Now it's no secret that a serious stage actress in New York spends more time between jobs than in shows. Why should I be different? Calls for chorus parts even had reached an all time low. The trade papers seemed to get thinner every week. Money was tight, no new shows, my dresses were getting looser, and the due date for my next rent check was getting closer.
It all spelled bad news for any year, and I combed the want ads for some temporary work to get me through the late winter doldrums. It looked like a bleak few months of office temporary jobs when I read a small squib about the Census Bureau recruiting census takers. "Why not?" I decided and trotted my trim little butt down to the Federal Building to take a simple test.
It was not the first time I had been in the employ of Uncle Sam, although the dear fellow had no record of my involvement the first time. I spent my early years being brought up on Army posts, from Alaska to Japan. Daddy had just made colonel when I turned fourteen and his trusted corporal, Spike Reynolds, was also promoted to sergeant.
Spike was a lonely enlisted man from a small town in North Carolina freezing his rocks off in Juneau, Alaska, and he came around our cottage one afternoon looking for daddy.
"The colonel's gone to Hawaii for the weekend," I told the shivering sergeant.
A WAC lieutenant was supposed to be in charge of me while pops was away, but she was across town screwing around with a marine and I was all alone at home.
"Wanna come in and warm up?" I offered.
A funny look came into his eye, but I had known Spike for two years and felt completely at home with him.
"Sure, Sammy," he said.
I winced at the nick-name and held the door only half-open.
"You can if you call me by my real name. It's Samantha," I bargained.
"Samantha it is," he said without hesitation. "You sure are growin' up."
I colored at that and wondered if I looked as feminine as I was feeling. A strange warmth was filtering up from between my legs and I tried to act nonchalant But my heart was racing.
"Would you like a drink? I know where my father keeps the bourbon. But you can't ten," I pleaded.
"Sure," he lit up. "A shot of whiskey will take the chill out, all right"
I filled a glass with three times too much bourbon and gave it to the wide-eyed sergeant. Christ, he was only six years older than I was. I wondered why he seemed so grown up.
"Anyone around, Samantha?" Spike asked when he was settled in an easy chair and sipping the neat bourbon.
"Lieutenant Murphy's gone for the afternoon, some marine, I think." The envy must have dripped from my words, for Spike smiled.
"Here's to you," he toasted and downed fully half the tumbler of whiskey.
I gulped half of what was in my glass and my eyes burned. I started to choke and Spike was pounding my back. The clasp of my brassiere was being riveted into my spine.
"Cut it out!" I coughed and tried rubbing the welt he raised.
"Oh, Jeez, I'm sorry," Spike apologized. "Didn't mean to hurt."
His apology was accompanied by his hand, gently rubbing and discovering my brassiere strap. My head was floating and Spike's fingers felt terrific on my back. I began to relax and in the next moment, his hand was under my sweater, rubbing my back and slipping under my bra strap.
"Is that okay," he asked, still rubbing. "Hey, I give a good massage."
The goose bumps were sprouting everywhere now and my virgin pussy was on fire. I was frightened, but exhilarated and I stretched out across his lap, my breasts dangling between his thighs. Every few moments he would squeeze his thighs together and trap them while his hands stroked my back. I heard the zipper to my skirt being slowly opened and felt his fingers travel down to the crease of my anus. My heart was in my throat, but I loved every moment of it. I was excited by the sudden realization that Spike was going to take my virginity. "Serves Murphy right!"
Spike's lap began to get crowded. I felt something jabbing my right breast and growing larger with each foray Spike made under my panties. He unsnapped my bra and I felt his lips combing my bare back. Unconsciously my thighs opened and closed. Then his hand ran up my leg and settled on my soft inner thigh. His hand seemed to be wavering in making a decision. I made it for him, clamping his fingers between my legs and pushing backward so his fingers felt the moist heat that blasted from my cunny.
"Uh, maybe I should stop," the dummy said nervously.
"You stop, and I'll get my father to break you into the lowest private that ever dug a latrine," I threatened.
"'Nuff said," Spike laughed, and I felt him rip my undies down my legs. "You got a beautiful little ass for a kid."
"I'm not a kid," I said defensively.
"'Scuse me, ma'am, would the lady of the house like to show us the way to her bedroom, then?"
We went into my room and I pulled the window shade down while Spike poured another shot of bourbon and belted it down. I don't know who was more scared. He poured another and offered it to me. I took it and managed to swallow it without the noise this time.
"If I don't want to get demoted, I guess we'd better get down to business," Spike said.
With quick hands he took off my sweater and skirt and I was on my back feeling his tongue stinging my nipples. One hand rubbed my muff while the other unbuttoned his shirt. His touch was heavy but my pussy was snapping with stimulation. He finally kicked off his shoes and unzipped his pants and his rod sprang out of a sandy-haired thicket. It was swollen and bulging fiercely and I suddenly got scared. That was going to fit in there?
I wanted to cry out, to call the whole thing off, but it was too late. He rubbed his piece against my thigh and I felt the hot surface close in on my little slot, tightly clamped shut. His whiskey mouth covered mine and I gritted my eyes while his fingers probed my vulva. I spread my legs wide to help and then he rammed his prick into my hymen. It broke like a wafer and I was suddenly stuffed with the young sergeant's powerful weapon. My channel must have been tight as a drum because he grunted with every thrust.
"Relax, for Chrissake," he said between heaves and I tried. I realized I hadn't even breathed for the past few moments. But I did relax and my juices were running in four directions. I began to enjoy the feeling of his rigid flesh pulsing against the walls of my hot pussy. Spike twisted and rotated and had himself a ball. He wasn't going to wait for me, though. He started pumping furiously and in the next instant he spurted a wad of come and I felt his semen washing inside me. He seemed spent and rested, occasionally jerking his rod through my oozing grotto. I wondered if that was all to it. It was kind of fun, but not what I had imagined it to be. What about my end of the orgasm, I wondered. But his occasional jerks were beginning to stir something down there. He was nudging my clitoris with every movement and now my innards were taking on a new life. I squirmed and bucked and frictioned against his thickness until I began to go crazy with stimulation. He started pumping again and hitting a spot. It was like a carnival test-your-strength-and-ring-the-bell game. Spike's sledge hammer kept sending the little ball higher and higher, closer and closer to the bell, when suddenly we crashed together in a frenzy and the bell rang. My pussy was deafening with my first climax.
Most girls say their first time was dreadful, just awful. Not me, though. It wasn't that Spike was such a good lover. After a few others, the memory of Spike's sexual powers was but a dim glimmer. I just had a ball, despite a few drops of blood. My sacrifice to the gods, Venus and Eros.
It was a pretty kicky trip not even to feel a tinge of guilt at my tender years. Spike got nervous when he saw the pink on the sheets and he took on enough guilt for both of us.
"I didn't mean to do that," he whined.
I wanted to pull his new stripe right off his arm. "Ji it'll make you feel any better you can give me a buck for the movies," I squealed.
That put him right at ease, for he must have dug into his wallet dozens of times in dozens of bedrooms since he was in the service. On home ground the guilt disappeared and he whistled a down-home folk tune on the way out.
And that is how I first went on Uncle Sam's payroll. To be sure I had my eyes wide open as to what I was doing. Only three months before I saw daddy balling the wife of a brigadier general. It's probably how he made colonel. The general and his wife were touring the post on a trip out from Washington D.C. After a private party at the officers club daddy invited the top brass to our cottage. I was a heavy sleeper and no doubt I had snoozed through a batch of wild parties in the previous two years. But this night they were getting so loud that I put on my robe and stole into the pantry where I could witness unnoticed a drinking bout that included daddy, the general, his buxom wife and a WAC captain, who was practically asleep on the couch. The brigadier had his arm around the WAC and his lights were about to go out too. He drained his glass and quietly passed out, leaving daddy and Mrs. General talking quietly.
"Why it looks like we're the only two left," the general's wife slurred.
"We will overlook their rudeness," daddy winked and the two of them giggled stupidly.
Neither said anything for a few moments but the woman leaned forward suddenly and planted a long wet kiss on his lips. Daddy kissed back and he had a hand under her dress, rubbing her full thigh and tugging on her garter. Her bands were clawing at his hard chest, marveling at his physical fitness. Her husband had gotten soft behind a desk in Washington and now he lay in a sprawled out stupor, his pot belly pushing over his belt.
Wordlessly they walked into daddy's bedroom not bothering to shut the door. He zipped her out of her dress and she unbuckled his belt. She was on her knees next, skimmed his shorts, tonguing his prick. Daddy was hung handsomely and when he started to erect it was like watching a mortar shell come out of its casement in slow motion. She filled her mouth with his bulging rod while he patted her dyed red hair. She sucked and blew while daddy pushed and pulled. She teased his foreskin nibbling while her fingers stroked the length of his penis and combed the hair on his balls.
She never let his erection out of her mouth but crawled onto the bed and arched her back into a pushup while daddy pushed his knees into the footboard and pumped into her mouth. A few moments later daddy shuddered and his stimulated pecker sent a charge of semen cascading into her voracious mouth. She swallowed his manstuff and he jumped on top of her, catching her hanging breasts before she came down on her stomach. He squeezed and massaged them and bit into her neck making her writhe with the same sort of sensation I was getting just watching them. Then he flipped her over and pushed his prick into her pussy.
She stifled an ecstatic squeal and her face contorted into a mask of pleasure. Daddy pumped like a twenty-year-old, recklessly and relentlessly until she wriggled her hips and bucked with the same intensity. Pops hit her and there was a silent scream as she clawed the air and climaxed against his plummeting spear. Pops came in the next instant They lay dead to the world.
Meanwhile the general revived in the living room and discovered his armful of WAC officer. She slept soundlessly, her legs relaxed and inviting. He looked around, saw no one, and surreptitiously his fingers crept under her skirt, The WAC may have been having the most glorious dream of her life.
What started out to be an idle finger-fucking turned into a full-scale extravaganza. The WAC slid forward to feel his fingers penetrate further. He pushed her dress above her waist, hauled her panties off, and tenderly caressed her flaming labia with his lips. His main course consisted of her clitoris and he set to eating her delectable tidbit while the girl braced her neck against the back of the couch. She pulled the general forward by his ears and he tongued and lapped for all he was worth. She caught her breath and came on his long tongue, flexing her thighs back together and apart in the afterglow.
But that was only the beginning. The general's thick weapon stretched against his fly and the ever attentive WAC unzipped his pants to free the little devil. As soon as his rod bounced out, the general sat on the couch and plunked the bare-assed girl on top of his squirming glans. His spear slid through like a knife through butter and the girl's pussy was impaled with his fat prick. He bounced her on his knees as though she was a toddler and she was given the shakingest screwing of her life. The general reconnoitered her frontal defenses and removed her khaki blouse and bra with commando efficiency.
The years behind a desk had not dulled his sense of battlefield position and he proceeded to knead her tight-nippled tits in rhythm to his upward thrusts. Her hands shot down and cradled his bobbing balls. She was out of her mind with desire and frictioned on his prick with a furious twisting motion. The general grunted and fired a barrage of come into her sticky slot. She came down through the ooze and exploded herself.
Her strangled cries were enough to bring pops to, and I saw him stagger to the doorway? take in the scene and decide to join the fray.
"Is this a limited action, general, or can three play?" Daddy asked.
"Deal yourself in," the general magnanimously offered and beckoned him to come closer.
The general dropped the WAC's breast and guided daddy's rod into her mouth.
"It's lunch-time," the brass whooped drunkenly.
The lucky lady captain was stuffed coming and going and a more delighted lass I couldn't imagine. The general played a spirited hobby horse, slamming his rod ever upward and she clamped her teeth on daddy's bit To be certain she didn't fall out of her saddle she grabbed both daddy's and the general's balls and held on for her ever-loving life. Coordination may not be one's best forte when you've had too much to drink, but the lucky lass engineered the two men into coming simultaneously, no mean feat given the alcohol consumed. Daddy gushed an awesome clam of come into her mouth and the general's sudden burst down below made her spill her mouthful of the pearly stuff down her front Rivulets of daddy's semen dripped over her breasts while she giggled helplessly. The general was smearing the stickum all over her belly when she passed out still impaled by the brigadier's bayonet.
"Put 'er to bed," the general belched and pops unceremoniously lifted her off his lap and carried her into his bedroom. He laid her next to the general's wife and returned to the living room in time to see the brigadier keel over on the sofa. Daddy shrugged and weaved back into his bedroom, where he collapsed on the very populated bed.
My education thus begun, I went to my room and planned to have Spike Reynolds complete my instruction. It was only a matter of finding suitable school hours.
Daddy's weekend trip to Honolulu was more pleasure than business and no secret to me. He was seeing the daughter of a mining engineer in Juneau, and although I hadn't actually caught them at it, they screwed every opportunity they could. Lieutenant Murphy, on the other hand, pop's personally selected babysitter was a lot less discreet. While the cat was away, the mousie lieutenant was sure to play, very often in the cat's bed with whomever came by to pass the long hours away. I used to fake going to sleep and then listen to the sounds that came through the army issue walls. The lieutenant's ecstatic cries only whetted my appetite.
One night, when daddy was still a captain, Murphy was baby-sitting as usual, reading in the living room when I had gone to bed. I heard the bell ring and another feminine voice say, "I brought it"
"Goodie," Murphy whispered.
Fifteen minutes later after an excruciating conspiratorial silence I heard sounds from daddy's room. I go up the courage to sneak out of my room. "To the bathroom," if challenged, I rehearsed silently.
The good old pantry provided my vantage point and Murphy kept an open door policy. In the dim light I could see her sallow skinny figure on top of a more voluptuous body. Murphy had something strapped around her hips and she was pumping with great efficiency into her partner's pussy. Now it's pretty common knowledge that the Women's Army Corps is a haven for dykes and I got some first-hand information that night. Murphy was fully A.C.-D.C. however, and getting her rocks off at the pleasure of a WAC private.
The big girl underneath suddenly tensed and jerked her body in orgasm and plastered Murphy's face with grateful kisses, "That was good, Murph," the private whispered. "What can I do for you?"
"Just kiss my tits, Janie, I'll do the rest."
The woman traded positions, Murphy unstrapping her dildo. Janie hovered over the lieutenant's small breasts and then started sucking her nipples noisily. Murphy turned the dildo on herself and pushed the plastic banana into her pube. She stroked gently, Savoring the thickness that tickled her womb. Janie's sucking became more violent and Murphy matched the sensation by twisting the dildo between her hands like an Indian making fire.
Within seconds she had a royal blaze going in her hot little oven and she shuddered spasmodically. She pulled the artificial prick out of her vagina and welcomed Janie's lips and tongue that reamed her honey coated cunt. Janie positioned her fuzzy slot over Murphy's mouth and the two lapped each other while I stifled a giggle at the weird clicking sounds that accompanied their progress.
The women thus occupied, I made my way back to my room and lay awake, smugly proud for not having been discovered. Murphy was not the brightest of chicks, and it was an easy thing for me to figure that I would have to be a little more discreet when I launched my own career.
I lay in bed and stroked my downy muff thinking of Spike Reynolds and how I could maneuver him into "taking advantage" of me. The woman to woman thing Murphy pulled was interesting to watch, but hardly my inclination. The delicious red spike I knew adorned my daddy was certain to give more pleasure than the fool plastic penis Janie and Murphy played with.
Corporal Reynolds was definitely my target as I envisioned his laughing eyes and promptly felt a tiny sticky dam burst in my young pussy.
CHAPTER TWO
The weekend of Daddy's trip came and passed and I was ever on the lookout for another shot at Spike. But the dear boy only avoided me and I began to feel guilty, fearing I had not pleased him enough to make me worthwhile for another trip between the sheets.
After nearly a month of wonder and worry, Pvt. Frank Dickson came into my life and dissipated my fears. Frank was only eighteen, but taller and more muscular than Spike. A shock of orange hair made him look even younger than he was, but his deep-set eyes gave him a maturity that attracted me to him at once. One day, after classes at the nearby school, I stopped to watch a baseball game two platoons had booked on the post field. Frank had stripped his fatigue shirt and I watched him stroke the bat before coming up to the plate. There was something very sexy about the way he even played a game. Practically no one was watching the game, except me, and I had my eyes glued to this hunk of G.I. When he swung and I heard the crack of the bat I shrieked with excitement. He almost missed the bag to see who cheered so. He had -lined a single in to center and stood on first base watching me. A smile crossed his face and I blushed a dozen shades of red.
"Be glad to give you some lessons after the game," he shouted.
Some of the guys catcalled and then were hushed because I was you-knoxxho's daughter. But Frank's was the best offer I'd had in a month and so I stuck around to watch the last three innings. Some of the players whispered to the redheaded object of my very intense interest and he looked at me queerly. I wondered if the fact that my father was his CO. would put a monkey wrench into the works.
"Are you Colonel Bonno's kid," he asked wiping the sweat from his arms.
"Uh, huh. But don't let that scare you," I hoped aloud.
"Hmmmm. How old?"
"Me or my pop?"
A smile crossed his face. "I guess you're old enough."
I slung my books behind me, pulling on my sweater to better outline my adolescent size breasts.
"Very promising," he said with a twinkling brow.
"So how about the lesson," I wondered, scraping the cyclone fence backstop.
"First thing you need is a good grip on the, uh, bat."
I felt his moist arms encircle my shoulders and he thrust the bat into my hands. I crouched into a stance and caught him off guard as my butt poked into his crotch.
"You learn quick," he said under his breath.
"I like indoor sports, too." I smiled.
"I'll bet you do. Want to chose up a little game," he asked rippling his biceps against my shoulder.
Captain Paulson has just been transferred to Okinawa but I still had the key to his house thanks to his daughter, a nearly bosom buddy. Frank and I chose up our game that Sunday morning when the sleepy post was going about its routine day of leisure business.
"Let's see the body," Frank said as we walked into the nearly bare bedroom.
I was ready to rip everything off and jump into the bed, but the private wouldn't have any of it. My first lessons in how to make a man really happy began that morning.
"Slow down," he ordered, taking my hand from my zipper. "One thing at a time. Dig yourself. Dig your body."
I got the idea immediately and didn't do anything for the next few moments except stare into Dickson's blue-gray eyes and relax my body. I began to feel my womanhood all over me, tingling in my breasts and running a race around my mid-section. I slowly raised my blouse, and scratched my bare stomach. Frank's eyes took on a new life and I pinched my downy skin which gave me as much pleasure as it was obviously giving him.
I pulled the sweater over my head and pulled the beret from my hair. It fell over my face and suddenly my own hair felt like millions of tiny caressing fingers on my cheeks. I squeezed my breasts enclosed in my well-scented bra and felt them swell with passion. Frank just grinned from the bed, but I could see his lap filling up behind his fly and I felt the incredible power of a temptress. Here was an appreciative audience who dug me the way I was digging myself.
I undid the clasp behind me puffing out my jaunty-pointed young mounds of flesh and slipped one arm strap off, so the pink-nippled cone peeked from behind the cup of the bra. Frank's tongue peeked from his lips in mimicry of my right boob. I stuck my tongue out and pouted which only made him laugh.
"Fire two," he giggled and I slipped the second strap off to reveal my left torpedo tit. I circled the brownish aureole around my nipples and they lit up with pinpricks of sensation.
"Come here." My audience of one whispered. I took the two steps to the side of the bed and Frank's calloused fingers dialed my aureoles until my nipples shot out like bullets. He leaned forward and took each one in his mouth sucking on them until I thought they would come off between his teeth. He pushed against them with his tongue and I felt a tinge of pain, but they pushed right back like a miniature prick in his mouth. My pussy began to sting with desire. I started to unzip my skirt.
"Not yet," he mumbled into my breast.
I stopped and waited while he continued to gnaw on my raw nipple. His gnashing teeth were beginning to become annoying and the welling ache between my thighs only got me more irritated.
"You come here to chew the fat or are you going to get down to business," I said stupidly.
Crack came his hand across my face and I was on the floor.
"You just may find out how a wise-ass piece of twat likes the taste of her own blood," Frank snapped.
That was the first time I was ever hit by a man and as I looked up to see Frank's face purple with rage I knew it would be the last time I would engender such wrath. My cheek puffed out with his blow and I began to weep.
"The-colonel's daughter thinks she's such a hot piece of pussy," Frank snarled. "Let's see the box. So goddamn eager to get it stuffed. Let's see it now!"
I knew better than to object so I ripped my skirt off while still on the floor. Suddenly Frank was on his knee and he pulled my panties off without any ceremony. In the next instant I saw stars as he thrust his rawbone thumb into my tense slot. "Ouch!"
"Louder," he yelled and rammed his finger even deeper.
I shut up. He dug his thumbnail into my flesh and I bit my lip with pain. His eyes were two flints. I was scared beyond words which was fine at that moment. One word from me and I'd feel his meat hand across my face again. His sadistic thumb was working another effect, however, my anger was being transformed into an insane lust for brutish Frank Dickson. He reamed me into a hot jelly lather and I found my pussy writhing on his twisting thumb with its own will.
"What have we here?" Frank asked with obvious enjoyment. "Why the colonel's daughter wants to fuck."
I hated the bastard but I would have screamed if he had stopped.
He undid his khaki fatigues slowly. My heart leaped as his sprigs of red wiry hair peeked from behind his fully packed shorts. My vagina quivered and craved the thickness that squirmed between his legs.
He snapped his shorts off and his lengthy red-knobbed prick sallied forth. I grabbed for the big headed monster but Frank twisted away.
"Not yet," he said hoarsely.
He jiggled his taut ball nest that sprouted red-gold hairs. I felt his fingers press my cherry nipple until I gasped with stimulation. Then he shifted his body so the massive rod tickled my nose.
"Warm the old boy up," he insisted.
I was hotter than a smoking pistol and he wanted to be warmed up. The sweaty smell of his joint filtered through my nostrils and I took my first taste of a man's penis. I tasted heat more than anything else, the warmth of rushing red blood that filled and swelled Frank's awesome equipment. My mouth burned with his thickness and I caressed his sultry skin with my lips. I tongued the rough-soft surface with my saliva cooling and stimulating Frank into even greater swelling. I couldn't believe my powers, nor his for that matter. He thrust his pelvis forward and the tight-fisted knob thumped against the back of my throat. I washed the undersurface of his piece and my tongue tingled with pleasure. His heavy breathing told me all was well with Frank. Gurgling sounds like a little baby's were emitted from his throat as I felt his rod pulse between my teeth.
He withdrew suddenly, scraping his foreskin on my teeth.
"Batter up," he laughed, holding his rigid rod like a hunk of lumber.
My pussy had been secreting juices madly and I was primed and ready. He took my hand and we lay down on the bed. In the next moment he was on top of me and I felt his prick charge into my slick pod.
"Strike one," he called as his peter thrust into me.
He lunged again. "Strike two."
Frank thrust a third time and I felt his thickness slam all the way to my womb. "You're out. Now we get to ball."
For the next fifteen minutes Frank Dickson unleashed a repertoire of twisting, thrusting, corkscrewing fucking that made my senses reel and my pussy cry out for more, more, more.
"What's for dessert," I said finally when he slithered out of me, dragging his soggy peter across my thigh.
"The colonel's daughter must be out of her hot box head," he gasped in surprise.
But my sizzling sex was still flexing away inside of me. As good a stud as Frank was he only unleashed a fraction of my desire. His face reddened when he saw that I wasn't fully satisfied and I looked away, hoping he wouldn't see. I sensed his embarrassment.
"I thought you came," he mumbled.
"I did, I did, and it was glorious," I assured him.
"You want more, you'll get more," he muttered.
There was danger in his tone but my pussy pounded) with anticipation, and I patted his semi-soft scrod. I tickled the hanging flesh of his scrotum and saw tiny goose bumps break out as the sac became taut. His amazing apparatus began to thicken and I could almost feel the blood pumping through his swelling veins.
When his rod rose to what I thought was full length I snuggled up to it and kissed the dark red knob and felt it flex against my lips. Suddenly Frank's hand was around my waist and I was flung unceremoniously onto my stomach. He jammed a pillow under my middle and grabbed my hips pulling my rump up. In a flash I felt his immense thickness pressing between my thighs from behind and my pussy was unexpectedly crammed from this new position. I wondered if it was to humiliate me for expecting a better performance from him. But nothing mattered now except to feel his lusty long rod searing through my vagina. He slammed in recklessly, as though punishing me. How sweet the pain. His rigid pecker frictioned against my swollen flesh and I was in an agony of ecstasy. I never wanted the moment to end, his tool sawing at my stimulated pussy until hell froze over.
I pushed backwards and felt his hands tighten around my hips. He was pushing and pulling me against his peter even faster than I could. And once again I felt the glorious splash of his semen washing into me. The hot bath opened a new jet for me and I came violently myself. My whole body tingled and was finally satisfied. I lay on the bed unmoving and felt some of our mingled liquid ooze out of my slot and drip tantalizingly down my thigh. I languished with the tickling agony and basked in my own womanhood. When I turned around, Frank Dickson had gone A.W.O.L. I had no idea how long I had lain, experiencing the fantastic sexual feeling of my stomach.
I suppose he thought I was a pretty nutty young chick. Perhaps I was. In any case, he split and I lay on the sticky mattress for another hour before I decided to vacate the premises and dream up an alibi for daddy.
CHAPTER THREE
Pops and I kicked around army posts for the next three years and I learned a few new tricks to assuage a terrific sexual appetite that developed as I matured. Finally we landed in Washington where dad was plunked into a desk job with the Secretary of Defense's office. It was in Washington that two things happened to me that altered my life. The first was Raphael Collins, a middle aged Representative from the far out state of Texas, married, but ever on the make and the second was the theatre, whose seductive powers were even stronger than Raphael's.
Rafe, at forty-three, was the youngest member of the House Armed Services Committee and the possessor of the rampagingest rod in Congress. We met at one of those social gatherings that the administration uses to cajole friendly votes out of very suspecting Congressmen. Daddy and I were the guests of the undersecretary of defense and pop's military bearing was more than an asset in wooing the podunk wives of important husbands. The body politic was a mechanism that was hardly confined to higher statesmanship. The poorly veiled looks that I received when I met daddy at the Pentagon told me there was more on our national leaders' minds than guiding the country on a secure course.
A military appropriations bill was before the Congress and the social season in Washington was booming. Rafe Collins singled me out almost immediately at the party that was already going full blast when we arrived.
"How-do?" Rep. Collins boomed from behind his campaign-poster smile. "Would the little lady do me the honor of dancing the first dance with a poor down home country boy?"
Had there been a bed handy he would have danced me right to it just then. As it turned out he had his car paged and he showed me the Potomac River before the main event.
"Yore daddy won't mind if you don't get right back to the party, will he?" the Congressman asked pulling me closer to the steering wheel.
"Not if its in the national interest," I responded, touching his big hand.
"'Course it's in the national interest," he smiled. "A vivacious lil' darlin' on the arm of a Representative from the sweetest state in the union has gotta be in the national interest. Yore daddy is a mighty lucky young fella to have such a sweet young thing to call his very own ...."
Rafe Collins didn't shut his mouth for five seconds even as I felt his hand slip inexorably down my shoulder.
"That there's the Pentagon," he pointed unnecessarily, "where the great military power of this nation is kept control of. Its fingers filter out into every point on this globe ...."
The Congressman from Texas made his point by thrusting his tantalizing fingers into my dress and around my hardly surprised right breast.
"Not everyone has security clearance," I said evenly, for the game of it
"Why, honey, I speak for the people of a substantial portion of the sovereign state of Texas, and let me tell you this is one campaign I am not gonna miss," he said tightening his grip on my boob.
Almost at once my besieged body was ready for an honorable surrender. "Congressman, I've seen the Pentagon, Isn't there someplace else you'd like to show me?
"Well just press the button and get off the elevator at the sweetest little suite in the fair city of Washington," he said and punctuated his cornpone image by jabbing his index finger into my nipple.
If he was as long in the saddle as he was long-winded the evening was very promising. Then minutes later he let go of my pinched raw tit and we got out in front of a convenient if sleazy-looking motel on the outer fringe of our nation's capitol.
"Ever been to a rodeo," the red faced politician asked as soon as we stepped into the room. "I used to ride the buckingest ponies in North Texas so's you can expect a lot of action, l'l filly."
He was beginning to worry me with his big talk.
"If you're as good as your publicity you'll be all right," I challenged.
"Spunky, eh, I've roped some pretty spunky little heifers, too." He boasted, changing metaphors like they were new socks.
He mimicked throwing a rope and I felt his powerful arms surround me. With surprising agility, he had already unzipped my dress and unsnapped my bra. His big meat hands were filled with my firm young things.
"If you're as good all over as what you got in the top draw we're gonna have some fun," the irrepressible Texan breathed.
I leaned against his thigh and felt his extraordinary thickness punch at me from behind his fly. I couldn't wait any longer to see his equipment and unbuckled his trouser belt.
His Texas sized weenie shot out and I must have recoiled in awe. He had a solid nine inches that sagged with its own weight and he was still growing.
"I'm a music lover, honey, and here's a trumpet. Play a few bars," he said thrusting his mammoth penis my way.
My mouth was salivating madly for a taste of that monster and onto my knees I went. I cupped the magnificent head of his rod on my tongue and enfolded his steamy blood-filled peter with my lips. I teased the powerful load with my teeth and tongue and sent him skyrocketing from the sounds he made. His length was too much for my mouth so I wrapped both hands around his pulsing thickness to keep from choking. I stroked his massive set of balls and felt my pussy melting with impatience.
Suddenly he was standing on one foot and I felt his toes creeping around my muff and roughly caressing my swelling labia. I let go of his rod for the second and then felt his hands grasp my head, pulling me further onto his roaring dick. He pummeled forward and his peter rammed into the back of my throat. I was seeing stars, but he continued to rap his meaty piston into my throat until I thought I would pass out.
His rod had swollen immensely and I clamped down hard to stop the punishing thrusts.
"Thar she blows," he whooped and I was drowned in a welter of semen that shot through my mouth.
"It's a gusher," he cheered while the oozing shaft reamed through my sticky mouth and I felt a rivulet of his pearly oil drip down my chin.
He pulled his gleaming sword from my aching jaws and dabbed the glistening head against my two taut nipples. My breasts thus anointed with a droplet of his man-stuff, he pulled me up and we both fell onto the bed.
"You brand while the iron is hot," he laughed and two powerful hands spread my legs without further delay. His fingers squeezed my hopped up labia and I nearly screamed with the delicious pain.
"Honey, you are ripe," he announced feeling my moisture secret against his fingers, and then against the enormous, tacky glans that had so recently come in my mouth.
With his own hand guiding the entry, he launched his rod into my vagina and I was shot to the heavens with good feeling.
Some men don't utter a sound, saving all of their energy and channeling it into whatever type of sex they are engaging in. Not so with Rafe. With every thrusting, punching hump I got limericks from this hard-screwing Texan.
"There was a young man from Austin Whose cock was primed to bustin'. He corralled some twat from. Laredo Who was rarin' an' achin' to go An' they fucked all the way to Boston."
The poetry didn't make any more sense then it does now, but the poet laureate of the sagebrush and lariat kept a solid time in my pussy thrashing his sleek rod against my interior to the meter of his poems.
He grunted and guffawed with every new limerick. I didn't mind in the least, for the Texan ranged all over my privates, slamming into my cervix and scraping my walls with a thorough, if erratic action.
I bucked my hips and felt him crash on down with a broad grin on his face and fire spitting from his insane rod. He slammed down at an angle to catch my clitoris on every heave and my senses were reeling. He stoked me masterfully and I was wracked with a vicious orgasm just as Rafe exploded in me.
"Eyaaahoooo!" Rafe Collins screeched, doffing an imaginary ten-gallon hat while I giggled helplessly at the antics of this extraordinarily satisfying hunk of man.
He was tireless and I half-expected his thumping vein that bulged from his temple to explode. Instead it continued to expand while he rattled on with another limerick of his own spontaneous creation.
"There once was a horny cowhand
Who was so hung he couldn't hardly stand.
He got hold of a long horn steer
Sez, 'Stay right there, honey, dear.'
Cow farted-left him limp as a rubber band."
The Texan in the poem may have been hapless and petered out, but Congressman Collins' noodle was stiff as a board and he started sawing yours truly like a piece of balsa wood. I had hardly recovered from my first orgasm when he assiduously started work on a second. He added a wrinkle to this one by grasping my buns and intruding his fingers into my fanny. His tickling fingers parted my flesh and explored the delicate membrane that I never had thought a whole lot about. The sensation was fantastic with his rampaging rod searing through my cunny and his poking fingers jamming into hitherto forbidden territory. I was ready to come in no time and as I arched up to feel his knifing cock hit he shot his fingers into my tight anus and I came gloriously.
I gasped trying to catch my breath and promptly had the wind knocked out of me as he bore down and manufactured his own climax with the most insane friction I have ever felt. When he finally spent his load I was limp with weakness.
"A spring chicken like you and tired already," he asked sarcastically.
I couldn't believe it, but Rafe was still firm and potent. He withdrew his spear from my quivering cranny and chucked my chin with his knuckles. I saw the mixture of our juices coating his fingers and I grasped his hand to kiss the wet digits.
"You're a sweet little snatch," he said as he watched me lick the glistening come from his hand. "Have some more," he said swiping at my dripping crotch. I sucked at his fingers and felt his other hand ream my pussy into stimulation again. He corkscrewed his fingers through my reawakened sex and seconds later he replaced his fingers with his gouging rod. But this time he lay crosswise to my body on his side with my knees pulled over his hip. His long probing penis squeezed between my haunches and he thrust by twisting his body against mine. He put his hands on my breasts and made them dance to the same rhythm he was pumping. He pinched them into a set of raw tingling nerve ends and my pussy melted all over again. He began jerking roughly and his peter was swelling once again. With a final violent twist against my butt he shot one last gusher of come into my hungry nook.
I was almost relieved to feel Rafe's Texas tower of a rod disintegrate and become rubbery and finally slide out of my punished pube.
"I take my hat off to ya' little lady," he said, lavishing some sloppy wet kisses on my breasts. "I promise you we got to get together again."
Sated as I was, his pronouncement brought a tiny thrill to my heart, for I had never been so thoroughly screwed in my life and I looked forward to another "rodeo" the likes of this one.
We met again the following weekend and Rafe showed me more of his repertoire with comic ditties to match his insatiable lusting rod. On our fourth rendezvous our relationship was compounded.
"Like you to meet a constituent of mine," the Texas Congressman boomed as he helped me onto the deck of a twenty foot yacht in the Potomac basin.
"Charlie Siever, meet Miss Samantha Bonno," Rafe said, introducing me to a tall ruddy-faced smiling man. "This here battleship belongs to Mr. Siever and he's been dying to meet you."
"Welcome 'board," the yacht captain drawled, smiling self-contentedly. I can see why Rafe speaks so highly of you."
I blushed and took in the lean, muscular young man who radiated such self-confidence.
"We'll be underway in just a few minutes, Rafe. Why don't you and Miss Bonno retire to the cabin and fix some drinks," Charlie Siever urged.
Moments later we were seated in the comfortable cabin and the powerful hum of the ship's engine split the air. I sipped a daiquiri and marveled at the luxury of the craft as we pulled out of the dock and headed for the main channel of the Potomac River.
"Charlie's a dear old friend from back home," Rafe explained, "Kind of my protege."
We weren't underway ten minutes before Rafe suggested we try out the downy soft bunk.
"What about Charlie," I asked.
"Oh, let's not worry about Charlie, he's got a heap of pilotin' to do," my handsomely hung companion assured.
And so I finished my drink and climbed onto the foam rubber bunk. We got out of our duds and Rafe's strong hands kneaded my skin. His familiar fingers conjured shivers that punctuated my body. His regal sized rod was reared and ready to go within moments and I luxuriated in my feminine powers to get him hot so quickly. The waves splashing just outside while the craft plowed through the water set an exciting backdrop for this sex bout and I couldn't wait for Rafe to slip his spear into my seething porthole.
His prowess on land was duplicated on the water, for he glided smoothly through my glutinous vagina and sent me clawing the air with his fantastic action.
"There was a sailing boat skipper
Whose rod was dry as a kipper.
He spied Samantha Bonno
Who tried, but couldn't say no
And now the skipper's dipper's a dripper!"
Rafe managed his tongue twisting limerick flawlessly and we both burst out laughing while he drove against my womb relentlessly.
We frictioned against each other with an incredible rhythm, so much so, that I did not even hear the engine switch off. Rafe was slamming in with two hundred pounds of thrust and my teeth ached with the sexual stimulation. We were both about to come simultaneously when Rafe suddenly jerked out of my pube with a hateful game of coitus interruptus. I opened my eyes in wide surprise and saw Charlie Siever standing above my loving Congressman.
"That's not funny," I hissed angrily.
"It's time for the second team," Rafe laughed. I tried to sit up, but he pinned my shoulders to the mattress. I could see Charlie Siever unbuttoning his white ducks and my suspicions were confirmed. Another long horned Texan was about to take the plunge.
"'Scuse me, Rafe," Charlie said, tapping the older man on his shoulder. Collins made way and Charlie sailed into my saddle. His rod was bent like a banana, but the hardest piece of fruit you're likely to see in a long while. It would be senseless to struggle, I decided and happily so.
Charlie Siever's rod cut into me like a sickle and he began harvesting fields in me I never knew could be cultivated. His weirdly angled rod shattered through my hungry cranny and I was sent to the skies with his insane pumping action.
He took up the slack where Rafe had left off and I was ready to climax within moments. My pussy came apart like a jigsaw puzzle when I did come. But Charlie drove on through the flying pieces like an express train. Finally he spewed a gallon of come into my hot little pod and lay unmoving with me firmly impaled by his hook-like rod.
"Do I tell stories, or do I say true?" Rafe asked above my head. "I never doubted you, Uncle Raphael," Charlie drawled back winking an eye at me.
"I'm so hot I'm 'bout to burst," Rafe whined.
"Well, I was just warmin' up," Charlie laughed.
"Bet ya fifty dollars, lil' ole Samantha can make us both happy," Rafe Collins said with a twinkling bloodshot eye.
LI ole Samantha wasn't going to have much to say about the matter and that was for certain, for Rafe's mountain sized rod was laid across my mouth and one peep out of me meant acceptance of his whole length.
"Come on, Samantha, honey," Rafe cajoled.
"Go ahead, give the old fellow some thrills," Charlie said just inches from my face. He flexed his own rod inside of me and I felt a twinge of renewed stimulation.
"If you share it with me," I said through pursed lips while Rafe's sausage continued to swell under my nose.
Charlie blinked and his brow knit in surprise.
"That's my girl. The sweetest thing in the nation's capitol just made the best suggestion I heard all day," Rafe guffawed.
Charlie's face turned red as a turnip. Clearly, he didn't want to disobey his mentor, but the thought of sucking on old Rafe's rod was revolting. The young stud with his banana shaped penis was locked in the horns of a momentous decision. I made it for him by pushing Rafe's meat against Charlie's mouth. He opened it in surprise and got an even greater surprise. We were both playing the Congressman's dong like it was a harmonica. Charlie shut his eyes and began stroking in me, all the while nibbling on a solid three inches of Rafe. I twisted my head and received the front end of the Texan's swollen weenie. Rafe was being stimulated out of his mind with two sets of jaws moistly working over his piece.
Below, Charlie's rump was going a mile a minute, driving his hard-on as deep into my belly as it could go. My pussy was sucking at his boomerang with every thrust and being shaken to its very depths.
I had never handled two men at once before, but I was more than equal to the task. I gnawed relentlessly on Rafe's knobby head until I could feel the taut skin expanding with an imminent explosion. Charlie was keeping his end of the bargain and chewing lustily along the shaft of the piece. His hands were kneading my breasts like pizza dough and I was being blasted to the moon with such insane stimulation.
Charlie was timing his strokes now, on the verge of coming himself. We aimed for a tripleheader and timed out perfectly. My mouth and pussy were awash with semen and I exploded against Charlie's ravaging rod at the same time.
We lay bobbing in the gentle rolling channel, still stimulated and ready for more action. My pussy was happily clogged with Charlie's slab of bent meat and Rafe's rod held firm at my cheek. The taste of his tangy come lingered in my mouth and Charlie's tongue mingled with the slippery stuff.
"You've got to get a taste of Samantha's mouth," I heard Rafe say and Charlie slid his boomerang rod out of its nesting place. He squatted on the bunk and I turned over onto my belly to take his fascinating equipment between my lips. Rafe stood by with his hands on his hips and watched while I made a meal of Charlie's underipe banana. I skimmed the stickiness off his piece and scraped his pliant hardness with my teeth.
Charlie's eyes were shut and he was soaring in outer space with my tonguing. His indefatigable thickness swelled with a throbbing that only made my mouth water for more. But Rafe wasn't content to be a spectator it turned out, for I suddenly felt his hot breath behind me and his familiar hands clenching my breasts under me. His powerful prick roughly wedged against my fanny, I felt my buns being parted. He thrust and I thought my flesh was being ripped apart.
"Variety is the spice of life," he whispered in my ear and he added some more dashes of burning pepper with an agonizing push of his knobby rod. He slammed through my tight ass flower and I felt his pounding thickness friction mercilessly against my interior walls. I bit on Charlie's hard-on in pain and he jerked his swollen piece out of my mouth. There was a fury in his eyes and suddenly he grasped his charged penis and kneaded it in his hands not two inches from my face. A welter of come exploded from his muzzle and caught me square in the eyes while Rafe bellowed his approval and reamed my punished fanny the harder.
My eyes stung with the salty spray and I felt globules of the slimy ooze dribble down my cheeks.
To add injury to insult Charlie circled my closed eyes with the tip of his dripping rod and squeezed the hot flesh against my face until I was coated with the cold-drying stuff.
"Enough," I started to gasp, but Rafe was puncturing my bottom so violently that I couldn't get the word out. He was pumping furiously and his rod seared through my backside with reckless abandon. I felt his prick swell and with a mammoth grunt he loosed a charge of come in the depths of my bowels.
I enjoyed a good sex game, but not when I was being taken advantage of. But now it was too late and I was the virtual plaything of these two Texassized appetites.
My day was unfortunately made and I never did see the water the craft sailed on until Charlie headed back to the Potomac basin. For the rest of the afternoon they took turns with me and I was screwed through every opening big enough to accommodate a rod.
By the time they were finished with me I lay a limp wreck in the same bunk. When we got back to port I hailed a cab and made it home. I wouldn't have another thing to do with Rafe Collins as long as I lived, I vowed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Just about the time Rafe had decided to make me a free for all I went to the theatre with my dad to see a show that was on the tryout circuit prior to a Broadway opening. The play was an insignificant comedy, but when I saw it, I thought it was the greatest thing ever to hit. In plain English I was stage struck. Daddy knew the young lead who was in his platoon a number of years ago and we went backstage to meet him. I gaped like a schoolgirl and the distinct odor of greasepaint smelled like ambrosia.
The gritty dressing rooms and chaotic backstage area from which magic was made put me in a daze and I resolved to get into the theatre. Meeting Cal Ebsen was one of the big thrills of my gradually opening up life. He clearly ate up the stupid rambling that I was doing while telling him how I enjoyed his performance.
"Come up to New York and I'll see you get some complimentary tickets....if we run, that is," he offered.
I had no doubt that this was going to be an all time smash hit and told him I certainly would when I got to New York. Naturally the show folded after two performances which told me I had to learn a lot more about the theatre. I mention Cal Ebsen because he was one of the surprises on my list of Census Bureau follow-ups. But more about that later.
I spent the next few months getting involved with some little theatre groups in Washington and then with an acting coach who had more to teach than stage technique.
Mischa Petrovsky was a comical-looking man nearing his sixties who had been with the Moscow Art Theatre in Russia and had sought asylum in America. He found oddly enough that his opportunity in this country was far less than in the Soviet Union and he was relegated to a teaching position here. But the die was cast for him and he couldn't return to his homeland without facing severe recriminations.
"So you vould like to learn tsu act," he said skeptically the first time I went to his modest studio.
I did an amateurish audition piece and waited with embarrassment as he finally assessed it
"Ve haf a lot of verk tsu do, young lady," he sighed, tugging at his sideburn as much to say, "Why did you pick me?"
For the next three months I spent three sessions a week at his studio and finally we both began to feel that something honest and true was beginning to happen with me. I presented scenes from Clickov and then my sessions were rescheduled to become part of a small workshop he held for serious actors. He had only scratched the surface and I had plenty of catching up to do, but I progressed steadily.
At one of our private sessions our strict relationship of actor and teacher changed. We were working on a monologue from "The Sea-Gull" and we discussed what was happening internally with Nina, the actress.
"Vere does it hurt? In your heart? In your soul?"
Mischa badgered, standing up. He was fully involved in the point he was making and grasped me by the shoulders.
"Just inside. Nina is being torn apart by her love for Trigorin," I replied.
"Then feel it!" he commanded. "Make your guts ache with the same kind of hurt she feels. You're playacting. How can you know your own depths if you don't come tsu grips with the raw guts of that woman!"
I tried the monologue again and came closer to the feeling we talked about Unmistakably the feeling was sexual and my insides craved for relief. My pussy was secreting insanely and my breasts were swelled with stimulation. Mischa stood inches away from me and I kissed him fully on the lips. He responded instantly by holding me ever so close. Instead of subduing my sexual urges his gnarled old body only increased the throb in my pubis. To my amazement his ancient rod was rearing its head and bobbing against my thighs. We kissed again and I tasted his tobacco tongue glancing off my teeth. I had to have this man and within the next few minutes. Between the tension of the scene and the sudden surge of desire that flowed between us I felt I would burst unless we went to bed immediately. Mischa's need was equal to mine and his thin strong fingers plied my tits through my blouse. We undressed each other and I felt his frail but potent form press into my body on the chaise lounge that was handily nearby.
His birdlike fingers snuggled into my moist muff and he immediately found my clitoris. In no time it was erected and pulsing with a rapid flow of sexual feeling. The heat in my body was unbearable. Mischa sucked noisily on my nipples and I felt his sticklike rod come knobbingly alive. His red battered peter flexed under my fingers and he guided it against my raging vulva. With one quick slip he entered and thrust with a slow measured rhythm. The feeling was glorious.
"Ve take a little vile tsu get there, but ven ve there, the duckies, they know it," Mischa murmured.
And God, did I know it. His rhythm was maddening and I felt the sopping spongy walls of my vagina lapping and sucking at his hard-on. He pumped inexorably and I began to hear his breathing getting heavier as his strokes became broader. He was slapping his whiplike rod with the ease of experience and I was being driven wild by his continuous action.
As I bucked and swiveled my hips to feel him hit, his hands returned to my breasts and for every stroke I got a pinch that sent my nipples into frozen erection. My crisis came storming in my pussy and I wrapped my legs around his hips to lock him in my womb forever. But the old fellow hadn't quite been brought off and so I waggled my pubis and twisted to increase the friction on his rod. He caught his breath and gave it a final gust of "ooomph" and I felt him shatter inside with an orgasm.
As he withdrew his spent penis he hummed "Ayayayay," under his breath and I would swear he looked twenty years younger.
"So now you know how to play Nina," he sighed contentedly.
The old acting coach was an object of my adoration and I couldn't wait to get going on another "role," particularly the offstage scenes where it is understood that the hero and heroine are rolling in the hay.
"But you should not be vasting your talents on an old man like me," he said self-consciously.
"If you think I'm wasting my time, you're an old coot," I replied, a little hurt.
"Veil, if you insist, there alvays is Caesar and Cleopatra."
And so I searched through G.B. Shaw's play to find a suitable monologue. The after-scene instruction was really what I looked forward to, however.
It got to be a marvelous little game and I came to know Mischa very well. He would spend hours reminiscing about his experiences with the state theatre of Russia both on and off the stage. During the second World War a company of actors would travel to the front to raise the spirits of the defenders of the Soviet Union against the invaders of the Third Reich.
"Vun time after the Germans vas on the run, the Red Army captured a prize they didn't expect," he narrated. "Two truckloads of field whores. Ach, vat a time that vas. It vas pitiful, but it vas comic, too. For two days ve had a drunken orgy vit these women. They vas so scared, but all they knew how tsu do vas fuck. There was vun, a big farm girl who had the stamina of a bull and she vouldn't let go of me. For six hours straight she kept me locked in her thighs. Every time I thought ve had enough she vould squeeze her tits against my mouth and I chewed until they vas raw. My ding-dong vould come to attention and she screamed that I should never leave her. Her pussy vas like a bowl full of butter and I churned and churned and she came every time."
I listened and my own vagina was popping with stimulation. I took Mischa's hand and placed it against my quivering damp. His hand lingered and he played a pizzicato on my swelling vulva.
"Churn me too. Whip my butter," I beseeched and the amazed Mischa kissed my swelling sex. His tongue curled about my clit and the tiny beast pushed at his hot red probe. He began sucking at the sensating node and my canny screamed with desire.
His long lashing tongue flicked into my slot and my interior melted. He thrashed inside me raising the hackels of lust and I was goose bumps inside and out I closed my thighs around his hoary head and his teeth nipped at my labia, sending me into shuddering spasms of delight
"Come, sit on papa's knee," he said pulling his head out of my roaring grotto. He stripped his" pants and his gnarled branch of a rod swayed with potency. My thirsting pussy fitted over his spout and I slid luxuriously down his length. His hands squeezed my breasts and he pumped his lap upward so I could feel his sticky rod in my belly. I rocked easily in his saddle filled with his lusty spear and I was on top of the world. My breasts were like jelly in his hands while his churning action below beat me into a squirming lather. Hot flashes raced from my tits to the tip of his rod and if there ever was a case of ensemble playing this was it. His rod was forged in my molten cranny and in the white heat of my burning cunt our simultaneous crises built to a clanging crescendo. I half expected to hear the sizzle of frying come as we exploded together.
"But you are vasting your time here in Vashington. You must go tsu New York if you expect tsu get into the theatre."
I almost burst into tears, but I was overjoyed at the same time.
"You think I'm ready?"
"No vun is ever ready," he scowled. "In this country you must be lucky and get a break. Here in this town you have no chance. You go where the theatre is. I vill give you the names of some people who could maybe help."
I began to say something, but he read my mind.
"You give an old man much pleasure, but your life is still to lead. Ven you get tsu Broadway, send me a ticket," he sighed.
We kissed and I fought back my tears. This gentle old cynic who was old enough to be my grandfather was one of the few selfless people I'd met and I would never forget him.
Pops was understanding as I knew he would be and he staked me to a month's rent and a few hundred dollars in mad money for my big adventure. Three days later I was on a plane and bound for the concrete giant that has swallowed up so many who came for the opportunity it flashed in neon and lights.
That was three years ago and now I don't have one wide-eyed illusion left about the theatre. But I'm good and I know it and I know my chance will come. Oddly enough it may come from this weird side job as a Census Bureau enumerator. But I'm jumping the gun.
CHAPTER FIVE
On arriving in New York I took a room in a dingy midtown hotel, intent on saving as much money as I possibly could. In my utter inexperience I did not realize I was in a hot hustling precinct until that night when I walked from Broadway west to the sooty brownstone with a bag full of groceries. In the space of two blocks I was propositioned four times. The ratio was three slick-looking studs to one hard as nails dyke. At first I was offended, but then looked upon these passes as something of a compliment. Once behind my bolted door, however, the street life did not seem to end downstairs. The noises that came from the room next to mine kept me awake most of the night. I re-read the trade papers I had bought earlier in the day in an effort to concentrate on something other than the sounds of weird sex in the adjoining flat. When I turned my light off for the fifth time and turned over in my lumpy bed I couldn't help noticing a dart of light through the crack of an unused, locked door. Finally my curiosity was overwhelming and I stole over to the old wooden door "to make certain it was locked," I rationalized.
I peeked through the crack between the jamb and the door and saw an Oriental sailor hoisting his white blouse over his head while a black as coal whore lounged naked on the bed with a bored expression. She spread her legs and a red gash of pussy invited the sailor aboard. He unbuttoned his bellbottoms and sailed them across the room.
"Banzai!" He giggled and his fingers cupped her ashen breasts.
"You come fo' to plqy or fuck," she asked slightly annoyed.
The sailor's unchanged smile told he didn't understand a word she said. Her long nailed fingers caught his flaccid rod and she squeezed htm into an erection as though pumping up a blood pressure counter. I wonder why I was watching this routine and almost boring exhibition, but I stayed glued to the vantage point The girl guided his rigid rod into her cunt and the sailor took off like a putt-putting tin lizzie. His slim hips jerked with a staccato rhythm and he shimmied his piece to and fro in her well-worn vagina. The display became incredible for the sailor never let up with his shuddering action that whipped his rod crazily in her box. I realized that the whore was no longer lying placidly, for his incessant rhythm churned her sex into a fantastic sexual stimulation. Her taloned fingers ripped into his back while his talented probe shook the dickens out of her pussy.
"Jesus!" Her voice cracked, but the sailor continued to submarine through with his shaky shaft. The girl was now clawing the air and her mouth was agape with intense pleasure. Strangled gasps and cries for more came gurgling from her mouth and her pink tongue waggled stupidly.
The sailor suddenly pulled up short and then slammed his prick all the way to her womb. The girl jumped with the feeling. But he wound up his body and crashed in again. The shuddering action was replaced with this broad stroking as he plied his rod as deep into her belly as it could go. The girl grasped the sheets in her clenched fists while her inscrutable client rammed his load home.
My own pussy was secreting madly as I watched and I couldn't help slipping my fingers inside to ease the ache that built up. How I wished I was the dark-jugged chick writhing at the end of the Oriental's sword.
With every slashing thrust in the other room I played my fingers deeper into myself until I was doubled over with lust. With an amazing shriek in the next room both their bodies stiffened and we all three came at once. My fingers were sticky with my self-ignited explosion. If this wasn't an exercise in brotherhood, nothing was. We did all actually come at once. But I was miserable and found bringing myself off a far cry from the real thing that occurred not ten feet from my vantage point. I went to bed immediately and clenched my ears to blot out my enterprising neighbors in the next room.
My chance for some real fulfillment came sooner than I expected. The next day I went to have some publicity pictures taken for my resume. Mischa had briefed me on getting the necessary tools for the endless rounds I would have to make. In the photographer's waiting room I met a swishy sounding actor who also was going to have new shots made.
Bruce Jorgenson was an exciting man to look at, but I felt very safe when he girlishly waved a limp wrist and said hello. We had a charming conversation in which he mother-henned about how to break into the theatre. I thought for certain he was one of those sweet homosexuals who are truly nice people and very eager to help.
"Cmon over to Equity, and see if there are any calls, darlin'," he singsonged.
I gratefully accompanied him over to the Actor's Equity office on Forty-Sixth Street to get a glimpse at the inner sanctum of all out of work actors (and we abound).
"S-man-tha Beau-neau," Bruce introduced in his perfect imitation of Bette Davis.
Two actors smiled and said hello, casting an appraising look my way, then returned to the callboard to see if there was anything they could go up for.
"Don't bother with Sal Carpani. He's just interested in your bod, and a lousy director at that," Bruce said noticing a call for chorus boys in a new musical.
I wondered how long it would take me to find out about the ins and outs of show business from the worm's eye view. Bruce was friendly and seemed knowledgeable and so I was happy to tag along when the three actors invited me for lunch. Over some beers one of the other fellows suggested that if I needed some quick money there was a nudie movie being shot later that week. I said no thanks, not yet at any rate.
When the other two actors left, Bruce brought up the subject again. "Listen, I have a friend who wrote a scenario for someone just like you. I mean, physically you fit the description of the lead chick."
He spoke enthusiastically and so I agreed to at least read the part.
He made a phone call and returned beaming. "Antly's at his loft. Come on over now if you don't have any plans."
Bruce had been most gentlemanlike and so I accepted his invitation without hesitation. We caught a cab and dashed through the scariest traffic I'd ever been in. In a section of the city that was more warehouse than residential, the taxi stopped and Bruce and I got out. He ushered me up a flight of narrow stairs to an artist's loft and Antly Bigelow swung the door open. Photographic equipment was strewn all around the huge loft and arty looking stills were tacked on white pegboard partitions that filled his quarters.
Antly was as young as Bruce with a sunlamp tan and flowing locks of straw colored hair.
"Come on in," he smiled and Bruce and I made ourselves at home. "Brucie said you were interested in reading for "The Great Thunderpussy.'"
"The Great what!" I heard myself say.
"Thunder-pussy," he enunciated as though talking to a numbskull. "It's an adventure story about the queen of the Cat People meeting up with the king of the Bat People."
"Isn't it far-out?" Bruce giggled.
I was wondering what I had gotten myself into when Antly Bigelow set the scene. "Queen Titania Thunderpussy is discovered in her royal bedroom eating some grapes and being attended by this stud who's waving a fan over her."
Antly lifted my legs onto the divan and Bruce began waving the script over me like some Mid-Eastern eunuch.
"When in comes King Basel of the Bat People," Antly narrated, unsnapping his belt buckle, and dropping his pants.
I was about to jump up and find the nearest exit when Bruce got into the act
"You shall not touch my lady," Bruce roared with a ridiculous declaiming style. He undid his tight fitting bellbottoms and thrust himself between Antly and myself. With one swift motion Antly skimmed Brace's togs and swirled him around. Bruce fell on me and Antly fell on Bruce. Before I realized what was happening, I felt Bruce tearing at my panties.
"I'll run you through!" Antly shouted and he plunged his immense rod into Brace's rear end.
Antly pumped with a will and the combined weight of the two gay boys pinned me helplessly on the divan.
Brace's pelvis was between my legs and seconds later his hard thick prick crushed against my muff. Antly drove in mercilessly and Bruce's rod expanded until it crept inexorably into my pussy. My skirt was pulled over my waist and I was screwed with the bumpiest action I'd ever endured.
At first I tried fighting back, but the powerful thrusts of both men made my efforts ridiculous. I soon marveled at the amazing coordination they effected, and my pussy was ablaze with stimulation. Bruce, who I had taken for a sweet fag and nothing more, was one of the most thorough lovers I would ever have. His thick steaming rod seemed to become bigger and bigger inside of me and as he crashed against my uterus again and again I wanted it never to leave. All good things must come to an end, however, and so did this one, first with Antly grunting his crisis in Bruce's behind and like a chain reaction, Bruce coming insanely in my stuffed cunny. I came in the next instant and spattered Bruce's thick penis with my own feminine honey.
"That's how "The Great Thunderpussy' opens," Antly said wiping his dripping rod on a towel.
"How do you like it so far," Bruce asked still planted firmly in my wetness.
"What happens in the second reel," I wondered aloud while kneading his taut buttocks. "Mr. Director?" Bruce queried. "Queen Titania Thunderpussy takes a lunch break," Antly said climbing over Bruce's neck and shoving his partially erected peter against my mouth. There was no way to avoid it and Bruce jostling his sticky spear in my cunny only stimulated my appetite. I opened wide and sucked Antly's rod between my lips. Below Bruce undulated gently and my pussy bristled. Antly pumped with the same rhythm in my mouth and I was in seventh heaven, stuffed with a total of fifteen inches of thick cock and about equally divided between the two guys. Bruce increased his strokes and my fingers crept into his still slick anus. I probed more deeply and I heard him moan with pleasure. He increased his tempo and so did Antly, knocking my head into the pillow with his pummeling prick. My pubis was a quivering mass of sensating jelly. Bruce's rod continued to stir in my juices and I was out of my mind with feeling. I sucked and chewed on Antly and I felt his glans jerk with a blast of come that filled my mouth.
The taste of his manstuff was so exhilarating I jammed my fingers into Bruce's ass and sent him on a prolonged pumping spasm that seemed to tear my pussy apart My channel was like an octopus' tentacles with dozens of suction cups that grappled his rod as he drove through. He hit me once and I arched with the ecstatic jolt. His dam broke and another stream of come shot through my vagina. He stayed spent but stiff and I wriggled my hips to feel and friction against his thickness. With one last writhing twist I came with the force of a ten megaton bomb and my own brand of shrapnel seemed to knife through my interior.
If this was a screen test I passed with flying colors. For I saw all the colors of the rainbow with that last orgasm. I lay in the afterglow with both of these studs still planted in me for an eternity, it seemed. A delightful, enchanted eternity.
"Wanna find out what happens next," Antly asked finally.
"Another time," I gasped as my double play combination pulled their respective joints out of me. I could hardly move, but the sticky sweetness in my mouth and muff felt delicious.
After a wobbly walk to the bathroom I felt I had better leave these A.C.-D.C. boys to their own devices and confine myself to my reasons for corning to New York.
We three kissed each other goodbye and I told them that if I was interested in finding out what happens next to Queen Titania I would be sure to give them a call.
Besides getting a rip-roaring good time out of my brief association with Bruce and Antly, I rapidly learned not to judge a book by its proverbial cover. Bruce packed more satisfaction behind his fly than a dozen masculine-seeming guys I know.
When my pictures came back and a doctored up resume culled mostly from my workshop scenes for Mischa was duplicated I was ready to start making some rounds. I had steeled myself against expecting too much the first few weeks out, particularly since I didn't have an Equity card. I ran down the four or five calls that were posted in the trade papers that week and gingerly tried the water. It was decidedly cold I soon found out. The most interesting thing was running into other actors whom I had seen at other interviews. There is an ever shifting population of people, I learned, who manage to get to open calls for shows a full hour before they are scheduled to begin. This doesn't help them get parts a whole lot, but they do avoid waiting long hours with a hundred other aspiring, perspiring actors who want a chance to do their stuff for a director too.
By my third week, I was down in the dumps and about ready to place a call to friends Bruce and Antly for another lively afternoon for the sheer change of pace when I was cast in a showcase production of a new play in an off-off Broadway house in the East Village. I was ecstatic with the news. At least I would be doing something besides sitting in my dingy diggings and listening to Flobelle Marsh turn her tricks next door.
Peter Brand was the first director I had worked with besides Mischa and his radiation of experience and full knowledge of the experimental theatre scene in New York provided me with a good opportunity for the future. The play was not so good, nor was my role, little more than a sexual presence who breathed "Good morning, your supreme ballship," to a munitions manufacturer who engineers countries into declaring war on each other. But I was working (if not for money), and when the show went on I would at least be seen.
"Come on home with me and well run lines," Peter said offhandedly at the conclusion of a rehearsal.
I said okay, and we bused across town to his Greenwich Village apartment. Peter was a silent, pipe-smoking fellow with extraordinarily ordinary looks; He was forever intent on his work and I was certain he looked on me as simply another actor, part of an ensemble.
"Sit down. Take your clothes off," he said evenly as soon as we were in his apartment "Excuse me?" I mumbled. "Then stand. But take your clothes off."
"Why?"
"Because I want to touch your naked body," he said in conversational tones.
I was at a loss for words and dumbfounded to hear Peter speak so. But I found myself doing just what he suggested. Automatically my fingers unsnapped my skirt and I nearly unzipped the damn thing before I stopped myself.
"Now say the line 'Good morning, your ballship.'" Peter directed.
"What?" I asked thoroughly confused.
"You're just reading the line in answer to a cue the way you're doing it now. And the author's uptight I told him we'd squeeze some life into it"
"Well, how do you want it read," I said angrily.
"Without your clothes."
"Are you going to change this into a nudie?"
"No," he replied and I was perplexed beyond belief. With a shrug and perhaps a bit of a challenge, I ripped my garments off and stood naked before him.
"The line actually is, 'Good morning, your supreme ballship!' " I spat venomously.
"Hmmm," he hummed without commitment and he placed one hand on my breast
"Again," he commanded.
"Good morning, your supreme ballship," I croaked hoarsely.
His hand went to my muff and I felt his index finger creep into my tightly clamped slot "Once more."
I tried the line again, flushing furiously and he squeezed my clit, which was now pounding with tension.
"Good morning, your supreme ballship," I gasped as a flurry of sexual stimulation fluttered below.
"Perfect," he smiled taking his pipe out of his mouth. "Now let's go to bed."
I was dazed, but pussy was crying to be fed and I could hardly wait to do it. We strolled into his bedroom, Peter with one hand cradling my quivering tit and the other unbuttoning his shirt. If his fully dressed physical appearance was ordinary, his sexual equipment was a far cry from that. He hauled out the thickest shaft of cock I had ever seen.
"Don't let Fatty over here scare you," Peter laughed observing my wide-eyed stare. But my heart was suddenly in my mouth, wondering who was going to help cram that rod into my thirsting cunny.
"You're sure there's only one of you," I asked trying to relax.
"If we need some help I'll invite the neighbors in."
"No thank you," I retorted, wondering if he was serious. But my eyes were glued to his double thick peter that looked like the muzzle of a shot gun.
"Then what are we waiting for," my host asked and I tried to wrap my fingers around his immense manhood just to see if I could do it. I was downright dubious that I could accommodate what he had to offer.
"There's only one way to find out," Peter said reading my mind. He spread my legs-and slipped a probing finger into my hot but tight notch. I shut my eyes and felt his steady penetration. My glutinous walls were sucking at his finger and tiny taps were turned on inside of me. I began to lubricate and my muscles relaxed and savored his teasing finger. Now I could have welcomed a locomotive through my vagina. Instead his fingers incessantly corkscrewed around and I bit my lips with snapping stimulation.
"O.K., I'm fine," I gasped grinding my thighs to invite his monster prick in.
"Just making sure," he said coolly continuing to widen my gap. My swollen sex would have poured out into his hand if he didn't get down to business. He brought his dripping fingers to my mouth and I poked my tongue at my own taste. His tongue touched mine and we both made a canape of his finger. Our lust was exploding and for the second I wasn't even aware that his swollen glans had penetrated into my honey cunt.
I sure was the next moment though, when he jerked and his fleshy pile driver jammed through into my spasming vagina. I had never been so tightly packed in my entire life and my breath caught with the excitement.
"You O.K.?" Peter asked.
"To put it mildly," I hissed while my pussy sucked greedily on his load. O.K.? I was the okayest of my twenty-one years. I laid claim to his weapon and resolved to never let go. With every jiggling movement Peter made my pussy scream with delirious pleasure.
All the darns of the world had burst in my cranny and I was being plugged with the biggest thrill of my life. He rode atop me gently at first and then began to increase his friction with a steady pace. His mouth plastered mine with wet sloppy kisses and he twisted his serpentine rod with wild abandon. I was crying with joy and humping back for the thrill of his wide pulsing penis. We both went insane in the next moment and he tore through me with saber slashes that made me weak with excitement The groaning bed was going to collapse any moment I was sure, and so I gave it all back to him, swiveling my hips and squeezing my muscles against the neck of his galloping joint.
He hit me repeatedly and my insides swelled with the most fulfilling climax I had ever reached. It seemed to go on forever and I savored every moment of it while my juices gushed against his exploding phallus.
When Peter's dam burst in my pussy the next moment it was as though a tide of molten lead had exploded. His hot sticky sauce was enough to wash me into another crisis and his iron thick beam continued to plumb me into a second coming. After the second blast we rested in position and I could only marvel at his staying power.
"You're somethin' else," I said when I finally had breath enough.
"Now deliver the line again," he said in his capacity to constantly amaze me.
"GOOD MORNING, YOUR SUPREME BALLSHIP!"
"Right on," he smiled.
"Don't you ever stop talking shop?"
"Never," Peter replied curtly, planting a butterfly kiss on my cheek with one fluttering eyelash.
"What else are you directing," I asked after a long silence.
He chuckled. "Well see."
The next long silence lasted eight hours. In the morning I made him breakfast, but not until I gave him my line.
"You do it like that on stage and we've got a show," he said.
CHAPTER SIX
Naturally, the show was a bomb, but for the three week run of it Peter's heavenly hunk of rod stretched my pussy nearly ever night. Neither of us was terribly demanding of the other except to come across on cue, and this we did pleasurably. As the novelty of his equipment wore off, however, so did Peter as someone I might become permanently attached to.
I was grateful to him for my first shot in New York, but I was not in the least reliant on his friendship. I got into the routine of making rounds, and although nothing big came my way I did do some work and was seen on the off-off Broadway circuit. It came very clear that I would have to get an Equity card if I expected to compete with the gang of unemployed actors that managed to survive ten thousand different ways, none of them in their chosen profession. The number of shows casting was just too insignificant to support more than a tiny percentage of theatre jobseekers.
My chance to join the actor's union came, naturally enough not in New York, but with a summer stock company in Vermont. I consider myself lucky because I had spent only four months in the big city before I was cast in the resident company that played ten weeks in the bucolic town of Dempsey.
The job offer came not a moment too soon, also, because of my need to move out of the rat-trap hotel I called home. An incident on the night I was hired was fittingly grotesque.
I had auditioned for the Dempsey Playhouse earlier in the day and got a call only three hours later to say I could sign my first Equity contract, for minimum, of course. I met two actresses I knew for a celebration drink that evening and before it was through I had a proper buzz on. When I turned the key to my room my head was spinning and I flopped naked into bed, on top of the world and ready to pass out on a delightful drunk.
I was in a half-sleep with the ceiling spinning when I heard voices outside the door. Two of Flobelle's clients and the dear girl herself laughed loudly.
"Thass not the door, you drunkin' mother," Flobelle giggled, stewed herself.
But the dim hallway light suddenly flooded into my room and a huge male figure stumbled through the doorway. I had forgotten to lock the damned door.
"Ain't this yer sister?" the drunk slobbered.
Flobelle peeked in unsteadily.
"Get the hell out of here," I waved with a spastic's coordination. The hulking guy lurched forward.
"Christ, what a body," he whistled. I pulled the sheet over me, but the lummox was already in bed and pawing me. Flobelle shut the door and all three were in my room. If liquor was supposed to dull the sex drive, nobody told the clown who was blithely ripping the sheets out of my hands.
"Dis ain't the room," Flobelle wailed.
"Johnny likes vanilla," her companion giggled tearing at Flobelle's dress. In the neon flicker she was down to her white satin bikini panties and bra. "But I like chocolate," he said, flinging her dress against the door.
Johnny's whiskey mouth was pressed to mine and one hand squeezed the daylights out of my breasts.
"What a set of tits," he exclaimed. The bed bounced when Flobelle and her chocolate loving lover moved in.
Johnny's bedside manner was that of a gorilla, very definitely in mating season, but little Samantha was dry as a bone and tighter than a drum. His stubby fingers made several forays between my thighs and my muscles clamped shut like a vise.
"Aw, don't be like that," he moaned. "Hey, Chocolate, I got a job for you. Hear you're pretty good openin' locks."
The next moment saw Flobelle being hauled unceremoniously between my legs and her face pressed to my muff.
"C'mon, honey, make it quick," she muttered, and she smeared her hot moist tongue across my vulva. Her mouth stung like it was barbed wire and I winced with the roughness of her endeavor. But her oily tongue lapped steadily and she increased her tempo when Johnny shoved his fist into her bikini bottoms and rammed it up into her pussy. His fingers danced in her wet notch and she went wild against my clinging clitoris.
Her teeth nipped my flesh and her tongue tore into my stubborn pussy wrenching unavoidable responses from me. My slot began to moisten as a rush of my juices shivered from their tiny spouts and her tongue penetrated through my tightness. I pressed on the mattress with delicious ecstasy.
Suddenly someone's teeth sank into my breast while Flobelle gnawed my cunt into a slavering, quavering cup of jelly. Sensations flew in all directions as the male mouth sucked greedily at my tits and Flobelle's lapping tongue punished my pussy. I heard her grunt and snuffle as she reamed her mouth insatiably against me.
What began as a "let's get it over with" trip triggered her into a red hot heat. In the next moment she pulled her head from my sopping slot and thrust her body into the guy who was using my jugs for teething rings. She replaced his mouth and I felt her strong limbs take hold of my entire body. Flobelle lay atop me, grinding my flesh with hers. Now her ravenous mouth was on mine, kissing so hard I had to fight for breath. Her sweating torso slammed and pumped against mine.
"It's a sister act," one of the men slurred in amusement.
Flobelle went crazy ramming her knee between my thighs and she took me along for the ride. Her sisterly affection was driving my pussy into orbit Her nappy-haired mons veneris scrapped against my clit and I shuddered with the new thrill. She jumped suddenly and a glimpse at Johnny's leering face showed he was busily drilling his finger into her asshole and driving her onward to greater sexual heights.
I was along for the ride for certain. Never had I accommodated a woman's lusty mouth but it made no difference now. My passions were soaring and I craved her punishing pelvis to bring me off. I'm not sure who moaned louder with the sheer delight of our sweating physical contact.
Johnny was not content with digital stimulation, however, and his weight suddenly joined Flobelle's atop me. He squeezed his hard-on between her plucky buns and drove in mercilessly.
But he screwed so erratically that the pair rolled off to one side, leaving me to gasp for air but my unfulfilled pussy aching. The vacuum was filled instantly by the other guy who climbed into my saddle and stuffed his peter through my throbbing pussy.
"The name's Ray," my momentary lover breathed, punctuating his presence with a thrust that drove through to my uterus.
I squirmed, tightlipped, but happy to have his volatile equipment frictioning my fiery channel. Ray rotated his tool and shivers of delight exploded inside. I bucked and arched to give him a happy home and increase the pleasure he wreaked.
Next to me, Flobelle was having her bottom screwed with Johnny's thumping prick, but her allegiance seemed still to be with me, for she craned her neck and pushed her face between Ray's and mine. Her teeth sunk into my lips and I almost came on the spot. Her hot tongue massaged my gums as Ray primed my orgasm. A moment later it was all over, but not before Ray's rampaging rod blasted a load of semen into me and I unloaded my own juices against his plowing peter.
Ray rolled off, spent, and I rested for a few moments until Johnny finally shot his seed into Flobelle's punished fanny.
The sheets were sopping with our efforts and I squirmed to get myself unstuck. Flobelle lay panting next to me, but the merry pranksters were not quite through. Johnny slapped her on her rump.
"You got an itch for this chick, right?"
"Ah don' like mean men," Flobelle warned.
"Awww, come on," Johnny whined. "Just to show you I ain't mean we're gonna let lil' whitey here suck you off. One good turn deserves another, right?"
I had no time to object as Ray and Johnny turned me over and pushed my face against her nubby muff. Her cool thighs pressed against my cheeks and Johnny forced my mouth against her vulva. There was nothing left for me to do but follow his orders. Her special odor stung my nostrils and I shut my eyes to plunge my tongue against her sex.
Her clit erected against my lips and I drew the oily bead into my mouth while Flobelle squealed her appreciation. Meanwhile Ray or Johnny, it didn't matter which, slid his head under my pelvis and began licking my throbbing vagina.
The other set of male buttocks crossed over my head and Flobelle's jaws were crammed with a spermy spear. My tongue was spurred onward with the ripping action beneath me and I took it out on my neighbor's delicious pussy. Her grinding loins registered her appreciation and I gnawed with the thorough stimulation I was receiving.
In no time I was set to come again. Beneath me the granting groans showed my benefactor was also in the throes of an orgasm. It was startlingly confirmed when a spatter of warm come descended on my back. He had manipulated his peter and a gossamer shower of liquid arched three feet into the air to touchdown on yours truly.
While the pellets cooled quickly Flobelle spent her spicy juices against my tongue. Moments later the bouncing butt and sac of balls jerked as Flobelle's mouth became the receptacle for another flowing orgasm.
I was too exhausted to even move and bodies unwound around me. I clamped my eyes shut and only vaguely heard the door open and close behind me.
All was suddenly quiet, but I didn't have the energy to get up and lock the door. The next morning I awoke stiff and sticky to find fifteen dollars on the dresser. I packed quickly and used most of the money to buy a bus ticket to Dempsey, Vermont.
Nearly six hours after the bus pulled out of the Port Authority Terminal I stepped off in the lush green New England town that would be my happy home for the next two months.
Stefan Raunchek, the man who signed me to the Dempsey resident company took my bags and we drove through the beautiful hills to the Victorian house that lodged the entire company. I was eager and excited to get to work on the ten-play season. We opened the following week and I hadn't even seen a script. The first show was "The Fantasticks" and I was to play the sweet young thing all innocence and fluff. Ho, ho.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The first week of rehearsals was so exhausting I did not even get to explore the seventeen room mini-mansion that Stefan Raunchek had acquired to house us all. For the first two weeks I had a room all to myself. Later on as the company would increase in size we were told we would be doubling up. We rehearsed eight hours a day and I spent most of the night trying to learn lines. I was the greenest member of the company and there seemed to be very little contact with the rest of the cast, all men WHO APPEARED TO BE THE VERMONT
CHAPTER OF THE GAY Liberation Front. A died in the wool hetero like me had to content herself with her work, not that I had any time for play.
Stefan, on the other hand, had possibilities. As director, he would linger, making a point about blocking, and brush his hand surreptitiously across my shoulders. But he didn't live in the Victorian house and a dark-eyed vixenish chick would come by to pick him up for dinner breaks. The days passed quickly and suddenly we were scheduled to open. After one week's rehearsal, I was shaking with fright, certain my voice would crack or that I'd drop a line. My insane one a week summer had begun.
Somehow we got through the opening night performance played to a packed, staid looking house of the local hoi polloi. A party to which the whole town came preceded our gala opening and the audience was well-oiled. They loved the show, despite the minor fluffs that had to happen with such a short rehearsal period. What we all looked forward to was the post theatre party promised by one of the backers of the theatre when we could let our hair down after a week of stomach curdling tension.
We piled into various cars and drove off into the night, a procession of unwinding actors, musicians and gentlemen farmer types with their genteel wives. What followed was the drunkenest spree anyone could imagine in the roiling farmhouse that could have been the summer White House.
'Great job!" Stefan beamed, planting a kiss that dripped bourbon.
"A fine little actress," the middle-aged backer prompted, pecking me to the dismay of his starched and pinched wife. "Pour you another, my dear?" And he did.
The evening wore on and we were all plied with the best brands of liquor. It wasn't too long before there was a huge splash and we saw Stefan thrashing in the pool into which he fell or was pushed. Our host was next and then it was a free for all. My leading man dropped me with a drunken tackle and into the briny deep I went, clothes and all. In moments the whole pool was alive with all of Dempsey's society kicking and splattering water everywhere. While treading water J discovered the undersea life that hankered for a piece of my bod. The tentacles belonged to Stefan Raunchek who had a death grip on my water-logged panties. Before I could cough the water out of my lungs another form of sea life, the dark-eyed Celia swam between us with anger burning. I don't know who she was more upset with, Stefan or me.
Her fingers grappling my hair made it clear she was angrier with me. I went under with Celia's fingers knotted in my hair and Stefan's tight grasp yanking at my short hairs.
I broke free of the wrangling couple and surfaced, gasping for breath and furious. I thought I had left a scene like this behind in New York. I floundered to the side of the pool only to stare at the leering mug of the host of the shindig, his cheeks puffed into a riotous grin.
"Like to dry off Utile lady," he belched offering his hand.
I took it and was hoisted ashore. "Pity, you're all drenched. Hope you didn't ruin your dress."
He seemed particularly concerned with the shrinkage possibilities around my breasts, for he squeezed the water off the lace frill until the shiny white of my jugs were well encased in his ruddy hands.
"Let's get a towel," he mumbled and I followed dumbly. We went to a cabana room just off the pool and I could hear the cast and various guests still whooping it up and thrashing in the pool.
"There's a robe in there," he pointed and I stepped into an informal locker room to change. I put on a luxurious towel robe and dried myself off. Then there was a knock on the door.
"I'm decent," I called.
"Well, I'm not," he called and he opened the door stark naked, a rubber tire of paunch surrounding his middle.
"You're a very talented young lady," he whispered.
From his look. I knew he wasn't talking about my acting ability. "Want to give an old fellow like me a private performance."
He looked almost pitiful standing there in his altogether and I wasn't thinking too clearly anyway, so I just smiled. That was his cue and he was up on his part.
A hefty hard-on was beginning to bob under his hairy paunch and that was the last I saw of it. He flicked off the light switch and I was pushed suddenly onto the chaise.
"Easy goes it," I warned.
But his thick lips were already on mine and I felt his hand creep under the robe and between my thighs.
"You be nice to me and you can stay here all summer," he mumbled. "One word from me and Stefan will send you packing back to the city."
He didn't have to come on so strong and on such a tack. "Don't threaten me if you want some genuine action."
He almost went limp at my backtalk.
"I'm sorry, I just wasn't sure you would look kindly on my advances," he apologized. "I didn't mean that."
The discussion ended, his hand resumed its exploration of my privates and I willingly slipped my cupped hand around his knobby rod. It thickened in my grasp and my tingling sexual responses came quickly under his gentle hands.
He opened the robe and planted his lips on my nipples. He laved at them with his tongue until they were taught-skinned brown nuts and I increased my pressure on his peter, thrilling with the pulsing throb as his vein pounded against my fingers. His chin squeezed between my thighs making them feel like creamy velvet and his vibrant tongue pressed my vulva.
"Mmmm," he moaned and the tang of my juices touched his probing tongue. My whole body was suddenly out of control and I shuddered with anticipation. His lips parted my thickening, moistening cunt-lips and my pelvis sucked at his tongue. I was ready immediately. He sensed it and his hand circled his hard, hefty prick. A beat later his knobby headed tool replaced his licking tongue and he felt the warm moisture of my primed pussy as he started to penetrate. I flexed my legs to feel his weight slide slickly into my wet, salivating channel. I was hot and open all the way.
He put his hands on my breasts and rammed his stick of dynamite all the way as far as it could reach. I felt his balls slap firmly against my fanny and my muscles clawed and clutched at the root of his manhood. Tiny suction cups in my insides grabbed and squeezed hungrily at his thickness.
He bent to kiss and nibble at my nipples, taking them with care between his teeth and pressuring gently. He inhaled, drawing most of my jugs into his mouth. I felt the cone tips scrape against his upper palate.
If this guy could back a theatre the way he made love the Dempsey Playhouse was on solid footing. I tried to throw my hands around his gray head, but he put me off and pinned my hands above my head. I threw my wet hair with the frustration of being pinned and he laughed throatily.
He drove in and poked, letting the tip of his rod rake across my clitoris. He was driving me crazy with unbearable stimulation. I began to writhe and buck, slamming my hips back into his heavy haunches, slapping my hard Utile belly against his thick-girthed waist.
He was near to reaching his peak and I was right along too. He began to pant and grunt like some primordial animal. I was slipping further down on the chaise and suddenly I relaxed my grip around his butt with my legs. I squeezed my knees around his chest and felt his hard hot cock sucking in and out of my raving pussy as fast and powerful as a piston. He scoured my womanhood with his relentless shaft and I bit into his ear with the frenzy he worked. He hissed in pain and then we came together. His lengthy prick was drenched with my juices and his steaming shaft spewed his manstuff into me. The two of us jerked crazily for many seconds afterward while our long orgasms called the rune, hot and syncopated.
He covered my eyes with kisses and I held him firmly between my legs and arms. I was trembling in the afterglow of our session and finally he slid off me. I didn't even remember his name and he had given me one hell of a happy run for my money.
"I hope you will remember this little bout my dear. I know, I will," he said, breathing heavily. "Just come to Thomas Thorndike any time you feel lonely. Just now I'd better see how my other guests are getting along."
The door opened and closed and I lay in the darkness clutching my well satisfied patch of moss, dripping with our juices.
My dress was still damp from the unexpected dip in the pool, but I put it on anyway and stepped outside fifteen minutes later. Some members of the cast were leaving and I joined them for the ride home.
Strangely, I didn't see the highly-sexed Mr. Thorndike again because he left the next day for a Far East tour for the company he worked for, or was executive director of ... I never found out which.
But I had plenty to keep me occupied in the next days as we began to get into the season. The show continued to go well for the rest of its run and I found that I was a cause celebre within a fifty mile radius of Dempsey. The public relations director of the theatre had me booked onto interview programs on radio stations just two towns away, and invitations to parties began coming as more and more of the summer population began to attend the playhouse.
Small town summer stock became rather gratifying as I discovered I was the largest and prettiest fish in the small Dempsey pond. College students home from their campuses began to form a little clique of stage door Johnnies, sometimes coming on strong, while others shyly ogled a real "New York actress."
One of these kids was Edward Davison who had his first crop of long hair after a freshman year at Harvard. His parents owned a huge estate five miles from town. He was a nervous young buck, forever licking his newly sprouting mustache. On top of it all he had a stammer.
"W-would you l-l-like to-to ggo rrowing on my l-lake?" Edward blurted backstage after a show.
He was a sweet looking combination of adolescence and manhood and I fought off my first impulse to turn him off. A trip between his long legs was a distinct possibility and when he relaxed his stammer wasn't quite so pronounced.
"Sure, if it doesn't interfere with rehearsal," I replied.
"T-tuesday morning?"
"You've been checking the rehearsal schedule, haven't you," I laughed.
"Uh, huh," he smiled sheepishly. "It's a date."
He picked me up in the family Ferrari and we sped out of town. I could get very used to such luxury.
"D-did yyou br-bring your bbathing suit," he asked.
"Don't you row well?" I joked.
"W-we ccould ggo swimming," he managed.
I poked into my beach bag and pulled out my postage stamp bikini. "This too risque?"
He gulped and grinned. "That's nnice."
I was feeling deliciously wicked and I slapped his knee. He blushed purple.
"M-mom and d-dad xxon't be home anyway," he stuttered.
I wasn't sure quite how to take that. It was no secret that actors and actresses are still freaks to most Americans, to be seen only on the other side of the footlights. Heaven help you if you're seen with one in mufti. The second class citizenship Edward had just conferred on me raised my hackles.
"Maybe its too cold for a swim," I suggested.
"Huh?" Edward wondered, startled.
"What you just said to me wasn't too cool, but if we're gonna do a trip about not being good enough to be seen with young master Edward Davison you'd better stop the car."
Edward brought the sports car to a screeching halt and shot me a confused look.
"I-I didn't mmean anything by that. My parents are straight-laced people, that's all. They're both at the country club this morning. I didn't mean to imply that I was ashamed of you or anything."
His lips were trembling with a plaintive plea-but his stutter was gone. I stared long at his beautiful mouth and my insides fluttered with stimulation.
"Is it O.K. to keep driving?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," I apologized touching his hand. His skin seemed to leap at my touch. I snuggled closer to him in my bucket seat and let my wrist linger on his knee while he shifted the gear and we sped off along the hilly road.
I tugged playfully on some hairs that sprouted on his knee and let my hand fall on his inner thigh where the hair was even thicker. His strongly muscled legs felt like iron under my fingers and I couldn't wait to see what the rest of his body had in store. He pulled through the main gate of their estate and we drove a thousand yards before we even saw a house. Suddenly a miniature chateau loomed above the tree-lined avenue and we had arrived at the Davison homestead. But Edward turned off onto a dirt road that led away from the main drive.
"Lake's just a half mile down here," he explained.
The sports car pulled into a clearing and I could see the blueness of the lake glittering in the early morning sun. To the left a rustic cabin snuggled against a breathtaking backdrop of mountains and pale greenery.
"We can change in there," he pointed.
We walked up to the tiny cabin. He put a long arm around my shoulders. I could almost feel him trembling with self-consciousness.
"You've rowed a boat before, haven't you," I asked trying to set him at his ease.
"S-sure."
The stutter was back and I began to tighten up too.
"Good, I thought so with those muscles." I brushed his forearm and felt tiny goose bumps touch my fingers.
He swung his shock of dark hair in embarrassment and chewed his scraggly mustache. I stroked his arm all the more and he began to relax. I couldn't care less about the lake. I just wanted my young Romeo to put his firm limbs around me and hold still for about an hour.
Inside the cabin I swallowed hard to see the priceless antiques that furnished the place.
"Y-you can change behind that screen," he said and I took my beach bag behind a beautifully carved Oriental relic. I dabbed myself with some perfume and sprinkled some of the unholy ointment between my thighs. Through the cracks in the screen I could see Edward changing. He modestly turned his back to my direction and I caught a glimpse of his fine white buttocks. He turned fully toward me and I saw his forest of dark crotch hair and a semierect log ripe for the cut ting. He scratched his low hung testicles and pulled on a white skin-tight bathing suit. His peter continued to bulge and I almost laughed aloud as he flicked at the knobby bump to make it recede. His face reddened with embarrassment and he turned away trying to make his equipment less obvious.
I pulled on the bikini quickly, hoping to catch him before he denied his body's responses.
"Ready," I sang, emerging suddenly.
I caught him by surprise and he turned to reveal an even larger bulge.
"Your rudder's sticking out," I pointed.
He went purple. Now was no time to stop.
"Can I steer for awhile," I asked sticking my hand out and touching the satin-smooth bump. I leaned over to give him a look at my creamy white cleavage.
"Uh....I-I'm ssorry," Edward stammered.
"Not me. Sure you want to go rowing?"
I felt his pecker twitch with excitement and my mouth watered with hope.
"W-we don't have t-to."
"I like indoor sports myself, how about you?"
"Wow," he exhaled.
I took his hand and shoved it between my breasts. His rod looked like it would burst through the front of his bathing suit.
"It's a little close in here with all these clothes on," I smiled. "Any suggestions?"
"W-we could take them off."
"You get an A in anthropology and climate control. Want to undo the straps to this thing?"
His fingers leaped to the task and I felt his hot headed prick jab my stomach.
His chest fluttered against my chin and I slipped two fingers under his waistband. He leaned over and kissed me on the nose. I stood on my toes and captured his lips with mine.
Edward's face was beet red and I brushed his flaming cheek with my hand.
"Give me what you've got," I whispered, sliding my hand against his hard, flat stomach.
I encircled his straining rod with my fingers and felt his blood-thickened piece swell to my touch.
"E-ever since I ssaw you, I-I've wa-wanted you," he stammered.
"Here I am and I want you to stuff your cock into me," I breathed.
He held me close and I pulled at his tight-fitting suit to let his rod shoot out in all its erect glory. His suit skimmed, he stuck out like a rifle, cocked and ready. I sank to my knees and grabbed handfuls of his dark pubic hair, drawing him closer, until his taut shaft licked my lips. I opened wide and sucked his hairy manhood into my watering mouth. He shuddered with the moist sensation and I bit into his delicious candy bar.
His fingers flitted over my cheeks while I drew him in more and more deeply. His thick glans massaged my upper palate and I squeezed his sac of balls to increase his mouth-filling sex. My tongue washed his heavenly spear and my jaws ached to snap off his luscious length.
He rocked and frictioned against my teeth and I felt him jerk back suddenly. His rod tingled with promise of coming and he was shaking with fear. I wanted nothing more than to feel his vibrant young seed splash against my gums and so I massaged and pressured with lips and fingers to bring Edward to the brink.
He pulled away and I yanked him back, brutally. His rod was crimson in my grasp and I was seized by the insatiable desire to bleed the color to white. All he needed to do was come I thought madly. I pumped the root of his rod with my thumb and suddenly a stream of liquid fire cascaded into my thirsting mouth. His slippery semen washed my tongue and I beamed with delight. I licked his oozing glans and scoured him clean, savoring the salty taste of his waxen come. But Edward's face was a picture of confusion. "There's plenty more where that came from, isn't there?" I asked hotly.
I desired this boy to the depths of my soul. My pussy was wracked with pangs of lust for his hefty piece.
Edward could come, but could he fuck? There's nothing like experience to find the answer and so I pulled his willing body down to the floor. His hands were already stripping my bikini bottom. He put a tentative hand on my blonde fern of short hair and gingerly pressed his finger against my vulva. "Go on, push all the buttons," I urged. I pushed his hand into my moss patch and rotated it until I could feel his finger slip between my love lips and sink into the hot ooze that churned in my pussy.
He got the picture fast-as I never doubted he would and he began a vigorous reaming of my seething box. I bucked to feel his knuckle scrape my inner flesh and he knelt closer. Gently, he drove me into a frenzy of sexual excitement. Just as I thought he was going to bring me off at the end of his fingertips, however, he pulled his sticky probe out and daintily licked at my pink labia.
His eyebrows questioned if it was alright and I smiled to urge the darling boy on. In plunged his long thick tongue and I lurched with the sudden sensation. He buried his mouth in my welling sex and drove me insane with his snaking tongue. He smeared me into an orgasmic state and I lay back helpless while my insides burst into a shower of sparks.
I was open and craving and my A plus student knew what to do next. His mouth, dripping with my juices, pressed against mine and I tasted my scent on his tongue while his rock hard rod jammed against my thighs.
I reached for his rigid prick and guided the stick of dynamite into my grotto. It slithered in on a welllubricated track and I was pleasantly stuffed with Edward's magic wand.
He began pumping slowly, covering my face with kisses. My lips and pussy sucked at him in unison. His tongue and peter were tuned to each other, too, and my raving box and my hungry mouth were both being screwed with his double barrelled action.
Edward the stutterer was smooth as silk when it came to the important things in life. His long loving rod seemed to go on forever as he pressed deep into my belly. He began to pick up the tempo and I was stroked to the brink of another climax. He came down hard hitting my clit and I braced to feel another delicious hit when the room suddenly filled with light.
I heard Edward gasp and go suddenly limp still in me. I peered behind his head and the glowering figure of Mrs. Davison, golf club in hand hovered at the door.
"Edward, go back to the house and go to your room," she commanded.
Edward had become like jelly on top of me. He wiggled off and hung his head. "Pl-please, mmother," he began.
"Get out and now. I'll deal with this little bitch."
Edward the stutterer turned out to be Edward the bastard, too, for he ob-eyed like a little dog, dragging his tail between his legs where his balls should have been.
The door closed and suddenly it was Mrs. Davison and me, still dumbly on the floor.
"I could Mil you," she hissed from her puritan gray face.
"Just like you killed your son," I asked waspishly.
The only answer I got was the stinging crack of the hand end of the club across my thighs. I tried to get up, my skin striped with pain, when she put one cleated shoe on my stomach.
I felt the hard rubber bite into my flesh and then the club was jammed between my legs.
I held my breath, expecting the worst from this vindictive mother, completely vulnerable.
"If you ever come near my son again, I will kill you. Do you understand," she demanded.
"Uh, huh," I nodded tightly.
She shoved the head of the club against my pussy and I thought I would pass out. "Nobody will spoil my son, you little bitch," she hissed. Her gloved hand came down on my face and I felt the buckle break my skin. A dozen horrifying thoughts flew through my mind and it came clear that she knew who I was and was determined to bruise my face so I couldn't appear on stage. I tried to cover my head but she pried my elbows away. In desperation I lunged and caught her off balance. She toppled over on top of me and we wrestled. Her face was just inches from mine and I clawed at it, grabbing a fist full of hair I pulled as hard as I could and she squealed with pain. She shook free and then dropped her face to my breasts. The world was emblazoned in red when she sank her teeth into my tit. I cried in pain and pumped my knees, catching her squarely between her thighs. The golf club clattered to the floor and I took advantage of her momentary surprise to get to my feet. I could taste blood in my mouth and I was in a panic to get the hell out of that cabin. I knocked over the screen getting to my clothes and threw the priceless piece of art in her path as she continued to advance in my direction. I threw open the door to the cabin only half dressed and looked back to see the old cow tangled in the mother of pearl screens. A shiny Cadillac glimmered in the carport. Edward's Ferrari was nowhere in sight. I ran to the limousine and saw some keys in the dash. My mind was set on that insane woman not catching me and so I reached in, pulled out the keys and threw them in the bushes ten feet away. Then I started to run. When I looked back the woman was searching the grass frantically looking for the keys. I had put about two acres between us and I slowed to a walk.
I couldn't wait to be off the Davison property and simply struck out for the main road. My mouth was stinging with the blow my attacker had laid on me and I felt the numbness of my cheek where she had opened the skin. I looked back and saw no one. I decided to cut across the field to the rock ledge that demarked the huge estate. I climbed over the pile of rocks and thumbed a ride back to Dempsey with a kindly farmer who minded his business and disregarded what I assumed was a monster-sized wound on my face.
Doubtless he would have a pip of a story to embroider when he went to his next American Legion meeting. Nevertheless I remained close-mouthed and didn't volunteer any information. When we got to town I thanked him and slipped around back to the commissary of the big house. No one was around and I glimpsed at a mirror downstairs to see what damage had been done. To my surprise I had only a minor bruise on my face, one that could easily be hidden with make-up for the evening's performance. I still had an horn: before I had to be at the theatre for rehearsal of the following week's play.
A nap in my own room was precisely what I needed to unwind from my Utile episode with the Davisons. I stepped into my room, about to relax for the first time that day, only to find Stefan Raunchek dropping a mattress onto a second bed that wasn't there that morning.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Good morning, Samantha. I thought you were rowing with the Davison kid."
"I'm allergic to water. What are you doing here with that?"
"The new arrivals, remember? For 'Arsenic and Old 79 Lace'? Connie Bouchet, gonna play one of the aunts. She'll be sharing the room."
I must have grimaced at the thought.
"Getting a little star-conscious?" Stefan smirked. "Hey, what happened to your face?"
"Nothing," I snapped. "Cut it on a bramble."
"Let's take a look. A thing like this could hurt the show."
"It's nothing. Just a scratch. Some make-up is all it needs," I argued.
"Uh, uh, what you need is some attention," he said slyly.
"Stefan, I don't have time for a bit now," I said, my voice rising.
He already had his hand on my cheek.
"Celia's gonna carry a knife one of these days," I warned.
"Only doctors carry knives. Let's play doctor," he said pushing me backwards. My calf caught on the new bed and I fell on the sheet-less mattress.
"Stefan for Christ's sake, let me go!"
"You goddamn tease!" he shouted.
"It's all in your head," I retorted.
"Then let's let it all hang out," he spat, ripping my blouse.
His face was a mask of fury, ugly and menacing. The son of a bitch was going to rape me here in my own room. All my energy I had drained and I lay limply on the bed while Stefan heatedly shed his clothes.
His rod was a long surly looking weapon, fully erected and about to be jammed into my dry passionless pussy.
The pain I felt was more than his brutal thrust into my unwilling vagina. Ma Davison's handy golf club had left its impression too and I was sore as the dickens. Oblivious, he rammed his peter through, chafing and scraping my punished flesh. My lack of interest in his amorous efforts only made Stefan more and more frustrated and more brutal in his attack. He was screwing to hurt me now and he took pleasure from every wince my face betrayed. He humped his big ass up and came crashing down, slamming his pecker to the recesses of my grotto.
He grabbed my breasts and squeezed them like marshmallows until I had to cry with the hurt.
"Give some back, you little cunt!"
I stayed tightlipped. His rod swelled like it was under heat and it felt like a salami engorging my insides. He crashed down again in an erratic motion and caught my clitoris. At once my channel-began to lubricate itself and his loathsome rod became less onerous as it slipped where once it had skidded.
My body was betraying me. His pummeling prick began raising a ruckus inside of me. I was sexually awake and responding despite my venomous hate for this bastard.
"Go on, show your teeth you little vixen," Stefan grinned, thumping in with a staccato action. "Pussy like yours needs a real workout. Fat old Thorndike and that Davison kid can't take care of a need like yours."
I clenched my eyes and heard his teasing voice. But his lashing rod was too much to bear. I was giving it all back to him now, humping up to meet his full thickness, swiveling my hips to feel his weapon sear my flesh.
The interrupted episode with Edward had left me unfulfilled and now Stefan Raunchek took up the slack. My thighs were slick with my runny juices and I grabbed both his buttocks to hold his gyrating body in place. My fingers slipped-and I grabbed again, driving my fingernails into his sac of balls. He bellowed in pain, then bit into my Up. His rod seemed suspended and growing larger in my tract. With one last furious heave he came spiralling down into my belly again and hit me with such ferocity that my senses reeled. My insides broke up entirely with a violence that made me shudder many moments afterward. Seconds later he shot his load of oily sperm into my orgasm-wracked pussy.
He pulled his slick spear from my ravenous womb and plunged his mouth against my swollen vulva, nudging my pungent juices into another lustful bout. His teeth pricked my labia and I felt his hot tongue rivet into my crevice and mingle with our dripping fluids. With one deft movement he pivoted his body so his semen covered shaft dawdled over my lips. He continued to ream my pussy with his barbed wire tongue and I was flushed with sexuality. I bobbed for his rod and caught the stiff peter between my lips. I sucked at his glans willingly and delighted to feel it swell while I scraped his membrane with my teeth. His fingers crept into the rosette of my anus and he sucked manfully on my oily clit. I kneaded his hairy balls and blew and chewed on his staff for all I was worth.
His pulsating penis lurched and I was frothing at the' mouth with a healthy wad of his manhood. He pumped and rammed his piece into the back of my throat with his follow through.
I was exhausted and could only lay immobile. He dismounted and stood at the side of the bed. A droplet of semen clung to the tip of his piece and I watched mesmerized and it seemed to bounce in mid air trying to decide whether or not to drip off. He flexed his half-erect rod and the droplet slithered into the air-seemed to hold by imaginary wires and then land on the cone of my left breast. I touched the globule and felt it cool, then circled the wetness around my nipple.
It was a mistake. Almost immediately his rod began to stiffen, taking him almost by surprise too.
"We can't deny the flesh, now can we, Samantha?" Stefan said smiling.
I had my fill, but he was ready for more. He clutched my hips and rolled me onto my stomach.
"No, enough, for God's sake," I moaned.
But Stefan was not to be denied and his reaming fingers clambered into my sodden grotto. He pulled them out and crammed his fingers into my bottom, lubricating my fanny with the combined sludge of our sex. His grease gun of a prick followed as he pulled my rump up and spread my legs with his knees. Stefan didn't wait to warm up, but roared straight through while I buried my head in the mattress to keep from being pitched forward. My anus screamed with pain for his uninvited weapon and I knew I would be split in two by his thrusting thickness.
He grabbed my hanging jugs for leverage and rapped his piece against my sphincter with lighting fast heaves. I pulled at my hair to bear the pain. When his piston swelled for what I prayed was the last time I cried out with a mixture of anger and relief. His final charge of come detonated inside me and he fell forward on my back.
"Get outa here," I screamed.
Spent, he ob-eyed. He smiled his ugly smirk and methodically dressed. I couldn't stand the sight of him and he knew it. He dressed in silence and smug satisfaction.
As soon as he closed the door I started to pack.
I couldn't think of anything but getting away from the whole pack of cannibals, from Stefan to the elite of the Vermont town. Piranha with two legs were haunting me and I had to get out....Back to New York, anywhere. I didn't give a damn about the show that night. Somehow nothing seemed more important anymore than to survive. What had started out to be a promising summer with my newly acquired Equity card had become a living nightmare.
I locked my suitcases and showered. Twenty minutes later I was out the door and walking to the Greyhound Station when Tully Samson, the stage manager drove past in the company station wagon and pulled to an abrupt halt.
"What's happening?" Tully asked with a puzzled look at my bags.
"You'll have to find a new ingenue."
"What do you mean? You're not leaving, are you?'' His look changed from confusion to terror.
"Yes, I am. Talk to Stefan. I'm sure he's got some story."
Tully screwed up his boyish brow. "He didn't say anything to me and I just saw him at the rehearsal hall He couldn't fire you."
Now was no time for involved explanations and so I said he did.
"That's impossible. He's got to give you notice. What about the show tonight? And 'Birdie.' We're two days into rehearsal for next week. You look like you've flipped your wig."
He scrambled out of the car and grabbed my bags. "What the hell is going on," he demanded.
"It's nothing to talk about."
"The hell it isn't. Get in," he ordered.
Before I could pull away, he thrust my bags into the back of the wagon and pushed me inside. I was like jelly, weary and disgusted. He got in and burned rubber to drive us to a neutral spot to talk to me.
I just sat dumbly and sobbed, while able Tully took charge.
"Why did he fire you? Explain just what happened. He could be brought up on charges for this."
Tully still had the story cock-eyed.
"So he didn't fire me, but I've got to leave."
"Listen, you don't just go off one day and blow the whole scene. Tell me what happened. I'm not letting you out of here until I know. Christ, I've got a show to stage manage tonight and one to rehearse."
Earnest Tully was genuinely concerned and I began to feel guilty about putting him and the rest of the show on the spot. We pulled over to a roadhouse outside of town and I tried to control myself while I explained just what happened.
"The sonofabitch!" Tully exclaimed when Stefan entered into the account. He jumped up and left. I was sitting in bewilderment as the wagon careened out of the parking lot.
I sat for twenty minutes trying to decide what to do. My bags were still in the car and he had driven off to Land's End for all I knew. I was about to call the rehearsal hall to find out what had happened or if they even knew where Tully was when my Lochinvar walked through the doors of the roadhouse, his jaw set and his fist clenched. His face was a mask of pain.
"I just broke my knuckle on Stefan Raunchek's chin. I'm going to the clinic. Want a ride?"
I burst out laughing and accompanied my newfound knight in shining armor to the doctor who set his dislocated knuckle. We had to wait though. Stefan was being wired for a broken jaw. He grimaced in pain when he saw us. I began laughing and his temple throbbed with a vein trying to escape his ugly head. "I quit too," Tully yelled.
Stefan grabbed a piece of paper from the nurse and scrawled a message. "You can't, you bastard....What do you want? More money? Name the price. The theatre's going to fold if you all quit."
Tully and I had a quick consultation and it was clear Stefan was over a barrel. Tully held our broken jawed boss to his promise and secured in writing, raises for the both of us. Then we drove to the theatre office and signed new Equity contracts. Stefan was in deep, very deep with his backers and to lose us would have cost him dearly to try to find replacements. I looked with new admiration of Tully Samson, a fresh-cheeked graduate student in theatre who had just turned my darkest day into some sort of victory.
"We'll start rehearsal in half an hour," the businesslike stage manager said.
I went back to my room and unpacked. With Tully in my corner I felt I could take on the world.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The world comes in many disguises, however, and the following week brought a roundish charmer of an actress named Connie Bouchet, who, Stefan Raunchek explained through wired jaws, was my new roommate.
With Tully keeping an eye on things the Playhouse had almost begun to become fun again. But Connie put an end to that.
"You do like to sleep with the window open, don't you, hon?" Connie asked the first night.
"Vermont mosquitoes don't pay any heed to screens," I warned. "They enter when they're very young and grow to full manhood in this very room. I don't like being dinner for them."
"Oh, don't be silly. I haven't seen a mosquito anywhere. It's so stuffy in here with that scent....Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean your scent isn't just lovely. But we could use some fresh night air, couldn't we?"
Connie insisted on making me part of her paranoia. I was having enough difficulty with my own.
"O.K.," I relented. "But you'll be sorry."
The first five minutes of the night passed peacefully enough. Then began the Vermont blitzkrieg.
Dive-bombing mosquitoes hovered and zoomed around my head. I began to become crawly, certain that the tiny creatures had bitten me in a dozen places. I resolved to drop the subject, however, and so I pulled the blanket tautly around my head and prayed no part of my anatomy would serve as table for a hungry bug.
I heard a noise and opened one eye.
"Don't they spray around here?" Connie whined.
"It does no good," I mumbled. "But it might help to shut the window. They're laying their eggs right now and they've got a live one right here. You can tell the fresh air freaks around this town by the Calamine lotion."
Connie turned the light on and grabbed the fly swatter. At least four of the buggers were in the room. I shut the window and watched her stalk her prey. The low ceiling was dotted with the remains of former victims and the problem was to see which ones were a permanent part of overhead decor and which ones moved.
Swat! Connie's weapon swished through the air and there were three. A fiendish glee danced in crazy Connie's eyes as she drew a bead on the unsuspecting mosquito. She caught sight of another one sunning itself in the electric glow and advanced with a menacing leer.
"Got you, you little fucker," she chortled as another bit the ceiling dust. "That's for the left tit!"
She scratched her boob that hung like a melon beneath her gauze nightie. "It's gonna be the size of a tomato by morning," she grimaced.
"You see why the night air in Vermont is best left outside," I smiled.
"Got any Calamine?"
"Top drawer."
She opened the bureau and spotted the last of our uninvited guests on the wall. A quick flick of the wrist sent it to mosquito heaven.
"I must have gotten ten bites," she complained. "Put this on my back, will you honey?"
She handed the caked bottle of lotion to me and flopped her tubby body onto the bed.
Moths and mosquitoes and other flying critters crashed into the closed window attracted by the light. If I thought I was food for the mosquitoes, Connie was a blue plate special. A number of reddening welts were visible and I began dabbing the lotion onto her flaccid skin. She had bites on her bare buttocks, too. I applied the pink balm quickly, hoping to get to sleep.
"That feels good," she cooed as the stinging bites were cooled.
Her flesh turned to goose bumps under my fingers and a distinctly sexual feeling stirred deep inside me. "You have gentle hands, Samantha."
"Yeah," I replied noncommittally. "The bastard got me on the front, too," she said twisting onto her back. I stared into her thickly thatched patch of hair and watched her raise her nightie over her soft round belly to reveal her globulous breasts. She really had been bitten on the left tit. I shrugged and dabbed quickly with the Calamine. Her nipple tightened from pinkness to a rich brown nut. "Rub it in," she insisted in a whisper. I pressed the welt and dug my slippery fingers into her flesh. I began to enjoy manipulating her fulsome flesh. She closed her legs around my knee and her sultry moistness emanated from her aroused pussy. My own muff was getting hot too.
"That's just fine, honey. Just keep rubbing just like that," she sighed.
I began moving my hands down her front now, stroking her fascinating round belly with my fingers. She pulled her body up for a moment and my hand was enmeshed in her crop of brown moss. Inexorably my fingers drifted to her pink vulva sucking at me like a magnet.
I did not know what had come over me, but I was suddenly servicing not only her need, but my own. Connie's hands held me about my waist. Her fingers played at the elastic band of my panties.
"Kiss my pussycat and I'll kiss yours," she said hoarsely.
The prospect was decidedly enjoyable and so I stood to my knees to feel my panties skimmed down and Connie's fingers poking at my heated hole. Like the moths outside drawn to the light in the window I drew to within whiffing distance of Connie's cunny. She twisted around so she lay with her head under my muff and I volunteered my tongue to her tacky twat. I felt her return the gesture and my vulva was smeared with her hot wet tongue. I plunged my licking lips to her womanhood and sucked at her thick labia.
She reamed delightedly, making guttural sounds while my pores spewed juices and my entire being was being sexed. She rolled my erected clitoris around her tongue and I was in some celestial place with the good feeling.
I clamped my teeth on her tiny organ and blew and pulled ecstatically. Her heavy thighs rippled with pleasure and her pussy suddenly became very wet. My chin was dripping with her liquids. Her mouth left my shivering cunt.
"Let's shut the lights," she said with a muffled tone.
I could hardly bear to leave her body for the time to turn off the light switch, but I did so.
I began to walk wordlessly to my bed when she spoke.
"It's a wide bed. Keep old Connie some company." A hand reached out and caught my arm. I let myself be led into her bed. Almost immediately her mouth was on mine and drawing my breath from me.
I tried to pull away, but her bulky body was on top of mine and pinning me into the mattress.
"You've beautiful skin," she murmured running her fingers from my knee to my breast. I clenched my teeth with the thrilling sensation. Then her fingers found my swelling pussy. In jabbed her thumb. I jumped but was delighted by her finger planted and undulating gently within. She took my arm with her free hand and pressed it to her ample butt. She formed my fingers and inserted them into her soft-walled fanny.
"I love that feeling," she whispered, nudging my innards with her finger.
I matched her motion with mine in her backside and heard her sigh pleasurably. I continued to corkscrew her anus and felt her passage widen as she rotated on my fingers.
"But what I really love is a long hot tongue," she said turning her bulk around.
I wasn't prepared for that one and suddenly faced with her wide cheeks I had second thoughts. "It drives me nuts and I want to be driven nuts," she said shaking her backside against my mouth.
Connie grapsed my ankles and pressed her rear against me. I did what was expected of me, tentatively at first, then with a certain relish as her muscles tightened around my probing tongue. It became a game, me thrusting through her suctioning crevice, she trying to capture and hold me squeezed by her sphincter muscle. She groaned with unspeakable pleasure and I was stirred to an even more furious tonguing of her hind quarters. I clawed at her pubic moss and my thumb slipped into her hot pussy. I felt I could bury my hand up to the wrist in her wide open tract. She tensed suddenly and came with a rush of juices. Then she lay atop me in an exhausted sixty nine, kissing my triangle of Venus hair. At length, she rolled off to one side.
"Very nice, Samantha. Very nice."
I stole out of her bed and into mme, pooped and ready for sleep.
The next day it was as though nothing had happened. At rehearsal it was business as usual. Later that night, however, Connie produced a pipe and a hunk of hashish.
"Smoke keeps the bugs away," she winked. I had never tried such potent drugs and after one pipeful I was wrecked. In the privacy of our room my mind grew hazy in a delightful high. Connie turned on a phonograph she had brought up with her and we grooved on some acid rock. I don't remember what we spoke about, but I do know we giggled insanely at each other's jokes.
"You're a beautiful person," I recall mumbling.
Connie seemed to become quite serious. She stumbled over to me and dead-panned.
"And you're a beautiful cunt."
I burst out laughing and Connie fed more fuel to the fire by tickling me. I was gasping for breath while she slipped her fingers under my clothes and caught the mainlines to my funny bone. She began to strip my clothes from me and I giggled helplessly, my sides splitting with my comic jag. When I was naked she lay next to me, contemplating my skin with her feather-light fingers. My skin was alive with the sensations the hash made me prone to. I was floating on a cloud and the smiling face that hovered above me could have been an angel's.
"Could you get into food," she asked with a twinkle.
Suddenly I was ravenously hungry at her suggestion. "Chocolate pudding?"
My mouth was watering now. But where could she have some? The commissary was locked downstairs.
"Connie Bouchet is into chocolate pudding," she announced, diving into her carry-all tote bag. She produced two small cans of ready-made pudding that had a flip top seal. "The Perfect Travel Snack," the label proclaimed. Another trip to the bag produced two plastic spoons.
"But we don't have any dishes," she said screwing up her brow.
The cans were designed to serve as the dishes, but Connie had another idea.
"Or do we? A dish fit for two queens," she laughed and before I knew it she was spooning gobs of the brown pudding between my thighs.
"What the hell!" I gulped.
"A garden of delights," she said smacking her lips with a gourmet's relish.
The gooey dessert shimmered precariously on my privates and I held perfectly still to keep the pudding from spilling onto the sheets.
"One for you," she said scooping her plastic spoon and tickling the daylights out of my muff. "And one for me."
I swallowed the tasty treat and savored the sweetness, then settled back to wait while she spooned some more.
"The best part is licking the bowl, isn't it?" Connie giggled. I could hardly wait, for my unconventional dessert dish was stinging with a variety of feelings distinctly sexual.
She scraped a last spoonful of the chocolate pudding and fell to gingerly licking my sex. She sucked at the mixture of my moisture and the dregs of the pudding. If I had been stimulated by last night's encounter, I was a raving lunatic this night under the influence of the high grade hash.
I squealed my appreciation as she tongued and lapped my vagina into a churning cauldron.
"Auntie Connie's got another surprise for little Samantha," she said peeking between my knees. With elfish glee she bounded to her suitcase and pulled a dildo out of a plastic bag. My pussy was wet and sticky with anticipation. She dipped the rubberized plastic prick into the second can of chocolate pudding and then popped it between my legs. The thick tipped rod was a welcome addition to my well-spiced innards.
Connie pushed it deeper into my belly and then took off her own clothes. She climbed on top of me and strapped the false priapus around her haunches, then she began undulating, pressing the thickness deeper and deeper into me. She rotated her body and the extension of herself wound a circle of sheer delight inside.
Memories of Lt. Murphy screwing her WAC private in my father's bed filtered through my mind. How she loved it. And how I was loving this reaming by this sweet-toothed dyke who played an innocent and naive old lady in "Arsenic and Old Lace."
I got used to the only partially flexible phallus quickly. The extension of Connie Bouchet would be rolled around my pussy often in the next four weeks. Under Connie's practiced pelvis, it nearly felt like the real thing. I just wished it could come in me.
Connie had begun to assume all the graces and attitudes of a sort of beau. She could have been my old man-which, in fact, she was. But naive little Samantha thought of it only as a game. I was playing along quite willingly.
Connie would pick up the tab at the roadhouse when the fare at the commissary became too boring. She would pick up little trinkets at an off-the-beaten path trading post outside of town and present them to me. I began to spend more and more time with her beyond the confines of our room. On jaunts to antique stores and auctions, we two seemed inseparable. I laughed at her humor and she seemed to enjoy mine.
Stefan Raunchek, whose jaw was mending nicely, threw some strange looks our way. I detected a hint of pity in his eye and that had really shaken me. It had been a month since Connie Bouchet had come to Dempsey and we were in rehearsal for the final show of the season. During the past four weeks I had found a certain security in our relationship. Connie was a bastion of strength, not very demanding, except for some far out games of sex, and an interesting and welcome change from the hetero rat race that had brought Edward Davison, his mother, and Stefan down on me all in one morning.
Behind this wall of protection I barely noticed the changes in Connie, but they began to appear. Whenever one of the straight guys in the company looked at me a little too long or suggestively, she would sternly order him to tend to his own business. Her sense of humor seemed to be going. Tully and she nearly squared off at the dinner table because of a remark he made in jest. "I want the quick change booth set on stage right, next to the stage manager's desk," he said. "This show is so boring I'd rather look at beautiful Samantha getting into costume."
"If you could handle the goddamn light cues you might have some time to feed your dirty mind," Connie said, slamming her napkin down.
"Oh, come on," I pleaded. But Connie stormed out in a huff.
Tully apologized and I told him not to be so silly. "I don't know what's gotten into her," I shrugged.
Later that night, in the midst of one of our dildo exercises, Connie stopped suddenly.
"You have the hots for Tully, don't you?"
My mouth hung open with surprise and more than a little bit of hurt. She had stopped just as my first orgasm had begun to build.
"Don't deny it, you little bitch," she said her mouth screwed into an ugly sneer.
Something had been wrong all evening, but I had never expected this.
"Connie, you're crazy. Tully's a sweet kid, that's all. He doesn't mean a thing to me."
She pulled up on the dildo abruptly, wrenching it from my pussy. "Ouch!"
"I don't like being made a fool of," she said.
"And I don't like being put down with no reason," I countered angrily.
"You've been screwing around with Tully and Stefan and god knows who else behind my back!"
"Your paranoia is showing," I yelled pushing her off of me. But she was fast, very fast, and suddenly I was twisted onto my back and she grappled my arms behind me.
"What's come over you? What do you want, for Christ's sake?" I bawled.
"Your word that you'll never look at a man," she said turning my wrist.
"You're out of your mind!" I retorted. "You don't own me. I'm my own person."
"You'll be sorry," she sing-songed and I heard the strap to the dildo come off her waist. I half expected to feel the stripe of pain to come stinging off the strap across my back. Instead my wrists were bound behind me.
"Connie, stop this," I cried, becoming numb with fear. Connie had turned mad as a hatter and I didn't know what to expect next.
"You want to screw around with some hairy man, I can't stop you. But I sure can make it painful," she spat.
I twisted my head to see what she had in her jealous mind. She opened her bureau drawer and withdrew a small bottle. Visions of acid flashed in my mind. What had she planned?
She held the bottle before me. I focused on the familiar forms of three giant mosquitoes.
"Don't do that," I stammered.
"I've had it with you, Samantha," she said uncapping the jar. I tried to twist away, but she held me firmly, pinning my head with her free hand and pressing the mouth of the jar between my thighs.
"Go on, you little devils, take a nip of Samantha's sweet little pussy. She likes being stung."
I was crawling with the ugly sensations. I couldn't be sure if I was imagining the bites or if they were real. She dug the jar into my vulva for what seemed an eternity. I distinctly felt the nip of a thirsting pincer.
"Four bites, I think," she announced capping the jar. She held the bottle in front of my face and I saw three blood-bloated mosquitoes nearly immobile with the weight of my unexpected largesse. Seconds later my pussy flesh began to swell and itch. I gritted my teeth, unable to bear the puffing bites.
"I could get infected," I moaned.
Connie smiled benignly. How grotesquely she had turned on me. Her cruelty seemed limitless. She went to the bureau and removed the bottle of calamine. I thought she might pour some of it onto my affected parts. Instead, she poured the entire bottle into the waste basket with a flourish. How she enjoyed my suffering.
"I'm through with you," she said unstrapping my hands. My pubis was howling to be scratched, I didn't give in to the maddening urge to do it.
She stalked to the window and sat in a chair, staring out at the moths and other flying creatures of the night.
I couldn't hate her. She was too pitiful. She had suddenly aged a dozen years and I stared at a fifty-year-old over the hill dyke. My pussy was crawling, but she had the pain.
I was going to leave this room. As the season drew to a close more and more rooms were available and it was merely a matter of choosing which one. I threw on a robe and dumped what was visible of mine into a suitcase.
"Ungrateful bitch," she snapped. "Go on and scratch yourself!"
There was nothing I wanted to do more and nothing less than I intended to do as soon as I was out of her sight.
"I'm sorry "for you," I said as I opened the door.
Connie's lip was trembling and I knew she would burst into tears at any moment. I slammed the door and strode to the end of the hall. The room at the top of the stairs was vacant, I knew. I was barely inside when I squeezed my mosquito-bitten vagina. If there was any sympathy left for Connie Bouchet it all vanished as I sat on the bare mattress and held my genitalia while it throbbed and itched.
Inevitably there was a knock on the door. I didn't think she had the gall to come calling.
"Who's that?" I called.
"Tully-Is that you, Samantha?"
"It's me. Go away, Tully, please."
"Are you O.K.?"
"I'm fine. Goodnight," I said hopefully.
All the while I rubbed my pulsing bites feverishly. "Wait. Do you have any calamine?"
"Sure," trusty Tully answered. Seconds later he knocked again and I opened the door for him. I grabbed for the bottle as though it were a junkie's fix.
"Thanks, Tully."
"You sure you're O.K.?"
"Yeah."
"Then what are you squirming around for?" I looked down to realize my legs were knotted like braids.
"Mosquito bites, that's all," I said clipping my words. Why didn't he mind his own business?
"Can I give you a hand with that stuff?"
I was doubling over with the itching, now and alarm spread over his face. "Alright, alright, put it on me, then!"
I spread-eagled on the bed and watched Tully's eyes bug out when he saw the mushrooming welts on my pussy. I spilled the bottle of lotion onto my affected area and rubbed the coolness into me.
"Holy cow," he drawled.
I continued to smooth on the pink goo while Tully turned a shade pinker, too.
"I ... uh ... I'm sorry, Sammy," he stammered.
"For what? You got me the lotion. I love you."
He jumped at my last remark and I realized by the bump in his dungarees, mine weren't the only genitals aroused around these parts. I continued to rub the insane welts. It was soothing the mosquito ache, but encouraging the more basic agony that had been interrupted when Connie pulled out so rudely.
Tully shuffled nervously.
"You still want to help?" I asked. He was staring at my pink nippled tit that flopped uncaring on the lapel of my open robe.
"S-sure," he murmured.
"Then become as expert a dermatologist as you are a stage manager," I said.
He almost tripped over himself with eagerness. He threw back his shock of hair and poured a glob of lotion into his palm. Next he squashed his dripping hand against my punished pussy and he rubbed gently until I was exploding with passion.
"I guess I shouldn't even ask how this happened," he said, rotating his index finger against my clit.
"You wouldn't believe it, so why tell. Just keep that up, Tully, sweetheart."
I took his dry hand and pressed it to my breast. He seemed to have been waiting all summer for that to happen and his face beamed like a lighthouse, "If that's what I think it is," I nodded at his bulging pants, "you'd better get ready to use it."
My flesh was crawling with need for his rod and I delighted to see the hairy piece fully erected sticking out of his unzipped jeans.
I was open and hot and yearning, lubricated by both the lotion and my own juices. I was thrilled to hear the head of his piece gush through my itching labia. Tully held my shoulders and worked his hefty hard-on in and out with a firmness and ease that made me wonder why I had given it all up for a month with Connie's artifice.
He kissed my lips and I shut my eyes to feel the sensations of a real live male dong balling through me and into my belly. He thumped slowly, taking much pleasure and giving me a lioness' share.
The buttons to the unfamiliar mattress bit into my back, but nothing mattered any longer except Tully's potent firmness and my flaming pussy. As lovers went he wasn't topnotch but he filled the bill very nicely, rubbing my irritated bites with a relentless motion and building me to a genuine climax. I shut my eyes and savored his plunging pile driver as it hit my clit once and then again and the molten sparks flew between my legs. Then he swelled and I felt the unmistakable splash of his man-come through my swirling privates. How fantastic it was to again feel a man come in me.
I kissed his lips wetly and the tears simply poured from my eyes.
"I didn't hurt, did I?" Tully asked with concern.
"No, you dummy," I smiled, holding his thickness firmly within me. "Let's just lay here for a while."
He rested his head on my shoulder and we lay in silence. Somehow the itching had stopped. I wondered if semen was the new miracle drug for mosquito bites.
"I have an early call tomorrow morning," he said some minutes later. I kissed Tully goodnight and fell asleep on the bare bed.
The next day was an agony of itching until I finally went to the town clinic and got some super salve. Tully dropped by the next night to help apply it and we made up for all the lost time. During the day Connie barely acknowledged my presence and that was fine with me. Two days later the season was over. I rode back to New York with Tully in his car, but there was no chance for us to see each other again because he had a contract to stage manage a road company the next day. But his was the most beneficial contact I had made all summer, for he had a fantastic apartment on Fifty-Seventh Street and needed someone to sublet it. Miss Samantha Bonno had a fine new address and I resolved to get a role in something to h !p pay the freight.
One bleak week later I had pounded the pavements and knocked on agents' doors until my feet and knuckles were sore. Then another off-off Broadway bit came my way and I was again showcased at no cost to the producers. My savings from the summer would not last forever and so I began taking temporary secretarial jobs to tide me over.
The months passed with hardly a bite from my publicity photos. Talk of recession, tight money, and the ever increasing Hops on and off Broadway made New York a wasteland. The rent in the apartment was stiff enough and soon my savings was gone. I touched my father once or twice for some help which he gave gladly, but halfway through the winter I thought about giving the whole thing up. It was a new year but my prospects never looked dimmer. Thumbing through the newspapers I read of the Census Bureau reviving its bureaucratic self for another of those ten-year nose counts. I phoned for an appointment and was given a test date at the Federal Building downtown.
CHAPTER NINE
The key-note of the whole census lark was sounded the day I took the exam. Thirty other people sat at tables constructed ingeniously of gray surfaced corrugated cardboard. The testees (pardon the French) faced each other, two to a table, each within range of the other's feet. While filling out the pertinent information requested on the test booklet, I felt a friendly prod of my ankle. I looked up into the whitest set of teeth belonging to the blackest face I had ever seen.
My new acquaintance broadened his grin and scratched his tufting goatee. "Good mornin', Sunshine," he whispered with revival feeling. "I knew the minute I got heah, this was gonna be a bee-utiful day."
I looked into his soulful eyes, dancing a cakewalk for my benefit, and a thrill skittered up and down my privates. He was popping with self-confidence and I could almost feel his rod raise the table.
"Morning," I replied, conscious of his foot still holding firm against mine.
"Yeah," he drawled, smearing his voice across my breasts. They tingled with the sound. He leaned across the table and read my filled in form.
"Sa-mantha? That right? Samantha Bonno, I'm Franklin Callendar," he smiled. "It might not be fashionable nowadays, honey, but let's you and me integrate."
I might have said yes in an instant, but the test proctor called for everyone's attention. She proceeded to explain the mechanics of the test in perfect Civil Servantese.
"When I tell you to begin, you can begin," she said, making herself perfectly clear. A moment later the signal was given and we all opened our booklets to take the multiple question quiz.
Franklin's foot left mine for the time being and we zipped through the simple test.
I finished with plenty of time to spare and I looked up to see his mocking eyes undressing me. Others in the room continued to pore over their tests and we remained silent. But Franklin's educated foot told me all I needed to know. I felt it glide up the innerside of my calf. He slipped the toe of his shoe under the seat of my rolling swivel chair and pulled me toward him. I nearly burst into laughter and closed my knees on his ankle.
He poked his tongue between his teeth and how I wished my craving pussy was at the end of its redness to receive his hot moisture.
"Times up," the proctor called and she collected the papers while explaining that we would be notified by the next week as to whether or not we would be used for canvassing.
"Which way you goin'? Bet I'm headed that way, too," Franklin said, arising.
I said nothing, but walked outside, fully conscious of the fact that he was just two paces behind. He darted on ahead and opened the door to his late model Buick parked conveniently at the corner. Franklin ushered me in and I didn't hesitate for an instant.
The plush red leather upholstery was definitely custom made and I idly wondered how a fellow who had just taken the Census Bureau test to become a temporary enumerator could afford such a distinctive interior. He interrupted my wonderment when the dear boy's hand found my knee instead of the zippy four-speed gear shift.
"You drive pretty fast," I said while his ebony fingers whitened five dents.
"I don't like to waste time," he replied.
I contemplated his diamond-ringed finger and patted his hand. "The fastest way to my apartment is by another route."
"I figure I'm about a foot and three inches from where you live," he insisted, sliding his hand under my skirt.
"Fifty-Seventh and Third," I contradicted while a surge of renewed feeling flowed through my loins.
"O.K., we do it any way you like it," Franklin laughed, and we sped into the street. His grin remained implacable through the mid-town traffic and I couldn't help feeling inordinately proud to be sitting next to this very promising stud.
He parked the car into an illegal zone and never gave it a second thought as he opened my door and helped me out. It was the last gentlemanly thing he did that afternoon. I opened the door to my apartment after two flights of feeling his hand lightly on my butt.
"Nice," he said appreciatively, taking in Tully's decor. "Where's the bedroom?"
"Wouldn't you like a drink or something?"
"Uh, uh, but I've got a powerful hunger for your sweet-assed body," he said and made himself all the more clear by taking me in his arms and wrapping his lips around mine. I was sunk with his first kiss. His tongue shot through my mouth and I was panting with excitement. His firm chest heaved against my breasts and massaged them while his big meat hand squeezed one lucky buttock.
"You can't turn a hungry man like me down," he hissed, slithering his hand around to the front of my undies.
"Never even thought of it," I said as his long fingers entwined my muff. He riveted a probing finger against my vulva and I stood on tiptoes, balanced precariously on his heavenly finger pedestal.
"Oh, baby. Let's do it," he said flashing his pearly teeth and rubbing his moist finger against my damp.
My flesh was alive with need for his manhood and together we drifted to my bedroom. I rubbed his thighs and unzipped his pants. Franklin's weapon stood straight out like a medieval battle-ax.
I shivered to imagine this scarred and calloused club surging through me. Equipped with bulging warts on his glans, his rod flexed under my gaze and Franklin saw my anticipation.
"But let's see your stuff," he chuckled deeply. With two deft moves he had me down to bra and panties. While I undid my top his large hands circled my hips and stripped away my bikini's. "Oooowhee," he whistled. "You are one sweet thing."
His fingers tickled my jugs, already taut with expectation and sexual feeling, and I spread to accommodate his searching eyes. He leaned his modified natural against my muff and a million tiny pin-pricks foretold of what was to come. He pulled me down to the bed suddenly and his face was rammed between my legs. His mouth opened and he took a bite out of my pussy-or so it felt, as his teeth clamped down on my flesh.
"Aaahhh," I wailed and he never paid a bit of heed. His lips sucked at my cunny lips and his tongue slashed a path into my vagina.
I was half-way between pain and ecstasy when he reared his head and I realized my clit was being pulled a good two inches high between his teeth. His eyes were laughing demonically while alarming warnings were being flashed from my punished flesh.
I finally caught my breath and gasped, only to feel his head plunge down and his tongue gore deeply into my pussy. My heart was in my throat and I didn't know what to expect next. I was suddenly skittish and afraid. He realized that I was tense and he seemed to return to his gentler self.
"I just get carried away with delicious pussy," he panted. "You must be a little hungry, now, yourself."
He lay back and twisted onto his side so his prickly surface rod pointed rigidly under my nose. I pushed the head of his massive piece into my mouth and grasped the length of it with both hands. He flexed his hot mushroom and I was fairly drooling with the oral stimulation. I held his heavy balls in my palm and felt the power and potency contained in the fragile looking sac.
His prick began to swell between my jaws and he rocked on his side, moving his hardness in and out against the back of my throat. His hands were prying my legs apart and I could feel his tongue licking at my sex while I sucked and blew on his tasty cock.
Before I knew it, he threw his weight on top of me and I was on my back. He began pumping his prick through my mouth while he mauled my pussy with his lips and teeth. I tried to retard his pounding hard-on by squeezing my lips around it. But he drove on through to my wind-pipe. His piece had grown to insane proportions and I was able only to receive his punishment through my aching jaws. My own pussy was surging with stimulation his nipping teeth and tongue wreaked. He grunted and it was with the greatest relief that I felt a tide of his come overflow my mouth. His creamy come dribbled down my chin and I nearly gagged until he had the decency to pull his spear from my lips.
Franklin worked fast, however. I had barely downed his sticky deposit when he slithered his rod into my hot and open pussy.
He drove in so deeply I thought he might lose himself within me. Then he began a rhythmic pumping that stretched and frictioned my seething insides. His taut hardness slid easily against my raving flesh and I didn't remember when I felt so completely sexed. My body was crawling with the delicious feeling.
His huge hands cupped my fanny and I pulled my legs up to feel his magnificent sword penetrate the deeper. He was pushing the buttons to my uterus with his long dark rod. He began arching his pelvis and pulling his heavenly piece almost out of my sopping slot before plunging through again with a roller coaster speed. I tightened my muscles to feel the pressure of his driving iron. His long black piston made me claw the air with ecstasy and I tangled my fingers in his natural.
Then his hands were pressing my breasts. My dark nipples pushed through his fingers and stinging sensations flashed through my body jolting me with a maddening passion. I bucked and twisted my hips to feel him hit with the frenzy of a volcano.
His scorching weapon pelted me with a maddening action that brought me to the beginning of the most complete orgasm I'd ever experienced. His swollen sex was ready to burst when mine was and for one long moment the deafening shrill of our explosions filled our bodies.
My pussy was broken into a million fragments shot through with his mammoth blast of come. His manhood was running out of me as though the Grand Coulee had burst. His come trickled down my thighs while he continued to saw through our slickness.
"I knew the day was going to be a winner," Franklin said, finally, gently scraping my cheeks with his fingernails. I was fairly bristling with sustained sexual stimulation and flexed my stuffed pussy against his outrageous rod. He began to slip back and I panicked with the thought he was going to leave.
"Not yet, please," I implored. I couldn't have enough of him.
"You give a stud a good workout," he smiled.
But I barely heard. My pussy was winding up for another shot and I pumped my body upward for more of his good thing.
"You want to drive for a while?" Franklin asked.
Did I ever. He turned onto his back and I stayed impaled stiffly by his rigid prick. He had fantastic staying power and now all he had to do was keep his surging spear alive while I did the delightful work. I straddled his hips with my knees and rotated my clinging cunny on his precious thickness.
Suddenly he pushed a long finger against my erect clit, then crept down to the root of his rod and finally up into my packed channel. Now his thumb pressed my sensating button and his finger wiggled against my inner flesh. He began to flex his rod and pump upwards. My pussy was aflame with stimulation and I shrieked with the thrilling surprise. I rocked recklessly on his divine pinnacle and the surging well-springs of another orgasm spilled from their tiny spigots. Again I was torn apart with a maddening climax.
His coaxing fingers helped create an almost painful release and I was brought off violently. I fell forward onto his broad black chest, only to be turned over onto my back again for Franklin to take his pleasure. I had teased his piece with my passionate writhings and now he had an insane load on. I was exhausted and only vaguely conscious of his lighting rod flashing and cutting through my belly. His prick seemed to expand and lengthen and I could feel the tip of his manhood slap into my cervix, jolting me back to one final spasm of coming.
He slammed his torso down into me, wound up again and crashed into me, grunting and insane. His eyes bulged with effort and a mad grin spread across his face. His piece grew to the thickest it had been and when he came it was like a depth charge ravishing my nearly numb vagina.
His heart thumped against my breast and beads of sweat dripped from his black brow onto my cheeks. I blew on his scraggy goatee that tickled my nose and chin. His hardness began to subside and it was almost with relief that I felt his black snake coiling out of my raw honeycomb.
He blew a heavy sigh and rolled to my side. His depleted spear bent nearly in half, glistening with our juices and I put my hand on its stickiness. I couldn't resist squeezing it and a bead of white pearl appeared at the tip. I swooped over and licked the precious dew, then cleaned him off completely, tonguing his delicious chocolate bar.
I lay my head between his legs and we both fell asleep. My exhaustion and satisfaction was complete. It had to be the same for Franklin, too. For he never stirred.
A few hours later I awoke while the black knight breathed evenly in his sleep. I crept out of bed and watched his gently heaving torso for nearly a minute. He was one hunk of masculinity and I counted myself extraordinarily lucky to have been on the receiving end of his big gun. I tiptoed out to put up some coffee and grab a quick shower before he stirred.
I was drying myself off with a large turkish towel when I saw him move through the door to my bedroom. I marveled at his thick-muscled thighs and he saw me staring.
"Ready for some more," he chirped. He was putting the receiver to my phone down.
"You must be kidding," I replied, winding the towel around me.
"I don't come across such a pretty piece of ass every day, you know. Listen, there's a couple of friends I know right around the corner ...."
"Oh, no....I didn't bring you up here for a free for all," I said quickly.
"Oh, that's too bad. Let's see if I can call them back."
He dialed a number and we waited while the ringing on the other end continued. I wasn't even sure he had called a legitimate number.
"Looks like it's too late," he drawled.
"Listen here, I've got an acting call in half an hour," I lied.
"That's O.K. I'll head them off," Franklin said, all innocence.
The doorbell buzzed in the next moment and Franklin was already pressing the front door buzzer to open the outside entrance
"You could have met them outside," I said angrily.
"Keep your towel on," he chuckled, pulling on his trousers. There was a knock on the door and he answered it while I scurried into the bedroom to put some clothes on. My mind raced with a dozen fears. I didn't trust Franklin any longer and wondered what kind of caper he was up to. I went to the phone ready to dial the emergency police number when the doorway to my bedroom was filled with two dark-skinned brothers.
"Ooooo-whee," one fellow squealed.
"Franklin, get them out of here," I shouted.
"The brother is havin' his coffee," the more vocal of the pair explained. " 'Sez you do some heavy ballin'."
The two of them entered the room and I began to dial the police. One of the bloods yanked the phone jack from its receptacle.
"Aw, honey, we ain't even been introduced," the quick one said with a mocking smile. "Jackson, meet what's your name?"
"I don't want you up here," I said placing the bed between us.
"Wassa matter, you think you too good for us," Jackson said in a high-pitched falsetto. He sounded like a queen.
"Listen, we ain't gonna touch you, got that, cunt?" I was confused and frightened and stood with my mouth open.
"Me an' Jackson jus' wants you to watch us, that's all. But you gotta take your clothes off," the first one said.
I clutched the bedpost.
"What for? Why don't you just leave," I insisted, trying to control the quiver in my voice.
"'Cause that would be the friendly thing to do," he said, rocking on his heels.
Jackson had already begun to drop his pants and the first one unbuckled his belt.
"Take those weeds off and nothin's gonna happen to you. You have my word ...." he drawled.
Just then Franklin appeared at the door.
"Go on, do as they say," he said, smiling. "Nothing's going to happen to you. They're just gonna play some games with each other. But you just gotta stand there in your birthday suit"
Jackson was already stripped to his shining brown body and his brother was down to his drawers.
Tentatively I unbuttoned my shift and watched the pair looking at each other. Franklin leaned in the doorway and simply smiled. His eyes urged me to undress completely. His two brothers barely acknowledged my presence. They were wrapped up in each other's bodies, and well they might be, for they had incredibly well-built torsos. Their muscles seemed to gleam from their skin and their rods looked as though someone's wishful thinking had come true. Both of them had ten inches on the hang and they weren't even erected.
I disrobed nearly mesmerized by their bodies. They looked at me at once and I saw their peters begin to thicken. Jackson drank my body in and then gazed at his friend's throbbing piece. He licked his lips and his hand suddenly shot out to grasp the rising rod. His big hands seemed small around the growing prick.
"Now get on the bed and on your hands and knees," the owner of the hardening rod ordered.
I was so wrapped in their bizarre behavior that I didn't realize immediately he was talking to me.
"Don't this cunt listen," he asked of Franklin.
"Do it," my former friend said.
I hesitated further and Franklin took a step toward me. My body took over and I climbed on the bed onto my hands and knees.
"Stick your ass into the air," Franklin ordered. Nervously I did as he said.
Jackson squeezed hard and spoke.
"C'mon" Tommy, she's doin' it."
Then all hell broke loose. Franklin moved first, jumping on the bed and pinning my hands to the mattress. Then Jackson and Tommy were up behind me spreading my cheeks until I thought they would break apart.
My voice froze in terror as I watched Franklin's impassively smiling face.
Tommy's gigantic penis shoved against my taut anal crease.
"Oh, god," I gasped.
"Open up, honey-cunt," he drawled.
I shut my eyes and tried to will my muscles to release themselves. Whatever was happening, I wished it was over with.
I felt fingers poking at my pussy just as my sphincter, muscle opened enough to accommodate Tommy's battering ram. In slipped his honed rod and I blanched with the initial hurt. Tommy's entrance was Jackson's signal for his end of the deal. He crawled between my spread legs and slithered on his back until I felt his mouth clenching my left breast. Tommy began to pump from behind and I felt his long rod snaking slowly through my anus. Jackson's penis had erected fully and I realized it was poking up my muff from below.
The game came clear to me as Jackson inched his length upward and pushed it against the mouth of my vagina. Two hands pulled my hips downward and suddenly he had penetrated into my pussy. He arched his pelvis to maintain the weird angle and soon he was sailing through my wetness with ease.
Jackson's lips toyed with my tit and I began to experience the first pangs of pleasure from the doubled action screwing machine behind and under me. Franklin wasn't going to merely stand by either. He unzipped his trousers and I was faced with his blossoming peter swelling darkly under my chin. He lay in a half-crouch, his back supported by the headboard. He pushed my head down so my lips parted against his mushrooming glans. I was had now in three places, stuffed fore and aft and now they began to go to work on me in earnest. Jackson carried most of my weight with the greatest of ease, judging from his upward slithering rod that stretched my pussy.
Tommy's joint rode in and out of my fanny and Franklin's spear cleaved my jaws. The simultaneous stimulation was incredible as I gave myself completely to the three of them amidst their muttering and groaning. Jackson started the ride getting bumpy as he arched and bucked his hot rod through my moist grotto. He was going to peak from the feel of it and everything else seemed to stop while he slammed his length upward to an insane cadence.
He bit into my breasts and ricocheted his rigid prick back and forth until I was breathless and at the point of coming myself. Accompanied by his blood-curdling howl, Jackson spewed his seed into my channel. It was only a signal for Tommy to loose his load and he did so after a prolonged battering bout that seemed to rupture my rump.
Two down, one to go, I calculated, as I felt Tommy's come dripping from my hind parts. My mouth was aching with his pounding thickness, but I was being driven out of my mind with lust. I focused my full attention on making Franklin come. His jiggling ball nest was captivating and I fondled his sack of pellets with my eager fingers, while I scraped the underside of his shaft with my incisors.
Franklin was on the verge of coming. He took my head in his two powerful hands and he pulled me onto his massive spike, then raised me off. Again and again, I was drawn up and down on his delicious peter until I shut my eyes and prayed for him to blow his cork. I squeezed his tremendous testicles and felt the fruit juice of our efforts spurt into my mouth. A tide of milky come swelled sweetly on my tongue and I drank from his potent spigot.
I looked up to see if my hopes were real. That this would be the end of the little party. But Franklin simply smiled. The other two had vanished into the outer room. I pulled myself up, afraid to ask what was next.
"The boys got a little hungry. They're checkin' out the refrigerator," Franklin said.
I felt at my lowest, a prisoner in my own apartment. I lay sulking while Franklin idly stroked my shoulders and breasts. I had been used and humiliated and I hated him. My thighs were sticky with the ooze of our sex and my brownish moss was tacky with our drippings. I tried to separate the hairs by combing my fingers through when Jackson and Tommy re-entered holding some cold chicken I had in the refrigerator. I felt like the place was being sacked.
"How're you doin', pale pussy?" Jackson asked between bites.
"Fine, but I'd do a lot better if you all went home," I said wearily.
"Y'ain't got some barbeque sauce, do you?" Tommy wondered, scrunching up his face at my version of fried chicken.
"Just what's there," I replied.
"Then how 'bout some of your home grown honey," Jackson falsettoed.
Callender giggled nastily behind me and I felt his hands holding my shoulders. Tommy leaped onto the bed and parted my legs. He spread my labia like peach halves with his thumbs.
"She's got the fixin's," he announced. The tip of one finger played up and down on my clitoris hidden in the folds above the lips. The node betrayed me by erecting and peeking through my pink flesh. Another finger ran in and out of me, and goddammit, I was turning on again. His digit became moist with my secretions.
"Yeah, the oven's just about ready, Brother Jackson. Le's fry some chicken."
My notch had widened considerably and Jackson shoved a small drumstick into my vagina. It was child's play compared to the reaming I had just undergone, but Jackson wiggled the chicken in and out and around until it was coated with my juices and the strange stimulation was working.
He pulled it out and sampled a bite. "Well, it's better than it was before," Jackson commented and another drumstick was slipped into my unlikely fryer. Franklin's hands still gripped my shoulders and so I was the unwilling engine of their thoughtless game.
Tommy wiggled the second piece relentlessly and he brought me to another climax on a goddamn piece of chicken. He pulled it out and dragged the dripping food across my belly and circled my quivering breasts. A riverbed of chicken grease and my own come was left on my body, followed by the voracious tongues of the two pranksters. Jackson began at my pussy and Tommy began licking at my breasts. Soon they were gnawing away at my dark-tipped aureoles, one to a breast.
Just then the phone began to ring. More the bell box on the footboard to the wall jangled insistently. The useless phone lay on the floor, ripped out of the jack. The ring of the phone was a signal to the two studs who rubbed my breasts raw to leave off. Franklin was already climbing into his pants and Tommy and Jackson did the same. Not a word was spoken. I lay on the bed and watched through half-closed eyes as they departed. The ringing in the wall stopped when I finally plugged the phone in too late.
I stepped into the outer room half expecting one of the studs to be there still, hiding and ready to pounce. I had plenty to be paranoic about. I saw no one and bolted the door. I debated with myself on the wisdom of calling the police. Had I not, after all, brought the whole thing on myself? My assailants would as soon cut my throat as fuck me, I decided, and so there would be no call to the cops. Wearily, I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. A glance into the full-length mirror nearly shocked me. My body was greasy and spattered with their come and the damned chicken. I turned the hot water on completely. I wanted to scald myself-mortify my flesh for my stupidity. "No more pick-ups," I vowed, clenching my eyes to feel the needles of burning water thrash my body.
CHAPTER TEN
Three weeks had passed and still no word from the Census Bureau. In typical government fashion they were late in notifying the lower echelon. The thought that I had failed the fool test had even gone through my head more than once. Glumly I gave the idea up and sought some other temporary work through the various employment agencies I had signed up with. A few days later my own census form arrived in the mail for "Occupant, Apartment 4" and I dutifully filled out the multiple-choice questionnaire, and mailed it back.
Halleluiah day finally came a month after I had gone down to the Federal Building to take the exam. A phone call came from some secretary to ask if I was available. I told her I was and she told me to report to a group leader in two days at a government facility near my neighborhood. A series of orientation meetings were scheduled and it was explained that we enumerators were to ferret out all those people who never returned their questionnaires by mail, or who had sent back incomplete forms or had somehow messed something up in the government's big count.
We were given Census kits all decked out in red, white and blue and lists of names and locations that had been occupied ten years before. We would be paid on a piecemeal basis, actual visits to the delinquent homes netting more than a simple phone call. At first sixty names didn't seem like too much, but I didn't consider the insane legwork involved. I began phoning to make appointments.
My first day on the job wasn't too bad, except that I began to realize that the mean intelligence of this country's population is about seven years old for the average adult. People were confused by the government's attempt to spell everything out. It was a case of intellectual overkill. My first five visits were all to nice people who simply had gotten confused. My sixth visit was to someone who just wanted to speak to someone and who hadn't sent her form in because that would mean no enumerator would come around. Here, in the most populous city in the universe, she just wanted someone to talk to. I was touched and shared a cup of tea with the lovely old lonely heart.
On Day Two of this temporary occupation life began to get more interesting.
"Samantha Bonno ... from the Census Bureau," I called in reply to his "Who's there?"
"Oh, yeah," the gruff voice mumbled. "In a minute."
I waited outside the apartment for fully five minutes before the door opened. Mr. Jack Orff stood in a dirty tee shirt, a pot belly hanging over his dirty chinos. "C'mon in, sweetie."
"This will only take a few minutes, Mr. Orff ...."
"Sure, sure. C'mon in."
I was uneasy immediately. There was a distinct dirty feeling Mr. Orff radiated. His eyes were tiny beads behind puffy eyelids and the odor of stale cigar seemed to cling to his body.
"Have a seat," he said pointing a stubby finger to the one armchair in the room.
I sat and watched him watch me as I crossed my legs. I wished I hadn't worn such a short skirt.
He pulled a chair over and sat a few feet away. "What can I do for yeh," he said hoarsely.
"Just clear up a few questions on your form," I said, shifting in the now uncomfortable chair.
His hand had drifted to his lap and his tongue crept through his lips. He seem not to be in complete control of his faculties. I was suddenly staring at his idiot grin and then down to his lap. He had unbuttoned his fly and he held a massive salami of a rod between his thick fingers.
"Maybe, we'd better let the interview go for a while," I said, rising. I walked briskly to the door and tried to open it. It wouldn't budge. If was locked and I couldn't find the right combination of latches and knobs.
"C'mere, missy," he said, walking toward me. "I'll be your friend if you be my friend."
My flesh was crawling. "Listen, I want the door opened," I tried sternly. He continued to smile his idiot smile and advance on me. His huge prick dangled like a bull's pizzle from his fly.
"Be my friend. Hold my hand," he said in a small voice.
My back was to the door and I was in a panic as to what to do. I bolted for the other room and he giggled maniacally. I tripped over a small cot and his childish laugh grew louder, as he lumbered in. My attempt to escape had become a game for him and he gleefully grabbed his rod like it was some kind of child's ray gun.
"Ah-ah-ah-ah," he shot his fleshy weapon at me.
"You don't want to play this game, Mr. Orff," I said with a catch in my throat. "The authorities don't like this sort of thing very much."
I was wasting my breath, for he was in another world. We continued to play cat and mouse, with him never leaving much room to the doorway. He just made weird guttural sounds and held onto his hairy cock.
He seemed to become suddenly interested in his own penis and I thought I had my chance to get back into the larger room. I lunged across the cot and suddenly had the wind knocked out of me as he tackled me with amazing agility. Down I went on the floor and the hulking brute was on top of me.
"Now you'll play with me," he said, some drool sliding down his chin.
"O.K. I'll play with you," I said, hoping he would become pacified.
"I like to play a special game," he grinned, grasping my bare thighs. "But we got to do it before Johnson comes."
Who the hell was Johnson, I wondered. His keeper? Or another weird little man like Jack. But I couldn't dwell too long for Jack's powerful hands were ripping my skirt.
"You've got to play gently," I urged.
"It's my game," he shouted and slapped me across the thigh. I shut up and took it.
For good measure he pinched between my thighs until I gasped with the pain.
"I'm gonna stick this in your mouth and you better be nice to it. Then I'm gonna put it in your mouse. There," he jabbed between my legs.
He held his long flaccid rod and stroked it on my knee.
"Nice soft skin," he smiled crookedly. He was enjoying himself immensely. His thick-headed piece was hot and throbbing against my leg.
"You gonna be nice to it?"
"Y-yes," I stammered.
"You better," he warned in little boy tones. "Or I'm gonna hurt you."
I didn't doubt the validity of his threat.
"Suck on it nice," he ordered, scooting up so he sat on my chest, rolling his butt on my breasts and obviously enjoying the pliancy of my boobs.
He proffered his rubbery rod to my chin and I opened my mouth with disgust.
"I said you gotta be nice," he whined. I changed my expression to one of feigned delight.
The head of his piece was between my lips and I controlled my desire to spit out the foul tasting thing. His hand pushed more of the vile rod in and my mouth was crammed with his glans.
"Lick it," he ordered.
I did so, running my tongue around the knobby stump and I saw his eyes light up in pleasure. While I licked, concealing my distaste, I felt his hands sneak around his back to my loins. His fingers crept under my panties and tugged on my short hairs. I winced and stopped tonguing.
"What're you stoppin' for?"
He shoved his rod deeper into my mouth and I commenced With renewed vigor afraid of what he might do. Slowly his prick began to swell while I ran my licking tongue along the underside of his sex. His fingers were back at my pussy exploring me through my undergarment. His rod had lengthened at least three inches and grew stiffer and stiffer between my jaws. He jammed his thumb with a spastic jerk against my cunt and I bit down in pain. Whack came his hand across my face and I was shaking with fear.
"Don't bite!" Jack hissed.
I closed my eyes to blot out his menacing leer and resumed sucking on his distended flesh. I wiggled my tongue between his thick penis folds and heard him mutter, "That's better."
His rod became more fully erect and harder against my working lips. He was leaning into me more now and his length jammed against the back of my throat. He rocked on my breast and pushed his manhood back and forth. Suddenly he pitched forward landing on his hands and now his knees pinned my shoulders while his rod continued to bob upright in my mouth. He started to pump and giggle and I thought he would drive right down my throat. After a few hits however, he began twisting his body in a corkscrew action, then followed through by turning his body on his hands and knees while his rod pivoted in my mouth. My head grew dizzy with the crazy idiot spinning on his shaft with me as the base.
Suddenly he stopped, his tongue hanging out crazily. He pulled his rod out of my aching mouth and smeared it dripping with my saliva across my face. I lay petrified, not knowing what to expect next.
He grasped his taut hard-on and began massaging it, pushing it against my nose. I tried to turn away, but he was insistent on pressing his glans against my nostrils. His bulbous prick expanded and grew hot against my upper lip. I screamed inwardly anticipating the choking tide that would run up my nose. It came in the next moment spewing out of his fish-mouthed penis into my left nostril. His insane high pitched giggle accompanied Jack's version of fun while I tried to breathe through my mouth. Like all children, he needed to feel his own secretions and this he did, running his stubby fingers through the ooze on my face and rubbing it into my eyes. His clammy hands were at the buttons to my blouse and with ridiculous ease he had pulled away my clothing and was lifting me onto the cot. I was crying and helpless to defend myself.
"Now we have some fun," he said pawing my breasts. My nipples were fascinating to him and for an eternity he fondled my brown aureoles until they beaded into leather medals. He pushed and squeezed them until I was shaking with a mixture of pain and stimulated sexual sensation.
His hefty hard-on slapped my tummy and now he was spreading my legs to investigate my pussy with clumsy fingers. I winced with his carelessness as he rubbed my flesh separating my anus from my vulva. I tried to squiggle down so his fingers would enter my cunny, but the dummy couldn't figure it out. Finally I put my own hand on my tautly closed pussy to work an opening for him. He was driving me crazy with his stupid tinkering. I grabbed my clit hiding above my aperture and squeezed it between my fingers. Jack discovered the tiny organ erecting and he pushed my hands away to play with the new toy himself. He had the bedside manners of an ape and twisted my poor node mercilessly. I felt myself open up and he stroked his rod so the head of it butted against my moistening vulva. Light bulbs went off in his screwed up head and he made the connection.
He grunted idiotically and pushed his penis against my pussy. He penetrated slightly.
"Push," I urged. He chuckled gutturally and did as I bid.
He leaned forward and about a third of his massive spear slid into my crevice. His tongue hung out of his mouth and he began to pump. He grasped me by the shoulders and pulled himself onto me. I thought I would be split apart by his hugeness. His mountainous balls slammed against my fanny with every grunting thrust. He thrust erratically and my clinging pussy was at a loss to keep to his time. Then he stopped abruptly and just lay atop me. His tongue was all over my face, poking at my eyes and nose. His sharp-tipped probe was fucking my nostrils. I gasped for breath, shrieking and sputtering. Then he was coordinated some more and he began frictioning my pussy again. His orgasm was all over his body. For his hands were tangled in my hair and pulling and thrusting like his tongue and his rod. I felt his feet kicking my ankles and I prayed he would bring himself off quickly or I might die underneath this child-man maniac.
I'm not sure what happened next. In the midst of his frenzy I suddenly heard a loud noise, like a door slamming.
"Jackie!" A booming voice bellowed. My mad lover leapt off me and cowered in the corner. Staring straight ahead, I saw the biggest, blackest giant of a man standing in the doorway. Then everything went black as I passed out.
I opened my eyes sometime later while a cotton-baffled voice called, "Miss, miss, it's alright now." There was the face again, bulging from a muscular neck and tee shirt.
"It's alright, now. Jackie is sorry he did it," the bass voice repeated. My hand was in his and he was rubbing it gently.
"I'm Johnson, Jackie's ... friend," the owner of the soothing hand said in quiet tones.
Johnson pulled a sheet over me to hide my nakedness. "Jackie's sorry he did this to you, aren't you?"
Jack's face was screwed into a little boy pout in the corner where he huddled.
"Aren't you?" Johnson asked again.
"Yes. I played too rough," Jack whined.
"He played too rough," Johnson repeated. "Are you O.K., miss?"
"I-I think so," I said.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here. I went shopping. He knows not to answer the door when I'm gone. You see his family retains me to look after him. I guess he'll have to go back to the home now."
"Noooo," Jackie whined.
"Let's go in the other room so the lady can dress," Johnson said. He rose to nearly seven feet and I gasped at the huge physical specimen he was.
The big man took Jackie by the hand and led him into the other room. I got out of the cot and into my clothes as quickly as I could. I was sore as blazes between my legs, but otherwise alright. I walked shakily into the other room where Jackie sat and Johnson smoked a pipe.
"He's not responsible for his actions," Johnson said. "I know you'll have to call the police, and it will mean he'll have to go back to the home or maybe worse-a prison for the criminally insane."
Cowering in his chair, Jackie was a pitiful sight and I just wanted to leave.
"No," I said. "I won't call the police. I just need to leave."
Johnson's face brightened. "You mean it? He's really harmless, but sometimes he gets out of hand."
"Thank you for coming when you did," I said, starting for the door.
"Wait," he called. "The family has authorized me to pay for anything he ... well ... damages."
He opened a drawer and withdrew a checkbook. It was too bizarre.
"No, that's alright."
"A hundred dollars? Will that help?"
"No," I insisted.
But Johnson had already filled in the check and ripped it out. He opened the latches to the door and thrust the check in my hand. "It's the least his family can do," he said.
My head was swimming as I stepped outside, dumbly holding the check. I glanced at my watch and realized this had all taken place in less than twenty minutes. Not two blocks from my own apartment I had walked into a madman's den. I walked home in a near daze, five other appointments left unfilled, and lay down in my own bed.
Later that afternoon I felt less shaky and called my unit leader to begin to explain what had happened. It suddenly made no sense in the relating and so I stopped short of telling about the assault.
"Just file a report of mental incompetency and let someone else worry about the case," he suggested.
I hung up and did precisely that. Then I went outside and deposited the check in my much deflated bank account and went about my rounds as census enumerator.
Two days later I wished I had quit just after my experience with Jack Orff.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I phoned a family by the name of Simmons and a very cultured woman said to come over that afternoon. She lived in a posh apartment house on Fifty-Seventh and a doorman rang upstairs. "Send her up," a voice said through an intercom and I rode the elevator to the sixteenth floor. I padded along carpeted foyer until I came to her apartment and knocked. The faint odor of incense hovered at the door and when the door was opened a full blast of jasmine exploded from the flat.
"Ah, the government has arrived," my hostess smiled through starkly straight white teeth. "Do come in, Miss.
"Bonno," I replied.
"How nice," she said, ushering me inside.
The woman was in her early fifties, with white, beautiful hair. She wore a long well-tailored housecoat, and pointed with long, artistic fingers to a couch.
"I must have mislaid the form," she apologized with great charm. "Would you like a drink?"
"Thank you, no."
"Then you don't mind if I do," Mrs. Simmons smiled. She walked to a bar and poured herself a tall vodka. A very striking woman, I thought. She could have stepped from the pages of a weekend magazine section describing gracious living.
I began to ask her the usual questions, who the head of the household was, how many persons lived in the dwelling, and so forth, but she seemed to go off on tangents.
"Divorced, so I guess I'm the head of the house," she laughed. "He was a rotten bastard."
I had no spaces to put down such a description and so I just smiled until she came to the end of her tirade against the departed Mr. Simmons-half a drink later.
"I still have a mark from where Jonathon clouted me," she rambled. I was startled when she opened her dressing gown and pointed to a purplish reminder of her connubial bliss high on her inner thigh. She gulped some more vodka and sat with her legs protruding from her half open dress. She began to slur her words and I realized she was an alcoholic.
"You sure you won't have a drink, sweetheart?"
I shook my head and smiled, ready to proceed.
"Y'see, he was very demanding. Didn't give a fig for a woman's sensibilities. Goddamn men ...."
"Then you live here alone," I ventured, trying to get back on course.
"No, I have friends staying here," she said, emphasizing the word friends.
"Boarders?"
"Friends. Would you like to meet them?" Mrs. Simmons queried, on her way to the bar again.
"It's not necessary, if you'll just tell me their names and their relationship to you," I explained.
"The relationship," she repeated bemused. "The dearest friends in the world...."
An eerie smile crossed her eyes and I felt myself shift uncomfortably.
"I want you to meet them. A pretty girl like you has some things in common with them." She leaned over my chair and tinkled the ice in her glass. She had to be withholding something from me, for her demeanor was one of inward satisfaction with some sort of private joke. "They're just in the next room and they're having a party."
Her hand nudged my shoulder and her fingers curled slowly around my arm. "Come see them," she whispered.
I stood uncertainly. She never loosened her grip and we walked to a set of french doors. She pulled a key out of her pocket and slipped it into the ornate lock. I felt as though I were being ushered into very dangerous surroundings.
The door opened and I stood rooted in shock. I stared into a weird fantasy room decked in Indian silks, lounging divans, and colorful peacock feathers. But the decor was the least of the attractions. The animal life held center stage-dogs-beautiful scented Afgan dogs, three in number sat or stood with regal bearing while two exotic women lay half naked on the floor cushions, looking fearfully at my hostess behind me. The dogs wagged their tufted tails slowly. A distinct feeling of menace pervaded the room. I was about to turn when Mrs. Simmons' firm hand pushed me into the room and she stepped in behind me. The click of the door locking sounded like a death knell.
"Where shall we start first, with the bitches or...." she paused and chuckled. "The bitches."
One of the dogs ambled over to me and sniffed with a bored expression. I felt its long pointed muzzle pushing my dress aside.
"This is Celeste," the voice behind me said. The dog was pressing its powerful snout between my legs. "She thinks you have something to offer her."
I laughed nervously and tried to push the dog's head away.
"Celeste, not yet!" Mrs. Simmons' voice cracked. The dog backed off. But the other two huge Afgans were snooping around now.
"Ah, the canine breed. They know when there's something special around. That's Cordelia," she said pointing to a large sleek tan dog, "and Charmian."
Charmian's hard nose was pressed firmly under my skirt trying to push between my tightly clamped legs. Suddenly Mrs. Simmons' hand was planted on my fanny with more than affection.
"Charmian!" my too friendly hostess barked. The dog backed off, but her hand remained where it was.
I was about to suggest she keep her mitts to herself when she laughed. "But you haven't met the girls and they're dying to meet you."
I looked again at the two lounging women. They looked like slave girls or courtesans of some grade C Hollywood epic.
"Indians, you know, Santhan and Rahdza." The two dark-haired beauties registered their acknowledgement by lowering their eyes. The smell of incense was suddenly oppressive.
"Pleased to have met all of you. But I think I've got to be going," I said, turning quickly.
"But you've only just come," Mrs. Simmons said.
"I have a full day of appointments," I countered.
"You really must be reasonable," she continued in her phony-gracious tone. "Or I'll have Celeste and Charmian convince you."
On signal both dogs bared their teeth and I found myself breathing very hard.
"They're trained killers," she said off-handedly.
I didn't doubt it. These beautiful, gentle seeming dogs could have me for lunch and my bones for dessert. Charmian's tongue curled in a yawn and licked its chops as if to prove a point.
"Now, I'm here simply to make a nose count," I said trying to change the subject
"You must have some diversion in your life, my dear." Mrs. Simmons hand was on my fanny again. "You might even provide us with some entertainment The girls get lonely here sometimes."
I glanced at the two Indian girls who couldn't be out of their teens. They lay implacable, staring through thick long eyelashes.
"Rahdza! Make Samantha feel comfortable here."
Instantly the taller of the two girls rose and strode over to me. She was half a head taller than I was with a lithe supple grace to her movements. She leaned over and drilled me with her coal-black eyes. Impassively she took my head in her hands and kissed my lips. I pulled back, but her hands tightened around my jaws and she held me firmly while she pressed her lips deeply against mine. I pushed and realized I had handfuls of her bare breasts.
Still she held on and Mrs. Simmons hand was in my hair pulling me backward. The floor came out from under me and Rahdza covered me completely. Her tongue lashed my mouth and I barely heard Mrs. Simmons call Santha.
But the second girl was yanking off my shoes, while the air waves in my immediate vicinity carried the muffled menacing growls of the agitated Afgans.
"Hurnility is a virtue," Mrs. Simmons proclaimed while Santha and Rahdza methodically stripped me naked. My clothes lay in a little heap and I lay spread-eagled by the firm handiwork of the two dark-skinned beauties. Mrs. Simmons stood over me, her hand tucked underneath her dress, rubbing herself as she spoke.
"Santha, show me Samantha's virtue."
The girl replaced her hands with her bare feet on my ankles and leaned across my open legs to spread the lips of my pussy.
Mrs. Simmons' eyes lit up while Santha's fingers flexed my love lips open and closed.
"A very promising afternoon," the silver-haired woman commented, still massaging her muff.
Santha's fingers continued to knead my fleshy slit and I felt my node begin to blossom under her stimulating squeezes. Her eyes danced as she witnessed the fruits of her labors.
"Very nice," Mrs. Simmons cooed, moving closer to Samantha and touching her cheek with her knee. The young girl caressed her thigh with one hand while she continued to work my clit with diligence.
My body had betrayed me once again as it succumbed to the thrill of my throbbing pussy. Behind me, Rahdza's hands left my wrists and now played like chocolate icing on my breasts.
"Me first, please," Rahdza said in deep, throaty tones. Her eyes pleaded with Mrs. Simmons who was shedding her long dress completely.
"Humility, dear Rahdza," the older woman chided with a musical lilt. She kicked off her shoes and I felt her toes curling against my vulva. "Isn't that right, Samantha?"
Rahdza pinched my nipple, part in frustration, and partly to prod me to answer. "Yes," I said drily.
Mrs. Simmons was remarkably built for a woman of her years. She had long smooth-skinned legs, with hardly the barest hint of an extra ounce of fat on her shapely body. Her breasts still hung firmly and she now fingered her darkish aureoles.
"Samantha will now repay my hospitality by licking my pussy. Won't you, dear?"
The question was entirely rhetorical as she squatted directly over my face. Her two henchwomen resumed their roles as human chains around my ankles and wrists. Her aroma filled my nostrils, a combination of jasmine and her own special odor. She sat facing my legs and her fingers tapped my titties as though in signal for me to begin. I kept my mouth closed.
"I'm a patient woman," she said, shifting her body so her globular fanny moved down. Her anus was now directly above my nose and she made me wish it wasn't.
I heard a tiny puff and felt the hot blast of a fart pepper my olifactory centers.
"I'm patient, but I do have gas, Samantha," she warned.
I tried blowing the foul air away and Mrs. Simmons resumed her original position. "There's much more of that if you're not cooperative," she added.
She controlled all the choices and so I pushed my tongue against her fuzzy vulva.
"You'll have to put more into it," she ordered and I obeyed.
I began lapping her jasmine tang and heard her squeal with pleasure. As long as she was happy, I was safe, and I was safe as long as I probed my tongue through her shorthair into her vagina. She straddled my ribs with her knees and pushed backwards to feel my hot licking tongue penetrate into her moist channel. It wasn't so bad after all and I even began to enjoy the sharp taste of her pungent juices. I suddenly realized my hands and legs weren't being held any longer and so I wrapped my arms around her hips to maintain the tonguing rhythm I had worked up. I bent my knees in the air and realized the woman was being reciprocal as her lips located and helped erect my burning clitoris.
I was as hot as she was and accepted gratefully her long tongue as it slipped between my labia and curled inside my jelly cup.
The woman was a master of the slow, excruciating tempo that made my toes curl with stimulation. I reamed her cunny the harder and felt her quivering flesh come on my tongue. She paused ever so briefly in her labors at my burning vagina to savor her mini-climax, then intruded her tongue once again at her maddeningly slow pace. She moved forward and my mouth was free, cooling with her juices and my spittle.
Rahdza's hand dabbed at my chin to wipe the excess fluids off while Mrs. Simmons continued to give me the works with her tongue. My primed pussy was verging on its explosion and I tensed as I felt myself ready to be brought off. The very floor seemed to tremble as my juices jarred loose at the tip of her tongue.
"Good for starters," the long-limbed woman said, turning around to survey my post-climax glow. "But the hair, my dear, must go."
To illustrate, she clicked her teeth and pulled a hair from her lips. She snapped her fingers and Rahdza left her post for the second.
"A little shave is in order, dear Samantha," my captor murmured, shaking her head.
"Don't you think this has gone far enough," I objected, raising to one elbow.
All three dogs arose and took a step toward me. A warning growl sounded from the depths of their four-legged bodies. I inched back and saw the prize mutts do the same, licking their chops all the while.
"You don't really believe that yourself, do you," the woman chortled satisfied that I had no intentions of trying anything foolish.
Santha smiled in perfect imitation of Mrs. Simmons and slowly unwrapped the sarong that girdled her hips. She dropped the satin fabric and I saw she was shorn of her crotch hair. Her mons veneris puffed out like a baby's and Mrs. Simmons laid a hand on it tenderly. "Much prettier, Samantha. Nicer to the touch," the older woman said softly.
Rahdza doubled as a barber and reappeared with a tray of implements and bowls of water.
"You mustn't move around," Mrs. Simmons cautioned and Rahdza knelt at my side. I gulped and held stiffly motionless.
The silver-haired woman continued to stroke Santha's pubic flesh while my Indian-style Delilah rubbed a sweet-smelling soap onto my flossy vee. She stropped an old-fashioned straight razor and I tried to conceal my terror. One slip and my sex would bleed all over the Persian rug. I lay back and tried not to think of the ugly possibilities. Rahdza rubbed the foaming soap one last time and I felt the razor touch my flesh. My skin crawled with the sensation and I waited to feel the first pull. To my amazement the cold steel glided across the surface of my flesh and I could feel the cooling air cover my suddenly bare mons veneris. Rahdza worked expertly and quickly, clearing every nook and cranny of my privates of the hair that had grown up with me.
I felt myself breathing heavily as the tension drained. Patches of my pussy fur were wiped on the towel on the tray and suddenly it was over. Rahdza splashed some lotion on me and I lurched with the cold sting.
"A very good patient," Mrs. Simmons smiled.
Rahdza dabbed at me with a towel one last time and then removed the gear of her operation. I tentatively touched my privates and was shocked to feel the smoothness of my skin where a brush of hair had grown so recently.
"You would like a nap, now, my dear?"
The one vocal member of the odd trio took my hands and brought me unsteadily to my feet. I was trembling and unprepared for any further shenanigans.
"You may rest on Rahdza's pillows," Mrs. Simmons said, touching my newly shorn crotch to examine her barber's handiwork. "The girls and I will play a game. You may watch if you like, but we will not be offended if your body craves sleep."
I lay on the downy soft cushions and watched Rahdza light a water-pipe that stood in the center of the room. In quick succession the three women drew deeply from the mouthpiece while the bowl bubbled. The acrid odor of hashish pervaded the room. They fell into a dreamy contentment doing things almost in slow motion. Rahdza had unwrapped her sarong and lay with her belly touching Santha's. Her bare pubis puffed out and touched the equal member of her partner.
Mrs. Simmons sat like a queen bee at their heads, stroking first their hair and then her thighs as she squatted Indian-fashion.
The two dark-limbed girls ran their fingers along each other's sides. The three seemed in another world and my thoughts drifted to some means of escape while they were entranced with each other.
The dogs seemed to sense what was on my mind. They sat or lay with their heads pointed in my direction, ever alert. I wouldn't get three feet to the door before they would sink their fangs into my leg. I lay my head on the pillow, unwilling and afraid to tempt them. Unconsciously I ran my fingers over my bare crotch, amazed to feel the smoothness of the area.
The three stoned women continued to stroke each other's body. Rahdza became sexually aroused and ground her pelvis into Santha. Mrs. Simmons looked on in approval and tapped her shoulder. It was a sign for the ginger-skinned girl who shaved me to rise.
She stood and I realized that I was the center of attention again. What now?
Rahdza provided the answer by kneeling and running her long fingers from my toes to my breasts. I stared uncomprehending while she silently raised gooseflesh on my tense body. Then she lay on top of me and put my arms around her back.
"You love ... me ... me," she whispered in halting deep tones.
She wiggled her smallish breasts against mine and her knee dug between my legs. Her lips fell on mine and she closed her eyes as she pressed my head into the cushion. She was full of passion while I was completely cold. But I feigned responses to her supple flesh, gyrating my hips to feel her knee pushing against my vulva. My eyes were open and I saw Santha entranced by a feather Mrs. Simmons waggled against her flexing slot. Santha's lips were parted around the older woman's breast. I stared hard trying to become aroused by them, but my body was somewhere else. The dogs were dividing their bored attention amongst the four of us.
I feigned more responses, groaning and appearing to turn on with Rahdza's scented body. Slowly, I shifted my weight so we both lay side by side. I played the active role, to her delight, fondling her velvety breasts and buttocks, until she lay on her stomach digging our flesh contact. I slipped my fingers between her anal crease and saw that she was being driven pleasantly crazy.
If ever there was an opportunity to escape this was it. I was sure that if I pulled hard enough the French doors would open. The dogs seemed preoccupied. It had to be now.
I faked a lascivious laugh as I tickled between Rahdza's cheeks and lunged off toward my clothes.
I barely saw the dogs leap. But suddenly I was on the floor being bitten by Mrs. Simmons' bitches. All three held an appendage of mine in their jaws. I lay still not to have my flesh ripped from me.
"Shame!" Mrs. Simmons shouted.
Which was precisely what I felt after my bungled attempt. She called the dogs off and turned Rahdza loose on me. My one-sided soul mate didn't take too kindly to my attempts to vacate. I saw stars as she slapped me across the mouth. The depth of her anger at my sudden flight was boundless, for she slashed and slapped mercilessly. My face wasn't the only target, either. Her venomous hands clawed at my breasts while my head swam. I was helpless as Santha dragged me by the hair across the floor and back to Rahdza's palette.
"We have to teach some manners," Mrs. Simmons' voice chortled from far away. Somewhere in my head a mammoth bell clanged with a deafening roar. I stopped listening when the first crack of Mrs. Simmons' riding crop seared my belly. I doubled up to protect myself and the Indian girls pried me apart. Again I was forced into a vulnerable spread eagle on my back and the woman had her way. She whipped me until I passed out. At least, I assume she stopped after I went blank.
I have no idea of how long I was out. When I opened one puffy eye the room was darker but the young girls were tending to business. My friendly whip-wielder was not present, it seemed, while Santha was in Rahdza's saddle with a large dildo strapped on, beating the taller girl into a frenzy of stimulation.
Santha suddenly caught my eye and stopped pumping. I clamped my lid shut and heard them muttering unintelligibly. I was in for it now with Mrs. Simmons off somewhere, the Lesbian sisters had a live one-barely alive but that made no difference to them.
My body was aching with the torture the leather crop had wreaked. But Rahdza was ever ready to get in her licks. She sat with glee on my face. Her moist, aroused pussy pressed to my lips. I was too weak to offer any resistance. I pushed my tongue through my swollen lips into her damp. Santha had another thing going for her. She spread my legs and I felt her stab the dildo into my dry slot. She pushed the hard rubber with sadistic joy while my vagina held fast.
Rahdza yanked on my hair and I obediently commenced licking her oozing pussy while Santha pumped steadily through my punished cunt. She picked up speed as my membranes became glutinous almost out of self-defense and she ripped through deep into my belly. Her greedy avidness was actually a boon, for she knocked the giggling Rahdza to one side and my mouth was again free. The tall chick didn't seem well coordinated at all and I realized that they were both very high on hashish.
Rahdza crawled to the center of the room and dragged the hookah to the side of my head. She scooped a small shovelful of the powdered drug from a gaily decorated canister and dropped it into the bowl of the water-pipe. She shoved a curious dog away from the stash box and lit the burner. She drew deeply on the mouthpiece of the hose and then pushed it into my mouth. Santha continued to pump the dildo. I inhaled once and coughed in my dyke lover's face. She never missed a beat and sucked some of the hash smoke through the bubbling pipe.
Rahdza tried to get back on top of my face, but she was unsteady on her knees and toppled over, laughing uncontrollably. Santha dragged again on the water-pipe and became infected with Rahdza's giggles. She stopped pumping and I felt the jiggling dildo shake with her laughter. Chuckling childishly, Santha poked the mouthpiece between Rahdza's thighs just to the side of my head. She reamed her sister's pussy with the unconventional mini-prick. But Rahdza was wrecked, not even able to respond to the gyrating mouthpiece. She lay, numbed by the hash and dead to the world while Santha poked and muttered. Finally the novelty wore off for her and she pulled off me petulantly. She took a last drag on the hookah and staggered over to her pillows where she collapsed.
The potent hash had taken its toll, sending them on a high that brought their bodies to an exhausted state. They lay, a mass of dusky tangled arms, legs and raven hair.
The dogs rearranged themselves after witnessing the bizarre behavior of the twosome. I shut my eyes and was grateful for the peace. Suddenly, I flashed on an idea.
I was sore as blazes, but I leaned over to the box with the powdered hashish. The dogs watched my every move. I removed the embossed cover to the canister and sifted my fingers though an alarming amount of the illegal substance. I scooped out a palmful and held it aloft. A moment of indecision followed. But Charmian was the most adventurous of the sleek Afgans. Guardedly she trotted over and thrust a tongue into my palm. She sneezed and recoiled. But this mutt knew class stuff when she smelled it and so she returned to lick my palm. I dug my hand into the canister again and now Charmian had company. The dog ate it as though it were canine ambrosia. They made pigs of themselves getting into the canister and consuming what I was sure was a few hundred dollars worth of hashish. If it had a tenth of the effect I hoped it would have the local Afgan population would become stoned enough to sleep.
Minutes passed and it began to look like no such effect was forthcoming. They nipped at each other playfully, jumping over the sleeping girls. I began patting Celeste on the head. Earlier she would have taken my hand off at the wrist.
Now the big dog was in puppy heaven, looking dreamy-eyed. Her tongue hung from her chops. The other two dogs began to run out of steam at the same time. They both lay on cushions and slowly their heads sank to their paws. Celeste was in a state of catatonia, rolling her eyes.
I couldn't wait any longer. I pulled myself to my knees. My head was splitting and my body was a mass of welts. But I couldn't stop now. I walked unsteadily, but unmolested to my heap of clothing. The longer I moved about freely, the stronger I seemed to feel. I quickly put on my blouse and skirt. The other inmates of the room hadn't stirred from their drug-induced sleep. A stab of pain shook me and I itched to crack the vicious Mrs. Simmons across her mocking mouth. A light glowed on the other side of the French doors and I knew my captor had to be on that side. Trying any other way out of the room but the French doors was the height of folly as Indian screens blocked the windows to the ceiling.
Then I spied an honest-to-goodness Saracen scimitar hanging on one screen. Here was my defense. I pulled it from the decorative ribbon and tried the doors. Naturally, they were locked. I envisioned Mrs. Simmons on the other side. "Probably separating her pubic hairs," I thought angrily, owing her one more for the part she played in the great hair removal of Samantha Bonno.
Now was the time. I calmly took aim with the handle of the scimitar and shattered the pane of glass nearest the doorknobs. The shards clattered to the floor and I turned the handles. A glance over my shoulder eased my mind as the drug stupor still held every living creature behind me.
I opened the door and stood face to face with Mrs. Simmons, looking as respectable as a Victorian dowager.
"Why, young lady, you broke the glass."
"I should make you eat it," I snapped, waving the sword for her to move aside.
"What have you done to my girls," she bellowed suddenly, alarmed for the first time.
"Why don't you find out," I suggested. I was dripping with vitriol for this insane creature. She edged around me to go into her fantasy room. I beat a hasty path to the front door, rode the elevator down, and handed the scimitar to the amazed doorman.
I rushed home and called the police.
"The biggest supply of hashish you're likely to capture," I said anonymously. "Just ask the doorman for Mrs. Simmons and you'll all get promotions." I gave the address and hung up. Then I called the Census Bureau. Nobody home after hours, naturally, so I called my unit leader and told her I quit as of that afternoon.
Davina Loomis, my unit leader, and an at liberty actress too, sighed and accepted my resignation. I fell into bed and slept soundly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next day I read of the bizarre bust on Fifty-Seventh Street. While I sat in a bath and coaxed my pubic follicles to replenish my patch of hair, the phone rang.
I dropped into my bedroom and answered it. It was Davina Loomis.
"Samantha, I know you quit yesterday and I don't blame you one bit, but I'm in a bind."
I sighed and prepared myself for her sob story.
"We're behind schedule and I don't have enough enumerators. Could you put in just one more week?"
I should have said no dice right then, but I looked out on the hall table and saw three bills I hadn't the heart to open that morning. Telephone answering services and publicity photos don't come cheaply, especially not for out of work actresses.
"O.K., but no more nuts," I said wearily.
"Come by later and I'll give you a caseload," Davina said, perking up.
I scratched my bare muff and hated myself for being poor. "A-one, first class addresses," she added before hanging up. I recalled the doorman to the Simmons homestead and promptly began worrying.
The next three days erased my fears. The interviews were easy and no one made so much as a pass at me. I racked up fifteen delinquents, calling first to be sure they at least sounded normal.
"Who?"
"Samantha Bonno, for the United States Census Bureau," I repeated. "You left some blanks open on the form the government sent you, Mrs. Alquist. Can we straighten it out this afternoon?"
"Why certainly. What time," Mrs. Alquist asked pleasantly.
"I can be there in fifteen minutes," I replied. There was a long pause. "That's fine," she said finally.
"If its not convenient we can make it later."
"No, that's fine," the voice assured and the phone clicked.
I gathered my papers and trudged downstairs. The address was a fashionable building on Third Avenue. I rang the bell to the three-storey brownstone and pushed the door on the buzzer signal.
The Alquists were extraordinarily well-heeled from the look of the carpets and antique decor inside. The smell of expensive perfume and quality liquor pervaded the downstairs hallway and I took it all in waiting for someone to appear.
The woman I spoke to emerged at the top of the landing in chic lounging pajamas. She was about my age with her dark hair in classic ringlets. She looked like a high fashion model as she swept down the stairs.
"Miss Bonno," she smiled. Even her teeth had highlights. I nodded. "How marvelous. The government certainly has good taste this year. I didn't know what to expect, a walking computer, perhaps."
A lilt of laughter wafted from upstairs.
"If you're busy now, I can come back later."
"Nonsense. In fact you're welcome to join us upstairs. A few friends dropped in. They might like to meet you."
The tilt of her head suddenly registered on me. I had seen her somewhere.
"Were you on the cover of Vogue a few months ago," I asked.
"Ah, notoriety catches up to me again," she acknowledged.
"Susan Lovell!"
"Right again."
The pieces had flown into place. She was the wife of Ronald Alquist, one of the busiest young producers in New York. And she was one of the busiest fashion models in this fair city too.
"And you," Mrs. Alquist asked, warmed by my recognition. "Surely your career is not ringing doorbells to find out if people colored in the right circles on their Census forms."
"I'm an actress," I said almost in apology. "Ah, yes. A rocky road," she said with compassion. "Then you must come up and meet my husband."
My luck was too good to be actual. For months I had tried to meet a producer of Ronald Alquist's stature with no success. Yet here his wife had practically engraved an invitation.
We took care of the government's business in short order and I left my Census kit in the closet downstairs.
Mrs. Alquist led the way upstairs and chattered away with admiration for my ingenuity at earning a buck during lean times. I admired the priceless tapestry that clung to the wall.
The cocktail chatter and laughter became louder as we neared the second floor. We stepped through an ormolu arch and I recognized the mustached Ronald Alquist immediately. He rose and his wife introduced me, "Samantha Bonno, a very talented actress."
Two chicly tailored women looked veiled daggers at me and one young man smiled broadly. I set the record straight by explaining that I had merely come to take the Census.
"My, my, the government comes in all shapes and sizes," one of the women joked.
"Marsha Spalding, Samantha Bonno," Susan Alquist introduced. "And Karen Leslie."
I nodded to the two chicks, positive I had read their names and seen their pictures in some society column or another. The sharply dressed young man had to be their hairdresser, from the look of him. But I had made that kind of judgment to my embarrassment before.
"How's the nose count, Miss Bonno," Ronald Alquist asked, getting me a drink.
"They come in all sizes and shapes," I said trying to sound bubbly and bright. I felt I was at an acting interview and I was at my best scintillating self trying to leave an impression on the man. He chuckled and I chalked one point on my mental scoreboard.
"You must meet some interesting people on your rounds," Susan said.
"I'll say...."
And I did as I suddenly had an enraptured audience as I described some of the milder encounters with the American public.
Ronald Alquist kept filling my glass and soon I was telling of my not so mild experiences as an enumerator.
"Right around the corner?" Susan asked incredulously. "What a harrowing tale. I suppose you're off sex for life."
I was brought up short by that one.
"No," I laughed. "That never crossed my mind."
"That's good to hear," the polished young man piped up.
A bell chimed somewhere and Susan rose and went to the stairway.
"That must be Calvin," her husband said. Meanwhile, the young man sat next to me and chatted away inanely about how unsafe it was for anyone to live in New York.
"Doug's a born hater of the city," Alquist interjected. "But when old Ronald has a new play ready to open he's down here away from his New Hampshire retreat and ready for business."
"I'd never resist an Alquist production, though it means walking through the fires of hell," Doug laughed.
"Well, I'm delighted to hear you're not off matters of the flesh," Ronald said. The two other women tittered. "Perhaps you'd like to partake. We're all very civilized here."
My mouth must have been open in astonishment.
"I didn't mean to shock you," he said. "You're free to go if you like, of course. But it is Thursday afternoon and we gather here for the joys of sex."
I was looking for words. But my mouth failed me. I was both intrigued and repelled by the offer. Before I could sort myself out Susan and a tall handsome man entered. His face rang a bell immediately.
"I think you know everyone except Samantha Bonno," she said to him.
The hint of recognition flashed in his eyes.
"Cal Ebsen, this is Samantha," she continued.
He snapped his fingers as my face and name snapped from his memory. "Colonel Bonno's daughter!"
"That's right. We saw you in Washington ...."
"With that flop," he said. "Christ, you were just a kid, then."
He cupped his suntanned face in his hand and shook his mane of hair in disbelief.
"This is fantastic," his dark eyes danced. It was as though we were the only two in the room. His eyes riveted through me and I felt my silly broad grin stretching my face. I was delighted to see him again.
Tiny pockets of sensation began popping in my innards and I felt myself melting with sexual attraction for him.
"Ahem," Ronald Alquist mumbled, breaking the spell momentarily. "I was just explaining to Miss Bonno our Thursday afternoon activity."
"Will you join us," Cal asked.
Again my tongue was tied.
"It all started out as a group encounter session, you see," Susan said. "We experimented with all of us in the nude as in Gestalt Therapy and one thing led to another ...."
"And another and another," Karen giggled lasciviously.
"So we put aside the clinical aspects of the whole thing," Alquist amplified. "And we enjoy each other's bodies."
It was simple, to the point and I was seduced. Particularly at the prospect of making love with Cal Ebsen.
"O.K., sure," my voice said.
"Marvelous," Susan beamed. "What are we waiting for?"
Everyone stood and ambled to a door near the fireplace. Alquist opened it and my eyes nearly bugged out as we stepped onto a room-sized mattress.
"Watch your step," Doug cautioned and I climbed six inches off the floor onto a springy soft surface that carpeted the entire room.
"We change in there," Karen said guiding my arm and we stepped through into a small dressing room. Marsha Spalding was already pulling her dress over her Italian cut hairdo. She poked some strands of blonde hair behind her ear and smiled. She had small, pert breasts with upturned nipples.
Susan touched the tips of Marsha's mounds and the two exchanged a tender look. Then Susan shed her lounging pajamas revealing a slim smooth torso. Karen asked me to unbutton her back-fastened dress and she removed it without hesitation. She unsnapped her finely laced bra and two fountain delights with bright red maraschino nipples spilled across her chest. I shrugged and unzipped my kulat ensemble. I had taken to wearing the half-pants outfit as a means of defense and here I was voluntarily stripping myself. When I hung up my panties I saw the three girls agape and staring at my bare mons veneris.
"It's an Indian style cut, compliments of Mrs. Simmons," I explained.
Susan's tongue curled around her lips and she smiled faintly.
"Becoming," she said leaning closer to glimpse my denuded patch. "Exciting, in fact."
Karen opened the door. "Let's pay our respects to the menfolk."
We filed out of the dressing room. I followed Marsha, fascinated by the curve of her back into sweeping dimpled buttocks. The three men were already seated in the center of the room. They rose on our entrance. It was so civilized and well mannered I wondered if it was going to be any fun.
A glance at the assembled equipment allayed my fears. Cal's peter was the longest, hanging weightily down his thigh. Ronald Alquist's balls sagged immensely pulling his rod close in. Doug's penis was already on the ascent at half-mast. I judged he would muster a good eight or nine inches when it quickened.
The three men were staring at my shorn pussy and I went through the same explanation.
"Now you mustn't stare," Susan admonished. Cal winked at me and beckoned me to sit by him. I did as we all sat in an irregular circle.
I was about to find my voice and ask what was to happen next when Ronald filled me in. "For the uninitiated in our midst we merely sit here maintaining eye contact with everyone else in the circle to detect who needs love the most."
I screwed up my nose. It sounded psychologically oriented. They hadn't really gotten away from the clinic encounter scene. But I wasn't about to break with tradition. I sat and stared into the eyes of Ronald, Doug, and Marsha who sat opposite me. I felt foolish as I saw Marsha trying to communicate with her eyes. I wasn't open I realized. I wasn't being receptive and I tried harder to concentrate and break down the barriers that I was surely building.
Cal touched my knee as though to reassure me and I began to take in Marsha, Ronald, Doug, and Susan with a newfound calm. Marsha seemed to be pleading with her eyes.
"Love me, love me," they said. In other circumstances I might have been ashamed at her honesty.
Cal moved first, crossing the circle to touch Marsha's face. Then Karen joined him. She kissed and fondled her toes. All focus was on Marsha now and Ronald followed by lightly tapping her thigh. His rod was lengthening as he ran his fingers across her smooth legs. Doug knelt and kissed her breasts. I suddenly felt impelled to register my love for Marsha. I crawled behind her head and stroked her hair, sharing that part of her anatomy with Cal. Susan squeezed between Cal and Doug and kissed her lips. Her eyes were almost brimming with tears.
If Marsha needed love, she was getting it in spades. Merely watching the tender hands fondling her body was enough to make my pussy churn with excitement. Hers must have been doing flip-flops. Hands and lips dusted her body. Doug began licking her belly while Karen slipped her fingers up Marsh's spread thighs. Her pussy was open and flexing with the stimulation.
Cal kissed Marsha's lips and she ground her butt into the soft mattress. Ronald's rod was stiff and ready.
He slithered up her legs and worked his thick prick into her oozing slot. She lurched with his penetration and then eased back to receive his gentle pumping.
The others and myself were hot and pulsing spurred by Marsha's desire and moans. Cal's hands and attention left Marsha. He had an arm around Susan and me. Karen was busy with Doug's long spear glistening with her saliva.
Cal lay back and Susan's mouth covered his. Her hand stroked his rigid prick. Meanwhile his hands cupped around my buttock and he worked his hand to my thighs, massaging my hairless mons.
Christ, I was seething like a fuse inside. I leaned over and licked the top of Cal's manhood. Susan grasped the throbbing beast in her fist but my mouth encircled his thick fleshy glans. His length expanded in my hot mouth and I sucked at it as though it were food of the gods.
Susan's fingers found my face and a moment passed when I wondered if I had infringed on her territory. But all was love and peace in these surroundings. She removed her hand and I had complete access to Cal's swelling sex. She crawled to Marsha and her husband and squeezed his rod as it pistoned in and out of the delirious Marsha.
Cal drew me into his arms and we rolled on the mattress so he lay atop me. His beautiful lips pressed into mine and I felt the head of his rod pushing into my slick channel. He penetrated easily and I drew him in deeper folding my legs at the knee. He felt as if he belonged there all of my life. His pelvis humped down and he drove in clear through to my cervix. My pussy clung tenaciously to his potent rod and I could tell he was enjoying himself genuinely. God knows I was.
He arched his hips and struck an incessant rhythm that made me writhe with joy. He slicked in and out of me until I was shaking with stimulation. His rod found a well-spring of response and my arms flopped helplessly as he plunged down snapping my clitoris in the process. His piece swelled unbelievably and what followed was a simultaneous explosion of our love juice. His come cascaded into me and mingled with my own sudden rush of sex secretion.
He plowed through our sticky mixture and I was floating on another star. His eyes told me I was more than just another receptacle for his sex.
My heart pounded with the sudden realization that I loved this man. Was i foolish to think that I was something special to him? His tender kisses melted my soul.
"You're beautiful," he whispered. "Jeezus, are you beautiful."
He was blushing and I kissed his red cheeks. "Come home with me, Samantha." There was nothing I wanted to do more. I felt entirely at peace and so very safe in his arms. "Say you will," he whispered urgently. "I will."
I closed my eyes and he stayed penetrated in me. The tears were streaming down my face. It was almost as though I had been searching for him, and now that he had found me we would never let each other go.
It was too incredible to be true, I decided, suddenly. I traced the lines in his forehead and tried to become hard, to make him seem like just another lover, no different from the bunch of studs who had gotten into my pants from the time back in Alaska. But I couldn't do it. Cal was special.
"Let's leave now," he said.
I looked around at the others in various throes of pleasure. The thought of sharing Cal with them blasted through my head.
"Let's," I agreed.
He pulled his beautiful body off mine and my pussy tingled as his full length slicked out of me. He crawled over to Susan, gave her a sisterly kiss and tapped Ronald on the shoulder. He simply raised his arm bidding us farewell. We held each other for a moment and went to our respective dressing rooms. I was high with buoyancy. I dressed quickly and opened the door to see him ready. He held out his arm and I sneaked under it. We left the five gleaming bodies to their pleasure and I embarked on my new venture.
"We've got a lot of catching up to do," Cal said as I opened the downstairs closet and pulled out my census kit. "Listen, Ronald has a script I'm reading. He's asked me to do the lead. I swear, if you can cut it, you've got the other role."
We spent the afternoon at his apartment, reading the script, and generally falling into complete love with one another.
Things were simply too good to be true I found myself thinking. The part was fabulous and the play, by one of the hottest playwrights on Broadway, had all the earmarks of success. There was even one brief nude scene, all the rage nowadays.
But best of all, Cal was truly in love with me.
"I'll call Ronald now and we can start rehearsals tomorrow," he said.
"But that's my last day for the census," I said feeling a certain loyalty to Davina.
"I don't want to let you out of my sight for an instant," he laughed. "I'll come with you."
Now it was my turn to laugh.
"What's the joke. From the sound of it you are in the most dangerous business in the world and if anybody is going to get you into bed you can bet it's going to be me and only me," Cal said firmly.
"What about Thursday afternoons," I asked slyly.
"You and me and no one else," he said brushing my hair from my face. "And that goes for the rest of the week too, for all the weeks there are."
He nibbled at my earlobe and the goose bumps sprouted everywhere.
"We haven't tried out my bed," he cajoled. "Want to?"
I didn't need a second invitation. I pulled his sweater over his head and kissed his stubbly chest. He nearly ripped my clothes off me but his gentle, loving hands made it all right. We went into his bedroom and his lips parted my pussy. I was primed in an instant. His hefty rod swelled between my fingers and he rocketed into my honey pod.
For the next hour we made love, coming together three times. He was enough man for me for a lifetime.
We were married the next week and opened in the biggest hit on Broadway two months later. During the sixth month of our run I informed him that we had the makings of another U.S. citizen in my womb. He was overjoyed. And so was I.
