huge hand over one cheek of my ass, and said, "I know you're the boss, Mr. Nash, but I think I'd better take over and get things organized here. What we need is a good plan for simultaneous front and rear action."
Over my shoulder, I watched them exchange excited grins. They were so like boys, I thought. But the long, stiff things standing away from their bodies were no mere playthings. They were hot cocks! Big, lovely dipsticks! And my cunt and asshole, my body was seething with desire to take them in. I wanted to tell them so: to urge them to hurry. But, at the same time, I wanted to push them away, to protest. I didn't know what I wanted anymore. I lay still and waited.
"Well, I certainly wouldn't have promoted you to assistant vice president if I didn't trust your good judgment, my boy," said Mr. Nash. "I'm open to suggestions."
Steve's fingers slipped down the crack of my ass, to where Mr. Nash had been sucking. "I suggest a sandwich," he said. "With Cousin Carol as the spread."
Before I could agree or protest, almost before I realized what he was up to, Steve had turned me onto my side, had stretched out along the length of my body, and was poking the throbbing tip of his prick at my cunthole. "Like this, boss," he said, holding my anus open with one splayed hand. "Now you do the same thing from behind," he told Mr. Nash. "And I'll bet you a week's pay I come before you."
Gleefully, and sounding like a dirty old man, Mr. Nash chuckled. He leaped to the other side of the bed. He stretched out behind me. "That's a bet I wouldn't mind losing," he said. "Go!"
"Ow. Ow. OWWWWWW!" My hips shot forward, then back, as first one dick, then the other began to press into me. It was an awkward position. I threw my leg over Steve's thigh ... attempting to open my asshole. It hurt. But the cock digging into my pussy, raking my clit, made the other worthwhile. I fucked myself forward and back ... drawing them in ... hating myself, and them, but loving the bloated sensation of dual penetration.
"Man, she's fucking tight this way." Steve pressed harder, forcing another thick throbbing inch of meat up my forebelly.
"Lovely!" gasped Mr. Nash, reaching to fondle my breasts, and humping as forcefully, with as much vigor as the man I estimated to be twenty years his junior.
I felt the two poles boring in, closed my eyes, chewed my lip and strained to receive them. Inside my little blonde pussy, I felt them meet: two old friends shaking hands through the thin elastic membrane separating front and rear entry. I felt Steve's longer, fatter swipe press deep, almost all the way in-then pull back and pause before driving the last stiff inch up my tight, wet cunthole. I moaned. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kissed him passionately, feverishly. I sucked his tongue deep inside my mouth. Raising my leg higher, to his waist, I drove my ass back at the meat halfway up my rear.
It was as if I were being fucked by an octopus. I felt hands all over me ... Mr. Nash's kneading my breasts, fingers teasing my nipples ... Steve's holding the halves of my ass apart for the older man. And the cock! There were two inside me, I knew. But it felt like one gigantic bent joystick sawing an unbroken tunnel into the smoking, dripping, sensation filled place between my quivering young thighs.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" sighed Mr. Nash, at last driving the roots home.
Steve broke the kiss. "I'll trade you one tit for one hunk of soft ass," he offered the rotund businessman.
The octopus rearranged itself. Steve's hand, the one at the end of the arm beneath my waist, came up, to my left tit. Holding the lush mound, as if it were a ripe coconut and he was about to drain it of milk, he fastened his lips, his teeth, to the hard nipple. Mr. Nash, still fondling the melon opposite Steve's prize, and kissing all over my shoulders, the nape of my neck, moved his free hand to the abandoned cheek of my ass. Then the two, sucking and kissing and kneading and pumping in time to some erratic syncopation within my taut belly, began to lift me, to fuck me toward orgasm.
My hips discovered the precise, intricate combination of bumps and grinds, jerks and wiggles for giving the ultimate pleasure to both dipping tools. Pressing forward as Mr. Nash pulled back, I drew Steve all the way in-then set the gyroscope going east to west, and fucked my ass back in time to meet Mr. Nash's next lunge. Faster and faster we screwed ... silent except for the tortured sound of labored breathing, and occasional grunts from them, moans from me, as we sought orgasm.
I wanted to cry out: to scream good! So good! But I was afraid to break the spell. Afraid I might do or say something to end the exquisite pleasure-pain building within my hot, hairy holes. Afraid I might break the rhythm: the peculiar non-cadence that was at once the purest matched tempo and no tempo at all. Afraid it would end too soon.
"Um. Goddam. Jesus. Al-almost there, baby." Steve's lips abandoned my tit. He began to kiss my neck, my face. "Um. Christ, you're good, doll. Motherfucker. Screw baby. Make that pussy work."
"Oh Steve. Ste-eve!" Arms and one leg wrapped tight around him, I fucked with all my might and watched his face contort in pleasure. He was going to win the bet with Mr. Nash, it seemed. I could feel it in my cunthole: could feel the semen gathering at the base of his rod Frantically I worked my inner cunt muscles ... tightening ... loosening and tightening ... helping him, and holding Mr. Nash off by relaxing my sphincters. I could make it go either way, I knew. But Steve, despite all he'd done to me, despite the anger I'd felt moments before, was my cousin still. And no matter what else came between us, he knew all the key sensation points on my body-knew how to make me perform in spite of myself: how to make me forget all but the fat cock now doing such wondrous things inside me.
"She is, ahhh! Indeed good," said Mr. Nash. "But I can't get the right leverage this way."
Steve, on the brink of popping off, stopped humping.
"Nooo!" I yelped.
"Shhh, baby," soothed Steve, a confident grin on his handsome, sweating face. "There's no hurry. And we have to be polite to our guest."
"Then perhaps we'd better rearrange the, ah-the sandwich spread!" said Mr. Nash.
Leaking cunt and inflamed asshole pleading for more of the smooth stoking action for hot cream, I listened to them discuss the possible variations of our three-way union. I didn't care what they did with me ... so long as it was quick! I had been wondering for weeks what it would be like to have two stiff cocks in me. Now I knew. And it was like nothing I had ever before experienced: like nothing I had ever dreamed. I longed only for them to continue. To go on and on. Never stop. To use me, as if I were a cuspidor, as a cum receptacle.
"That sounds negotiable," said Steve in reply to Mr. Nash's suggestion that he lie flat, with me astraddle-as the boss and I had done earlier-and the rotund, anxious businessman on his knees behind. "Carol baby?"
"Oh-! I d-don't care. Only hurry. Hur-reee.'"
Steve laughed. Addressing Mr. Nash, he said, "Didn't I tell you? The hottest little cunt this side of the equator!"
"The hottest little asshole, too," agreed Mr. Nash.
Suddenly the dick up my ass pulled free. I gulped. My rectum felt huge and empty: a toothache. Then I felt myself being rolled atop Cousin Steve. "Bring your knees up, cuz," he told me. "Make like a little girl bow-wow."
I obeyed-but again humiliated by the comparison. Was that what he really thought of me? I wondered. A dog? A mere bitch in heat? I rose on hands and knees; glanced down, to the juncture of my thighs, where his big, slimy prick was embedded up my pussy, and again forgot all but the wonder of fucking. Tentatively I retreated ... watching the hard, meat cylinder slip out, 'and move slowly back in when I pressed down. I sobbed. "Do it, Steve," I begged. "Please. Oh please, fuck me. Fuck me! FUCK MEEE!"
As suddenly as it had popped free, the stiff meat standing away from Mr. Nash's huge, hairy balls was burrowing back up my tortured behind: soothing the toothache. It was even better than before. And now, by looking down, between my wide-spread legs, I could see both of them. Frantic, whimpering strange love noises, I watched the elderly businessman fuck his rod all the way in ... saw his nuts come flush with my upthrust ass, and slap the bowed underside of the mightier cock up my cunthole.
Pudgy hands gripping my hips, grinding slowly against me, Mr. Nash sighed, "Now, that's really good."
"No lie," agreed Steve, recapturing a nipple with his teeth, hands moving over my rib cage, my belly, until one cupped over my pubic mound ... rubbing ... taunting ... middle finger slipping into my slit, to agitate my vibrating clit while his swipe stoked the upper walls of my dripping vagina.
I was dying. I was certain I'd never survive the incendiary friction of the two dicks once again dipping smoothly in and out, in and out, in and out of my trembling body. But I didn't care. Oh, I didn't care about anything except making them shoot. I tried to tell, tell. But the words came out garbled. So I told them with my hips. With my pussy and asshole. I told them by fucking my little upthrust ass round and round, back and forth, from side to side and up-down. I told them as I had never before spoken to anyone.
"Carol. Carol, honey, baby, sweetheart," groaned Steve at last. "Oh Christ. Oh Jesus-sweet motherfucking baby go. Go! FUCKING GO!" One hand still kneading my mound, he used the other to bring my head down, lips to lips. His tongue shot deep inside my mouth. His prick began to jerk inside my pussy.
The blast of cum was so strong, the orgasm it triggered in me so great, it knocked the breath from my lungs. It was a cannonball fired from the knob of his cock, into my belly, and tumbling in hot bliss up the inside of my chest. Then came the miniballs: rapid spurts of thick cream, each tearing a squeal of delight from my throat, and an electric tingle from my clit. I reached down, between our straining bodies, wrapped my hand around the fat hairy roots of his sex, and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed ... milking him ... working with cunt and inner thigh muscles and greedy fingers to drain the last drop.
Steve has won! I thought. Not only the bet with Mr. Nash-who didn't seem to mind losing, and was ohing and ahing and fucking my asshole still-but his attempt to convince me that I was, after all, a wanton, who craved degradation, violation, rape: having my face rubbed in shit-figuratively, of course, and so long as it was manshit, with a stiff swipe on the flip-side.
"Arrrrrrrr!" Mr. Nash pulled back; shafted so hard I fell forward, so that the three of us were lying flat-three tiers of sweating, churning flesh-and added the second blast of hot gism. "My dear," he breathed against my ear. "Oh, my sweet dear. Oh my. Oh my-o-my-o-my."
I barely heard him. I was dizzy with the crushing goodness of dual screwing. I lay still ... letting them fuck me ... slowly ... barely moving ... grinding off, from below and above me, the last drops of pleasure.
I was momentarily sated: content to rest in the afterglow. But what would it be like, I suddenly wondered, if there was yet another big dick, another stiff and spitting meat pipe, dripping off the last drops of bliss in my face?
CHAPTER EIGHT
I suppose that was the turning point. Because I awoke next morning thinking what is the difference in giving myself to Mr. Nash, for two-hundred dollars, and giving myself to Brent and the others as part of my duties as Lonny's private tutor?
I glanced lazily about the bedroom. It was a nice enough place ... lots of sunlight shining through the windows across from the bed ... walls freshly painted ... furniture almost new ... even a vanity about half the size of the beautiful antique in my bedroom in the big house on the outskirts of town. But at the big house, I recalled, breakfast, and sometimes lunch, and dinner if I requested it, was served at my bedside. And, I had to admit, after the first trying days, I had actually begun to enjoy living there, and was surprised-no! hurt and stunned, I realize now-when Brent had my bags packed, folded my wages and severance pay into my hand, and led me to the door, where the taxi was waiting. I had returned home that day feeling like a dismissed prostitute.
"And now?" I thought aloud. By accepting the money from Mr. Nash, I had committed myself to doing what Steve wanted of me. Now, for all I knew, he was planning to bring the entire board of directors home for dinner. Which meant me!
Feeling glum and icky, I leaped naked from the bed, and stopped to say good morning to myself in the dresser mirror. I hefted my breasts. They seemed heavier. Does excess fucking make tits grow? I wondered idly. My bush seemed thicker, too. But that, I knew, was because I hadn't yet showered off the spunk from the night before.
Turning, I glanced back over my shoulder, at my cute ass. There was no change there. It was as round and pink and adorable as ever. And that was the problem, I mused-at least one problem: because if even I couldn't look at myself without getting kinky all over, how in heck could I expect a man to?
My big problem, I decided, scowling at the disheveled but nonetheless seductive me in the mirror, is that I don't look like a dopey teacher. I look more like the hotsy pupil! And I like fucking more than is good for me. It seemed hopeless.
"Well, you're not going to quit!" I told myself. "You are a teacher! And you'll teach even if it means ... well, even if you have to do it as a crummy substitute at Community High! So there!"
Pleased with myself, but deciding I'd best wear plain white panties and bra, and the least revealing, least complimentary thing I owned when visiting Mr. Phelps, I padded to the bathroom. Adjusting the shower, I stepped beneath the fine, warm spray. And as the water fell on my head, washing the last remnants of sleep from my eyes, I realized there was something I wasn't telling myself: something about Mr. Phelps, the Roysters and the rambling Gothic mansion on the outskirts of town.
It was fun watching the students scramble for class when I entered the doors of Community High just as the morning bell rang. But even in a plain, knee-length dress, my hair done up severely and wearing the huge polliwog glasses I didn't need, my breasts drew grins of appreciating from the older boys. One, a senior, it appeared, paying no attention to the bell, held the door for me. And as I walked toward the principal's office at the far end of the main corridor, he followed close behind, and I could feel his gaze on the little round problem that refused-despite the effort I made-to stop swishing.
He was still there when I reached the office, and stopped. Hand on the doorknob, I gave him my best Upset Teacher Look. He winked.
"You'll be late for class!" I snapped, furious.
"Man! It's worth it," he countered-refusing to budge until I had opened the door and stepped inside. Then he waved, turned and ran back the way he had come.
The desk receptionist wore a button which read MONITOR. Fifteen, I estimated, recalling my own school days and the rumors about Mr. Phelps. Judging from the clothes the girl wore-a gold micro-minidress, and apparently no bra to contain tits bigger than mine-she was one of the lecherous principal's straight-A-without-ever-taking-a-test office students. "Something please?" she said in a voice like cream being poured over strawberries.
There were two students ahead of me: one boy, one girl, the latter watching the inner office door with a cautious eye. But when I gave the desk monitor my name, and mentioned I was a teacher, she immediately phoned the information in to Mr. Phelps, and I heard his voice boom from the mouthpiece, "Did you say-? Well, send her in here!"
At least, I thought as I entered the office where it had all begun, he's still anxious to see me. But I was determined to keep it strictly business. But I was also determined to get the job, and I suspected that the two determinations might present another problem.
"Well, well, well now," said Mr. hotsy Phelps as I closed the door and hurried to the chair opposite his desk.
I smiled. I was determined to remain cool. But through the polliwog glasses I saw two of him, and was immediately sorry I'd decided to come see even one.
"This is, ah-an unexpected pleasure," he continued, coming around the desk toward me.
"I-I've decided to accept the substitute post," I said in almost a shout.
Abruptly Mr. Phelps stopped. He seemed to study me for a moment. Then, returning to his seat, he said, "Well, we can always use, ah-use good teachers. And, well, ah-well, I always like to be on-shall we say 'intimate?' Yes! I always like to be on intimate terms with my staff."
"Oh no!" I yelped, sitting tall, thrusting my chin at him. "No more of that! I said 'teach,' and that's all I mean is t-t-teach, and if you think I mean-if you mean-if you think you can-and me-well, I won't!"
"Dear me." Sitting back, hands forming a pyramid at his nose, Mr. Phelps stared from beneath lowered brows.
"I-I've been looking and looking," I added pleadingly. "There isn't another vacancy anywhere. And I have to teach. I have to! Or else why did I go to college in the first place?" I stared helplessly back at him. But my cunthole was already twitching, as if to say you had me before you went to any dumb college.
Me. Phelps cleared his throat. He seemed to soften. "Well then. I suppose there's nothing for it but to put you to work as a teacher."
"Now?" I couldn't believe it. I had expected at least a day to put filler paper in my loose-leaf, and sharpen pencils.
"Right now," said Mr. Phelps. "We can start your, ah-your trial period by acquainting you with school discipline."
"D-d-discipline?" I smelled a rat.
"Of course. We, ah-we run a tight ship here, Carol. You don't mind if I call you Carol?"
"Uh-uh," I said-but it was sure beginning to sound one heck of a lot like my first interview.
"Good! Now, Carol, a student who makes a nuisance of him or herself is, ah-shall we say 'to be shown the error of their ways?' Yes! And, as coincidence would have it, there are, at the moment, two such nuisances waiting in my outer office."
I blinked-recalling the tiny brunette in miniskirt and blouse, whose body was just beginning to blossom, and who had been watching the office door with a cautious eye when I came in. The switch! I thought, remembering the stories from my own schooldays. Oh, the brute! I fumed mentally. The horrible, horrible man! He's going to make me watch, perhaps participate, in one of his whippings.
Before I could protest, even before I was certain my suspicions were accurate, Mr. Phelps had lifted the phone, and was telling the outer office monitor to send Susan somebody in. Men! I thought. They're the same everywhere-Steve and Brent and Lonny, the black chauffeur, Mr. Nash. They dominate, abuse and take advantage of women. And women-me in particular-women allow it because they secretly enjoy it!
The girl, Susan somebody, was suddenly standing at the desk beside me. And Mr. Phelps-Lord! Mr. Phelps had produced a three-foot switch from beneath the desk, and was alternating his hot gaze from me, to the attractive girl-no more than thirteen years old, I supposed. Smacking the weapon on the mahogany desktop, Mr. Phelps said, "Well, Susan, we, ah-we've been through this before. The choice is yours, dear: red buttocks, or bring in your parents to explain the truancy."
The girl hesitated only a moment. Then, bringing her five-foot frame up tall, thrusting her button breasts at the principal, and sniffing indignantly, she said, "Use your darn ole switch."
I gasped. The girl looked abruptly back at me. But before either of us could speak, Mr. Phelps added, "You, ah-you know the routine, Susan. Over the edge of the desk. Skirt up. Carol here has asked for a demonstration of our, ah-of our homespun disciplinary measures."
"I never!" I balked.
"Now-now," said Mr. Phelps, leering. "Mustn't begin your career by allowing the students to think they have a softy." Hand at the small of Susan's back, he bent her far forward over the desk-rump up and toward me. He lifted her skirt-exposing two sweet little cheeks in nylon panties so thin and tight it was as if she wore nothing.
My own little round bottom felt suddenly vulnerable. I watched the girl shift: open her thighs slightly, showing both me and horny Mr. Phelps where the nylon was stuck deep in her chubby young cuntlips. My breath caught. Unconsciously, I reached for the polliwog glasses, took them off. Now I could see the ebony curls at the legband of the panties cutting into her tender flesh. I squirmed ... wanting to leave, but unable to tear my eyes away ... imagining myself bent forward over the desktop, skirt up, with a stiff cock-the one I now could see growing in Mr. Phelps' pantsleg-instead of the switch poised ready to send fire through my loins.
"One for each day you played hooky should be sufficient," said Mr. Phelps.
I met his gaze: watched him raise the switch; watched it come down across the girl's plump, tense bottom. I watched her buttocks leap-pull the panties tighter still, exposing even more of the downy hair at her sex. Again the switch rose and fell: hard enough to make Susan's creamy, virginal flesh leap, but not hard enough to do more than sting momentarily. Again and again the weapon lashed out ... Mr. Phelps' gaze devouring the girl's charms, and darting to me, apparently studying my reaction.
By the time the last blow fell, my panties were so wet it felt as if I'd peed all over myself. I watched the girl stand, a knowing smile on her flushed face, and straighten her mini. Giddy, I watched the principal lead her to the door, where they exchanged words I didn't hear. Then she was gone, and Mr. Phelps-swipe standing almost straight out in his pants-was at my side ... hand low on my shoulder, and inching toward the taut peak displaying my excitement through bra and dress.
Leaning close, speaking into my ear, he said, "Now, that wasn't as, ah-as bad as you thought it would be, was it?" His fingers brushed the top of my breast. He blew into my ear-sending a hot chill down the steps of my spine.
"You-you bbrute!" I managed, trembling.
Laughing softly, knowingly, Mr. Phelps licked my ear. "The girls understand that our, ah-our little disciplinary procedure is more-shall we say 'ritual'? Yes! More ritual than actual discipline." Taking the glasses from my hand, he set them on the desktop. With thumb and forefinger, he captured the rigid nipple straining to burst free of the confining bra and dress.
I couldn't stop him-couldn't make my body obey. My breathing seemed to fill the office. "I-I'm n-not-I d-d-didn't-I w-w-w-won't-" I stammered.
Again Mr. Phelps laughed softly. "The girls seem to enjoy having their fannies warmed," he continued, ignoring my discomfort-knowing, it seemed, as I knew, that the whipping had ignited the tiny pink bud in my cunthole. "We, ah-the girls and I have an understanding. As you and I do, dear-though, ah-though you seem reluctant to admit what it is you really want."
It's your own fault! I accused myself. You knew it! You knew it!
Stepping in front of me, knee to knee, Mr. Phelps worked the zipper at his fly. "N-no," I whispered as his big dick sprang free. But my hand reached for him: fingers trembling, but eager to close about the hard, veiny shaft, and mouth suddenly thick with saliva.
"Perhaps, ah-perhaps a little suck would, ah-shall we say 'calm you'?" Stepping closer, using his knees to spread my legs and bringing the bloated knob of his bobbing cock within inches of my face, the principal cupped my chin in the palm of his hand.
I couldn't resist. My tongue-a gentle pink snake acting on its own-lashed out, and swirled.
"My, you do have a way with you." Mr. Phelps' hand touched the back of my head, urging me closer.
Without me realizing it, my own hand had found the hem of my dress, had crept beneath, and beneath the wet panties, and now was fingering the hot gash between my thighs. My other hand dove inside the principal's pants, to capture his fat, hairy balls. He sighed. A tiny bead of clear gel appeared at the aperture in the glans of his rod. My tongue lapped it away. I washed the entire tip, making it glisten, then worked slowly down and back up the throbbing shaft.
"In your mouth, dear. Suck me off." He pressed his hips forward. Dick jerking between my chin and nose, he applied pressure to the back of my head.
Wanting to, not wanting to, uncertain what I wanted but unable to stop now, I opened my mouth. The burning glans touched my lips ... pressed in ... widening the gap ... in past my teeth, and gliding smoothly back on my tongue. I smelled him: the acrid stink of sweaty balls and asshole. And the taste! God! I hadn't sucked a prick in weeks; had almost forgotten how delicious stiff manmeat was.
"Ah yes, dear. Urhmm. Marvelous." Gripping my head in both hands, eyes closed and face contorted with pleasure, he began to fuck the long veiny thing into my face. "You'll do, ah!Ahhhhhhhh! You'll do f-fine. Yes indeed. My word. A teacher. What we need here at Community High is more ohahhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! More t-t-teachers with your qq-qualifications."
I was too busy sucking to pay much attention to what he said. Noisily I drew on his cock until the entire length was buried in my face. There was no hope for me, it seemed. I was destined to spend the rest of my life sucking and fucking-with maybe, if lucky, a class or two of pupils to teach in between.
But even the pupils! I thought, recalling the handsome boy who had followed me down the main corridor, and wondering if his dick was as big as the one I was sucking. Even the pupils saw through my clothes, through my college diploma, to my sweet white-blonde wedge, my lovely round ass, my young thighs.
Well then, why fight it? me asked me. Why not simply accept it? Just consider how nice Mr. Phelps' cock moves in and out of your face, and enjoy yourself!
Moaning-partially because I had at last decided to take my own advice, but mostly because the swipe in my face was already geysering hot cum-I fucked my fingers furiously in and out of my dripping cunthole. I gulped the principal's cream. I kneaded his sacs, coaxing more. I sucked and sucked and sucked ... until he sighed and released my head, and slid the limp-ish, slimy thing from my face. Then I threw my arms around his legs, rubbed my face against the front of his pants, and whispered, "Fuck me now. Please. O-over the d-d-desktop. Oh, do it! Do it!"
Without hesitation, Mr. Phelps lifted me from the chair. His arms went about my waist-hands exploring my ass through the dress. He pulled me close. His lips covered mine ... mouth open ... sucking the breath from my lungs as I had sucked him off a moment before.
I felt the hem of the dress being inched up the back of my thighs; held my breath, heart pounding, until his hands came to rest on my panties. I moved my belly against him. His cock began to grow stiff once more. I moved faster, insistently. My cunt ached to be filled-cried out for the cream I had swallowed. I felt his hands at the waistband of the plain white cotton panties-little-girl panties-I'd worn so as not to entice him. "Hurry!" I breathed into his mouth. "Take them off. Fuck me. Oh, please, f-f-fuck meee!"
Breaking the kiss, the principal spun me toward the desk. His hands tore at the panties. Working them down, to my ankles, his fingers dug deep in my flesh as I stepped out of the soiled undergarment. "Yes!" he croaked, fingering my asshole, my slit. "Bend over, dear. My word, yes. I have, ah-I have just the thing to soothe you."
I obliged-wondering how it had happened. I had entered the office with such good intentions, and now! ... Arms flung wide on the desktop, legs gaped open, I glanced back and watched him undo the pants, let them fall. The shorts followed. His dick pointed skyward. I sobbed and tensed up-waiting for the thrill of penetration. I watched him step close and raise the hem of the dress high on my waist. I opened wider ... spreading my legs as far as they'd go ... thrusting my wet cunt back at his bloated member.
Mr. Phelps groaned. Panting, gaze riveted to my uptilted behind, he gripped his dick at the roots and steered the bulbous glans to the mouth of my pussy.
"OWWWWWWWWW!" I wiggled myself back onto the hot stake. It slipped deep into the slippery folds of my aching cunthole. "More!" I breathed. "Oh, more, more, more. Fuck it all the way in. All of it. Oh, d-d-do it. Please! PLEEEEEEEASE!"
"You are ahhhhhhhhh! You are indeed a fine teacher, dear. You have um! UMMMMMMM!" Retreating, he gripped my hips and paused for a moment-apparently savoring the wetness, the clinging warmth of my sheath-then pressed forward, forcing the rest of his stiffness up my hole. "You have-shall we say 'an educated pussy'? My word, yes! You have what might well be considered a college education between ahhhhhhh! Between your exquisite young thighs."
"Then do it," I cried, cunt snapping.
"Of course. But quietly," cautioned Mr. Phelps. "The, ah-the children outside might not understand."
I had forgotten where we were: forgotten all but the magnificence of taking another stiff prick up my belly. Now I remembered-remembered, too, the tiny girl who had bent herself forward over the desk earlier. I closed my eyes and saw her ... sweet buttocks high ... the switch making her tender flesh quiver. My own buttocks quivered. I felt the blows. But these weren't the blows of the switch. These were the gentle slaps of Mr. Phelps' nuts meeting my flesh. My cunt was so wet, so sloppy, his rod made a faint sloshing noise with each dip. The sound excited me more. Clawing the desktop, biting my lip until I tasted blood, I fucked my ass frantically back to meet his short, rapid lunges.
Suddenly, behind my closed eyes, I was back in the big house on the outskirts of town. Brent was there ... his incredible dick, so much bigger than the one now stoking my vulva, spurting cream into the air while Rhonda fucked the French-tickler-candlestick in and out of my rectum. And Lonny! Crazy, wonderful Lonny! He was there, too ... saying "best pussy!" And the black chauffeur, with his purple, uncircumcised cock. Three lovely swipes: each different and special in its own way. Not like Mr. Nash's minipeg. Not like Mr. Phelps. Not like Steve, whose dick was average size, and who knew all the pleasure points on my body yet couldn't begin to duplicate the wild thrills I'd experienced while a used but pampered prisoner at the Royster mansion.
Memories, combined with the steady motion of Mr. Phelps' dipstick, triggered an orgasm like none since my last bout with Brent. I had thought the night before, with two cocks spitting off at once, was good. But this...! Because, aside from the dick up my cunthole, there were three inside my head. Each was stoking in time to the one digging, digging, digging in and out of my sheath. And each stroke fired delicious spasms through my loins. I went limp on the desktop; my legs becoming mush. But my cunt refused to stop fucking. Like an agitated clam, it dipped and drew on the principal's rod. It opened and closed. Spewing juice down the inside of my thighs, it fondled. It coaxed. It nibbled ... thirsty for cum.
"Oh yes!" gasped Mr. Phelps. One hand shot beneath my round, tense belly. The middle finger of the other twisted up my tight but willing asshole. "Ah yes. AH! AHHHHHHHH! We-oh, my! Oh, that's lovely! Yes! Um. We-ahhhhhhhh! We're th-th-theeeeeeeeeere!"
My hips bucked out of control as the hot semen gushed off up my pussy. My legs came alive again. I slid back and crouched some ... closing on his ejaculating rod. I wanted to scream for joy. But I remembered the outer office monitor, and the boy awaiting his turn for the choice of bringing his parents to school or the switch. Silently I fucked ... prolonging the orgasm ... my cunt drawing spurt after spurt, overflowing.
When it was over, after Mr. Phelps had pulled out, wiped himself and passed me the hanky, I asked, "Has-has Brent, the Roysters, found another-another tutor for-for Lonny?"
His gaze met mine. I looked hastily away; busied myself wiping the gook from my cunthole.
For a moment, the principal watched me with a speculative eye. Then, climbing into his shorts and pants, he countered, "Are you offering your, ah-your services?"
I knew what he wanted to hear: knew what returning to the big house meant. I hadn't really considered it before asking the question. I was two people, it seemed-the girl who wanted to teach, and the other, wanton sexpot, who wanted only to fuck. But now, I reasoned, now that it was out in the open, there was no sense being coy. I had three choices: Cousin Steve, whom I loved, but who was anxious to make me something I wasn't; the substitute post at Community High, with Mr. Phelps to contend with; the Roysters, where I'd live comfortably, have my fill of sex, be paid well and, in time, perhaps save enough money, and get to know myself well enough, to go somewhere far away and really become a teacher.
"Well?" prompted Mr. Phelps, fastening his belt. "Are we to, ah-to assume you are now offering--shall we say 'your specialized tutorage service'?"
"If-if Brent will have me," I said.
CHAPTER NINE
I didn't know what to tell Steve. So told him nothing. It wasn't certain, anyway: Mr. Phelps had promised to call Brent, and have him call me with the decision. So I waited. I sat by the phone for what seemed like forever and ever-but was only two days.
On the evening of the second day, when Steve again came in and found me curled in the armchair beside the phone, he became suspicious. "You expecting someone to die and leave you a million?" he asked, making light of it. But when I snapped back at him none of your business-disheveled from the waiting, fingernails chewed ragged and nerves on edge-he added, "Okay, kid, let's have it. I know you well enough to be able to tell when something's bugging you."
"I-I'm expecting a call from Mr. Phelps. About a job teaching." I stared defiantly up at him.
"I thought you said there were no posts available at Community High," he countered. "Well, there aren't!" I yelped.
"Then what in hell're you talking about?"
"Oh-!" In a rage, I blurted my plans. I knew he'd be angry. But I never expected him to lash out. And when his hand cracked against the side of my face, my eyes filled with scalding tears. I buried my face in the crook of my arm, and wept as I hadn't cried in years.
"You can't walk out on me just like that," said Steve, towering menacingly over the chair.
"I can too!" I hiccoughed.
"I'll break your pretty neck." Gripping my shoulders, he shook me so hard I thought sure he actually meant to snap my slim neck.
"I-I'll have you arrested for incest!" I threatened. "I'll say-I'll say you raped me!"
He released me. He frowned. Abruptly he changed tactics. Sitting on the arm of the chair side-saddle, he put his arm around my heaving shoulders. "C'mon Carol," he said soothingly. "You know you can't leave me. Man! I've been making it with you since almost before you could walk. Christ! We're-well, we're almost married."
I sniffled. I allowed him to wipe the tears from my cheeks with his shirtsleeve. It was all so horrid. I didn't want to hurt him. But I had made up my mind. There was no future in staying with Steve, and being a thing he used to further his own ends. Each day I expected another Mr. Nash to appear. True, I liked screwing. But I wanted to have some say in whom I fucked with. And I wanted-I didn't know what all, but it wasn't what Cousin Steve offered.
His hand touched my right breast. I hadn't bothered to dress: was wearing the frilly, revealing shorty pajamas he adored. Without bra or panties. His fingers found and toyed with my stiffening nipple. "Y-you can't change my mind that way," I told him.
"Don't you like me to feel you?"
"No!"
"Then how about this?" He bent close; kissed the last of the tears away. His hand closed tight over my breast, squeezed. His lips sought mine.
I didn't want to kiss him. Nor did I want to feel the giddy heat spreading rapidly through my loins. That was the problem: Steve could make me do just about anything. Even now-knowing he was using my body against me-the hand fondling my tit felt so good, and the mouth sucking mine so warm, that my arms went automatically to his broad shoulders. I kissed him back. I turned in the chair ... pressing close. I opened for his tongue.
Steve held the kiss until I was trembling. Then, sure of himself, of me, he slid his lips over my cheek, to my ear. "That's more like it," he whispered huskily. "Now you're acting more like the sweet cunt I know."
"This doesn't change anything," I balked.
Grinning, he took hold of my wrist. Steering my hand to the bulge in his pants, he asked, "How about this?
"Don't! I-I don't want to."
"Like hell you don't." Closing my hand on his cock, he made me feel him. "I bet your cunt's dripping already," he continued. "I read you like a book, baby-a pornographic novel! You can't resist a stiff dick. Especially mine. Ever since we were kids, since the first time, your pretty ass starts to gyrate at the first hint of a bulge in my pants."
I wanted to deny it. But the things he said were true: he didn't have to hold my hand closed on his hard-on. It was as if the heat from his sex had crept up my arm, spread through my chest and belly, and was taunting my cunthole.
Steve laughed softly into the silence. His hand, the one holding my wrist, released me and dropped to the crotch of the shorty pajamas. He rubbed my pussy through the gauzy material. "When was the last time we fucked in a chair?" he asked.
"Please, Stevie." There was no conviction in my voice. And when I tried to push his hand away, to dissuade his insistent fingers, there was no strength in my grip.
"Remember that time at the graduation party when we were kids?" Through the pajama bottoms, Steve's fingers traced my wet slit. His lips returned to my ear. "That was the best piece you ever gave me," he went on. "There must've been two dozen people in that living room, and you on my lap, and none of them wise to what was going on under your dress."
I closed my eyes ... recalling the kinky scene he spoke of ... us fucking while the other kids danced, and sneaked drinks from the bottle of whiskey one of the boys had smuggled past the host's parents. I had tried to stop him that time, too, I recalled. But there was no stopping Steve-then or now. Once his swipe got hard, once he had made up his mind to stick it in me, nothing I could say or do made much difference.
"You were wearing your new white gown," he now breathed against my hair. "And that stupid fucking girdle. Christ! I never had so much trouble getting into anything in my life. But it was sure worth it. Man!" His fingers found the elastic legband of the pajamas, slipped beneath. He tickled my vulva ... teasing ... brushing my cuntlips but refusing to penetrate and minister to the rigid pink bud within. "Remember how nervous you were?" he asked softly. "'Someone'll catch us, Stevie,' you said. 'S-stop! Please, Stevie. You can do me in the car before we go home.' But I was too fucking hot to stop. So I ignored you, and kept right on fiddling around under the dress till I got at your pussy. Then I made you wiggle onto my cock. Remember, cuz? Remember how you changed up, and started to fuck and moan once it was in?" Flattening his finger along the length of my slit, he pressed.
"Oh. Oh-ah, Stevie, d-d-don't make me remember."
"Wasn't it good?"
"Y-yes."
"Then why not remember?"
"B-because." I felt stupid. I hadn't changed my mind about leaving. But there was nothing I could do or say to contradict the swelling of my vulva, the wetness. I was remembering the time at the party. The scene was vivid in my mind, and good-so good-and now I wanted him to take me as he had done despite my protests that night. It had been heavenly.
"Because you want me," said Steve, as if aware of my every thought. His finger penetrated just enough to reach my clit-making my hips buck, and tearing a cry of pleasure from my throat. "Say it, Carol," he demanded. "Tell me what you want."
"Yes!" I sobbed.
"Yes what? Tell me how!" Suddenly his finger pushed all the way in-making me double over, gasping.
"In-in the chair," I managed. "Like oh! Oh, Stevie! Like at the party."
"Then take out my prick 'n' kiss it," he said. "Make it happy."
Dizzy with longing, I fumbled with his pants, freed his stiff cock, and placed my mouth, my moist lips, to the fat tip. It leaped. Without having to be told, knowing what he wanted, I pulled it into my face ... drawing deep ... wetting the shaft ... sucking it even harder.
Fingering my cunt in earnest now, readying me for penetration, Steve allowed me to mouth him for a moment. Then he lifted my face, and kissed my red, swollen lips. He held the kiss only a moment. Then he stood, and made me stand; undressed me and made me do the same to him. "Jesus Christ, baby," he said, running rough anxious hands over my burning flesh. "You look better every fuckin' time I get your clothes off."
I fell into his arms. His dick was so stiff, so huge from my sucking, that it poked into my lower belly with the force of a hunk of hot steel. "Steve. Oh Stevie, I want you so. I want you! I want you!" Reaching down, between our naked bodies, I placed his fiery hard-on between my smooth thighs. With trembling fingers, I set the tip at my dripping cunthole.
"In the chair, doll," Steve objected.
"I can't wait."
"That's what I dig most about you, cuz. You can find all kinds of excuses for saying no, but none of them means a thing. You'd fuck the POPE!"
He was right, I knew. I had learned that much about myself. A big dick, no matter whom it belonged to, dulled my conscience. And the two biggest dicks in the world were waiting for me at the Royster mansion.
Abruptly Steve sat. Pulling me down across his lap, he cupped his hand at my crotch. "No stupid girdle this time," he said. "This time it's just good old-fashioned pussy. And this!" He shifted. His prick sprang up between my thighs. He sawed back and forth, grinding the shaft up and down my wet pulsating cuntlips.
It was the same sideways position we had fucked in at the graduation party. But without clothes, and without the audience to inhibit me, I could do what I had secretly wanted to do that night. Quickly I rearranged myself ... facing Steve ... legs astraddle the arms of the chair ... hot little blonde wedge suspended a mere inch above the glans of his rigid cousin dick. "Let me put it in," I cooed, taking hold of the heated monster, and again setting the tip at my gaped open vulva.
"Do your thing, baby." Gripping my plump buttocks, Steve lifted and coaxed me closer, then let me down.
"Oh Steve. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" Holding tight to the roots of his swipe, I wiggled and watched it go in. Half the length disappeared up my pussy. I tightened my inner cunt muscles, holding it there. "Ummmmmmmmmmm. Um, Steve, I love it this way."
Leaning forward, Steve began to lick my nipples. I shivered. My tits swayed gently from side to side. I sat tall, working my twat on the throbbing knob of his rod, and thrusting my chest at him. His tongue darted from one bright pink peak, to the other, back. He was making me crazy-crazy for more. Crazy to feel the last inches of dick grind up my little round belly. I loosened, pushed down ... taking him in, in.
"That's it, baby. Man!" Lifting again, he coaxed me closer still, and again let me down.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh! OHAH!"
Steve's teeth clamped tight on the tender flesh at the outer side of my tittie. "Yeah man!" he hissed. "Sweet Christ! Your, um! Ah! Your cunt's a motherfucking oven, doll. Manoman!" Humping up, he planted the last of his stiffness, and began sucking a hickey into the creamy mound now mashed against his face.
I sat still a moment, heart racing, pulse gone wild, cunthole slopping up with lubricant. F-f-fingerfuck my asshole," I whispered, remembering how good it was with both Steve and Mr. Nash going at me. "Two fingers. All the way up."
"Shit! Why fingers?" Again Steve lifted me-this time all the way off-and let me down, but this time with his hard dick grinding up my puckered asshole.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Oh God, oh God, oh G-G-Goddd!" The sudden, unexpected, wonderful maneuver left me gasping. I forced myself down ... taking the entire pole up my chute. But now my cunthole was empty, and cold, and jealous of the stiff thing buried between my quivering buttocks.
"Man. This is one we never tried before," said Steve, again lifting, and again letting me down-bloated, shit-slimy prick filling the vacated port below my curly blonde bush. Then he lifted again, and again drove the cruel dart up my asshole. And again. And again and again and again.
I moaned and thrashed in his lap; spewing juice all over his thighs and balls, and the slipcovers, and expecting to pass out if it continued. It was impossible, I knew. But Steve had found a way to fuck me in both places at once: one dick acting as two, front to rear, and back, and back, and back.
I was coming all over the place-making strange, guttural noises, alien to my ears. But it was only the beginning. For just as I was about to rest with my head on his shoulder, Steve shimmied his hips to the edge of the chair, taking me with him; and, without breaking the contact, cock high in my rectum still, lifted one of my legs, and spun me.
"Steveeeeeeeee!" I wailed, the friction of the move scorching my sensitive sphincters.
"Shhh," he soothed, nibbling the back of my neck, my ear. He waited for me to settle down, relax. Then he added: "I'm gonna fuck you every way there is to fuck a woman. Then maybe you'll change your mind about leaving. No one knows you as I do, Carol-your cunt, your sweet little asshole. And what you need is a demonstration run-all systems GO!" Clamping one hand over my pussy, the other splayed at my belly, he fingered and rubbed and twisted his meat persuasively in and out of my soft little ass.
"Oh yes," I breathed. "Yes, Stevie. Yessssss. Anything. Any way you want. Only don't stop. Don't stop, Stevie. Don't! Don't! Don't stoooooooop!"
It was difficult to move up and down in the new position. So, instead, I ground my hips round and round, from side to side. Was it possible to experience orgasm in your asshole? I wondered. Queers did, I supposed. But the sexual mechanism in a woman, the clitoris, has nothing directly to do with the rear entry. Yet now I felt as if I were coming back there, too.
I felt drowsy and warm and content to sit on his rod for the rest of the night. My gaze settled hazily on the coffee table across the room. How nice it would be to have Steve ream me while bent over that, I thought. Or over a desktop ... as hotsy Mr. Phelps had screwed me a few days before.
Mr. Phelps! The mere thought of the principal disturbed my contentment by triggering thoughts of the Roysters. I glanced sidelong at the phone. Fucking slowly, panting and wishing Steve would hurry and come so we could try something else, I recalled the first time Lonny had driven his magnificent swipe up my tight cunthole. Rape! Lord! The thing every girl feared! I had been so frightened, so stunned, I didn't think I'd ever recover from crazy Lonny's bludgeoning rod. And afterward, with thoughts of escape racing through my mind, I didn't think I'd ever willingly take a dick that huge, that mighty-almost as fat around as a soup can, I remembered-up my belly. But now I knew better. Now my pink little slit longed for the incredible monster. Now, with the marvelous thing gone-perhaps forever! perhaps the phone would never ring to summon me back!-I realized what a treasure it was. No one could satisfy me as Lonny and Brent had done daily, I now knew. No dick could dig as deep, or engorge my insatiable hot, hairy holes as the two I'd learned to love while a prisoner at the big, ivy-covered stone house on the outskirts of town.
"Sit still a minute," groaned Steve, yanking me abruptly back from my reverie.
I hadn't realized that my hips had begun to churn faster. Now I tried to slow down. But my ass refused to sit still. Because now I wanted Steve's hard cousin prick up my pussy, where it had started. The memories, the thought of Lonny's awesome rod, and Brent's smaller but somehow even more gratifying member, had taken me back-had excited my clit as only they could manage. And now I wanted to fuck. Face to face. On the floor ... as Lonny-the brute!-had taken me that first time in the dark cellar. I wanted to lie flat on my back, where I could wrap my tense legs about a man's middle, and kiss him, and make my pussy perform the function it was designed for.
"Chrissakes!" gasped Steve, holding me still. "Simmer-um! AHHHHHH! Simmer down or I'll come."
"I want you to." I craned my neck, trying to kiss him.
"Not yet, cuz. We've got a lot of, ummmmmmmmm! Baby-baby-slow down! We've got us a lot of good fucking to do before I pop."
"Oh-! On the floor then. We-we haven't done it on the bare floor in the longest time."
Before he could object, I leaped from his lap, turned and sat on the hardwood floor-knees up and apart, sloppy wet cunt and asshole gaped open invitingly. "Hurry Stevie," I said, reaching for him with outstretched arms.
He was at me in a flash. He fell with his full weight on my belly, my breasts, knocking the breath from my lungs. "You're the craziest bitch I ever knew," he breathed hot in my face. "You're like two broads-the one who trots around all prim and proper, wanting to be a teacher, and whoever in hell you are when you open your legs."
I blinked. It was the very same thing I had thought two days before in Mr. Phelps' office: there are two of me! And the one whose legs now were gaped open, the one whose cunthole was snapping at the shit-smeared glans of Cousin Steve's cock, was a wanton who had been born at the Royster mansion. And it was there she belonged.
"Babylove," whispered Steve, centering his rod.
I helped. Legs wide, ass raised high off the hardwood floor, I wiggled and pumped and fucked myself onto him. "Ummm! Um, do it, Stevie. Hurry. Do it! Do it! Push in. PUSH!"
Steve's lips covered mine. I took his tongue. I strained upward ... the wet, slippery pink folds of my sex sucking him in with the greed of a hungry vacuum cleaner. When I felt his coarse cock hair flush with my bush, scraping my swollen, distended cuntlips, I dropped my ass to the floor and wrapped my legs tight about his middle.
Steve gasped saliva into my mouth. His hands slipped down my sides. Fingers became talons, he gripped the jiggling halves of my bottom, and squeezed cruelly. He began to screw: to drive his rigid prick in and out ... faster and faster ... grunting and slamming it home ... faster still ... reaching for orgasm.
The phone must have rung at the same moment the first fiery spurt of gism shot into me. For I barely heard it. And by the time I realized the bell wasn't part of the ringing inside my head, it was too late.
Darn! I thought, knowing, somehow certain it had been Brent calling.
Then I sighed, bit Cousin Steve's lower lip and continued to screw. For I knew if Brent had called once, he'd call again. And that meant I wouldn't be there when Cousin Steve arrived after work the following day.
CHAPTER TEN
I was as giddy as a schoolgirl. I stood at the window waiting for the Mercedes limousine to appear, to wisk me out of town, and deliver me to the ivy-covered Gothic and the man I had spoken to on the phone early that morning. Soon! I thought. Soon!
But as the big, black car nosed into sight at the apartment house, I experienced reservations. Would the Roysters, because I was returning voluntarily, use me the way Cousin Steve wanted to? I wondered. Were they, at that very moment, preparing to teach me-the teacher-even more perverted practices than I'd already been subjected to? My heart raced. My palms sweated. I watched the afternoon sunshine glitter off the polished hood of the car, and thought God! I had committed myself, there was no turning back, and once I was inside the big house, with Lonny and Brent and the chauffeur-Lord! I had almost forgotten the chauffeur, who now was stepping from the car in the street below, as black as the enamel-they could do what they liked with and to me.
For a moment, I considered the phone .. thinking of Steve ... undecided whether or not to call him. But then the doorbell rang, and almost before I could open the hall door the tank-like black chauffeur was there; snappy gray uniform neatly pressed, hat cocked, and grinning.
We didn't speak: I could no longer trust my own voice, my emotions, and he had never been one for conversation. Without hesitation, he brushed past me, into the living room; hoisted the suitcases-as if they were weightless: the way he had lifted and tossed me onto the canopy bed at the mansion-and led the way out the door.
I paused to look back. There was lots more to do: I had packed only the essentials, and hadn't even thought about canceling the lease. I wondered what Steve would think, what he would say, when he arrived that evening, to find me gone. I considered leaving a note. I considered telling the chauffeur I had changed my mind-needed time to think. Then I remembered Lonny and Brent, their cocks. Again my heart raced. Quickly, stifling all negative thoughts, I locked the door and hurried down the hall stairs.
The drive out was pleasant. In the back seat, with the air conditioner on and a thick plate of glass separating me from the strong black hands steering the car, I relaxed. Was it really happening? I mused. I recalled the first trip out. Had I known at the time what awaited me at the big house, I would have directed the taxi driver to turn back. But that was months before. And now, despite the butterflies in my belly, I felt more alive than I'd ever felt in my life.
Glancing from the trees whizzing silently by, to the rearview mirror, I realized the chauffeur was watching me. His gaze caught and held mine. His eyes were hot coals. I blushed. I could almost feel his strong black fingers gripping the soft underside of my thighs.
Southern style! I thought. You ain't never been fucked till you been done by a black man southern style!
Abruptly the car veered right, into a cutoff. Now we were going away from the big house. I knew. Hastily I picked up the phone connecting the passenger section with the front seat. I watched him lift the extension and place it to his ear. I started to speak. But I suddenly realized I didn't know his name.
"You want somethin', white girl?" The voice was deep-but warm and goose-pimply.
"We-we're going the wrong way," I whispered.
The chauffeur laughed. He steered the Mercedes into another turnoff, and slowed because of the narrowness of the dirt road. The car bounced gently. "Ain't no wrong way," he said finally. "Not fo' what we gonna do."
"But B-Brent is expecting me," I objected, envisioning the long, black, uncircumcised dick that had plowed into me dozens of times during my previous stay with the Roysters, and knowing the driver was taking me to some secret place-planning to be the first from the big house to sample my charms.
"Mr. Brent won't be home 'fore supper," said the chauffeur into my ear. "Now you sit nice 'n' quiet, 'n' get yourself ready fo' some good fuckin'. I gonna warm you up some fo' the boss-make your pretty blonde pussy nice 'n' juicy."
How dare he talk to me like that? I thought. As if ... as if I were a common trollop! With trembling fingers, I replaced the phone and curled up in the corner. My mind recoiled from the vision of his sweaty black body against my clean pink and white flesh. But I had no one to blame but myself. And my cunthole wasn't recoiling. It was remembering the power behind his pistoning loins-the way he came and came, tireless.
I waited.
The Mercedes came to a stop beneath a tree with branches that all but covered the narrow dirt road. Oh God! I thought-one part of me wanting to get out and run, but the other, the wanton part, wanting to stretch out on the cool leather, lift my mini, and open to the fiery thing in his pants. Motionless, unable to breathe, I watched him step from the driver's seat, drop his hat, take off his jacket, close the door and move to the back of the car.
I considered locking the door. But before I could do more than form the silly thought, a cool breeze wafted in on my nylon clad legs, and the chauffeur was there ... half kneeling, half sitting on the seat ... swipe bulging inside his pants, and gnarled black hands coming toward me.
"You-you have no right," I objected inanely. "Don't need no right."
I shuddered when his fingers grazed the inside of my thigh. I had come knowing what to expect. But now, faced with the finality of my choice, I was momentarily repulsed. "D-don't," I breathed. "I-I d-don't want to. I don't!"
"You don't, like I don't like chitlins." Ignoring my unconvincing protests, he unfolded my legs, from beneath me-made me sit with one thigh on, the other over the edge of the seat. His hand shot up to my crotch. "Been thinkin' lots 'bout you since last time, white baby. 'Bout this!" He rubbed my pussy through the panties. "'Bout how good it gon' be to fuck my dick up you again."
His voice, the words and the way he spoke them, banished the last of my resistance. I had indeed come knowing what to expect: I had come wanting what he offered. I raised one knee-forming a wide V for him to probe. I pressed my cunt into his hand; slid further down in the seat, and said, "Show me."
Growling deep in his throat, he curled his strong fingers at the legband of my panties; and, with one mighty yank, tore out the flimsy crotch.
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" I was surprised and delighted by the sudden move. I slipped lower still, using my hips to work the torn undergarment high in back, exposing the pinched crack of my ass, my slit.
Bending close, the chauffeur blew into my open pink gash. He sniffed. "It been missin' this blackmeat," he chuckled. "Smell how anxious you is, white baby." With that, he ran two fingers up between my cuntlips, and raised his hand to my face.
I sniffed the fishy stink of myself on his fingers; crinkled my nose. The smell of cunt is okay. But I was more interested in the stiff thing in his pants. I reached for him. "I don't even know your name," I giggled, warm all over, and feeling silly because of my initial reluctance.
"Linus, honey chile."
"Linus?"
Helping me find the zipper at his fly, he nodded.
"I don't like it."
Bucking his hot prick into my hand, he said, "But you sho' 'nough like this."
"I love it," I whispered. "How-which way be like southern style, doggie-style."
"Ain't no southern style in no car, sugar." He leaned forward, fucking his dick in and out of my hand, pressing toward my gaped open pussy.
Surprised at my own brazenness, I said, "If you put the window down-" I indicated the thick glass between front and rear seat-"I could lay belly first over the backrest, and it'd be like southern style, doggie style."
"Lordy! You the hottest little mother-!" Running his hands up the tender inside of my thighs, over my stockings, tracing the garter belt digging into my flesh, he shook his head. He was too eager to fuck to waste time lowering the window. "You jest slip you ass down a ways V forget southern style," he added, spreading the hot lips of my cunt. "Ole Linus got somethin' you is gon' like jest as good."
I gulped when the rubbery hunk of meat at the tip of his rod brushed my cunthole. I wiggled my ass further down in the seat ... until I was lying flat, and staring hotly up into his grinning black face. Still holding his dipstick, I guided him.
"Tha's it, sugar. Put it-oh man! Put it in yo' fine white pussy fo' ole Linus."
"Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" I fucked my hips off the seat, taking the glans-my cunt swallowing it, to where the shaft thickened. One leg bent at the knee, flush with the backrest, I snaked the other over his broad back. The garter belt pulled tight, biting deep into my thighs, hurting. But I didn't care about that ... or that his snappy uniform would again be stained with my juices. I didn't care about anything except getting the rest of his lovely black cock up in my belly.
Pausing a moment, twisting around so that he looked like a circus contortionist, Linus hooked his arm in the crook of the leg high on his back. Before I knew what he was up to, the leg was bent double, knee pressed tight to my right breast. He then guided the other leg against my left breast-opening my gash so far I thought sure I'd split at the seams. "Now you is ready for fuckin' country style!" he told me.
I moaned. It was better than southern style. I could barely move. But now my sweet clit was bared, and he was pumping: working his dick up my cunthole, rigid black inch at a time. "Oh! Ohah, Linus," I sobbed. "I-I love it. I-OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" I rearranged my legs some-hooking the calves over his shoulders, still bent double but with more room to work. "Oh, do it, Linus. Fuck it in. Yes. Oh yes. Oh God, yesssssssssssssssss! Y-Y-Y-ESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"
"You jest hol' tight one mo' minute, hot baby." With his bloated purple-black prick halfway in me, he paused to unbuckle his belt. He shimmied the pants down his powerful legs, kicked them off. Now, with only the shorts as an incumbrance, he settled down to screw.
My cunt had never before seemed so huge, so deep. Why hadn't someone-Brent or Steve or Mr. Phelps-thought of this before? I wondered. I felt him going in ... slowly ... ever so slowly ... making the initial penetration last for what seemed like forever. My twat was a bottomless pit. Sucking and nipping. Drawing. Already sloppy with juice, and wetting his shorts and what was left of my panties. I gurgled unintelligible love noises. I thrashed. I locked my arms and legs about his neck and shoulders, and lifted, and wiggled and wiggled and wiggled-impaling myself.
Cupping his hands under my buttocks, Linus kneeled on the seat. Then, grunting and digging his fingernails into the softness of my plump bottom, he fucked the roots into me.
"Oh! Ohhh! OH L-L-Li-nusssssssssss!" I felt his balls pop free of the shorts, and mash against the wet crack of my ass. I had never before been so juicy, so alive with liquid love. But I was thinking of another big cock: thinking how good it would be to suck Brent-handsome Brent-while the uncircumcised black dick was dipping in-out, in-out, and another, perhaps Lonny, perhaps Rhonda, with her candlestick dildo, reamed my asshole. How many swipes could a woman take at once? I wondered. Three? Four? Black ones? White ones? Were there yellow dicks, too?
"Oh mother! Oh, motherfuckin' pink 'n' white sugar!" gasped Linus. "We got us a good one gon'. You jest oweeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Ow Lordy! Oweee! You jest keep it a-workin', momma. Youjestahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! 'Cause I'ze about ummmmmm! Oweee-ow! I'ze about to pop one in you like you ain't never been popped in no time."
"Hurry!" I cried, on the brink of orgasm.
"I'ze almost ah! I'ze-"
"Do it. DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO IT!" I tightened my inner cunt muscles as best I could in the awkward, bent double position. It was sensational. The car rocked to our rhythm. The leather seat creaked. One garter clasp snapped, and the stocking, too, opened to catch my spewing lubricants.
"Oh man. White baby. White sugar, with the prettiest white pussy." Cruelly Linus dug strong fingers up my anus, the nails slicing my sphincters.
I squealed with pain and pleasure. "So good," I whimpered, fucking, fucking with all my might, a whisper away from coming. "Shoot! Oh, please sho-oot!" I moaned ... knowing his hot gism would push me over the brink ... trying to remember if there was any difference between the pearly drops that flowed from a white swipe and those which would soon pour from the tip of the ebony pole up my cunthole. I offered my pink lips to his black mouth. He accepted. "Come!" I breathed, screwing faster, dizzy with desire, sucking his tongue as my vagina was sucking the hunk of meat at the knob of his cock, and as my bottom, my tight little asshole, was going round and round on his fingers.
Lifting me all the way off the seat, actually holding me-as if I were a doll, weightless-in the palms of his huge, gnarled hands, Linus slammed me against the car door. His dick swelled inside me. His nuts leaped. Driving his tongue all the way in my mouth, to my gullet, it seemed, he grunted and blasted a thick gob of cum up my pussy.
Suddenly I was all over him. For I was coming, too. My cunt was drinking his goo, and gurgling it out, down my ass, my insides ablaze with sensation. Somehow I managed to get my legs from his shoulders, to his waist. I held. I used my belly, as if it were a cement mixer-bleeding his meat as doctors of old used to bleed patients. Milking his rod. My lovely little cunthole was a smoking volcano, and his prick was supplying it with molten lava.
Finally, after the last drop of semen had been planted high in my belly-higher than ever before, it seemed-Linus tore his lips from mine and began to suck air. "You is one hot little motherlover," he rumbled.
I rested a moment. Holding tight, my head at the crook of his neck, body wrapped like an affectionate monkey around him, I whispered, "What time is it, Linus?"
"'Bout two, I s'pose."
I cast a mischievous glance at the instrument panel, where the push-button window controls, cigarette lighter and phone were. I grinned. Reaching out one finger, I pressed the button that worked the thick glass between front and rear seat. A faint buzzing filled the car. Still grinning, I watched the glass partition glide down. "Linus?"
Pulling back some, swipe only slightly less hard and in me still, his sweaty black face stared questioningly into mine. "What you want now, hot little white baby?"
"Southern style, doggy style," I cooed.
As we approached, it was the big, ivy-covered stone house, like a yawning Buddha, which seemed to be coming slowly toward us from the far end of the long gravel drive. I had never before taken much notice of the grounds surrounding the place; had always considered the Royster estate an extravagant eyesore. Now I noted the tall, neatly trimmed hedges; the trees, with inviting patches of shade from the hot afternoon sun; the flower beds, and huge stones painted white along each side of the drive.
First impressions! I thought. They weren't always right, after all.
The Mercedes slowed to a crawl as Linus nosed her around the circular portion of drive that passed in front of the old house. The car stopped. I watched the chauffeur-hat cocked rakishly once more, gray uniform only slightly the worse for wear-step briskly from the front seat, and hurry to open the passenger door.
"Thank you, Linus," I whispered, feeling silly about the formalities, and disappointed because no one had appeared to greet us.
Don't be dumb! I chided myself. It's not as if you were a long-lost relative, or Brent's betrothed.
I looked up at the high paned windows of the room where I had awakened the day Lonny raped me, and where, afterward, Brent and Rhonda had initiated me into their sex games. Where Linus first made me suck him. And the candlestick! Oh, the French-tickler candlestick!
No! I thought-it wasn't as if I were Brent's betrothed or a long-lost relative. But it was as if I'd come home.
Except for the new pink bedspread, matching canopy top and drapes, the room was the same. The antique mahogany furniture was polished to a mirror finish, and on the vanity the candelabra boasted new shafts that made me goose pimply with the memory of the one Rhonda had used on my tight little asshole. Now, looking at the lengthy thing, moving one finger slowly up and down the smooth cylinder, it was difficult to believe the maid had actually used the thing for such a bizarre purpose.
"I'll help you unpack first," said a familiar feminine voice behind me.
"Oh-!" My hand leaped from the candle. Startled, I turned to find the blowsy maid closing the door. I watched her come toward me-moving with a briskness, almost grace, I had never before noticed.
"Darling," she whispered, crushing me to her pendulous breasts, one hand caressing my bottom. I had discarded the torn panties. Her stubby fingers found my bare flesh. "Ummm!" she cooed. "After we get you settled-before those men get at you-Rhondie'll use the new candle."
"I-I-"
"I know, dear. I know!" she soothed. "I missed you, too. But now we're together again, and there's no need to tell Rhondie." She kissed me full on the lips. Her fingers probed the split up my little round backside.
Well, what did I expect?
Sighing, I returned her caresses. She was the only woman I had ever experienced sex with. And it had been months since the last time. Her hands moving over my bottom, lips moving against mine with a gentleness no man had ever displayed, I recalled the heady stink of her cunt ... the way her hips moved when I sucked her ... the candle. I didn't want to unpack. Despite the hours with Linus, I was icky, and wanted only to climb into bed with her blubbery body pressed crotch to face, crotch to face with mine.
But Rhonda was all efficiency. Breaking the kiss, she smiled and patted my cheek. "We'll never get you settled this way," she said.
I watched her hoist first one suitcase, then the other, onto the bed; undo the locks, and begin transporting my things from the luggage, to the bureau, the closet, the vanity table. I brushed a wisp of hair from my brow. Kicking off my heels, I tried to help.
"Oh, no you don't. This is my job." She sat me down at the foot of the bed.
I grinned. It was just as I remembered: I was to be the pampered young mistress; with servants, breakfast in bed, and cocks-the two biggest, and the chauffeur's black, uncircumcised rod-at my disposal.
"But hurry," I told her, eyeing the new candlestick.
Her gaze followed mine. She hesitated. Setting a handful of cosmetics down on the vanity, she said, "I suppose we could let the unpacking wait."
Cheeks burning, cunthole wet and ready, I opened my legs and reached for her with open arms.
Dinner was a sumptuous affair. I felt strange sitting at the big table-just me and Brent and Lonny-with Rhonda, the cook and butler-an elderly couple who appeared only at mealtime-running back and forth between kitchen and dining room. No one said much. But Lonny kept glancing my way: mumbling and frowning, as if trying to remember where it was he remembered me from. And Brent! He was even handsomer than I recalled. And each time our gazes met, his deepset brown eyes made a committal.
After the meal, we moved to the plush, high-ceilinged living room with refinished, thick-cushioned furniture I estimated to be a century old. The butler brought goblets of brandy. Lonny crouched before the fireplace-enchanted, it seemed, with watching the yellow-red flames leap from pine logs that filled the place with a delightful woodsy aroma. Brent took my hand. Leading me through the French windows, to the dark veranda at the side of the house, he said, "I think I deserve a few minutes with you before-"
Before the orgy begins! I supplied mentally. My heart became an African drum beating a primeval tattoo. "Before what?" I teased.
Holding me at arm's-length, he eyed my breasts. I had worn my best, low-cut white knit minidress, no bra. His eyes narrowed. "Before we take off your clothes and see if there's been any changes since last time," he said finally.
"Rhonda already did that," I said, still teasing. "And Linus, on the way out."
His hands slipped from my shoulders, to my tits. He stepped close. I felt his marvelous dick against me. It was beginning to stiffen. I offered my lips. His handsome face came down slowly, searchingly. Our mouths met. I stood on tiptoe; wrapped my arms eagerly about his shoulders. and pressed my belly, my cunt, tight to his muscular loins.
It was only a moment before the kiss became a heated union of tongues, and Brent's hands were all over my willing body. I felt suddenly brazen. My own hands dropped from his neck, to the front of his pants. His cock bulged. Awesome. Titillating. I traced the ferocious thing, to the roots-found and hefted his nuts. I moaned into his mouth. He was even bigger than I remembered: a telephone pole, with two hairy basketballs beneath. Even through the pants, he was longer by half than Steve; and, it seemed, twice as fat around.
But I wasn't content to feel him merely through the pants. My fingers found the zipper. It grated. My hand slipped within. I located the opening at the front of his shorts, crept inside. My fingers closed around his rigid manhood.
Without breaking the kiss, Brent steered me back, to the railing along the edge of the flagstone veranda. He lifted my dress in back. I felt cold metal against my upper thighs. And hands-Brent's wonderful hands-searching for the waistband of my panties.
"Not here," I breathed into his mouth.
But there was no stopping him now. I had excited him. And a Royster excited, ready to screw, was like a bull turned loose in a cow pasture. I felt the cool night air on my buttocks as the panties came down. I felt the guardrail press into my flesh. I felt myself being lifted, set on the rail; felt his powerful hands shimmying the undergarment off my thighs, my knees. Then the nylon was gone, my legs were spread, and he was standing close once more.
Finally, he raised his lips from mine. Lifting my dress high, he held the hem bunched at my waist, and stared hungrily down at my pussy. His free hand slid up the inside of my quivering thigh.
I gasped as his fingers dug deep in my cunthole. Yanking his prick from the fly of his pants, I, too, looked down. Again I gasped. Had I actually taken the monster up my belly? And Lonny's? Lonny's was even bigger, I recalled. But it didn't seem possible that my tight little cavern could withstand the bludgeoning power of even the one in my hand.
Brent stepped closer still. Now his dickhead was so close I could feel the heat. "As I recall," he said, fingers playing in my blonde bush, "you like to put it in. So put it in for me, Carol. Tutor me."
There was no restraint in me, no regret. "I love you," I cooed, meaning it as never before.
"How much?"
"Oh-! I-I love you...." Quickly I set the glans of his meat at the lips of my pussy, " ... this much. And this. Oh! OH! An'-and this!" Lifting first one cheek of my ass, then the other, I took the tip.
"Jesus! Um! Don't stop loving me, baby. Love it all the um! Ahhhhhh! All the way in!"
My cunt, still stretched from the long afternoon session with Linus, and only partially satisfied by Rhonda and the new French-tickler-candlestick, drew him quickly home. Inch by magnificent inch, the slippery pink folds engulfed his member. What a joy! I thought-to be a woman ... to have a lovely blonde bush, a vagina ... to be able to produce the sighs of pleasure, of conquest, Brent now was making.
But it was my conquest, too: more so! For now I was free of the shame, the revulsion, the silly little-girl-innocence that had been a part of my basic makeup when first I came to the big house. Now I felt the hard pitted steel rail digging into my bottom; felt Brent's pants scraping my twat-irritating the tender lips, hurting-and knew pain, when accompanied by sex, a stiff cock, was what I really wanted.
"Hurt me, Brent," I demanded. "Like-like the first time you made me fuck. Make me cry out. Hurt meee!"
Making his dick swell inside me, making it breathe-a boa constrictor, it seemed-he rumbled, "If my rod doesn't hurt you, nothing will."
"Then squeeze me," I sobbed. "My-my buttocks. Don't you like my buttocks?"
"I love your fucking buttocks, baby."
"Then do it. Squeeze them. Please. U-use your fingernails. PLEASE!"
Brent complied. Retreating, and ramming his stiffness back, he pinched my behind. He buried his face at my neck; bit. His fingers became talons-things of prey. One found my anus. I stiffened-expecting sudden, brutal penetration. But his finger didn't twist in. Instead, he used the tip, the nail, to torture my sphincters.
Adoring the pain that wasn't pain but pleasure, I closed my eyes and envisioned the young girl hotsy Mr. Phelps had bent forward over the desktop-recalled the way her flesh, her little round bottom, leaped and jiggled and reddened when the switch fell. Was Brent planning to beat me? I wondered. With the belt? Was he planning, as part of the orgy to follow, to make my ass jiggle and jump like the tiny brunette's?
"Oh Brent. Brent darling, please," I moaned, remembering how the belt stung, tightened and heated my ass flesh, making sex so much better. I wrapped my legs around his waist. My hot little cunthole became a frantic juice factory-manufacturing, and distributing the thick white lubricant over the front of his pants and dinner jacket.
"They ah! Ah baby! Christ! They never had teachers like you when I was in school."
"I don't feel like a tea-oh! Ohahowww! L-l-like a t-t-teacher, Brent. I don't!"
"Tell me what you feel like."
"Like ohah! Like a wanton. A whore, with a big, juicy blonde cunt. Your whore. Y-your cunt."
Spreading his hands on my ass, Brent hefted me higher, off the guardrail. Jerkily, he turned. Now he sat on the steel rail; me astraddle his lap, legs still high on his waist. "Then fuck like a whore," he directed huskily. "Ride the stiff pony. Up and down, baby. Pretend you're a monkey, and go. Go baby. Up and down the tree."
I kissed him. Mashing my lips to his, I tightened my leg muscles; rose. When his dick was almost free of my cunthole, I loosened-gliding down him like a well-greased piston. The feel of his long swipe grinding back sent hot chills up my spine. Greedily I sucked his mouth and repeated the kinky maneuver. Up and down. Again and again and again and again and again. I stopped breathing; stopped trying to control my body, and allowed my hips and ass and pussy to take over.
It was a difficult position. But Brent knew all the tricks: ways to make his big wonderful prick overcome the awkwardness. Each time I came down, he made the glans swell-contracting when I rose, only to have it grow even fatter next time I fell. Soon he was gasping into my mouth: close to coming, I knew. I fucked harder. Harder and faster ... up-down, up-down. My tits bounced inside the tight dress. My taut nipples grew sore from the knit. But my cunthole was even more sore. Sore with the need to drink cum. Sore in a way I wanted always to be sore. I was Brent Royster's whore, not a teacher-I didn't care if I never became a teacher. I wanted only for him to use me, to fuck me, to beat me if he chose. But most of all, I wanted his cum in my belly.
It didn't take long. I felt him go rigid, arm and thigh muscles become steel bands, as I again came down, taking his rod all the way up my love hole. I stayed down, in his lap ... using the wet, pulsating walls of my eager sheath to bring him the rest of the distance. My cunt was, as Mr. Phelps had said, an educated thing. All by itself, without any help from the rest of my body, it coaxed the cream up from the fat hairy sacs I adored.
Brent's finger, at last, the longest one, shafted into my asshole. One hand high on my back, pressing me close, he tore his mouth from mine and glued his lips to the hard nipple showing through the knit dress.
"Ohah! Brent. Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm! Do it! Oh, do it good. Hard! Shoot! Shoot, Brent. Shoooooooooooot!" It was the best cumload ever. Bucketful after bucketful pissed off up my pussy-making me come, too. It oozed out ... ruining his pants, I knew. It soaked the hem of my dress. It dripped to the flagstone. But most of all, most important, it trickled endlessly down the inner walls of my vagina-making me thrash and cry out, moan. His dick popped and popped. And the thick, sticky milk-like fluid-saturated with even thicker gobs, the size of pearls-shot fiery darts of ecstasy through my trembling loins.
When at last it was over, we rested in the awkward position ... his mighty swipe basking in my warmth ... my cunt nipping gently. I breathed deep of the clean night air. There was a full, yellow moon, I noted. It hung like a lantern in the blue-blackness and gray, casting shadows over the grounds beyond the veranda. The night seemed to beat with a pulse of its own-like the powerful thump of the heart in the massive chest pressed tight to my bosom. Like the pulse in the finger high in my rectum still. "It was wonderful," I sighed.
Slowly Brent raised his head from my shoulder. He kissed my eyes, my cheeks, the corners of my swollen mouth. His foot came suddenly up behind me-my panties dangling from the toe of his shoe. He reached, caught and waved the undergarment under my nose. "You'd better put these on now," he said, grinning widely.
I pouted. "Are we finished already?"
"Out here we are." He stood; held me while I unwrapped myself, then let me down on wobbly legs. "But the others're waiting upstairs," he added.
There was to be a party, I learned. Rhonda had carted bottles and bottles of liquor, glasses and ice to Brent's bedroom, where I was to be the guest of honor. Lonny was there when we arrived. He and Linus were stretched out on the bearskin before a fireplace identical to the cozy brick monster in the living room. It was the first time I had seen the master suite-with its canopy bed, twice the size of the one in my room, with three steps leading up to the platform it rested upon.
I was impressed-no! awed!-and frightened once more. But my fear had nothing to do with the room. I had thought about taking three cocks at once, but now, faced with the prospect, I didn't think my fragile body could withstand such a bludgeoning from Brent and Lonny and the tireless black chauffeur.
And Rhonda! Lord! I thought. Was the maid, too, planning to have me at the same time?
Suddenly Lonny leaped to his feet; grinned foolishly at me. Had he finally remembered who I was? I wondered. I watched him dig in his pantspocket and produce a folded and dog-eared square of paper. He came toward me. I retreated a step-only to back into Brent, whose strong arms closed around my waist from behind. His swipe was semi-hard still. I felt it center in the crack of my ass as Lonny unfolded the paper, held it close to my face, and yelled, "HOR-SIE!"
I was delighted. It was the page from the picture book I had made him study the first day in the improvised classroom at the rear of the house. Now he spelled it for me ... face aglow with childish pride ... lackluster eyes almost normal.
"Oh Lonny," I cooed, wanting to cry. "You remembered. You actually remembered!"
"He's been running around showing the goddam thing to anyone who'll listen," growled Brent in my ear. "A fuckin' horsie! Teach him to spell something else, for chrissakes."
He was joking, I knew. Everyone in the room was grinning, obviously proud of Lonny's accomplishment-thereby displaying acceptance of my ability as a teacher. I wanted to hug everyone. It was perfect now.
Rhonda poured and passed drinks. "I propose a toast," she said. "To our house guest."
"One of the family," added Brent.
"H-O-ahhh-R-S-I-E!" said Lonny.
We drank. Rhonda refilled the glasses, and someone else-I don't remember who-proposed another toast. Then another. And another. I had never been much of a drinker. And by the fifth-or maybe the sixth: I don't remember that, either-glassful of something which I supposed was champagne, I was swaying in Brent's arms, and the room, the huge, elevated canopy bed, had begun to spin.
I hardly noticed Brent's hand on my tit. But I felt his rod: stiffer than when we screwed on the veranda, it seemed, and poking gently into the crack of my ass. The drinks had warmed me. I pressed back ... wishing he'd lift the hem of the mini, take out his joint, and fuck it up my chute while we stood there.
Rhonda must have detected the desire in my face. For suddenly she was there, standing close, kneading the breast not covered by Brent's hand. "I think our lovely darling is ready for bedie-bye," she cooed.
Lonny, who had been drinking two glasses to everyone else's one, suddenly brightened. "Best pussy!" he shouted.
Then he was there, too-breathing hotly into my face, hand groping beneath the front of the mini. I felt myself being half-walked, half-carried across the room. I closed my eyes, floating.
Hands were all over me ... lifting the dress off over my head ... taking my shoes, my panties. They guided me up the three steps, to a mattress as soft as a cloud. Then, one by one-first Brent, then Lonny, then Rhonda, and somewhere between, the black chauffeur-they stripped.
Lying back, panting in anticipation, I watched the three cocks spring into view. I compared them: Lonny's, the fat end of a baseball bat, with ridges and thick pulsing veins; Brent's, only slightly smaller, but with a glans that was rounder, more appealing; the chauffeur's purplish, uncircumcised pole, which seemed to have no veins or ridges, but was covered instead with a smooth jacket of skin that ended with the hunk of meat where the cute little red tip hid. I shuddered. My cunthole grew moist. My asshole tightened. My mouth filled with saliva. "This calls for a plan of attack," said Brent. Kneeling beside me on the bed, he rubbed his square, clefted chin. His dick stood straight out. Lonny joined him. He waited for Linus and Rhonda to kneel opposite, then added, "I've got it-the Dagwood sandwich!"
"Wha-?" I felt myself being turned, onto my side. The old fear returned momentarily-fear of taking all that magnificent meat. How in the world? I wondered.
Rhonda seemed to know exactly what Brent had in mind. For, without having to be told, she lay facing me-but with her head at my pussy. And before anyone could utter another word, her tongue lashed out.
"OWWWWWWWWWWWW!" Throwing my leg over her shoulder, I wrapped my arms around her big hips, and mashed my face, my mouth, to her fishy crotch.
Linus, too, seemed to know what to do. For no sooner did I begin to lap, to drink the strong stink of the maid's sloppy cunthole, than he was there, behind Rhonda, humping his black stiffness up her flabby ass, lovely balls within licking distance of me.
I was too busy sucking, alternating my tongue from hot, hairy hole, to balls, to cock, to know at first who it was lying full length along my back, and setting the tip of another wonderful hard-on at my anus. I gasped ... pressing back ... rectum aching to be filled. I heard Lonny's dim-witted grunting laughter close to my ear; heard Brent directing him, and knew my tight asshole was about to receive the longest, mightiest prick-the bludgeoning monster that had bored into me for the first time months before in the cellar.
"Yeah, but where the fuck do I go?" Walking on his knees, Brent moved to the head of the bed, where I could see his fat cock. He studied the pile of churning, naked flesh. "Shit!" he blurted.
I reached for him. My small hand closed tight on his giant shaft. He sighed-content for the moment, it seemed, to have me jack him off.
Suddenly my asshole was being torn asunder. Lonny, caught up in the excitement of the moment, had begun to fuck his dick up my chute in brutal lunges. I yelped into Rhonda's bush; took a mouthful of black twat hair, bit down, and tried to open my sphincters. But his swipe was too big, it seemed: too thick around to fit the tiny brown pocket low between the soft trembling halves of my ass.
"Let me help." Lifting my leg high, Rhonda buried her face between my tense thighs, and began to cover Lonny's prick with saliva.
"Oh-! Oh, it-it'll n-n-never gooooooo!" I wailed in great distress.
"Best pussy," breathed Lonny, pulling back, allowing the maid to wet the tip of his stiffness, then humping, humping, humping the thing back up my protesting rear.
I thrashed. I moaned. I sucked Rhonda's cunt, Linus' balls; moved my hands furiously up and down the length of Brent's jerking member, and tried to think only of the delirious pleasure awaiting at the end of penetration.
But it was too much for me. Where before the room had been spinning gently, it now whirled-a tornado! My vision blurred. Blackness came.
I wasn't out long, I suppose. Because when I next opened my eyes, the three dicks were still hard. But now I was lying flat, with the four of them-two on each side-staring uncertainly down at me.
Brent scowled. "What she needs is a taste of the belt to make her sweet ass willing," he informed the others.
"Me first though," said Rhonda, leaping from the bed. She was back in a flash with Brent's belt. She kneeled at my feet-fat creamy buttocks up and ready.
Without another word, Brent doubled the leather snake and moved into position. Glancing from me, to the maid's upthrusted behind, he began to lash. Rhonda quivered and sighed-raised her ass even further.
My breath caught. Wide-eyed, I watched the angry red welts appear. My hand closed on Linus' uncircumcised rod. It was slimy with shit from the ass at the foot of the bed, but hard. Hard, hot and nonetheless appealing. My free hand groped for Lonny, who was sitting in a yoga pose, mouth agape as he watched his brother beat the willing maid.
By the time Brent was through with Rhonda, I was so icky, so willing, they could have shoved the entire bedpost up my behind. The black cock in my hand was ready to pop, I knew. I dove at it-sucked the stinking, shit-smeared cylinder into my face in one gulp. I rolled; presenting my rear to Brent and the belt. And as the first gob of cum shot into my mouth, the leather fell ... licking tongues of fire through my buttocks ... bringing my clit up tall.
"Tha's it, white babylove. Suck!" Forcing my head down, bruising my lips with his wiry cock-hair, Linus drove his meat into my flushed, sweating face. His gism poured into my throat. "Suck it, girl," he gasped. "They's plen'y mo' where that come from."
I didn't have to be told. I loved the salty taste, and the bitter tang clinging to his shaft. I loved the belt-the fiery thrills it created with each lash. I loved the big house, the huge canopy bed, and Brent and Lonny and Rhonda. I wanted to screw: to give myself completely. I was drunk with the liquor and sucking. Drunk with the welts rising on my soft little white ass. Drunk with the knowledge that now, after all the mental anguish, the doubt, the fear, my two selves had merged.
Abruptly the whipping ended. "Just look at those sweet, rosy cheeks," groaned Brent.
"I fuck now?" asked Lonny.
"Not at this end, brother. You put your, ah-your horsie up front-up Carol's pussy. This end is mine!"
I felt his hands spreading the cheeks of my ass-felt his weight coming down, and the glans of his cock pressing into my anus. I let Linus' dick pop from my mouth, and turned onto my belly-then up, onto hands and knees, opening for him. I felt his hands at my hips ... pulling me back as he pumped. I worked with him ... gasping, forcing myself onto the stake.
"Now, that's more-oh Jee-zus! AH! That's more fucking like it!" Prick embedded to the hilt in my rectum, Brent made me lie flat again, and turned me onto my side.
I craned my neck, trying to kiss him. But then Lonny was here, in front, spreading my anxious cuntlips with the knob of his baseball bat cock.
"Ohah. OHHHHHHHHHH!" I raised one leg, took the tip and began to wiggle him home.
Brent waited until his brother had gotten half the length up my vulva. "Now fuck!" he rumbled against my hair, and began to grind.
Moaning, out of my head with lust, I began to move forward and back, round and round, as I had done with Steve and Mr. Nash. But I had barely gotten the last of Lonny's stiffness up my wet pussy, when Rhonda-mashing her face into my face, her welted ass into Lonny's-wedged between us. And Linus, frantic to have someone finished what I had started, it seemed, rearranged himself at the head of the bed, and planted his still bloated black swipe deep in the maid's willing face.
"Oh God. OH GOD FUCK ME EVERYBO-DEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I cried into Rhonda's cavernous gash.
In reply, Brent grunted and began to drive his long dick rapidly in and out of my rectum. And Lonny! Oh, crazy, wonderful dim-witted Lonny! Spelling his one word over and over-interspersed with my name-that interspersed with "best pussy!"-he began to hump so hard, so intensely, I thought sure he would burst a blood vessel, or my pussy, my little white-blonde wedge, would go up in smoke.
"Suck my clit," mumbled Rhonda on the stiff rod she was mouthing. She guided my face. "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhh!" Her hips began to jerk rhythmically.
I could see and hear Lonny's big tongue lashing furiously against the maid's stinking anus. One hand at my back, the other played over the halves of Rhonda's ass, he humped his dick up my cunt and sucked asshole.
It was the wildest thing! Impossible! Yet somehow we managed to synchronize-two pussies, three pricks, arms and legs and hips and asses grinding in syncopation. Brent's hands cupped my breasts ... kneading ... taunting the nipples. He stroked smoothly. His balls slapped my cheeks with each dip ... grazing the bigger, wrinkled gism sacs jerking beneath the incredible thing digging wetly in and out of my pink cunthole.
I thought back-to my first stay at the big house, and the first time I saw the unbelievable things now plowing my two hot hairy holes. How utterly impossible it seemed at the time, I recalled: almost as impossible as what we now were doing. Yet now, with the last of my silly inhibitions overcome, with the wanton me and the teacher me united at last, my body seemed to have been custom-made for the Royster brothers.
Poor Stevie! I thought. But now, I realized, now that I knew what I wanted, there was no reason why Cousin Steve couldn't visit-why we couldn't make love as we'd done regularly since childhood. I had everything now, I decided: Lonny to teach, and the others to join him in teaching me.
Was this happiness? I wondered. What most girls search for and never find?
Then I stop thinking. I gave myself over completely to the driving force of the dicks pounding my lower body, and the twat mashed to my face. "Do it," I sobbed, meaning it as never before, fucking with all the synchronized parts of my being.
"I think we'll keep you," whispered Brent.
"Sister Carol?" Lonny's wet face grinned at me from between Rhonda's legs.
Brent laughed. "You don't fuck your sister, stupid."
"Hard!" I drove my ass onto his cock with all the force in my hips. I didn't want to abandon Rhonda's gaping love hole. But orgasm was near, and I wanted to kiss Brent: to have my lips glued to his when it happened. Again I craned my neck. This time he was waiting.
The kiss grew feverish as the rod reaming my slippery asshole began to tremble and jerk, and one up my pussy began to dip faster. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think-could do nothing but screw. Cum was moments away. My belly became the life force; guiding my churning pelvis, my thighs.
Like the rhythm we'd set, it happened in syncopation. Both dicks shot into me, to the roots. The hands on my titties clutched cruelly. Linus and Rhonda stiffened-the former groaning, the latter brought home by Lonny's tongue lapping her anus. My own little clit shot out from between my swollen pink cuntlips. And as the giant, dim-witted but wonderful brother ground his coarse cockhair against my soft curly bush, grunting and lapping the maid while depositing gism in me, my belly turned over inside, my twat tightened thankfully, and I came. I came in tune to the joystick flooding my rectum ... accompanied by the one pouring cream into Rhonda's face. I thought sure I would die: drowned in a sea of semen.
I sobbed joy and laughter. What was it Cousin Steve used to say when we were kids, and I kidded him about fucking himself to death? Yes! I remembered.
