It was heavenly. Ella lay supine, thighs flexed and spread wide in classic missionary position. She could feel old Fred's honker sliding slowly in and out, in and out just like he always did it for a solid hour whenever he came home from a cross-country run and made up for lost time. It was so lovely to have a man inside her doing what comes naturally-and speaking of coming....
She was half asleep and knew she ought to coax herself awake. It was a sin to lie here lazing away and not really getting the most out of this lovely cock. Oooohh, wow, did it ever feel good! She felt the storm gather inside her belly as every tiny nerve and muscle tensed, gathering strength for the cataclysm to come. And still she couldn't wake up all the way. Damn! Suddenly she was overcome by one of those old wives' suspicions. Had some stranger sneaked into her bed and taken advantage of her? Was Fred even home? Maybe he was off on a run and she was dreaming that it was Fred and some burglar....
Shit! Next thing she knew she'd be looking under the bed if old Fred didn't start getting home oftener. It was funny. He was only gone for two weeks at a time but the weeks somehow kept getting longer. You'd think after eighteen years together, getting fucked by her own husband, wouldn't be quite the breathtaking deal that was-oh wow! He had stopped his steady plunging and bottomed out, grinding his pelvis against hers and forcing his rock-hard cock tip to rotate, stirring her insides into a passionate pud ding as his happy old hammer stretched her pussy in delightful new directions.
Suddenly Ella was wide awake. She was coming, pulsating and straining, juices flowing as every nerve and muscle tensed, relaxed, tensed again while her pussy played love's old sweet song. Oooohhh, aaaahhh! She wrapped her legs tight around-around nothing!
It wasn't enough to wake up alone in a cold bed. No, to top it all off, the goddam phone was ringing. Now who had to be ringing this time of night. Could it be Fred? Then she remembered. Fred was never going to ring her up again. After eighteen years together, old Fred had died in the saddle. He hadn't piled up the truck but his heart had blown out at the other end of the line-in another bedroom, and that had been the first she had ever known about old Fred's other wife at the other end of the line.
Not that she blamed him. Old Fred had been hung and he had known what to do with it. She hoped his other wife had been as happy as she had.
So who the hell was ringing her phone at-She glanced at the clock. My god, it was only four A.M. Damn the phone! But who could it be? There was, she realized, an easy way to find out. She picked up the phone.
"Ella?"
No, of course not. This is her teen-age lover whose voice hasn't changed yet. She managed not to say it.
"Ella, I know you're not feeling so hot these days and I know you need money and I know the rig is just sitting there in the alley, behind your house."
So what else is new? It was Al. She had known him for years-a fat, red-faced balding man who was dispatcher-for all the independent truckers in this part of the state.
"-load of balloons," Al was saying. "You wouldn't even have to drop half a gear getting over the pass. I know you can do it."
Ella supposed she could. Years ago she had made a few runs with Fred, taking turns driving & sleeping in the suicide box. They had traveled a lot together until-until he had found another wife at the other end of the line, she suddenly realized. Well how about that!
"Look, Ella, if you'd just stop moping around that house alone you'd feel better. You can do yourself a favor and me too. I'm in a bind."
"Yeah," Ella said drily. "What's in your load of balloons? Pig iron like last time?"
"Really, Ella, it's a light load. Lampshades or some such damn thing. I watched the boys loading the cartons three at a time."
It was silly, she knew, to let that rig sit in the alley for nearly a month since Fred had died and, a swamper had brought it home. Sixty thousand dollars tied up in tractor and trailer and not even paying the cost of the licenses ... I could get out and meet a few people. I could get to the other end of the-Suddenly Ella knew she was going to do it. And she knew why. She didn't want to start a fight or anything vindictive like that but she was curious. After all, she had been sharing Fred with another woman. If Fred had liked her that well she couldn't be all bad. Maybe they could even be friends.
She hadn't said a word over the phone yet but Al seemed to be reading her mind. "Great!" he enthused. "Put on your thermals and spot her at the second dock in an hour. OK?"
"Thermals?"
"It snowed last night. Haven't you noticed?"
Ella hadn't. She mumbled something and hung up. Her cunt was still sopping from the memory of love fulfilled. She got out of bed and scooted into the bathroom where even the thin narrow cannula of the douche gave her a delicious little thrill as its cold hardness slipped up her well-slicked pussy. She emitted an involuntary aaaahhh as her cunt was suddenly flooded with warm water. It felt just like Fred coming the first time after two weeks on the road. She moved the cannula gently in and out, twisting it and working it to make sure she had rinsed the last vestiges of love's elixir from his cockpocket. Suddenly she realized she was moving the cannula much faster, much deeper than was strictly necessary.
Hastily she put the douche bag away. She showered and toweled herself dry, pausing before the full length mirror for a quick inventory. She was tall for a woman, five-seven, with a body still firm and free of stretch marks at forty. Well, actually she was going to be forty-three next month. But ... she had a set of jugs to match her age, firm forty-twos with gently rounded under sides, ski-jump upper slopes that rose abruptly and dangerously to firm pink nipples almost the color of her pinkish blond hair.
She studied her waistline for signs of enlargement. It was still only twenty five-scarcely an inch larger than when old Fred had first stuck his glorious honker into her eighteen years ago. Damn him! Why did he have to go and die like that?
Smooth skin, creamy, but with stretch marks that covered the gentle roundness of her belly, punctuated with a surprisingly deep navel that ... she felt herself starting to quiver and glow again at the memory of how it had felt whenever old Fred had bent over and stuck his tongue into the depths of that navel. Damn him! Go off and die like that when he knew how she needed that tireless old cock of his!
Thighs like ivory columns rose to lose themselves in the dense thicket of her pinkish blond pubic patch. She really ought to trim it. Then, remembering how old Fred had loved to spend a happy hour with her cuticle scissors trimming the ringlets of her crotch cover, Ella suddenly felt the tears start. Damn him! She didn't give a damn about his other wife. But why did he have to go and die and leave her high and dry?
She turned away from the mirror and slipped into a peignoir before returning to her lonely bedroom. She looked past the edge of a blind and, sure enough Al had been telling the truth. There were four inches of Wet snow over everything. She slipped out of the peignoir and into bra and panties. She thought a moment. The rig had a nice tight cab. Even if it was old, Fred had always kept it in good condition. The heater would keep her warm without any thermal underwear. She put on a pair of tight-fitting ski pants and matching jacket.
Trudging through the snow-filled back yard, she wondered if she could remember how to drive a big rig after all these years. Outside she abruptly realized how cold it was. The snow was wet though, and would be melted in a few hours. Cars would have rough going but duals with eighty pounds of air, held down by forty or fifty thousand pounds of freight would have no trouble getting through. And the windshield was so high above all the other traffic that she wouldn't even get splashed.
She supposed she ought to go around and thump all the tires, but it was only a couple of miles to the terminal and there would be time enough there where she could do something about it if there did happen to be a soft one. Then suddenly she realized what Al had actually said. I watched the boys load cartons three at a time. She didn't have to take the trailer at all. He had one loaded and ready. Sighing, she put on gloves and got out to crank down the front end of the trailer so she could drive the tractor s fifth wheel out from under it.
Finally she was back inside the frigid cab. She studied the knobs and switches, trying to remember. She checked the transmissions. Fred's rig was old enough to have two sticks-one for each box instead the automatic shifts in some of the newer rigs. She got the brownie into overdrive and the main box into neutral and hit the starter. Once the engine was whirling tiredly away she punched the button on the gadget that shot a jet of ether into the manifold. The diesel fired with a roar like the end of the world and then settled down to a steady rumble like a dinosaur in heat.
She watched the needle slowly rise on the air pressure gauge. When it reached forty pounds she crunched the main box into second and began creeping the bobtailed rig down the alley. By the time she reached the street the pressure had climbed to a hundred. She touched the brake treadle and the rig stood on its nose. Which meant she had not forgotten to close any air hose valves when she unhooked the trailer. Watching the tach and mindful of cold oil, she eased the tractor through a couple of gears and lazed over the couple of miles to the loading dock without ever forcing the diesel past a fast idle.
Crossing an intersection she stretched to reach the main shift stick and a ski-jump tit jutted abruptly from her tight-fitting jacket. A man on the corner whistled. Suddenly Ella's spirits rose. It was comforting to know that a week short of forty-three she could still attract a man. But would there ever be another man with a honker as indefatigable as old Fred's?
She didn't know. Ella had been a virgin when she married Fred. He had always given her what she wanted and she had never been tempted to sample other men. She had no standard of comparison. Traffic thickened and soon she was creeping down a street behind a tractor and semi, with another tractor hooked to a semi and a pup creeping along behind her. A moving van coming the opposite way honked and she saw the driver giving her a fist-in-the-air Italian gesture. Suddenly she realized that a man's arm and fist in that position looked just like a stud horse's cock.
The seat was a little too far back for Ella and she had to stretch to reach the pedals. She would have to adjust it while the yard spotter was hooking her up to the trailer. Meanwhile each time she slid forward the seat's gentle friction of her ass reminded her how long it had been since she had felt the warm sensual feel of flesh sliding over flesh, into flesh, in and out, in and out....
She pulled into the yard and tried to see which trailer was hers. Suddenly Al appeared beside her in the cab. She wondered how so fat a man could spring six feet up into the cab of a moving truck. "Hi Ella," he puffed. "That one to the left. Glad you decided to try it."
Suddenly Ella knew from the number of trailers in the yard that Al was not in any kind of a bind. He had cooked up this emergency just to get her out of that empty house. Fat, red-faced old Al was a land man-even if he was at great pains never to let anyone know how softhearted the dispatcher was. She caught herself wondering if he had a wife or family. Did fat, balding red-faced men have Cocks too? What would it be like to feel him on top of her?
It wouldn't feel like old Fred, that was for sure; Fred had been tall and thin, with a long thin cock that dangled halfway to his knees. Across the yard a strange young man whistled and waved. "Do I know him?" Ella asked above the rumble of the idling diesel.
Al shook his head. "Just some kid with high hopes," he said. , High hopes. And a high hard stiff ... Ella gave an angry shrug and forced the main box into reverse. The rig began moving too fast and she remembered she had been bobtailing. She stopped again and got the brownie into underdrive. Slow as an hour hand, the tractor backed toward the dock, toward a waiting trailer. She felt the fifth wheel slide smoothly into position and lock.
"Haven't lost your touch, I see," Al grinned. He opened the door and hopped out, spinning to climb agilely down the ladder. "Stop at the office and I'll give you all the papers," he said and was gone.
Ella looked at the dials. The engine had warmed in the couple of miles she had driven but the temperature needle still sat on zero. The shutters would be closed and the oil still thick and cold. She set the throttle at a fast idle and cocked the handle of the brake. With the cold engine clattering away it sounded as if all the bearing metal in the lower end had gone but she knew it was just the injector cams pounding. She visualized that steel plunger squirting a drop of oil into the cylinder each time the piston came up and remembered the way her ass used to rise to meet old Fred's injector and-goddam him! Hastily she climbed down out of the cab where she could blame the tears on the cold raw wind.
The tight-fitting ski pants forced her panties up the crack of her ass, right into her secret slit as she climbed the ladder down from the cab. She wanted to stretch her legs, lack, do something to get that infuriating fold of cloth out of her pussy, but the yard was full of men and suddenly she just knew every one of them was watching. She could feel that cloth rubbing her pussy, touching her clit and suddenly it was rock hard and throbbing, and she was filled with the memory of how old Fred's finger used to caress her secret trigger until she was moaning with delight, joyously waiting and praying for him to grab her knees, spread her thighs wide and thrust his happy honker deep, deep into her waiting cunt.
CHAPTER TWO
Finally the fifth wheel was secured, air brake hoses connected to the trailer, stop, tail, clearance fights plugged in, tires thumped, dolly cranked up, and Al had given her the paperwork.
"Duluth!" Ella exploded. "My god, that's twenty-five hundred miles and forty below this time of year!"
"You've got another month before winter socks in," Al reassured her. "This is just a freak storm. Besides," he added, "old Fred always said you were a better driver than he was."
Ella wondered how much of this was true. She had to think even to remember where the shifts were. If there hadn't been red and green lines on the tach she would have no way of knowing when to split a gear. She was about to tell Al to stuff it when she realized he was right. It wasn't like the old days when a trucker went out like some polar explorer.
Trucks nowadays had heaters. They had warmed bunks. They had CB radio. Even if she were to get caught in a storm there would be no struggling to put chains on duals. She would just pull over and wait for the snow plows to come. She had packed thermal underwear in her bag but Ella knew she would never really have to use it.
She checked gauges again. The air had recovered from charging up the trailer's fines. The engine was "still too cold and the shutters were closed but the oil pressure had dropped ten pounds so she guessed the rig would move. She wondered if she had forgotten anything. She ran through the checklist again and guessed she hadn't. She blew the brake and got the main box into grandma. Air hissed and she let out the clutch. The rig began creeping away from the dock, snaking through the jungle of the yards until finally she was out on the street. She accelerated and the rig moved so quickly she abruptly realized Al had not been conning her. It really was a load of baloons. She skipped two gears and held the stick in neutral, watching the tach needle. When it dropped to eighteen hundred she pulled the stick and the main box slipped smoothly into fourth. She smiled at the memory of how she had struggled and scraped gears until Fred had taught her that once you had this rig moving you never used the clutch again, that only instinct, feel, and one eye on the tachometer could make those gears mesh.
The heater was blowing warmth on her legs. She studied the stoplights over the tops of the cars in front of her and decided she had time to pull those goddam pants out of her crotch. She struggled through two miles of stop and go, then finally she was circling onto an onramp, shifting down half a gear and pushing smoothly into a hole in the traffic. There was a sudden difference in the sound of the rig and she knew the shutters had finally opened a crack to let some air past the radiator. She checked the gauges. The water temperature was just coming off zero. Oil pressure had dropped to eighty pounds. She accelerated another hundred rpm and split half a gear upward. Lazing along at fifty, she waited for the engine to finish warming up.
The rig was plowing through wet snow, throwing up a rooster tail. She checked the mirrors for smoke. Everything seemed ok. The short wheel based tractor would not settle down at fifty. It was rocking in time with the dividers in the concrete highway, jouncing her ass up and down on the seat until she found herself thinking about other times when her ass had bounced up and down, sliding up and down a greased pole that warmed her and filled her being with a joy that passeth all understanding. She was remembering that first time with Fred when she saw a bearded, long-haired youth with knapsack and sleeping bag. He saw the bow wave of slush she was throwing and hurriedly stepped back off the shoulder of the road. No damn business on the freeway anyhow, she knew. She wondered. In spite of the beard, the boy didn't look old enough to be traveling alone.
As the oil thinned out the rig began pulling easier. She eased back on the throttle and moved the brownie from under to direct. Slowly the engine recovered and settled down at twenty two hundred. Three more gears and she'd be up to top speed-providing no fuzz came along to enforce that idiotic fifty five miles an hour business. As if driving a big rig two gears too slow could save fuel! She wondered if anybody in congress had the slightest idea of how a diesel engine operated, or that you couldn't lug it like a car. Every time this rig lost five miles an hour she had to shift gears to keep that engine turning at a constant speed. She couldn't even get it into top gear until she was doing sixty-eight!
The rocking bounce of the tractor became worse as she picked up speed, pounding her ass up and down, fore and aft along the terry cloth covered seat. She tried to think of something else-would it snow more or would this melt off? It was no use. All she could think of was the lovely sensual wave of pink-frothed lust that rippled through her belly each time she jiggled up and down. Even her firm forty-twos were jouncing jauntily up and down in time with the tractor's bounce. She thanked god she'd remembered to put on a bra or they'd really be hurting after a couple of hours.
Another hitchhiker held out his hand. This one didn't have sense enough to step back in time. She glanced in the mirror and saw him disappear in a shower of slush. Poor bastard.
She felt a tiny trickle of moisture between her legs. Damn! She wondered if this rough ride would have turned her on that much if she'd been getting a steady diet of old Fred's cock. Then she reminded herself to learn to forget about old Fred's honker. Fred was dead and so was his honker. She was never going to feel that lovely piece of meat inside her again. She opened the window a bit and cold air hit her face. She snatched a kleenex from the holder and wiped tears from her eyes. Another hitchhiker. She wondered why the state fuzz wasn't running them off the freeway. This was no place for anybody on foot.
She toyed with the idea of picking one of them up. Insane. Even men who drive these trucks were damn careful about picking up strangers. There were highjackers. There were just plain baddies who wouldn't know how to drive a rig but would not hesitate to kill a driver for the change in his pocket. And Fred had told her hair-raising stories about the girls who baited badger games, the queers out for a bit of hosing and/or blackmail, which came first.
Another hitchhiker. This one was right out in her lane. He seemed determined to force her to stop. She checked the mirrors. Nobody else coming. She could move into the other lane but it would cost a hundred rpm and a full minute to get the rig straightened out again and back up to speed. To hell with him. She turned on the headlights and reached up for the lanyard. She pulled and the air horn's noise was loud enough to poach an egg even above" the diesel's racketing. The boy stuck it out till the last minute, then realized he didn't have the weight to play chicken with a tractor and trailer. He scampered for the edge of the road and managed to get a solid wave of wet slush.
She bounced up and down, trying to ignore the warm wetness in her crotch. Why did it have to feel just like the times she had sat astraddle old Fred and bounced up and down his spike? She checked the mirrors again. No smoke from her stacks, no fuzz on, her tail. She watched the tach for a moment, then backed off slightly until the brownie pulled out of gear and dropped smoothly into the next hole. Slowly the rig began recovering. The water was up to a hundred ninety now and the oil pressure had dropped to seventy. She guessed she might as well make some time.
She was half a gear from top speed when another hitchhiker appeared. Then she saw a car in the ditch. Keep moving she told herself. But Ella knew she couldn't do it. There might be lads in the car. Somebody might be hurt. Somebody might be freezing. She reached for the mike of the CB radio. It was cold. She'd forgotten to turn it on. She'd lost three hundred rpm already. She was shifting down when she came closer and saw the hitcher was a girl.
Which meant there might be a baby in that car. She touched the brakes and felt the trailer try to skid. She let off, fanned the air gently again, and the rig began slowing. She was nearly a quarter mile down the road before the tractor came to a stop. She glanced in the mirror but it was fogged. She turned on the mirror heater, and as the fog cleared she could see the girl running toward the tractor. She didn't run like a girl.
She was nearly up to the cab before Ella realized this slim long-haired creature had a hint of mustache and sideburns. Christ! Exactly what she had firmly resolved never to do. But it was too late now. The boy had climbed the ladder and was opening the door to the cab. "Thanks," he said. "It's sure getting cold out there."
Ella sighed and checked the mirror. "Anybody else in that car?"
The boy gave her a blank look then his face lit with sudden comprehension. "No," he said. "Leastways I didn't see anybody in it. Looks like it's been there a week before I came along."
Ella wondered if she could find a way to kick herself. She checked the mirrors again, turned off the flashers, and got the tractor into second gear. She ground through the long tedious business of going through every other gear to get this load of balloons back up to speed.
The boy watched her admiringly. "I didn't know women drove these things," he said. "You a libber?"
"A what?" Ella couldn't hear over the racket of the diesel.
"A woman's libber," the boy repeated. "A bra burner."
The rig was picking up speed and starting to bounce again. She saw the boy looking at her jouncing jugs. Suddenly Ella was blushing. Of all the crazy things, she thought wildly. Blushing at my age just because some kid looks at me sideways! "No," she said firmly. "I'm no bra burner. It's just this concrete pavement"
"On you it looks good," the boy said cheerfully. And suddenly Ella was blushing even more furiously. She gave a sidelong glance but he was looking out the window in the opposite direction. Her glance lingered on his unconscious profile. He couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen. There was the barest downy hint of mustache and sideburns. He was dressed neatly in blue jeans and carried a small bundle. She wondered how she had managed not to see that telltale bundle when he stood along the highway.
He tossed the bundle to the floor of the cab and put his feet on it, then after a moment's hesitation unlaced his boots and put his damp-stockinged feet where the heater could blow on them. "Aaaaaahhhh," he sighed and stretched. Ella felt her stomach do a little flip-flop at the sight and sound of his firm young body.
Get hold of yourself! If you'd ever been stupid enough to have children they'd be older than this child. But bouncing up and down, pouncing her throbbing cunt against the truck seat she could not help but wonder if the boy was getting the same throbbing, thumping turn-on she was getting from this cruddy concrete highway. She wondered if he even thought about things like that with a woman as old as she was-forty-two-old enough to be his mother! Get hold of yourself!
She saw movement from the comer of her eye and looked again in his direction. The boy was peeling off his jacket. She realized the cab must be sweltering after the cold outside. But it felt just right to her. She squirmed, trying to ignore the warm trickle that tickled her crotch. If this concrete highway didn't turn into asphalt pretty soon she was going to come right in her panties!
My god! Beneath the jacket he wore only a tank top. She wondered if she had ever seen a more magnificently muscled pair of arms and shoulders. Was he a weight lifter or something? Hastily, she got her eyes back on the road. Already the rig had strayed over the line. She concentrated on getting it straightened out again.
"Is that a five C sixty-five?" the boy asked abruptly. Ella gave a little start. "Why yes," she said. "I think it is.
"Thought I recognized that howl," the boy said. "I drove one once in a little dump truck."
"Diesel?"
The boy shook his head. "Just an old Ford with a single five speed Fuller five C sixty-five in it. I blew the engine."
Such honesty, Ella decided, was refreshing. Most kids his age would be bragging about how good they were at driving.
"Over rev?" she asked.
"Topped a hose and lost the water," the boy explained. Which could happen to anybody, Ella knew. She glanced at her gauges. Everything seemed ok. She could make about five hundred miles before the rig needed fuel. But, she suddenly realized, she was going to run out of fuel much sooner. In the rush of getting ready for this run she had forgotten to eat any breakfast. The bouncing became worse and she realized if she didn't get her mind off the warm wonderful feel between her legs she was going to pop a hose too. Then the rough section ended and they were on smooth asphalt. The bouncing stopped. She watched the tach and pulled the brownie into overdrive. The rig was doing sixty-eight and a half. She watched tach and speedo until it settled down at seventy.
Will I settle down at seventy, she wondered? Mae West seemed to be going strong with a stable of young studs and she must be well into her eighties. And I'm only forty-two! She glanced toward the boy and he had peeled off his tank top. He sat beside her in the full width cab clad only in socks and Levis. God, what a lovely hard body!
She caught herself wondering what it would feel like to Ue supine looking up into that nearly beardless face while feeling that lovely hard body, that lovely hard thing he must have sliding firmly and indefatigably in and out of her. It was even worse than rocking along on the concrete.
What's wrong with me? I used to miss old Fred when he was on the road but I could put my mind on other things. I didn't go around for two weeks at a time thinking of nothing but his honker and how soon I could get him between my legs again.
She wondered what it would be like with another man. With this boy? Then she wondered how people went about this kind of thing. She had never tried it with anybody but Fred. Was there perhaps some special signal? She had heard all kinds of stories about the young generation, how free and easy they were. But Ella had never been brought up that way. She didn't know how to begin. She wondered what would happen if she were to pull up in the next rest stop and point at the narrow bed up behind the seat and ask the boy if he wanted to get into it with her and sleep for a while.
Sleep! Hell, she didn't want to sleep. Ella wanted to fuck!
CHAPTER THREE
She had to get her mind off this land of thing. Damn it, she was old enough to be his mother. If she offered herself to this stripling he would do one of two things. Either he would be frightened and embarrassed-or worse: he might laugh at her.
"Hungry?" she asked.
T could stand a little of you."
"What?" Ella's eyes widened and she had trouble concentrating on the road. "What did you say?"
"Cold," the boy elaborated. "I could stand a little soup."
"Oh." There she went imagining things. Was he sitting closer to her? Of course he was. He was trying to get away from the blast of the heater. His smooth-muscled, hairless chest was glistening. She got her eyes back on the road.
Suddenly it was snowing hard. She turned on the wipers and shifted down half a gear. Still the truck was losing speed. The fan noise changed and she knew the shutters had closed against the sudden cold. She went down a whole gear and the truck mushed doggedly on through suddenly thickening snow. If it came down much harder Ella knew she was not going to be able to see even with the wipers going. She checked cluster and clearance lights and made sure they were on. She turned on the amber fog lights and still couldn't see. She shifted down another whole gear and the rig slowed to forty-five. Squinting, she devoted her whole attention to the road. Then abruptly her whole attention was elsewhere. She felt the boy's hand. It was on her leg.
Do I slap him or do I ignore him and pretend U isn't there? She wanted to do the latter. Pretend it wasn't there and see what he did next. Would he become bolder? Would he start undressing her? Why couldn't he have done it before she needed every wit about her to cope with all this snow? She squinted. and the boy was squeezing her leg, then pounding it
"Look!" he yelled.
Finally she glanced toward him. He was pointing.
The water temperature was clear up to two hundred thirty!
Ella glanced in the mirrors. No traffic. Hastily she pulled to the edge of the road, then back into the right lane when she nearly mowed down a sign. It said REST STOP 1/4 MILE. She looked at the temperature gauge. It was no higher. She kicked the rig into neutral and let it roll the quarter mile into the rest stop and off the road.
The rig had not stopped rolling before the boy had opened the door and was outside. He banged on the shutters with his fist and she heard the fan noise change. The water temperature began creeping down. The boy climbed back into the cab again. "Linkage iced up," he explained. "You haven't lost any water."
The gauge settled down at a hundred ninety again and she felt the shutters start to close. Nothing seriously wrong. But it was snowing even harder. She glanced out at the highway. Empty. They were alone in the rest stop. Hungry?" the boy asked.
"A lot of good it'll do me!" Ella snapped.
I've got a jar of peanut butter and some crackers in my pack."
"Oh." While Ella was trying to think up an apology the boy opened his bundle and took out the fixings for their gourmet meal. She set the engine at a fast idle and they sat companionably in the warm cab eating crackers and peanut butter.
All through their spartan meal Ella felt something building between them. The boy finished his last cracker and stretched. He looked at the thickening snowstorm and at oil and water gauges. He stretched again. "Looks like we're going to be here a while," he said. "You want the bunk and I take the front seat?"
I want the bunk and I want you in it right on top of me without a single layer of clothing in between us! But instead of voicing this noble sentiment she merely nodded and gave the gauges a final check before climbing over the back of the seat and into the bunk. She could draw a curtain but she wasn't undressing and she knew she wasn't about to drop off to sleep with this strange boy in the rig with her so to hell with the curtain. The idling diesel would keep the cab warm for two or three days if it had to and it was cheaper to keep it running than it was to go through the hour-long torment of getting it warmed up again.
She stretched out in the bunk and closed her eyes. Nothing happened. The idling diesel filled the cab with a low rumble and a steady vibration. She was acutely aware of the firm young body stretched out on the seat only a foot away. She sat up, pretending to be looking at oil pressure and water temperature. The boy lay face down asleep on the seat, basking in the full blast of the heater. He had stripped down to his jockey shorts.
Ella gasped, Then realized he had no alternative. If he turned down the heater she would freeze. His body still glistened from the heat And god, what a lovely firm body it was! His chest tapered down to a narrow waist and hips. She could see the bulge of his machinery in the jockey shorts. Abruptly she realized that he had a hard-on. She wondered whom he was dreaming of. Lucky girl!
She wanted to he down again but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the vision of that smooth, hard-muscled body. Jesus! For a young hard body like this she would even have betrayed old Fred just as he had betrayed her with a wife at the other end of the line. What would it feel like to have a boy like this giving her the last full firm measure of his devotion?
She knew about boys. She remembered Fred in their first couple of years before he had learned to pace himself and endure for an hour-long fuckfest. This boy would be hair trigger. He wouldn't even get it into her before he expired in blurting, spurting confusion. It wouldn't even be worth getting undressed for. But even as she sour graped away Ella knew if he so much as touched her she would be unable to resist. No matter what this lovely boy wanted to do with her, she would not have the strength to resist.
He moved slightly and she ducked back down out of sight. A minute passed and she raised her head again, looking at the gauges. Cautiously she glanced down. The boy had turned over and lay face up. He smiled at her. She tried not to see him but she couldn't take her eyes away from the front of his tight-stretched jockey shorts. The boy's hard-on was stretching them, pointing straight up toward her like an accusing finger. "Sorry," he said.
"For what?" It slipped out before she could think.
"For this." He pointed at his hard-on. "I can't help it."
"Ym sure you could if you tried," she sniffed.
"Maybe," he said with a sleepy smile. "Could you manage not to bounce quite so much every time we go over a bump?"
"Oh!" Suddenly Ella was crestfallen. She wondered what was wrong with her. This conversation seemed to be drifting exactly the way she wanted it to drift. So this was how it was done. She had been wondering how to break the ice and here the boy had done it so casually and so naturally that "You want to?" he asked.
"Want to what?" Saying it, she felt like several kinds of a fool.
"I'll trade you," the boy said.
"Trade what?" Ella was growing frantic.
"A look at what you've been sneaking looks at for a look at what I've been sneaking looks at."
It was so exactly what Ella had been thinking, wishing, wanting, needing, that for a moment she wondered if the boy was reading her mind. She couldn't trust herself to speak. She tried to settle back down out of sight in the bunk but as she went down the boy came up in the seat until she lay flat on her back, and now he peered over the seat and down at her.
"My grandma always told me silence means consent," the boy murmured, his voice barely audible over the idling diesel. He leaned over the seat back to look down at her supine body. He put a hand down and captured the zipper of her ski jacket.
Ella knew she ought to do something, say something, at least offer some token resistance. She was paralyzed. Totally unable to move or speak, she lay supine while the boy's hand captured her zipper and began slowly, gently, damn it, couldn't he hurry up a little! Teasingly, he began working it back and forth just above the bulge of her forty-twos.
Abruptly Ella realized the boy was even more frightened than she was-afraid she would slap him and throw him out in the snow. But he couldn't leave her alone any more than she could stop thinking about how nice it would be for this boy to kiss her, lick her, put his hand....
The boy continued toying with her zipper and she knew he was afraid she would slap him if he got too close to tit territory. Big deal, she told herself. I'm wearing a bra underneath and the bra covers up more than most of those string things they wear on the beach. But she knew that it was one thing to wear a string bikini on the beach and something quite different to be alone with a stiff-pricked boy who was screwing up his courage to pull down her zipper and see what was making that marvelous pair of jiggling bulges beneath her ski jacket. Damn him! Will he ever make up his mind?
She wondered what would happen if she were to grab him and pull him down into the bunk with her. Scare him to death, she supposed. Nothing could destroy a hard-on faster than an over aggressive woman. Especially for a boy of this age it was important that he initiate all the moves. He had to believe that he was seducing her and not the other way around, that she had known in her heart of hearts from the moment she saw him in the mirror and knew he was a boy and not a girl that she would never rest until she had him between her legs.
Funny. This morning, less than two hours ago she had been a grieving widow, her life lived out, nothing left for her to do but die. And now all she wanted to do was live. Damn this dawdling boy! Would he ever stop fiddling around and get down to the business of undressing her?
What would she do if he were to chicken out? If he were to take his hand away right now and go back and fie down in the front seat she would kill herself. She wouldn't have to kill herself. If he didn't hurry up and get that zipper down she was just going to die!
He was leaning deeper over the back of the seat now, stretching both arms down to reach her. Still playing with her zipper, he got his other hand on her ski pants-clad thigh where he had been pounding her before to warn her about the water temperature. Only this time he wasn't pounding. He was stroking, caressing, running gentle tickling fingers up and down her thigh until she wanted to shriek and yodel her delight But damn him, did he have to be so slow? There would be time later for this kind of game. What she wanted first, right now, was six solid inches going into her, filling the void that had existed ever since old Fred had let his subscription lapse.
Still he toyed with her zipper. She smiled at him, tremulously, hopefully. She must look like a jackass eating thistles, she knew. Why couldn't she relax, take a calm and reassuring attitude, let the boy know he was welcome, invite him into her narrow bed to do his will with her willing body?
She tried to decide what to do to make him feel welcome. Pull him in? Then she knew what she had to do. Slowly, struggling to smile and be graceful while she did it she sat up in the bunk. Now they were more nearly on the same level and the boy didn't have to strain so hard to reach her.
"My turn," she said.
The boy was mystified.
"If you're going to take forever then maybe I'd better get a little glimpse of what it is I'm supposed to have been sneaking looks at"
"Oh!"
Suddenly the boy was climbing over the back of the seat, crowding into the narrow bunk alongside her. There was barely room for the two of them to lie side by side facing one another. Ella opened her arms and drew the boy to her. They kissed.
They kissed long and finally she had to come up for air.
"Aaaaaaaahhhh!" the boy commented. They kissed again and this time she opened her mouth to invite him in. After a startled moment the boy's tongue returned her invitation. Within minutes he was swapping tongues like a veteran of the French and Indian wars.
His hands were busy with her waist. Finally she realized that he was too close now to reach her zipper. Instead, he was struggling with the waistband button of her pants. Suddenly she felt the release of tension around her waist. He had gotten it loose. He began peeling her pants down over the gentle bulge of her burgeoning hips.
Ella was breathing so fast she thought she was going to faint. It was as if all the lonely dreams and fantasies of her long life had come true all at once-a hundred erotic dreams rolled into one and presented live in living color.
And flesh and blood. Hot blood pounded at her temples, perked up the nipples of her firm forty-twos until she knew she would die if he didn't get that jacket open soon and get his mouth over those nipples to lick, to kiss, to suck, to drive her right out of her hungry, sex-starved mind!
Ooooohhhh but he was a lovely boy! Would he ever get down to business? If he didn't hurry up and stick it into her she was going to cry. She was going to squeal with outrage like some disgusting little pig. But oh damn, how could he be so slow? Could any boy ever be this slow?
This one was. He kissed her again, devoting both hands to gently peeling her ski pants down over her luscious rump. Struggling in the confined space, he got them down around her knees.
Working carefully, one leg at a time, he got them off her. With a triumphant little yodel, he tossed her ski pants over into the front seat. The diesel racketed away at a fast idle. The heater poured warmth into the cab. Outside the snow was coming down harder.
The boy was coming down harder too. At first she didn't know what he was trying to do. Then as his face slid down the front of her ski jacket, down her bare midriff to the upper edge of her nylon panties, she knew what he was going to do. Oh damn this lovely maddening boy! He was sticking his tongue deep into her navel. It felt so goooood!
CHAPTER FOUR
Suddenly and for no particular reason Ella came to her senses. My god, she thought, what am I doing here with a teen-age boy undressing me? I was always a decent married woman. I never once cheated on Fred. I go to church and I do all the right things" and I belong to the League of Women Voters and oooohhh shit! Why does that little bastard have to keep sticking his tongue in my bellybutton? Why can't he stick his lovely cock into me instead?
The diesel rumbled away, sending a delicious spine-tingling vibration through the narrow bunk in the suicide box. She lay face up, her tight-fitting ski pants were already off but she still had on her blouse and everything else. It was funny. A woman could walk around topless without losing too much of her dignity-especially if she had a matched set of forty-twos like Ella. But to be fully clothed from the waist up and to he here with only a pair of yellow bikini panties which barely covered her pubic triangle while a boy augered his tongue into her navel....
There was no way a woman could help but look slightly ridiculous in this position. Ella knew it. But she didn't know what she could do about it. Nothing, she guessed. She remembered some eighteenth century Englishman definition of fucking: The pleasure is fleeting, the position is ridiculous, and the expense is abominable. Ella knew Doctor Johnson was right on the first two counts. She wondered what this was going to cost her in the long run.
No matter what it cost, she knew with sad certainty that she could not stop now-not with that lovely boy licking her navel, tickling until she wanted to giggle and yodel her delight. But Ella was a practical woman. Instead of doing either she got her hands on the boy's slender waist and struggled in the narrow confines of the bunk until she got his jockey shorts sliding down over the flat hardness of his juvenile ass. Still driving his tongue deep into her navel, the boy twisted and squirmed, doing his best to help her.
Finally she had the-boy's shorts off but due to the cramped position she could still not get a glimpse of his magic wand. The boy meanwhile had finally discovered that her ski jacket could be zipped down all the way instead of playing that endless tantalizing game of running the slide up and down. She rose slightly on her elbows to help him peel the jacket down over her shoulders and in the split second before she collapsed atop a tangle of ski jacket she caught a flash of a prodigious prod that she just knew had to be bigger, firmer, harder than old Fred's had been for at least the last fifteen years.
This nameless boy, Ella knew, had the equipment. But would he know how to use it? She remembered old Fred's remarks about jackrabbit boys who could come five times a night and not even get it halfway in. She remembered how Fred had been on their wedding night eighteen years ago. But she also remembered that good old Fred of the indefatigable cock had not been exactly above board with her. He had never told her about his other wife. How many other lies had he told her?
Ella sighed and tried not to think about Fred. He was gone, dead, and the boy was here and alive. She didn't need posthumous opinions. Soon she was going to find out firsthand how good this teen-age boy's staying power was. She hoped it would be half as good as old Fred's. If it was one tenth as good, providing this smooth-skinned boy could manage to come five times a night....
The boy was still working at the sleeves of her ski jacket, trying to get it untangled from her wrists and out of the way. Finally he tossed it over the back of the seat up into the front of the cab. Now she lay face up in the narrow bunk, clad only in yellow bikini panties, a matching brassiere, and incongruously, a pair of pink ankle-length cotton socks.
But not for long. The boy's tongue finally retreated from her navel and he began working his way up in the world, sending a burning line of kisses across the firm smoothness of her waist and midriff until he was nuzzling the firm full undersides of her jugs, still confined in the yellow bra. His arms went around her.
Ella raised on her elbows so he could find the hooks of her bra. She remembered Fred's first, fumbling efforts to undress her eighteen years ago-how he had struggled in vain and she had had to show him how a bra comes apart.
This boy seemed to have done his homework better than old Fred. Without the slightest awkwardness his finger deftly unlatched her bra and then he was peeling it off her, working the straps down her arms. Ella felt a little thrill of anticipation run through her.
She was of two minds about it though. Like any woman, Ella had occasionally fantasized about educating some gorgeous and ignorant Li'l Abner into the joys of fucking. In her dreams the boy had had all the equipment and no knowledge at all of how to use it This boy seemed in no need of instruction. She wondered. In her present mood all she really wanted was to get it in. Maybe it was best this way, not to have to lead him by the hand through every simple maneuver.
"Wow! I don't believe it!"
Ella stared. The boy had reared back where he could focus his eyes on the perfection of her twin pectoral volcanoes. She realized abruptly what it was he couldn't believe. Most women endowed with a set of matched forty-twos were also endowed with a real need for a bra. Ella was not.
She wore a bra because after a long day of housework it could be tiring to carry around all that much weight and a bra could relieve her of the eternal need to walk like a drill sergeant, head up and shoulders back to balance the weight of those prodigious jugs. But even with the bra off Ella didn't sag. Flat on her back in this narrow bunk, her perfect prick-stiffening poitrine still poked piquantly skyward, aiming straight at the boy's unbelieving face like twin headlights.
"Wow!" he repeated reverently.
Ella smiled.
Slowly the boy began descending. As she saw his smooth face with its faint hint of first beard lowering toward her jugs, Ella felt them tingle with the knowledge that soon, within seconds, she was going to feel that smooth male skin against the rosy softness of her bosom.
It was too narrow down in this bunk for any fancy maneuvering. The boy crouched naked atop her, admiring the twin pectoral volcanoes that pointed unabashedly skyward, each lovely cone tipped with a pink aureole and a perky nipple hard as the cherry that surmounts a dish of ice cream. She held her breath, waiting to see whether he would choose right or left.
The boy did neither. Instead, he reared still farther back until he knelt at the very foot of the bunk. She wondered if he had trouble focusing his eyes at close distances, then realized the boy was not farsighted. Not in that sense at least. Figuratively, she guessed he would be able to see and predict well ahead for, instead of aiming for the immediate target of those twin magnets on her chest, he knelt to one side of her ankles and struggled to raise her long well-turned legs skyward.
Ignoring the pink ankle-length cotton socks, he raised the full length of her long legs vertically until her ass rose slightly from the bunk. Still grasping her ankles with one hand, he reached down with the other and deftly scooped her bikini panties from beneath the firm roundnesses of those twin globes that had been known to turn heads from two blocks away. With one fluid motion her yellow bikini panties slid from around her burgeoning butt, down the milky smoothness of her thighs, past knees and calves, past ankles still concealed with pink cotton socks, until the boy gave a triumphant flourish of filmy yellow fabric before tossing the panties over into the front seat along with the rest of their clothes.
Now they were as close to naked as would ever matter unless-she wondered if he would turn out to be some kind of a foot fetishist But the boy ignored her pink-socked feet and ankles. Instead, now that the decks had been cleared for action, he moved carefully into the middle of the foot of the narrow bunk, placing one of her legs to each side of his slender hard-muscled body. Kneeling between her legs, he stared down at unveiled female perfection, eyes glowing with the knowledge of the wonderful thing that was about to happen.
"Aaaaaaahhhhh!" the nameless boy commented.
Ella was inclined to agree. It was ironic, she realized with one tiny, still sane and satirical corner of her intellect, truly amazing how a lifetime of sober-headed self-control could go down the spout at the sight of one hard young male body eager to do its thing with her. It was almost as if she were a virgin.
In a way, she guessed she was. She had been taking old Fred's indefatigable honker into her for eighteen years, but she had been a virgin since before she married him and, apart from eighteen years of playing hide-the-weenie with old Fred, she had never felt another cock inside her. She had always been so happy with Fred's fiddlestick that she had never seriously thought about experimenting. Was he big, small, or just average? She had no standard of comparison.
Squinting between half-opened lashes, she tried to see what kind of a honker this luscious lump of maleness that hovered over her might be endowed with. She couldn't see. She remembered that one lightning glimpse she had caught moments ago when she got his shorts off. If she had been seeing clearly, the boy was as nature had created him-uncircumcised and with a full foreskin stretched tight over the huge bluntness of his cockhead.
She wondered if this was good or bad. It would be lubricated and wouldn't scrape so much going in on the first stroke, she guessed. But circumcision was a mixed blessing-a series of tradeoffs, she guessed. Any cockhead that was not protected with a foreskin was bound to be harder, tougher, thicker and less sensitive than a cockhead eternally shielded beneath a protective prepuce.
The boy would be more sensitive, capable of enjoying it more, but would he also be hair trigger? She hoped he wouldn't. Jesus, how she hoped he wouldn't! Ella wanted a man's cock in her. She didn't want any token in-and-out. She wanted a real man to pour it to her for a half-hour of straight, old-fashioned fucking. She was an old-fashioned girl. She liked old-fashioned fucking and she liked everything old-fashioned-especially if a capable bartender was mixing them.
Still the boy knelt between her long straight legs. Damn him! When was he going to get down to business? She could feel his eyes burning her body, taking inventory of her considerable charms.
Still the boy knelt between her legs. Ella wondered if she ought to flex her knees and draw herself up into classic missionary position. She felt a glimmer of satiric amusement Naked, on her back, with a naked boy between her legs and she was still worrying about being too forward-too demonstrative-as if she could scare him off now!
And still this infuriating goddam dawdling boy knelt between her legs, staring down at her. She wondered if he was having trouble getting it up. Impossible! She had caught one glimpse of his honker in fighting trim. Boys of this age might have trouble keeping it up halfway down the first thrust but they could be guaranteed to have no problem at all in getting it up.
Maybe that was what he was up to-a cortical thalamic pause while he caught his breath and did multiplication tables and thought good thoughts, struggling not to go off in the air and spray his precious fluid wastefully all over the pristine roundness of her firm, deep-naveled belly.
Through half-opened eyes, struggling not to disarrange the inviting smile on her face, Ella studied him.
The boy was excited, but so was 's he. His breathing was fast but regular. His eyes were not glazed over and he was not tense with the struggle to keep his untried cock from firing its load prematurely. Ella guessed he was just a gourmet, pausing to appreciate the firm fullness of her perfect prick-stiffening body. But damn, she thought, couldn't he do it later?
Apparently, he could not. The boy's eyes ranged over her like a scanning radar, absorbing the perfection of her calves-legs that Ella had always been rather proud of, something in their structure managing to give at all times the impression that she was in heels even when she padded about barefoot-or in pink cotton anklets.
He studied her knees, the smooth-tapered growth of her thighs, the gentle joining where two legs become one ass, full, firm, ready. The boy's eyes scanned her firm belly, admiring its roundness and the perfect symmetry of her pubic patch. She realized those ringlets were getting just a bit long. Should have snipped them off with cuticle scissors, she realized. But how could she have known anything like this was going to happen. Old Fred had always enjoyed that little chore so she had let it become a sort of ritual. Each time he came home from a long run she would be bathed and waiting, and old Fred would spend a happy half-hour trimming the excess hair from her pussy before getting around to doing what comes naturally, pouring her an old-fashioned and waiting till she finished it before giving his old-fashioned girl an uninterrupted hour of old-fashioned fucking.
The boy's eyes ranged upward from her luxuriant furburger to survey the surprisingly deep navel he had been driving his tongue into only moments before. Lovingly, he inventoried the sudden contraction of her waist, the gentle growth of smooth midriff, the abrupt rise of her Grand Tetons from the plain. "Wow!" the boy murmured reverently. Ella could barely hear him over the clatter of the fast-idling diesel.
His eyes dwelt lovingly on the rise of her firm forty-twos, and for a moment she thought the beardless boy was having trouble controlling himself. Then as he began, slow as an hour hand to bend over, to grasp her knees and pull them up into missionary position, Ella guessed her long wait was over. The boy was finally through looking and ready to start acting. He was going to fuck hex.
CHAPTER FIVE
Slow as an hour hand, his hard young body began lowering itself down over her. Then abruptly Ella realized she was going to have to wait still a little longer. The boy didn't trust the evidence of his eyes. He was going to inventory her charms in Braille!
Still moving like molasses in January, the hard-bodied boy kneeling between her legs lowered his face to her. Too far. Instead of gliding smoothly into missionary position atop her, he was scooted down as far as he could in the narrow bunk, poised with his lean ass in the air like a wasp as his face lowered gently to kiss her belly once again. Slowly and gently, he lowered his face until he was nibbling at the upper edge of her pubic patch.
Ella didn't know quite what to do. Old Fred had been an old-fashioned man, just as she was an old-fashioned girl. She knew that men did things like this-but no man had ever done it to her. Fred had had a whole vocabulary of satirical descriptions for this kind of man-the least gross beginning somewhere downstream of "muffdiver."
She supposed she ought to stop him, make him come up on top of her and do it right. But Ella realized she was in an odd position. Beggars couldn't be choosers and she really needed this boy's cock. What would happen if he were to pack up his marbles and leave right now?
She would just die-that's what!
She might as well resign herself to waiting. Sooner or later the boy would tire of these preliminaries and get around to sticking it into her. As she lay back, trying to relax and compose herself for an indefinite wait, Ella realized that there were actually many worse ways to kill time than nude, flat on her back, with a hard-bodied boy atop her licking her belly and nibbling at the upper edges of her pubic patch. If he kept it up long enough-and if he were to work down just a bit lower where she was more sensitive, Ella guessed it was a pastime that a woman might grow to like after the first half-hour or so.
As if reading her mind, the boy began nibbling his way slowly down the inverted triangle of her luxuriant pubic jungle, gradually reaching the front of the pouting labia behind her mons veneris. Involuntarily Ella felt her knees flexing as her ass rose to meet him. The boy's hands slid beneath the firm hemispheres of her ass, caressing, darting into the crack in loving forays that sent her anal rosette atwitter with anticipation.
Gradually his nibbling turned into something else. The boy had a long and marvelously supple tongue. Now he was running it over the hairy outer surfaces of her labia majora, sending shivers through Ella until she had to struggle not to erupt into bumps and grinds and grab his beardless head by the ears and draw him in deeper, faster, harder!
Her thighs began opening and closing without her volition, clasping the boy's flaming ears in loving erotic scissors as the milky smoothness of her sensitive inner thighs clasped in loving embrace.
Each time her thighs closed over his ears the boy moaned and struggled to burrow deeper into her, licking her labia with a fine frenzy. His hands cupped the cheeks of her ass, caressing her and driving her up the wall with erotic delight and expectation. Then abruptly his hands slipped down her ass, into her crotch, and abruptly she felt her labia majora parting, felt that warm supple tongue penetrate into her secret slit.
Now he was licking inside, where the short hairs don't grow, running his tongue in loving, laving circles around the rock hardness of her throbbing clit, up the sensitive inner wall of one labium and down the other, stopping to drive a diddling tongue past the carunculae myrtiformes of her cherry, shattered eighteen years ago by old Fred.
In all the years old Fred had driven his dong in and out past the shreds of that long-captured maidenhead, for eighteen long years Ella suddenly realized she had never experienced anything quite so subtly and delicately erotic as the feel of this boy's tongue in there delicately sorting out those shreds and giving a delicious little turn-on to each individual facet of her pussy.
Each time his tongue ran in a loving, licking circle around the throbbing hardness of her vibrant clit Ella felt little erotograms go rocketing up her spine to explode inside her head. Slowly but surely this boy's tongue was turning her willpower to mush, her brains to peanut butter. She knew she couldn't stop now-not even if she wanted to.
And oh Jesus, how she didn't want to stop! She wanted it to go on forever, never to have to stop feeling this lovely warm smoothness of a supple tongue laving her secret parts, giving subtle erotic massages to parts of her pussy that old Fred's bargepole had never reached.
She realized no boy's tongue could ever get as deep into her as old Fred's fat finger, but she had never before realized how sensitive the portals to her pussy were-how lovely it could be just to lie here not doing any work and let the boy's tongue teach her things she had never known about her own body.
How could she ever have known that the things old Fred made fun of were the real things-the frosting on the cake of fucking? She wondered how many other lies old Fred had told her. Suddenly she caught herself wondering about the other side of the coin. The boy was going to considerable labor to pleasure her. What was he getting out of it?
Old Fred had been funny that way. He loved to stick his stabber into her and pour it to her for hourlong sessions of old-fashioned fucking, but he was touchy. She remembered when they were first married and her curiosity had been insatiable-how long it had taken her to get Fred to let her put her hand on his hammer, just to feel it and admire it and get to know the feel of a man's masculinity in her hands. She could sense that he .had never liked it so she had never done it again. What, she wondered, would this boy do if she were to grab his cock?
There was, she realized, little danger of finding out. He was still scooted way down at the foot of the narrow bunk and with high sides it was almost as if they were in a bath tub. She couldn't possibly reach the boy's rammer without breaking the lovely connection between his mouth and her pussy.
Still the boy licked her, running his tongue up and down her smooth, sensitive inner labia majora, rasping her tender labia minora, laving her clitoris, darting lightning forays into her vagina to poke and probe from unexpected angles, until she wondered if the boy had been born with some sort of erotic rotorooter instead of an organ of speech. But oh Jesus, did it ever feel goooooood!
His hands were currently unemployed, now that he had opened the furry lips of her cunt and given his tongue entry into her secret slit Then she felt them analyzing the burgeoning curve of her thighs, sliding gently up her flanks until he crouched like a praying Moslem, ass high in the air, face buried in her cunt hands outstretched to caress her jutting jugs.
It was, she abruptly realized, the first time he had put his hands on her tits. Little electric tingles shot from her nipples, from her aureoles, radiating down the firm symmetry of her pectoral cones to fill her body with a joy almost as sublime as that she had sensed while old Fred's cock was massaging her vagina.
She realized to her mild surprise that this boy was already giving her more pleasure, more new and acutely erotic sensations with just his hands and tongue than Fred ever had with his cock. What would happen once this lovely smooth-skinned hard-bodied boy got around to fucking her?
She hoped it wouldn't be a letdown. She hoped she didn't know what she hoped. She wanted to fuck but she didn't want to lose the feel of that lovely tongue doing its multifarious thing deep inside her secret slit and reason told her that no matter how young and supple this boy's body, there was no way he could get his cock and his tongue into her at the same time.
Ooooohh Christ, did it ever feel gooooood!
In the background, at the edge of her consciousness, the diesel racketed at a fast idle. Shutters would be closed, she knew, for most diesel engines would not put out enough heat at an idle to maintain temperature. She hoped nothing would go wrong with the engine. But mostly she hoped nothing would hap pen right now to interrupt this wonderful new erotic experience.
Forty-two years old, she thought, and never had my pussy licked before! What a sublime waste. Eighteen years of sleepwalking, of being happy and ignorant under the ministrations of old Fred's cock. How had she managed to get this far along in life without once discovering what it was like?
Things would be different from now on, she determined. From now on, cost what it might, she was not going to turn down any chance at a new sensation. She resolved that, no matter how disgusting or revolting her upbringing might have conditioned her to think something might be, she was not going to rest until she had tried it once. How many things were there in life that she could savor before age and the slings and arrows of outrageous geriatry cut her down?
She was suddenly aware of her ignorance. How could she try new things when she didn't even know how many things there were to try? She remembered once in school when she had been sixteen and a girl in her class had had a book smuggled in from Paris. That kind of book was for sale openly everywhere nowadays. Ella decided it was time to do her homework. She was going to buy a few and read them and learn what it was that men and women did together. Or women and women....
But meanwhile back at the ranch the boy was still licking where it counted, his tongue performing prodigious feats inside her thrumming cunt while his outstretched hands caressed her tits, ran loving fingers around her aureoles to twiddle her pink nipples into rock-hard erection.
She was ready-oh Jesus, was she ever ready! Was there any possible way she could get him to-? Suddenly one outstretched hand left her palpitating breast, ran down her flank in a loving erotic tickle and under the cheek of her thrumming ass. Her legs were spread wide to accommodate his busy head between them. His hand caressed her ass perfunctorily and then one finger was in the crack, tapping gently on the twittering rosette of her asshole.
Ella had never known such sheer, heart-stopping excitement. Now how, she wondered, could such a simple thing as that drive me right out of my mind? For an instant she totally forgot all the lovely things that tongue was doing to her pussy under the onslaught of this totally new sensation.
Great erotograms of joy shot through her belly, up her spine to carom about the sudden emptiness of her head. For the first time in her life Ella felt herself surrender totally and completely to the joy of the moment, without thought of past or future, with no heed of consequences. She didn't care if it killed her-killed her right this minute, but she was willing to die, to live in hell forever if she could just go on feeling this lovely turn-on as the boy's tongue licked her pussy, as one hand caressed her tits while the other tapped out Morse code on her thrumming, titillating asshole-ooooooh Jesus, did it ever feel gooooooood!
She realized abruptly that she was coming. How about that? Coming before he even got his cock into her! This was supposed to be the warm-up, she knew from what little reading she had done on the subject-just a little preparation for the main course. And here she was coming, her belly knotting in a great gut-wrenching cataclysm as the juices of joy flowed from every aperture.
Shit! She was going to be slick and sloppy, so wet the boy's banger would slip into her smoothly, so smoothly she would hardly feel it. Maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe he knew his limitation, that his juvenile hair trigger cock could not survive against the onslaught of a tight-walled pussy in fighting trim. Was he doing this deliberately to make her loosen up so he could get it in and get a couple of shoves before he came?
She didn't know a thing about this boy. Was he an expert practitioner of the erotic arts-or was this plain beginner's luck? If it was beginner's luck he must be an extremely lucky boy, she guessed. She had been fucking for eighteen years-probably two or three more than this boy had been alive and yet with the skill of a master he had succeeded in driving her past the point of no return, of sending her up the wall with a series of hitherto unknown erotic experiences, and now she was coming explosively, devastatingly, her whole body twisting and shuddering, writhing under the ministrations of his hands and tongue, her brains turning to peanut butter and flowing down her spine until she felt her whole body was melting into a sheet of erotic flame that licked and flowed and flickered and-went out.
I must have fainted, she realized. But she didn't have the dull, headachy feeling that comes after a faint. The boy was still there, still licking her sopping pussy, caressing her tits, tapping her asshole and Ella was ready and willing, wanting more, faster, harder, deeper! It must only have been a second that she lost consciousness. But the boy had turned her on so far that her body was not willing to lose a second of this erotic trip. She had come to still thrusting, still grinding her ass against his mouth, still clasping and un clasping her smooth milk-white thighs over his flaming ears.
The boy s ears were so hot they felt like branding irons each time her smooth sensitive-skinned inner thighs closed over them. Oooohhh god but he was a lovely boy!
His finger left her asshole for an instant, and while his tongue licked lascivious circles around her clit, she felt a finger invade her vagina, run in erotic circles, twisting and probing in all sorts of crook-fingered ways old Fred's cock had never stretched her. She was slick, sopping. If only there were some way to wash she knew she could give this boy a better time if she could just rinse out the traces of love's elixir that filled her pussy to brimming.
The questing finger came out of her cunt and the boy's loving tongue replaced it. She felt the finger return to tapping the twittering rosette of her asshole and then she realized it wasn't just tapping. Slicked with her own come, the boy's finger was pushing its way past that twittery rosette. His finger was going right up her ass!
CHAPTER SIX
Ella stiffened, not knowing what to do. She had never had anything like this ever happen to her before. What was she supposed to do? Was it going to be fun? She remembered her resolve of a moment ago to try everything at least once before she died. But a finger up her ass?
Before she had learned how to eat properly Ella had been troubled by occasional constipation. She remembered the not uncomfortable sensation of a tiny greased cannula slipping up her anus, the sudden fullness of warm soapy water, the feeling of blessed emptiness when it all came gushing back out. She had always been slightly mystified and ashamed of the erotic overtones of this homely process.
Now she realized that this almost beardless youth knew something she didn't-that in love and war all's fair and in an erotic wrestling match no holds are barred. Her hands went down to caress that burning-eared head between her thighs. His finger drove deeper up her asshole and began a gentle augering twisting, the tip of his finger slightly crooked. He began wriggling his finger as if he were beckoning.
And he was beckoning, Ella suddenly realized, calling the come from her with that finger that twisted and squirmed and did all sorts of things to her that old Fred's prick had never been able to do. It was as if his hard-on had a hinge in the middle that enabled it to go in all sorts of delightfully unexpected directions.
She was so overwhelmed with new sensations that she couldn't find time to decide whether she liked them or not. Must be liking them, Ella guessed. Otherwise, why was she twisting and moaning and crooning her joy as she caressed that hot-eared head between her legs?
The boy seemed to be getting his jollies too. Licking indefatigably, he preserved the vital connection between his mouth and her seething cunt, running his tireless tongue in and out her vagina, up one sensitive inner hp and down the other, stopping only to tickle her thrumming clit with his marvelously supple instrument.
Ella had been moaning and keening uncontrollably. Now the boy began doing it. She thought he was descending into an uncontrollable paroxysm of joy just as she was, then she realized there was method in his frenzy. Lips fastened tightly over her lower lips, the boy was humming.
Ella felt like screaming. She wanted to shriek and yodel and wave her legs in the air and buck and hump and throw this lovely boy every way but off. Never had she experienced such sheer erotic delight as the boy's mouth was giving her as he hummed, vibrating his tongue and lips in a ceaseless Bronx cheer that was making her belly roll and twist as every organ of sexuality in her thrumming body reacted to this joyous buzz that felt so wonderfully wondrously gooooood!
"Aaaaaaahhhh!" Ella wailed.
"Hummmmmmm," the boy replied.
Suddenly Ella was giggling uncontrollably. It felt so good and yet it was all so ridiculous. Here she was a woman approaching middle age and what was she doing? Letting a boy young enough to be her son do things no son ought ever to do to his mother. It was weird. She had been mortified a moment ago to discover how little she knew herself-how totally out of control she was of her own body and her own desires. Now it was merely ridiculous. But if the boy wasn't bothered, why should she be?
After all, he was doing all the work. If this was his trip Ella was willing to go along with it. She wasn't having to do anything. Not that she didn't feel sure that sooner or later, now that she had achieved liberation, there would come a day when she would have to try-anything.
She caught herself wondering how many kinky things she had never even heard of or imagined-what could she do for this wonderful boy to repay him for the colossal comefest he was provoking inside her seething belly? Oooooohhhh Jesus! She felt herself twisting up into knots again, getting set to unwind with a magnificent whirrr like the rubber band in some kid's toy airplane.
There was a sudden thrashing and she thought for a moment that the boy had let his imagination get away from him, that he was coming or struggling not to come in the air. Then she realized he was coming up out of her secret slit to peer over the back of the seat at the dials. She tuned her ear to the rumbling diesel and could hear nothing funny. A moment later the boy bent back down over her. He had captured a tank top shirt from the jumble of clothes in the front seat. Carefully wiping the juices of her uncontrollable joy from his face, he passed the fabric through her crotch. The sudden dry roughness of a shirt passing through her gaping snatch was like a cold shower, stopping her incipient orgasm in mid spasm.
Ella supposed she ought to be annoyed but she wasn't She had come so many times already that it was a relief not to go through that gut-wrenching spasm of joy again-for a moment at least. She smiled tremulously up at the boy who still knelt at the foot of the bunk, his flexed knees between hers. What was he going to do now? Abruptly, Ella realized that the time must have come for her to pay her dues.
The boy knelt between her knees, body erect, cock even more erect as she got her first uninterrupted look at it. He was a lovely, smooth-bodied, hard-muscled boy and he had a lovely cock, long, elegantly slim, with a round purple head peeping angrily from the tip of his heavy veined, tight-stretched foreskin. Beneath it his masculinity rested snug in a ringleted pouch barely visible behind the tremendous thumping urgency of that lovely cock.
Does he want me to kiss it, suck it, she wondered. The boy poised between her knees, a beatific smile on his face. There was a slight absent-minded look to him, and then she realized he had come up not just for air but also to reassure himself that the cunt he had been so busily licking actually did belong to a body as superbly proportioned and unblemished as Ella's, with a pair of totally non-sagging tits that could provoke visions of heaven in the heart of a monk.
Ella lay supine in the narrow bunk, wondering what next. Her question was answered when the boy began moving slowly up between her legs. Instead of bending over her and half flattening her the way old Fred used to every time he stuck it in, this boy's body remained as erect as his cock. It took her a while to realize that he didn't want to waste the view of her lovely body even long enough to Suddenly she felt the rock-hard, throbbing hotness of his cocktip hovering near the gaping readiness of her pussy only just wiped dry of the juices of love fulfilled. Then she felt the actual hard maleness thumping and throbbing in time to the boy's heartbeat.
Still kneeling with body erect between her thighs, he remained as still as a Buddha, resting the tip of his cock in her secret slit. Suddenly Ella's whole body, every nerve and organ of sensitivity concentrated on that tenuous connection between their thrumming bodies, his cocktip barely touching the sensitive inner surface of her labia. When was he going to put it in?
She waited and nothing happened. The boy was throbbing and thumping but she suspected he was in no real danger of coming. Not unless he could come a lot less huffing-puffingly than old Fred ever had. She lay flat on her back, knees flexed, waiting for this lovely statuesque boy to move, to put it-to do something!
And still the boy did nothing, merely posed there, body erect, where he could survey the full length of her unveiled body while resting the tip of his tool where it barely touched her eager pussy. Ella wanted to scream. She wanted to grab him, pull him down onto her and kiss him, wrap her legs around his hard-muscled ass and pull him in deep, deeper, faster, harder!
And still the boy did not move. What was she supposed to do? It would never do to show her impatience, Ella knew. She had to let the boy believe he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Nothing could be allowed to destroy his confidence. She couldn't betray her impatience. She couldn't do anything except wait here and smile and pray that sooner or later his royal highness would deign to put the royal cock into her ready receptacle. Ella suppressed a sigh.
There was a tiny movement, almost a sob as her body adjusted its breathing and the movement was transmitted to her belly, to her bereft cunt.
The movement made her lips move slightly as they contracted around the boy's cocktip. It was enough to get him off dead center. Still erect as his cock, the boy began oozing forward, slowly driving his dong into her waiting pussy.
She felt her lips part to receive the prodigious prod the boy was putting into her. It felt so good she wanted to kick, squeal, wave her long perfect legs wildly in the air before wrapping her ankles in a loving scissors around his ass to pull him in faster, deeper.
She managed to restrain herself, terrified at the thought that even now he could be put off his stride. What would she do if he were to change his mind, pull it out, put his pants on and leave her high and dry? She shuddered and the movement seemed to inspire the boy. He began pushing it in faster.
She felt the great throbbing head of his cock pass slowly and steadily through her labia, begin its long slow passage in its maiden voyage up her vagina. And it felt so gooood! Slowly that great distended cockhead coursed up her pussy, stretching her to the edge of pain, but stretching her so delightfully that she knew suddenly this boy's cock was bigger, harder than old Fred's. It was only the second cock she had ever experienced in her life. But it was still the biggest and hardest she had ever known.
Slowly the boy kept pushing it in and abruptly she knew it was already in deeper than old Fred had ever managed to stuff his sausage into her. How much more did the boy have to give her? Wow! She felt it going into her deeper than she had ever realized a cock could go, touching places that had never been touched before. Still the boy knelt erect, not crouching over her where he would spoil the view.
It worked two ways, Ella realized. There would be time enough later to rub their bodies against one another, to mash her perfect forty-twos flat against the bony muscularity of his chest. I But for now it was much nicer to concentrate on one single sensation, the feel of that wonderful rod ramming into her slowly, surely, deeper than she had ever imagined possible. And still the boy was pushing more cock into her.
Ella's eyes widened, admiring the slim perfection of his body. How could such a slender boy have so much cock? It hadn't seemed all that much bigger than old Fred's when she had caught a fleeting glimpse of it. Was it still growing, getting harder and longer as he fed it into her? Or was it just that Ella had been empty for so long that anything male inside her emptiness would feel big?
The boy's eyes glistened as he memorized the smooth-skinned roundnesses of her body. For a woman of forty-two Ella guessed she was not doing too badly. The boy didn't seem disappointed. Ella exulted in the knowledge that she had no sags, no wrinkles or bulges that had to be concealed. Plenty of middle-aged women could manage to attract men's glances with their clothes on. How many could compete the way she was at the moment-not a stitch on, nothing to hide behind except a pair of pink cotton anklets she had forgotten.
If the boy realized he was putting his cock into a woman old enough to be his mother he gave no sign of repugnance or disappointment. He still poised erect, looking down on her superb forty-twos, admiring the smooth contours of midriff and waist, the burgeoning of ass and thigh.
To the contrary, the boy seemed to be savoring this moment, drawing it out as long as was humanly possible. Ella realized to her surprise that it must already be more than a minute since the boy had begun stuffing his prodigious prod into her and-she raised her head slightly to sneak a glance and was suddenly terrified. My god, she thought He's in deeper by far than good old Fred ever got into me and he doesn't even have it halfway in yet!
She wondered when it was going to start hurting. Would he stop when she began screaming? Or would he nail her to the mattress of this narrow bunk, drive his spike clear through her as he got into the spirit of the game. Was a friendly fuck going to end up a case of rape?
Good god, she thought is the boy a freak? Are other men this big? If only she knew. Had old Fred been the freak? Maybe her dead husband had been abnormally small. But he bad managed to keep her happy as well as another wife on the other end of the line. She remembered one of Fred's favorite sayings: "It ain't how much you got it's knowin' how to use it" She realized for the first time that Fred must have been speaking from personal experience.
How big had her husband been? She spread the fingers of her hand mentally, trying with her mind's eye to remember if Fred's hammer in fighting trim had been longer or shorter than the six-inch span of her outspread fingers. A little shorter, she guessed. But if Fred's hard-on had measured something under six inches this slim unbelievable boy must have somewhere between seven and eight-maybe more.
He was into her so deep now that she was feeling discomfort, wondering how much more her cunt could stretch before she had to wince and ask him to please stop it.
What could she do? If the boy couldn't get it all the way in he wasn't going to be happy. Self-preservation from insanity required that she keep this boy happy if he was going to make her happy. She had to take it.
The boy smiled slightly. Body still erect he kept right on pushing it into her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ella teetered between ecstasy and agony. It felt so good but she knew she had never had this much in her before. How much more could she take? She tried to smile at the boy but he was frowning with concentration now. She wondered if he was sensing bottom, perhaps wondering, too, if he would be able to get it into her all the way.
He had slowed down. At first she thought he had stopped, then she sensed that slowly, much slower even than before, the boy was still cautiously feeding his meat into her. She realized that if the boy was an unknown quantity for her, she was equally strange for him. She remembered the first disastrous attempts to fuck with her husband-when she had been a virgin and possessed of a wealth of misinformation surpassed only by old Fred's, for by now she had guessed that when she married him, old Fred had been as much of a virgin as she had. God, what a disaster that first night had been!
But to hell with agonizing memories. Old Fred was dead and so was the past. The present was now and this boy was giving her the loveliest present she had ever received. She wanted to be properly grateful. She tried to smile. Encouraged, the boy began feeding his cock into her a little faster. Now, she guessed, he was shoving it into her about as fast as an hour hand. But when would he hit bottom? She wanted to look and see how much he had left, but to move might force it into her faster and deeper, and Ella didn't know if she was built to take it.
Damn! Eighteen years of fucking and she had never once been curious enough to find out exactly how much she could take. She knew now she could have stuffed a cannula, a candle, a banana-any damned thing up her twat and maneuvered it carefully and measured her capacity. But why? She had thought Fred was the most wonderful man alive and he had always had enough to keep her gasping and happy. Now she was going to pay for her lack of curiosity. Why hadn't she done something smart like measure this boy's banger before he stuck it into her? She could have turned it into some kind of kooky game and the boy would never have realized what she was really up to.
Suddenly Ella felt herself turning inside out. It hurt It took her a second to realize what was happening. The boy's cock was not particularly thick but it was long-Jesus, was it ever long! It had gone into her willing receptacle so deep already that the dry sides of his cock shank had wiped all of love's elixir from the lips of her turned-on pussy. Dry lips now wrapped around the dry shank of his cock effectively braking him to a halt. It must be hurting the boy almost as much as it was hurting her, Ella realized.
He stopped his incessant pushing and she gave a sigh of relief. The boy smiled in sympathy. He relaxed from his rigidly erect stance and lowered his chest over her perfect pectoral cones in accepted missionary position. They kissed momentarily, then he ducked down to begin licking her rock-hard nipples until she just knew they were going to explode.
Suddenly her attention was drawn from the boy's lovely lascivious nipple licking. This time she knew she was going to die. Jesus, how it hurt! Then the boy gave a little shove into her and the hurt stopped.
When he had bent over her his ass had retreated slightly and his dry-shanked cock was really turning her inside out, pulling her cunt right out of her body as it stuck, wrapped round the dry shank of the boy's endless tallywhacker. When he thrust a fraction of an inch back into her the unbearable tearing sensation ended.
Her grateful cunt gave a little spurt of love's elixir and suddenly the boy's cockshank was no longer dry. Smoothly, she felt it once more start to slide into her. It felt so gooooood!
Immediately the pain of a moment ago was forgotten as she came once more to the realization that here she was, forty-two years old and learning more about fucking in the last few minutes than she had ever dreamed of in the last eighteen years. The boy was still pouring it to her on his first stroke, still didn't even have it in all the way. She wondered how much more was going to slide into her before she felt the boy's hard-boned pelvic bone grind against her own bottom.
Still he poured it to her. Her mind had to be exaggerating, Ella knew. It seemed to her as if this hoy had put twice as much cock into her already as old Fred ever had. But it felt good. She was still waiting for the pain that would tell her the boy had hit bottom, that there was no more depth in her well of loneliness.
But instead of pain, now that the boy's cockshank was no longer dry she felt only a fullness, a fullness that was filling her with the joy that passeth all .understanding. Just to feel this wonderful hunk of masculinity inside her was beyond her fondest dreams. What would it be like once he had finished his first stroke, had satisfied himself that she could take it?
Could she? It felt nice now-wow, did it ever feel nice! But Ella wondered how nice it would feel once the boy got into the swing of things. How would it feel to have this prodigious prod ram-lamming into her at full tilt, stretching and poking her in all sorts of uninhibitedly wanton ways? Ella resolved that even if it killed her she was going to take it. She was going to do nothing to take away from this boy's pleasure. After the times his agile tongue had made her come she owed him something.
Owed ... what the hell was she talking about? "Lie on your back, close your eyes and think of England." She remembered that unconsciously hilarious bit of advice out of some Victorian novel in her grandmother's glass-fronted locked book case, the one she had learned to open with a nail file when she was ten, and for a couple of years thereafter, had reveled in tales of damsels betrayed by dashing officers of the Indian Army.
But nowadays people didn't owe anybody anything. If the boy had licked her pussy it was because he liked licking forty-two-year-old women's pussies as long as they had a set of matched forty-twos to adorn their middle-aged poitrines. And if Ella lay flat on her back in the suicide box of her truck it was not out of some sense of obligation or civic duty. If she was letting a beardless boy stick his cock into her it was not because she took pity on his need. It was because she took pity on her own flaming necessity.
She remembered how she had dreamed off again this morning, how Al had phoned her in the midst of another indescribable dream and how empty she had been, how she needed a man's cock. Somebody up there likes me, she decided, for her need had been fulfilled. Jesus how this boy was filling her full!
In the midst of this reverie Ella felt her ass rising to meet the boy's thrust. Before he could pull back she had forced her cunt up and around his hammer another half inch. She thought she could feel the first faint tickle of his crisp pubic hair gouging against her clit but she wasn't sure. The boy came back down with her as her ass settled back onto the mattress. He waited a moment until she was comfortable and then once more resumed his steady thrusting.
"Aaaaaahhhh!" Ella said.
The boy smiled but did not reply. Instead, he began pushing a little faster. Now he was atop her in classic missionary position, his hard-muscled chest brushing against the upthrust tips of her forty-twos, tickling her nipples and sending little tingles of delight through her. Ella smiled and gave a little lunge upward to meet his thrust.
Wham! The movement caught her unprepared. Ella gasped. The boy had finally ceased his slow-as-an-our-hand entry through the portals of her tunnel of love. It took her a moment to catch her breath and realize that he had known how close he was to bottom, that if he had not hurt her by now, his final silly millimeter of plunging was going to do her no lasting damage.
He had bottomed out holding his hard-muscled belly against the rounded softness of hers, grinding his bony pelvis against her mons veneris as his pubic bush mingled with the luxuriant ringlets of her nether triangle.
Ella gasped again, eyes wide not with pain but with surprise and fearful anticipation. The boy held tense, unmoving. After a moment Ella realized it had finally happened: the boy had it all the way in, he hadn't killed her, and that she was full of cock, fuller than she had ever been in her life. Now if she could just help the boy keep his magnificent hard-on long enough to learn what it felt like to keep that much cock sliding in and out, in and out....
She wanted to buck and yodel but even more she wanted that cock inside her all night, all day, forever. She lay tense, unmoving. The boy studied her anxiously. Finally Ella had the good sense to relax. The boy studied her. She managed a wan smile. The boy grinned and a moment later she felt his hard-muscled body relaxing too.
He lay atop her, supporting most of his weight on knees and elbows. Ella lay relaxed, reveling in the lovely feeling of fullness in her belly. It must be like this to feel pregnant, she guessed, for the boys cock was in her so deep, filling her so full that everything inside her was pushed one way or the other to make room for this monstrous invader. It felt so good she didn't care whether he ever got around to fucking. She just wanted to he here and feel a man on top of her, inside her, stretching her pussy, fining it full of the stuff dreams are made of.
It was hard for her to realize this was not a dream. It was so like all those empty, sweat-drenched, sheet-twisting nightmares that had spoiled her rest ever since she had known that old Fred would nevermore hump his hammer into her happy hole.
She squinted up through half-closed eyes to admire the boy, to make sure he was really there and that this was not just another dream. She caught the boy looking at her in exactly the same way. There was sudden and instant understanding between them. They laughed and Ella knew it was going to be all right For the first time since this improbable adventure had begun there was some real bond between them, apart from difference of sex. He was a boy; he had a cock to fill her cunt. But he was also a human being-probably as lonely and needful as she was. For the first time in her hour-long acquaintance she permitted herself to think ahead of the moment.
Would he rush back into his pants with a shamefaced gesture of farewell and be off on his way? Or would he want to hang around for seconds? If he wanted seconds Ella knew she could coax him into thirds-and fourths, and infinitum. What kind of cock and cock story could she cook up for the neighbors about this young bull come to live in her house?
Abruptly Ella realized she was putting the cart before the horse. The boy hadn't said anything about a permanent liaison. He hadn't said anything about anything. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, she reminded herself. Take whatever he gives gratefully, and when it's over thank him and say good-bye with no weeping or regrets. And meanwhile, let's fuck!
The boy still lay atop her, keeping most of his weight off her with knees and elbows. It must be tiring, she knew. She wondered if she dared invite him to relax and let his whole weight rest upon her. It would be a friendly gesture but it might also squash the breath out of her. He was a strong boy-hard. He might weigh more than he seemed to.
The boy came out of his trance and focused his eyes on her again. They kissed, swapping tongues with gay abandon until he came up for air a split second before Ella would have had to give up. She could feel his cock in here. She remembered how whenever old Fred had stopped a moment to rest during his hour-long fuckfests she had been oblivious of any thing inside her. Old Fred had made up in technique and action what he lacked in volume.
But this boy's banger was so big she could feel it even at rest, filling her to the teetering edge of pain and pleasure. She could feel her pussy seething, alternately contracting and relaxing as her cunt struggled mindlessly to draw this lovely hunk of man into her still deeper. The body, she realized, had a wisdom of its own quite apart and far older than anything she had learned in school.
He hunched his shoulders to kiss her jutting jugs, alternating rapidly from one to the other until finally he tired and lay with his ear over one throbbing nipple while he licked the other, playing an erotic game of "telephone." The slight shift of position had forced his cock to move slightly inside her overcrowded pussy and the movement had brought her out of her languor, turning her fires on full blast as her body demanded movement-demanded that this purple-headed invader do its thing and ram slam in and out, in and out deeper, harder, faster!
Ella moved her ass slightly, doing her best to coax a little friction from the cock that lay inside her. The boy gasped and for a moment she was afraid she had caught him at the wrong moment. It would be tragic if she had caught him at climax, if this tiny movement had pushed his young body over the edge of a chasm of orgasm to leave her stranded on the precipice.
She struggled to He still, not even breathe. The boy licked lazily at her nipple. She wanted to scream, to pound his ass with her heels and make this dawdling boy do something instead of just lie there. If he wasn't going to fuck her why couldn't he pull it out and go back to licking her pussy? It was better than nothing-better than this endless dawdling do-nothingness with her cunt full of-full of the biggest, hardest, loveliest bargepole she had ever seen, felt or imagined. What was wrong with her?
Ella knew what was wrong. She was not just full of cock. She was full of hope and anticipation. Would he ever get his mind on his business and start fucking?
She struggled not to explode and say angry things that could shrivel the most adamantine of hard-ons. Any woman had to be careful with her tongue. Tongues were not to be used for talking if a woman wanted to get fucked. Suddenly Ella realized what her tongue was to be used for. Should she do it now?
She was trying to make up her mind when the boy finally gave a happy, lazy sigh and stopped licking her nipple. He straightened, flexed his knees, and began slowly pulling his cock out of her.
Ella gasped.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Had the boy read her mind? Did he want her to do what he had done short moments ago? She steeled herself. If that was what it took that was what she would do. She hoped she could guess how to do it right. Was he going to take it all the way out? How could they position themselves in this narrow, highsided bunk that was as confining as a bathtub?
Slowly the boy pulled the endless length of his lance out of her, leaving Ella bereft and empty as she had awakened after one of those sheet-twisting dreams. She didn't know if she could stand it without crying. She remembered a moment ago how the boy had dawdled and she had been infuriated. She hadn't known when to let well enough alone. Now he was pulling it out and she wished-oh how she wished she had it back inside her again!
She felt the tremendous round thumping head sliding out of her vagina. It felt like a golf ball, she guessed. It was almost all the way out. She squeezed her eyes shut lest the boy see tears. Just at the crucial moment the boy stopped.
Once more she gasped. The head of his hammer hovered, barely parting her flushed lips, tantalizing her with its nearness. He feinted, giving little false starts as he moved a fraction of an inch in, then out, then in again until Ella was gritting her teeth with the effort not to scream. Just when she knew she was going to explode and say unlady-like things and pound his back with her fists and drum her heels on his ass, the boy finally stopped playing.
Wham! Without warning he had driven it full depth into her, traveling in a fraction bf a second the same route that had taken two and a half eternities for him to penetrate on his maiden voyage. Ella gasped and tried to contain her surprise. Her surprise rapidly turned into delight but before she could adjust to the status quo the boy was pulling his cock out of her, feinting again before once more-wham!
And once more he was pulling it out of her slowly, feinting until she wanted to scream, and then she wasn't quite sure what was happening until suddenly she realized the boy had it halfway into her again, and this time he had stopped with the wham-bam bit.
Slowly, the boy settled down to give her a workman-like job of hosing, lancing her with the same single-minded attention to detail that had made eighteen years with old Fred so soul satisfying. Ella felt herself starting to relax as she realized that it was finally happening, that this boy had stopped with all the kooky buildups, the fiddling around, that he was finally going to fuck her the way god intended women to be fucked.
He was pouring it to her slowly, steadily, his lean, hard-muscled ass rising and falling with the steadiness of a metronome. Each time he pulled out as far as he dared the boy hesitated for a moment, the round bluntness of his slick cockhead barely inside her labia. He held for a moment, then began a slow, steady plunge back down the tunnel of love, driving deep. It seemed to Ella that she was getting poked miles deeper than ever before in her life.
Each time the boy's stroke bottomed out he held for a moment, grinding his pubis against hers until their ringlets mingled inseparably, grinding against her stiaining ass until his long elegant cock poked and probed her, churning her insides into a passionate pudding as he stretched her pussy into indescribable shapes, always coming at her from some new direction that filled her with unexpected joy and made her want to howl and shriek. Each time his cock moved again it filled her with a new sensation as her insides churned and gurgled in an effort to make room for this restless invader that poked and pried and probed and pulled out. Then once more it came back in for a new round of delicious torment before pulling out, back in, out, in until Ella knew she had lost count, lost control, lost her dignity-lost everything except the will to feel this lovely cock do it again deeper, harder, faster, MORE!
She felt her insides twisting, as if each nerve in her passion-flushed body had come unravelled, was twisting up again in the wrong direction, as if she were a model airplane and some destructive little boy were winding her up too tight, that soon that rubber band inside her belly would break and let go with one magnificent whumping whirrr that would destroy her, but who cared?
If this was destruction, what a way to go! Ella knew she was going to die. No woman could take this kind of joy much longer. It was hell but it was such a heavenly hell. She could feel her belly twisting, tightening, knotting until the tension was unbearable. She knew her heart was going to give out. No fortytwo year-old body could stand this torment. It was too much. Suddenly she was reminded of an old Provencal proverb: May the Lord protect thee from the wolf-and from thy heart's desire.
She wondered what wise old peasant had worked that one out. Had he-or she-been fucked to within an inch of sanity? It was killing her. She knew that now but it was too late. She knew nothing would stop the boy until he had reached his climax. And the boy was in perfect control she suddenly realized with a little shock. He was not speeding up or humping uncontrollably. The boy was laboring carefully, churning her into a pink-frothed passion. He was turned on, enjoying himself surely, but it was not the jackrabbit thumping that a boy of this age ought to be giving her.
She remembered how she had worried over his ability to satisfy her. Old Fred had always talked about jackrabbit boys. Old Fred, she suddenly realized, had been full of shit. This boy was plunging his rod into her slowly, steadily, as indefatigably as an oil pumping rig out on the Texas plains she had once crossed with Fred. This boy's hard-on was still undiminished. He was still pouring it to her, bottoming out each 's troke, grinding his cock around inside her to stretch and probe from unexpected angles.
And he was not, she realized, indulging in any of the little tricks old Fred had used to keep himself from coming too soon. There were no rests, no holds at the bottom of the stroke, nothing but good old-fashioned fucking for an old-fashioned girl.
She wished it could go on forever but it couldn't. Nothing lasts forever-not even hell. But it wasn't the boy who was playing out. It was Ella. She could feel his ramrod pouring itself tirelessly into her. Damn! Here she had gone and stuffed herself on the appetizers, never realizing what kind of feast the boy had been holding out for the main course of their love feast. He was still hot to trot and Ella had already come-how many times?
She didn't know. All she knew was that she was coming again, repeatedly, explosively, with a virulence that was tearing her apart. Every nerve and muscle inside her suddenly relaxed, unraveled, twisted up in the opposite direction, relaxed again and suddenly she was flowing, leaking love's elixir from every orifice as her body rebelled and surrendered to the rites of love.
She felt her body relaxing, tensing, relaxing again as great glorious rockets of pink-flushed passion shot up her spine to carom about her empty braincase. She felt the boy's cock suddenly sliding faster, effortlessly in her flowing, brimming pussy. Then suddenly the whole truck was spinning counter-clockwise and Ella felt herself falling backward into a dark, deep and bottomless pit. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could sense a slight change in the rhythm of the idling diesel. She wondered if something was wrong. But mostly she wondered if she was really dying.
When she awoke she lay on her back alone in the suicide box. The boy had tossed a blanket over her come-smeared body. She was grateful for this afterthought She gave a wry laugh at her thoughts of some kind of a permanent liaison-as if a boy that age would tie himself down with a woman old enough to be his mother! She was lucky he had hung around long enough to toss a blanket over her-now that he had gotten what he wanted out of her body.
She wondered where he was now. It was better this way, she realized. Somehow they had to part There was no possible way a forty-two-year-old widow could hang onto a boy barely old enough to shave. There was no other way to part except like this, for Ella knew that when the moment came to say farewell to that lovely boy and that lovely cock, she would be no more able to control her tears than she had been able to control her brimming cunt when that lovely cock had coaxed the come from her. The boy had known it too. He had saved them both embarrassment by quietly getting out of her life before she had time to make a fool of herself begging.
The diesel engine's sound abruptly changed. Ella was suddenly wide awake. She flung the blanket aside and sat up, peering over the back of the seat and-son of a gun! The boy was there. He was driving. The rig was creeping down the snow-covered highway several gears too slow but the boy was holding it straight, doing a very respectable job of driving for this kind of a snowstorm.
She squinted into the wipers and saw red flashers ahead. Ella was about to yell at the boy to stop when abruptly she realized the flashers were on a snowplow and the boy must have been creeping behind it for miles.
What the hell? He wasn't making any time but it beat sitting around a roadside rest doing nothing. Sooner or later this storm would peter out-why did she have to think of it in those terms? Sooner or later this storm would play out and they could coast down into the valley and start balling the jack. With luck she could even make up for lost time.
The boy glanced up from the road and saw her in the inside mirror. He grinned and went back to his driving. For miles. Abruptly Ella wondered what had happened. When she had picked the boy up it had still been early morning. It couldn't have been noon yet when the boy had finished-suddenly she wondered if he had even finished. What had happened? She had fainted. The last she remembered the boy had still been going strong.
And here she'd been wondering and worrying about the boy leaving her high and dry! It was dark outside. How many hours had she slept? How long had the boy been grinding along behind this snow plow, pushing her rig down the highway with his lovely lance still at the ready?
She looked around her in some confusion and discovered the boy had put a blanket over her naked body, then piled her clothes neatly in one comer of the suicide box. She began dressing, wishing vainly for the luxury of a hot bath. Once she had donned bra and panties and crawled into her ski jacket and pants Ella found a comb and sat facing the mirror on the wall at the foot of the bunk. Despairingly, she snuggled to do something with her pinkish blond hair.
Finally she had combed the worst of the snarls out of it. She climbed over the back of the seat and sat beside the boy. Oil pressure, water temperature, charge condition, air pressure-all the gauges were reading properly. She glanced at the tach and, though the boy was creeping along behind a snow plow, doing not over fifteen miles an hour, he had shifted down and the diesel was not lugging. She glanced out her window and back at the dash.
The mirror heater switch was not on. She flipped it and waited for the fog to clear away. When she could see a moment later the road behind them was clear. The boy deserved an "E" for effort, she guessed, but actually they were not making any time. Within hours this snow would melt off and they could pound down the highway at full speed and not wear out eyes and asses following snow plows. She put her mouth to the boy's ear to ask how long he had been driving and the boy misunderstood the gesture. Giving the road a final check, he turned briefly, kissed her, and went back to his driving.
Ella felt like crying. The gesture was so perfect, so reassuring after all her doubts and fears. She put her mouth to his ear again and, resisting the temptation to stick her tongue in, asked, "How long've you been at it?"
The boy shrugged and raised four fingers with a "maybe" gesture. It was enough, especially in this weather. Ella climbed back into the suicide box and oozed over to the left side. She tapped the boy on the shoulder and he scooted over to the right, still steering and holding the accelerator down with his left foot. Smoothly, Ella dropped down into the driver's seat and took over.
The boy gave a grateful smile and slumped over in the right hand corner of the cab. He had put on his Levi's but was still bare-chested. She pointed at the bunk in the suicide box but the boy shook his head.
She shrugged and concentrated on holding the rig straight in the narrow lane plowed out by the machine with the flashing red lights in front of them. After a few moments she realized it was no longer snowing. There was a foot of sticky wet snow on the road but the soggy mass that continually spattered the windshield was coming from the snowplow. She determined to get off the road at the first opportunity-rest stop or whatever. Damn, how she wanted a bath.
She wondered if the boy was feeling as grubby as she was. It was almost enough to turn a person off fucking forever. Almost, she guessed. But from the corner of her eye she caught a vision of that lean hard body just beginning its first fuzz of beard and mustache. How could she ever be turned off of that?
He was such a lovely boy. She knew she could not have him forever but she wanted to make the most of what little time he was available. She remembered Al's solicitude in getting her this run. He wouldn't really care how long it took her to deliver. She could take a day or two off in a motel and ... she felt her mind wander from the dullness of creeping behind a snow plow, floating away in a pink-frothed vision of all the wonderful things she and this lovely boy could do in a motel room once they'd had a long hot bath.
Then suddenly her daydream came back down to earth, pulled back down by a hot hand on her leg.
CHAPTER NINE
Ella was reminded of the first time the boy had put his hand on her leg-to warn her that the shutters were iced and the engine overheating. She scanned the gauges frantically but this time nothing was wrong. The diesel racketed along smoothly at a fast idle, barely working as the truck lazed along the level highway behind the snow plow. This time the boy had his hand on her leg for other reasons.
Ella felt a wonderful warm glow of anticipation pass through her as she reflected on those reasons. He likes me, she exulted. Eighteen years of marriage had sheltered Ella from a great many of the world's experiences but she could extrapolate from her own needs to guess that men might often fuck women whom they despised-women they wouldn't look at again once the acute swelling between their legs had been reduced to manageable proportions.
But this boy had not disappeared anonymously into the night once he'd gotten his rocks off. He had stuck around and driven her truck and, though that might be put down to gratitude, Ella knew that it wasn't gratitude that made him scoot over toward her in the wide cab, put his hand on her ski pants-clad leg, fiddle with the waistband of her pants with his other hand when he could just as well be sleeping. Unless all the evidences were wrong, this boy wanted to fuck her again (or still-she didn't know if he had managed to come the first time). Either way, it made Ella very happy.
She supposed she ought to slap his hands away and pay attention to her driving but the snow plow was a hundred yards ahead and there was plenty of time to stop if it did. Meanwhile the truck was practically driving itself. Which left Ella sitting in the driver's seat, unable to take her hands off the wheel, but with practically nothing else to do except steer-and reflect on how nice it was to drive a truck while a boy managed to unfasten the waistband of her ski panties and get her zipper down. He helped her raise her ass until he got them down not far enough to interfere if she were to have to brake in a hurry, but still far enough down to discover that, in her haste to dress, Ella had not remembered to put on her yellow bikini panties.
The boy stretched out at full length on the wide seat, basking in the warmth of the heater. He lay on his right side, facing the rear, with his head pillowed on her lap. Gently, he moved his head about until one hot-as-a-branding-iron ear was pressing against her bare thigh. With his face only inches from the gentle bulge of her belly, he began blowing moist warm breath into the depth of her navel.
Ella felt that old magic begin all over again. She struggled to hold a steady foot on the accelerator but her legs wanted to fly up and capture that lovely boy's head and draw him into her crotch. She gritted her teeth and tried to hold still as the diesel racketed along behind the snow plow.
He moved his face a fraction of an inch closer to her bare belly and began darting his tongue out, barely touching her but sending an electric tingle through her body with each contact, almost as if his tongue were one of those electric things the cattle jockeys used to encourage reluctant steers up into their rigs. It felt so good Ella had trouble concentrating on the simple task of keeping the rig centered in the lane cleared by the snow plow.
She was just getting used to the feel of that lovely head in her lap, that tongue licking her and that warm breath blowing into her navel when abruptly the boy jerked as if somebody had poked him with a cattle prod. There was a clunk audible over the racketing diesel and something heavy rolled off the seat and down onto the floor of the cab.
From the corner of her eye Ella saw it was the tire club which, for those who have not spent their lives driving big rigs, can be a hammer or practically anything heavy, but since drivers on their own in the boondocks occasionally have need to club things other than tires, is often a policeman's billy. Machine turned from white ash, it was an, inch and a half thick, something over a foot long, and had a rim at the end of the handle like a baseball bat.
She guessed she must have not gotten it properly in the holder the last time she thumped tires to make sure they had enough air, for the club had fallen out and thumped this boy on his marvelously lean, hard-muscled ass before rolling down to the floor of the cab. The boy picked it up and began playing idly with the piece of wood. With his head still pillowed in her bare lap, he lay the wood on her bare thigh.
Ella braced herself, expecting something cold, but the club's holder was in the path of the heater blast and the wood was hot. She had a sudden horrible thought. She kept her face straight, trying not to betray what she was thinking. She kept her eyes on the road.
But one of the strongest evidences for telepathy is the way a person near and dear can often devise the most sensual torment, seemingly reading one's mind to find out exactly what it is that one most dreads. The boy, Ella suddenly knew with a quivery certainty, was reading hers..
She saw him studying the turned handle of the club with its series of rings and the flaring flange on the end. It was too big to go into any woman-large enough to distress a small cow, Ella knew. But she also knew exactly what this boy with his head in her bare lap was planning on doing.
If he tries it, she decided, I'll give him a karate chop on the back of that lovely neck But the boy wasn't doing what she feared. Instead, he lay with his head in her lap caressing her ass, running warm hands up and down her thighs, rubbing the club's warm wood against her. Abruptly Ella recognized a gesture. She remembered from childhood days on the ranch when her father and brothers had broken horses-how first they would take the saddle and rub it all over the skittish beast until he became accustomed to the strange shape and smell. What was this nameless boy doing, rubbing that billy club all over her ass? Why was he poking its warm flanged end up her ski jacket, between her jutting forty-twos?
I won't do it, she told herself. I won't stand for any of that kind of funny business! Yet even as she said it some tiny devil's advocate corner of her mind was asking, would it hurt? What would it feel like to have to sit here driving this truck, unable to defend herself while this lovely boy-?
This lovely boy had his hand clear into her crotch now, caressing her ass and making it difficult to keep her mind on driving. His other hand was exploring the startling slopes of her forty-twos, snaking up between the fabric of her ski jacket and her quivery skin. Ella tried not to giggle. She wanted to keep her mind on her business. Now was not the time for fun and games. There would be time for that once they got off the road and could settle down after a good meal and a hot bath.
She checked the snow plow lights ahead of her again. Everything ok. She took a hand from the wheel and rummaged by feel through the map rack until she found a truck stop guide put out by one of the oil companies. It was a small phone directory-sized book with a list of the services available in each place with a parking lot large enough for trucks, plus a map and directions to each. She tossed it to the boy.
The boy took it, nodded, but did not take his head from her lap. Still licking her belly, blowing into her navel, he did not interrupt his caressing of her whole thrumming body with the flanged handle of that overheated tire club. Ella gritted her teeth and tried to pay attention to her driving.
She considered the simian cousinship that exists with mankind-that insatiable curiosity which cannot let well enough alone, but must go on playing with fire until eventually the fire becomes fission and fusion and her ass was fizzing and futzing, and she knew she had no business letting him even think about such things. But that damnable irresistible boy was rubbing her and squeezing her and licking her and blowing his warm breath on her and he was hinting with the end of that club. As long as she was driving there was no possible way he could get his own thing into her, but she wondered if he would get a real charge out of Would she? Ella had heard and read about things like that. She had seen pictures of wonderfully life-like rubber things that screwed onto the end of an electric vibrator whereupon the whole business screwed into the receptacle of some female who didn't happen to have a man handy at the moment.
She remembered her resolve to try everything at least once before she died. But surely not this! This was the kind of thing people made jokes about lonely old maids and candles or bananas or sausages or whatever....
But lonely old maids didn't have a lovely, hard-muscled boy to do it for them. What would it feel like? It was too big. The boy's cock had been longer than she had ever experienced but his wand was elegantly slim, with only a golfball-sized knob at its tip. More importantly, it had been attached to a living, breathing boy with nerves and feelings of his own, capable of sensing when he was going in too deep or too fast. She remembered how careful the boy had been not to hurt her.
Could this be the same boy who was rubbing her body, playing with tits and belly, tickling and rubbing her to the ragged edge of a chasm of orgasm and all the time hinting at unspeakable things with that piece of smooth-varnished white ash with the tremendous flange on the end to keep it from slipping out of her hands when she thumped tires?
There was no other boy resting his burning ear on her bare thigh, sticking his tongue into the delicious depth of her navel so Ella guessed this had to be the boy.
Boy oh boy, was he ever the boy! She remembered the feel of that lovely long slim cock coursing in and out of her, churning her deprived depths into a passionate pudding. This was the boy!
He was running the hot club between her thighs, bumping gently against the -haired contours of her pouting nether lips. Ella felt a tiny trickle of the juice of desire flow from somewhere deep inside her. Damn, she thought. Turned on by a goddam stick of wood!
But it wasn't the tire club, she knew, that was doing this to her. It was the lovely horny boy who held it-unable to get his cock safely into her as long as she drove, willing to try anything. Surely he wasn't getting that much of a turn-on from all this. He must be doing it for her. Ella put her arm out blindly, steering the straight stretch of road with one hand while she caressed the boy's slim nakedness with the other.
Not taking her eyes off the road, she memorized the feel of his muscular chest, his slim waist, flat, hard-muscled ass. She found his pubic patch and the boy's legs spread to allow her easy access into his treasure trove. She captured the boy's cock and gave it an affectionate squeeze. The boy had a full erection.
Remembering how seldom she had ever handled old Fred's cock, Ella fondled the boy's with tender loving care. The boy paid her back in kind, his free hand doing marvelously educated things around the furry lips of her seething cunt, detouring occasionally to tap out an erotogram on the twittering rosette of her anus. And all the time the club never left his other hand.
He rubbed its ring-turned handle against her sides, slid it gently between her tits, made the tender inner surface of her thighs tingle with the knowledge of something dreadful-perhaps delightful to come.
He pushed the blunt end of the handle against the twittery rosette of her asshole, twisting slightly until she didn't know whether to squeal, giggle, or hit him. He was such a lovely boy that no matter what he might do to her Ella knew she would never be able to stay mad at him.
Momentarily his hands abandoned their other pursuits and slipped up the front of her ski jacket to cup the full bottoms of her perfect pectoral cones-a living, throbbing feeling bra to remind her of all the lovely things those hands had done to her-were going to do to her again-and again, she hoped.
If only there were some break in this miserable road. She peered through the side windows. The mirror heaters were doing their thing now and she could see they were alone-nobody else venturesome or eager enough to get out of a nice warm truck stop and creep along behind a snow plow. She studied the thrown-up embankments of wet snow and guessed the fall was not over a foot or so. On the level this rig could make it through a foot of wet snow without problems. She could probably outrun the snow plow if she wanted to get out and push it but Ella didn't. She didn't want to drive a truck at all. She wanted to fuck!
She tried to ignore all the lovely things the boy was doing to her with his hands, with his mouth, with that goddam super-heated tire club. She squinted into the snow spray the plow was throwing up, trying to find some way to get off the road. She wanted a hot bath and a change of clothes but hell, she was willing to settle for another roadside rest-any kind of a turnout where she could park the rig and climb over into the high-sided suicide box bunk and pull this lovely infuriating boy over on top of her. Once she got him there Ella resolved to find out where his secret triggers were. This boy was caressing, petting, squeezing and tickling her to within an inch of insanity. Just wait until she had her hands free. Ella determined she was going to coax one round out of his cannon before he got it into her even if it was a dreadful waste of hard young cock. There were limits. This boy was doing too many things for her to let him get away with it. She was going to pay him back, tease him to within a giggling, fluttering, heart-palpitating inch of his life. Damn him and his wonderful hands!
Then as she gritted her teeth and concentrated on her driving and looked for the turnout that never appeared, turnout so I can turn-on-as if I weren't already turned on so far I'm almost ready to come. Suddenly Ella felt that living bra stop caressing and kneading her firm forty-twos. The hands slipped down around her waist, caressed her belly and thighs and then that damned tire club handle was pushing at her again. This time it wasn't poking against the twittery rosette of her ass. This time that club-damn the boy! He'd left it lying in the full blast of the heater again. It was so hot it was almost burning her. He was poking the tremendous flanged handle right at the lips of her pussy. With his other hand he was parting those hairy vulva lips.
Ella gritted her teeth and kept her eyes on the road.
CHAPTER TEN
Nothing happened. No turnout appeared. The boy's mouth was no longer licking or blowing. His hands no longer caressed her. Not even the damned tire club was doing what she had expected it to do. She sneaked a glance and the boy had turned around face up and still pillowing his long-haired head on her naked lap. He was thumbing through the truck stop directory she had given him.
Now he thinks of it! Ella struggled to suppress her rage. Of all the goddam times to stop! Why couldn't he have looked up the next decent stop when she gave him the book instead of getting her all hot to trot and then...? She resolved that sooner or later she would extract vengeance from this feckless youth. Boys will be boys and all that but if a woman wanted any kind of satisfaction out of a boy she had to teach him a little discipline.
She managed to control her face and concentrate on her driving. Finally the boy was through thumbing the directory. He held it open, stretching his arms skyward behind the steering wheel like some praying pagan. She squinted and read:
"24 hour service,
Air cond. restaurant,
Air cond. sleeping facilities,
Motel,
Trucker's store,
Road and tire service,
Mechanical service,
Western Unio,
Metered pumps,
Drivers lounge-showers
Laundromat
Truck & trailer lube
Truck Washing."
It was about average as truck stops went, Ella guessed. Old Fred had told her there was one on an eastern highway that had topless waitresses. The important thing about this one was it was only another twenty miles down the highway. Then, thinking it over, Ella realized there was something else even more important about the next truck stop.
She remembered some of those "air conditioned sleeping facilities" of eighteen years ago when she had made a few runs with Fred. They were clean and comfortable enough. But they were for men and there was no more privacy in barracks or shower than in any army establishment. She went over this list again and saw that some concessions had been made in the last eighteen years. More women were driving now and more husband and wife teams were driving. The operative word was Motel.
Which meant privacy and hot baths and all the lovely things that can happen in a motel room when two willing people have just had a hot bath.
Then abruptly Ella was brought back to the present when she still sat in a driver's seat with her ski pants pulled down and her jacket pushed up and a long-haired boy's head still on her lap. He had put the book down now and turned his face back to her bare belly, and he was running one hot little hand over her and driving her up the wall. But where was his other hand?
Suddenly she discovered where his other hand was. She had thought for a moment that the boy had for gotten his crazy game with the tire club, but his hand was right back there, firmly gripping the shank and pushing the flanged handle at her unwilling cunt.
Feeling the sudden trickle of love's elixir between the gaping lips of her vulva, Ella knew she had been wrong. She, Ella, might be unwilling but her pussy was not. While the boy had been thumbing through the directory her body had obeyed an older law and gone right on preparing itself for what was to come. She might still be hesitant but her cunt was slicked up-waiting for whatever.
Whatever was harder than a petrified bagel, pushing at her pussy, that flanged and ribbed club handle already past the hairy portals of her pleasure box. She concentrated on the flashing red lights of the snow plow. Tried to concentrate, that is. Who could concentrate on driving with anything as big, as slick and hard, with a great big flange on the end? Who could concentrate on anything except the feel of something stiffer and harder than she had ever known being pushed steadily and unrelentingly up her gaping pussy?
She could feel it going in, stretching her as not even this wonderful boy's prodigious prod had stretched her. The boy's cock had been long but this was thick. She marveled at how her body had subconsciously prepared for this ordeal by secreting an extra quantity of love's lubrication. It was sliding deep, deep into her and it was not hurting!
It felt so good she wanted to let go of the wheel and kick her legs in the air and fall flat on her back and yodel and croon and giggle and take it in more, faster, deeper!
He was pushing it into her and meanwhile he was kissing her belly, licking her navel and caressing her ass and tits with his free hand.
Ella struggled not to giggle. She tried to keep the rig centered in the narrow lane cleared by the snow plow. The boy was still pushing. He must have it nearly halfway in now. She stole a glance from her driving and the ribbed handle of the club was almost invisible, buried inside the portals of her pleasure palace. And still the boy was pushing it into her. Four inches of slick, varnished white ash, with a tremendous flange at the end and rough ribbing to give a good grip on the club. The ribbing was gripping the walls of her pussy, rubbing, scraping almost to the threshold of pain, but it was turning her on far more than she wanted to admit to the wonderful smooth-skinned boy who was doing this to her.
Still he was pushing, forcing the makeshift dildo up her streaming cunt, turning her on more than she had ever imagined possible. She wondered why in all the lonely nights when old Fred was on the road-all the dreary solitude of widowhood-why had she never thought to alleviate her loneliness with a broom handle or some such substitute for the cock she had needed so badly?
Sheer ignorance, she guessed. But why was she doing it now when she had a lovely boy here with a flesh and blood cock? This was no way to fly. But, if she was going to sit here piloting this truck through a snow storm there was no other way. If she was going to hang onto the wheel and see where she was going the boy couldn't get cock into her. And if he were to drive she could never find a way to twist her body to spindle her cunt on that elegantly slim slammer while he drove.
Still the boy was pushing. She glanced down and the club handle was invisible. The piece of cord around the flange that joined handle to club was also being devoured by her insatiable pussy. She could feel the rough cord rasp her clit as the club drew it into her. She was suspended like Mohammed's coffin but, though the prophet hung between heaven and earth, Ella dangled halfway between delight and horror.
A billy club for Christ's sake! How could anything So crude turn her on this way? She was lucky she didn't carry a claw hammer to thump tires like lots of truckers did. She wondered what it would be like in her own house, in the solitude of her lonely bed to try this experiment. Surely it wouldn't be as nice if she were to do it herself. The turn-on came from the lovely boy who was kissing her belly, caressing her, licking her. She put out a hand blindly and captured his cock.
It was hard and throbbing. Almost as hard, she realized, as the makeshift dildo he was putting into her. She wished she had that lovely cock inside her. But she didn't. She had a great, grooved and flanged billy club handle sticking up her twat, and it seemed almost sinful to be getting so much pleasure from a piece of wood. How could the boy do this to her?
It was, she decided, degrading. And the only way to revenge herself was to do something very like it to the boy. But she had to keep her eyes on the road; at least one hand on the wheel of the creeping truck. Her other hand was already on the boy's knob-headed, elegantly long and slim muffin-stabber. She gave it a squeeze.
The only result was a tiny tremble of the hand that was pushing a piece of wood into her. She squeezed again. The wood went in farther. Ella sneaked a look down from her driving and not only was the handle out of sight; the cord around the club was also half lost inside her. She could feel it rasping her tight-stretched clit.
That sensitive organ was pulled out of shape, half wrapped around the varnished white ash that was invading her. The boy's capable hand was tapping it, caressing it, rubbing it, wringing the last possible bit of erotic sensation from this homely procedure. Ella struggled to sort out her feelings.
Nothing this simple had any right to feel so good. The boy was filling her with joy that passeth all understanding-stretching her, abusing her, hurting her. But Ella had never hurt so nice before. Damn this infuriating boy! Where could a boy still not quite ready to shave ever have learned all these little tricks she had never learned in eighteen years of amatory experience?
She squeezed his cock again, harder this time. The boy gave a moan of supernal bliss and drove his face deeper into her bared belly, licking and kissing her creamy skin in a positive frenzy of lascivious delight. His hand came away from her clit and she sensed the warm supple soft wetness of his tongue laving that stretched-out-of-shape organ of super-sensitivity.
The boy's other hand was still occupied with something over a foot of machine-turned, smooth-varnished white ash. The club was in her so deep now and still the pain was more pleasure than she cared to admit. Ella wondered if she was bottomless like some mountain lake. Surely he couldn't go stuffing it to her forever. There had to be an end to even the nicest of sensations.
Then she realized the boy was no longer pushing it into her. He was starting to pull it out Ella didn't know whether to scream or kiss him. She grasped the wheel with her left hand, trying to concentrate on the flashing lights of the snow plow while she grasped the boy's cock with her right hand. She squeezed, caressed, ran her fist and his foreskin up and down over the rock-hard, throbbing knob on the end of the boy's joy stick.
The boy moaned and squirmed but he did not relax his grip on the tire club. Instead, he began moving it in and out of her, doing his best to imitate the motion of his cock sliding in and out of her secret slit.
It was, Ella realized, a very passable imitation. And oh Jesus, did it ever feel gooood! It felt so good she sensed her vision filming over until the flashing lights were blurred in a foam of pink passion.
She surrendered to her body's instincts. Degrading perhaps. Delightful, positively. She didn't care what the boy was doing to her or what he was doing it with. Nothing that felt this unbearably good could be all bad. Struggling to keep the truck in the narrow snow-free lane, she squeezed the boy's cock, massaged it, caressed it, milked it.
She got a teasing finger behind his throbbing thumper to toy with the well-furred skin of his scrotum. She felt his balls squirm with sudden delight and the boy's pelvis began unconsciously lunging forward toward her educated hand.
He was ramming the club in and out of her with a gradually accelerating rhythm, its knurled handgrip was pulling the lining of her vagina, stretching her into delightfully new and' different directions. Each time the club came partway out all those grooves and that tremendous flange strove to turn her pink-flushed vagina inside out. And each time her vagina everted the boy's agile tongue caressed places no tongue had ever gone before. He was licking her pussy, running his tongue in loving, lascivious circles around the tight-stretched, super-sensitized marble-hard lump that was her clitoris.
Just as she was giving up, unable to withstand the onslaught of so many sensual stimuli, Ella's attention was momentarily diverted by a sign. It was nearly invisible in the froth of snow and slush being churned up by the snow plow. She squinted, trying to read it and finally managed to in the split second before she passed it. The sign said: "TRUCK STOP 3 MI."
Just in time she got her eyes back on the road and corrected an incipient wander. It took both hands and then she had an anxious ten seconds trying to find the boy's cock again. She found it once more and began her silent revenge for the indignities he was inflicting on her blissfully stretched blossom. The boy shivered, drove his face against her bare belly and moaned.
He was still ramming the tire club in and out of her, licking her everted pussy each time the flanged club strove to turn her inside out. She could feel the gathering storm in her passion-stuffed belly. This time the cataclysm was going to blow her mind-blow her head off if she didn't catch her breath and get things under control.
Ella gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the flashing fights. She tried to ignore the thing that was going in and out of her cunt, pushing all her insides this way and that to make room for this indecisive invader that couldn't make up its wooden mind whether to stay in or out. She tried not to think about the lovely boy who was licking her, whose free hand was running up under the front of her ski jacket to caress the fine firmness of her matched set of forty-twos.
As well try to ignore the lovely piece of masculinity she gripped in her hot little hand, she thought wryly. How could she pretend she was alone and just driving a truck in a storm when this lovely, smooth-skinned boy was doing everything humanly possible to transmute her willpower into joy juice, her brains into peanut butter with his kissing and licking and poking and caressing and....
Ella took refuge in mental calculations. She was going down this narrow, plowed-out lane at fifteen miles an hour. Multiplied by three miles, at four minutes to the mile, that meant in three minutes she ought to be sighting the turnoff for the truck stop. Sensing the gathering storm in her thrumming belly, Ella wondered if she could make it off the road into the truck stop's parking lot before she dissolved into a puddle of come.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Then with a sinking feeling Ella knew she had gotten her calculations wrong. Fifteen miles an hour meant it took four minutes to do a mile. Three miles meant twelve minutes.
Twelve minutes! Nothing. Unless you happened to be a well-endowed woman with normal appetites, driving a truck, and facing the prospect of twelve uninterrupted minutes of a lovely boy licking your pussy while pushing a makeshift dildo in and out to churn your secret parts into a prurient passionate pudding of lust.
Slowly, she sank down from a pink cloud of passion and realized she held a potent weapon in her right hand. She squeezed the boy's cock harder. The boy moaned and stiffened momentarily, then redoubled his efforts. It felt so good Ella almost let go of his cock, of the steering wheel-of reality. Barely in time she got herself under marginal control again. She stopped squeezing the boy's cock and began running her hand up and down it. She was no longer concerned with finesse-only with speed. She held his cock in a firm, one-handed grip, slid his tight-stretched foreskin up and down around the thrumming rigidity of his cockhead, whacking off with no more skill or grace than some twelve-year-old's first fumbling efforts at sensuality.
With each stroke the angry purple head of his hammer was exposed. The boy wanted to stop her but he couldn't. In sudden exultation Ella knew the shoe was now on the other foot. With Mosaic jurisprudence she was paying the boy back in kind, crudity for crudity. Now she had him literally where the short hairs grow. Ella was not about to let go. The boy was gasping and flopping like a freshly landed fish, struggling to resist the overwhelming assault on his sensuality. He didn't want to come in her hand-didn't want to waste his precious load when there were so many other potentially more delightful ways to lose it only two more miles down the road.
But now Ella had him fair caught. She had not resisted or slapped his hand away when he began playing his kooky games with her pussy. Now he couldn't pull her hand off his magnificent hammer without violating the unwritten rules of the game he had invented.
Ella squeezed. She milked, she caressed his squirming scrotum until his testicles rolled over with delight. She ran a gentle caressing finger up and down the soft, sensitive underside of his bare cockhead. She tapped his asshole suddenly as twittery as her own.
Forgotten now was the tire club still stuffed into her. The boy's hand had come off it as he grabbed her ample ass with both hands and buried his face in her belly, in her crotch, moaning and crooning his joy as he strove to get his tongue into as many places as possible in the moment before he would expire in blurting, hurting, spurting release from this blessed torment.
Ella steered with one hand, gasping with relief now that the boy had surrendered short of making her come while trying to keep this lazing rig under control. The boy was thrashing uncontrollably and she could feel the rock hardness of his ready-to-explode rod. Suddenly she realized what a waste it was. A woman could come twenty or even a hundred times per night but a man's ammunition was strictly limited. If she were to provoke an orgasm now, that would be one shot, and she would never receive in her target area where it counted. She abruptly let go of the boy's cock.
He grabbed her hand and tried to put it back on his cock, gasping and panting. Ella remained adamant, her will harder than the boy's prick. Finally the worst of the storm passed and the boy understood the wisdom of her action. He gave a long, shuddering sigh, pulled his foreskin back down over the swollen head of his unprotected cock. Then he snuggled into her lap again, kissed her belly, and once more put his hand on the end of the club.
Ella had forgotten all about it. She was astonished. How, she wondered, could a woman actually forget that she had something as big and hard and thick and long as that tire club sticking halfway into her?
She could certainly not forget it now-not with his hand busily working it in and out of her again, his tongue licking her tight-stretched clit, licking and kissing her vagina each time the pulled-out club tried to turn her inside out. She could feel her insides moving, twisting and gurgling as they moved aside to make room for this invader, then flowed back into place as the blunt, flanged club pulled almost out, pulling the lining of her vagina behind it.
She debated whether to grab the boy's cock again and make him stop it or ... But the crisis had passed for her, too, during the exultant moment when she had been on top and calling the shots while the boy writhed with uncontrollable passion. Now she had cooled to a safe level where she could enjoy-actually appreciate this white ash massage like some gourmet of the erotic arts. She glanced at the odometer and at her wristwatch. There must still be at least two miles to go. She might as well concentrate on driving the truck and let the boy concentrate on what he was very good at.
He licked her, kissed her belly, caressed hips, ass, tits, did everything he could do in this awkward position to turn the tables once more and reduce her to the uncontrollable state the boy had been in a moment ago. But Ella had managed to catch her sensual breath. Now it was Just fun. The jolliest kind of fun she could remember ever having experienced in eighteen years of fucking, but it was still something she could live with-not something that was going to tear her in two and blow her head off with the accumulated pressure of rising passion.
She caressed the boy's firm body, tickled his ear and the nape of his neck and concentrated on her driving while he boy concentrated on his licking. There were, Ella decided, far worse ways to kill time. She didn't mind if tie boy amused himself this way all night. It was such a lovely, gentle turn-on.
Then Just as she was settling down to a nice gentle session of eroticism the boy began poking that damned club into her just a silly millimeter deeper, a trifle faster, and soon Ella was riding the crest of the wave again, soaring dangerously close to the point of no return. Damn him! Such a lovely infuriating boy!
She gritted her teeth and clasped her legs tight to try to slow down that busy hand with the club. She squinted at the flashing lights and suddenly she was suffused with blind panic. The lights were no longer in front of her. They were off to the right tilting crazily-or was she tilting, leaving the road?
She slapped the boy's hands away and in his surprise he pulled the club out of her with an audible
"Thuck" like the cork leaving a champagne bottle. She could hear it clear over the clatter of the fast-idling diesel. But Ella was too busy fighting the wheel to worry about things like that. What had happened? Had she let her attention wander and lost control?
Very slowly she realized what had happened. It wasn't her rig that was veering and tilting. It was the snow plow heading into an off ramp. She spun the wheel and the rig followed. A moment later she followed the snow plow's flashing red lights into the lot of a truck stop. It was crowded with trucks sitting out the storm. As she pulled into a vacant spot between two trucks, Ella was suddenly reminded that her pants were down around her thighs and she had a naked boy on the seat beside her.
She gave silent thanks to the gods of love that there seemed to be nobody in the cab of either truck. Hastily she got her pants up. The boy was scrabbling around on the floor of the cab getting into his shirt and jacket. Once he was covered from the waist up he sat in the seat to pull on pants, socks and boots. She checked him over and the boy was presentable. Rumpled, but at least he didn't have cunt hairs in his teeth. She wondered what kind of a horror she would present to the world.
She had the feeling that no matter how many layers of clothes she put on it would be obvious to any man who looked at her that here walked a woman who only moments ago had had a tire club stuffed up her snatch. Christ! How had she let herself be abused that way?
Then abruptly she wondered if the boy was having second thoughts, too. She had been taking a lot for granted. She had been making all sorts of plans that revolved around a hot bath and a motel room. But was the boy a willing part of those plans? Maybe he was more interested in making distance than in fucking. Chances were, while she was out arranging for a room if this crowded truck stop still had one, the boy would be out hustling a ride in the first rig that planned on leaving here. She remembered how she had awakened once before to find him driving.
A tiny tendril of fear ran through her as she realized this eagerness to be on his way might have sinister connotations. What was the boy running away from? Was he going to stay or was he going to go? There was one way to find out, Ella guessed. She asked him.
The boy didn't seem to understand her question.
"It's a simple matter of money," Ella explained. "If I'm just going to wait out the storm I can get a shower and sleep in the rig. But if you'd like to stay with me and pick up where we left off I'll rent a room and we can have a bath and-"
"Yeaaaaaaaaahhhhh!" the boy enthused. Before she could stop him the boy was burrowing into the front of her hastily zipped ski jacket.
Ella suppressed a secret little smile and made him straighten up and fly right. "Time enough for that later," she said.
Now that they were no longer following a snow plow it didn't seem nearly so bad outside. Ella surveyed the wet snow. This far south it would melt off in a day or two. The roads would be plowed out in another few hours. She remembered abruptly that she had not breakfasted. It was after dark and, apart from the boy's peanut butter and crackers she had eaten nothing all day. "Be right back," she said.
There was one room left. The truck stop manager gave her an appreciative look as he handed her the key and accepted the twelve dollars. "You'll get one back when you turn in the key," he explained. "Need anything else?"
"Haven't gone two hundred miles since I fueled up," Ella said. She consulted the thermometer in the window and decided to kill the engine. It wouldn't take more than an hour for it to settle down again in this weather and she didn't feel like leaving it idle more than eight hours. Walking back across the lot she discovered the boy had reached the same conclusion and already secured the rig. He swung down out of the cab with her suitcase in his hand and his pack on his back. They went into the motel room.
It was a pleasant no-nonsense room with a king-sized bed, a coin-slot TV, and the usual motel bedroom furnishings. Ella opened a drawer and found the inevitable Gideon Bible. The boy was already shucking his Levi's. Ella wondered whether he was going to tackle her first-or the bathroom. She began taking off her own clothes.
The boy's eyes brightened at the sight of her undraped forty-twos-just as if he had never seen her naked before. Ella felt a little thrill of desire as she looked on the naked boy but at the moment what she really wanted was in the bathroom: She padded off naked and barefoot into the bath, praying it might turn out to be a tub and not just a shower.
She bent over the tub and began fiddling with the faucets. The boy came up behind her and grabbed her ass. Without warning he spread her cheeks from behind. Before she could straighten up from the faucets Ella felt the round hardness of the golfball-sized knob on the end of the boy's long, elegantly slim cock slip smoothly past the ready-lubed lips of her vulva. Smoothly, but with the effortless irresistibility of a bulldozer, the standing boy rammed his cock full depth into her from behind. She tried to straighten up but he was holding her ass from behind. Ella felt slightly foolish in this ungainly position.
Trying to pretend nothing unusual was happening, she continued fiddling with hot and cold faucets until the tub was filling to her satisfaction. Then she addressed herself to the business at hand. In next to no time Ella realized that it is very close to impossible for a woman bent over with a man standing behind her, ramming his cock up her pussy, to pretend that nothing is happening.
For one thing she couldn't straighten up. For another, she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she didn't want to. Ella had been fucked countless times in eighteen years of marriage but old Fred had always been partial to missionary position, with Ella flat on her back, knees flexed and thighs spread wide to make room for his body between them. Now for the first time she was receiving the entirely new sensation of a cock stuffed full depth into her cunt-far deeper than old Fred had ever managed to stuff his nubbin-and her legs were still closed together, her ass and thighs involuntarily clenched to prevent what was happening.
It was, she discovered, a totally new ball game. The boy felt as if he had gotten it into her, balls and all. Now that he had her thoroughly spindled on his prurient spike the boy relaxed his death grip on her ass. His hands ranged up her body from behind until he was cupping her firm forty-twos from behind, his hot hands making a fleshy bra for her lovely jutting jugs.
Of all the goddamned positions to be in! Ella had heard of doing it this way but she had always thought it was some kind of a joke. What could be sensual about stooping over and taking anonymous cock without even being able to see who? But as the boy's hands ranged up and down the front of her body, grasping her from behind, as his hard bony pelvis began slowly pushing against the tight-clasped cheeks of her ass, pulling out with a tight, rasping sensation due to the tight-clasped thighs that made the hot throbbing knob of his magic wand feel even bigger and harder than the tire club he had been using as a dildo, Ella discovered that she was once more fulfilling her resolution. She was about to have another new experience before she died.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She hadn't been planning it this way but, against her will and against all common sense Ella discovered that, bent over the tub in this inelegant posture with the boy pouring his meat to her from behind she was getting far more of a turn-on than she had ever imagined possible.
It was, she realized vaguely, a cumulative thing, a result of all the driving she had done with the boy tormenting her and playing with her ass while her attention was riveted to the road, and she didn't dare relax enough to let herself come. He had been tormenting her ever since she scooted down into the driver's seat, licking, caressing, squeezing, rubbing, sucking and tickling until her body was reacting erotically to the most commonplace stimuli. And now what, she wondered, could be more erotic than a man's cock in full fighting trim, erect as a drill sergeant and marching in and out, in and out as it churned her pussy into a passionate melange of prurience?
She felt her long-abused body gathering forces as it prepared to take revenge for the orgasm long delayed, threatening an even greater cataclysm. She had planned on something smooth and elegantly sensual-something with a long slow buildup after a hot bath and atop a clean white-sheeted bed with the coverlet turned down until the contour sheet stretching smoothly presented an erotic arena like some miniature wrestling ring. Instead here she was draped inelegantly over the bathtub and the boy was pouring his joyous jock into her from behind. Damn! The next thing she knew he'd be ramming it up the wrong hole!
She knew she shouldn't be letting the boy do this. Damn him! He must think she would stand still for anything. The sad truth, she realized, was that the boy was right The first time she let the boy toy with the zipper of her ski jacket-the first time she had permitted him even to look at her that way Ella had forfeited any right to be treated like a lady-whatever that meant
On due reflection she thought she knew what being treated like a lady meant. It meant getting left out of all the good things in life-of existing on some high artificial plane where women's bodies did not exist from the waist downward. She guessed, remembering eighteen years of being treated like a lady, that she had not surrendered anything of real value. Given her choice, Elk knew perfectly well that if it came to choosing between another night home alone in that cold bed, awakening sweat-drenched and tangled in the sheets versus this inelegant position, there was no second choice. If she had to bend over the bathtub in this ridiculous posture to get a cock into her-it was still countless thousands of times better than standing around looking like a lady and feeling nothing but an aching emptiness between her long, well-turned legs.
And undignified or not-ready or not, here she came! Her body wrought ex post facto revenge against all the kooky games the boy had played while she was driving. Now as his cock coursed joyously in and out of her tight-clasped ass she felt her belly melt her insides turn into a loose-flowing gruel of joy fulfilled. It wasn't like the great gut-wrenching cataclysms she had experienced before-internal convulsions that had threatened to blow her mind and tear her body into tiny gobbets of erotic fulfillment. This time it was just a sudden, full and complete plop as all the tense and twisted muscles of her cock-filled belly surrendered and gave up the struggle.
She felt love's elixir gush from every cranny and orifice of her cunt until suddenly she was so slick, so loose that the boy was having trouble keeping it in. Then abruptly she realized what had happened. It wasn't she who had come. It was the boy.
Boys too, she guessed, could tire after hours of uninterrupted fun and games. The boy had come the same way she had thought she was coming, quietly, unspectacularly, with a sudden damp gush of semen that had destroyed his hard-on and relieved him of the necessity to pound and pump on her bent-over bottom. He made a sudden gasping, gurgling noise that reminded Ella of the half-plugged bathroom drain in her house.
Then he collapsed backward, sitting on the floor with a comic expression of dismay. She realized the boy was embarrassed. He felt guilty because he had come too soon and left her high and dry. Ella decided no useful purpose would be served by letting him know she was relieved it was over. Let him worry. Number two tries harder. She tested the water in the half-filled tub, was mildly amazed to discover it was just right. She stepped in and settled down for a long hot soak.
But as others have been known to remark, the best-laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley. The boy still sat on the floor, cushioning his lean ass on a chenille bath mat, eyes unfocussed, staring with confused chagrin at the organ which had betrayed him.
Still dazed, he finally got to his feet and managed a perfunctory washup at the basin.
Reviving, he turned his eyes once more to study the forty-two-year old, forty-two-inch-titted instrument of his downfall. Ella lay supine in the tub which was oversized but not quite long enough for her to lay at full length without flexing her knees. Knees, a few square inches of smooth, wrinkle-free belly, and the tips of her jutting jugs were visible above water. The boy stepped carefully into the tub and managed to settle down in the opposite end of the tub without creating a tidal wave across the bathroom floor.
There was a confused moment of maneuver and then he lay with his legs straight along each side of the tub and Ella lay with her feet in his face, her thighs between his, and her ass pushing companionably against the southern exposure of the boy's bony crotch.
It was a not unpleasant position to be in, Ella decided, so long as the boy could manage to contain himself and let her catch her erotic breath. She was happy, enjoying every minute of this boy's presence, but there was no getting out of the sad truth that she was forty-two, old enough to be his mother, and that she was tired. She hoped he was too-for a few minutes at least.
Damn him! Couldn't he ever leave well enough alone? The water was not exactly scalding but it was comfortably hot. When the boy's two fingers entered her cunt it wasn't bad, but when he spread his fingers to let the hot water flow into her, it-didn't exactly hurt, she decided. But the sensation was so unusual that she didn't know whether to kick him or kiss him. She wondered what else this unpredictable boy would dream up to try on her practically virgin body.
It took her a while to understand that he was not deliberately trying to turn her on-as if just the sight of the lovely slim hardness of his naked body could not turn on the statue of a nun! But actually, the boy was displaying a wisdom far beyond his years.
He must have known that she had not gone on the road prepared for an indoor track meet. With his two fingers he was making up for the lack of a douche, letting the warm bath water flow into her wide-stretched cunt. While she tried to relax and ignore the fingers in her just-come pussy, the boy folded his hand in a complicated manner and, still with a finger holding her come-drenched cunt open, began working the palm of his hand rapidly in and out of her crotch, pumping her full of almost too hot water, then drawing it out of her.
It felt several thousand times nicer than the cannula of a douche had ever felt doing this necessary job. She could feel hot water penetrating the inner depths of cunt country, washing her clean of the lees of love. If only it didn't feel so gooood!
She wondered if the boy was hot to trot already. There was an easy way to find out. She roused herself from her languor and stretched an arm to capture the cock that was practically in her own crotch. It was big but not in full erection. As she fondled the boy's heavy-veined hammer, delicately peeling back the foreskin to soap it and run a teasing finger around the flange on the golfball-sized head, she could feel it start to grow. She ought to quit while she was ahead. Give the boy a rest and give herself a rest. But it felt so nice to he relaxed in hot water with a boy's lean, hard ass crammed against hers, with his hands in her cunt and hers on his cock. She wondered if this was what governments meant when they talked about mutual aid programs.
"Hungry?" the boy asked abruptly.
Ella was. She nodded and they lazed about in the tub for a few more minutes, playing with each other's asses and fondling each other's bodies. Then finally Ella realized everything had to end someday. She stood and tripped the tub drain. The boy got himself to his feet and for the first time she realized they were almost exactly the same height She was tall for a woman-five-seven. She wondered if this nearly beardless boy was still growing.
His cock was still growing. Like some erotic flagpole, it stuck from his lean body at a forty-five degree angle, jerking up and down in time with his heartbeat as the boy toweled her down. Now why, she wondered, couldn't old Fred ever have thought to do something like that? She stood in a happy glow of hot water and eroticism, poised in the middle of the bathroom while the boy danced attendance, gyrating round her superb, unveiled body with a terry cloth towel, wiping her face, her neck, her shoulders, devoting tender loving care to blotting the moisture from her firm forty-twos.
The boy wiped midriff and waist poked a careful corner of the towel into her surprisingly deep navel. He wiped her thighs, the gentle curve of her ass. He got his towel into her crotch and did marvelously sensual things with the lips of her vulva, managing to pass the rough cloth over the surface of her raddled clit until Ella clenched her fists and struggled not to collapse and pull this lovely boy down on top of her.
He wiped and patted her thighs, her knees, her calves and ankles. One at a time as if she were some sort of skittish horse, he lifted her feet and wiped carefully between each toe. Finally there was no longer an excuse for the lovely boy to pass terry cloth over the superb curves of her un-lined body. He knelt to kiss the smooth roundness of her belly, then stood up and handed a fresh towel to Ella.
Now it was her turn. She started at the top and worked her way down the boy's hard-muscled chest, down his waist to the fuzzy beginnings of his pubic patch. Kneeling, she spread wide his legs to finish the job. She ran the towel through his crotch and wiped his well-furred scrotum dry, stopping a moment to caress the slimly elegant shank of his cock which dangled at half mast only inches from his face.
Suddenly the air was charged between them with the knowledge of what she was supposed to do next. Ella put the towel aside and tried to measure one need against another. She was hungry all right. She wanted to eat a good piece of rare meat. But not while it was still living and thumping. She got to her feet and kissed the boy's lips, then said, "Let's get something to eat first."
To her surprise and faint disappointment the boy did not demur. They dressed silently and Ella sat before the mirror to do what she could with her hair. Finally she gave up and put on a turban. She turned and the boy was waiting. They walked silently across the yard filled with idling diesels and entered the restaurant.
It was full, and if anybody felt like conjecturing on the possible relationship between a middle-aged woman and a boy, anyone kept his opinions to himself. They found a booth and Ella hoped the boy would have the good sense to keep his distance in public.
He did. They scanned the menu and the boy whispered, "I've got some money but I don't know if I've got enough."
Ella smiled and gave an almost invisible gesture toward the trucker's wallet chained to the waist of her ski pants. The boy visibly relaxed.
It was standard truck stop fare-filling but not gourmet cookery. They shared a Chateaubriand and french fries. When the boy still seemed to have a slight hollow in his midsection Ella ordered apple pie a la mode. Finally they were sipping coffee. Suddenly a giant of a man stood at the edge of their booth. "You order some tires changed on that fourteen wheeler out there?" he asked.
Ella looked up surprised. She had been expecting a sexual overture. This was the kind of bruiser who would try to toss her boy out into the snow and slip into the vacancy between her legs. "Tires?" she echoed.
"Somebody's taking them off," the giant said. He passed by them and found an empty stool at the counter.
This kind of thing happened at truck stops, Ella knew. There were so many trucks in and out, so many strangers that it was not difficult for an enterprising thief with a pickup and a power wrench to make off with several thousand dollars worth of tires in broad daylight. She suddenly realized she had left the pistol at home-in the drawer of the nightstand by her bed. A lot of good it would do her there!
The boy apparently understood instantly what was up. He stuck his steak knife in his pocket. Hastily Ella tossed a bill on the table. She took the other steak knife and they went out into the snow-filled yard, walking in a wide circle so as not to let the thieves know.
As she and the boy began approaching the rig obliquely from the wrong side, she could see a pickup and hear the clatter of an air wrench removing lug bolts. Four wheels were already missing from the left side of her tractor.
Suddenly the man who was stealing tires looked up and saw her. Without the slightest hesitation he tossed his air wrench into the back of the pickup along with a jumble of hose. He sprinted for the door of the pickup and Ella began running, knowing she could never make it before he started the engine, peeled rubber, and disappeared with a thousand dollars worth of her property. She wondered if her insurance would cover it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
While she ran something blurred past her and reached the pickup just as the engine roared into life. The pickup tore across the yard and she saw the accomplice dangling from the door of the small truck. Then the truck skidded crazily and came to a stop. Ella was nearly out of breath but she hurried on. The blur was her beardless lover. He held a knife at the throat of the tire thief. There was a trickle of blood where he had held it close enough to encourage the man to make a full and complete stop.
Ella dithered. Finally she made herself get into the right hand door. She pulled her steak knife from her pocket. "Let's see whether you can get them all back on before we start carving!" she said, her voice grating shrill with excitement. The long-haired freckle-faced man in the driver's seat stared at her dumbly.
The boy took his knife from the man's throat. Very carefully, he began sawing at an ear. "That's just to get your attention," he said in a voice as silky as the lining to Satan's cloak. Still the man didn't move.
Ella knew what she ought to do. Could she? She grasped her steak knife carefully so that not more than the tip of the blade would go in. Then she pushed it into his ribs. "We're in something of a hurry," she said, "But not so much that you can't drive back slowly and carefully."
Blood was streaming from his side by the time the thief had replaced the first tire. He was looking gray and frightened. Ella wondered if she had dug the knife in too deep. She wished she had been less impetuous. By now half the diners in the restaurant had come out to watch the thief put the tires back on. She wondered if any of them had bothered to call the police.
"No way, lady," the giant who had warned her said. "We been losin' tires around here for a while. Once he's put yours back on we're gonna get a few thousand dollars' use out of that bastard before the law gets him."
In spite of herself Ella felt sorry for the gray-faced man. But not sorry enough, she decided, to let him go before he had finished zapping down the last lug bolt with his air wrench. Finally, stumbling with terror and fatigue, the thief dropped the heavy air wrench. A knot of ripped-off drivers formed around him and began moving toward the Jack pines at the edge of the parking plaza. Ella shuddered.
Everything had been so nice. She and the boy were going to have a nice quiet time with plenty of hot water and a nice wide bed. Now everybody was crowding around to congratulate her and the boy who was obviously wishing he could attract less attention.
Shit! Now what was she going to do? She couldn't walk into the motel room with this boy-not with everybody standing here watching.
She felt like crying. Everybody was watching her and the boy. Probably they thought he was her son. But what would they think when the two of them went into that motel room and locked the door?
It was funny. There were a million simple solutions and she was too disappointed and too confused to think of one. The boy was not. I'll sleep in the truck, Ma," he said, loud enough for everybody to hear. "If you want anything just flash your lights." He gestured toward the waiting motel room.
Ella gave a little inner sigh of relief and nodded. She went into' the motel room and collapsed in a chair. It was several minutes before she realized she still held the steak knife in her clenched fist. The boy's gesture had been practical, she knew-even if she had never been a "ma." And-it made sense for him to sleep in the truck if tire thieves were that rampant around here. There was only one thing wrong with the proposition! Ella didn't want to sleep alone in here. She wanted the boy in here, too.
What the hell time was it? Her watch had stopped. She searched the room and found a phone. She dialed the motel operator and asked the time.
"Five-thirty," a prim voice told her.
"Thanks. Could you call me at six?" Ella asked.
She wondered where the day had gone. She'd slept a good part of it away-and fucked away the rest. So why was she so sleepy? Maybe, she guessed, because she hadn't been sleeping worth a damn since old Fred died. Today was the first real rest she'd gotten despite the storm and all the driving. She wondered how tired the boy was. It would be just like that maddening lovely boy to go to sleep and actually spend the whole night in the truck.
And the funny thing was, Ella didn't really care. She was so tired, so sleepy. She was reminded of a bumper sticker she had seen one day on the road: SEX RELIEVES TENSION. Sighing, she began to undress. Then she realized she hadn't brought all that many clothes with her for this run. She filled the basin with water and rinsed out her things. With bra and panties festooned over chair backs and mirrors, she finally finished undressing. Naked, she slipped into the king-sized bed. Her head had hardly touched the pillow before she was asleep. Falling asleep, she wondered if she had left the door unlocked for the boy-whatever was his name? But she was too sleepy to get up and check.
It has been bruited about by those who are supposed to know that dreaming is the brain's way of processing the day's experiences for orderly filing in the memory bank. Which may be true if one is a practicing psychologist and awake. It is definitely not true if one happens to be a female truck driver who is asleep and who has just spent a large part of the previous day getting fucked in various positions.
Ella dreamed many and increasingly weird dreams of studs who came at her from all angles: studs with tire clubs for cocks; stiff-pricked young men who could put it into her so far she could feel it almost coming out of her mouth; strange young visions of male eroticism with eggbeater heads on their hammers. She dreamed of being fucked by tire thieves. She even dreamed of being fucked by balding, red-faced Al who had sent her on this run. She owed him thanks for that, she guessed. Well-meaning Al had done her a bigger favor than-he could ever guess. Meanwhile Ella dreamed once more of being hosed for a solid hour by old Fred. Then inexplicably she was his other wife at the other end of the line and she was also getting hosed by a man who had two cocks and a woman on each side of him.
Even in her dream she began to wonder if it were not possible to dream of something besides fucking. But her subconscious could find no subject more all-absorbing than the feel of something hard and male going into something soft and feminine.
Slowly, her dreams began to regress to her childhood, to a dimly proto-sexual era when conversations with adults were filled largely with sudden reticences and unexplained amusements.
It was as if there had never been a time in her life when every thought did not revolve around men-a man, and how she could maneuver him between her legs. Simple straightforward memory said she had been a virgin until she married old Fred. But in the toils and coils of her involuted subconscious Ella knew perfectly well that, despite Christian dogma, there are degrees of virginity-that it is not quite the on-or-off, yes-or-no that renders absurd such expressions as "a little bit pregnant."
In a strict sense it was true that old Fred's was the first cock up her pussy. He had broken her maidenhead, which had given him eighteen years of material for cocktail party bragging. But to be first down the golden road to romance does not of necessity imply that the possessor of an unbroken hymen had had no prior sexual experience. She remembered when she was twelve, and the superb forty-twos that were to adorn her adult body were mere buds which gave a delightfully new shape to the tee-shirt abandoned by a distant male relation in the navy.
He must have been a small man for the tee-shirt did not fit all that loosely on twelve-year-old Ella-which fact was remarked upon by her uncle George in those dear dead days before the clothing industry had stumbled on such absurdities as the "training bra" to increase their already swollen revenues.
"Another six months and you'll be ready for one," Uncle George had remarked one day while he had been pitching hay down into the mangers of the stud farm.
"Ready for what?" Ella had asked. She didn't get out to the stud farm all that often and at age twelve the great sweaty smelling, hairy animals had suddenly become fascinating in ways she could not quite understand.
"A boobie trap," George had explained.
Ella's wide-eyed mystification had elicited a sudden glint from Uncle George's roving eye. He was an odd, silent man who seldom went to town and always seemed more at home in the stable than the house, which was presided over by Aunt Jane whose sexuality had all been sublimated into the sublime creations of another crypto sex symbol. Ella had often wondered in later life if Aunt Jane had physically resembled Betty Crocker.
But at age twelve with a just budding pair of jugs she was more concerned with extracting some meaning from Uncle George's sometimes elliptical conversation.
Not unkindly, the balding man who indulged her every whim around the horses explained in simple words what a boobie trap was.
"Oh," Ella had observed. "But golly, I don't need a bra yet."
"That's a matter of opinion," Uncle George had replied sagely.
"Well, gee," Ella had said despairingly, "How can I tell when?"
Smiling a peculiarly forced and wooden smile, her uncle had replied, "Well, there is a secret way and if you promise never to tell anybody I'll tell you what it is."
"Why do I have to promise?"
"It's something only grownups are supposed to know. If anybody knew I'd told a little girl I'd get in trouble."
Uncle George was a nice man so Ella didn't want that to happen. "I promise," she said.
"Cross your heart and hope to die?"
Ella crossed her heart and the motion brought out clearly the outline of one pouting breast bud, its perky nipple in rampant erection from rubbing against the tee-shirt. Uncle George's face was reddening and he seemed about to have one of his asthma attacks. "How can I know when I need a bra?" she had pressed.
Licking his lips and choosing his words with a solemnity to fit the occasion, her uncle had replied, "Whenever they're too big for a man's hand."
Ella had had not the slightest idea of what he was leading up to. "I don't get it," she said.
Uncle George extended his palms. "Are they this big?" he asked.
"Golly no," Ella said truthfully.
Uncle George was doubtful. Ella put her twelve-year-old hands over her twelve-year-old tits. "See?" she asked.
Uncle George's trousers were giving him trouble. He hitched at his belt and twisted and stuffed his hand deep down the front of his pants to untangle his shirt tail. "Uh-I'm afraid it doesn't work that way," he explained.
"Well how?" she asked with a rising note of despair in her voice.
"I said a man's hands."
"Oh."
Before she could reach a decision Uncle George had put down his pitchfork and moved around behind her. Since she had sat on his lap for as long as she could remember there was nothing especially startling about his arms encircling her from behind.
She felt his callused palms and fingers cup her budding breasts.
He spent some time apparently trying to decide whether they were yet big enough for a bra. Clearing his throat, he finally said, "Hard to tell with this teeshirt in the way."
Once more the decision was taken from Ella's hands. She was wearing the oversized tee-shirt loose over a too-tight pair of short shorts her mother had been trying to give away for nearly a year. The teeshirt hung so low on her slight form that at first glance it seemed as if she wore nothing else.
Uncle George's" enterprising hands lifted its hem, slipped up the smooth, still slightly bony front of her twelve-year-old body, and then he was cupping her jutting little jugs without the interference of a layer of cloth. He ran his horny hands over her nipples, rock-hard from this unaccustomed exercise. He ran questing fingertips over the perfectly symmetrical cones of her immature breasts, still totally non-sagging-tiny twin volcanoes imbued with the firmness of youth, still swelling, still growing, still amazingly tender behind their unblemished, newly stretched skin.
Ella felt a sudden warm glow of something she would someday learn to call sensuality steal over her growing body. She felt like turning around and making Uncle George sit down on a milking stool so she could sit on his lap, straddle him, face him, and rock back and forth. Suddenly she felt a frantic need to open her legs and scoot back and forth along the rough denim of his overalls.
But Uncle George still grasped her from behind. She could feel the front of his pants against the tiny roundnesses of her twelve-year-old ass-could feel an inexplicable bulge in the front of his trousers as if the stem of his corncob pipe were rubbing against her. His hands roved over the front of her body, taking inventory of her twelve-year-old treasures. The silence between them was growing prolonged. "Are they big enough?" she finally asked.
"Can't tell yet," Uncle George said in a strained voice. "Give me another minute."
Which did not strike Ella as unreasonable, though she did wish she could turn around and sit astraddle his lap. She wondered what he would say if she were to voice this request.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Like a tableau out of some nineteenth century cautionary tale, they posed in the barn, Ella in short shorts and a large tee-shirt, Uncle George behind her, his crotch against the cheeks of her immature ass as his hands roved beneath that tee-shirt, memorizing the twin lovelinesses beneath it.
Ella was surrounded by a strange excitement-something she had never sensed before. She didn't know exactly what was to happen next but she was not frightened of good old Uncle George whom she had known all her life. He had always been good to her-always given her candy and little treats that Momma and Aunt Jane had forbidden. And now he had his hands over her tits.
And it felt good. She wondered how long he was going to keep them there. She didn't mind but she wondered if maybe they couldn't sit down facing one another, and then he could do it from the front while she rocked and slid back and forth, on the rough denim of his overalls legs. If he wanted she could peel off this old tee-shirt so he could really check out whether she was ready for a bra.
She was about to ask him if they couldn't do it that way when she sensed that Uncle George was going into one of his asthma attacks. He was puffing and wheezing. Suddenly he held his breath for what seemed to twelve-year-old Ella a damagingly long time.
Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" he said with a long, drawn out wheeze. His hands gripped her tiny jugs, convulsively, almost painfully. Ella wondered if she ought to break loose and fix a little place in the hay where Uncle George could lie down until he was over his attack but suddenly the death grip on her jolly little jugs relaxed. "Forgot to water the mare," Uncle George said in a choked voice. He was hastening out the stable door when Ella called after him.
"Are they big enough?" she asked.
"Huh?"
"Are they big enough for a bra yet?" she insisted.
"I'm not sure," Uncle George managed in a strained voice. "Maybe we can decide tomorrow."
Ella didn't want to wait till tomorrow but she supposed she would have to. She hoped that tomorrow wouldn't turn out to mean next week, next month, or never as it often did when dealing with adults.
"Remember not to tell Aunt Jane or your momma," Uncle George managed as he disappeared out the door, walking so gingerly it occurred to Ella for a moment to wonder if a grown man could wet his pants.
Ella's forty-two-year-old mind, inhabiting a forty-two-inch-titted body stirred restlessly in the motel bed, sleepily aware that she was no longer twelve, remembering vaguely that she had not had to wait a week or a month or forever. Uncle George had been ready to pick up where they left off next day in the stable.
All of which didn't make that much difference to a forty-two-year-old woman trying to sleep alone in a motel bed. She wondered what had happened to the boy.
As if she didn't know. Sure as death and Texas, the boy had bugged out, caught a ride with another truck and here she was alone in the world again. She tried to be philosophical. She had given him a ride and bought him a meal. Surely she had gotten her money's worth. The boy had saved her from losing over a thousand dollars' worth of tires. And he had done other things for her that were beyond price. Ella guessed she had been lucky.
The boy hadn't held her up, hadn't abused her, hadn't asked for money. And though she dreamed of keeping him forever, Ella knew this sort of thing just didn't work. It was best this way: a quick clean break and she was left only with a happy memory.
And an empty cunt! Even now she could feel her belly doing flip-flops at the memory of that lovely boy's ministrations. She felt like crying with frustrated rage. Why couldn't he have stuck around a little longer?
Suddenly she remembered her unvoiced doubt. Had she left the door unlocked? Maybe she had locked that lovely, long-cocked boy out of her room, out of her life.
If she had, would he wait in the suicide box of her rig-sleeping in the truck as he had advised 'Ma' for all the onlookers? A boy's will is the wind's will, as some poet has remarked. Ella knew with sickening certainty that her boy had gone with the wind.
But ... she could never know for sure until she tried the door. And if he was gone, were her tires also gone? Ella slipped noiselessly from the bed. She padded barefoot across the darkened room and peered through the Venetians. The rig was still there, tires apparently intact. She tried the door and it was locked!
Oh shit, oh Jesus! Had the boy tried the door? Had he tired of waiting and gone off to graze in greener pastures? Was he even now putting his lovely cock up some other lucky woman's cunt? How could she have forgotten such a simple thing? Ella was reminded of the half-baked Freudianism which said there are no accidents, that if one does something stupid like locking the door on one's lover that this is not a mistake but instead, this seemingly stupid act is in obedience to a subconscious acting in one's best-interests. Did she know really deep down that it was best to be rid of this lovely boy? Did she know that no matter how nice his cock was, it could only end with bitterness and recriminations-perhaps even in jail for contributing to the delinquency of a minor?
Ella tried not to sob. It was over-ended. It had been fun and she would treasure the memory but she knew that never again would she dare be so foolish as to pick up another beautiful boy. Next time she might not get off so easily. The next one might beat her up, rob her-kill her.
Eyes brimming with unshed tears, she stumbled back to the bed in the middle of the darkened room. Somehow her feet managed to encounter and tangle with at least three times as many clothes as she had tossed off in her haste to have a hot bath. And get fucked from behind, her sour-graping memory reminded her. She kicked and garments thumped and swished. She stumbled and muttered words she would have sworn yesterday that she didn't even know.
Finally her knees found the edge of the king-sized bed. She was going into it from the opposite side but what difference did it make? The covers were rumpled. She pulled them back and crawled into bed-right on top of a warm naked body!
For an instant Ella was paralyzed. If she ever got over being paralyzed Ella knew she was going to scream. It had to be that burly giant who had warned her that her tires were being stolen. Who else could it be?
Then the moment of panic passed and she knew who it was. She hadn't left the door locked. The boy had waited till the excitement died down, then he had slipped into her room. He had locked the door when he came in.
She felt foolish and her anger at herself externalized. Damn him! Why hadn't he warned her? Then she realized how unreasonable she was being. Why should he? He'd gotten all he wanted for a while. He found her sound asleep so he must have decided she'd had enough, too-why waken her? And it was true, Ella realized. She'd been tired enough to go to sleep when she should have been waiting with bated breath for her lover to sneak in. She had no cause for complaint.
She wondered if these motel rooms were for sleeping or for fucking. The only real difference was in the lighting. She padded barefoot and naked around the dark room, searching for a light that would not blind her. She couldn't find the switch. She went into the bathroom, found the light switch, closed the door to a crack and fit it. In the subdued fight she circled the room again and finally found a rheostat switch. She got the lights on-just barely. She went back to the bathroom and turned that one off.
Ella stood indecisive. What next? She had never planned a seduction before. Old Fred had always been ready enough, willing enough when he came home from two weeks on the road. What did she want to do? Suddenly Ella knew what she wanted to do. She remembered Uncle George and felt a sudden sympathy for that aging man who had wanted only to admire and fondle a hard young body. She found the thermostat and turned it up to eighty. As the room began warming she began to peel the covers off the sleeping boy.
Oh god but wasn't he ever lovely! And for the next few hours at least, he was all hers! The boy lay in a fetal position, his lean, hard-muscled body curled into a ball, legs drawn up and arms round his knees. Ella sat on the foot of the bed and admired the planes and angles of his spare masculinity. Slowly the room warmed and the boy began to relax. Still sleeping in the dim light, he began slowly to relax and stretch out He sighed and stretched like a satiated tomcat and for a moment she held her breath, afraid he would awaken. Instead the boy's breathing settled down again but this time he lay at his ease, uncovered in the warm room. The boy lay flat on his back, legs slightly apart arms at his sides, his long, elegantly slim cock with the round, almost golfball-sized head dangling flaccid between his lean, hard-muscled thighs.
His pubic bush, chestnut ringlets as luxuriant as the straight hair on his handsome head-Ella felt a little quiver of delight pass through her naked body Just at the sight of all this glorious nude maleness spread out for her delectation. In the dim light and with his legs not spread that far apart Ella could scarcely see the boy's scrotum. There would be time later for that What would happen, she wondered, if she were to kiss him?
Would he wake up and start pounding her ass again? She wanted him to-but not just yet. For now she congratulated herself on her narrow escape from an uncontrolled imagination. Here she had been mourning a romance not yet dead! It was enough for now just to look at that lovely hard maleness, admire the heavy-veined symmetry of his flaccid cock, dream of how it was going to look once he woke up and discovered himself alone in the same room with a full-bodied ready-to-go woman.
Even at ease this boy's cock was almost as long as old Fred's had been when standing at attention. She gave a wry smile at her ignorance-all the years she had thought her husband had a big one!
But that was all dead and gone now-and so was Fred. She had the rest of her life to live and this lovely sleeping boy was going to help her live it just as soon as he woke up. What, she wondered, would they do first? How many things were there for a woman and a man to do? She had fucked him forward and backward. She had had his hands ranging over her and in her. She had felt his tongue in places she had never felt a tongue before. She had even felt his capable fist stuffing a tire club into her. What else was there to do?
Plenty, she suspected. The hell of it was, she had lived such a sheltered life that Ella didn't even know-couldn't guess how many more ways there were to force open the floodgates of eroticism. If only she hadn't neglected her education ... she should have read a few of those books that come "in plain brown wrapper."
It was too late now. She could either read or she could do. With a lovely naked boy just growing his first beard was no time for reflection. It was time for action. Still she hesitated, sitting nude on the foot of the bed, admiring the full length, naked perfection of this flawless boy.
Suddenly she knew the boy was dreaming Just as she had been a moment ago. She saw him squirm slightly. And then his cock began growing. Within seconds it was pointing mightily skyward, jutting like some phallic flagpole from the luxuriance of his chestnut pubic patch. The round head of his cock peeped angrily from the tight-stretched foreskin and Ella suddenly knew the boy was going to come. He was going to have a wet dream right now while she watched.
She wondered what he was thinking-whom he was dreaming about. She stared at his suddenly throbbing cock, fascinated as a bird by a snake. She could not tear her eyes from this phenomenon.
Some rational corner of her mind warned her that it was a terrible waste. There were only so many arrows in his quiver-even if he were barely old enough to grow a beard. Every shot fired into the air was one that would never be fired into the moist warmth of her target. She had to do something to prevent this. But if the boy were dreaming of some childhood sweetheart and if she were to spoil his spontaneous pleasure only seconds away from spurting-it would be unforgivable. What was she to do? If she were to awaken him this way he might be so annoyed he would never....
Ella watched his growing gouge, saw his rapid breathing. Any minute now he would be thrashing as his load fired uselessly in the air, serving only to smear the pristine sheets of the arena destined for a four-handed encounter.
Four-handed, two-handed, one-handed-who cared about hands? Ella wanted it in her pussy-not in her hands. She wondered if there were any possible way to climb atop him, straddle him, slip that lovely lance into her quivering quim and catch at least one firm thrust before the boy expired in dreamy agony.
No way, she knew. Admiring his lovely writhing body, Ella knew this one was a total waste-for him self as well as for her. Once the boy woke up and realized he had wasted a shot-that a naked woman ready and available sat on the foot of his bed ... There was only one thing Ella could think of to do. Praying it would be the right thing, that it would not be too late, she did it.
Taking a deep breath and addressing prayers to Aphrodite and Ishtar, Ella reached out and captured the boy's throbbing cock in one hand. She wrapped her hand carefully around the head and said a final prayer that it might not go off in her hand before she could ... then she began squeezing. She squeezed very hard.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The boy gave a convulsive jerk and opened his eyes. "Whaaaa?" he said. Then he was fully awake and staring at the hand that was squeezing his cock. "What the hell you doing?" he demanded. "That hurts."
Ella explained her reasons. "The women's magazines all say that's the only way to stop an orgasm," she concluded. I'm sorry I hurt you but I thought it'd be a shame to waste it on a dream when I'm right here."
"Yeaaaaaahhh!" the boy enthused. "Damn, what time is it?" He rubbed his eyes. "I was only gonna rest a minute before I turned you over," he elaborated.
Ella guessed the storm-and other activities-had left the boy as exhausted as she. But the boy had rested now. So had she.
"You hurt it," he pouted.
"So I'll kiss it," she replied. Saying it, she realized what she was saying but it was too late to stop herself. Silently, she repeated her vow to try everything at least once before she died.
"Promise?" he asked.
Ella tried to smile as he nodded. She had expected the boy to spread his legs and wait for her to start gobbling. Instead, he got silently from the bed and headed for the bathroom. Moments later she heard him taking a shower. It seemed like an eminently sensible idea. Ella was already naked. She padded into the bathroom and joined him.
They spent a happy quarter of an hour soaping one another, scrubbing and rubbing. The boy once more did his finger-douche trick, forcing warm water up her pussy with his cupped hand until Ella was hard put to keep from coming right there in the shower. She concentrated on the boy's lovely cock, soaping it, washing it, rinsing it, caressing it, running a wet soapy hand over the bared knob at its end until the boy was quivering, nibbling on the wet nipples of her forty-twos and in as dire straits as Ella.
Finally by mutual consent they called time out and began drying each other off. With one still tiny practical corner of her mind Ella wondered if the supply of dry towels would hold out. The boy devoted his usual tender loving care to rubbing and blotting the last hint of moisture from her creamy, unblemished skin. Ella returned the compliment, drying his cockhead before delicately working the freshly washed foreskin down over it. She dried his scrotum, with much detail to each wrinkle and follicle.
The tension grew as they ran slowly out of excuses to keep from drifting back to that king-sized bed. The thermostat had settled down now and the room was at a comfortable eighty. It would be sweltering under normal conditions but, naked and with the memory of snow fresh in their minds it was just right.
Ella swept the tangle of covers from the large bed, leaving only the fitted bottom sheet and pillows. She climbed onto the bed, putting all the grace and seductivity possible into this prosaic maneuver. Not surprisingly, the boy followed her. They lay side by side facing one another, admiring the smooth perfection of one another's bodies. They kissed, swapping tongues with gay abandon and wrapping arms and legs in a glorious, sensual tangle.
Midway through the embrace Ella sensed the boy moving, shifting position. With his mouth still glued to hers, tongues touching, she felt his hands on her hips, then on her jutting jugs as he rearranged himself. She allowed herself to be pulled and pushed until she lay diagonally on the huge bed, feet hanging over one corner.
They broke for air and as Ella breathed deep, inhaling a pink aura of eroticism, she saw the boy now lay with his feet off the opposite corner. They kissed again, once more swapping tongues but now they lay as two swimmers, heads meeting to steal a kiss underwater, bodies stretched at full length in opposite directions. She felt his outstretched arms capture the firm fullness of her full forty-twos. The boy began twiddling her tiny pink, still virginal nipples between thumb and forefinger.
This simple exercise aroused in Ella a sensation so strong she thought for an instant that she was going to explode right then and there, her belly dissolving into a flaming sheet of pink-flamed passion that would undo all the boy's good works in the shower. But before she could melt completely the boy's hands progressed farther into the arena of Eros and he was caressing her midriff, running a tickling finger around the crater of her navel.
Slowly and delicately, the boy kissed, licked and caressed his sensual way down the front of her full-blown body. As he continued his slow sensual slide down her front Ella's face was confronted first with the boy's lips, then his throat, then the smooth, hairless musculature of his chest. As she felt his tongue follow his questing fingers into her navel she saw the smooth hardness of his belly before her face.
She put out an experimental tongue and touched the boy's navel. She was rewarded by a pair of smooth, hard-muscled arms sliding smoothly around the prick-stiffening curve of her ass as the boy buried his face in the soft roundness of her belly and began nibbling at the edge of her pubic patch.
Ella was suddenly engulfed in a great shimmering wave of rut. She felt her long legs moving uncontrollably as her body jackknifed, legs flexing and opening as she attempted to capture that lovely hot-eared head between her thighs. Oooohhhh, Jesus, did it ever feel gooooood!
Taking his own sweet maddening time, the boy nibbled his way down through the luxuriant foliage of her pubic triangle. It seemed to Ella's needful body as if he were counting each individual hair in the pinkish blond ringlets that adorned her mons veneris. Meanwhile, as the boy worked his way down she found her nose being tickled by the close-packed chestnut curls of the boy's launching pad. Something big, hard and masculine was bumping against her forehead, waving wildly in time to the boy's surging heart.
He had abandoned her mons veneris for softer, nicer places between her creamy thighs. She felt his infuriating combination of a kiss and a nibble working its way up the hairy outer surface of one pouting vulval hp and down the other. The great hard throbbing, thumping thing that had been banging her forehead was now down at eye level.
She struggled to focus her eyes on an object only inches from her face. This close up she could see all the minute tracery of blue-tinged veins in the heavily corded underside of his cock shank. The foreskin was stretched until the purple tip of his golfball-sized cockhead peeped angrily from its gaping tip.
She drew a deep breath and blew its warm moistness across the wrinkled furriness of the boy's scrotum. His balls squirmed with delight and anticipation. She saw the head of his cock suddenly flush an even deeper purple as hot young blood surged downward to force his erection to an even greater size and hardness. What a lovely cock this lovely boy had!
She felt his tongue part her nether lips, felt it dart inside to lick the tip of her clit. Ella felt her legs opening and closing without her volition, seeking to capture that hot-eared head and draw it into her deeper.
She waited and nothing happened. She waited some more. The boy lay quiescent, face resting on the pouting softness of her cunt, but he wasn't doing anything. Slowly Ella began to understand the quid pro quo nature of this endeavor. The boy had given her a moment of delirious delight. Now it was her turn to turn him on.
She lay facing the hot, throbbing cock only inches from her face. She knew, in theory at least, what she had to do. But she had never done it. Eighteen years of fucking, she realized forlornly, and she had never learned how to suck a cock! It seemed to Ella that her whole life had been wasted.
The boy's cock was squeaky clean; she had just finished washing it. Ella was not turned off at all. She was ready and willing. But a boy's cock was his most precious possession and it needed tender loving care. She wondered how to do it. She wanted to give the boy at least part of the joy he had given her. But she remembered how touchy old Fred had been. He would never allow her hand within a foot of his precious nubbin. This boy didn't seem quite so delicate.
He was pointing it straight at her face in open invitation.
Ella blew on it and was rewarded with a tightening of the boy's grip on her ass. She interpreted this as a request for more. But nothing is forever. Soon the boy's baton was inured to her warm wet breath. She put out an experimental tongue and licked the sensitive-corded underside of his cockshank. The boy's arms tightened round her ass and his tongue darted between her vulva lips to titillate her rock-hard clitoris. Ella licked again.
Gradually gaining confidence, she extended her base of operations until she was licking and kissing the furred convolutions of his scrotum, running a burning line of kisses down the dense-nerved underside of the boy's marvelous muffin-stabber, ending each foray with a lick and a promise to the throbbing head now protruding halfway from its confining foreskin. The boy expressed his appreciation directly to the tender inner surface of her vulva labia. It felt so good Ella bad trouble concentrating on her end of the game.
The boy gave a sudden thrust toward her. Involuntarily Ella ducked the cockhead heading straight for her right eye. The stretching motion was the final straw that peeled back his foreskin, leaving the purple glistening head of the boy's fully erect organ finally free of its restricting prepuce. Ella supposed she ought to be happy but she wasn't.
She knew from old Fred's oft repeated warnings that the head of a man's cock was tender, delicate, forbidden territory, that it could be soothed only by contact with the well-slicked and equally delicate inner surface of a willing woman's cunt. What could she do for this nameless boy?
It was called a blow job. She knew that much. But she also knew that the term had to be inaccurate. At least she didn't want anybody blowing on her down there. Ella said a silent prayer to the gods of love, opened her mouth wide, and engulfed the hot throbbing head of the boy's hammer. If he winces or yells now I'll spit it out, she decided. The boy did neither.
Instead, he opened his mouth wide, matching his lips to the pouting furriness of her nether aperture. He began running his tongue rapidly in and out her suddenly thrumming vagina. Ella decided she'd give him half an hour to quit doing that. It felt so ungodly good she almost forgot the great throbbing lump of maleness that was thumping away atop her tongue. Now that she had it in her mouth what should she do?
She had to be careful not to touch it with her teeth, Ella guessed, although the boy seemed under no such restriction. He was licking, kissing, nibbling, actually biting at her labia and it felt so good she wanted to help him in deeper, harder, faster! She wanted to yodel and kick her legs and shriek like some hysterical teenager at a rock concert.
Slowly the storm subsided and once more the boy lay with his head between her legs, one burning ear pillowed on the milky softness of her inner thigh. Ella didn't want him to quit. She wanted that lovely licking, biting and sucking to go on forever. Finally she realized why the boy had stopped.
In her ecstatic joy Ella had forgotten her homework. The boy's cockhead lav quiescent in her mouth. She wondered what to do first. Experimentally, she ran her tongue around the monstrous invader. She felt it respond instantly, its firmness grow suddenly rockhard as the boy's pulse quickened. Involuntarily, the boy's pelvis began a gentle rock and roll, urging his rod gradually deeper into her mouth.
Ella almost stopped again when the boy's tongue once more began licking her bottom into joyous readiness. But she remembered the I-will-if-you-will nature of this endeavor and strove to keep the boy's cock hard.
She didn't want any more interruptions-not when she was this close to peaking out on a permanent plateau of pleasure! She ran her tongue about the head of his cock in loving, laving circles, doing her feminine best to be soft and gentle. The boy's hands slipped from her ass and captured the nape of her neck as he strove to push her mouth down deeper around the throbbing, thrumming shank of his thumper. Remembering the times she had struggled to draw the boy deeper into her crotch, Ella guessed she must be doing something right.
The boy's pelvis was still rocking gently. Ella felt his cock slide gently in and out of her mouth, its egress checked only when the great swollen knob of his cockhead caught like the flukes of a harpoon against her lips and the inner edges of her widespread teeth. It seemed to have grown since she took it into her mouth. It was so large now she wondered if she would ever be able to open her mouth wide enough to eject it-as if she wanted to.
To her surprise Ella discovered that she liked the feel of a cock in her mouth. It was not just something she did in order that the boy might do something nice for her. It was, she decided, truly more blessed to give than to receive.
With each stroke the boy's phallus slid from barely inside her gaping jaws to the rear of her mouth where she could feel the hot throbbing of his blood against the sensitive softness of her vulva. She felt as if her tongue and the roof of her mouth had suddenly come alive for the first time. Never had she ever dreamed it would be so delightful.
She remembered ruefully her surprise scant hours ago to discover after eighteen years of ecstasy that there was something even nicer than fucking. Now she was discovering that to lick can be just as joy inspiring as getting licked. She was learning more from this smooth, hard-muscled boy than she had managed to pick up in the rest of her long happy life with old Fred.
She resolved that her decision to try everything at least once before she died had not been foolish. She wanted to try this particular erotic exercise not just onoe. Ella decided she could make a whole new sexual career out of cocksucking.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Unfortunately, Ella's decision about her new career was based on incomplete data. Also, it was based on the false assumption that things will remain as they have been. The boy's cock did not.
She could feel the hot, thumping throb of passion in his young body and suddenly Ella was overcome by a fear of the natural consequences. He was going to come and what was she supposed to do? It was going to be messy. As she remembered the colossal jets of jizz the boy had fired into her cunt, Ella knew that mess might turn out to be a masterpiece of understatement. Maybe she ought to interrupt this joyous conjunction long enough to switch ends. Maybe that was the way it was done: lick and suck away till the last possible moment and then spin around long enough to stuff things in their proper holes.
As a plan it was marvelous. To carry it out was something else. She could feel her belly reacting to the boy's agile tongue, turning her will to an erotic mush as he licked and probed and nibbled, always at just the point best calculated to drive her into a shrieking, wailing frenzy.
But she had her mouth too full, too busy for any shrieking or wailing. The boy's cock slid back and forth over her tongue in a sensual tango. She could feel the hair on his scrotum bumping her nose with each stroke and she wondered for one horrified instant what would happen if she were to sneeze.
It was time to pull out, plug the boy's cock into her ready socket and take his come the way god intend ed-God indeed! she thought suddenly. God had given her this body and these needs. If god didn't like it he could go engineer another immaculate conception. She felt the boy's cock moving faster, thrusting harder and deeper until the great round knob at the tip of his tool was pressing against her soft palate until she was almost gagging.
It was time to stop this lovely exercise and go back to old-fashioned fucking. She was, after all, just an old-fashioned girl. She tried to retreat from the ever deeper thrusting of the boy's passionate crescendo.
And then she discovered why his hands were caressing the nape of her neck. Ella was trapped between the boy's capable hands and his more capable cock. She felt his hands, pulling her head down deeper into his crotch until the hair on his scrotum was bunching round her nose and the lush growth on his pelvic bone was being crushed against her chin. And still the boy thrust deeper, harder, faster!
It was just as she had willed him to do so many times. She wondered if in her eagerness for fulfillment she had ever caused the boy to choke or suffocate. The boy had needs too, she suddenly understood, and his need for fulfillment was filling her too full.
She struggled to complain but her mouth was so full of cock she could only moan. The boy didn't understand. She had been moaning with ecstasy and the boy thought she was still coming, flowing, melting. From the sudden wetness of her brimming cunt Ella realized she was coming, that despite the discomfort of this great thumping invader too deep in her mouth, her body and her belly had surrendered to the boy's tongue.
Moaning and struggling, she moved her head from side to side in a vain effort to free herself of the barbed penis in her mouth. The boy was suddenly moaning too, his swollen cock now even bigger, harder, thumping in time to his racing heart. He was going to come. She just knew it! And he was going to do it right in her mouth and what was she going to do?
She struggled to free herself and the movement seemed only to inflame the boy and suffuse his young body with a supernal joy. His pelvis was rocking harder now as he strove to drive his dong deeper down her throat. She felt his hands close convulsively over the nape of her neck and then he was no longer rocking his pelvis.
Now the boy was rigid as a bull who has just felt the estoca enter his shoulder. Back arched and cock out-thrust, he grasped her head and began pulling her down like a glove over the hard-pounding hammer that jutted from his out-thrust crotch.
Ella felt the great swollen head of his hammer slide smoothly across her tongue, push her uvula aside, and begin its long slow journey down her throat.
As the great gob of maleness went past her palate and down her throat Ella found herself involuntarily swallowing to help it down. The smooth movement of her swallowing musculature was kneading, massaging the boy's cockhead. He gave a little howl of joy and thrust deeper, pulling her head down over his cock until she felt his pelvis grind against her chin as her nose plowed into the soft convolutions of his squirming scrotum. She gasped and as her mouth opened slightly wider she suddenly understood the meaning behind one of old Fred's favorite phrases. Now she was swallowing this lovely boy, balls and all!
She felt the great knob of his cockhead slide smoothly past her palate, deep deep down her throat-and there it stopped. Every instinct rebelled. Things swallowed were supposed to go on all the way down. Instead, this piece of hot meat stayed halfway down her throat for a heart-stopping minute before the boy's hands began moving her head backward, sliding her off his cock.
Ella struggled to contain herself but as the boy's cock began sliding down her again. Her body rebelled and she retched.
"Aaaaaaahhhhh!" the boy howled as her throat contracted around the head of his cock. He gave a super king-sized lunge, pulling her down over his cock and held for a moment of frozen ecstasy. Dimly, still retching, Ella understood what had happened. As her throat rebelled and struggled to expel this invader the squeezing of those retching muscles had been the final trigger that provoked the boy's explosion. She felt the flutter of his cockhead, felt the sudden tremor in his crotch and then suddenly the boy was squirting and spurting, pouring what felt like gallons of goo down her defenseless throat. She was still swallowing and retching, her body unable to decide which way to go with this strange object which lodged halfway down and refused to go in or out.
At least it wasn't hurting quite so much now that the boy's banger was furnishing a plenitude of lubrication for its lubricious entry. She could almost relax now that the super-swollen head of his cock had diminished slightly so she could breathe.
Still spurting, still moaning his supernal joy, the boy held her by the ears, holding her head over his dwindling dick. Ella tried to be philosophical about it. After all, she must have abused him nearly as bad when he was driving her up the-Suddenly she was coming again. And again. AND AGAIN!
Her belly surrendered, spurting and twisting, unwinding and unloading as her body finally reacted in full to the tender ministrations of the boy's tongue. Despite his joyous jock's explosion his face was still buried in her gaping cunt and he was doing his level best to drive her round the bend and oooohhh, it felt so goooood!
Finally the spasm was over. The boy's flaccid cock came out of her mouth with an audible "thuck" like a champagne cork and the boy fell away from her. His mouth came from her brimming cunt and, half fainting from the sheer joy of it all, Ella felt the cool dry air of the motel room on the gaping labia where the boy's mouth had just left.
She wondered dazedly where all the boy's come had gone. There was not the mess she had expected. Then she knew what had happened. She had swallowed it all. She gave a wry smile in the dim-lit room. At least it was neat and it saved a lot of sheet changing.
The boy lay flaccid, totally relaxed, his body as limp as a sleeping tomcat's. Ella lay with her head still pillowed on one of his lean-muscled thighs and the boy's head lay on hers, his ear probably burning a permanent imprint in the tender, sensitive flesh of her soft inner thigh.
It felt so good she didn't ever want to move. She couldn't remember when she had been this relaxed, this free of the eternal ache between her shoulder blades ever since old Fred had no longer been able to massage her cunt from inside out. Aaaahhhh but it felt good just to be alive!
But as the Muslims have been known to observe, even paradise can become boring after the first thousand years and the boy's head was rather heavy on her thigh. Silently, Ella extricated herself from their erotic tangle. The boy emitted a gentle snore as she padded off naked to the bath.
She drew a tub and repeated the boy's two-fingered trick with her pussy. It was amazing how much water she could pump in and out. There was no man's come inside her this time but her brimming, passion-stirred pussy had produced sufficient quantities of love's elixir for her to need this homely douche.
Finally she was clean, satiated and ready for sleep. She went back to the bed and tried to decide whether to sleep naked without blankets in the eighty degree room or turn down the thermostat and cover up. The boy opened his eyes. "That was great," he murmured. "Want to do it again?"
"Don't tell me you're ready!" Ella gasped.
The boy gave a lazy smile. "Not quite, I guess," he admitted. "But I will be soon-oh Jesus!"
"What's wrong?" Ella asked.
"I forgot something," the boy said.
Sudden fear shot through Ella. So this was how it was to end. The boy would make up some urgent errand, they would tell each other lies about where and when they would meet again and she would be left with a head full of memories and a cunt full of longing. She wanted to scream, kick, howl and wail. Instead, she resolved to play out the moves of this charade. "What did you forget?" she asked.
The boy gave her a look of desperation. "Uh," he began, "Uh, look, I know you don't owe me anything but-"
Going to ask me for money! And fool that I am, if he asks for it, I'll give it to him!
"I got a buddy," the boy said. "We wasn't gettin' any rides so we decided to split up."
Ella waited, toying to look patient and encouraging.
"I uh-I didn't really expect to see him again for a long time but then he came along. He was cold and tired so I let him sleep in the truck."
And now its gone. Not just tires stolen! Some young delinquent has driven off with the whole rig. What'll I tell Al? She struggled, remembering she was naked, and managed not to go rushing out the door to see.
"-cold out there," the boy was saying, his voice speeding up now to get it all out before she could say no. "Do you mind if I go out and tell him he can come in here and get warm for a little while?"
Ella did mind. This bed was big enough for two and three was a crowd. But if the boy were out there in that cold suicide box with the engine dead and no heater ... She guessed she might as well give in gracefully.
"Make the bed first," she instructed. "And remember, not a word about what we've been doing."
The boy bounced from the bed and began hastily to spread the top sheet and the blankets she had piled in a corner. When the bed was in pristine condition he climbed hurriedly into his clothes and rushed out the door. The cold air that leaked through the door reminded Ella of the snow outside. Hastily, she finished getting back into her ski pants. She sat before the mirror struggling to get the snarls out of her pinkish blond hair.
Only moments ago she had come with an explosivity she had never imagined possible-one come so violently that she felt as if her last fragment of brain and willpower had melted and flowed right out of her cunt and into that lovely boy's educated mouth. And already she wanted him again.
As if the most virile of boys could recover that soon! And, she reminded herself, one boy in bed was fine but two boys were liable to turn into a snickering alliance against a common enemy-woman.
So what, she sour-graped. She'd already had a lifetime's erotic adventure in less than twenty-four hours. She had already gone well down the path on her new resolution to try everything at least once before she died.
It was going to kill her. She knew that. No woman could long withstand the ravages of too much fucking. Oh, she knew about whores. But they merely spread their legs and let men go off inside them. They didn't put their hearts and souls into it like Ella. It was going to kill her. But, thinking of this goddam strange boy who had come along to screw everything up, she reflected, what a way to die!
She really had to do something about her hair. But what? She needed a permanent. It was nearly straight again and she had showered and wet it so many times that it was as straight as a horse's tail and-oh what the hell! She combed it straight and stood before the heater to dry it. Then, remembering the boy out in the truck, she guessed she ought to turn down the thermostat. After all, he would be wearing clothes. From now on, damn it, they would all have to wear clothes!
The room was still sweltering. She unzipped the front of her ski jacket as low as she dared with a strange boy due any moment. What the hell was keeping him? Suddenly she realized her first guess had been right. There was no other boy. This was merely her nameless lover's excuse to get out of this stifling motel room. He wasn't heading for any boy sleeping in her truck. Already her nameless lover had departed. Somewhere down the highway he was singing the Song of the Open Road. And she hadn't even learned his name! Suddenly Ella didn't want to comb her hair. She threw the comb across the room. She was crossing the room to pick it up again when she heard the door opening.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I won't look, she told herself. But she knew she had to. What difference did it make? Either her boy had come back or he hadn't. If this was some chambermaid come to clean up the room there was no point in Ella showing her tears to a stranger.
"Uh, this is John," a hesitant voice said.
Ella knew the voice. Her heart leapt at the knowledge that she knew the body, the cock that came with that voice.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. "Nice to meet you, John," she said, still not looking. "And while we're introducing ourselves, my name's Ella."
The boy who had fucked and sucked her, stuffed his cock down her throat, taught her the joys of uninhibited sex-her nameless lover took the hint. "Uh-Mike," he said in tones of vague outrage as if she ought to know his name.
Ella braced herself and straightened. With the comb in her hand she turned and got her first look at-what in hell was his name-John! At first glance John looked very like Mike. Ella wondered if it was a sign that she was growing old when all boys of this age, long-haired and hard-bodied, just growing their first beards ... how, in their quest for individuality, how did they all manage to look so a-like?
She focused her eyes in the darkened room and discovered that John was perhaps an inch taller than the first boy, that he might outweigh his long-cocked buddy by five pounds, that his hair was straighter, longer, and a shade darker. She wondered if anything else about him was remarkably different.
"Uh-forgot something," Mike said. Ella wondered at his awkwardness. The boy had never been tongue-tied before-especially when he had his tongue between her legs! "My pack's out in the truck," the boy continued. "Be right back."
Ella was mystified as he went out the door of the motel room. If the boy had intended to bug out on her he would have left the first time. Now what was he up to? His pack was not in the rig. It was in the corner of this room beside her overnight bag.
"Your name's Ella?" It was the other boy.
Aha! Suddenly Ella saw it all She wondered if it were possible to die of shame. And they say a woman can't keep a secret, she thought. She knew from the awkward, diffident way this boy-this John was looking at her that he knew it all-probably had been regaled with a stroke-by-stroke, lick-by-suck account of everything that had happened between her and that nasty little snitch of a Mike. But, remembering the smooth hardnesses of Mike's body she felt her anger evaporating.
"Mike's a great guy but sometimes he's a terrible liar," John ventured.
Which means you want to know if it's really true. Ella put on her best Mona Lisa smile. "There are times when I'm not quite sure of the difference between truth and fiction myself," she said ruefully. "Sometimes the strangeness is on the wrong side of the fence."
"I ain't never done it," John said.
It occurred to Ella that there was a real difference between this boy and her lover, Mike. Apart from a cock and a tongue, Mike had some brains.
"Never done what?" Ella asked, knowing damn well what this inarticulate boy meant. In spite of her satiation she felt a little jump inside her at the boy's callow admission. "Never told the truth?" she continued.
John shook his head.
"Oh! You've never told a lie then?"
Even in the dim light of this drawn-curtained room she could see the boy blushing furiously as he shook his head again.
Ella smiled, enjoying herself in spite of Mike's clumsy maneuvering to set up this situation. And wouldn't she give him a piece of her mind when he came wandering innocently back! The boy stood before her writhing in an agony of embarrassment. She felt sorry for him. Boys had feelings too, she guessed, just like girls. She remembered how ignorant and innocent she had been-how she had longed for some kind and understanding person to....
Next thing I'll he opening my arms and mothering him! John was about the same age as Mike but there was apparently a gap of several years in their experience. She remembered her own girlhood. She must have been three, maybe four years older than either of these boys before old Fred had popped the question and her maidenhead in quick succession. She tried to put some kindness in her smile as she asked, "Exactly what is it you've never done?"
Which only made the boy shuffle and turn a darker shade of magenta. "Oh uh-" he finally managed. "Uh-all them things Mike's always tellin' lies about how he did and-"
"Does he lie?"
"Don't he?" John asked, startled out of his embarrassment.
Ella realized she could end the poor boy's embarrassment in a second but she remembered the ordeals Mike had put her through and decided it was time for somebody else to die of shame. Ella was tired of being the victim. "I don't know," she explained. "How can I know if he's lying when I don't know what he's told you?"
John considered this for some time and was forced to concede to superior logic. "Don't know," he said.
"Don't know if he's lying or don't know what he said?"
"I better go now," John said desperately.
"Don't you dare!" Ella snapped as she struggled to contain her amusement. "If somebody's been telling lies about me I want to know about it!"
"He didn't say nothing," John protested.
"Then you're the one telling lies about him?"
John was screwing his feet around in a positive agony of shit-kicking. "Well, uh-uh-Mike uh-he says you do it," he finally managed.
"I do lots of things," Ella said. "I keep house, I drive truck, I cook, I pay taxes."
"He says you take your clothes off," John finally blurted.
"Well of course I do," Ella said matter-of-factly. "Have you ever tried to take a bath without taking them off?"
"I gotta go," the boy repeated.
"Now stop that! You stay right here until you tell me exactly what your friend told you about me."
"He didn't really say much," the boy said desperately. "He just said I should go in here and say I never done it and maybe you'd help me."
"He told you to say you'd never done it?"
The boy nodded.
"And have you ever done it?"
The boy reddened again and he began twisting his feet. "No," he said in a barely audible voice.
"And what is it you've never done?"
"Fuck." It came out in a coarse whisper.
"Oh dear!" Ella said. "I'm sorry. I thought we were talking about driving trucks." It was all she could do not to explode with laughter at the way the boy's face fell.
"I better go," he said in disconsolate tones.
"You'd better not go just yet," Ella said. "You've been on the road and you're cold and you need a bath. Are you hungry?"
The boy shook his head. "I got money. I ate a while ago."
The boy was such a transparent liar that Ella was inclined to believe him in this matter. "But you still need a bath," she said firmly and pointed toward the open door.
"Yes'm," the boy said. He went into the bathroom and closed the door. He must have been a lightning undresser for Ella heard the water running much sooner than she expected. Hastily, she shucked her ski pants and jacket and got into the king-sized bed. Drawing the covers up around her chin she suppressed a giggle at what would happen when the boy came out and found her in bed.
Suddenly she realized her mind was so full of other thines she really wasn't sure. She passed a hand down the front of her full-blown body and was relieved. She did have on her bra and her matching yellow bikini panties. It would never do to appear naked before a stranger. She composed her straight hair on the pillow as best she could. She closed her eyes in the almost dark room and waited, listening to the sound of water splashing off the bov's body. She hoped Mike would get good and cold out there waiting in the truck.
If he was waiting. The boys had split up before to make getting rides easier. Maybe her red-hot lover had split again. Who cared? At least he left a fresh substitute. How many times was a virgin boy good for?
Ella had already had enough. Which made no difference; she wanted more. Listening to water splash in the shower, she tried to decide what to do first. There ought to be some kind of a manual full of handy hints on how to get the most out of a man-something on the most economical use of a hard-on. She suspected that for a boy who had "never done it" there would be little flexibility in the opening number. But who cared? She was just an old-fashioned girl herself-had been until a few hours ago when this young innocent's demon partner had taught her things she had never learned in eighteen years of marriage. The water stopped running in the bathroom.
It was a waste, she knew, to let the boy dress in the bathroom when sooner or later he was going to have to take it all off again. But seduction has its rituals and if she took too many shortcuts she might scare the boy right out of his hard-on.
The bathroom door opened and the bright light nearly blinded Ella. "Close the door," she called, "Or turn out the light or something."
The boy complied. She kept her eyes closed rightly for a few seconds, then opened them to see the boy standing by the bathroom door. Obviously he could still not see after his session in the brightly lit bathroom.
"Walk straight ahead and sit on the edge of the bed," she instructed. From his unquestioning obedience Ella knew that the boy did not suspect she was in bed. He walked slowly until his knees bumped the king-sized mattress, then turned and sat gingerly.
"Did you have a nice bath?"
"Yeah, thanks. I got warmed up too."
"That's nice," Ella said vaguely.
"I still can't see," he grumped. "It's too dark in here."
"Don't you turn the lights out when you go to bed?" she teased.
"Well yeah but-" The boy turned and squinted. This time he saw her. "Oh wow!" he said as he jumped from the bed.
"You are the jumpiest boy."
"But I didn't know you were-"
"Sit down," Ella said firmly. "When a person rents a motel room it's done with the understanding that there'll be a bed in it. Beds are for sleeping."
"Oh."
"Now why do you sound so disappointed?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, I see," Ella said in slightly exaggerated tones. "You're tired and you want to sleep too." She pretended to think for a moment. "If you'll promise to be good and not snore you can sleep here. It's a big bed and we won't get in each other's way."
John apparently didn't believe his ears. "In this bed? With you?"
"There's another?" Ella asked. "Oh for heaven's sake, aren't you even going to take your shoes off?"
"Sorry," John mumbled and let go of the corner of the blanket.
"And while you're at it, I've worn pants enough to know how they bind," Ella added. "So why don't you just sort of duck down out of sight and get rid of the rest of your clothes so you won't be twisting and turning all night?"
"How about you?" John asked suspiciously.
"How about me what?"
"You gotta be wearin' something."
"Of course I am. Woman don't usually sleep naked, you know."
John hadn't. But after a moment's indecision he sat on the floor and removed his clothes even more rapidly than he had in the bath. Raising the corner of the blanket like a screen, he scooted into the bed and lay rigid, face up on the farthest possible edge of the bed.
"Sleepy?" Ella asked amusedly.
No answer.
"Did you take all your clothes off?" Again no answer. "Well," she sighed, "good night."
"Ain't night," John grumped. "It's almost four in the morning."
And I left a call for six! "You're not really sleepy, are you?" she probed.
From John's grunt it was evident that he was not
"Neither am I," Ella said. "Why don't you tell me a story?"
"What kind of a story?"
"How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Drive a truck," she said sourly. "Do you do it with your pants on or off?"
"Huh?"
"I'll bet you're still wearing your pants," she accused.
"Ain't either."
"Can you prove it?"
"You want to look?" John asked incredulously.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"No," Ella said soberly, "I don't want to look." There was another long silence then, "You want to feel?"
"You're too far away."
"Oh."
"In fact, if you're not careful you just might fall out of bed," she added.
After a moment of silent thought John edged a few inches inboard from the edge of the king-sized bed.
"That's better," Ella said, "but you're still too far away for me to reach you."
"Do you want to?" She could sense the effort it cost him to make this daring statement
"I don't know," she said feigning indecision. "I guess it depends on whether you want to reach me."
"Sure do." It sounded like a young Gary Cooper.
Ella sighed. If he turned out not to have a cock this slow-witted boy was going to turn out to be a total loss. And she only had two more hours ... She decided to give it a final try. "Well, by this time you must know where I am."
There were sounds of furtive movement as the boy edged closer and then finally she felt a timid hand come from his direction. The hand touched her arm and immediately retreated. "You'll have to do better than that" Ella encouraged. This time two hands came across the bed. One found her arm and the other landed squarely atop one bra-clad tit. The hand on her tit retreated as if burned. She lay quiescent. In a moment it came stealing back. "Golly," he muttered. "I bet you do."
"Do what?"
"It."
"What's if?"
There was another moment of silence then the hand that had encountered an arm came exploring. Soon there was a hand over each nylon-clad tit. "You want to fuck?" he asked boldly.
Ella struggled not to laugh. "Actually, I'd been planning on sleeping," she bed, "but it's very relaxing. Perhaps it might help me get to sleep."
"It is?"
"Well," she explained, "there's not much chance of me getting to sleep until you do and I suspect you want to do it much worse than I."
"Yeah," the boy said. From his glum tone she knew he was expecting refusal. And in her bed, with a hot little hand on each tit! Ella wondered if she had ever been this young, this naive.
"Do you know what to do?" she asked.
"Sure."
"Would you buy a used car without kicking the tires and looking under the hood?" she asked. "Huh?"
Ella was reminded of a German classicist who once observed that "Against stupidity even the gods strive in vain." She wondered how men ever found the patience to deal with the "dumb blonde" so prevalent in masculine-oriented literature.
Yet perversely she felt a fascination with this willing but slow-witted boy. This, she supposed, must explain the male preoccupation with virginity. A girl totally without experience was usually a total washout as a sexual partner. Yet men were hung up on a tiny membrane which was more nuisance than anything eke. What was so wonderful about straining and hurting one's cock to tear a tiny fold of skin?
Ella was not going to break any cherry with this boy-not unless there were something about boys she had never learned. But she was fascinated with the role of teacher. It gave her an opportunity to impose her total will on the tabula rasa of an unformed sexuality. As long as his hard-on held out Ella knew this boy would do exactly what she told him. She could gratify her most secret, most sinful desire. There was only one problem: she didn't know what she wanted.
His hands still lay on her tits and she knew he was still afraid to even try to remove her bra. She wished now that she hadn't gone to bed. She should have greeted the boy fully clothed. That way he would have had time to get used to the idea. They could have played some variation on the old strip poker games that had figured so largely in the folklore of her virginal days. She remembered that she had put in a six o'clock call. She couldn't Be here all night waiting for this needful boy to screw up his courage.
"Can I look under the hood?"
Now what the hell was he talking about? Then abruptly Ella remembered her used-car metaphor. She sighed. Was he going to ask permission for everything? "In these matters," she explained, "silence is usually regarded as consent. If ever you do something you shouldn't I'll tell you to stop." And if you don't I'll give you a karate chop in a place you'll never forget.
The boy's hands had been absolutely still atop her nylon-clad tits, presumably on the assumption that if he were quiet enough she would not remember they were there. Now he began moving them, clumsily getting his first real feel of that lovely cock-stiffening superstructure that separates the men from the boys-as well as from the women.
This could go on all night, Ella knew. It might be hours before he screwed up the courage to feel her crotch and discover that she also wore panties. She doubled her legs and kicked mightily, sending top sheet and blankets in a tangled heap across the room.
"Oh wow!" the boy breathed as he saw the full-blown perfection of her body, still clad in yellow bra and matching bikini panties. Ella sneaked a glance .and saw the boy was clad in military style underwear several sizes too large.
"After you've undressed yourself I'll let you undress me," she said.
"Yeah?" She sensed that he was looking for the hidden catch in this offer. Just as she was ready to throw something at him, and him out the door, John finally resolved his doubts and began removing his tee-shirt and large boxer-shorts.
Ella didn't believe it. For eighteen years she had thought old Fred was magnificently endowed-until she had learned better when this dolt's quick-witted friend had filled her with flaming flesh and taught her what a boy could do if he had the equipment and some basic knowledge of how to use it.
But this slow-witted boy-She was reminded of one of old Fred's favorite sayings. He could be gross when he wanted to. Ella had never been able to break him of saying things like, "Big woman, big cunt; little woman, all cunt."
This boy, she suspected, made up m cock what he lacked in brains. It was, of course, in full rampant erection and she made allowances. But surely Mike's muffin-stabber had been expanded to full capacity on a few occasions-up her thrumming pussy and down her agonizing throat.
John's jock dwarfed even the varnished white ash of the tire club Mike had used to drive her nearly mad with frustrated desire while she drove through the snowstorm and he amused himself with his head in her naked lap. Ella wondered. She remembered how she had just known she could never take that blunt, wide-flanged club handle into herself-yet she had. Could she manage to contain this boy's horsesized hammer? She resolved to take him up to the hilt or die trying. How many chances like this would she get in a lifetime?
She had made a tactical mistake, Ella realized, for even this slow-witted a boy must be endowed with some imagination. By the time he had fumbled the hooks of her bra loose, by the time he had peeled her yellow bikini panties down far enough to unveil the luxuriance of her pubic triangle the boy would be so supercharged with excitement that he would never get it into her. She knew perfectly well that if he had "never done it" this boy was going to explode ignominiously, spray his precious seed all over the smooth curve of her belly. She should have just pulled her panties off, pulled his off, and pulled him on top of her before he could catch sight of the lovely vibrant vessel that nature had designed to catch his come.
Too late now, she philosophized. Anyway, boys of this age were jackrabbits. Maybe it was best to let him fire his first load in the air. A boy just growing his first beard could recover his hard-on in minutes and perhaps the second time he would not be quite so hair-triggered. The second time around maybe he could last long enough to get that prodigious prod into her and manage a couple of full-length strokes before his slow-witted imagination caught up with his cock and told him this was a real live woman, that he was actually fucking and-ooops!
His hands were fumbling with her bra, trying to peel it off her tits and over her head like a sweater. "Not that way," she murmured. There are some hooks behind." She was about to roll over and then realized that he would take hours even after he had found the hooks. With that peculiar motion which a man's totally different anatomical structure finds impossible, she reached between her shoulder blades and unfastened the bra. Even then it took the boy half an eternity to get the straps off her shoulders and down her arms. Finally he held the skimpy yellow bra in his hands, studying it like the holy relic of some lost civilization.
"It's only nylon cloth," Ella said. "The area of interest is down here where a real man would be kissing me by now."
"Ooooohhhh!" John said in tones of sudden understanding. He dived for the mountains on her chest and after some preliminary fumbling, slowly settled down to a workman-like Job of kissing his way around the base of her pectoral peaks, slowly circling toward the twin pinnacles where her aureoles were starting to tingle as her pink nipples slowly rose to an erection nearly as hard as the boy's cock.
Ella waited patiently, wondering if she was going to have to do it herself but finally the boy's hands snaked down her flanks and caught at the waistband of her smooth, snug-fitting bikini panties. She raised her ass to help him get them off and slowly the boy began kissing his way down her midriff until his nose was buried in the inviting crater of her navel. She reminded herself that the boy was a virgin and decided it would be wise not to draw him any closer to cunt country until he had gotten his bearings.
"Aaaaaaahhh!" the boy murmured.
At least he had gotten his lines right for once, Ella guessed. She moved her long milk-white thighs this way and that to help the boy get her panties the rest of the way off. Now she lay naked as the boy. She wondered if he would know what to do next.
Still kneeling beside her, still kissing her jutting fugs, the boy's hands began exploring her mons veneris-cautiously fingering each pinkish blond ringlet as if he had never felt hair before. His fingers dug into her bony prominence, exploring, feeling with increasing haste. Ella wondered what on earth he was up to. She remembered Sherlock Holmes' technique of putting himself in the criminal's mind. Now why would a virgin boy be poking and digging his fingers that painfully into a part of her body which was nothing but a bony ridge surmounted by hair? It made as much sense as probing an eyebrow. Damn itl He was digging so deep it was hurting.
Finally Ella thought she had worked it out. This boy was a throwback-a physical time machine from the days before any enterprising young man could buy whole magazines filled with nothing but photographs of nude women. She wondered where Mike had found him. The boy's total physical knowledge of women was from the crude stick figures boys used to draw on walls of girls-figures in which a woman had a vertical slit on the front of her body and a man with a tremendous erection walked toward her for a conjunction as physically satisfying as two cars colliding. She remembered apochryphal tales of dance halls where one could waltz about with a cock comfortably insulated by female flesh-as if such postures were possible!
But in this day and age? How could a boy surrounded by newsstands full of the most explicit pictures be so totally ignorant of female anatomy? His fingers still crept through her frontal triangle with increasing desperation and Ella could read his mind. The boy couldn't find her cunt. He was wondering if the whole business of fucking were not some colossal hoax on the order of snipe hunting or left-handed monkey wrenches. He'd had his heart set on fucking and here was a woman who didn't even have a cunt!
"You're looking in the wrong place," Ella murmured. "It's farther down, between my legs." And voicing his unspoken suspicion she added, "All girls are built that way."
The boy's hand slid off her bony triangle and moments later he was fondling, feeling, exploring and memorizing the pouting contours of her hairy vulva lips. She wondered how long it would take him to get around to opening them and putting an exploratory finger into the damp. But mostly, she wondered how, in nineteen hundred and seventy six, how could any boy be so unconscionably stupid?
When she was a girl, when nude pictures were-so rare as to be treasured and worn dog-eared from constant fondling-when even the most seductive picture had pubic areas retouched out to a hairless, featureless expanse of neutered nothingness-in those dear dead days it was understandable that a boy might be as ignorant as old Fred had been on her wedding night. But now?
"How long have you known Mike?" she asked.
Engrossed in exploring her crotch while still licking her tits, the boy's answer was nearly unintelligible. Finally she guessed he had said, "Couple of days."
Slowly a suspicion was growing in Ella. There was only one possible explanation for this boy's ignorance. Mike had picked him up on the road somewhere, had felt sorry for the boy and taken him under his wing. This boy was totally unprepared for life in this century. Where had he been all his sheltered life?
"What kind of work do you do?" Already Ella knew the answer. Still, she could feel a little frisson as hairs begin standing up on the nape of her neck. Talk about virgin boys! She had really hit the jackpot.
"Don't know," the boy's voice came muffled from his rooting in her tits. "Up to a couple of days ago I was going to be a priest."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Now what was so special about that? Ella was mystified. She was not a Catholic. She was not even religious. So what was giving her this sudden added fillip of unholy illicit joy? As if it wasn't enough for a forty-two-year-old woman to be contributing to the delinquency of a-of two minors!
She tried to calm herself. It wasn't as if she had led this slow-witted boy from his safe and assured life of indolence. He had made his own decision-run away from the seminary a couple of days before she even knew he existed. Twenty-four hours, she ruefully realized, before Ella had even known that she, herself existed.
But as long as he had done it she might as well. The boy's face had come up out of her tits. His hand had left her crotch. "Do you care?"
"Ifs your life," Ella said tartly. "Nobody's forcing you to do anything you don't want to do."
"But-?"
"But if you can't make up your mind I might as well put on my clothes and go to sleep."
"Oh no!" the boy hastened. "I want to-" Instead of telling her what he wanted to do the boy was suddenly between her legs, trying frantically to get his cock into her.
"Not that way," Ella hastened. "What's your hurry?"
"Got to get it in before I go off!" he gasped. In something under a microsecond Ella reviewed her options. She had considered letting him fire his first load off target. But, remembering the size of this boy's untried organ, suddenly acutely aware of the feel of a frantic boy between her legs, Ella exercised a woman's prerogative to change her mind. She put her hand down there in the combat zone, captured the wildly gyrating tip of the boy's pristine tool, and squeezed-hard!
"Oooow!" The boy's outrage and pain were loud and prolonged. "Why'd you have to go and do that?" he complained.
"To give you time to get it in," Ella explained.
"Oh!" The boy's brief pain ended and he settled down to the realization that, though his hard-on had diminished slightly, it was in scant danger of bending double. And he was not going to come again for-for at least ten seconds.
"Now move slowly and carefully," Ella said, still grasping his mule-sized cock and guiding its hot, throbbing tip toward the gaping labia of her ready cunt.
She felt the branding iron heat against the lips of her pussy, felt the sharp point of his spearheadshaped cocktip begin prying open the convoluted walls of her vagina and oh, jesus, did it ever feel good to have a cock inside her again!
She remembered the hour hand slowness of Mike's entry as the boy worried about hurting her. This boy was either too ignorant or too uncaring to worry about such things. She felt his cocktip cautiously penetrate her pussy, and then suddenly the boy was not moving slowly at all.
He was not wham-bamming either, but the boy was suddenly feeding seemingly yards of hot hard cock into her, pushing it in past old Fred's deep-water mark, past the deepest that young Mike's prodigious prod had ever penetrated, going so deep into her seething socket that Ella knew this time she was not going to escape unscathed. It was impossible. No normal woman could take all the meat this failed priest was trying to give her.
Hastily, she got her fist between her ass and his descending pelvis. "That's deep enough," she said.
"Awwww!"
"You're the expert?" she asked. "You want to show me how to do it?"
"No but-"
"But if you put it in any deeper you'll hurt me and I'll never let you put it in again."
"All right," the boy said resignedly. Suddenly he stiffened, clenching fists and grating teeth as it slowly dawned upon him that he had his cock more than halfway into a woman, that he had not come yet, that he was actually fucking!
"Think about something else," Ella instructed.
"What?"
"About how I'll never forgive you and never let you do it again unless you control yourself and don't make a mess right now."
"Oh." Still the boy poised atop her, cock halfway in, body rigid with the effort not to come. "Will you have a baby?" he suddenly asked.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Ella said grimly. She felt the boy's high-explosive cockhead imperceptibly soften. "Now you can start doing it," she said.
"Do what?"
Ella felt like kicking her heels into his kidneys before she kicked him out of bed. Christ! "Take it slow and careful." she managed. "Pull it almost all the way out then push it back in, but don't go any deeper than you are right now. Keep this up as long as you can. If you feel a disaster coming on, stop and rest And remember," she warned, "it isn't a question of how long you want to do it. If you want to do it with me, you have to be able to keep it up until I'm ready to quit"
"I'll try," the boy said uncertainly. Slowly, he began withdrawing.
Ella felt her abdomen collapsing as the tremendous bulk of his cock left her deflated. She wondered if this was what it felt like just after having a baby. Before she could get used to the blessed relief from all that stretching, the pointed, tremendously flukeflanged head of the boy's long thick thumper was sliding into her again. This time he was doing it slowly, carefully. Ella felt her insides begin to twist and churn as her belly tuned up for another chorus of love's old sweet song.
The boy stopped with his tremendous cock two thirds in her. She sensed the effort it cost this hot-blooded youth to refrain from nailing her to the mattress. It was no good this way. Sooner or later he would get carried away, would forget, and with one full stroke of that deadly lance he would kill her.
Ella was tempted to let him. It would be a lovely way to go. But if she were to die now she could nevermore sense the lovely, lively feel of a live cock filling her with the juices of life and love. Still, she had to do something. If only she knew a little more about it. She was stricken with a sudden inspiration.
She debated the usual ways and decided against them. The boy was too green and he would either hurt her or come. Before he could protest she gave a sudden buck and his cock was out of her with a "thuck" like a cork leaving a full bottle. "Turn over on your back," she instructed before the boy had time to protest.
He did and the tremendous cock sticking straight in the air from his lean, maturing body was suddenly the most intensely exciting sight Ella had ever witnessed. She felt her juices start to flow at the realization that she had had that prodigious prod inside her, that it was going back into her again!
But this time she poised, kneeling astraddle the boy's supine body. Facing him, she began lowering her ass carefully down onto the fleshy steeple of his temple of love. She felt the spear-pointed tip penetrate her juiced cunt easily, felt the tremendous, almost painful stretch as that colossal cock once more began its journey into the depths of her vaginal tunnel.
The boy lay quiescent, holding his breath and gritting his teeth with the effort not to come. Before he had been on top of her, relying on feel. Now as Ella poised vertically above him the boy could see her as well, focus his burning eyes on the curve of her flexed thighs, see the perfection of her rounded, deep-naveled belly, admire the abrupt constriction of her tiny waist, run his eyes up midriff to the foothills of her pectoral peaks.
Dumbly, he stretched imploring hands to make sure he was not dreaming, that those twin magnets that pointed at him like headlights were really warm womanly flesh, jiggling cones of sensuality with fullblown lower surfaces, with ski jump upper slopes that culminated in full aureoles and tiny virginal, rockhard and fully erect little pink nipples. As his hands cupped the firm perfection of her forty-twos the boy closed his eyes and moaned his ecstasy.
Between her legs Ella felt his cock throb dangerously. She stopped her slow descent and put her hands down on the mattress to support herself. It was not as easy as she had thought to lower herself this slowly, this carefully atop and around something that was stretching her almost beyond endurance. She felt her thighs quivering with fatigue.
Slowly the boy recovered his cool. Once more Ella began descending. To poise in this awkward position for any length of time was infinitely more tiring than she had expected. Her thighs were quivering and suddenly she knew this quiver was being transmitted throughout her ass, through her cunt to the young man's virgin cock. No wonder he was having trouble not to come! It was as if she were going over the untried tip of his tool with a vibrator.
She began lowering herself once more down the slick length of his glistening cock, feeling her insides move this way and that with mute incredulity at the size of this phallic battering ram.
Ella had planned only to lower herself two thirds of the way down that prodigious pillar but her fatigued thighs betrayed her. Before she could stop herself the boy's cock was still another inch into her-so deep now that she could feel the tips of stray wisps of his pubic hair tickling the tense-muscled cheeks of her straining ass.
She gasped, feeling cock where there had never been cock before. After a moment she realized incredulously that even this deep up her tunnel of love the boy's banger was not hurting her. It was stretching her more than she had ever been stretched before but after she realized it was not going to kill her-after she managed to relax and accept this gift from the holy trinity, Ella realized the failed priest was but one more thing to try before she died. Trying not to flinch and giggle as the boy's pubic bush tickled and tantalized her bottom, she wondered if it were possible for her to settle down the rest of the way. Could she take it all without doing herself some permanent damage?
If she didn't do something soon the boy was going to get restless and he might try anything. He might, perhaps, give a sudden upward lunge of his lean-assed body and drive that dong so deep into her that she could never get it out.
While she had been trying to reach an intellectual conclusion her cunt had drawn its own conclusions and secreted an abundance of love's elixir to lubricate the passage of this prurient papist's prick up her protestant pussy. Once more her thighs and ass were quivering from the effort of holding this awkward squatting position above the boy's hot, hard-breathing body.
And once more she went farther than she had planned. Her tired legs betrayed her and the boy's bargepole slid smoothly up into her until she could feel the bony prominence of his straining body. Ella said a little prayer for her over-stretched cunt and let her body down the rest of the way until she was sitting with her weight on the boy's pelvis and the terrible strain was off her legs. "Aaaaaaaahhh!" she sighed.
"Yeaaaaaahhh!" the boy echoed.
Ella was afraid to move. She had never imagined any woman this side of childbirth could have anything that big stuffed into her. It was immeasurably larger than the tire club Mike had been using to distract her from the rigors of driving in a snowstorm. It was so big she knew if the boy were to turn her over now and go for the fall with a session of ram-slam, wham-bam fucking he would tear something. Why, she wondered, had she ever let it into her this far? Now that the boy knew it would go into her this deep he would take no excuses.
Poised like some erotic statue over the supine boy, she tried to decide what next. The boy made the decision as he gave a little lunge that sent her up in the air. Her cunt slid an inch upward on his greased pole, and before she could stop herself her ass had slid down again with a firm smack of flesh against flesh. It hurt. But it hurt so gooooood!
The boy did it again and Ella, to her amazement, found her body cooperating enthusiastically. She was bouncing joyously, her cunt sliding smoothly up and down the boy's giant jock, her belly filling and emptying with each stroke. Her jaunty forty-twos were flying with such a delightful motion that the boy was hard-put to decide whether there was more pleasure in the feel of her snug cunt sliding up and down his cock or the sight of her jolly jugs jouncing their ski jump contours in time to the lovely erotic friction that surrounded his hitherto virgin thrill-drill.
Ella suffered no such difficulty. The boy had a lean hard body as boys are wont to possess. But not every boy had a cock as prodigious as the prod on this priest. She bounced up and down, exulting in the fine firmness of that papist phallus pounding in and out, in and out in time to her measure and not his.
Still sliding her ass up and down his barb, she began slowly to lean forward, dangling her lovely jugs over the boy's face until he strained to snap at the nipples that raked over his lusting face. It felt so good Ella was afraid she was going to forget herself and fuck the boy into premature idiocy-as if he were that smart to begin with.
Gradually she lost herself in the toils of eroticism, leaning lower and lower over the supine boy until he could bury his face in the lovely softness of her jouncing jugs. Crouched low over the boy in reversed missionary position, astraddle his lean ass, hers bouncing up and down the length of his lance to create the necessary friction, wallowing in a sea of sensuality while the boy strained to drive his cock deeper, lick, kiss and suck ever greater areas of tit, Ella was so busy she didn't even hear the door of her motel room opening.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Even when she felt an extra pair of hands on her ass Ella didn't at first realize what had happened. Then with a sudden shock she did. It was enough to stop the incipient storm of orgasm that threatened to tear her already strained pussy in two.
Damn him, she thought, oh goddam him! Why couldn't Mike have stayed away a few minutes longer? Why had he left in the first place? But as long as he had set up this situation, abused her good nature to initiate this clod, why couldn't he at least have the decency to stay out of the way until they were finished?
It was too much. Was she to be spared no humiliation? Christ! Here she was fucking away like a demented maenad and her lover was behind her watching! Oh goddam him! She wanted to cry, to shriek, to kick his juvenile ass up between his shoulders and send him packing down the road. But she was spindled on this other boy's unbelievable spike and it felt so good she didn't want to quit now. Maybe if she could keep Mike behind her John would not see and lose his hard-on and end it all before she had gotten the final, full measure of firm devotion from his throbbing thumper.
She gestured angrily for Mike to stay behind her, out of sight. If it turned him on to watch her ass bob up and down another boy's cock that was his problem and not hers.
There was a confusion of movement behind her but she could feel Mike's stray hand pat her ass and she guessed he was staying out of sight. Damn him! It had all been so perfect, so why did he have to come along now and spoil it? Suddenly Mike was not just patting her ass.
He was grasping her firmly by the hips, not interfering with the frantic motion of her cunt up and down John's jock, but gripping her nevertheless. Then she felt him move closer, felt the burning warmth of his body behind her, above her. What on earth was that insane boy doing?
Ella bobbed her cunt frantically, moving up and down almost the full length of John's rod, driving it deep into herself, pulling it out until the tip of his tool barely parted her furry vulva lips as she struggled for one more flight into Nirvana before the boy's maiden flight crashed in blurting, spurting finality.
She had come so many times she was no longer as hair-trigger as the first time Mike had long-cocked her. But her need had grown even more acute as she discovered places, sensations and needs she had never even known she possessed. She had to come one more time, sense and savor to its fullness the fine feel of this virgin boy's untried tool. How many more times in her life would she get a chance at first fruits? So what was that goddam Mike doing with his hands on her ass, scooting close to her bobbing bottom, hovering over her back as she raked John's face with her glowing tits?
Ooooohhhh Jeeeesus! Now she knew what he was doing. She remembered dimly that she had vowed to try everything at least once. But this? The dim-witted boy beneath her had filled her belly until she felt close to bursting. She was operating at her outer limits just to be able to savor the feel of his control tower sliding in and out of her tight-stretched cunt. And now Mike was struggling to force the golfball-sized head of his hammer up her ass!
Ella tried to ignore him. Concentrating on the feel of her tight-stretched pussy sliding up and down John's jock, she tried to ignore every distraction, let the good times roll, let the momentous event that was building in her palpitating belly-If Mike would just leave her alone she knew she could come again.
If she could just keep bouncing up and down fast enough ... But she couldn't. Displaying a skill beyond his years, her demon lover was moving up and down too, his bony pelvis keeping time to the rhythm of her tight-stretched pussy going up and down John's cock, her first lover's cock maintaining a steady pressure against the twittering rosette of her anus.
She was flowing freely, her whole crotch damp with the juices of joy. Mike's elegantly slim spear captured some of those juices and the slick head was pushing relentlessly at the slippery muscle of her anal sphincter. She couldn't possibly take all that inside her at once. But she didn't want to stop now-not when she was this close to coming with John's virgin bargepole filling her.
Bobbing her ass frantically, she gave up at any try for finesse, letting her upper body collapse and no longer raking the would-be priest's face with her firm forty-twos. Now the boy was drowning in an avalanche of tits as she let her chest down atop him, concentrating every ounce of her strength on keeping her frantic pussy sliding up and down, up and down, running the boy's unbelievable erection in and out of her. She was going to come. She knew now that she would make it in spite of that goddam Mike's distractions.
Then abruptly Mike's cock was more than a distraction. He was bobbing up and down too in time with her movements, pressing ever closer until suddenly her anal rosette surrendered. There was a tremendous stretching sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced, and then she felt the round throbbing head of his hammer sliding up, up into her as the boy herded his honker down the old dirt road.
Tight. Oh Jesus, was it ever tight. She had thought John's oversized erection was enough to kill her and now she had two cocks in her-one all the way up her cunt as she bottomed out onto John, the other seemingly miles up her asshole as Mike came down atop her, squeezing Ella in an erotic sandwich between two hard young male bodies. She didn't know whether to scream for help or for more.
It hurt but it hurt so good she knew she was going to die, and she didn't care whether she died or not, so long as she could just be here, feel all this lovely hard masculinity beneath her, on top of her, in front of her, behind her, up her cunt and up her asshole. She was sandwiched in so tight between the boys that she couldn't move.
Then Mike began slowly pulling out. It felt as if she were having a colossal bowel movement except that no bowel movement had ever turned her brains to peanut butter with the knowledge that she was going to come right now, steadily, forever!
He pulled his honker out of her ass until only the great golfball-sized knob remained inside. She still had John's jolly jock in her all the way, her vulva lips grinding against the bony hairiness of his pelvis. Slowly, Ella began moving up away from the boy beneath her.
As John's cock came slowly out of her cunt Mike's went into her asshole. Her insides, already fluttery from impending orgasm, moved aside as one prodigious cock replaced the other. She felt her ass strike Mike's as he gripped her hips with his hands and gave a happy little grind that stretched her and forced his cock in an erotic circle, stirring her in ways she had never been stirred before.
She began once more her slow, sensual slide down John's cock, and as his cock went up her cunt Mike's came out of her ass, forcing everything inside her to move, rearrange itself, slipping and gurgling in a sea of love's elixir. It hurt. She was fuller than she had ever imagined any woman could ever be. But it hurt so good Ella knew she wanted to do it again and again.
Her body had taken over completely now, cutting every rational mind completely out as her belly, her cunt, every part of her reacted to the command of FUCK! She felt her rhythm increase. Mike crouched behind her and over her, not moving. John lay supine below her. Ella's ass moved rapidly between them, taking first one cock, then the other into her seething orifices.
She was moving faster, slamming her ass against the boys', her hips bobbing back and forth like the mechanism of some berserk sewing machine as twin needles stitched erotic designs into her subconscious.
Great pink-flaming waves of passion surged through her, suffusing her flexing belly, forcing hot, throbbing blood through her tits until she sensed her nipples burning the boy's face just as Mike's flaming ears had seared her thighs. Rut coursed through her, filling her and overflowing, pink-frothed fountains of lust surging up her spine to foam and sparkle in the cavity where once she had possessed a brain capable of thinking of something apart from the supernal joy of one cock going in as the other came out.
Hands captured her head and drew it up until the boy's face was no longer submerged in a soft sea of tits. John was kissing her-for the first time she realized bemusedly. Without thinking she let her tongue escape into the cavity of his mouth. And John, the " boy who hadn't even known how to get his cock into her, was suddenly swapping tongues with the finesse of a roue.
She was climbing, gradually scaling the crevasses of Passion Peak, her whole body suffused with a flame of erotic desire that was fulfilling itself even as she demanded more, harder, faster. She had known she was going to be able to come at least once more. Now she was coming-now explosively with the devastation that would leave her distraught, her insides relaxed and flaccid, churned into a passionate pudding of satiation.
Her insides were rippling, contracting, squeezing the twin cocks that invaded her. She was flowing freely from every orifice-even her eyes streaming tears of joy unconfined as her ass bobbed up and down squeezing, milking, encouraging these two boys to give her the final full measure of devotion.
The boys were performing heroically. She could expect this level of professionalism from Mike. After all, he had blunted the sharp edge of his appetite with her several times already. But the cloddish virgin beneath her? She realized that a lack of imagination had its advantages. Probably the boy thought this fine, sustained level of eroticism' was the way it went all the time. She gave a mental sigh for the disappointments that awaited him with other less agile and eager partners.
But Ella was too occupied with the affairs of the moment to indulge in long-range thoughts. Her ass was bobbing in mindless joy between twin foci of eroticism as one cock went into her and the other out, churning her insides, moving her as Ella had never been moved before in her eighteen years of fucking.
She was coming now-not spasmodically, but coming with a steady gushing stream of joy that seemed as if it would never end. There was no interruption to the melting, crumbling of inhibitions and defenses as her body surrendered all thought of past and future to the overwhelming physical now.
Great contractile waves surged through her, squeezing the twin cocks that tormented, tantalized, and pleasured her. The boys were moaning too, squirming and striving to rub every inch of their lean bodies against the milky softness of her clear skin. Hands reached between her" and John to capture the tits vacated when the failed priest began deep-kissing her. She wondered if there were one single avenue of erotic sensation left untouched. Surely there was nothing else left to try.
Then abruptly she knew there was. Mike had been posing over and behind her, motionless as his cock collected the smooth slickness of her ass coming back and up each time she pulled her cunt off the indefatigable erection beneath her.
Now the boy behind her changed his rhythm. Instead of remaining motionless, he pulled back with her until her belly was suddenly empty not just of one cock but of both boys' busy machinery.
She poised a moment, John's spearhead barely parting her labia mojora and Mike's golfball-sized glans penis barely penetrating the twittery contractions of her anal sphincter. Then, as she sensed the momentary blessedness of total emptiness, Mike began pushing, driving his dong deep down the old dirt road, pelvis against her ass to force her down the full length of John's enormous erection.
Oooohhh sweeeeet Jeeeeesus! It was the first time she had had both cocks bottomed out inside her at the same time. Until now each time one boy's banger had been in her the other had been out. Now the situation was totally changed, and a new set of erotic sensations assaulted her as her thrumming belly alternated between the second-long relaxation of no cock at all before once more being slammed down between the twin hard asses that slammed into her from back and front, each striving to drive his cock deeper into the docile flesh between them.
She could feel the interference and knew each boy was feeling the other's cock inside her, separated only by the thinnest of membranes as her ass and cunt stretched to their utmost. It was really too much. She knew she ought to complain, make them stop it, or at least go back to the alternating, one-two rhythm of one cock going in as the other went out.
This was going to kill her. But what a way to go! She struggled to tell them to stop but her body was acting with an older wisdom and the only sounds that came from her were the high-pitched keening wails of joy unconfined.
She was blind, her vision curtained off by a pink wall of lust that shut out all thought of tomorrow. She would pay for this. Ella knew she would pay for it with aches, with pains, with loneliness and regrets. But that was some other day and this was now. This was two boys, two cocks coursing simultaneously in and out of her, filling her with the joy that passeth all understanding.
The boys were keening and moaning too, overcome with the joys of the eternal present of eroticism, pouring their all to her with no thought of holding back. Mike had lost his beat, and now the cock that counter-pointed John's steady, cunt-filling in and out was sometimes with, sometimes against the other boy's, giving Ella a suspenseful erotic uncertainty as she never knew what would come next.
She was flowing, her belly wracked with great contractile waves of passion as she spurted and flowed with a constant surge of orgasm, totally surrendered to the joys of the eternal present. She was moaning, crooning her joy. And so were the boys, ram-slamming with unbridled passion. John had abandoned his passive role beneath her and now his lean hard ass was rising joyously to meet her every descent.
Mike was slamming her down harder upon the other boy, riveting his cock into her, filling her, stretching her, making her shiver and wail and pray that he would stop, that he would take it out if only for a moment, just take it out deeper!
Temples throbbing, she felt a sudden moisture and was for a moment terrified. I've broken something inside me, torn something, she knew. And then she knew it was something else. After holding out all this time on his maiden flight, John was finally coming, filling her with gallons of scalding semen, spurting like some spastic fire hose. Then Mike's cock was flooding her ass and she was shrieking her joy as she felt her insides twist, melt, twist again in a final flutter of erotic joy. They lay spent, the boys in front of her and behind her, both cocks shrinking now but still inside her satiated body.
Ella's ears were ringing and then finally she realized dazedly that it was the telephone. She stretched a nerveless hand and picked it up. "Six o'clock," a prim, feminine voice said.
"Oh yes, thanks," Ella said sleepily. "I-uh, think I'll stay another day and rest up." Surveying the comatose boys she added, "Could you send out some breakfast?"
"I'll connect you with room service," the prim voice said.
Ella struggled to her feet. She had to get this room in some kind of shape before somebody wheeled a tray of breakfast in here. Had to get the come rinsed off her own superb body, too.
The boys stirred sleepily. John looked up at her naked body. "That was great," he said. "Can we do it again?"
