It was bitterly cold in the fire-gutted warehouse. A rising wind moaned dismally through innumerable crevices, sending flurries of snow swirling round the girl's feet.
She stood below a shattered skylight, impervious to the frozen flakes sifting down through the jagged gap. It was evening, long shadows encroaching, lingering sunrays creating grotesque patterns on the charred, decaying walls. Glass crunched underfoot whenever Rita moved.
She pulled the collar of her shabby coat higher, shivered, yet she was smiling as she gazed up at the bleak wintry sky. It had been a damned hard grind, and now she was right back where she started, except that Mike- God! It was good to be back with Mike. She wondered what it would be like in Germany, what the future held, not that it mattered all that much so long as she was with Mike. Remembering, she sighed.
That ruined storage depot held poignant memories. Two years ago- Rita sighed again, shuffled her cold feet. What was she doing there huddled amid the debris and the draughts? She had arranged to meet Mike at the bus depot. But there was still plenty of time. All the time in the w Strange, she thought, how they'd got together again after so long. Two years- God! It seemed like ten, yet she was still barely seventeen.
She groped in her coat pocket, found a stub of cigarette, and a match, lit the butt, inhaled deeply, coughed. She laughed cynically. Two years, and she was right back where she started, not much more than a kid and yet with a wealth of harsh experience cramming her mind.
Powdery snowflakes descending onto her upturned face, melting almost instantly when they touched her skin, formed liquid drops that were trapped, glistening briefly, in the black roots of her hair. She wore no hat. Her young life had reached the turning point in that burned-out building, her first introduction to the throbbing beat of a man's erection.
How vividly she remembered. She stepped back, leaned carelessly against a great baulk of charred timber, pushing her prominent bottom against the blackened beam. Even as a child she had been stubbornly defiant, a willful, resentful little cow existing in a squalid, depraved environment where the continual struggle to survive bred deceit and indifference. Ireland was beset with problems, Belfast especially, and Casey's Yard in particular.
Rita smiled wistfully. The old house in Casey's Yard hadn't changed much. Different occupants, but the same stenches and litter, the rats and the crumbling plaster. Rita wondered what became of her brothers after their parents emigrated. She couldn't imagine Sean or Shamus in Australia. Her father was dead, that much she knew, but she hadn't heard from her mother in two years, nor the boys.
Rita shrugged. Balls to them. They had never meant very much to her. Looking back on her life, she had never had very much of anything until she walked away from Casey's Yard one morning without even the fare to Dublin in her pocket.
Reminiscing, Rita subconsciously compressed her voluptuous thighs together. She had traveled a long, hard road since then, but she had been sexually mature even before she left the slums. That was what life was all about, all that really mattered-SEX. It had got her halfway up the tree, and it had dragged her down, and now it was taking her to Germany, and after that- Sex education came early in the festering atmosphere of Casey's Yard. As a small girl Rita had been motivated by compulsive curiosity and influenced by disturbing emotions, deriving extreme pleasure from probing and stimulating intimate areas of her firm young body. Her physical development was excitingly rapid. When she was twelve her breasts were already formed-prominently pouting cones jutting proudly, the nipples long and dark, like fertile buds that swelled and hardened whenever she handled them. She often stood naked in the small bedroom shared with her brothers, appraising her reflection in the blotchy mirror, rubbing her tits and pulling the soft, hairless slit of her cunt out of shape, even then experiencing vaguely alarming but intensely pleasurable sensations. The difference between her virgin slit and her brothers' genitals aroused he curiosity. She often saw their young cocks stiff erect, and watched them indulging in masturbation. Sometimes they taunted her until she played with their hard, throbbing pricks, and they frequently examined her little quim and attempted to insert a rampant cock into it.
To Rita, it was all a game, like watching her parents screwing. Her mother was a large, voluptuous creature with unkempt black hair, enormous breasts, and tremendous buttocks that rolled and quivered when she walked. Storm McLeary, Rita's father, a great shaggy bear of a man, rarely sober, took the coarse, vulgar mountain of flesh whenever the mood seized him, completely indifferent to the gaping presence of his kids, ignoring them and their giggling in the berserk fury of his lust. Teresa McLeary was as depraved and uncouth as her husband. She preferred it from behind, dog fashion, and would obligingly bend over, flipping her loose clothing up, when the husband indicated his need, crouching with her fat arse thrust out while the man approached her with his rigidly swollen penis pulsing and twitching, smirking and encouraging him when he separated her arse cheeks, and grunting like a fat sow when his bloated knob channeled into her tremendous hairy gash. His great prick would ram in wetly and be immediately engulfed, and the kids would watch every furious movement, the frantic bucking and shoving, the furious shagging, hearing groans and grunts, the boys jerking off, Rita squatting in the shadowy recess clutching her sensitive quim, open mouthed with astonishment and intense excitement. Before it was over they always scuttled away, wary of their father's bestial temper.
In addition to her intimate association with Shamus and Sean, Rita was a target for sexual interference at school and at play, and was usually a willing participant. Her unusual development attracted older boys, and she learned fast. But her first actual experience of fornication happened when she was almost fifteen.
Remembering, Rita sighed. She flipped the cigarette stub away. She would go soon. It was a long walk to the bus depot.
Two years ago, almost to the day. It had been Sean's birthday, and all the kids had gathered in Regan's warehouse, a rambling barn of a building adjoining a former brewery. The place had not been used since the brewery shut down, and was a haven for rats-and kids. Shamus and some of the others had scrounged enough food and drink for a modest party. They had laughed and played among the old crates and littered straw. Eventually the party had broken up. Rita stayed behind with Shamus and an older boy named Mike Howard, looking for a pocket-knife her brother had lost. Eventually Shamus found his knife and went off... leaving Rita and Mike alone.
Rita had always admired Mike. He was big and strong and darkly handsome, with a wide, sensual mouth and flashing eyes, and a way of smiling that went right through her. He was always watching Rita, touching her whenever he got the chance. When she closed her eyes it all came back to her. The acute quiet in the deserted warehouse, the moonlight shafting through the grimy, broken windows. Mike had shut the massive double doors, secured them with a thick timber. He had found a battered kerosene lamp somewhere, lit it, and placed it on a cobwebbed crate. Rita regarded him solemnly in the yellowish glimmer. Neither of them spoke. Even then the strengthening bond between them was being forged. Mike was a few years older than Rita, clever, mechanically minded, intent on becoming an engineer.
Seated on an empty crate, he had held out his arms toward Rita, and she had let him embrace her and draw her close, between his parted legs. When he placed his hands on her bottom and fondled her buttocks through her thin dress, Rita trembled. Mike had laughed, pulled her against him, reached up and clasped both hands behind her head, bringing her mouth close to his. He had kissed her, and Rita had experienced hot thrills of pleasure. When his tongue probed into her mouth she became frightened and squirmed away, but he jerked her back, abruptly thrust a hand up her clothing and between her plump thighs, feeling the pouting cleft of her cunt through her cotton panties, telling her not to be afraid.
Rita had allowed him to pull her panties down. She obeyed him without question, prompted by a mounting intensity of longing, of indefinable need, and by recurring spasms of hotly exciting sensations. She felt guilty, yet suddenly mature and grown up-as if she understood what it was all about. Trembling on the brink of apprehensive surrender, she reveled in the exquisite intimacy of the moment, her heart thumping, belly taut, arse cheeks nipped tightly together as that groping hand clutched and manipulated her cringing yet desirous quim.
Mike had removed her panties altogether. He raised her dress and avidly examined her warm, moistly pulsing vagina, rubbing the soft lips, parting them, inserting a thick finger. His face was on a level with her virgin cunt, and Rita remembered how she cried out when he suddenly protruded his tongue and licked the quivering slit. His hands clasped her bared buttocks, squeezing convulsively, his fingertips delving into the deep crack and stretching the dark flesh away from her anus. He was breathing heavily, panting, his breath hot against her vulnerable mound and the rising swell of her belly, and Rita, giggling, had widened the spread of her legs and wriggled her downy cunt against Mike's adoring mouth, writhing in ecstatic torment when his tongue found her clitoris and curled around the torridly erectile stub.
But when he suddenly grasped her left hand and forced it against the bulging outline of his confined penis, Rita felt a flicker of alarm. Then, emboldened, stimulated by that goading tongue, she had squeezed the hard core of his cock, complying instantly when he instructed her to take his prick out. She fumbled, clutching at the throbbing roll, her tension increasing as it pulsed against her unsteady fingers. Eventually Mike knocked her hand away and ripped his fly buttons undone, his stiff penis emerged, hugely distended, surging proudly erect, a much bigger organ than either of her brothers possessed, frighteningly enormous and powerful.
Mike recaptured Rita's hand and conveyed it to his jerking tool. She promptly closed her clammy fingers round it, fingers sticky with candy and j and trembled in the grip of new sensations as the rampant phallus strained and throbbed within the tight clutch of her hot hand. Rita began a chafing friction, whanking energetically the way her brothers had taught her. Her face was deeply flushed. There was tightness around the puckered pit of her anus and in the palpitating cleft of her vagina. She had felt a sudden compulsion to press her mouth against Mike's fascinating cock, to kiss it all over, and suck the broad, arrogant knob. It was a new feeling, a craving she had never experienced with either of her brothers, so strong she yielded to it, sank abruptly to her knees and, squatting, grasped Mike's penis with both hands, gazed rapturously at it for a while, awed yet obsessed, deliciously wanton and defiant. Then, timidly, she thrust the tip of her tongue at the moist, round opening gaping in the center of the grossly swollen glans like a diminutive replica of her tremulous quim.
Mike's muscular body tensed violently. He gripped her head fiercely and stabbed his turgid prick savagely at her mouth, but despite the abnormal distortion of her lips Rita's mouth was too small to accommodate the tremendous fleshy roll, and after several futile attempts Mike desisted. Crouching, alternately kneeling then rocking back on her heels, Rita trailed her tongue up and down Mike's regal cock. She eased his testicles from his gaping fly, gently handled the wrinkled scrotum, wound her fingers repeatedly into the great mass of black hair covering his lower belly and extending down the insides of his thighs, sprouting thickly round his balls. His savagely bloated penis was bigger than her father's gross tool, and the vision of her father's cruelly distended organ grinding into her mother's great cow's cunt was predominant in Rita's mind as she responded to Mike's hoarse demands.
Pulling at her flesh, mouthing crude entreaties and obscene instructions, Mike turned Rita round and again jerked her dress up, pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. He dropped abruptly to his knees and, gripping her hips with painful force, plunged his reddened face into the dusky cleavage of her young bottom, wallowing in the warm tender rut, clenching the soft yielding cheeks, forcing them together, bunching her flesh into great ridges against his sweating face, then hugely separating the quivering ovals and stretching her exposed anus with gouging thumbs and probing his tongue into the hole, licking avidly, delivering rapid, stabbing thrusts that curled the extreme tip of his tongue deep into the shuddering aperture.
Finally he stood up, breathing heavily, brusquely ordered Rita to bend over more acutely, and when she obeyed immediately rammed his frantic penis into the division of her bottom, quickly chafing his knob down the dusky groove toward the glistening vale of her young vagina. His hugely erect organ beat torridly against the swollen, inflamed vulva, and Rita felt his hot touch on her quim, the initial tentative displacement of his gouging knob. She was at once horribly afraid but stubbornly resolved to endure, to enjoy, to give herself blindly and utterly regardless of pain and discomfort and fears, secure in the certainty of her love and passion, wanting pain, the joyous agony of giving, wanting to be possessed, to take the final irrevocable step.
Yet the gnawing anxiety would not be denied, and when Mike forced her legs wider apart and she felt the initial savage intrusion of his iron-hard knob Rita experienced acute fear, and she cried out, struggling desperately. But that ravaging boom ground relentlessly in-slowly, but inexorably forcing an entry-stretching the tender fissure agonizingly, creating fierce friction despite the amazing resilience and elasticity of her flesh. Sharply recurring spasms stabbed her tortured quim and ripped into her belly. Mike had several inches of rigid cock into her and maintained his advantage, grasping her hips and shuffling forward with every lunging thrust, countering her attempts to escape, continually battering deeper until the searing concentration of screwing agony suddenly burst and spread in a sweeping wave of glowing sensation amid squelching lubrication and was dispersed, replaced by surging spasms of acutely delightful sensation, itching, clawing, glorious sensations that increased with every brutal stroke.
Abruptly then, her ravished passage was flooded with the spurting gush of hot sperm; the tightness was completely gone-and with it much of the exquisite pleasure.
Remembering, Rita shivered. She'd had more cock than hot dinners since that warm summer night, and yet that delicious moment was as clear in her mind as when it happened. She squirmed. There was a wetness between her taut thighs. Deliberately she forced her mind back, recapturing the demoralizing details. When she closed her eyes briefly she could still see Mike's withdrawn prick steaming and glistening, and hear the wet sucking sounds as it plopped from her saturated maw. The insides of her thighs had been slimy, her cunt aching and throbbing, her whole body trembling. When she turned Mike was standing with knees bent, his loins thrust out, accentuating the enormity of his twitching penis. Still huge, tremendously swollen, it jerked and pulsed, dribbling. Mike, grinning, enclosed the fat roll just behind the knob in his big right hand and squeezed dollops of glutinous semen from the glans opening. He began rubbing and pulling his cock, masturbating, enjoying Rita's fascination and changing expressions, jerking off energetically, mouth open, eyes half closed, head twisting. Rita watched him, marveling as his ponderous penis thickened, pulsing and swelling. A peculiar but exciting flutter kept recurring in her wet minge-and she fingered the restless slit, uttering lewd encouragement prompted by an impatient desire to see Mike come, to watch the semen spurt from his fat stiff prick. Eventually she could bear the suspense no longer and added the hot clutch of her small hands to the pressure of Mike's strong fingers, crouching so that when the milky fluid did finally squirt some of it spattered on her face. The huge penis within her grasp gathered strength, rearing tremendously. The rounded aperture continued to exude little jets of sperm. Mike groaned. She felt the violent trembling of his muscular body. The warm stickiness of his ejaculation was on her lips and in her nostrils and the roots of her hair, its unique exciting odor stimulating her own fiercely recurring passions. In a frenzy of longing and lust she clung to Mike's penis, kissing it, licking the purple knob, gulping every pungent drop of oozing semen, overwhelmed with the delirious ecstasy of being so completely merged with Mike, so intimately possessed, almost a part of him, knowing she belonged, that she was no longer a girl.
She tried again to take his cock into her mouth, and partially succeeded, but the ache in her jaws undermined resolve and she relinquished the relaxing tool. But all the time the gnawing want inside her was becoming stronger, more compelling, a ravenous hunger urging her to even closer, more positive carnal contact. She wanted that jerking penis inside her again, to feel its churning hugeness impaling her.
She sprawled on her back on a heap of musty straw, and eagerly opened her legs wide, exposing her vagina to Mike. But he was not interested. His attitude was distant, indifferent, almost resentful. Rita was too inexperienced to understand. She felt hurt, slighted, then angry. Then the mood passed and she was contrite and filled with tenderness at the wonder of it all, the splendor of Mike and her love for him. They shared a secret she would keep forever.
Mike made her promise to keep silent, but she needed no prompting. Their guilty secret was safe with her. Mike had opened up a whole new exciting world. Looking at his dropping penis, she vaguely understood the waning of his enthusiasm. When he said, thickly, "Just give me a minute, kitten. I'm not through yet, but I'm no bloody superman," Rita's happiness was complete. Lying on the straw, she watched Mike light a cigarette. Presently he stretched out beside her and for a while she played with his limp cock, trying to curb her impatience, wishing it would stiffen again.
When, eventually, it did, Mike crushed out the cigarette and roughly mounted her, crushing her into the sour-smelling straw. When she felt his hand fumbling at her receptive vagina and then the warm, prodding intrusion of his skewering rod, Rita sighed happily and surrendered unreservedly, staring wide-eyed into Mike's convulsed face as he fucked with furious concentration, grunting and groaning, his belly hard against hers, his youthful vigor fully restored. His mouth moved hotly from her heaving breasts up to her throat and across her face until his lips covered hers, and she writhed to the pulsing drive of his tongue, a flickering assault that created darting, tingling sensations all over her mouth so that she lay squirming, stupefied by the weight of rapturous pleasure thrilling her young body, limp and passively receptive, then passionately violent, pushing up against the hard core of his invading prick.
His fingers cradled the cheeks of her tight bottom, and as he fucked he kneaded her flesh, provoking frantic surges of torrid movement that forced his ravaging penis further in, belly pounding belly, until the tempestuous outpouring of seething orgasm quickened Mike's uncoordinated spasms and he was overwhelmed by sweeping waves of explosive delight that left him limp and gasping with his face hot and sticky against Rita's pulsating neck.
And in that moment she cried out in the wonder of fulfillment, clung ferociously to the panting youth, her eyes closed in ecstasy, the softness of her pelvic mound squashed against the hairy protrusion of Mike's pubic bone structure, his throbbing prick pumping, beating inside her with all the strength and regularity of her child's heart.
Chapter Two
Birds, or bats, swooping and fluttering among the sagging roof timbers, startled Rita. Snowflakes clung icily in the roots of her hair, and she shook her head to brush the powdery flakes from her shoulders. Across the littered space a large rat scampered between mounds of ash and debris. Rita shivered. She remembered the time a rat had bitten Mike's ankle as he heaved and thrashed about with several inches of hard cock into her.
Rita smiled. It was all crowding back, the good and the bad. From the moment when Mike first taught her real appreciation of a fat penis she had been his absolute sexual slave. He dominated her existence, and she had been content to bask in the forcefulness of his personality, delighting in his strength.
Lurid scenes passed before Rita's brooding eyes, all so vividly real, like the occasion when she had gone to meet Mike and found their favorite retreat had been invaded by a couple of arse-bandits, a fair haired youth and a middle-aged man. The kid was naked, the man's trousers gaping wide open, his shirt flap pulled up away from his protruding genitals. He had a big prick, but it was flabby, only partly stiffened. The boy's virile cock jutted aggressively. The man, seated on the guard rail enclosing silent machinery, had both hands on the youth's bare white arse and was avidly kneading the softly rounded cheeks, working his fingers deep into the dark cleft. As Rita watched, unseen, the man took the boy's erect cock into his loose mouth and sucked it noisily, taking the whole rigid length into his mouth each time his graying head thrust forward. Presently he instructed the youth to turn round. The kid did so, smirking, his eyelids drooping, proud cock powerfully erect. His full, dark red lips trembled when the man began licking the dusky furrow of his pale bottom, repeatedly probing his broad nose into the moist fissure and screwing his tongue into the boy's arsehole. A large, sinewy hand moved round and captured the youth's rampant prick.
The man stood up. His penis was less flaccid now. He held it with his other hand and rubbed the fat knob in the crease of the boy's prominent buttocks. From her hiding place Rita saw the fat prick thicken and swell, and some of the man's agitation and excitement infected her. He stopped frigging the boy's cock and concentrated on buggering his bloated prick into the incredibly resilient pit of the youthful fag's puckered anus, using both thumbs to gouge the flesh apart, sinking his inflated knob by fractional degrees in a series of furious, impatient lunges, then grasping the boy's hips and fucking frenziedly until a large part of his now cruelly distended cock disappeared into the yielding rectum.
The youth's expression indicated no discomfort. He jerked off slowly while the man fucked and surged, gasping and grunting, his face beet-red. Hairy balls slapping against the boy's smooth flesh, the man abruptly pushed the youth away and pulled his prick out until the throbbing knob rested in the crack of the young fag's arse. Rita saw the thick gush of sperm squirt against the swollen rim of the boy's anus, saw it puddle in the trembling crease and slide down the dark fissure to collect round his wrinkled balls. The older queer began masturbating, grimacing lecherously and mouthing lewd approval when the youth commenced to jerk off also. Eventually the man came a second time, less copiously but spewing a surprisingly amount. In the same instant he squatted down and again took the boy's reddened cock into his mouth, capturing it brief moments prior to furious orgasm and literally wallowing in the pungent flow, smearing sperm all over his face and voraciously licking away every last sticky trace from the oozing knob.
Later, after they got dressed, Rita saw the man give several small denomination bills to the flushed youth. They left without discovering her. When she told Mike about the incident, he laughed. Even before he touched her, Rita was in a state of intense sexual excitement. Everything she saw and heard was impressed on her young mind. There were other incidents, a continual sequence of events all involving sex. Rita associated her intimate parts with an infinite variety of sensations that became more demoralizing acute each time she opened her legs to Mike. But because what she did with Mike gave her pleasure, she assumed that anything connected with sex, however strange, was permissible, and she derived extreme satisfaction and a kind of gloating, guilty stimulation from exhibitionism, impudently exposing her ripe young body at the slightest provocation, not only to Mike but to anybody who encouraged her. She knew, even then, the power she had over men, the compulsion for cunt in a masculine world.
One evening while she was waiting for Mike in the draughty storage building, Rita was startled by the furtive approach of crippled Rory McShane, the watchman. Rory, middle-aged and unshaven, with a face all ridged and scarred from a shotgun blast, looked repulsive and evil; but he was popular with the kids who knew him for the randy old bastard he was. He gave them candy and money to jerk him off in his squalid hut back of the warehouse. Rita had often seen him with one or another of her friends, and had listened intently to their lurid descriptions of what happened in the gloomy shed. Sometimes he showed them pornographic books and pictures.
For the past two years Rory had attempted to coax Rita into his hut. He followed her about, spying on her and Mike, sometimes exposing the great circumcised root of his prick. Rita taunted him, flipping her frock up and displaying her plump arse, but never yielding to his plausible, persuasive manner because of some vague fear she couldn't quite define and was unable to shake.
But on that occasion, when he sneaked up behind her, she felt secure in the knowledge that Mike was due to arrive any time, and her fear of Rory evaporated. It was replaced by a flutter of excitement and curiosity when he sat beside her on the crate and immediately began talking suggestively, handling his genitals through his pants, and chuckling obscenely when he saw her staring. He showed her a handful of coins, pressed them into her grubby palm, and Rita, knowing what he was after, allowed him to touch her breasts and thighs and finally to work his hand up her clothing and clasp her hot quim. She didn't panic. At first she felt mildly amused, then emotionally disturbed. After a while she was co-operating, opening her legs wide when Rory asked her, and giggling when he felt her moist cunt and squashed the cheeks of her arse. He pulled her panties down, took them off, lifted her frock and buried his whiskery face in her downy gulf, munched her tremulous twat, sucking the soft folds into his slobbering mouth and laving his rough tongue round her tender clitoris. Rita writhed, but she was enjoying every moment and anticipating the moment when he tried to fuck her. He poked a thick finger into her sensitive vagina, grinned up at her as he worked it about, then roughly twisted her round and worked the same finger up her arsehole, muttering and sucking in his breath sharply.
Finally he released her, and she turned round to face him. Rory had his fly undone and his thick cudgel of a penis hung out, jerking and flopping. Rita seized it without being instructed, knowing what was expected of her, and Rory leaned back against the wall and watched her frig his prick, voicing crude encouragement as his organ reared and swelled. When his hard-on was so gross that her fingers would not meet round the fat roll, he grabbed Rita and hauled her backward with her bottom thrust out, told her to lift her frock and, when she uncovered her arse, promptly separated the lips of her exposed cunt and pushed his pulsing knob at the warm slit, obviously expecting considerable resistance. He was agreeably surprised when his cock entered without difficulty. Rita's girlish quim closed clammily round it, and he fucked the whole tumid length into her in a rapid sequence of violent upward lunges while Rita helped the fierce drive of his great shaft by squatting heavily on it, bearing down until her glorious buttocks were splayed against Rory's hairy, wrinkled belly. With her frock held high up she squirmed and wriggled, squashing her arse furiously into his groin, responding avidly to the chafing friction of his hot cock and reveling in the savage spasms of exquisite raging fury seething in her churning quim.
She felt him come, the violent tension of his body, the shuddering of his widely separated thighs-felt the hot, spurting wetness in her swollen parts, and moaned in the frenzy of approaching orgasm.
Suddenly Rory was gone, alarmed by a clattering of tin cans near the entry. Rita crouched on the floor where he had callously dumped her, one hand pressed against her weeping cunt, the other reaching desperately for her panties. Her eyes were hot and misty, and she trembled with mingled frustration and sexual pangs, wanting cock, only half satisfied, still knotted up inside.
She squirmed into her panties, fearing Mike's anger if he discovered she'd been having it off with old Rory. When Mike finally showed himself in the moonrays shafting through the cracked panes she rushed into his arms and took his prick out almost before he voiced a greeting.
After that, Rory McShane had her on numerous occasions, usually from behind, dog fashion. He liked to see his cock gliding in and out and the bubbles forming round her clinging, pliable quim, to watch the rolling play of her arse cheeks as Rita pushed back against each robust thrust. Sometimes he had been drinking and couldn't get a hard-on, and then Rita sucked him off or whanked his flabby tool. She came to feel quite affectionate toward him, for he was good to her in his own way-crude, but harmless.
Shamus, Rita's younger brother, was preoccupied with his restricted juvenile environment. He had close associations, and seldom came home until long after midnight, when Rita was usually asleep. But Sean, the elder brother, was a strange, brooding individual subject to violent moods and seething passions for which he continually sought an outlet among the whores and scrubbers frequenting the dockside cafes and dancehalls. Sometimes he brought girls home, and usually he bribed Rita to discreetly vanish for a few hours, but on occasions when he had been too drunk to care whether she was present or not, Rita had lain in bed, pretending to be asleep, and watched him screwing. There were times when Sean behaved so grossly and uncouthly that Rita expected him to go further; she contemplated the possibility of being fucked by her own brother with an apprehension tempered with insatiable curiosity, wondering what it would be like if he ever dared, if the bottom slappings and the tit grabbing and the pussy snatching ever developed into a serious attempt to screw her.
Then, one night, she found out. Sean came in late, and he was drunk. Shamus was at his usual haunts, and their parents were visiting a sick relative. Rita was in bed, almost asleep, when her brother lurched into the room and switched the lights on. She was wearing a soiled white nightdress wrinkled up round her waist, and was too sleepy to think of covering herself or even to consider it necessary. She just lay there, blinking, squinting. Sean, perched on the edge of his bed across the room, never took his eyes off her. The sight of her pouting cunt and the partial exposure of her bottom obviously had a powerfully exciting effect on him. He swore, heaved to his feet and began to remove his clothing, repeatedly glancing at Rita, apparently fascinated by her semi-nudity. She sighed, stirred sleepily, voiced a timid complaint about the light hurting her eyes. Sean, in the act of removing his trousers, hurled the garment across the room and stumbled toward Rita's bed. He flopped down on the edge and sat staring fixedly at her for a while.
"You're a sweet fuck, little sister," he said thickly. "All grown up and lyin' there slit-eyed and innocent. But I know what you get up to with that Howard kid."
He pushed the nightdress higher, abruptly thrust his hand between Rita's thighs and enclosed the pouting warmth of her vagina. Rita did not object. Sean's thick fingers ruffled the soft, curling down tufted darkly about the tremulous slit, explored the fleshy folds, questing, probing deep inside. Abruptly he withdrew his hand, heaved Rita to a sitting position, and jerked her nightdress over her head. Naked, Rita lay back, insolently derisive despite her lingering fear of her older brother who closely resembled their father.
Her hands moved instinctively to the proudly jutting hillocks of her pale tits and cupped them, accentuating the protrusion of her elongated nipples. Sean knelt astride her, and she surrendered her breasts to his rough grasp, gasping when he crushed the flawless ovals and plucked at her nipples, pinching them, stretching the dark buds painfully. Leaning forward, he attempted to kiss her breasts, overbalanced, and sprawled beside her. His right arm encircled her shoulders, pinning her right arm and trapping the left against his chest.
For a while he remained passive, content to maul her tits, but she could feel the tension mounting in his large frame, and she sensed something of the conflict seething inside him, the tumult of lust battling against conscience. Conflicting expressions clouded his bloodshot eyes and convulsed his whiskey mottled features. He kissed her quivering breasts repeatedly, sucking the hardening nipples with such fierce suction that his teeth indented the flesh above the aureoles. Thrilled by the torrid ripples of acute sensation inflaming her bunched orbs, Rita reached out impulsively, grasped her brother's left hand, and conveyed it resolutely to her vagina, parting her taut thighs. The moment he clutched her cunt she closed her legs firmly and trapped his hand, smiling seductively.
"Fuck me if you want," she told him huskily. "I don't mind, Sean. I won't tell."
Sean swore. The last shreds of his control snapped. He rolled over, got off the bed, grabbed Rita's ankles and dragged her round until the edge of the bed was gouging into her bottom and her legs hung down, wide apart, the black down glistening wetly round the pouting rim of her cunt. Sean sank to his knees on the dirty sheepskin rug. His fingers dug into the yielding flesh of her inner thighs, prying her limbs still wider.
"Holy Mother!" he exclaimed. "You're gorgeous! All tit and arse and sugar-sweet cunt-You little cow! You really want it, don't you? All right, by Jesus! I'll give you cock, little sister-"
He thrust his head forward toward her gaping fissure, plunged his face into the dark recess and gathered in a great mouthful of resilient cunt; he sucked and licked and slobbered in wild frenzy, gripping her inner thighs, grunting and exclaiming, panting, dragging his tongue in long, trailing sweeps from the crack of her quivering arse up over the succulent maw of her vagina almost to her navel. When he raised his head, Rita saw his jutting penis, hugely erect, a massive, straining root throbbing and jerking.
In that moment he flopped forward and his suffocating bulk crushed her into the flock mattress. His knees strained against hers, forcing her legs grossly apart. When she felt the boring thrust of that great branch Rita cried out sharply-but her outcry was prompted more by pleasure than dismay or apprehension. She felt no pain, only a rapturous tightness and increasingly exquisite friction, and clung to her brother desperately, co-operating with wild abandon. Her wanton response encouraged Sean to even greater ferocity, and he rammed in resolutely, screwed right to the back of her hot vent in a series of short, rapid strokes, then settled to a powerful but ponderous rhythm.
The hard expansion of his swollen knob created a tugging core of searing fury that dragged at Rita's yielding fissure and flayed the shuddering responsive flesh, whipping the torrid stump of her rigid clitoris to throbbing ecstasy. Her clutching quim followed every solid, pistoning stroke of that ravishing tool, stretching and squashing, puckering, elongating, sucking, sighing like a tiny drooling mouth. Her voluptuous body was battered, pounded and crushed, lifted up, slammed back, heaved this way then that. The violence of her brother's savage assault drove the breath from Rita's lungs. Mike never fucked her with quite such uncouth barbarism. But she loved every shattering moment, every arsehole tightening thrust. The seething vortex of tempestuous emotions jangling her insides built up rapidly, producing waves of exhilaratingly delightful torment, great sweeping surges of stark passion that prompted sharp screams, moaning appeals, vigorous lashing motions of her head from side to side, and shivering convulsions of her knotted belly muscles.
The sheer fury of her sexual response frightened Rita while provoking a thrashing delirium of frantic urgency. She could not get enough of that churning prick. Her whole body flopped and heaved. Her vagina was a ball of fire, squelching, dragging, clutching, her arse cheeks so tightly compressed she could have gripped a coin in the sweaty crack. She clung more desperately to Sean with his every straining stroke, sobbing in wild ecstasy, completely demoralized and confused.
Then some moments of extreme tension when the forces gathering in loins and vulva converged to form a spasmodic flood of moistness and fulfillment that brought temporary relief and a torrent of sighs and moans and frantic clutching. And in that delicious moment, almost simultaneously, the seething load spurting from her brother's penis filled her impaled maw, leaked past his stroking tool into the crease of her bottom and the taut pucker of her anus.
Sean's violent movements ceased. Rita felt the tension drain from his limbs. He was sweating profusely, his heart thumping. The whiskey reeking odor of his labored breathing was strong in the girl's nostrils. She felt stifled but invigorated, not the least exhausted. For a long time Sean remained silent while the hot sap of lust drained from him and his penis finally escaped Rita's clammy sheath. Slowly then he eased his weight from her, stood up, sliding off the bed. He gazed at his sister, scratched among his coarse black hair. She lay watching him, expecting him to speak, her hands pressing gently on the insides of her thighs, slightly widening the spread of her thickened vagina. Her brother shook his deflating prick, frowned, turned away and abruptly left the room. In the doorway he paused, hesitated, turned his head to stare at Rita.
"You've got all the makings of a successful whore, our Rita," he said humorlessly. "Just remember-keep your fuckin' mouth shut about this, or I'll belt the hell out of you."
Twice during the next week Sean screwed his sister. On the Friday he went to Dublin for a few days, and she was left in peace. The monotonous pattern of her existence continued unchanged. Mike provided the only bright spots. Rita saw him most evenings. Sometimes they saw a movie, but mostly they frequented Haggarty's Discoteque, stopping afterwards at the abandoned warehouse. Apart from a few compulsory household chores, Rita's time after school was largely her own.
Her figure filled out rapidly after her fifteenth birthday. Her breasts were full and firm without excess, the nipples dark red and unusually elongated. Her skin had a smooth, creamy texture, and was flawless. Her brothers often said she had the sexiest arse of any girl in Belfast. The cheeks had developed lusciously round and prominent without being fat, fascinating ovals that quivered when she walked and seemed to excite men even more than her high-rising tits. Rita began wearing tight sweaters that accentuated the jutting boobs, and pre-shrunk jeans that stressed the supple, joggling play of her bottom. Being the center of male attention and the continual target for pawing hands and snide remarks neither embarrassed nor offended her; she could be either coldly disdainful and arrogant or lewdly suggestive and wantonly defiant, sometimes a curious mixture of many different facets.
And with the maturing of her body her sexual desires and natural instincts demanded ever increasing expression. Each time Mike fucked her seemed better than the last, her orgasm more complete and violently copious. But there was a more profound basis to their relationship, or so Rita imagined, a warmth and sincerity and tenderness usually alien to Mike's temperament. Rita loved him to distraction. She was savagely jealous, and made life hell for any girl who dared to show interest in him.
When Mike left Belfast suddenly, without a word of explanation, on the morning after another bloody clash between Catholics and Protestants involving British troops, Rita was shattered. A rumour spread that Mike had caused the death of a young soldier. Somebody had seen him throw a gasoline bomb, then there had been shooting. The days passed with no word from Mike. Rita's world crumbled. She could neither eat nor sleep, and had no interest in anything. But she had the resilience of the very young. Gradually anger and resentment replaced self-pity, and she became morose and bitter, then defiant, feigning indifference. To hell with Mike, she told herself. She didn't need him. Yet the tears still came, and the longing. Her misery was as acute.
Rita's problems were intensified by indecision regarding her future. She had finished school, and had a strong inclination for a career in show business, particularly the bizarre world of pop music; she had won distinction for drama acting at school, and had a good natural singing voice. But eventually she got a job in a clothing factory on the outskirts of Belfast, because she was still hoping Mike would come back or that she would hear from him. After a month she became resigned to the obvious fact that he wasn't coming back.
Rita brooded for a while. Her job was dull and she resented the petty restraints, longing for the time when she had enough money saved to leave Belfast. She thought Dublin might offer more scope, or perhaps Liverpool, in England. Then something happened that drove all thoughts of Mike Howard from her mind and, for the time being, all notions of a career. She met the new general manager.
John O'Toole was a tall, lean, ruggedly attractive young man, surprisingly young for the job he occupied. His manner was pleasant and mildly deceptive, but he was sharp as a razor's edge. From the first moment when she sat on the front row and listened to O'Toole deliver an introductory talk to the entire staff, Rita was captivated by his charm and impressed by his individuality. By the end of the talk she was in love with "Big John."
From then on it was as if no other male existed for Rita. She sat with her legs apart, wanting to be noticed. The pale blue sweater she wore emphasized the thrusting maturity of her breasts. She wore no bra and the long nipples poked impudently at the soft wool. Her hair hung in sweeping, glossy waves past her shoulders. She was gorgeous, and she knew it. So did O'Toole. His intent stare seldom left her, and he smiled often. Rita deliberately flaunted herself, and during the next few days went out of her way to attract attention.
But the young executive's impersonal manner fooled Rita into thinking he wasn't interested in her. His polite professionalism irritated her. One morning she was alone in the stockroom when O'Toole entered. He seemed surprised to see Rita, but promptly closed the door and stood with his back against it. Rita heard the key turn in the lock. She realized he must have followed her.
"I've been wanting to get you alone," he said. "You're a hot little number, aren't you?"
Rita stood hip-shot, smirking insolently. "I didn't think you'd noticed," she retaliated. "I hoped you had, but I wasn't sure. I'm Rita McLeary and-"
"I know who you are. Come here. I've been watching you, Rita. I thought you were just a kid, but- My God! You're gorgeous!"
Rita laughed. Deliberately provocative, she bunched her breasts together and watched O'Toole's handsome face assume the lecherous expression of a grotesque mask of lust. Rita pivoted slowly, dropped her pencil, stooped with her back toward the manager-accentuating the broad display of tightly rounded buttocks-and heard the swift inrush of breath as O'Toole inhaled. She prolonged her recovery of the pencil, enjoying his delicious anguish, knowing how much he wanted her, how much she wanted him . . . She tantalized him, longing to please him and surrender even while she taunted the man and flaunted her dynamic sexual power, longing to have him touch her and hold her, anticipating the violent explosion of his desire.
She felt his hesitant touch on her hips, then the brief contact of his mouth through the thin covering as he traced his lips almost reverently over the sweet curves of her bottom, sniffing the pronounced cleft, then straightening when Rita pushed back, squirming. He put his arms round her waist and forced his loins against her succulent arse, quickly moved his hands to her breasts and massaged them firmly.
"You little devil!" he said hoarsely. "You're magnificent! All sweet arse and tit. God, if you only knew how I've wanted you, the things I've longed to do to you."
Rita laughed. She twisted partly round and gazed into his flushed face.
"I do know," she told him. "I want the same things. I've wanted sex with you ever since you came here, John. I think you're just wonderful."
"And you're incredible," O'Toole said. "Like a bloody drug in my veins. I've dreamed of possessing you, of having your gorgeous body writhing and squirming under me. I want to kiss these luscious tits and wallow in your adorable arse. I want to kiss you all over. God! I could eat your shit, Rita. And you've made it worse, showing off, tormenting me, deliberately teasing. I've tried to fight it. I've got a responsible position here and I know I'm playing with fire, but I can't help it. I think if-"
"Stop talking, and fuck me, damn you!" Rita exploded. "I'm starved for cock. Quit yapping and get stuck in, any way you want it, man."
O'Toole kissed the back of her neck, her throat, squashed her ripe breasts together. Rita turned her head fully, trapped his hot mouth and thrust h" tongue hungrily against his in rapid darting movements, driving her tongue repeatedly to the back of his throat. O'Toole reciprocated, and as their tongues probed and coiled against one another the wet contact produced stabbing thrills like minute power shocks discharging through their mouths into their straining bodies.
O'Toole pulled Rita's sweater clear of her breasts. His clammy fingers enclosed her bare palpitating tits and crushed them painfully. Rita felt the hard ridge of his rearing penis throb and surge against the soft split of her bottom, and molten flame licked through her insides, putting a glow in the pit of her stomach and inflaming the swollen core of her excited vagina. Her hardening nipples protruded enormously, extending beyond O'Toole's teasing forefingers and thumbs. Gasping, squirming with impatience, Rita reached back and down to grasp the bulging protrusion of his cock, squeezed the fat roll, estimating length and circumference. She moaned ecstatically, suddenly twisted free, eluded his clutching hands and ran to the door to make sure it was locked. Her pale tits shuddered, their, coral centers shivering. The undulation of her sumptuous bottom brought fresh beads of sweat to O'Toole's forehead.
Satisfied with their privacy, Rita turned. She dragged the sweater over her head and threw it on the floor, fumbled to release the fastening of her short skirt. O'Toole, clutching the pulsing outline of his prick, voiced hoarse encouragement, writhing in a turmoil of agonized suspense as she tugged at her stubborn zipper. She freed it, dropped the skirt and simultaneously shoved her black panties right down past her hips, then pivoted, unable to control the strong exhibitionistic urge, displaying her provocative arse and stooping so that a hint of cunt and pubic hair was revealed.
The urgency of her vital need and the throbbing ache between her thighs put an end to her derisive teasing, and she pushed the panties down to her ankles, kicked them off, then her shoes, and stood naked except for flimsy girdle and rumpled stockings. As she straightened, O'Toole grabbed her, and she yielded eagerly to his rough embrace, sighing with pleasure when he held her close and impulsively clasped her warm, tremulous buttocks, forcing the cheeks wide apart and digging his fingers deep into the dusky vale as he jerked her body against his. His mouth crushed hers, tongue hotly exploring, mingling saliva. He captured her darting tongue between his lips, sucked it, gently bit the curling extremity.
The nucleus of lust in her yearning cunt spread, became a raging fury sweeping through her entire convulsed body. When O'Toole's hand groped between her thighs she uttered a low moan of desire and opened her legs wide, pushed her pouting vagina against his delving hand. His feverish face rested clammily in the valley dividing her flushed tits.
He took his prick out-she felt it rear and whack against her bare belly-and she seized it with both hands, impatiently clutching its impressive length. O'Toole had a beautiful cock, long and fat and iron-hard. It throbbed powerfully against Rita's smooth skin, the pointed glans searching, stabbing frantically prodding her flesh and creating shallow furrows, puckering the hairy folds of her moist quim and beating in the lubricated entry, ramming the darker flesh round her anus, gouging close to the arsehole itself, and finally finding the crevice of her quivering cunt.
O'Toole tried to fuck her from the standing position but was too tall even with his knees bent. Several times he succeeded in inserting his bulging knob but was unable to achieve penetration. Finally, almost demented with frustration and longing, Rita twisted round and bent over, presenting her arse to O'Toole. She separated the cheeks and wantonly exposed the glistening maw of her vagina, held it open while O'Toole thrust his swollen knob at the fissure. His rampant organ burst resolutely in. She moaned, writhing in sweet frenzy as he overcame the slight resistance and battered deeper, jerking and thrusting, viciously distending the cruelly stretched passage. Muscles swelled across his back and bunched on his long legs. His arse cheeks came firmly together. His punishing grip on Rita's hips bruised her flesh.
And she lapped it up, squirming back until his hairy crotch was tight up against her splayed bottom. O'Toole fucked furiously, but his clothing impeded his movements, and presently he withdrew, ignoring Rita's frantic protests, quickly removed his trousers, and with hardly a break in the furious rhythm found her gaping cunt again and sank hugely into her, so deep his dangling balls slapped the shaggy folds below her twitching vagina. He kept ramming solidly, grunting with exertion, screwing so energetically the force of each fleshy impact shifted Rita bodily across the floor and at times lifted her completely so that her feet left the creaking boards. Each Herculean thrust embedded his cock to the straining roots, flogging the extreme limits of her clutching, cavernous vent. The pliant lips, stretching then recovering, writhed back and forth with the dragging momentum, rolling back from the hard knob, then closing fiercely round the gliding shaft and gradually sheathing the whole.
O'Toole was rapidly approaching his climax, almost sobbing in his desperate anguish. The solid root screwing into Rita's hot cunt bloated still more, increased the urgency of its ponderous strokes. Rita sensed the gathering storm, the savage bunching of muscles and sweating flesh, the rippling convulsions, and closed her eyes in the sheer bliss of prolonged orgasm moments before O'Toole spunked into her tingling slit.
The spasms dwindled, then came again as potent as before. O'Toole kept shagging into the wet pit even after the spurting fury of his ejaculation was spent. There was no appreciable lessening in the dimensions of his penis. Eventually he allowed Rita to pull away, but grabbed her as she straightened and spun her round to face him. His reddened, slippery prick reared as monstrously erect as before, its virility undiminished.
"By God, you're a sweet fuck!" he blurted. "But I'm not done yet. Suck me off, kid. Suck me dry."
Rita obeyed without hesitation, sinking to her knees and taking his jerking cock in both hands. Her one thought was to pleasure him, to give until she had nothing left. She pressed her soft lips to the jutting prick, moved them passionately over its bloated mass, and finally took several pulsing inches into her mouth and sucked avidly. Tremendously excited by the strong odor of clinging semen and the throbbing beat of O'Toole's insatiable penis within the distended cavern of her mouth, she moved her head rapidly up and down the fat prick while the cunt juices trickling down the insides of her thighs and clinging to the tufted lips of her gash glistened wetly and, already drying, puckered the unblemished skin.
Her whole pelvic mound was a flaming cauldron of incomparable sensation, the gnawing anguish gone and only the glowing saturation of acute pleasure lingering, recurring, clawing at her vitals, already building up toward yet another tempestuous orgasm. Involuntarily she clutched her vagina, and in the moment when she relinquished O'Toole's churning prick he came, gripping her head tightly and uttering resonant groans. He rammed his cock belligerently to the back of her throat and tightened his grasp while delivering his sperm load, slowly fucking his pumping prick into her receptive mouth.
He withdrew, reluctantly, his cock still largely erect but less swollen. Rita spat out the glutinous fluid and wiped her mouth. She smiled and stood. O'Toole picked up his pants, took a handkerchief from the hip pocket and wiped his dribbling knob. He pulled the trousers on, saying nothing until he fastened the last fly button.
"We'd better get out of here," he said then. "It would look bad if somebody found us here, like this. You're all right, Rita. A lovely fuck, kid. We'll do it again, real soon. But right now you'd best put some clothes on."
Rita laughed. She shook her head, defiantly provocative. Her large breasts shook, and she cupped them, hefting the proud ovals.
"You're not so bad yourself," she told him. "Now I know why the girls call you 'Big John.' Don't worry, I won't tell anybody, so long as you continue to be nice to me."
O'Toole glanced nervously toward the door. He indicated her scattered clothing.
"Get dressed, you bitch," he told her irritably. "And for God's sake don't breathe a word of this. I'd be in real trouble. You're under age. A bloody little teenage whore with a woman's body. Play it cool, baby, and there'll always be a little something extra in your wage packet. Okay? Right now we've got to go."
Rita collected her clothing, put her dress on, then the sweater, and sat on a bale of material while she slipped her shoes on. She put her feet through the legholes of her panties, pulled them up, smiling mockingly at O'Toole. Now that she was covered he was less agitated. He unlocked the door, opened it, and looked out. Rita grasped his arm and reached up on tip-toe to kiss him when he turned his head. O'Toole returned her kiss briefly, slyly felt her bottom, and chuckled.
"Next time we'll go to my apartment," he said. "Make a night of it. And remember, during working hours I'm Mister O'Toole, the general manager. I can do a lot for you, kid. If you're real good maybe I'll take you to my place in the country. You'd like Whitehaven."
He left her, and for the rest of the day Rita trailed around like a zombie, lost in a romantic world of her own creation in which there was no room for Mike Howard or anybody but John O'Toole.
Chapter Three
During the next few weeks Rita was often in O'Toole's company and spent exciting weekends at his isolated cottage in the scenic beauty of Killarny. Their intimate relationship was discreetly maintained and secrecy preserved. They met by arrangement on the outskirts of the city, usually at night. The manager took Rita to his luxurious O'Connell Street apartment on rare occasions, but preferred to conduct his love life in the remoteness of Whitehaven. Often, they sunbathed nude in the wooded grounds.
O'Toole had an astonishing sexual appetite and unusual capacity. Sometimes he fucked her three or four times in a single day, and was as randy by nightfall. They screwed wherever they happened to be, on the floor, the stairs, in the grass, under the shower, yielding spontaneously to overwhelming passion. Rita's succulent bottom held a special fascination for O'Toole. He wallowed in her secret flesh, seizing every opportunity to sniff and lick the sultry division of her incomparable arse. The musky odor of her intimate parts acted on his formidable prick like an aphrodisiac. Rita loved to sit on his cock and work herself energetically up and down, studying the changing expressions on John's face. She derived wanton delight in sucking his fat roll, crouching over his prone body with her buttocks grossly elevated and gobbling his savagely erect penis while he tongued the dark fissure of her cunt, squashing his face passionately into the hairy recess and gasping as the girl's tongue curled hotly round his jutting prick, letting the swollen knob plop in and out of her mouth. The proximity of his balls and pale buttocks filled her with coarse excitement, and she frequently thrust her face down past his rampant penis to kiss the thick, veined roots pulsing among the puckered ridges of skin and flesh that merged with the taut linking flesh fringing his anus. Often they achieved mutual orgasm merely by oral stimulation. The stabbing thrust of John's tongue against her inflamed clitoris aroused all Rita's smoldering passions and flayed her erotic senses until everything was blotted from her seething mind except the desire to clutch and cling and suck, and inhale the unique odor of O'Toole's masculinity while the burning sensations in her aggravated cunt grew into a wild, thrashing frenzy that became almost intolerable before dispersing in the soul-satisfying sweetness of convulsive emission. And as the spasmodic delirium spread through her pelvis and belly she coaxed the gathering fury trembling in John's near-bursting penis, watching his organ distend enormously, synchronized the torrid motions of her writhing lips, and caught the spurting deluge in her mouth, squirming and panting, her hot flesh merging with John's jerking body, her limbs twitching and shuddering violently.
That particular form of sexual expression always left her limp and trembling, but gloriously exhilarated. She was obsessed with John's penis, even when it hung slack. She liked to play with it or merely hold it, but especially to whank it slowly, rolling the foreskin right back and watching the knob pulsing and expanding fiercely. She often sucked it from the completely flaccid state to a condition of incredible rigidity. But her greatest thrill came with the exquisite delight of fornication from behind, when he forced his great rod with controlled deliberation past the splayed folds of her vulva and slowly intruded into the glistening furrow of her quim, hugely expanding the softly throbbing funnel and rapturously prolonging the initial thrust, boring relentlessly in while her clutching cunt warmly engulfed the regal mass.
O'Toole preferred to fuck her dog fashion. He liked to watch the rippling movements of her bottom as he shagged, and he usually increased the spread of her vagina with his thumbs in order to see the pistoning strokes of his churning prick. Rita shared his enthusiasm because that method ensured maximum penetration with a minimum of effort. Another favored position was for Rita to sprawl on a table or any suitable item of furniture, lying on her back with legs wide apart, the vulnerability of her vagina affording easy access. Invariably, before putting his cock into the inviting gulf, O'Toole indulged in an orgy of licking and sucking, clasping her thighs while Rita raised her legs and bent her knees, sometimes laying her limbs over his shoulders. The pressure of his lips against her contracting cunt tremendously increased her sexual agitation. She could take all the cock O'Toole could slap into her and still crave more. She was his absolute sexual slave, just as she had been Mike's; she would have eaten his shit if he'd asked her.
O'Toole was equally lustful and durable. He fucked her in a. dozen different positions, and usually ended up fucking her mouth, not with the uncouth frenzy of an amateur but with disciplined control, deriving maximum pleasure and catering fully to Rita's carnal delight, pushing his cock very slowly in and pulling out as leisurely, drawing back until his fat knob pulsed between the girl's sensual lips and her tongue probed hotly into the rounded aperture, then thrusting in again, inch by torrid inch, filling her mouth completely and feeling the savage displacement of his penis flattening her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
Rita liked to squat between his widespread legs, on her knees, and work her fingers deep into the crack of his bare arse while she sucked him off. The hot blood of his sperm in her mouth merely increased her moaning excitement. She loved it, loved the smell, the potent strength, the intimate closeness, the feeling of being one with O'Toole, sucking the spunk from him, sharing his body and the very sap of his life's blood. Often, when she felt him coming, she pulled her head back and held his jerking cock with the wet knob an inch from her mouth, and thrust out her lower lip to form a cup to trap and catch the milky gush.
She wanted him to fuck her arse, but her anus simply would not accommodate O'Toole's great stalk. He tried Vaseline jelly, hair cream, spittle, lubricated his knob and the rim of her tight arsehole with semen, but could never penetrate beyond the tortured rim and invariably creamed in the trembling crack, spilling his load between the luscious cheeks.
Every week there was extra money in her pay-packet, and O'Toole was generous in other ways. He bought her clothes, expensive underwear, and gave her costume jewelry-never anything costly, but nice. And for the time being Rita was content.
The accident happened about 8:30 on a Friday evening. O'Toole had business in Dublin and agreed to take Rita with him for the weekend. He owned a new E-type Jaguar car and was anticipating extending its full power over a long run.
Speed terrified Rita, but she refrained from complaint as O'Toole drove the speedometer needle past the hundred mark, hurtling round bends with tires screeching. He was enjoying himself, oblivious of Rita's strain and tension. Eyes closed, she clung on desperately. A few miles from Dublin, as O'Toole negotiated a tricky turn, suddenly there was a large truck directly ahead, cutting into the main road from a concealed track. O'Toole had no chance to avoid it. He braked hard, the Jag slowed, bucked wildly, struck the truck's back end and somersaulted amid gushing flames and the jangling sounds of tortured metal.
Rita, struck on the head, was thrown clear and lay unconscious, bleeding from superficial cuts. O'Toole died instantly with the steering wheel crushed into his chest. Fire charred parts of his body before help arrived. What remained of his corpse was salvaged from the inferno. Rita, conscious but dazed and confused, sobbing hysterically, was taken into a nearby house, a sprawling residence set well back from the road in its own grounds, and screened by tremendous trees. Lights were blazing and the place rocked with noise. Pop music blared. Groups of young people gathered in the elaborate entry. Foremost was a tall brunette, a slinky type with small, pointed breasts and a weedy figure. She was neither good-looking nor physically attractive, but she radiated self-assurance and spoke in a richly cultured voice.
Rita, in pain and still dazed, was helped into the house past gaping guests-college students by the look of them-and laid on a sumptuous bed in an upstairs room. Somebody sent for a doctor. By the time Rita fully regained consciousness the doctor had arrived, delivered his diagnosis, and left. When Rita opened her eyes everything was blurred and she could hardly see. Her head was bandaged and ached abominably. The bedroom seemed gigantic, and every object was remote.
Presently, her eyes focused and she became aware of movement, of a slim figure bending over her. She tried to sit up, cried out and clasped her head.
"Lie back," a pleasant voice ordered. "It's all right now. Don't be afraid."
Remembering, Rita shivered. She asked where she was.
"Swansdale," the brunette told her. "Near Dublin. You've been in an accident, but everything's all right now. The police were here. They want a statement from you. I told them to come back tomorrow. I'm Pearl Delaney. My folks own this place. They're away right now, hence the wild party. Parents can be a frightful bore."
"The driver?" Rita asked. "The man with me in the car-?"
"Dead, darling. Killed outright. Go ahead and cry, get it out of your system. I'll leave you alone for a while." Pearl went out, smiling.
Rita felt sleepy. Her eyelids were heavy. The next time she opened her eyes the bedroom was in darkness. She moved her arm and something crashed to the floor. The door opened. Subdued lighting flooded the room. Pearl stood smiling, a clean towel folded over her arm. She held a glass containing a milky fluid.
"So you're awake at last," she said. "Drink this, then we'll get you cleaned up and find you some clean clothes. I'm a beanpole, but some of mother's things will fit you."
The house was quiet, the party over. Rita's headache was much less acute.
"If you feel up to it I'll show you where everything is," Pearl told her.
"But I can't stay here-"
"Why not, for God's sake? At least for tonight. You've had a nasty experience. I want you to stay. You'll be company for me. The bathroom's through here. You can get undressed in here. Don't be shy."
Pearl left the room. Rita got off the bed. She felt empty, hollow, her head clouded and confused, grief like a cold fist clamped round her heart. "Big John," dead- She felt numbed, acutely apprehensive as she slowly undressed. She was in the act of removing her jeans when Pearl abruptly re-entered the bedroom. Rita's nudity had a profoundly disturbing effect on the brunette. A flush crept up from Pearl's slender neck and into her sallow cheeks. She licked her thin lips, brought her thighs together. When Rita went into the bathroom, Pearl followed her and sat on a bentwood chair with her arms resting on the chair back. Her intent stare was embarrassing.
Rita got under the shower and turned on the faucets, forgetting the bandage round her head. When it shifted she removed it, discovered it hid a large bruise, nothing more serious. She discarded it, reached for the soap. Pearl talked incessantly. Eventually, glowing and refreshed, Rita groped for a towel and emerged from the shower. Pearl had twisted round on the chair and occupied it conventionally. She had the towel in her hands.
"Come here, darling, and I'll dry your back," she invited. Rita approached, stood close, allowed the brunette to draw her nearer. Pearl applied the towel vigorously, and on the pretext of drying Rita roved her hands lewdly over the girl's body, stroking and delving, obviously working herself up into a chronic state of nervous excitement. Several times her lips brushed Rita's warm, damp skin. Her slim fingers lingered on the robust swell of Rita's buttocks, explored between her thighs, timidly at first then bolder when Rita didn't object. Pearl's breathing became rapid. Her fumbling fingers trembled. Deliberately she kissed Rita's bottom.
"You're very lovely," she said wistfully. "God, if only I had a body like yours. Just touching you is a divine thrill, darling Rita."
Again yielding to impulse, she embraced Rita's hips and kissed her arse, then pressed her face avidly into the wet cleavage. Startled, Rita swore and twisted away when she felt the older girl's hand slide toward the vale of her wet cunt; but she experienced a distinct thrill and a tightness in her vagina when Pearl's fingertips touched the soft fissure.
Pearl stood up. She moved round, got behind Rita, reached round and cupped both the young girl's breasts.
"They're gorgeous!" Pearl declared. "You have superb tits, darling. I envy you. Don't be alarmed, Rita dear. I'm easily excited, very sexy, especially with- God! I could eat you."
She kissed the nape of Rita's neck, then laughed mockingly when Rita squirmed away.
"I have to go out for a while," she said. "You'd best get some rest. I've laid out some things for you, and a nightdress, although I prefer to sleep in the raw myself. Everybody's gone and we're quite alone except for the servants, and they occupy the basement. So relax."
She left the room. Rita put on the powder blue nightdress, then stretched out on the large bed. She had no illusions concerning Pearl, although her experience of dykes was limited. For the moment she was content to let things fall into place any way they would. She felt sick and utterly exhausted, and every time she thought of John O'Toole lying out there the knot of grief rising into her throat threatened to choke her.
After a while she succeeded in relaxing her body, but her mind remained active. She tried reading, watched television, wandered downstairs and explored until she located the kitchen and an enormous refrigerator. With a plate laden with cold chicken, crusty bread, and salad, and carrying a bottle of milk, she returned to the bedroom, flopped into a deep armchair and watched television while she ate. Despite the entertainment she felt acutely lonely and utterly miserable.
She went back to bed, tossed and turned until eventually she fell asleep. But it was a shallow, troubled sleep, and when Pearl entered the bedroom, long after midnight, Rita was wide awake, staring at the starlit sky through the wide window.
Pearl switched the lights on. She drew the window drapes together and locked the door. Rita, full of self-pity, welcomed the intrusion.
"Actually, this is my bedroom," Pearl explained. "I could have put you in one of the spare rooms, but I thought you looked so pale and dejected you might prefer to have somebody to talk to. It's always better when you have someone to share problems with. And, to be honest, I'm feeling a bit low myself. There's plenty of room-"
"It's your bed," Rita said. "I wouldn't want to deprive you. And I am terribly lonely."
Pearl smiled. She began to undress, talking all the time, stripped off completely and padded barefoot around the room, quite naked but showing no hint of embarrassment. The pale cones of her high breasts were elegantly formed, her buttocks small and firm. She moved with a lithe, sinuous grace, like a sleek cat. A great bush of glossy brown hair concealed the dimpled recess of her vagina. She bathed and, still naked, presently climbed into bed beside Rita, leaving the lights on but dimmed. Rita welcomed the comforting warmth of the older girl's body, and remained passive, unprotesting, when Pearl raised the short nightdress and began rubbing and fondling the exquisite mounds of her breasts. She found the gentle caresses rather stimulating and soothing, and involuntarily co-operated, prompted by vague inclinations she didn't understand. The room was warm, and when Pearl whispered, urging her to remove the nightdress, Rita tugged it over her head without question.
The subdued lighting emphasized the slenderness of Pearl's nude body and accentuated the shadowy contours of Rita's voluptuousness. Pearl put her slim arms round Rita and snuggled closer, placed a hand behind Rita's head and gently but firmly pressed the girl's face into the shallow depression between her own white throat and pouting tits, coaxing and whispering until Rita softly stroked and kissed the jutting cones. Caressing fingers moved promptly down over Rita's stomach to her mound, found the slit of her relaxed cunt and eagerly explored it. Feeling restless and sexually aroused, suddenly very close to Pearl even though they were strangers, Rita obligingly opened her legs. She squeezed the small, hard tits, traced wet kisses across their blue-veined whiteness, and eventually sucked the prominent nipples, anticipating the young dyke's craving.
Pearl sighed happily. She mauled Rita's breasts, crushing her face into the soapy perfumed ovals, squeezed the nipples, pulled them, and took each in turn into her hot mouth; meanwhile her left hand groped between Rita's thighs, probing her quim, delving into it, manipulating clitoris and vulva expertly. Her eyes almost shut, she captured Rita's right hand and conveyed it to her vagina, spreading her legs wide and raising the left one slightly to facilitate access to her hairy minge. The instant Rita's fingers made contact with the tight gash Pearl closed her thighs convulsively, forcing the intruding hand into her softly yielding fissure.
She was dainty, down there, and extremely sensitive. She voiced a prolonged moan of anguish and commenced squirming and thrashing about, begging Rita to go down on her, to eat her. Suddenly Pearl heaved up and flopped across Rita's belly as if trying to mount her. Her mouth trapped Rita's, and she thrust her tongue repeatedly between the younger girl's lips, blurting crude appeals, still pulling and probing at Rita's cunt. Rita, fiercely aroused, kept massaging Pearl's palpitating groove, until finally Pearl flung the bed covers off and struggled to a kneeling posture astride Rita's waist but facing her feet. In that gross position her firm little arse nestled against Rita's luscious tits and her hairy quim adhered with suction-like cohesion to Rita's rounded belly. Hoarsely, impatiently, she urged Rita to bend her knees. Her own feet intruded under Rita's armpits. The moment Rita complied Pearl lowered her torso and, clasping Rita's thighs, dipped her head and thrust her face into the quivering juncture of thighs and cunt, dragging her tongue in the moist ruttish split like a cat licking cream. The acute forward stretch thrust out her bottom, and as she squatted with her mouth clamped against Rita's quim and her pointed tits distorted from pressing into Rita's lower abdomen, her vulva was obscenely defined close to Rita's face. Every detail was visible-the shadowy folds and grayish, writhing lips below the crinkly brown pit of her slightly protruding arsehole.
Her darting tongue curled into every crevice of Rita's quivering cunt, fluttering, fiercely tantalizing, agitating the thickened clitoris and driving Rita frantic. The proximity of alluring arse and shaggy cunt inspired a lustful urge to wallow in carnal flesh just as Pearl was wallowing in hers-and Rita extended her neck and tentatively nosed into the provocative little split. Her lips touched the pouting quim, and Pearl promptly squatted lower, forcing her vagina against Rita's mouth, writhing furiously. Rita felt neither disgust nor revulsion, only the urgent need for sexual relief however crude and bizarre. Her mind was still shocked by the tragedy, susceptible to any suggestion that combined comfort with release in any form. Sex was a safety valve, and Pearl the vital factor, the link who, by indulging her own vices, provided the outlet so necessary to Rita in her present state of mind.
Like animals they heaved and surged in carnal embrace, heads bobbing, disordered hair flopping, mouths drooling, twisted, clamoring, tongues stabbing and flickering in a mutual glissando of slavering movements, eyes wide staring one instant and half closed the next, and finally jerking and mewling in the sweet throes of copious orgasm. And as Pearl came and her prolonged juices wetted Rita's crimsoned face, the younger girl experienced an emission as shatteringly satisfying as any she had ever known, a climax so powerfully convulsive she cried out sharply, gouging her deeply embedded fingertips still further into the brunette's flesh and squalling her muffled outcry into the saturated gulf of cunt and bottom, then sobbed in the backlash of cruel reaction. She was lost in the swirling void of self-pity, condemnation, and absolute bewilderment.
Chapter Four
When Pearl suggested that Rita stay on for a few days, Rita was pleased to accept. She was in no hurry to return to Belfast and her dull job at the store. With John O'Toole dead she couldn't be certain of the firm's future, for "Big John" had no family. Pearl was spoiled, possessive and demanding, but there was something about her that Rita liked, and the brunette's lesbian tendencies didn't impose any barrier whatever. For the moment Rita had lost interest in men.
Pearl insisted on giving her money and buying clothes for her. Rita indulged Pearl's whims and sexual appetite, and gained something from the association herself. She forgot her ambitions for the time being, and when the shock of the accident gradually diminished she even enjoyed a state of emotional tranquility and was happy just to be with Pearl, jealousy looked after and protected. Pearl made no secret of what she was. Her parents were not due back for another month, and Pearl had a special party planned, with some very special guests.
Pearl was, Rita discovered, prone to peculiar beliefs and kinky fantasies, obsessed with off-beat doctrines and pagan rituals. She had a profound belief in the supernatural, and freely admitted dabbling in black magic and other sinister practices. She derived kicks from associating with a weird crowd involved in witchcraft and Devil worship. There was, she told Rita, a witches' "coven" operative in that area, and their next meeting was scheduled for that weekend, at her home. Rita would, Pearl declared, meet some very influential people-writers, artists, musicians, television and film producers, celebrities ... It was all very mysterious and exciting, and Rita would find it "stimulating". Whenever she spoke of witchcraft and dark orgies Pearl's eyes blazed with intense excitement and her voice became uncouth and strained.
Rita was amused and mildly interested. She was becoming bored, and considered the unusual "party" might prove entertaining. Pearl's talk of influential people stirred smoldering ashes of ambition. It might, Rita thought, be just the break she needed.
On the Saturday night of the "party" Rita developed strange symptoms, a mood of reckless exuberance combined with tremendous sexual excitement, a lustful craving she attributed to some kind of aphrodisiac drug surreptitiously administered by Pearl, who shared the same compulsive tension and boisterous gaiety and was obviously in a drugged condition. The effects drove all inhibitions from Rita's mind. She was by nature promiscuous, and nothing mattered to her as she put on the white linen robe Pearl laid out for her. She laughed foolishly without cause, accepted everything in blind faith, without question, entering wholly into the spirit of the intriguing venture. Pearl's enthusiasm was infectious.
The tall brunette wore black, a loose, sweeping gown that trailed on the floor. Underneath, she was naked. Rita accompanied her into the spacious grounds where, screened by a belt of dark cedars and elms, was an old burial vault, the entrance almost hidden by dense bushes. Beyond the massive door stone steps led down to a surprisingly vast chamber, stone-built, the size of a swimming pool, extending into sinister gloom where the coffins of long-dead Delaneys rested on ledges gathering dust and cobwebs. Pearl flipped a switch and flooded the vault with eerie bluish light, and Rita saw that another door opened off the main vault, iron-studded and tremendously heavy, but fitted with a modern lock.
Pearl opened it, preceded Rita into an even larger vault, and groped for another wall switch. Garish lighting revealed a fabulous set-up-luxury amid age-old decay, fantastic drapes, lewd scenes painted on the dank stone, phallic symbols . . . Hideous gargoyle statues occupied dim recesses. There was a sinister altar draped with black cloth and set with tall black candles, as yet unlit, in-freakishly designed brass holders. Additional concealed lighting cast a variety of color patterns, a weird overall glow that heightened the macabre effect. A cloying aroma pervaded the musty atmosphere. Chairs were arranged with a wide space between the curving front row and a raised platform covered with black carpet. Rita noticed inverted crosses, and lurid likenesses of the Devil carved in wood or cast in plaster. On a low table, somberly draped in black, stood an enormous metal bowl containing some dark red liquid.
It was all very strange, and in normal circumstances would have seemed ludicrous, but in her present mood Rita was impressed, awed by the eerie setting. Subdued, she followed Pearl back into the main vault and through the grounds to the house. Pearl, usually garrulous and demonstrative, was strangely silent. Fixing drinks, she kept looking at her wristwatch. Rita, pouring herself three fingers of Scotch, was surprised by the unsteadiness of her hand. But the whisky helped, exploding like a bomb in her belly and quieting her nervousness. She poured another.
Shortly before midnight a car entered the broad drive and was quickly followed by others. Within a short while the house was swarming with people of all ages, although the emphasis was on youth, weird types, freakishly dressed and, for the most part, nauseatingly obvious in their affected mannerisms. For half an hour they continued to arrive, some furtively, others boisterously familiar, noisy, a few aloof and arrogant, but all infected by the same tense expectation, a kind of guilty, gloating preoccupation.
Rita's presence aroused considerable comment and speculation. A tall, cadaverously thin man named Alistair Cromer appeared to be the central figure. He had a sensual mouth and steel-grey hair, and bulging eyes that seemed to see right through Rita when Pearl introduced her. Alistair was cordial but direct, anxious for Rita to understand the principles of the cult while emphasizing the need for absolute secrecy and discretion. She must, he warned her, be prepared to undergo certain initiation rites prior to being accepted into the coven.
Rita, prompted by Pearl and further stupefied with liquor, readily agreed to everything. She answered intimate questions and was highly amused by the whole procedure, tortured by curiosity and impatient for the action to commence. Eventually the entire gathering left the house and moved quietly toward the tree shrouded mausoleum, cowled figures shuffling in the eerie moonlight, black robes trailing, faces hidden. Alistair headed the straggling procession.
In the huge chamber beyond the musty main vault the coven gathered, some seated, others in groups. There was no smoking. Pagan music relayed softly over a concealed loudspeaker system maintained a solemn dirge. The lights were dimmed, the doors locked. The odor of incense became stronger. The tension was so acute it could almost have been cut with a knife. Alistair, his lean figure draped in a black robe edged with crimson and gold, appeared on the platform and stood with bony hands splayed and his skinny arms uplifted, commanding silence. The hum of conversation ceased. Cromer's voice rang out, harsh and resonant, welcoming the cult and invoking the powers of darkness and evil.
Rita, seated beside Pearl on the front row, felt sleepy, overpoweringly drowsy. The vault was stuffy, lacking adequate ventilation. She was uneasy, restless, waiting for something to happen, anticipating it yet somehow dreading it, wishing she hadn't become involved. She had been raised in the Catholic faith, and while she had never been very devout there was something alien and sinister about that blasphemous assembly. But the drug and the whisky were a powerful combination, and when she heard her name mentioned Rita was instantly alert, eager despite acute apprehension. A silver cup was filled from the huge bowl and passed round the gathering. Everybody drank. Rita, cautiously tasting the dark brew, discovered it was merely wine-and felt both relief and mild disappointment. The whole grotesque set-up, she suspected, was just a front, an excuse for sexual license and drunken orgies. Cunning bastards.
The tall speaker retreated into the shadows. A gong boomed hollowly. Instantly the assembly broke up in shouting disorder, screaming, chanting, throwing off their robes and capering obscenely, men and women prancing stark naked, some elderly or middle-aged, others, the majority, just kids, laughing, squealing, cavorting. Changing light hues revealed a bewildering confusion of pale bodies, white flesh contrasting with bronzed limbs, the virile muscularity of youth accentuating the ravages of age, protruding bellies and flabby tits, ponderous buttocks, jutting boobs, elongated nipples, rounded arse cheeks, plump, dimpled moons joggling, squashing, shaggy mounds and dangling pricks, shadow-stressed folds and creases, luscious cleavage, swollen, hairy balls, fleshy cocks jutting, hugely erect, tremendous phallic monstrosities, others atrophied, pathetic, flaccid-a pagan horde swaying and shaking and moaning in the grip of mass-hysteria prior to debauchery, naked fanatics yielding aggressively to unbridled lust in their gross interpretation of unholy rites.
Rita, watching, shrieked in wild abandon as a huge man, his body bulging with muscle and fat, leapt at a teenage blonde, his ten inches of hard prick jutting fiercely erect. He swung the giggling girl off her feet and held her head downward. Her legs, wide apart, waved wildly. She squealed as the man plunged his face between her thighs, mashing his thick lips against her generous cunt. Her trailing hair swept the stone floor, and as her head hung down close to the man's great root she opened her mouth and engulfed the bulging knob, sucked his stallion's prick voraciously as he lumbered with her across the vault, sniffing her arse and licking her throbbing minge.
Another man, younger, more muscular, grabbed a young redhead, suspended her in a similar position with her legs clamped round his thick neck, her large tits flapping against his belly, her cavernous mouth gobbling his fat penis while he moaned and munched with his face buried deep in the trembling crevice of her broad bottom and his mouth pressed into the warm vale of her vagina. Each time his stiff cock entered the girl's receptive mouth a ripple of tension quivered through the muscles of his hairy arse.
The other man set his blonde partner down and promptly positioned her with legs widespread and her slender body spreadeagled across the altar. Clutching his torrid prick, masturbating, he got between her taut thighs, separated the thickened folds of her quim and introduced his tool, grinning lecherously as he supported the girl with a firm grip on her legs above the knees, and jerked his cock into her in a series of ferocious thrusts that achieved total penetration without obstruction. With the whole of his prick snugly embedded, he commenced to fuck, grimacing, his eyes protruding, gradually increasing the fury of his berserk lunges, knees bent, buttocks pinched together, his dangling scrotum flapping from side to side and back and forth, gradually drawing up, bunching as the clawing sensation mounted in his loins. Each rapacious stroke drove his prick to the absolute limits of the girl's clutching sheath; and as he fucked her she smiled, her fingers gripping the crumpled altar cloth, legs jerking. The black candles, lighted now, shed a yellowish gleam over their merging bodies and brought the rapturous expression on the blonde's passion distorted face into harsh relief.
Across the vault, a middle-aged lecher pranced toward a smirking colored girl, flabby penis grasped in his freckled left hand. They fell to the floor, grappling, chuckling, the girl seizing the man's cock and roughly whanking it while he mauled and kissed her melon-like breasts, slobbering and gasping. Rita, watching open-mouthed, saw the limp prick lift and swell, saw the young Negress writhe down and take it in her wide mouth, close blubbery lips round it. While she sucked, a pale-faced youth, shaggy-haired and round-shouldered, tremendously endowed, rushed at her, heaved her to a kneeling posture and attempted to fuck her from behind but spunked all over her velvety black arse the instant his great boom prodded her dark rut.
Close-by, another youth adopted a crouching stance behind a fleshy woman old enough to be his mother. She stood with her fat legs apart and her feet firmly planted, and leaned forward acutely, flabby boobs dangling, and voiced obscene invectives while the youth mauled her great swollen buttocks, impatiently exhorting him to fuck her and striving to reach between her thighs to grasp his rampant cock. She gained her objective, pulled the pulsing knob into her loose cavity, squirmed back onto it, and the youth exploded into violent action, wrapping his sinewy arms round her plump hips and shagging into her gaping split like a dog with a bitch, head thrown back, teeth gritted.
A thickset man emerged from the gloom, masturbating furiously, yelled with delight when a teenage moron with hair black as night and breasts like balloons grabbed his arm and spun him round, knocked the hand away from his huge cock and avidly clutched the fat stalk. He promptly forced her to her knees, wound stubby fingers into her long hair, and thrust his prick at her mouth. She took it, and he fucked with savage fury, shouting triumphantly when his gushing load spat against the back of her spasmodically working throat.
Naked figures swarmed and clamored all around the vault, behind the altar and among the chairs; bewitched, drugged with sex, feeling and masturbating, sniffing each other's arses and indulging in mutual cocksucking and cuntlicking; laughing, groaning, jostling, comparing, fucking indiscriminately; cruelly distended pricks cleaving into tight slits and gaping quims, screwing relentlessly into shuddering arseholes, and into brown cavities so abnormally huge an average penis was lost within their squelching depths.
Rita's overall reaction was a combination of nausea, shock, and utter amazement-and a predominant turmoil of mounting lust. Dazed with drugs and whisky, ravaged by conflicting emotions and hot waves of primeval passion, she watched the incredible panorama, aware of Pearl standing over her, perched on a chair with one leg raised, inviting Rita to kiss her small, tight cunt and voicing angry protest when the younger girl ignored her.
Amid all the confusion and torrid acts Alistair Cromer presided over vulgar rituals involving initiates to the cult, mostly young girls. Nude women chased naked men and youths around the vault, lashing them with long whips and shrieking with laughter when they were themselves grabbed and fucked. Rita wondered when it came her turn, what would be involved. She reveled in the sex, but harbored doubts and fears that increased as the orgy continued. Her mind was still clouded and everything around her seemed unreal. She was sexually aroused and tremendously excited, but only partly influenced by the madness sweeping that dismal grotto and the capering, fornicating occupants.
Suddenly, Alistair Cromer loomed up on the dais, tall and satanic, arms raised. The force of his personality quieted even that squalid commotion. Couples twisted apart, squirmed erect to listen. Alistair pointed, indicating Rita.
"It is almost time," he shouted. "But before we make the blood sacrifice to the Prince of Darkness we must fulfill the final initiation of Pearl's young friend. A pleasant function it will be my privilege to perform. Bring her. Do not be afraid, my dear. Fear is only in the mind. There is no fear in a good stiff prick."
Hands clawed at Rita. She was hoisted up and borne toward the stone altar, laid on it and held firmly. The white robe was removed. The tumult subsided as Alistair leaned over her, smirking, protruding eyes glittering. The music began again. Amid impatient mutterings Cromer shed the black robe and revealed a standing penis of incredible size. Rita did not resist. She was no longer afraid, merely defiant, arrogantly self-confident, passively awaiting whatever Cromer contemplated. Grinning lechers held her arms and legs, but she had no desire to escape. If "initiation" involved nothing more alarming than the intrusion of an exceptionally large prick. She could stand all Cromer could screw into her, and enjoy it every bit as much as he did.
A handsome, voluptuous woman whose mature tits contrasted whitely with the golden tan of her torso and limbs, even her alluring bottom, extended a manicured hand and grasped Alistair's formidable penis. She squeezed its ponderous mass, jerked the foreskin rapidly back and forth, stimulating the torrid branch to maximum erection, and when it pulsed with throbbing power she crouched and licked the swollen knob along the potent shaft, persisting until the rigid prick jutted like a gnarled stump, iron-hard, a proudly beating symbol of unusual sexual endowment.
Abruptly the girl was dragged from her carnal function and withdrew into the shadows. Alistair Cromer lay on the draped platform, a gaunt caricature of a man with a giant's penis. Rita was lifted, supported with strong hands under her armpits and the backs of her thighs, held with her bottom almost touching the platform and her vagina protruding, exposed and vulnerable. She laughed and protested simultaneously, wantonly obsessed, every physical sense intensified, her whole body aflame with desire. Hot waves of lust clashed with outraged dignity and the lingering dregs of girlish modesty. She resented being used, of being made a spectacle before that gloating assembly, yet while her mind rejected degradation her body cried out for fulfillment. She was raised higher, poised above Alistair's jerking cock, then slowly lowered.
A low chanting commenced as the distended organ approached her splayed vagina. The questing knob butted her quim, gouging relentlessly, and Rita thrashed about wildly, writhing as the torrid roll entered and was forced high into her stretching twat as the weight of her descending body rammed it solidly past the puckered lips. Like a boring drill it screwed deeper, bursting tremendously into the cruelly distended channel, searing, tearing, filling the entire cringing cleft and expanding it agonizingly until waves of stabbing pain cramped Rita's belly and the taut skin vibrated like a drumhead.
Her arsehole protruded, straining outward, and her legs jerked violently within the restraining hold of clutching fingers. Then, quite suddenly, the frightful friction lessened and her passage yielded, abruptly accommodating the impaling prick and compensating for the initial discomfort with recurring spasms of rapturous delight, and as she jogged up and down, lifted and then lowered, each descent created an additional flow of lubricating juices that soothed her enormously expanded cunt and increased her pleasure. The bloated shaft slogged into her slimy, reddened maw with loud sucking sounds, stroking deeper with every lunge. Now its churning rhythm was sheer ecstasy, poetry of carnal motion, and she moaned and writhed in abandoned bliss, panting, her vagina sucking in then being drawn out, the hairy folds puckering then elongating, her insides flaming and her joints aching. Each time her wet quim smacked soggily against Alistair's bony pelvis her arse cheeks were squashed and the dusky crack accentuated, coming together again when she was raised. She was taking the whole length of Cromer's great penis, and enjoying every Herculean stroke. On the next torrid descent she climaxed, indicating her triumphant fulfillment with profound sighing and convulsive tremors; almost immediately she was racked by a second equally demoralizing orgasm.
Alistair's gaunt frame quivered with tension. His climax was close and he bucked his loins vigorously upward, acutely conscious of the significant wetness round his prick. The spurting flood that finally spat into the hot haven of Rita's relaxing vagina oozed back round his tool and seeped into his pubic hair and round his balls, some of it sliding down the crack of his bottom and spotting the black carpet.
A concerted groan of approval and lewd excitement arose from the jostling watchers. Rita was lifted off Cromer's cock and laid belly down on the altar, her legs roughly parted. A younger man sprang onto the platform the moment Alistair vacated it. Groping hands spread the cheeks of Rita's bottom wide. A hard finger probed into her anus, to be quickly replaced by an equally hard prick that was slippery with jelly. The frantic knob forced an entry past the tight rim of the girl's arsehole and penetrated several inches up her rectum in a single savage thrust, so abruptly and violently that it was deeply embedded before pain registered on Rita's confused senses and she reacted with a sharp scream. But the fat prick was inside her and driving solidly up her hole, and she could only writhe helplessly in the grip of strong hands, her lips curling back from her clenched teeth as the hot agony persisted. Then milky semen jetted into the aching pit and the pain eased, terminated altogether when the buggering tool was pulled from her brown, squashy anus like a cork from a bottle neck, trailing sperm across her shuddering arse.
The youth left her, and the conclusion of his brief assault coincided with another clamoring orgy. The whole assembly went berserk, yelling and squealing, grabbing one another, mauling, wrestling, rolling on the stone floor, fucking in pairs, in groups. All over the musty grotto naked figures fornicated, grunting, groaning, sobbing, flopping about, laughing, cursing, heaving, sweating, sucking, whanking, coming or striving to come-the virile few, the impotent many, and the mediocre core laboring and fucking resolutely in a weird variety of positions.
Rita, caught up in the carnal frenzy, was fucked by three different males in as many minutes, one prick after another stabbing into her sodden, slimy fissure, others seeking her mouth, chafing between her tits, daubing sperm all over her, even in her hair. Throughout the eerie vault mindless morons indulged their perverted lust. Pearl lay in a corner with a lovely girl with golden hair. Their faces were hidden, crushed into creamy flesh.
Rita, taking advantage of a momentary respite, crawled into an alcove and slumped against the wall. She was shattered, bushed and sore and anxious to get the hell out of there, away from the noise and the smells and the confusion. Sex was great, but-dear God! There was a limit, and she had reached hers.
She clambered to her feet, managed to salvage the white robe they had torn from her, and started toward the door. The key was in the lock, and she got the door open, strenuously resisting clutching hands. She lurched through the burial vault and reached the outer door, but as she tugged it wide the shrill blast from a police whistle sounded with startling clarity from close-by. Other whistles blared. Rita glimpsed blue uniformed figures moving furtively through the shrubbery.
She ran, plunging blindly into the dense bushes, away from the shimmering moonlight. Behind her, yells of alarm sounded. The significance of the whistle blasts had penetrated even into the remote innermost vault. Instant panic gripped the naked, intoxicated horde. Hoarse cries of desperation echoed hollowly. Stumbling figures blundered from the outer doorway and fled as car headlights suddenly beamed across the graveled drive. Jostling groups scattered, others milled around in blind hysteria. A few reached their cars and drove recklessly toward freedom-until they encountered police vehicles blocking the gateway.
Rita made it to the road, scrambled through a gap in the high fence, and hid in a ditch, acutely aware of the fact that her only covering was the torn robe.
Chapter Five
Matt Brent flipped his partly smoked cigarette out of the open car window and wound up the pane. A chill was creeping into the night air. He was bursting for a piss, but kept driving, anxious to get past that narrow stretch of treacherous, moonlit road. As he tooled the big Humber round a particularly acute bend, he glimpsed something white against the dark bushes, and swore when the headlights picked out a crouching figure.
He braked, swerving toward the other side of the road, stopped the car and angrily cranked the window down to thrust his head out. The young girl squatting beside a crumbling stone wall among tall nettles and shrubs straightened up and allowed the rucked-up linen garment she was wearing to fall around her ankles, concealing her nudity.
Matt stared, uncertain whether or not he had actually seen what he thought he had seen-the sweetly rounded half moons of the girl's bare arse and the glinting flow of urine spurting beyond her bent limbs.
"You trying to get yourself killed, you silly cow?" he demanded, shaken by the nearness of tragedy. "What the hell are you doing out here at this time of night? Who are you?"
Rita slouched from the roadside and approached the car. Moonlight revealed the driver's face, a young face but deeply lined, the features regular, the mouth almost hidden by a thick mustache. His hair was very dark, showing beneath the wide brim of a back-tilted fedora-type hat. Seeing her close-up, he appraised Rita keenly and puckered his lips in a silent whistle.
"What the hell are you wearing?" he asked "You some kind of nut?"
Rita explained, or tried to. Matt, disbelieving, grinned unsympathetically.
"Sounds like you had a raw deal," he remarked.
Rita nodded vehemently. "Raw is right," she agreed. "I'm chafed raw as bloody liver down there. Those bastards-"
"You left yourself wide open for everything you got. You kids never learn."
Matt opened the car door and told Rita to get in. She hesitated. "Get in," Matt repeated. "You might as well ride into Dublin."
Rita shrugged, then climbed in beside him.
Matt let out the clutch, and moved off. He remained silent for a while, but kept glancing at Rita. She could almost read his thoughts.
"I'm Matthew Brent," he said presently. "Chief executive for a London based company. We do a lot of business in Ireland. Farm produce mostly, and whisky." He laughed, studying her intently.
"You don't say much," he complained. "I was bored until I met you. I've been driving since early evening. I meet a lot of bums in my travels, but it isn't often I run into anybody like you."
Strong fingers groped and fastened just above Rita's right knee, squeezing intimately through the linen robe.
"I thought for a while you were a bloody nun," Matt said. "If you're hard up for a night's lodge I can do better than just give you a lift. Interested? It'll take care of your immediate expenses, kid, if you're desperate."
"Not that desperate," Rita told him. "Leastways I'll have to think about it. I'm tired, shagged out. And hungry."
"There's sandwiches and a flask of coffee in the glove compartment. I'll get you something more substantial at my hotel. You know, you're real cute, kid, especially in that outfit. Is that all you've got on?"
Rita nodded. Matt grinned, shaking his head.
"I'm damned," he remarked. He passed his tongue round his lips, inhaled loudly, tramped on the gas pedal. A mile further on, in the shade of towering trees, he stopped the car. Rita, relaxing with her eyes closed, hardly noticed, until he opened the door and got out; then she voiced a languid enquiry.
"I must have a slash before we go any further," Matt said. "I meant to, back there, but never gave it another thought after meeting you."
He entered the deeper shadows and was lost among rustling foliage. Rita lay back, munching king-size ham sandwiches. After a time, when Matt hadn't returned, she became curious, and called to him. He didn't answer. She got out of the car, frowning, called again, then moved cautiously into the thickets. She was about to shout again, louder, when she saw Matt outlined against the bushes in a moonlit glade. His broad back was toward her, and he seemed incredibly tall. Rita detected twitching movements of his shoulders. He was partly crouching, and she suspected what he was doing even before she angled through the trees and confirmed the assumption.
He had his penis out, but he had finished urinating and was now leisurely masturbating, prolonging the jerking friction. Rita, mildly amused, watched him, as yet unnoticed. He had, she thought, a lovely cock, large and thick and above average length. As she moved closer, a stick snapped sharply underfoot and Matt turned. Rita, observed, laughed.
"Is that what you meant by a slash?" she asked cynically.
"How long have you been there?" Matt demanded. He gaped, holding his swollen roll with the foreskin tightly stretched, making no attempt to hide the uncircumcised prick. Only the knob was dark, purple black, the rest fishbelly white in the moonrays.
"Long enough," Rita answered. "But don't mind me. I thought you must have fallen down a bloody great hole, or something. I didn't mean to intrude."
Matt made an unsuccessful attempt to tuck his cock away but couldn't fasten his fly.
"What the hell can I say?" he asked.
Rita shrugged. "Why say anything? It isn't the first time I've seen a man's prick, and what you do with it is your affair. I'll get back to the car until-"
"NO! Don't go. I came for a piss, but kept thinking what it would be like to slap some of this between your thighs. Christ! I couldn't help it, imagining you warm and soft and naked under that stupid robe."
"All right," Rita said. "Don't blow your cool, man. I know how it is. You're really in a bad way, aren't you?"
She moved nearer, feeling sympathetic. His penis protruded past the flaps of his gaping fly, and Rita yielded to a sudden impulse and grasped its spongy mass. Matt uttered a hoarse cry and promptly grabbed her, thrust his cock violently into the curve of her fingers while his mouth clamped over hers and his tongue darted thickly between her lips. He clutched her arse through the robe, and Rita laughed as she twisted her mouth away for air.
Matt's eyes were smoky with lust, gleaming in the moonlight. His prick swelled within her clutch, elongating hugely. "Take that fucking robe off," he blurted. "Let me ram some hard prick into you."
"No, you randy bastard," Rita argued. "Not here. It's too soon after-after the other. I'll jerk you off, but-"
"At least let me see what you've got. Let me kiss your gorgeous arse and shove my tongue in your sweet girl's cunt. I'm all screwed up and-"
"Not now. Maybe later. For God's sake, this is nice, isn't it? You're wicked, you know that? But nice. And you have a lovely cock. I'd let you fuck me, darling, if I wasn't so tuckered out. Later, when I'm rested and everything-"
She quickened the chafing rhythm of her whanking strokes, flapping his foreskin rapidly back and forth and gripping the thickened roll tighter when it surged and shivered in the trembling spasms preceding orgasm. Matt gripped her shoulders and laid his head on her breast, shuddered convulsively, gasping. Rita avoided the hot spurting gush of his sperm but retained her grasp on his cock, maintaining the brisk masturbation until the copious emission dwindled and the furious pulsing beat became a nervous, fluttering twitch.
Matt sighed. He stared down at his deflating penis held loosely in the girl's hot hand.
"What a fucking waste," he complained.
"You liked it, didn't you?"
"Damn right I did, but I'd have liked it better stroking inside your belly. You're all right, Rita. Different. Just a kid, but-my God!"
Rita shook clinging sperm drops from his slackening but still grossly swollen prick, squeezed the bulbous knob, and relinquished her grasp. Matt confined his penis but didn't fasten his fly. He put his arms round Rita, felt of her bottom, then moved his hands to her tits, but she twisted away.
"Show me," he persisted. "Just a quick glimpse, a feel."
"Later, eh?"
"Now, you tormenting little bitch!"
He snatched at the robe, tugging at it. Rita, laughing, danced away. Standing on a grassy hillock, she presented her bottom to him, protruding the cheeks obscenely, deftly flipped the hem of the robe up past her waist and briefly exposed the white perfection of her buttocks and the pouting gash of her vagina, covered herself and skipped away, laughing, when Matt lunged at h[ "That's it, for now," she said. "A glimpse, you said- You men, you're all alike. But it might be fun to spend the rest of the night with you. Do you mind if we get on now? I'm bushed."
They returned to the car. Matt slid behind the wheel. His fly was still undone, but he didn't notice. For a while he drove without speaking. Rita snuggled close and laid her head on his shoulder.
"I should have thought you'd have plenty of sexy girl friends," she remarked sleepily, yawning. "A husky brute like you."
Matt grinned. The pink protrusion of Rita's left tit distracted him and the car swerved. He swore. Rita drew the robe together.
"I manage," Matt said, "although most of the available cunt I know is married, or about as interesting as limp lettuce. I don't know many young women in London, and it's been a long time since I screwed anybody your age."
"I'm sixteen-"
"Is that all? Good God! Sixteen! You'd pass for twenty. You're bloody gorgeous, kid. I want more from you than a jerk-off. I want to see you naked, to kiss you all over. I want my nose up your arse and my tongue round your cunt. I want to lick and smell and suck every divine part of you, every crease and hollow, your arse and your luscious tits and that soft, hairy twat, until you beg me to fuck you and-"
"Cool it, you moron," Rita blurted. "Slow down, or you'll come apart at the seams. I've met some eager-beavers but, honestly, you're the randiest sonovabitch I ever happened on."
Matt's forehead glistened with sweat. His penis poked from his gaping fly, hugely erect, and Rita placed her hand on it, felt the torrid heat throbbing against her palm. The thought uppermost in her mind was that Matt Brent might be useful to her, to her career. He was sure to have connections in England, in London. Perhaps he could help her. And she liked him.
The hotel was in darkness except for a dim light in the foyer when Matt parked his car. Matt went in first, intending to smooth talk the night clerk, but the man wasn't in his usual place behind the scarred desk. Matt went to the entry, signaled Rita. Two minutes later they emerged from the elevator on the fourth floor. Matt unlocked a door that bore a white card with his name and telephone number. Almost before the door swung shut and the lock catch engaged he had Rita in a passionate embrace and was wrenching at the robe behind her back. She eluded him, collided with a table and created an awful noise, but remained quite still while Matt depressed the light switch. He would have had her right there and then, but she wanted the bathroom, and he directed her, then tried to calm his nerves with a stiff drink.
When Rita returned he was standing by the curtained window, stark naked, smoking a cigarette. When he turned she saw that his penis was enormously stiffened, and she suspected he had been jerking-off. His physique was impressive although his skin was pallid. He wasn't so tall as he had seemed in the moonlight, but his rearing cock was as rampantly virile, a pale, pulsating root that was still lifting jerkily when he faced Rita.
She still wore the white robe, but she had let it slide from her shoulders as she crossed the carpeted floor. Matt ground the cigarette butt into an ashtray, sat on the arm of a low sofa, and reached for her. Rita came into his arms. He didn't say anything, just drew her close and promptly slid both hands down over her smooth hips to her buttocks. His nostrils sucked in fiercely as he clasped the succulent cheeks. Excitement and anticipation fluttered around the corners of his mouth. His fingers trembled on her yielding flesh, squashing the rounded mounds, delving into the dusky cleavage.
Rita cupped her full breasts, offered them, ripe and bursting with promise, the nipples jutting deliciously; and Matt, groaning, plunged his face into the warm vale and covered the heaving ovals with wet kisses, forcing his features into their creamy softness. He brought his hands up from her hips and kneaded her tits, crushing the dark centers and bunching great handfuls of rolling flesh. His mouth captured each audacious nipple in turn and sucked it voraciously, his mustache tickling her breast and his goading tongue whipping her rapidly mounting desire to white heat.
She no longer felt a need for rest. That could come later. Another fuck more or less wouldn't inconvenience her swollen groove or punish her unduly. Besides, she was ready for it-the frustration of waiting was too devastating. She pushed against Matt, cradling his head, leaned over and, forcibly raising his head, clamped her mouth over his and drove her tongue furiously into the warm cavity. For a while their tongues writhed and coiled together like cobras squirming in a pit of saliva.
Rita straightened, panting, her eyes bright, spittle dribbling from the corner of her mouth. She dragged the back of her hand across her lips, smiled, stared down at Matt's jutting penis. Still seated, he embraced her hips, embedded his fingers in the quivering rotundity of Rita's buttocks, jerked her loins forward and buried his face against the silky hairiness of her mound. Rita parted her legs, wriggled her hips, working her cunt up and down and from side to side, and sighed with pleasure when Matt raised his head briefly and, staring at the glistening slit, thumbed the fleshy folds open to expose the crimson gulf. He extended his tongue and licked all along the furry split then into the red maw, displacing her flesh with the pressure of his mouth as he sucked most of her twat into his mouth.
Frantic, Rita reached down past her tits and over his belly to seize Matt's robust cock. It was rock-hard, the foreskin ridged behind the bloated knob. Rita pulled at it, expecting Matt to get to his feet, and she widened the spread of her legs to receive him-but his lust was channeled in another direction, and he twisted her round, groaning aloud at the torrid perfection of her naked arse. Anticipating his pleasure, Rita stooped forward, sharing Matt's excitement, so that his blurted exclamations were muffled as he gripped the fronts of her thighs and pushed his face into the darkly odorous division of her bottom, distorting the luscious cheeks and slobbering in his eagerness, blowing saliva into the hot well of her arsehole. His darting tongue explored the wrinkled pit and licked lower, exciting her protruding cunt. She heard the air gusting round his flared nostrils, wafting hotly against the wrinkled rut of her anal furrow.
Abruptly, he pulled away, shuddering convulsively. "I can't hold it back!" he blurted. "I'm coming!"
Rita twisted round to face him, knelt between his parted legs, and took his penis into her mouth in the instant that his semen gushed; and he clung to her, gripping her head and fucking his spunking prick furiously into the puckered funnel of her lips, filling her mouth, grinning as the uncontrollable fury diminished and the tension left his lean body. He watched Rita lick the semen from his knob, and coaxed her to keep sucking his cock, confidently expecting to retain its rigidity and succeeding, presently, in regaining partial erection. Rita maintained the tormenting rapture, resolutely playing with his prick and alternately sucking and whanking it, encouraged by its powerful flexing and rapid increase in size and circumference. Matt needed no time for recuperation. Straining, fingers clamped painfully round her skull, he rammed his expanding tool belligerently to the back of her throat and would have spunked in her mouth again if she hadn't relinquished his slippery length.
He protested, but allowed Rita to push him from the sofa arm into a semi-prone position. She got astride his chest, brought her cunt close to his face, and held the sultry folds hugely open, inviting the probing caress of his tongue. The proximity of the pungently odorous cleft drove him frantic. He mouthed it briefly, then surged erect, heaved to his feet, picked Rita up and carried her into the bedroom, dumped her roughly on the sturdy king-sized bed, and immediately straddled her, kneeling between her fully extended thighs. She impatiently awaited the stabbing lunge of his frustrated prick, and cried out when it came, sweeping furiously into her joyous chasm with a sweet ecstasy that was almost unbearable. Rita raised her knees, breathing jerkily as his hips bore down on the insides of her taut thighs and his pelvis pounded her lower belly. The great, surging core of his manhood choked her expanding passage, embedded to its straining roots.
Clinging tightly, fingernails gouging into his back, Rita exhorted him to even greater exertion and lunged upward with all the supple strength of her bunched buttocks to meet each savage stroke. It was sheer, abandoned delight. She marveled at the astonishing vigor apparent in every groaning thrust. Matt's animal passion was contagious. He clawed a pillow into the crumpled hollow created by her splayed arse and crammed it under her flexing cheeks as her spine arched and her bottom raised from the bed. Rita raised her knees higher, until they flattened her breasts and restricted her breathing.
She climaxed, gasping and pleading in the syrupy delirium of consuming passion, torrid sensations that flayed her tortured genitals and squeezed her entrails like white-hot metal contracting round her vital organs. Her sweating anus itched. Impulsively she enclosed Matt's ridged scrotum in her fist and confined his balls, thrilling to the ponderous beat of his penis pistoning past the slack folds of her vagina. Gummy moisture streaked his plunging cock as her orgasmic flood washed round the glans and spread through her fiercely clutching channel. Matt, gripped in the mind-shattering convulsions of impending climax, quickened his assault and finally slogged his frantic rod to the sticky maw of her womb, bracing his arms and extending his body in a tense curve with spine bent and his pubic bone grinding into Rita's quim, delivering his sperm load with such spurting force that she felt its glutinous slime spit past her enlarged clitoris and jet against her uterus.
Matt slumped, arms relaxing, chest heaving, his face resting on Rita's shoulder just above the curve of her breast. Smiling, Rita passed unsteady fingers through his damp hair.
"Sweet Christ!" Matt muttered. "You really extend a man."
"It was nice," Rita agreed. "I'm glad I came."
Matt rolled off and adopted a sitting posture with the pillows at his back. His deflating penis trailed semen across Rita's thigh. She pushed a finger into her anus and raked about, irritated by the moist itching, then stretched out with her arms over her head. They talked. Matt lit a cigarette, offered Rita one, but she declined. She learned something of his background and revealed her own, told him about her family and her ambition, even about Mike Howard. Tomorrow, Matt promised, he would buy her a complete new outfit. After a while he called room service and asked for a light meal to be sent up, along with a half dozen bottles of beer. It was almost one-thirty, and it was nearly two before the order was filled. Matt met the sleepy-eyed waiter at the door and took the tray from him; he slipped the man a couple of bills, then closed and locked the door.
He wasn't particularly hungry, but Rita was ravenous and ate her way through a stack of sandwiches and cold meat, cheese, pickles, and buttered fruit cake. Matt drank cold beer, smoked, and talked. When she had eaten Rita wanted him to fuck her again, and employed every artful device she knew to stimulate his interest and stiffen his cock again. His reaction was slow, delayed, and it wasn't until Rita abandoned the notion and sauntered into the bathroom that he worked up enough enthusiasm to follow her. He came up behind her as she stooped over the bathtub swishing the steaming water. The way she stood gave him a full view of every detail of her puffy vagina. He slipped his cock into her and quickly stroked her into panting excitement, brought her swiftly to fever-heat and held her on the brink of straining orgasm, her hands still dabbling in the water, until he finally flattened his belly against the curve of her back and spat his diminished sap into her as she jerked her head up, her juices flowing as copiously as before.
Afterward, they bathed in the same tub, dried on the same towel. Matt opened another bottle of beer. Rita climbed into bed naked. Matt shrugged into a green pajama top but left the bottom half folded on a chair. He seemed to be pondering, on the point of saying something but putting it off.
Eventually he said: "I might as well tell you-you'll find out anyway. I'm married. But my wife doesn't live with me. She's a bitch, doesn't understand me. Doesn't even try. We've been washed up for some time, but she won't divorce me. I send her money and she lives her own life. I live mine . . . But it gets bloody lonely when I'm not traveling. I need somebody, Rita. Somebody like you. And maybe I can help you. I've got friends in London, people in show business. Of course, I don't know if you've really got talent, but you've certainly got looks, and the figure. I can give you a few names and addresses, and maybe a letter of introduction. There's one character in particular, an agent. If you've got anything at all Travis Caufield will spot it. If I was going back to England right away I'd take you with me, but I'm flying to the States tomorrow. I'll be there a couple of weeks."
Rita sat up, resentful and disappointed, instantly suspicious.
"America!" she blurted. "You're going to America?"
"New York. We've got offices there too. But it's only for a couple of weeks, then we'll get together in London. I'll rent a small apartment for you and we can see each other most weekends. I've got a boat, on the Norfolk Broads. You'd like that, sailing and sunbathing and fishing, just lazing around. We'll be good for each other, Rita."
There was a heaviness in Rita's belly. He would forget her the moment he stepped aboard that plane, she thought. Why should he remember her, or obligate himself? She was nobody, just another casual lay. But at least maybe she could screw the fare to London out of him. And if he did have contacts- All she needed was one lucky break. The prospect of London was exciting.
She fell asleep thinking about the future. In the early hours she was wakened by Matt's insistent groping, and turned her face to the wall so that he could fuck her from behind without disturbing her rest any more than was necessary. For the time being her mind was void of sex, her energy drained. She submitted, endured, then went to sleep again. The next time she opened her eyes it was broad daylight and she was alone in the bed. Matt had left a note for her, and a substantial amount of money, more than enough for her immediate needs. He also left a sealed envelope addressed to Travis Caufield of the Rupert Court Theatrical Agency, off Shaftsbury Avenue, London, and a personal message indicating he would contact Rita on his return to England. He had also given her an address in Chelsea where she could stay until he was able to arrange something. He had enclosed a key.
His indication of implicit trust astonished Rita. She had obviously made a more profound impression than she'd realized. Her only problem now was what to wear until she could spend some of Matt's cash on clothes. Eventually she solved the predicament by bribing one of the hotel maids.
Chapter Six
Rita read the letter again, folded it carefully and replaced it in the envelope which she placed behind the clock on the marble mantelpiece. The envelope bore a New York postmark. It was the second letter she had received from Matt since she had arrived in London. The contents were disappointing. He was unavoidably detained for a further two or three weeks, Matt wrote, but the rent of his Chelsea apartment was paid several months in advance and she had no cause for anxiety, nor any problems other than convincing Travis Caufield of her artistic ability.
Rita shrugged. She hadn't even seen Caufield yet. The kettle in the elaborate kitchen was making shrill whistling sounds. Rita sauntered from the lounge, made coffee, and ran a hot bath. By ten-thirty she was on her way to Soho, traveling on the subway, wide-eyed with interest and feeling acutely apprehensive.
The young colored secretary who showed Rita into Travis Caufield's dingy office had a pair of boobs like melons. No bra. Her skirt was so short Rita could see dark wisps of pubic hair straggling from the legholes of white satin panties. The outline of the girl's cunt was plainly visible. Her jaws were busy on a wad of gum. When Rita asked for Caufield the secretary indicated a closed door with a jerky movement of her head. She studied Rita cynically. She was attractive, her skin a light brown color, her eyes large and luminous-and shrewdly calculating.
"He's expectin' yo, honey," she said. "If he likes you you'll be there an hour, if not, straight out on your arse. I'm goin' to lunch early, so you won't be disturbed."
She laughed, smirking, revealing large white teeth. Rita shrugged. She knocked on the door. A bored voice told her to enter. The man seated behind a massive desk was younger than she'd expected, and he was a Negro, black as the ace of spades, a fat, prosperous-looking character chewing on a slim cigar the same color as his expressionless face. A hard bastard, Rita thought. Mild interest flickered in his coldly appraising eyes. He nodded, extending a broad hand. Rita gave him the note from Matt. Caufield tore the envelope open, read the message, grunted, tossed the note on his desk, and leaned back.
"So you want to be in show business," he said. "Half the big names out of work, and you want to make the grade? Pop singer, huh? Well, there's more to it than exercising your tonsils, kid. Matt says you've got a voice. Okay, let's hear it."
He quit the desk, crossed the room to a beat-up piano, played a few notes. Rita knew the number, but she hesitated. Caufield shifted the cigar to the other side of his flabby mouth. "All right," he said irritably. "So what are you waiting for? Sing."
He commenced playing. Rita started. After a few bars Caufield slammed the piano lid down.
"Cool it," he told her. "Stop wasting my time."
"You don't like my voice, Mister Caufield?" Rita seemed surprised, indignant.
Caufield shrugged. "You can warble," he admitted. "But so can a bloody canary-and who wants an Irish canary these days? The kids who buy records want something different. You don't have it, kid. You'll never make a pop star so long as you've got a hole in your arse."
Rita looked shattered.
Caufield shifted the cigar again. "Look," he said. "I get five hundred girls in here every week. They all think they're star quality. Only one in ten thousand ever makes it. You need a gimmick, something besides looks and shape. How do you feel about stripping?"
"Stripping! Look, I didn't come over here to be a bloody stripper. I thought-Matt Brent said-Gee, I want to be a singer, or an actress."
Caufield shrugged. "Okay. So maybe later on I'll get you a break. Right now the trick is to get started. I've got contracts, and I can probably get you into one of the Soho clubs, but it won't be easy. Every scrubber who shows up in London thinks she's got what it takes to get into the game." He waved the cigar, scattering ash. "Like I said, it won't be easy. But with your body there's a chance, and as a stripper you meet people, kid-people who matter."
"But, Mister Caufield-a stripper. I don't know-"
"What's wrong with taking your clothes off?
Don't tell me you're a bloody virgin as well as a canary."
"Do me a favor. Look, I don't mind taking my clothes off if it'll pay the rent. It's just that I'm, well, I'm so disappointed I could puke. Matt told me you'd fix everything."
"Matt doesn't know the score. Everybody wants to be a star. Look, suppose you start as a stripper, maybe throw in a song or two to set the right mood, a sort of novelty act. Then, if they like you- It could lead to anything, maybe even a part in a West End revue. It does happen."
"You really think it might work out? Oh, I'll do anything-"
"You'll probably have to, kid. This is a tough business. But there's compensations. Naturally I'll expect you to make it worth my while."
"I don't have any money."
"I wasn't talking about money, sweetheart. Without somebody like me behind you, you're nothing. Remember that. Put yourself in my hands and I'll do what I can, but-"
"I'll be ever so grateful, Mister Caufield."
"The name is Travis. All right, kid. We've got a deal. Let's see what you've got."
He gestured for her to raise her dress. He wanted it higher, then off altogether.
"I want to see how you stack up," he told her. "The way you'll finish up on stage. The right attitude and approach is essential. You're a natural, Rita. You'll find stripping will come easy after the first couple of times. Learn to play to the audience, baby, and you'll have no problems. You'll be independent, and you'll make money.
Not a fortune, but- That appeal to you?"
"I'm listening, Travis."
"Good. Then take the dress off."
Rita obeyed, wriggling her hips and working the tight dress up over her quivering breasts and finally over her head. She wore flesh-colored pantyhose, no bra. Her breasts stood out firm and inviting, succulently enormous. Caufield licked his thick lips. Rita postured, causing her boobs to bounce and shake. She sucked her belly in and out, protruding her pelvis, shaking her head. Sweat appeared on Caufield's forehead. His black face glistened. The cigar went out.
"All right," he told her. "Cool it. Now peel off the rest."
Rita hesitated, then smiled, kicked her shoes off, pushed the panties down over her smooth hips, rolled the stockings down, and hauled the crumpled garment over her feet. She stood arrogantly naked, smirking, hands on hips.
Caufield sucked in his breath sharply. "Very nice," he remarked. He moved toward the door, locked it, flipped his cigar butt into the waste basket, leaned against the desk, and fingered the front of his pants.
"You've got the body," he admitted. "But setting you up won't be easy. It's up to you, kid, how bad you want the job. Not just me, understand? You'll be expected to keep the management happy, and I'll want more than my ten per cent cut. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. You dig?"
Rita nodded. She pivoted, turned completely round, exhibiting the exciting fullness of her bottom, then stood with legs slightly apart. Caufield swallowed noisily. He clutched his penis through his pants.
"I guess we understand one another," he said. "How are you in the clinches, baby?"
"Try me," Rita answered softly. "If I'm going to be a stripper I'm going to be the best. But remember, it's only a start. I'll expect something better."
Caufield nodded, his hot gaze on her tits. Rita cupped the proud mounds, bunching them together. Caufield swore, jerking his fly undone to let his thick penis flop out. He studied Rita's reaction. Apart from a slight flaring of the nostrils and a twitching round her mouth she betrayed no obvious emotion. Caufield grinned as she moved toward him.
"You've been around," he stated. "Most of the scrubbers who come in here don't know what a hard prick's for. At least that's the impression they give. You'd be surprised how some of them perform. But you-you're just hard-faced enough to make a success. I'll look out for you, kid. You've got the makings of a sweet fuck. I knew that the moment you walked through the door. Get hold of this, canary. I think that's what I'll call you. Or, maybe not. Take hold of it, honey. It's big and it's black, but that doesn't scare you, kid, eh? You like black cock, right?"
"I like cock," Rita told him bluntly. "Bigger the better. I wasn't raised in any convent. How do you want me, Travis?"
She reached for his stiffening penis, curled her fingers round it, felt it swell and throb. She'd handled bigger tools, but- There was a tightness in her anus and a pulsing ache in her quim. She had an idea that screwing with Travis Caufield was likely to prove a violent and sensational experience. He thrust his corpulent roll into the funnel formed by her fingers, grabbed her, mauled her buttocks, lowered his head, and mouthed her tits.
"On the desk," he mumbled thickly. Abruptly he lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the desk, laid her back and got between her dangling legs. Rita expected him to kiss her cunt and hoped he would, but he was impatient to sink his prick. He jerked her thighs roughly apart, pulled her bodily toward his jutting knob and butted ferociously at her warm gash, ramming until his hard tool forced an entry and immediately abandoned all control. Groaning and glaring, straining, he assaulted her dark passage with berserk frenzy, fucking callously, indifferent to Rita's discomfort, slogging into her without consideration or restraint or finesse, a black animal, all prick and lust and clawing, squeezing hands. Rita, jerking and panting, gripped the edge of the table fiercely, and smiled as she co-operated, striving to hasten his climax and her own, commencing to moan and thrash about as his crudeness brought her along rapidly to the brink of shuddering orgasm.
Rita stood in front of the closet mirror and critically inspected the reflection of her body, twisting this way then that, pawing her naked flesh. She had taken to stripping like a duck to water. All right, so she wasn't star material. But sooner or later, she was convinced, her lucky break would come. Meanwhile she was eating regularly and her routine at the Starlite Club was already attracting attention.
As a lover Caufield was crude but satisfactory. He had a key to Matt's apartment and dropped in at all hours. Rita was grateful to him for getting her a start. In the short while she had been at the club she had come to realize just how difficult it was for a girl without influential friends. There were other men, of course. Caufield knew about them-in fact he often arranged a private screwing session if he thought it might help Rita's career.
Rita hefted her breasts. They were getting even bigger. Her creamy-white skin was traced with faint blue veins, the nipples jutting enormously, elongating and hardening as she toyed with them. Her body was excitingly voluptuous without superfluous fat. her belly almost flat-until she extended it-her thighs long and supple, well rounded, flanks hollow, hips swelling seductively into deliciously mature and prominent buttocks, sexy ovals that shivered and jounced when she walked. They liked her arse at the club. One man regularly sent her roses-a reminder of the night when somebody stuck an artificial rose in the crack of her arse as she danced, and the luscious cheeks nipped the long stem and held it throughout the rest of her act. Canary, the name Caufield had given her stuck, although the first time she sang somebody suggested they change it to Crow.
Rita fluffed the thick black hair covering her mound. She was obliged to clip the silken bush to prevent straggling ends from showing past the ridiculously inadequate triangle of silk that merely drew attention to her quim at the end of her performance. The law required a minimum of covering even though her arse was bare. She stubbornly resisted all attempts to persuade her to shave her minge.
She spread her legs, parted the dense growth and examined her split, separating the fleshy folds. Her cunt had become tremendously enlarged and elongated, the vulva thickened, protruding audaciously. Rita smiled, remembering the avid lips that had slobbered over it, the clammy hands and turgid pricks that had mauled and fucked it. It was no ornament-a real asset, that hairy gash, the key that would open many doors and, eventually, the right one . . .
It was after midnight when Caufield came to the apartment. He was drunk and in a mean mood. When he kissed her the reek of whiskey on his breath was nauseatingly strong. Her repugnance needled him and he pushed Rita violently so that she sprawled on the bed. She had never seen him like that before. She felt apprehensive, but tried to relax.
Caufield undressed, fumbling and muttering. His penis was slack, his eyes bloodshot. He lifted Rita's short nightdress and immediately became tremendously aroused. He sat on the edge of the bed and insisted on kissing her, thrusting his tongue repeatedly into her mouth. Rita endured, and promptly opened her legs wide when he groped between them, wanting to get it over with and fully expecting him to pass out. He didn't seem capable of sex. She, for the moment, was indifferent.
For a while Caufield just sat there, staring at her cunt. Eventually he touched the dusky vent, then inserted a thick black finger and worked it about with uncouth vigor. Saliva bubbled at the corners of his mouth. His broad face twitched. His cock stood fully erect now, throbbing hotly against his belly, trapped as he leaned forward. Abruptly he slumped and sprawled across her legs. Rita thought he had blacked out, but presently he raised his head and gazed into the close proximity of her vulnerable crotch. Suddenly, he squashed his face against the warm hairiness of her cunt and began tonguing it, avidly exploring the moist fissure and simultaneously forcing a hand under her hip and arse cheek, groping toward her anus. When his fingers established contact his whole gross body shuddered and he chuckled obscenely, blasting hot breath against the spittle-slick opening of her vagina. His thick lips enclosed her vulva and he sucked noisily, probing her arsehole at the same time and causing her to rear up. The surging impetus of her convulsive response splayed her quim against his adoring mouth, and as the stabbing inroads of his tongue were intensified, aggravating her clitoris, Rita's lack of interest quickly evaporated and she moaned with mounting lust. Delightful sensations gathered in her glistening cunt, and she trembled, suddenly eager for Caufield's fat black prick inside her. But he tormented her-and himself-punishing her buttocks and her anus, his broad nose sniffing excitedly, his mouth munching her palpitating furrow, licking with a fierce hunger as if trying to pluck the throbbing, swollen clitoris from the hot cavern and swallow it, clamping his lips to the vibrant recess and forcing the dark flesh inward, then gathering it into his mouth and grunting passionately as Rita's quim released pungent juices.
Rita was approaching a second emission when Caufield lifted his head and shook it as if to clear the liquor fumes from his brain. He stood up, swaying drunkenly. His solid penis stood up hard and magnificent, a bulging stalk surrounded by tufts of coarse, grey-tinged black hair. His balls were tightly bunched, the scrotum drawn up and deeply wrinkled. He clutched his cock, causing the hugely distended knob to glow purple.
"It takes a nigger to raise a stalk drunk or sober," he bragged. "I'm the greatest, kid. Damn fucking right. And you go for it, sweetheart. You want it all, eh-in your mouth, you little cocksucker, and where else, Irish canary? I'll tell you where I want it-up your bloody arse, kid. And that's where I'm going to shove it. Okay? I've wanted to screw your ring ever since I first saw you bare arsed in my office. Now you're getting it."
He recovered his balance, gripped her shoulders and tried to poke his cock at her mouth. Rita sighed. She ignored his aggressiveness and hunched forward, sexually aroused and eager to comply with whatever demands he made. She handled his genitals, kissed his cock, took the swollen glans into her mouth. She had slight misgivings about submitting to anal intercourse. Not even Mike had ever attempted to fuck her arsehole, but she knew that she would indulge Caufield's whim. Meanwhile she sucked his prick in a fervor of intoxicated sensuality, reveling in the strong odor of his torrid flesh and the sweaty testicles slapping her chin. She loved the warm spongy feel of his penis, its virility and superb male vigor. It was a powerful black animal over which she had no control, yet which responded to her every caress. And she was as fiercely abandoned, aflame with carnal anguish, all quivering cunt and jutting tits and tautly convulsed arse, craving rapturous release in the blissful ecstasy of orgasm, completely obsessed, almost demented, oblivious of everything except her own goading need and the lascivious delight derived from what she was doing.
The throbbing contact of the tremendously inflated penis filling her mouth had a hypnotizing effect. It was her fetish, the rigid symbol of her abject submission. She felt an insane compulsion to thrust her hand right up her clutching quim and tear out the churning ball of searing fury concentrated in her entrails. Grotesque fantasies clouded her seething brain. She clasped the Negro's taut buttocks convulsively and pulled his cock deeper into her mouth, sucking furiously, distraught with the insatiability of stark passion. The strong flavor of thick sperm seepage was cloying and bitter against her tongue, but Caufield withdrew before the gathering flood broke. His control was extraordinary, the more so because he was drunk. Grinning, handling his monstrous erection, he told Rita curtly to turn over. She lay on her belly, offering no argument, stubbornly resolved to endure in her own best interests.
The bed creaked as Caufield knelt. He squatted between her thighs and she shivered at his unsteady touch on her bottom, heard his swiftly indrawn breath as he parted the cheeks and distorted them, uncovering her anal pit. He lowered his head and licked the brown aperture, filled it with spittle and probed his tongue repeatedly into it, screwing the tip deep into the resilient hole. There was a tube of face cream on the nearby dressing-table. Caufield reached for it, unscrewed the cap, fumbled, dropped the tube on the rug and, retrieving it, squeezed most of the cream onto the carpet. He squirted what was left into the palm of his left hand, smeared it into the crease of Rita's arse and began working it into her anus, muttering and swearing as he rubbed and kneaded. Rita realized with a twinge of alarm that he actually intended to ravage her back passage. She wasn't really afraid, and the idea in no way disgusted her-she was merely apprehensive of the Negro in his drunken condition. Several times she tried to raise herself and twist over, but each time Caufield pushed her down impatiently. Eventually she resigned herself to whatever ordeal he was determined to inflict.
He moved down until by clasping her hips and applying leverage he caused her bottom to lift and protrude grossly. His thumbs gouged into her tender flesh, spreading her arsehole. Suddenly, he lunged, his penis ramming into the widened cleavage, the bulging knob savagely questing. Rutted flesh slick with scented cream channeled his tool into the puckered rut of her anus. Rita sighed, gasping as Caufield strained. It was suddenly unimportant whether or not Caufield buggered her. It wasn't scruples that bothered her. Physically, the notion of having a fat prick up her arse was mildly stimulating, maybe as pleasurable for her as for Caufield.
She braced herself as his great black root bored into her stubborn passage. She had an exceptionally large anus and the cream assisted Caufield's entry, but only to a marginal degree at first. Under pressure the crinkly rim yielded slightly, distended more decisively as Caufield persisted, and suddenly stretched sufficiently to admit the gouging knob, closing clamlike behind the triumphant head. Rita swore, gripped the bed covers tightly and clenched her teeth. The Negro quickly followed up his advantage, pushing resolutely, screwing his iron-hard rod fractionally deeper. Irritated by the slowness of his conquest he pried the distorted anus open round his embedded knob, thrusting both thumbs past his throbbing penis into the hole and dragging the dark rim away from his cock while continually striving to work his prick further in, and succeeding, persevering until several incites of coal-black cock blocked the clutching aperture. He rested then, laying his sweating face against Rita's back and voicing hoarse encouragement, coaxing, consoling, dominating her.
Presently he resumed, slipped both hands under her hips and clung tenaciously, undulating his buttocks with renewed determination, grunting and grimacing each time his relentless tool achieved some additional gain. The further up her anus he screwed, the less painful the assault became. Once the fiercely swollen knob was fully embedded the resilient channel more readily accepted the circumference of his penis-and the recurring sensations as it was forced into her rectum provoked a combination of dragging, aching torment and erotic stimulation that extended into her vagina and spread like wildfire through her body, flaying her carnal senses raw. Her arsehole felt as though it was being irrevocably ruptured, but as the hot friction steadily diminished pleasurable thrills and spasms compensated for the pain. Rita's thoughts concentrated on the rapidly intensifying nucleus of desire linking her anus and cunt, knowing the ordeal was almost over.
With half his bloated penis sheathed Caufield curbed the violence of his thrusts, striving to prolong the hot climax; but he was already thrashing on the brink of tempestuous orgasm, expiring in the shuddering convulsions of draining rapture, wilting, flopping forward, panting with his cheek pressed against the trembling paleness of Rita's back, her flushed flesh stifling his groans. In the final moments before his sperm load jetted he embraced her hips and dug his fingers deeply into her groin, bracing her arse against the power of his spurting lunge and molding the curve of her bottom into the hot recess of his loins.
While his cock still pumped he withdrew, quickly changed his position, heaved Rita to a kneeling posture and rammed his reeking prick directly into her gaping twat, fucked her furiously until the dregs of a second orgasm spewed sluggishly, then collapsed in a drunken stupor and lay wheezing. Rita lay passively under his gross bulk, flattened into the mattress, overwhelmed in the ecstasy of fulfillment, breathing rapidly, relaxing in the tingling contentment, lying open-mouthed, her face blank in the rich afterglow. The torrid spasms gradually dwindled, yielding to a blissful, soothing limpness, the warm saturation of fulfillment and joyous satisfaction.
When she moved Caufield toppled sideways and fell off the bed, sprawling on his back. His mouth hung open and his drooping penis descended in gentle twitching spasms closer to the white rug under his arse. He began to snore. Rita assumed a reclining pose and peered at him over the edge of the bed. She opened her mouth to speak, but realized the futility of saying anything, and closed it again. She winced. At least she knew now what it was like. Her arsehole felt big enough to bury her fist in. Drunken bastard, she thought. Fucking black swine. But she was as bad. She hadn't tried to stop him. She shrugged. What the hell? Up the arse or between the legs, what's the difference?
The next day when Caufield called her he didn't even mention the incident, but thereafter, every time he got drunk he had her in the same uncouth way. Rita didn't mind. After that first time it was relatively easy. Caufield had other interests, a lot of girls to pick from. The colored secretary was high on his list. Sometimes he brought women to the apartment. Rita always knew when he had been there by the state of her bedroom. But she didn't object. Matt had given Caufield a key. She expected Matt back any time. Meanwhile she performed twice nightly at the Starlite Club, and sometimes she actually got a chance to sing, although it was the strip routine that brought the applause. But every night was a challenge, every day another opportunity, a possibility that the phone might ring and it would be somebody important at the other end opening the door to a career.
Chapter Seven
Matt returned unexpectedly on the Saturday night, and almost caught Rita in bed with Caufield. He moved into the apartment and devoted all his free time to Rita. He was sympathetic about her failure to get a break in show business, and said he couldn't understand it. He hadn't intended for her to wind up as a stripper when he sent her to Caufield. But there was no necessity for her to stay in a dump like the Starlite, or to work at all. He would look after her and support her. He no longer cared if his wife found out about Rita. It might even persuade her to sue for divorce.
He took Rita to expensive restaurants, to the theater. Whenever the lousy English weather permitted they spent weekends on his power boat moored on the Norfolk Broads. They went everywhere together. Rita was seldom bored, and she genuinely liked Matt. He was attentive, a considerate lover, and generous with money.
He came to Rita one morning soon after she got out of bed. She slept late, for it was usually around three in the morning before she got away from the club. She answered the door bleary-eyed and with her hair tousled, wondering irritably who the hell was thumbing the bell-push, and was surprised to see Matt. He had forgotten his key, he said. Why wasn't he at the office, Rita asked. Balls to the office, he told her excitedly. He looked strained but flushed. His wife had died, he blurted, suddenly and inexplicably, without apparent reason. They had found her slumped over the wheel of her car. No sign of any injury. No history of cardiac disorder.
Matt was no hypocrite. He was glad the bitch was dead, he said. She had made his life a hell. He planned to have the body cremated. He stayed long enough to eat breakfast.
Rita didn't see him again until a few days after the funeral. He surprised her again then by asking her to go and live at his country house in Windsor. He didn't give a damn about what people thought or said, and to hell with Rita's job. He was leaving soon for another, more lengthy stay in New York, and wanted to spend as much time with Rita as possible. Sevenoaks, his place at Windsor, was more convenient in every way. While he was away she could stay there and be looked after. He would talk with Caufield.
Rita didn't argue. They left London that evening. Windsor was quiet and peaceful. It reminded Rita of Cork, in Ireland. At the big, sprawling house discreet servants attended to her every want. She settled in quickly, but couldn't overcome a feeling of strangeness. She met many of Matt's friends and business associates including the senior executive who handled the company's financial business in London. Mervyn Stone was older than Matt, but still vigorous and active, a rather stocky man, distinguished-looking, with iron-grey hair and a quick, flashing smile. Rita saw through the polished veneer to the opportunist and lecher underneath, but she liked Stone's pleasant manner.
Her sex life with Matt was adequately satisfying. He was a considerate lover, beginning awkwardly but becoming ferociously aroused at the first glimpse of nudity.
One Saturday night Rita was lying naked on the bed, reading, when Matt entered the bedroom from the adjoining bathroom. Rita set the magazine aside and sat up, smiling. Matt loosened the towel wrapped round his waist, tossed it to her, stood smirking while she dried his lean body. She wiped the crease of his buttocks, and he parted his legs to let her towel his genitals. The moment she touched his penis it lifted, swelling rapidly. Rita dropped the towel. She held his prick, pushed the foreskin back, leaned over and kissed the smooth knob, then took his sweet-smelling roll into her mouth, knowing his lewd preference. But she wanted it inside her and stubbornly rejected it before his excitement reached the point of no return.
She lay back and separated her thighs, drew her knees up and fully exposed her eager cunt, holding the slit open. Matt's erection was enormous. He inserted the distraught head and lunged immediately, falling forward on top of her the instant his cock was engulfed. Rita moaned with pleasure and contracted her passage, wondering vaguely why Matt hadn't indulged his usual practice of fondling her tits and kissing between her legs before mounting her. He was more impatient than she had ever known him, not that she was complaining.
He penetrated easily, crushing her heaving breasts against his chest, and was lost in the wet chasm of her enraptured split. Rita raised her legs higher, let them hang over his shoulders and abandoned her jerking body to shivering ecstasy. Already, Matt was coming, uttering harsh croaking sounds, thrashing his prick into her with exceptional vigor, his head jolting from side to side, mouth gaping loosely. She received the hot flood of his sperm before the simmering turmoil in her responsive quim came fully to the boil; she writhed in frustration, trying to prolong the act, but Matt pulled out.
He lay staring at the ceiling, seemingly preoccupied. Gradually, Rita ferreted out the reason. A crisis had arisen connected with the Frankfurt branch of the business. Matt had to attend a vitally important conference in Geneva.
"When?" Rita wanted to know.
"I have to be in Geneva on Wednesday. God knows how long I'll be gone. Meanwhile I'd like you to stay here."
Rita told him she'd rather go back to London. Windsor was too quiet.
"And do what?" Matt demanded. "Not that bloody strip club again?"
Rita shrugged. Why not, she argued? She got bored just sitting around. She felt lost in that great house, like a fish out of water. She was popular at the club. The atmosphere was lively. As always, she overruled Matt's arguments. The sooner he got back, the quicker they'd be together again, she pointed out. Meanwhile she might be missing out on some golden opportunity.
But after Matt had gone, she missed him. On the Thursday evening Mervyn Stone drove down from the city and, as usual, expected to stay overnight. He was particularly attentive to Rita. She had intended to return to London that night, but Mervyn had promised Matt he would take care of some property repairs and planned to stay over at Sevenoaks until the work was in hand. Rita decided to remain, and travel back with him on the Sunday.
She knew that Mervyn lusted after her. The symptoms were too obvious to be ignored. He had never pestered her, but she often caught him staring at her, and read the craving in his eyes.
Late Saturday she was in bed, reading. It was a sultry night, airless and humid, and she couldn't sleep. Her flesh was hot and clammy under the thin nightdress. The house was quiet. Apart from the chauffeur and his wife, who occupied a small apartment above the garage, Rita and Mervyn were alone in the vast place. It was the cook's night off. The other servants only came in during the day.
When an acrid reek of smoldering cloth infiltrated into the bedroom, Rita was puzzled, then apprehensive, and finally acutely alarmed when the odor became more pronounced. She went to the door, opened it, and discovered that the smell was much stronger in the corridor, pervading the whole house. A light was visible under the door of Mervyn Stone's room. Rita knocked. Mervyn opened up promptly. He was wearing an expensive bathrobe over peach colored pajamas.
"What's wrong?" he demanded. His nose twitched.
"I can smell smoke. I think something's burning, in the basement."
"A fire! My God! Yes, I can smell it. I'd best take a look."
He strode down the hall and descended the stairs. Rita waited anxiously, leaning on the balustrade. Mervyn returned leisurely. He was grinning.
"Nothing to worry about," he reported. "Somebody left some rags burning in the incinerator with the door wide open. The cellar is full of smoke. I opened the window, but I've bolted the connecting door so there's no fear of any prowler getting in." He studied her and frowned-she was trembling. "You look as if you could use a drink," Mervyn said. "I shouldn't have thought you were of a nervous disposition."
"I'm not. But I've always had a thing about fire."
Mervyn grasped her arm, steered her persuasively toward his room, pushed her inside, and closed the door. Smiling, he leaned against it. Rita turned, tripped over the rug, and would have fallen if he hadn't grabbed her. He supported her with a sinewy arm round her waist.
"You feel cold," he remarked. "Somehow that doesn't fit in with my conception of you."
"I'm not cold-blooded," Rita told him. "Just a little agitated."
Impulsively she grasped his left hand and pressed it to her ribs just below her breast.
"Feel how my heart's pounding," she invited.
"This place depresses me. And I've been dreading Matt going away again. We've had hardly any time together. I'm bored, and lonely. I shall be glad to get back to London."
"I know, my dear. But there's no need for you to be lonely."
Mervyn moved his hand up to the swelling ripeness of her tit and squeezed gently, then more firmly. Emboldened when Rita didn't object, he cupped the sumptuous oval and hefted its yielding rotundity. Rita giggled, swayed against him, tittered again when his hand slid inside the nightdress and grabbed soft flesh, teased the large nipple, and then, quite suddenly and audaciously, eased her left tit right out so that it hung ripe and heavy against his palm, flawless, the dark aureole accentuating the rich coloring of the protruding bud.
Rita sighed. Her nervousness vanished. She was in the mood for sex and needed the strength of a man's arms round her, the solace only a hard penis could bring. Mervyn sensed her willingness and mauled her breast fiercely, breathing hard when the elongating nipple jutted proudly and her white flesh quivered in his grasp. He pushed the nightdress off her shoulders and exposed her other breast, clutching its smooth perfection.
"You don't have to be lonely," he repeated. "I've wanted you since the first time Matt introduced us. You're gorgeous! Utterly wonderful! I'm crazy about you. God, Rita! You're not just an illusion any more, something I've been longing to touch but daren't hardly look at. I've been on fire for you all this time, but I never dared hope- Rita! You don't mind? No, by God! You want it too. You want it-"
He jerked her savagely closer, and she felt the surging lift of his restless penis through his pajamas. The robe hung open. He kissed her, his tongue instantly searching her mouth, flickering, probing awkwardly, impatiently demanding. He reached down and hauled the hem of her nightdress up, rucked the garment past her waist, slid both hands round to her buttocks and captured the ravishing cheeks, fiercely distorting her warm flesh, exploring the damp crease. Her belly moved against his in a provocative fucking motion, and she closed her teeth on his delving tongue, bit it gently, then sucked the curling tip.
Mervyn writhed. He twisted his mouth away from hers and traced moist kisses down her throat to the creamy curve of her breast, enclosed the pouting teat and sucked it, burying his face in vibrant tit and tugging at the swollen nipple until Rita voiced gasping protest. He was too rough, too impatient. His kneading fingers punished her arse, digging into the deep cleft and acutely stretching the dark skin linking anus and vagina, trapping stray pubic hairs painfully. When he finally raised his head his expression was strained, his face flushed.
"I'm burning up," he blurted. "I want to see you naked, to kiss you all over, especially your divine arse. God! The feel of it is driving me crazy! I've got a kink about bottoms, girly arses that is. I've longed to uncover yours since the first time I saw you, the way you walk "with your bottom joggling and heaving. I want to kiss every luscious inch before I thrash my prick between your legs. That's what you want, darling, isn't it? What we both want."
A hard finger found her arsehole and poked about until the digit was abruptly sucked into the brown pit. Mervyn shifted a hand to her crotch, parted the pubic growth and laid the full length of his middle finger along the split of her cunt. The crevice yielded softly, closed clamlike round his finger, and Rita bucked violently.
"Take my prick out," Mervyn urged hoarsely. "Get hold of it. Feel it bursting with vitality. It's big, darling. You like a big fat prick. You'll like mine. Take it out. Jesus! You've got a cunt like a bloody mare- I could lose my hand inside."
Rita pushed against him, wanting sex as much as he did, wanting to see just how big his penis was, to feel it expanding inside her. Mervyn was right. She did like a big prick, and she wanted his. She closed her thighs together, imprisoning his hand.
"You might lose your cock too," she told him impudently. "I want you to fuck me, Mervyn. But-is it fair to Matt?"
"Forget Matt. Think of this thing, bursting to get out. Matt's in Geneva. Probably shagging the arse off some young whore right now. Take hold of my prick, for Christ's sake!"
He tightened his clutch on her cunt, mouthed urgent appeals, becoming savage. Rita closed his mouth with hers, felt the heaving ridge of his penis through the thin pajamas. She slipped her hand inside the pajama pants, boldly grasped the fleshy coil, pulled it out, a lovely cock, rapidly bloating. Rita pushed her fingers right down to the pulsing roots of his coarse hair. The torrid branch beat against her forearm, and a surge of wanton excitement gripped Rita. The throbbing power of that rearing prick sent shivers of lewd anticipation through her.
She felt hot and sweaty, and momentarily relinquished her tense hold in order to remove her nightdress. Naked, smoky-eyed, she smirked into Mervyn's mottled face. His hand left her cunt and she promptly recaptured his cock. The sight and feel of it was like an aphrodisiac and brought the wetness of premature orgasm into her vulva and formed a tight knot of torrid desire.
Mervyn groaned. He kissed her tits, pressing his mouth hungrily to the soaring mounds, bunched them together and trapped his face between their heaving softness. His hands went to her bottom again, cupped the voluptuous cheeks, lifted them, then compressed their bulging, rolling fleshiness and exerted pressure to bring her agitated mound spasmodically forward so that the hard core of his knob protruding beyond the enclosure of Rita's frigging hand jabbed into her vaginal cavity.
Rita spread her legs wide, tugged at Mervyn's penis, forcing the glans against her cunt, chafing the tremulous lips. Their mouths came together again, tongues writhing like snakes. Mervyn lifted Rita, carried her with his hands under her bottom to the low bed, and dumped her on it. She squirmed erect and perched on the extreme edge, watching Mervyn remove the bathrobe then his pajamas. His naked body was covered with dark hair, thick with muscle. His obscenely jutting penis pulsed solidly, endowed with a vitality independent of his thickset frame. The skin of his scrotum was tightly shriveled, his balls full and heavy.
Rita felt a compulsion to suck his penis, a desire to feel it kicking and expanding in her mouth. Even without experiencing its regal intrusion she was close to orgasm, the carnal pit of her lust tingling and churning in sweet anguish that was rapidly becoming unbearable. She squeezed her tits, pulling at the hugely distended nipples, held her legs wide apart to expose every detail of her hot cunt, wanting to reveal everything, to exhibit herself, to give and receive the maximum. Yielding to the strong craving, she stooped forward, seized Mervyn's fat cock and quickly brought her mouth to it, pressed her lips round the straining knob. Clasping his tensed buttocks, she took several inches of prick into her mouth, and felt the savage - constriction of his limbs and the rippling surge of blood along the superb length of his roll.
She sucked more of it into the gaping cavern, grasping his cock just above its tremendous base with her left hand, still gouging the crack of his arse with her right. She was astonished when he voluntarily withdrew his prick from the fierce suction of her mouth. She tried to recapture it, but Mervyn pushed her down and deftly turned her on her belly. He delved instantly into the division of her buttocks, wallowing in the sexy furrow, licking and sniffing and grunting, thrusting his face deep into soft, squashy flesh and smelling the alluring pit of her contracting anus, then worming his features lower and tugging at the insides of her thighs to facilitate oral contact with her cunt.
Tensely overwrought, she came, wetting his mouth and nostrils, wriggling her arse and quim against his questing lips, gasping when his exploring tongue lapped the seeping dregs of her cunt drip.
Orgasm merely intensified her frenzy. The delicious feeling persisted. She turned on her back and raised both legs, spread them wide and held her hairy gash open, imploring Mervyn to fuck her, almost sobbing with the agony of her clawing need when he mounted her. Grasping his cock, she guided it, and after a moment's fumbling he achieved entry, allowed his full weight to batter the girl and drive his prick savagely in to the limit, lunging with the straining impetus of his body's descent. Her rampant cunt engulfed his impaling tool and clamped round it with exquisite suction, drawing waves of frantic sensation from it. Contracting muscles bulged her taut belly and endowed her vagina with the convulsive power akin to the choking grip of a clammy fist. She locked her fingers behind Mervyn's neck, arched her spine, and was pounded breathless with the frenzy of his fucking-flopped about, dragged up and squashed down, flattened, battered. All the time she clung to him she studied his sweating face, his rapidly changing expressions, the way his lips writhed back from his gritted teeth, the suction of his hairy nostrils.
Orgasm again swept Rita's straining body, but she still wanted more. Continuous emissions washed round the embedded prick in a series of acute spasms, a sort of chain reaction. Every grunting lunge provoked another spasm accompanied by hot, stabbing thrills that wrung high shrill cries of distress and torrid emotion from her. As Mervyn slogged into her with furious resolution Rita was again seized by the powerful urge to hold his cock in her mouth and catch the spurting gush when he came, but he shot his load before she could indulge the whim.
He lay heavily on her, panting, but presently heaved himself off and, when Rita turned on her side, stretched out beside her, his right arm supporting his head. Rita, still trembling with desire, burning in a flame that seemed inextinguishable, played with his flaccid penis, striving to coax it back to functional proportions. Mervyn watched her, and presently covered her hand with his and quickened the masturbating strokes. His organ was lifting sluggishly in little jerky movements. He drew Rita's head down, and she sucked the semi-erect tool, licking the stickiness from the glans and the gobs of semen that kept oozing from the reddened opening. Mervyn swore.
"I had you figured for a cock lover," he said. "But, my God! A week with you would kill me, or any normal man. You really like it."
Rita grimaced. She relinquished his prick.
"Don't be crude," she told him. "You're not dead yet, so fuck me again."
Mervyn laughed. He rolled her over and hauled her to a kneeling position, kissed her bottom a few times before exposing her dark split and adroitly slipping his cock in from behind. The slippery intrusion replenished the explosive conflagration heating her insatiable quim, and she pushed back against his loins until his balls slapped against the crack of her arse. He wormed into her steadily and maintained a powerful rhythm, a plunging stroke that was sheer heaven. Rita couldn't get enough of it.
Eventually his energy flagged and she realized the rampaging fuck was almost shagged out. Mervyn spunked on the ponderous inward thrust of his next lunge, and held her in a viselike grip until his lust was spent. It had been a long time sucking up from his squeezed out balls, but when it came the hot flood gushed as thickly as before and his savagely grinding tool thrashed the crimson maw of her twat as violently, the massive roots splaying the thickened vulva and sweeping long hair strands into the wet fissure. Another shattering orgasm coincided with Mervyn's delayed climax and left Rita limp and shaking, utterly exhausted, but blissfully content. She eased herself forward, separating cunt and penis, climbed unsteadily to her feet and weaved erratically into the bathroom where she stood under the cold shower while the invigorating water jetted onto her upturned face and pelted on her breasts and shoulders, running down her back into the crevice of her arse, and channeling between her joggling tits.
When she returned, Mervyn was sprawled in an armchair with his legs fully extended. His penis dangled, flabby and wrinkled. There was a birthmark on his belly, Rita noticed, shaped like a map of Africa. Mervyn ran thick fingers through his damp hair.
"It's been a long time since I sweated over a girl," he said. "Pass me a cigarette, please. You ready for that drink now?"
Rita nodded. She lit a cigarette, drew on it until it glowed, placed the butt end between Mervyn's lips.
"I need one," she said. "A real stiff jolt. No water and no ice. Then I'm going to try and get some sleep."
"All right, but stay with me, huh?"
Rita agreed. There wasn't much point in returning to her own room.
Mervyn fixed the drinks, and for a while they sat talking. Mervyn wanted to live with Rita, at least until Matt returned. Rita said she would think about it. She reminded him about Caufield. Mervyn said he didn't mind sharing her, even with a bloody black man.
They spent a restless night. Mervyn wanted to sleep, but after a couple of hours Rita disturbed him. He fucked her twice more before daybreak, and again in the bathroom, under the shower. Over breakfast he was half asleep, with dark circles round his bleary eyes; but before they began the drive to London he had extracted a promise from Rita, and on the Monday he moved into the apartment.
Chapter Eight
Somebody knocked loudly on the door of the squalid den Rita shared with several other strippers backstage at the Starlite Club. Two girls were performing, the rest lounging in various stages of semi-nudity, waiting for their respective cues. A spotty-faced youth poked his shaggy head round the door, ogled the assembly and grinned impudently.
"Somebody to see you," he told Rita. "The boss said he had to wait downstairs." "Who is it?"
"How the hell do I know? Bit character with long hair and a beard. Sounds Irish."
Irish? Rita frowned. A spark kindled in her gut, then died away. No, it couldn't be- She sighed. She wasn't due on-stage for twenty minutes. She stubbed her cigarette out, went into the dingy corridor and down the narrow stairs, hesitated when a tall figure slouched from the shadows, unkempt and bearded, with hair so long it swept the collar of the scuffed leather jacket he wore. But under it all Rita recognized Mike.
"You look surprised," Mike said. "No more than I am, finding you in this dump."
"Surprised! For God's sake! What the hell are you doing here in London? . . . Look, we can't talk here. There's a cafe just across the street . . . Surprised, he says-" She grabbed a passing blonde with bouncing tits the size of footballs. "Fill in for me, Daphne, if I'm not back," she requested. "I won't be gone more than a few minutes. It's important."
The blonde stripper nodded, appraising Mike disdainfully. "It'll cost you a drink later," she drawled.
Rita nodded. She ducked back into the dressing-room, grabbed her coat, slung it round her shoulders, then hustled Mike down the back stairs and into an alley. He checked her then, sweeping her into a rough embrace. She let him kiss her, but pushed him away when he pawed her.
"Not here, you fool!" she admonished. "Oh, Mike! I can't believe it's you. Where have you been, you bastard?"
Her insides were in a turmoil, her belly churning, cold as if a giant fist was applying icy pressure to her gut. Mike talked, curtly explaining, but she only heard a part of what he said. His words washed over her consciousness in an endless tide. There had been a killing that night in Belfast, a young soldier. Mike thought he was responsible and got out fast. He'd wanted to get in touch with Rita, and intended to, but when he tried, later, she had gone. He had been in England almost a month, hiding out in Liverpool. Then he read a newspaper account stating the soldier had been shot by an IRA member, and he had been considering a return to Ireland when he got the chance of a job in London, something to do with porno movies-he never found out what because the deal went sour before he even met the people he was supposed to contact. Now he was broke and living in a cheap flophouse in Islington. He'd found Rita through seeing a nude photograph of her in the glass-fronted showcase outside the club.
"And what were you doing in Soho?" Rita asked. "As if I didn't know. This is no place for an Irish bog-louse."
"You seem to be doing all right, you Casey Yard whore."
Rita laughed. She squeezed his arm. "It's so good to see you," she told him. "I've never been able to get you out of my mind, not for a moment. You look rough, but-"
"I feel rough. It hasn't been easy. And you-how long have you been a bloody stripper? And why here? Why did you leave the old country?"
"To get out of the shit, Mike. I had plans. They didn't work out, but at least I've got prospects, and I'm saving money. But let's not waste time. Look, forget the cafe. We'll go back to my place. Tony won't mind."
"Who the hell is Tony?"
"My boss. He owns the joint."
"But not you, Rita?"
"No, for God's sake! Not me. Come on."
She steered Mike from the alley into the main street and signaled a cruising taxi. During the short ride Mike didn't say much. He seemed subdued, different-and Rita herself felt strange, almost self-conscious. But her resentment and awkwardness melted when Mike took her in his arms and she realized the old fire, the same hunger.
She seethed with nervous excitement. Caufield was out of town. She would have Mike to herself, at least for a while. He had always been predominant in her thoughts; even when she opened her legs to Matt, or to Caufield, it was always Mike in her imagination, Mike's prick slogging into her. The surprise of seeing him created a whirl of sentimentality and sexual longing that shook her to the core.
They were together again, nothing else mattered.
Sight of the spacious apartment was disturbing to Mike. The implications were too obvious.
Rita secured the outer door, called the delicatessen on the ground floor and asked them to send up a cold meal and a bottle of whiskey in about an hour, then went into the bathroom, leaving the door open to pester Mike with questions while she splashed under the shower. She emerged presently, wearing a slinky negligee, her wet hair gleaming. Mike had removed the leather jacket and was glancing through a folder of art photographs, the sight of which reminded Rita. She picked up the phone and called the club and spoke briefly to Chaser McGraw, the manager. Chaser said he'd tell Tony. It would be all right.
Rita put the phone down, poured herself a drink, and turned to face Mike. He was sweating, although the room temperature was normal.
"Want a drink?" Rita asked. Mike shook his head.
"Later," he said. "Right now I'm only interested in one thing. It's been a long time, kid. But nothing's changed, has it?"
Rita shook her head.
"That's all right then. But something's changed. You didn't get this pad just by showing your arse to a bunch of cocksuckers. Who are you shacked up with? Somebody's knocking you off."
"Does it matter?"
"Not especially. But if things are going to be the same between us, I've got to know where I stand."
Rita nodded. She gulped her drink, sighed, and told Mike about Matt, and Caufield. So where did that leave him? Mike wanted to know. They'd work something out, Rita promised.
She was resolved that they should, but was more interested in the immediate future. When Mike kept talking she shrugged out of the negligee and let it drop, moved close and pressed her naked body firmly against him, closed his mouth with hers. His arms went round her waist and tightened fiercely. She could feel the straining tension of his powerful limbs. Her tongue darted into his mouth, stabbing to the back of his throat and fluttering provocatively.
Suddenly the awkwardness was gone, reticence evaporated, and Mike was masterful and confident, the dominant male, the Mike she remembered, aggressively arrogant. A violent tremor passed through his muscular frame. Rita pushed hard against him, felt the jutting protrusion of his restless penis moving urgently against her naked mound, and wriggled her hips, squirming rapturously when his big hands enclosed her tremulous breasts.
"Oh, Mike!" she whispered throatily. "I want you. It's been too bloody long. I've sweated blood over you, you big bastard. But now we're together again. Fuck me, Mike, the way you used to."
He hefted her tits, squeezed them, distorting their palpitating warmth, kneading them together in great rolls, then slid both hands over her hips to her buttocks and clasped the quivering cheeks decisively. Feverish passion swept like molten fire through his blood, and hers. Rita moaned and sagged against him, writhing in a delirium of delight. His hot mouth caressed her neck and shoulder, moving swiftly to the soft curve of her breast, capturing the hardening nipple. He bit the enlarged teat, rolled his tongue round it while embedding strong fingers in the swollen ripeness of her other tit.
Rita laid her head on his broad shoulder and clung possessively, gasping and shuddering, her whole body responding ardently as he explored every recess and furrow, every trembling curve. The pulsing beat of his stiffened cock increased, craving freedom. Rita clawed at his faded jeans, ripped the front open and pulled his enormous cock out, triumphantly clutching its savagely throbbing circumference. For a brief, demoralizing moment she imagined herself back in that disused Belfast storage depot, fumbling awkwardly in the wanton excitement of seeing Mike's immense prick for the first time, holding it, feeling its rigid mass screwing into her receptive quim.
Remembering every lurid detail, she jerked Mike's jeans fully open, thrust her hand between his lean thighs under his heaving cock, and cradled his balls, felt his scrotum contract violently and his penis swell and become iron-hard down to the very roots. His groping hand found her cunt and bunched the rubbery lips while his flushed face nuzzled into the shadowy valley separating her soaring boobs. Gasping, she unfastened the narrow belt supporting his jeans and let them drop. Mike kicked his scuffed shoes off, trampled on the crumpled jeans until his feet tugged free from the tight legs. He wasn't wearing undershorts, only a thin cotton shirt. Rita started to unbutton the shirt but Mike picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He threw her on the enormous bed, grinning derisively.
Neither of them spoke. Rita lay back with her legs wide apart, thrilling to Mike's eager stare, his intent scrutiny of her gaping cunt. The sheer exuberance of exposing her nudity, of flaunting her sex and watching the effect on Mike, knowing he was going to fuck her, inflamed her lust tremendously. She held her cunt open, inviting Mike to gaze at it, to touch and kiss it before introducing his great shaft, waiting with shivering impatience for the sweet impalement.
Mike adopted a kneeling position on the bed with his back curved and his face close to her crotch. He handled her intimate groove roughly, parting the silky black hair and widening the fleshy split, dabbling his fingertips in the moist entry and sending scorching thrills chasing up and down her spine. He slid both hands between the bed covers and her arse and pressed his palms against her buttocks, prompting an instinctive protrusion of pelvis and cunt. Rita cried out when his head dipped toward her snatch and his hungry mouth engulfed the dark folds and his tongue probed the musky recess. She thrashed about frantically, every nerve in her jerking body tautly humming, clamping his head between her hands when he sucked the sensitive stump of her expanded clitoris and mingled saliva with the seeping cunt juices. Her head lashed from side to side. She moaned, voiced explosive appeals, and heaved again when Mike licked lower and eventually tongued the brown pit of her hot arsehole. The puckered rim contracted convulsively. Rita pinched her arse cheeks together, an involuntary action that forced Mike's face from the deep cleft. He transferred his mouth to her cunt again and repeated the sublime sucking of her clitoris. Every volatile contact of his questing tongue sent waves of torrid lust swirling through her convulsed vagina, provoking reactions so violently pleasurable that she actually screamed in protest when Mike suddenly straightened, rocking back on his heels. His muscle-ridged belly sucked in and out. The monstrous mass of his solid erection thrust out obscenely, atrociously enormous.
Rita sat erect. Her cunt pulsed visibly, the hairy lips drawn back from the swollen red gash that glistened with spittle and glutinous sap. She was frantic with desire, her brain a whirlpool of startling depravity and sexual obsession. She sobbed and moaned alternately, seizing the bulging prick flexing and throbbing between his legs. The hugely distended knob strained within the grasp of her encircling fingers, glowing deep purple, and she pulled at it, longing for its tumid length between the puffy lips of her vagina, but Mike resisted, freed his cock and turned Rita on her belly, promptly heaving her to a kneeling posture. She accepted his preoccupation with her vulnerable arse, wanting to come, to feel his hard cock churning into her twat, but eager to please him in whatever way he wanted.
She spread her legs and crouched with elbows digging into the covers and her chin almost touching her breasts. Mike's face approached her bottom, and she felt his warm breath gusting against her skin, heard the sharp intake when he sniffed the brown-shaded crease. Rita reached back and pulled the cheeks of her bottom wide, fully exposing her anus. Mike wrapped his arms round her hips, anchoring her, and plunged his face into the softly yielding depression. His tongue bored into her shrinking arsehole with the avid enjoyment comparable to delving into the juicy fleshiness of an over-ripe peach. The instant tongue and anus met, Rita experienced violent orgasm, an exhilarating deluge that spread copiously without draining the reservoir of her lust or diminishing her desire.
The bushy shagginess of Mike's beard tickled, and she squirmed, finally twisting round, unable to endure the delicious torment any longer.
"You're driving me crazy!" she blurted. "Fuck me, you bastard. Fuck me hard. Now, damn you! Now! What the fucking hell are you waiting for? Please, Mike-"
"Wait for it," he told her tersely. "Like I've waited. It'll be that much more satisfying, kid. Don't bug me-I'm riding high."
He hunched forward and knelt astride her tits with his prick jabbing her throat and his balls dangling in the cleavage of her boobs. Rita suppressed a frustrated outcry and tried to curb the savage craving, staring at the thick, bulging cock, and sighing. Mike would fuck her when he was good and ready, meanwhile- She touched her tongue to the swollen knob of his penis, probed the wet opening, yielded to the infection of his mood and took as much fat prick into her mouth as was possible while Mike gripped her head and supported her craned neck, his limbs powerfully flexed as he watched the parted lips dragging up and down his corded branch, withdrawing to the ridged foreskin then descending the formidable stalk until her clutching fingers clamped around the massive base checked her distorted mouth. As she sucked Rita slowly frigged the gross tool, manipulating the thickest part, keeping her eyes open and breathing the exciting odor rising from his crotch, reveling in the intoxicating intimacy.
He was coming, and she brought him on deliberately, confident he would recoup quickly. Remembering his amazing virility, she sucked harder, increasing the pressure of her lips until she felt his prick surge. The glans opening gaped like a small red mouth in the instant that the seething semen welling up from his tightly swollen balls rushed furiously along the jerking branch and burst into her mouth, pungent and ropy, pumping in slimy squirts that gathered thickly at the back of her throat and behind her teeth. She swallowed, gulping the pooling sap, licked oozing residue from the pulsing knob, and held her head back as Mike withdrew with his monstrous erection from her mouth.
He rubbed the wet knob between her tits, leaving trails of sperm. Desperate for relief, Rita seized his prick and frigged rapidly, marveling at the prompt response. She pushed the dark foreskin firmly back, watched the ominous glans expand and its color deepen.
"Stop torturing me, you bastard," she moaned. "I love you, Mike. I'll die if you ever leave me again. Fuck me, Mike. Oh, Fuck me!"
Mike pushed her down, breaking her hold, and she reached impatiently for his cock again as he crouched, holding the hot knob against her torrid cleft. Her entrails were knotted, her quivering cunt fraught with expectation. The taste and smell of sticky sperm adhering to her tongue and lingering in her mouth flayed her carnal senses, fanning her excitement to white heat. She mouthed abuse-until Mike finally thrust in and rammed his great prick home-then she writhed in ecstasy, sobbing as the soggy wetness of her quim closed round the skewering rod. His chest flattened her breasts, chafing against the elongated nipples. Rita closed her eyes, lifted her knees, and gasped when Mike's gouging weight spread them painfully wide. Her back arched and she tried to brace herself by gripping the backs of her thighs, whimpering with pleasure, squirming rapturously as the bursting intrusion became solid penetration.
Hot breath panted past her flushed cheek. Each time her clutching sheath engulfed Mike's cock she contracted her thighs and abdominal muscles, transferring throbbing pressure to her clamping vent. Sweat gathered in the crack of her arse. Her arsehole itched, protruded, sucked in and out with every spasmodic convulsion of her buttocks. Mike's right arm was round her neck, his left hand under her bottom, delving into soft flesh.
Rita fucked with eyes wide open. The conflicting expressions distorting Mike's face contributed to her carnal joy. His beard bobbed up and down grotesquely. His shaggy mane of black hair flopped about, hanging down, screening his reddened features. His rapacious prick wormed continually deeper, conjuring up sexual fantasies in Rita's mind-the memory of other thrashing cocks, images, a procession of naked forms capering, monstrous pricks spurting semen, the gaping obscenity of great cow cunts, a whole fantastic panorama triggered off by the relentless churning within her voracious quim. The tension increased with the erupting spread of imminent orgasm, and she went berserk, clawing at Mike's back and surging strenuously up to meet each belligerent thrust, until the flaming delirium reached a climax and the concentrated feeling clawing at her vagina was dispersed within the swollen passage.
She cried out then, shouting. Fluid washing round the hard core of Mike's prick eased the slogging friction, and her fiercely contracting cunt rejected his tool. Mike swore, protesting when she squeezed her thighs together and blocked re-entry. Rita heaved up, twisted away from him, but immediately assumed a kneeling posture with her arse grossly presented, and as she widened the spread of her legs Mike whacked his cock between the cheeks and channeled the rampant knob back into her slippery gash, gathering the flesh of her buttocks into huge folds as his slimy prick sank deep.
But after the initial lunge he pulled back so that his cock moved just within the entry to her quim, and fucked with short strokes, embedding only a small part of his tremendous root each time.
For Rita, it was pure delight. She sensed impending orgasm in his quickened breathing, and crouched lower, reached back to hold the cheeks of her arse widely separated to present an unimpeded view of her rawly exposed cunt, working her hips and squirming back onto his prick. In the moment when he groaned and, slamming his cock right in, shot his load in single, spattering gush, Rita flopped forward, breathless. Her disheveled hair was damp with sweat. Mike sprawled beside her. For a long time neither of them spoke. Mike fingered lank black strands of her hair, occasionally touching the flushed cone of her left tit. Rita groped for his penis, and held it loosely. Even now the swollen branch was only partly relaxed.
"That was bloody wonderful," Rita said eventually. "Nothing has changed. You're still the greatest, Mike." She hunched forward, and kissed his dribbling cock. "What will you do?" she asked.
Mike shrugged, fingering his beard. "I dunno," he admitted. "I'm broke. I came here on impulse, but it was a fucking waste of time. I was going back home, but-"
"But not now. You can't go now, Mike. You can stay here. I can let you have some money."
"I can't take your bread, kid. And what about Matt, and that Caufield bastard?"
"Travis is all right, Mike. He got me my job."
"A bloody stripper- And for that he expects to flog his black prick into you whenever he feels like it? At least you're getting value from Matt. But the whole set-up stinks."
"All right. We'll go away, Mike. Back to Ireland if you like. Anywhere, just so long as we're together."
"You'd quit your precious job? Give all this up?"
Rita nodded. She continued to stroke his penis, slowly beating his meat and frequently kissing the proud head. Presently she took the knob in her mouth and sucked it. Mike, lying on his side, watching the gliding motion of her lips, sighed when she stopped. Rita slithered up until his thickened prick throbbed close to her mound. She raised her left leg and again offered her insatiable cunt, rubbing the fleshy lips against Mike's indomitable prick, laughing when he responded suddenly and grabbed her.
She turned on her back and Mike mounted her, guided his cock to her split and slipped it effortlessly in, fucking furiously, maintaining a deliberate tenacious rhythm until Rita moaned pathetically and again expired in sweet oblivion.
Chapter Nine
When she was in a proper state of mind to think straight, Rita quickly realized there were flaws in her arrangement, the chief obstacle being Mervyn Stone, whom she had completely overlooked in her excitement. Mike was reluctant to leave right away. He wanted money in his jeans before going home. So Rita had problems. Stone was in Coventry, but she expected him back on the Friday. Of course she had to tell Mike. He was furious. He didn't mind Matt knocking her off, or even Caufield if she felt she owed the bastard something. But who the hell was Mervyn Stone? What was she, a stripper-or a bloody prostitute?
A shouting match developed, followed by an ultimatum. Rita backed down. She had nothing against Mervyn, but- On the night he returned from Coventry she tried to let him down lightly, but when he argued she deliberately antagonized him, eventually provoking a quarrel that ended with Stone packing his things and storming out of the apartment. Mike promptly moved in, on a purely temporary basis. He got a job in a hotel, and for the next two weeks spent the days washing dishes and the nights with Rita. Caufield was currently fully occupied with a new girl and kept away from the apartment. It was inevitable that he learned about Mike sharing Rita's pad, but his interests were elsewhere and he wasn't particularly concerned.
It was equally inevitable that Mike's strong personality clashed with Rita's stubborn disposition. She was willfully defiant and fanatically jealous, and their relationship was often stormy. But Rita was happy. The fact that Mike frequently borrowed money from her wasn't important. She didn't mind his obsession with gambling. It was only when he came home stoned that they quarreled.
The prospect of Matt's return from New York disturbed Rita. Matt knew about Caufield, and Stone was out of the way, but he couldn't be expected to tolerate another intruder. Rita didn't want to hurt Matt but was determined to cling on to Mike whatever the cost.
The immediate problem was dramatically solved when Mervyn Stone showed up one night, stinking drunk and in an aggressive, lecherous mood. Mike was working overtime. Stone was savagely resentful, having found out about Mike. Rita tried to humor him, but couldn't persuade him to leave. He wanted to fuck her, and wasn't too slewed to get a hard-on. Eventually his persistent mauling aroused Rita's sexual instincts and she became so incensed she was agreeable to anything. They finished up shagging in the lounge with Rita draped over the sofa arm with her dress up round her neck and her panties on the floor, Mervyn attempting to screw his corpulent prick into her from behind. He was just getting into his stroke when Mike let himself in.
Rita had forgotten Mike in her wild frenzy. He naturally thought she had lied about squeezing Stone out, and a slugging match developed with Mervyn hopelessly on the losing end. Rita became rattled and hysterical, allowed her vindictive nature to dominate reason-she abused Mike until he slapped her down hard, so hard she passed out. When she came round Stone was snoring on the floor, his face like raw liver, and Mike had gone.
Three days passed with no word from him. When Rita called the hotel they told her he had quit his job. She was frantic. But that was just the beginning of the rot. A week later Mervyn was dead, crushed under his car when it ran off the road near Honiton. There had been no news from Matt, no indication of his plans.
With Mike's abrupt departure the bottom dropped right out of Rita's sordid world. The fact that her blind stupidity was responsible ate at her like a festering sore. She was continually sullen, angry and bored. When Caufield began pestering her again she told him to go to hell. She was utterly disillusioned, still waiting for the promised break to materialize, gradually accepting the fact that she would never be anything but a stripper. She bitterly resented the depressing truth.
Then, on the Tuesday, she received another severe jolt. She left the club during the interval to grab a bite to eat. Her performances of late had been so indifferent nobody cared whether she showed up or not. Only Caufield's persistence prevented her from being fired. As she crossed the street she saw a news placard, and the startling announcement turned her guts over: DIRECTOR OF BRENT HOLDINGS ACCUSED OF EMBEZZLEMENT.
Brent Holdings was Matt's company. Rita bought a paper. Glaring headlines confirmed her worst fears-MATTHEW BRENT INDICTED IN UNITED STATES. HELD FOR TRIAL IN NEW YORK. Her brain seething, Rita read on. She had always assumed Matt was British. The newspaper account revealed he was actually an American citizen, although most of his adult life had been spent in England.
Rita returned to the club in a daze. It was the last straw, the final cruel let-down. Her ambition was dead, cold as the certainty she was wasting her time parading her meat for the pleasure of gaping morons. Balls to men. They were all lying, deceitful bastards. If she had to exploit her body she might as well get something more out of it than the pin-money Tony Carlotti paid her. There was no percentage in stripping-she had learned that much. Fuck Tony, and fuck Caufield. Fuck the whole stinking business.
Caufield showed up at the club that evening. Rita waited for him in the dismal dressing-room, refusing to go on. When he came up, fuming and bellyaching, she told him straight-stuff the bloody job. She was quitting-and this time she wasn't coming back.
The next day she moved out of the apartment and rented a much smaller, cheaper place in Bayswater. She had no immediate pressing money problems. Her future was as vague as the past few months had been eventful, but she could get by for a couple of weeks. After that- She just didn't give a damn.
The Bayswater district was notorious as a prostitute's paradise. Rita encountered a certain hostility from suspicious whores who saw her as a rival, but in the harsh light of reality her impulsive decision to hawk her mutton wavered, and it was assumed she presented no threat. For a while she remained aloof and disinterested, wary of contacts. Then she found a real friend in big, uncouth Hilda McCready, an overweight but still attractive creature with flaming red hair and a fiendish temper, a product of the Gorbals district of Glasgow. Hilda held the whole breed of men generally in contempt. She had no scruples. Men were pigs, she declared, and, as such, there to be exploited. A standing prick had no conscience, so why should she harbor any? Although not yet twenty-five she looked forty, and her formidable physique gained her a certain grudging respect.
Rita liked her, and spent a lot of time in Hilda's company since the redhead was sympathetic to Rita's problems. They often spent the night together either at Hilda's pad or Rita's squalid two-room den, whenever business was slack and Hilda had time on her hands. After the first time it was obvious to Rita that Hilda was as much dyke as prostitute, especially when she had a skinful of booze. The discovery didn't deter Rita. When Hilda suggested that they share her larger apartment Rita moved in without hesitation, and was glad of the older woman's company. It didn't bother her that Hilda brought men home at all hours. Rita often lay awake and listened to them performing in the next room. Hilda always had money. She paid the rent, paid for groceries, everything. All she asked in return was "understanding", somebody of her own sex to talk to and go down on when she sickened of the odors of male flesh.
She swilled gin by the quart, and whenever she'd been drinking became maudlin. She pestered Rita continually to turn pro. But somehow the role of street-walker didn't appeal to Rita. She tried to convince herself that she despised men, that she was through with them, but one evening when she felt particularly low she helped herself to some of Hilda's gin, and woke up in the early hours to find a big west country farmer stroking a formidable length of hard cock into her. It was the first taste of prick she'd had since Mike walked out, and so enjoyable she forgot to resist. By the time the yokel got through her resolve was shattered and her cunt shagged raw. She fell asleep with the farmer's joint in her fist. When she awoke he'd gone, leaving a couple of bills tucked into the cleavage of her tits. A real comedian.
That was the start. The next night Hilda brought two drunken Scots guardsmen back with her. Both were loaded. Rita slept with the youngest. She never even learned his name-he was just a hard prick in the dark. She went to the John. When she got back he'd spewed all over the bed. She left him lying in it and sneaked into Hilda's room, found the redhead still at it, sitting on the military prick with her flabby tits jogging up and down and her great cow arse squashing against his gut.
After that, Rita just drifted, never quite overcoming a deep-rooted aversion to screwing for money, often softening the ordeal by imagining the fat prick thrashing into her was Mike's incomparable tool, at other times responding with all the old fire and enthusiasm. But mostly her heart wasn't in it.
Rita drew the curtains aside. Sunlight streamed into the dingy room. She sighed. Hilda hadn't come home the previous night. Rita lit a cigarette. She felt acutely depressed. She ran a comb through her hair, smoothed the short, tight frock over her hips. It was all she had on apart from French-style panties and stiletto-heeled white shoes. No bra or stockings. She went out, down the stairs and out onto the street. There was an autumn chill in the air, already a hint of gold in the foliage of stately trees lining the approach to the quiet park and gardens opposite, just off the main road. Peace and beauty contrasted with crowded confusion.
It was relaxing in the spacious park. A broad drive divided well-maintained lawns. Rita walked leisurely. Curled leaves were drifting. When a car approached, moving slowly, she moved closer to the verge. The driver, a big Negro, spoke to her but she ignored him-until she recognized Dominic, one of Hilda's regular callers. When he offered her money, Rita shrugged, and accepted it, got into the car. Dominic drove on, grinning, his thick lips clamped round a fat cigar. He wasn't more than twenty, but looked older. He parked in a convenient lay-by, near some bushes. Rita felt neither desire nor excitement-merely boredom-as she followed him into the shrubbery.
Dominic flipped the cigar away. The moment the road was screened he pushed Rita down on the ground and pinned her down, clamped his mouth over hers, his thick tongue probing. She could feel his penis pulsing against her thigh. His breath reeked of rum. Rita lay back, relaxing, but experienced a swift flicker of lust when a black hand slid inside her frock and cupped a bare tit. Instinctively she thrust the nipple against his palm, groped for the ridged outline of his cock. Dominic chuckled, jerked his fly undone, and swore when Rita's fingers curled round his rearing prick. It was stubby, very thick. She eased the foreskin back and compressed the fat roll just behind the glans. Suddenly she was desperate for sex.
Her frock was lifted. A rough hand slid along her thigh and inside the loose leg of her panties, closing on soft, squirming flesh. She opened her legs and the hand delved lower, into the crease of her arse. She raised up, and a finger stabbed her sweaty arsehole. She tugged Dominic's pants widely open, felt past the roots of his cock into the warm recess below his wrinkled scrotum. The rising odor of his potent masculinity aroused all her dormant instincts, and she squirmed down to curl her tongue around the straining head of his prick, traced the hot tip rapidly up and down the expanding roll, and finally enclosed the knob with her mouth.
Dominic linked both hands behind her head and fucked his bloating stalk to the back of her throat with such savage intensity she twisted away, choking. Dominic promptly thrust her down, flipped her frock up and tugged impatiently until he had her panties down past her knees. Rita eased her arse from the ground to facilitate their removal. Dominic gazed at her inviting quim, touched it, extended his neck to lick the ruddy gash. His mouth squashed the thickened folds and his tongue swept from her anus to the fissure of her quivering cunt, then over her convulsing mound and into the black bush that reached almost to her navel.
Presently, he wanted her to turn over and, when she complied, raised her frock and crouched with his face close to her arse, staring at the rounded cheeks. Eventually he forced her hips together and formed a deeply accentuated cleft into which he chafed his hard prick. He seemed content to maul and probe her bottom, but Rita, wanting relief, reached between her thighs, brought his groping cock to her quim, crammed the swollen knob into the wet split, and uttered a frantic squeal when Dominic wrapped both arms round her hips and, lifting her bodily, rocked backward, sprawling on his arse and simultaneously dropping her onto his skewering prick. The thick root penetrated deeply. Her buttocks smacked against his pelvis and the zipper on his gaping fly ground painfully into her flesh, but she ignored discomfort and shagged briskly up and down, her tits flopping, breath gusting jerkily.
Dominic just lay there, his black fingers compressing her arse cheeks as he watched the squashing play of the contorting ovals, immune to Rita's blurted demands for assistance, allowing her to impale herself until the rising sperm sucking from his heavy balls was seething in the distended pipe of his stubby cock and Rita thrashed about with eyes closed and the rapturous heat of impending orgasm spreading into the torrid maw of her quim. Then he shifted his hands to the fronts of her thighs and held her down on his spurting tool.
Rita crouched with her vagina alternately flexing then relaxing round the pumping prick. As she leaned forward the twitching mass of flesh and gristle sucked out and cool air circulated round her arse and pouting cunt. She crawled to a patch of lush grass and flaked out. Dominic, grinning sardonically, lit two cigarettes and gave one to Rita. When he didn't confine his penis, she knew he wasn't finished. After a few drags at the cigarette, he conveyed her hand to his drooping roll and she frigged him enthusiastically while he dropped his pants and eventually hauled them off, breaking contact. Rita lifted his shirt. He wore nothing underneath. His thickening penis jutted belligerently. He mouthed curt instructions, and Rita turned on her side.
Dominic dragged her frock up again. He fondled her arse, concentrating on the brown rut of her anus and whacking his cock repeatedly into the damp groove. When he rubbed his knob in her slimy vagina, Rita pushed against his groin; but it was her arse he wanted to fuck, and he merely dabbled his knob in the warm residue of her saturated minge before attempting to force it into the ruddy pit, grunting, agreeably surprised, when the aperture yielded substantially with his initial thrust. Encouraged, his resolve stiffened and he rammed harder, spreading her buttocks grossly apart to reveal the puckered hole and the butting exertions of his cock. His foreskin formed a grayish ridge against the spongy rim, straining briefly, then entering soggily to be hotly engulfed.
Rita drew her knees up almost to her chin and endured a series of ferocious lunges; but the worst was over and she released her pent breath while sharp thrills surged up and down her curved spine and exhilaration branched from her distended anus into her bowels and glistening cunt. The fierce restriction lessened appreciably as the aperture expanded, and very soon the dull ache was gone, the buggering prick tightly gripped but moving freely. Rita dug her fingers into the ground, continually seeking fresh purchase for her sliding feet. She had lost her shoes when the action started and her bare toes curled into the sod.
But it was nearly over. Dominic battered his tool a fraction deeper, and Rita clutched her cunt as flowing semen was compressed torridly into her rectum. A great shudder passed through her when Dominic withdrew. He watched greenish-white gobs escape the brimming arsehole and slide down into the dark hair.
Rita twisted to a sitting position. Her face was crimson with effort. A wisp of steamy vapor rose from the brown-stained knob of Dominic's tremendously inflamed penis. He got to his feet, shook sperm drops from the slackening roll, grimacing at the soreness.
"Next time have some goddamn jelly handy," he grumbled. "You've got a sweet arse, Irish. I thought Hilda was bigger than most, but she can't take it up her arsehole the way you can. Don't leave town, honey-I'll be lookin' out for you."
He laughed, picked up his pants, hauled them on, and zipped his fly as he turned toward his car. Rita, searching for her shoes among the bushes, heard the motor start, the squeal of tires as he drove away.
Chapter Ten
Rita pinched out the cigarette stub carefully. It was her last butt. She was flat broke and sullenly resentful. Even the inclination for cock had left her. Hilda was beginning to get on her nerves. Finally, Rita called Caufield. He didn't want to know. She'd had her chance. She rang Tony Carlotti and he told her to get lost. In desperation she wrote to Father O'Leary in Belfast. He had always shown considerable interest in her when, as a child, she sang in the church choir. She didn't really expect an answer, certainly not the reply she did get-a message of hope and comfort enclosing her fare back to Belfast. Her old job at Fagen's Store was waiting for her, the priest wrote. Nothing had changed. There had been no news from her family.
Rita burned the letter, then went to the cafe on the corner and got her first square meal in days. For most of the afternoon she loitered around Soho, in bars and amusement dives. By evening her mind was made up. She caught the night train to Liverpool, and arrived in Belfast on the following Tuesday. She hadn't acknowledged Father O'Leary's letter, or the money. She didn't call him like he'd suggested, or go anywhere near the Catholic church, no nearer than Casey's Yard. She wanted to see the old place, re-live former associations, especially those connected with Mike; but she came away feeling even more depressed. She didn't really know why she had returned to Belfast. It had been a sudden impulse, an instinctive longing. The idea of going back to Fagen's Store was irritatingly absurd. Fuck Fagen's, and Father O'Leary. She hadn't forgotten the feel of his flabby hand on her chubby arse one day behind the organ pipes. He'd wanted her even then, and there had been other times, other incidents.
Rita rented a room in a tenement off Shanklin Road, put a card in the local newsagent's shop window and waited for something to happen. She had plenty of clothes, but the few small items of jewelry she had acquired had long since been sold or pawned. Her cunt was her only negotiable asset. She intended to put it to work again.
Within twenty-four hours word got around and she had more business than she could handle. She felt more secure on her home ground, as if she belonged. But nothing could alleviate the loneliness.It was early December. Rita squatted on an old mattress in front of a small electric fire. Her bed had collapsed and she preferred to sleep on the floor rather than risk another shaking up. She wore a pair of the expensive pajamas Matt had paid for, and a heavy coat slung round her shoulders. The room was so cold her breath misted in the thin air. She had picked up a guitar cheaply in Pentonville Road. She strummed it now, softly crooning a favorite number.
Suddenly she twanged the strings violently, then hurled the instrument across the room. Damn Caufield. She could have made it. She had the voice. He had conned her and she had let him, instead of shoving her foot in his fat face. Silly cow! Why had she believed him? What did he know? There were other agents, hundreds in London, and at least a score in the Belfast phone book. She need never have left Ireland. There was plenty of opportunity right there. She could sing, and she would sing. All she had to do was pick up a phone and- Suddenly she was angry, appalled by her own stupidity. She hadn't given herself a chance. Shagging herself ragged, and for what? It would have been different if Mike- She sighed. Regrets were no fucking good. She had to get out and convince somebody, the whole cocksucking world.
She tried. A week later she was still trying and the landlord was still waiting for his rent. She spent Sunday in bed, nursing a cold. Next day, she decided, she would go to Dublin Somebody knocked. Rita frowned. She wasn't in the mood but she needed the money.
"It's open," she called, and inwardly blasphemed when a tall, stoop-shouldered, unkempt type entered, dressed like a seaman in gum-boots and reefer jacket, a battered cap tipped to the back of his head. He stank of fish, and was so drunk he could hardly stand. Rita shuddered. She detected a strangeness in his manner, a furtive slyness, but dismissed it as unimportant.
"Shut the door," she told him curtly. "And I'll tell you now, sailor, I'm not in the mood for conversation, so get on with whatever you've come for, then get out. Payment in advance."
He lurched into the room. "That's no way to talk," he complained. "You're not doin' me any favor, you little cow. I can always dip my wick somewhere else."
He turned to leave. Rita, remembering the unpaid rent, grabbed his arm. She forced a smile.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I've had it rough lately. Don't go."
The man shrugged and flipped his cap onto a chair.
"All right," he muttered. "But you'd better earn your bread, kid."
He reached for her. His hands were enormous, the backs covered with coarse black hair. A bald swathe extended across the middle of his domed head. Rita swayed toward him, and was totally unprepared for the suddenness and violence of his assault, the slashing snatch that ripped the buttons from her pajama top, and the vindictive fury aroused by the sight of her soaring breasts. He seized her throat and threw her heavily to the floor, clawed at her pale boobs, slapping them viciously from side to side, tweaking the nipples. His knees were jammed under her armpits, pressing against her ribs.
He swayed back, jerking at his fly buttons, wrenched them undone and exposed a tremendous discolored penis ridged with blood vessels. The broad head swung up and pulsed close to her face and she could smell the bitter odor rising from his loins. The thick fingers clamped round her throat increased their choking pressure. Terrified, Rita struggled desperately, but he had the strength of an ape. His free hand grasped his jutting cock. He thrust the fat knob at her mouth, laughed insanely when she instinctively hauled her head back. She wasn't averse to sucking a hard prick-sometimes she enjoyed it-but the drunken moron squatting on her belly provoked an intense fear that quickly dispersed any element of sexual feeling. He released his penis and dragged her head forward, forcing the sour-smelling knob against her lips. Realizing the futility of antagonizing him. Rita opened her mouth. Immediately, the gross appendage squeezed in. Rita gagged, and he eased the pressure slightly, commenced grinding his tool ponderously, grinning, jetting semen against the roof of her mouth.
He pulled out, promptly blocked the reeking cavern by cramming a wadded handkerchief into it. He dragged Rita's arms behind her back, twisted her over and tied her wrists together with a length of cord from one of his pockets, then hauled her to the battered sofa and draped her belly down over the back with her head hanging down, almost touching the lumpy seat with her legs stiffly extended. The absurd position and the obscene protrusion of her arse was accentuated by her violent movements.
The man chuckled as he caressed her thinly covered bottom. Slowly, savoring the gradual exposure, he hauled the pajama pants down. Rita could see his reflection, and her own, in the dusty wall mirror. His penis was hugely erect, the foreskin drawn back so fiercely the strip of flesh linking penis and glans seemed about to rupture. He prolonged the exposure of her arse, eventually separated the sumptuous cheeks and brought his nose close to her arsehole, sniffed the tight cavity, tongued it, trailing saliva round the crinkled rim. He drew back, and Rita imagined him staring, contemplating his next move. When he touched his tongue to the hairy folds of her quim the dark cunt closed together like a clam.
He straightened, teeth gritted, lips drawn back, got between her legs and expertly stroked his rigid bar into her tense groove without encountering the slightest resistance, penetrating until the pressure of his crotch against her hips flattened their succulent whiteness. The swift release of vaginal juices moistened her passage and eased his solid entry-and he screwed furiously, muttering at the lack of adhesion, his cock lost in the soggy depths of her mature cunt, pulling back until his froth-encircled knob throbbed in the extreme opening, then burying the entire torrid branch in a single shafting lunge.
His frantic grip on her hips blanched the bruised flesh. His unshaven face was congested with blood. Sweat dripped from his chin. Rita's legs thrashed frantically. The sofa chafed her belly and the blood pounded in her temples. Muffled choking sounds blurted past the gag. She couldn't understand why the stupid bastard had tied her wrists. She would have co-operated voluntarily.
He was nearing orgasm, shouting, fucking desperately with thighs tautly quivering and his head thrown back, his eyeballs virtually disappearing as he spunked.
The draining spasms dwindled. Gluey sperm like watery jelly spattered her inner thighs as his hot prick emerged from its clinging sheath. He shook his diminishing cock, dragged Rita from the sofa to the floor and knelt astride her waist, prick twitching against her tits. He produced another length of cord from his jacket pocket, whipped it round her neck and drew it tight. She urinated with fear, fought the strangling strands, her eyes protruding, glassy with terror.
Footsteps sounded, clumping up the stairs. Somebody shouted, banged on the door. It swung open. Rita heard a startled yell and blurted profanity. She saw a tall, bearded youth bound across the room. The weight was abruptly removed from her prone body. There was a scuffle, the sounds of blows, the scamper of gum-booted feet hastily descending the stairs. Then strong arms lifted Rita, easing her to the floor. She stared, disbelieving, trembling with reaction. The face she was gazing up at was Mike's.
He removed the gag, slackened the cord bitin0 into her wrists, hauled her to her feet and thrust her onto a chair. He lit a cigarette and placed it between her slack lips. She gaped blankly.
"Don't look so bloody startled," he said. "And cut out the sniveling."
Rita forced an incredulous smile, but couldn't speak. Mike kicked the door shut.
"It'll save a lot of stupid questions if I tell you the score," he said. "I missed you, kid. After the bust-up I hung about. I got to thinking, what's the odds? What difference did one more randy cocksucker make in the screwy set-up? Then I read about this Stone character getting killed and I figured maybe we could pick up the pieces. Only when I went back you'd gone. I traced you through some fat whore named Hilda, to Liverpool then here."
"Mike! Oh, Mike! How did you know where to find me?"
"Just asked around. And that card you put in Donovan's window was signed Rita, you dumb bitch."
Rita massaged her wrists. The shock of seeing Mike was passing. She asked innumerable questions. Mike evaded most of them. He was going to Frankfurt in West Germany, he told her. She could go along, provided she realized what she was getting into. Why Frankfurt? Because there was profit in porno movies, in cunt and a big prick, and the krauts were really on the ball.
Rita listened, shrugged. She didn't give a damn what they did so long as they did it together. Porno or stripping, what difference did it make? And her singing prospects? Shit! Caufield had said it-she'd never make the charts so long as she had a hole in her arse. She hadn't believed him. She still didn't. But it didn't matter any more, not while she had Mike, the unpredictable bastard.
Chapter 11
Rita sighed. Memories were disturbing. She thought of Mike waiting at the bus depot, and looked at her wristwatch again. The lapse of time surprised her. It would be different in Frankfurt, she thought. Excitingly different.
Under her coat the cold was getting at her thighs and buttocks through her jeans. She shivered, then moved out into deep snow that crunched crisply underfoot. She walked slowly, with a jaunty hip movement, wagging her provocative arse, high heels punching precise holes in the frozen crust. The red sunset glow promised a fine day, not that it mattered-she would be in Frankfurt before morning.
As she neared the end of the gutted block she saw Mike coming down the street, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, hair blowing in the wind. He saw her about the same time, stopped, then came on slowly.
"I thought I'd find you here," he said. "You picked a fine time to disappear. We'll have to hurry if we're going to catch that bus."
"What's the hurry? There's another in an hour, isn't there? The plane doesn't leave until ten-thirty. I've been reminiscing, remembering how it used to be, when we were kids."
"And what do you think you are now? Ancient? Forget that crap." He jerked her close, kissed her. "Cold?" he asked.
She nodded.
They walked on, toward the white street. Suddenly, laughing, Rita jerked Mike into the bleak doorway of an old machine shed, part of the abandoned warehouse. He stumbled over rubble, swearing, and was hidden in deep shadow. Rita followed, sniggering.
"Are you flipped?" Mike demanded. "We'll miss that fucking bus."
"So what? We've got time for a quick screw."
"Have we hell! I thought you were cold?"
"We'll make time. Warm me, stupid."
"That bus won't wait."
"Neither will this, for God's sake. So stop bleating, and fuck me."
She flipped her coat up, smiling as Mike fumbled to release the zipper fastening her jeans. They slid partly down and he pushed them the rest of the way. His prick was out already, showing white against his dark pants in the gloom.
"There isn't much room to operate, kid," he remarked.
"We'll manage."
She turned her back toward him, held the coat high, away from the pale moons of her arse, and shivered with keen delight when his great stalk unerringly found her avid slit.
Yes, she thought, there was time. There was. always time.
