Laura Miller had thought of the perfect male to initiate her into the game of lust. Who else but Mike Barton, the boy next door? The idea had all the charm of revenge, too. Mrs. Barton's puritanical tongue would rot at the roots if she found out that her precious seventeen-year-old son was about to be taught the arts of a whoremaster. But the old bitch wouldn't have to know anything. At least not until the whore in question was mastered and fucked!
Chapter ONE
My one desire in life, Laura, is to tell you about the exquisite charm of being fucked- The large manila envelope containing that shocking line had arrived only a few seconds before Mrs. Stella Barton-the nosy next-door-neighbor.
That single, initial, uncompleted line of the letter from her older sister was all Laura had time to read before the knocking on the door made her snap the thick letter back into the envelope and hide it under the sofa cushion.
She hurried to the door with a flush of shame in her clear, youthful cheeks. When she pulled it open, she was both annoyed and alarmed at seeing the grinning, almost evil face of the older woman, staring through the screen at her.
"I saw the Special Delivery man arrive," Mrs. Barton hummed, hungrily, "and I wondered if it were something about your sister. Some good news, perhaps."
Laura stared at the woman, trying to read more into the inquiry than could possibly have been there. It wasn't logical, she told herself, that Mrs. Barton could know anything at all about the contents of the letter. Not logical at all!
"No," Laura stammered. "It was-nothing of importance."
The woman continued to stand there, like some omen which had appeared on the horizon of an otherwise untroubled day. She wanted in, that was obvious. And it was times like this that Laura wished she could be hard as nails-even a bit cruel.
But she had never been that in her whole life.
"Won't you come in, Mrs. Barton?"
The snide grin on the older woman's face widened perceptibly. "Why, thank you, dear. Of course, I can only stay a moment-but there was something I wanted to speak to you about. It concerns your sister, Beverly, as a matter of fact."
The mention of her sister's name drove a fresh fear through Laura's brain, but she tried to keep the expression on her face as calm as possible.
"Do sit down, Mrs. Barton."
Once in the living room, the prying woman searched the walls and furniture of the room as if she were some incarnation of the Gestapo. It was as if she expected to see some evidence of the rumor she had come over to share with her smoldering tongue.
"You sure you haven't heard anything about the disappearance of your sister?" Mrs. Barton cooed. "I mean, I was hoping she had written you-or communicated in some way. It's all so dreadful for you, I know."
Laura drew as casual a breath as possible under the circumstances. "I'm not worried about Bev, if that's what you mean," she managed. "Bev has always been able to take care of herself."
There was a small, gloating change in Mrs. Barton's expression. Her lips seemed to purse for a moment, as if she were about to give evidence in a witch trial.
"I'm glad you feel that way, dear, but I do consider it my duty to tell you what they are saying in town ..."
Laura stared at her. "In town? Mrs. Barton, this is a very large city, so how could-"
"I'm sorry, Laura. Of course you're right. I keep forgetting that I grew up in a small place, myself. I didn't mean the whole city was talking about your sister. I suppose I meant the immediate neighborhood-the people who live around here. Heaven knows, I've tried to stop the rumors, but you know how people are."
"Yes, I know how people are."
"Well-the truth of the matter is, quite a few people have been remembering things about your older sister. And some of those things are not altogether pleasant. I thought it my Christian duty to come right over and tell you so that-"
"What kinds of things, Mrs. Barton."
The older woman assumed a superior expression of morality, but beneath it all was a cunning, wolf-hungry glint of pure malice. "The truth is, my dear, that people have been calling your sister a woman without principles-a simple harlot."
An hour ago, Laura thought, she would have lifted her eyebrows with both anger and indignation. She would have flushed at her cheeks and shouted down the rumors with a heated desire to vindicate any vicious and simple-minded lie about Bev. She had always known Bev to be a saint!
But that was before the sudden arrival of the mysterious-and terrifying-manila envelope. And the first line of the letter still echoed like a brazen bell in the middle of her head.
"What-precisely-are they saying, Mrs. Barton?"
"You're absolutely sure you want to know? It isn't exactly pretty . . ."
"I'm sure I want to know everything."
Mrs. Barton pursed her unpainted lips in obvious pleasure at being the one to reveal what she considered the worst of human foibles. "They're saying, dear, that your sister was as fast as lightning even at a very early age. They claim she practically ruined the life of Rodney Bradshaw."
Laura stared at her neighbor blankly. "Who on earth was Rodney Bradshaw?"
"Oh, you remember that sweet little son of the Baptist minister. The Bradshaws lived just down the block when your sister was fourteen."
"Mrs. Barton, I was only eight years old when my sister was fourteen. I don't remember anybody down the street who-"
"The sweetest boy in the whole world. Used to lead the singing at Wednesday-night prayer meetings. The whole congregation loved him like a son."
"And my sister ruined him, you say."
Mrs. Barton drew herself up rather archly. "I didn't say anything, my dear. It's the vicious gossip that's going around which is fanning the blaze. The minute I heard it, I insisted that the whole thing was a silly tissue of lies, and-"
"You haven't told me yet who they are. I mean, the ones who say Bev ruined Rodney whatever-his-name-is."
"All I know is, they say she taught him how to sin."
"Are you talking about sex?"
"Of course, my dear!"
Laura waited for a moment in the uncomfortable silence of her own living room, then cleared her throat calmly. "How old was this Rodney-at the time, I mean."
"Only a child-only a boy. About the age of my son, Mike."
Laura smiled, despite herself. "Mrs. Barton, your son was seventeen on his last birthday, wasn't he?"
"Yes. But what has that got to do with-"
"Perhaps nothing. But you might remind all those pious souls who are intent on destroying the reputation of my sister that a fourteen-year-old girl could hardly be totally responsible for pitchforking a grown boy into hell. Now could she?"
Mrs. Barton was waiting for the first small wail of defense. It showed in her eyes, and in the savage way her thin mouth twisted in a rage to taste blood.
"I daresay such things have happened before, Laura. But my Mike would never-"
"And I daresay that seventeen-year-old boys are much more capable of lustful thoughts on the arts of seduction than girls just entering puberty."
"But the fact remains that people would rather gossip and make up outrageous lies than to look for the truth."
The sudden force of Laura's voice proved the proper check for the wily gossip perched on the sofa in front of her. Mrs. Barton's face changed expressions. She retreated-to gather her forces for another day.
"You're exactly right, Laura. And you've used practically the same words I used back at them."
Laura smiled, almost bitterly. "You tell them that this time they are wrong. I know my sister like a book. And even what people are trying to call a 'disappearance' is nothing of the sort. As a matter of fact, I have heard from Bev."
Mrs. Barton's eyes widened. "You have?"
"Yes, but I'm not ready to say anything about it. As you know, my sister is an actress-or is trying to be one in California-and her so-called disappearance concerns that."
Mrs. Barton waited a few more seconds, almost bursting with curiosity about the development she was not prepared to deal with. Then she made a warm but false smile and stood up.
"I'll leave you now, dear. And I hope I haven't upset you. But as I said, my Christian duty compelled me-"
"Thank you, Mrs. Barton. And good-bye."
The instant the old bitch was out of sight, Laura grabbed the manila envelope from under the very cushion Mrs. Barton's wide hips had been crushing. Clutching the manuscript to her small breasts, she hurried into the bathroom, shut and locked the door, and perched on the edge of the tub to read, undisturbed. As if the first sentence of the long letter could possibly have left her anything but wildly disturbed!
She read quickly but thoroughly, her mind leaping like a frightened hare over the typed words:
Dearest Sister, My one desire in life, Laura, is to tell you about the exquisite charm of being fucked-and I hope that you will find my ramblings to your advantage. By that, of course, I mean that you should follow in my footsteps with all possible haste. You must, above all, get it out of your silly head that you are the ugly duckling of the family. You aren't or at least you need not be, darling, because you have a cunt that is, I'm sure, altogether as bewitching as mine. Do I shock you, sweetheart? It's Claude's fault. He's taught me all these words, and I must admit that now they roll off my tongue like fat, round grapes. I'm not the least bit shocked by words like fuck, shit, shuck, cunt, pussy, prick . . . As a matter of fact, l've learned to love them-all of them. But more of such matters later. This letter-and it is only the first of several which I intend to write to you-has as its specific purpose the desire to enlighten you on how I began the small carnival of lust which has now become something of a wild circus inside me.
I also do it out of atonement for sheltering you so long and vigorously from the realities of life. But I'm sure you will forgive me. Honesty can always be forgiven. Oh, I'm rambling already-and Claude is leaning over my shoulder like a Satanic muse, making wisecracks. There he goes again! He just made a joke about my wise crack. He says he's educated it with his pedantic prick-and that's why it is wise. But I'll make a joke of my own since he's reading over my shoulder. I'm going to make him feed my pussy some milk-some- "
Laura stared at how the sentence faltered on the page, how it resumed at a fresh line several spaces down. It was perfect evidence that Bev's joke had somehow gotten out of hand. But it was a joke which did not make Laura smile. Instead, a crawling tide of nausea began somewhere in the pit of her stomach, and continued to climb slowly up into her lungs as she read: -sorry for the interruption, darling Laura, but I suppose my little joke backfired. Claude wouldn't be put off in my suggestion to have my puss fed some of his deliciously thick, hot milk. I'm talking about male sperm, of course, you little ninny-and in case you've never had the rare joy of seeing it, or feeling it, or smelling it, I'll tell you it comes from a man's balls. Sometimes, as in the case of my Claude, it comes in great, boiling gluts which simply flood the deepest corners of my aroused cunt until I could scream with the pleasure of it. But I'm still digressing, damn it, and I don't want to. I must discipline myself if I am ever to be a writer of good letters to you. So I'll begin over in the next paragraph . . .
Laura's eyes dropped like veils of shame down the page to the stipulated paragraph, and her lips moved with a kind of fear and trembling over the printed lines of incredible obscenity: What I started out to do, Laura, was to tell you of my first experience with the wonder of fucking. I'm sure that if you go very far back in your mind you can remember Rodney Bradshaw. He's the nice boy who used to come and sit on the porch swing in the evenings when you were only a little tot in pigtails. I wasn't much older myself-but I suppose, to you, I seemed quite grown up. I wasn't, except in the vague, physical way in which all fourteen-year-old girls mature. For months before it happened, I had been aware that something quite strange and marvelous was transforming my body. It was only the usual kind of change which takes place in every girl-but it was happening to me, and that made all the difference. You remember how you changed, don't you? First I began to notice a kind of mossy, corn silky growth around my genitals. In other words, my pussy seemed to be growing a soft little, comical mustache! I had my first menstruation (a nightmare because our dear mother had not prepared me for it) and I noticed that my breasts and hips had begun to fill out, to round, to take a shape. I was at the height of this miraculous and holy change, Laura, when Rodney Bradshaw chose to initiate me into the even holier joys of sexual intercourse.
I have often wondered-you'll never know how often-if Rodney was not merely some simple instrument to divine my innately nymphomaniacal nature. Such things are possible. You've read about those farmers and simple folk who go around with a forked stick pointing it at the ground to discover hidden wells? It was that way with Rodney and me. He was only a boy-only seventeen at the time-but his nature was already highly achieved, sharpened to a lusty point, and I suppose if he had been something less than a mad little Trojan of lecherousness, I might have had to wait some years to discover what he revealed within me in one amorous night.
It happened this way. Rodney was one of those adolescent males who is loved and trusted by everybody. Most preachers' sons fall into this category. It is simply assumed, I suppose, that because a boy is reared under the watchful eye of a man of God, that his nature will reflect the qualities of compassion, modesty, chastity, etc. People are such limitless fools! Exactly the opposite is much more likely to be the case. When a young man with a naturally salacious drive in his loins is forced into the role of a boyish saint, he is much more likely to find the footsteps of the Devil dizzyingly attractive.
Such was the case with Rodney.
He was after me from the very beginning. Those long evenings that we sat so innocently on the porch swing were merely the previews, the warm-ups for the night I'm going to tell you about. But I wouldn't want you to think I was innocent and wide-eyed when that night finally came. Far from it. The first time Rodney put his hand on my knee, I let him. I made no effort at all to remove his fingers. It was one of those instinctive impulses of non-action which leapt out from the darker cave of my very being, Claude says. I, myself, am sure that there must exist on the face of the earth young girls who would recoil from the unformulated hint of sensual arousal as they would from the slithering touch of a snake. But I was not one of them-even then.
Not only did I let Rodney put his hand on my leg, I let him squeeze my flesh. And even when his fingers wandered dangerously high, I made absolutely no move to stop him. It was as if we were both pilgrims in some uncharted land. I'd never had a finger on my cunt in my entire life, but I knew that a finger was what it needed! I knew that hiding under the thin softness of my panties was a little, freshly fringed crack made for loving a bold finger. I'll confess that during those first few relatively harmless evenings of dalliance on the porch swing, I knew nothing about being stirred by anything but a finger. For all I knew about the mating of the male and female (again, thanks to our dreary mom), babies were made by hand!
I wonder now what I might have thought if I could have seen in the dark shadows of our family porch that Rodney had a quite different, larger finger of meat straining up against the crotch of his roguish fly?
But I didn't see it, or know it was there, and Rodney was much too clever and much too careful to open the trap and let his little dove of fun fly away. He intended to fuck me correctly from the first, of course, but all in his glorious good time.
That time came one weekend when you and mother were away. I can't imagine what prompted mother to be so trusting with me. She should have had more sense, but the fact remains that she left me alone in the house that fateful weekend-and it was that rare moment that Rodney chose to devour my charms.
I remember that he came over quite early in the evening. I knew, of course, that he would have to put his hand on my leg again, and I was quite ready and willing for such games. It's a dubious credit to my girlish innocence that I expected no more than that. We did sit on the porch swing for almost an hour. Rodney's clever hand was on my leg the entire time, squeezing, pinching, play fully pressing around on my steadily excited flesh. I remember that precise moment when the blood began to stir in my youthful loins. I grew moist in the area of my cunt, and the softly folded muffin of my labia felt sticky and hot.
That was why I made no protest at all when that delightfully naughty boy slid his wanton hand up under my panties and began to feel for himself the heat and strength of my arousal.
I can see him even now, leaning toward me in the sultry half-darkness of the porch, his eyes hard as flint, a small, lusty grin drawing up the corners of his young mouth.
"Let's go inside, Bev," he whispered, "I want to see your pussy, too ..." I confess that it was the first time I had ever heard that silly euphemism for the female genitalia.
Pussy.
The word made me giggle. Yes, I actually threw-back my blithe little head and giggled as his fingers stroked the furred trench of my unfucked hole!
Did I resist the invitation to let him look upon my slit?
I did not. Instead, I led him into the house and watched with shameless approval as he shut the front door and locked us inside!
"Let's go upstairs, "he urged, a little hoarsely. "I wanta pull your panties down. I wanta touch it, kiss it, smell it!"
The brazen nerve of his request didn't seem at all extraordinary to me. I marched with him up to Mother's room(was it a Freudian slip, Laura?) like a nymphet from the pits of Satan's hell. Once inside the sanctum of Mummy's own room, he again shut the door and locked it.
"Take 'em off," he said, grinning at me with that cheerlessly stubborn expression of mounting passion that I have seen so often in males since that night. "I want to watch you strip out of them. "
I grinned back at him-vixen of greed that I already was!
"And then what are you going to do, Rodney?" I breathed.
"I'm going to play with it, get you nice and hot."
Playtime was exactly what I had in mind, and even as I hooked my fingers into the elastic at the top of my panties, I could feel my randy young cunt beginning to throb with the anticipated pleasure of having him touch it, scratch it, caress it with the blunt fingertips of his male hands.
When my panties were off, I tossed them to him and he hung them on the bedpost like some small, pink flag of victory.
"Stretch out on the bed, baby. Pull your legs up-and open them wide for me. "
I was flushing with fire as I did what he demanded. It was as if he had hypnotized me with his adolescent stare, captivated me with his marvelously magical fingertips.
I stretched out and opened my legs. My dress rolled down against my stomach like a kind of modest fringe, but I felt absolutely naked. I was, I must confess, even a bit disappointed that he hadn't asked me to take off everything.
I closed my eyes as he came toward me. I felt the weight of his body sink into the mattress at my feet, and I waited-tingling with the excitement of a child at Christmas-as his fingers feathered over the virginal crevice that beckoned him on. When he touched me, I trembled and gave a little gasp of both pleasure and fear. I knew then that he was after something that I was powerless to prevent him from taking.
He was gentle with me at first. His fingers wandered a little blindly and very gently over the puffed ridges of my pussy, as if he were discovering for himself the dark mystery of the eternal cunt.
He touched every hair, every pore-and all the while my pubescent pussy seemed to be growing larger, hotter. It was as if the lips of my sex were being stung by huge, velvet bumblebees of pleasure. My Venus mound thickened and puffed and quivered as he petted it, and I could feel the slit beginning to widen-like a voracious and hungry mouth begging to be fed.
And then he put his index finger into the folds where his husky young prick was dying to lodge itself.
I moaned and twisted-but he kept his finger there, gently inserted. Then he inched in a bit more, then more, until I could feel the entire length of his lewd finger deep up inside my boiling hole.
"Rodney!" I gasped. "You're driving me crazy doing that!"
I heard his boyish voice deep in his throat rasping out words that were sweet music to my ears. "I'm gonna drive you a lot crazier before I'm through, honey. First with my finger, then with my tongue, and then with my prick!"
I formed the word he had just uttered over and over on the tip of my tongue. Imagine if you can my total ignorance of the word. It was as if he had said something bestial and Greek to me.
Prick?
What on earth was a prick?
But such intellectual pursuits were soon lost in the salacious stirrings his finger was producing inside my twat.
He moved his long, ambitious finger in a jiggly oval within the warm, red meat of my pussy. Everywhere he touched, I twittered with needles of joy, sharp jabs of raw pleasure!
"You like that shit-don't you!" he grinned.
I was too blind with liking it to even answer. I merely arched my legs wider, flattened the rounded mounds of my buttocks into the mattress, and let him finger-tease me all he wanted!
Something was happening inside my loins. Some wild, mad flood of rakish juice was beginning to foam and boil. I could feel his finger digging for it, stroking and tickling the grainy, mossy walls of my heated young cunt until Oh, God!! I wanted to scream with the ecstasy of it!
"Come-if you want to," I heard him rasp. "Come all over my finger and I'll lick it out with my tongue!"
Again, I had no idea what the word "come" meant, but the sound of it was erotic and unchaste-and I knew that the swishing juice oozing from the cavern of my pussy was what would come to his finger, bathe his knuckles with a whorish draught of lewdness.
But I had to be brought to the brim and over the brim of such carnal pleasure, and he knew exactly how to do it. He found my clitoris and began to tickle and rub it with just the blind point of his finger. I had not even known such a tool of female lust existed before that night, but I could feel it high up in the circle of my cunt. Just a little fang of gristle that had to be teased.
He teased it, strummed it until the clit was standing up hard and long as a baby's thumb.
I was coming for him, moaning and grunting and twisting as his finger literally fucked me out of my mind!
I almost fainted when the orgasm swirled through my loins. It was as if his finger had grown to the size of a ballbat and I was impaled upon it, lusting for it, driving it deeper and deeper into the core of my slit as my liquids flooded and foamed in release.
Through the delirium of my joy I could hear the squish and mushy whisper of my swollen pussy as his finger fed inside it. I knew that my juices were running out of that nether mouth, bubbling out and rolling slickly down the insides of my legs. I had never felt such exquisite pleasure in my life, Laura!
Then, abruptly, his finger came unplugged and his head was between my legs. I could feel his hard, fiendish tongue lapping and sucking at the honey he had stirred from the depths of my sex. The pleasure of having him do that to me-of his licking my wet and throbbing cunt-brought me to another orgasm that was even longer and more thrilling than the first. He was literally drinking down my love-nectar!
I wanted him to stop what he was doing. I needed a respite. I desperately believed that his tongue was going to drive me mad with joy if it probed one inch more inside the sappy folds of my cunt.
But he didn't stop. He held my thighs pinned down with his hands and continued to suck at my pussy like a beast. I twisted and tossed and groaned. I begged him to stop until my voice was hoarse-but with each passing second I could feel my passion being rekindled. Finally, wi\h a vague whimper of contentment, I lay still, with my thighs pushed up high against the jaws of his face, his tongue buried to the roots inside my lusty twat, his tongue moving unhurriedly in hungry circles.
Slowly, a small, almost cruel grin pulled up the corners of my mouth. He was eating me, and I was loving it!
The little orgy went on for what seemed hours. I could hear nothing but the steady, succulent slurp of his mouth clamped between my legs, but I could feel the very harps of paradise as he licked.
I was coming again-this time one of those long, lazy orgasms that only a young girl can have who is being pleasured by a lascivious boy who craves it, and cares not a damn about her modesty or innocence or future. We were animals, the two of us, one greedy to eat a ripe pussy and the other more than eager to have it eaten.
But Rodney was full of surprises. When he had worked me to the very peak of an exploding climax, he pulled his lapping tongue out of the throbbing, gaping slit and crawled off the bed.
Do you know the nature of the animal inside us, Laura ?
I'm sure you do not, but when you have learned about that nature, you will understand how I felt at that moment. Blind with the need for nothing more than the drumming pleasure of having my cunt satisfied, I was suddenly deprived of the joy by a grinning, lust-drenched young fool!
I remember that I sat up on my elbows with my legs still splayed ruttishly apart, my inflamed cunt yawning open like a clown's mouth.
"Lick me!" I hissed. "Stick your tongue in it again and suck me!!
By my cunt, Laura, the young Lothario merely grinned at me again, and began to unbuckle his pants.
"You're ripe to be fucked, Beverly," he husked. "I built you up to the boiling point only to put my dick into you. But don't worry-by the time I'm through screwing that hot pussy, you'll have cream coming out of your goddamned ears!"
Fucked?
Again-yet again-I had to admit to ignorance of the word. To be even more honest, I'll have to admit that I didn't at all understand why he was taking off his pants. But one learns fast in the lusts of love, as the poet says. When I saw that gross young scoundrel produce from between his legs a tool of meat designed only for the purpose of a lifelong fuck with virgins, I understood it all.
I knew what his prick was for.
It was the very finger of God-and he was going to touch me with it as God touched Adam. And I was going to be given a new birth.
As he got more naked, I pulled my legs apart like a nutcracker and lay back on the mattress. He came to me again and the bed sank on complaining springs. At that moment I thought of Mother. It was her bed I was being fucked on for the first time-and how perfectly ironic it all was! Our dear, sweet, stupid mother who had guarded my precious cunt with the care of a saint was now unwittingly providing the bed of lust on which I was to be reborn.
"Put your hands down, pull your pussy open," Rodney whispered to me. "When I put this big thing into you, you can guide it along an inch at a time. We're gonna fuck all night, if that's what it takes to satisfy me!"
Need I tell you, sweet Laura, that it did indeed take the better part of three hours to satisfy us both. I don't know how long the agony lasted of having his monstrous, stiff young cock poked steadily into my hitherto virgin cunt. But I do know that once the pain and blood were over, I was in the throes of a more exquisite torture than before. My adolescent whoremaster fucked his mare without mercy for the better part of an hour. My orgasms came and went on murderous feet of joy, and each time I spasmed, the strong young muscles of my cunt would suck and grasp and nip at his "plundering prick until he would groan and curse with lust. . .
Am I beginning to bore you with my erotomania?
I am sorry, and it is late. Even Claude is becoming impatient with me. He says that if I would put half my passion for prose into worshipping his insatiable, big dick, I would be a happier hausfrau.
But Claude has never been able to understand my desire to share my happiness with others-and especially you, Laura.
I will write again. I must. Until then, think well of me. I'm off for a jolly fuck with you-know-who.
Love, Bev Laura was not sure how long she continued to sit on the edge of the tub, staring in dumb, shock-stricken silence at the last few words of the long letter.
She only knew that it was as if somebody had put a gun to her head and mockingly clicked the trigger against an empty chamber.
Chapter TWO
It took two days for Laura to completely recover from the shock of the letter from her older sister.
It was not so much the contents of the letter which disturbed her: it was something far more complex, something which reached much farther into the past than the mere recital of Beverly's ancient, sexual sins. No, the thing which gnawed at Laura's breast like a cancerous ache was the fact that she, Laura, had been so selfishly, wickedly deceived all these years!
The mockery was almost too much to bear-and certainly too much to successfully hide from the prying eyes and pursed lips of a next-door neighbor like Mrs. Barton. The old gossip seemed bent on scooping up every scrap of information she could about Bev, as if her one dedicated mission in life was to pry, then to reveal all she knew, bit by bit, to the other Jezebels who clustered around her from dawn to daylight.
But Laura steeled herself as best she could from that kind of pain. It was the other pain-from the long-held secrets and deceit of her sister-that she simply could not forget, nor forgive.
For two long nights, Laura could think of nothing but the past, of how she and Bev had lain awake talking about life, chastity, goodness-of how Bev and she had promised each other to be the kind of young ladies their mother could be proud of, now that she was in heaven.
And I drank it all in like the gospel, Laura moaned.
What a fool she had made of herself.
And so it was the curious twisting of the mind upon a lost and somehow wasted past that irked Laura most. It even, for a time, destroyed her logic. For example, it was not until forty-eight hours after she had received the letter from Bev that it occurred to her to really wonder about it.
She had no doubt that the letter was indeed from her sister. There was too much intimate detail in it to be mistaken about that. But who was Claude? And where was Bev when she wrote the letter? And did it have any bearing whatever on the fact that Bev was lost?
In an attempt to better settle the matter in her mind, Laura forced herself to read the long letter again. She studied the details; she lingered over the obscene descriptions of cunnilingus and sexual intercourse with a long-ago boy named Rodney Bradshaw until her eyes were dim and weary with the search. The search for what? She scarcely knew herself, but some intuitive quirk seemed to suggest to her that a secret message lay unspoken between the lines of the letter.
She found nothing which really satisfied her. The letter seemed honest, as Bev said. As honest as a mind poisoned and corrupted beyond redemption could make words.
Then Laura reread the newspaper clipping that she had memorized by heart. It told of how Beverly Miller had been lost at sea on the yacht of- Laura's blood suddenly ran chillingly cold. On the yacht of C. Phillip Conner.
The Claude of the letter!
There seemed no question about the linking of the initial C in the brief newspaper story to the Claude of Bev's letter. But the postmark told her something which was even more mystifying. The letter had been written after the newspaper story. That certainly made no sense!
And then, of course, it did make sense.
It made all kinds of wicked sense . . . because the simple truth of the matter was that Beverly had not disappeared at all on the yacht of a wealthy playboy: she had merely seemed to disappear.
Laura found herself right back where she had been: hating her sister for having deceived her!
It is odd-and a bit cruel-how paranoia can seize the lonely of the world at the exact time when they are in need of friends and the confidence of their own egos. But Laura knew that was precisely what had happened to her. She even knew when it was happening to her, but she could only stand back and stare at her twenty-six-year-old, virginal body and plain face which reflected bluishly at her from a wall mirror, and call herself fool again.
She had always been a fool where her pretty, older sister was concerned. Even to herself she had never been anything but Cinderella's ugly sister, the one shut away when company arrives, the one not allowed to think of herself as attractive and charming . . . one who was not even allowed to think of herself as a sexual being.
And now she knew an even darker truth about herself; she had been cheated beyond measure, by her own self-imposed prison, to a trite and tasteless life.
But it was the fresh arrival of Mrs. Barton which capped the slowly mounting hysteria of Laura's rage. The witless beast of a woman had no more sense than to come over again, perch on the sofa like a vicious peacock, and tell Laura exactly what the latest gossip mill had produced.
"I wanted to be the last one to tell you, my dear," Mrs. Barton hummed, "but I told myself that no, I should be the very one to tell you-before you heard it all from unkind tongues."
"The first one to tell me what, Mrs. Barton?"
"To tell you what they're saying about you, Laura."
"And what is that?"
Mrs. Barton took a long, sensual breath and delivered the venom in a single sentence, "They say that you approve of your sister's behavior-that you are perhaps even guilty of such behavior yourself."
Laura knew at that moment the sudden, conflicting emotions of both pride and anger.
"How dare they say that!" she stammered, more out of spite than conviction.
"Exactly what I told them. I said you wouldn't dream of being a loose woman. That you weren't even capable of it."
Laura took the analysis in silence. She waited.
"I'm proud to say, Laura, that it was I who finally convinced the-ah-certain parties in question of the purity of your life. And that you are not to be compared to your lovely sister. If anything, you deserve to be pitied for-"
"Pitied?"
Mrs. Barton smiled craftily. "I'm afraid that is exactly the attitude some of the backbiters have taken now, Laura. Once the freshness, the newness of the gossip about your sister abated, they seemed to find it amusing to pity you. It's dreadfully unfair, I know, to be scorned for one's virtues, but you know the kind of world we live in today. A jungle. Simply a jungle."
"Yes," Laura agreed, listlessly, "a jungle filled with all kinds of creatures."
Mrs. Barton nodded, uncertainly.
"Tell me, Mrs. Barton, what else are they saying about me? I mean, exactly how am I supposed to have lived this life of scarlet sin while being employed in the Public Library. Do I trap my victims behind the stacks-or do I invite them into this small apartment after midnight?"
Mrs. Barton flushed, somewhat unbecomingly, and pursed her lips in the old, familiar way. "You mustn't take the gossip so seriously, my dear. Talk is merely talk, after all, and-"
"But I do take it seriously. And for all you know, Mrs. Barton, there might even be a bit of truth in it."
The reaction, Laura told herself, is going to be more important than the female viper sitting across from her would ever know. So she waited-and Mrs. Barton took the bait as innocently as a starved carp by tossing back her head and giving a merry, tinkling little laugh which froze all charity in Laura's blood.
"My dear- the day I believe your character the least bit sinful will be the day I'll see pie in the sky."
Laura smiled back thinly, but a sudden, demonic tom-tom had begun to beat in her brain. Pie in the sky it will be, she thought.
And tomorrow!!
The sexual chemistry which at once began to work in Laura's brain and body was not something which has been charted. Only the edges of the murky, secret country of the libido has been explored by scientists of the mind.
Laura didn't understand it herself, and she certainly would not have made any formal protest to her conscience about her feelings. She was past analysis. She merely wanted to demonstrate to herself that the years had not been in vain.
She was, she told herself that very evening as she undressed in front of the figure-length mirror in her bedroom, only twenty-six years of age. Twenty-six! That certainly wasn't ancient, and the fact that her life had been clouded by the chaste shadow of a nightmare (her sister's duplicity) was no reason to believe life had to go on forever as it had.
To still the unjust gossip, she had only to fulfill it. But the stillness she was contemplating was not something stirring in the neighborhood, it was something stirring in herself.
She stood naked, at last, in front of the mirror, studying the lines of her white, thin body. She touched her fingertips to the small, pale pears of her breasts. They had never known passion-not once. The little pink, emotionless buds called nipples had never known the rough grasp of a man's hand. The narrow curve of her hollowed thighs had never felt the urgency of a satyr's finger, the sliding lust of a hand grown bold with desire. And the darkly feathered cup of her cunt . . .
Laura paused, feeling the word forming on her so lips like some small, spell-binding charm. Cunt.
And what is that little mouth of flesh between my legs, Laura thought, helplessly, if it isn't the passageway into my lost and scattered dream-past? And why shouldn't I, even at this late moment in life, try to salvage what I can!
But with whom?
And it was not until the wee hours of the morning that Laura sat up in bed, smiling in the darkness of her bedroom, sensing that the small buds tipping the peaks of her tits were suddenly fuller and warmer, like ripe little plums begging to be picked, knowing also that a rudimentary itch was starting, deep in the crevice of her slit.
But it was not because of the dim awakening of her body that she was smiling. It was because she had thought of the perfect object-the perfect male-to initiate her into the game of lust.
Who else but Mike Barton, the boy next door?
The idea had all the charm of revenge, too. Mrs. Barton's forked and puritanical tongue would rot at the roots if she found out that her seventeen-year-old son was about to be taught the arts of a whoremaster.
But she never need know anything.
At least not until the whore in question was mastered and fucked!
Chapter THREE
She had to plan it carefully-and inexperience was her biggest problem. She had simply never seduced a male before, and this would be a seduction of an innocent. She knew intuitively that young Mike Barton would not be the Rodney Bradshaw of her sister's past. She had at least seen enough of the boy to know that much.
But she nevertheless made it a habit to study him over the next few days-and often at a very close angle. But happy circumstance, Mike had been for some time employed by her in a believable capacity as a yard boy. She paid him two dollars every Saturday morning to clean and rake the lawn behind the duplex in which she lived. The other half of the duplex was temporarily unoccupied.
Until her planned excursion into erotica, she had never really paid much attention to Mike, physically. She knew him to be a quiet, relaxed, smiling young man who was interested only in tinkering with an old car he had pulled from the junkyard. She knew also, from the constant blathering of his mother, that Mike was something of a star on his high school basketball team. In short, he was the kind of consummately healthy, well-adjusted, young male adolescent who might react either way to a stubborn female's attempt to seduce him; he might be ready as ripe wheat to be harvested, or he might balk in fear and disgust.
It would be interesting to discover that aspect of his nature at the same time she was uncovering her own.
She waited almost breathlessly for the next Saturday to arrive, but her time was by no means wasted. While sitting at her desk in the Public Library she gave constant thought to the manner of the seduction.
She certainly could not simply tell him she wanted fucked!
And she was not at all sure that she did want to be possessed in a violent, animal like encounter. Some nagging fear of being hurt held her away from the direct approach. And then, there was the matter of imitating the actions of Beverly, her sister. Something about the necessity stimulated her resolve.
"I want to have it done to me as it was done to her," she whispered to herself at one point. "But I want to go Bev one better, too-if that's possible!"
To that end, she narrowed the goal of her deliberate seduction down to a very specific event: she would invite Mike Barton to do nothing more than tickle her cunt.
But again, how?
What would be the technique-the modus operandi?
The thorny problem bothered her for all of two days-and might have seemed insoluble altogether if it had not been for a very amusing and timely bit of fate. On Friday afternoon a small boy of about nine approached her desk with a picture book which he wanted to check out. It was a book about American history, and the second Laura's wandering mind and eyes fell on the cover, she knew that her problem was solved.
The cover of the book was a picture of George Washington signing a document with a huge, pink quill pen.
She could hardly contain her pleasure as she stared at the illustration. She'd invite Mike Barton to tickle her pussy with a feather!
Had Laura but known how trite her inventiveness would seem to the practitioners of lasciviousness, she might have blushed with something besides pleasure. But she did not know. She only saw that a feather would be a harmless, gentle instrument of titillation which might not only give her the kind of depraved pleasure she was seeking, but might also serve as an intoxicant to a horny boy. For all she knew, Mike Barton had been dreaming since puberty of scratching the portals of a pussy in just such a way!
But first she had to buy a feather.
The instant five o'clock arrived, she found herself heading downtown to a Woolworth's store. She had seen quill pens in such stores before-those silly imitations of the real thing which contain ballpoint pens cleverly concealed at the tip of the feather. That would do perfectly, she reasoned.
But Woolworth's disappointed her, and she found herself ranging over the store with a kind of hungry madness. Surely she would be able to find something with a feather on it!
Finally, in a last ditch effort born of desperation, she hurried into a hat shop. She was like an addict now, blindly seeking out the balm of her itch. The clerk was very helpful, producing from a pile of attractive chapeaus just the right number.
The feather was white, with a fluffy, pointed tip. And it measured fourteen inches from end to end.
It seemed made for teasing cunts!
She slept very little that night, and when the first light of Saturday's dawn came, she found herself standing half naked at her bedroom window, peering out at the back yard as if it were the Elysian Fields. A choking terror went through her once or twice when she considered the possibility of Mike's not showing up at all. Perhaps one of his ridiculous high school ball games would keep him away!
But he did appear, halfway into the morning. And since her vigil at the bedroom window had been more or less constant, she saw him at once. Narrowing her eyes, she studied his body from every angle. He was wearing faded, tight jeans and a T-shirt, and he seemed to be going about his work today with a kind of lazy, bored indifference.
If he only knew the excitement she had in store for him!
She had long ago made ready for the event by carefully bathing and perfuming her body. The selection of her clothes had been a real problem-she kept asking herself what Bev would have worn-but she finally settled on a very thin, sensibly dark dress that sported the highest hemline in her wardrobe. To simplify matters, she wore neither panties nor bra, and that alone made her feel deliciously wanton. The tips of her yearning tits seemed to fill with warm blood and stick out against the dark clothes like acorns.
With blood also beating at her temples, she checked the other windows in her apartment-the ones which gave her an advantageous view of the Barton home. She had no intention of letting her enemy see what she was up to. Fortunately, Mrs. Barton had drawn the blinds on the side windows of her house, as was her custom, and the path was clear for the first step of the plan.
At exactly half past ten, she opened the back door of her apartment and called to her young worker.
He turned, shading his youthful and sweating face against the sun-and grinned at her.
She beckoned with her finger that he was to come toward her. She watched as he walked toward her with a casual swagger of his coltish, lean hips. Her eyes fell with a gnawing fascination down to his crotch. She saw-or thought she saw-the telltale bulge that demonstrates the nature of the male animal.
"Hi," he said, coming up to her with his grin.
He said nothing more, and for one terrible instant Laura felt words freeze in her throat. She had nothing to say to him, no possible way to begin!
But he unwittingly saved the day. "Anything special you want me to do today?"
It brought a small, welcome grin to her own face. "Yes, Mike, there is. But why don't you come in and have a cool drink first. We can talk about it in the kitchen."
He nodded without a moment's hesitation, and followed her into the house.
She was tingling from head to toe! She was sure that he knew everything, that he could see simply by looking that she wore neither bra nor panties. She was equally sure that he could read her mind.
While he sat at the kitchen table, she got him a Coke from the icebox and brought it to him. He thanked her, and sipped it casually. Then he looked up at her with the brownest eyes she had ever seen, his grin gone a bit slack at the corners of his mouth.
"What was it you needed done special?" he asked.
The cleverly constructed innuendo, the memorized approaches she had carefully worked out, fell suddenly away from her mind like dead leaves being kicked by the wind. Instead, she took a short, sketchy breath and said: "I want you to tickle my pussy-with a feather."
The silence in the kitchen was suddenly as thick as marble.
Mike Barton remained frozen in place for a few seconds, then brought both his hands up around the glass of Coke in front of him. His grin collapsed for a moment, then widened into an arch that spread his crimson cheeks.
"Goddamn, Miss Miller," he whispered, thickly. "I don't know what to say about that."
She smiled shamelessly. "Just say you will, Mike. I bought the feather yesterday. It's in the bedroom. I want to take off my clothes and lie down on the bed, and I want you to-"
"Jesus," he husked, softly, "do you have any idea what you're even saying?"
"I have every idea of what I'm asking you to do-and if you do it to my satisfaction, I may let you fuck me. Although I don't promise that."
An uncertain gurgle seemed to pass from the boy's throat, as if the vision of her pussy was already dancing in his brain. She saw his eyes clouding suddenly with the mixture of lust and fear.
"Who the hell knows about this," he breathed. "Anybody?"
"Nobody-I can promise you that. Now, will you do it for me?"
He didn't answer. He merely pushed back from the table and stood up. He seemed suddenly taller to her-and a most admirable young stud at that.
"Let's go," he whispered.
She led him into the bedroom. She remembered all the details of her sister's letter, and so she locked the bedroom door. She had already pulled the blinds, and the room had been thrown into a muted light.
She began to take off her clothes.
"Want me to strip?" he asked, behind her.
Without looking back at him, but feeling a wild ripple of pleasure surge through her loins, she nodded, "Yes, Mike. Take off your clothes if you'll enjoy it more. I'd like to see your body."
When she was free of her dress, she walked lithely, nakedly toward the bed and crawled into the center. She spread her legs exactly the way she remembered the description in the letter. And then she took a deep breath.
"When you are ready, Mike, the feather is on the bureau."
"I see it, yeah."
She closed her eyes then, just as Bev had done and waited for the first ethereal brush of the soft wing-tip against her waiting cunt.
Then suddenly he was upon her.
She had no time to rise, to defend herself, to even struggle. His body-much heavier than she had ever dreamed possible-was across hers, and the male knees were digging like cudgels under her soft buttocks.
"No-!" she hissed.
But it was too late. She felt the searing pain of his blunt hardness thrusting between the dry, defenseless lips of her cunt. She screamed-but it was a muffled scream, since even in her terror she remembered the mother next door.
"Mike-for God's sake-NOH"
He didn't answer, and wouldn't answer. The only answering sound was the rough gasp of his breath as he rammed his hips forward once more, and drove the length of his adolescent prick to the roots in her slit.
One more ragged scream and she felt the blood and tissue tear inside her. The fist of a cockhead seemed to be lodged against her lungs! He was killing her with it-he was FUCKING HER!!
She barely had time to know the depths of her sister's towering lie before she fainted under his savage, joyless thrusts . . .
She came out of the darkness being rocked like a boat. He was still on top of her, his youthful, gorged prick rammed deep into her cunt. The pain was gone, but a numbness, a rawness had replaced it. Her arms were pulled back, away from her on both sides, and he was holding her down as he fucked.
She stared blindly up into his flushed face. His eyes seemed glazed, his cheeks ruddy. His mouth was open like some animal's, and she could see his tongue hanging out a bit between his teeth. He grinned at her.
"Fuck with me, baby," he whispered. "Let's come together!"
She twisted her head to one side and shut her eyes, clenched them over the strange sensation which, despite the nature of her rape, was beginning to seize her like a fever.
She felt the tickling, embryonic dig of pleasure in her loins. The numbness was giving way to a deep, abandoned kind, of rapture. Her lushly violated cunt gave a throb, then another, and she felt his incredible stiffness respond with a throb of its own.
"You didn't know I had such a big one," he grinned. "You didn't know I've got the biggest, goddamn prick in school."
He said it almost mockingly, as if he really believed she had known exactly what he had, as if her invitation had been covetously built around such knowledge. She only knew that the tunnel of her helpless pussy was stretched to capacity, and the knob at the end of his cock moved like a clenched fist against her half-resisting walls of flesh.
She felt his mouth close lustily over one of her small, pointing tits, and another involuntary shudder of delight went through her. He began to suck her nipple, licking and biting it with his tongue and lips. The little peak grew into an extended thimble of erect meat, and he sucked it even harder before moving to the other tit to repeat the attack.
He had turned her on to the very flame of lust. She wantonly moved her hips in circles to complement his vertical thrusts. His prick went deeper into her, plundering the remotest corners of her pussy, satisfying her to her toes.
"I'm- coming!" she gasped.
The maddened muscles of her cunt suddenly gripped his horsy young prick like a soapy hand. She held his hardness inside her for one, two, three seconds-and then she spasmed.
He rammed home his cock savagely as she groaned, making his balls slap obscenely against the lifted crack of her ass. Her juices spat against his legs and trickled down into the cleft of her buttocks like thin, hot syrup.
In her ecstasy, she had drawn both her legs up until they were holding his naked hips in a vise. Her cunt continued to throb greedily, and he had not once paused in his stubborn drive to keep fucking her hard.
He had lifted his mouth from her pointing tits at the apex of her orgasm, and now he was again grinning down at her, his hair hanging over his eyes, his tongue half out of his ruttish young mouth.
"Wanta come like that again?" he breathed, huskily.
She slid her legs up over the lean hillocks of his naked ass and purred at him-purred like the hot pussy she had suddenly become.
She had found her whoremaster!
Chapter FOUR
One should never pet a panther unless one is prepared to feed it.
A desultory, raping little fuck was by no means the end of it as far as Mike Barton was concerned. He came back that very evening, tapping on her kitchen door like an Arab. It both frightened and pleased her to have him enamored of her newly awakened cunt. But it was a raw flap of flesh that he wished to again invade. He had fucked her, if not wisely, too well.
"Let me tickle it, then," he suggested. "That's what you wanted me to do this morning."
"No, I-I can't."
He grinned at her. "Yes, you can. You'll km it. Where's the feather?"
He was standing in the kitchen again, and she could see the bulge at his fly. It made her wonder if every adolescent was so possessed by sex!
"Really, Mike, I don't think-"
"Then don't think. Just feel. I'll tickle your pussy, then I'll eat it. Just think of a nice big tongue licking your cunt until it foams."
"No, Mike, I-"
"You wouldn't want me to tell Mom about this morning, would you?"
She stared at him, feeling leaden in her stomach.
"You wouldn't dare do that!"
"Don't bet on it, honey. Of course, I wouldn't tell her the whole truth. I'd just tell her that you invited me in here this morning and made some lewd gestures at me. Mom would eat that shit up. You know her."
"You little bastard!"
"I'm big where it counts, though. And you'll never convince me you don't want to feel my eight inches inside you again. Look, Laura, we can keep this up forever. You let me fuck you any time the spirit moves me, and I'll keep my mouth shut tight as a gate. Try to cut me off, and I'll see to it that this whole stinking neighborhood comes after you with pitchforks."
"Bastard!"
He smiled. "Now where's that cunt-tickler?"
She was trembling when he followed her into the bedroom once again-and yet her trembling was not totally caused by his threats. She was shocked by her own feelings, as if she were standing back and looking at a stranger. The truth was that she was enjoying being forced into a blackmailer's corner.
She could smell the beast in the young male who had lived, in the past, so quietly beside her.
She could even smell the beast in herself.
"Let's strip again," he said. "We can play better that way."
Even before her dress was off, she could feel the hard points of her tits pushing out. She felt salacious all over, and even the puffed, sensitive, blindly-fucked mouth of her cunt began to itch again.
Mike was naked at the same time she was, and she saw his stiff, horsy young prick sticking out like a bar of iron.
"Sit in that chair," he said, pointing at a cushioned seat in the corner. "Hook your legs over both sides and scoot down a little so your ass hangs out in the air."
His casually uttered, venereal words made her blaze inside!
She did as he demanded, and in such a position the lips of her pussy were pulled apart like the twin halves of a ripe, pink peach.
He got down between her legs on his knees and examined her cunt without touching it. He smelled it all over. The corners of his youthful mouth turned up again in a lusty little grin.
"You sure got fucked good this morning," he whispered. "If I keep this up, it'll take a goddamn horse to satisfy you."
He brought the tip of the feather up and ran it lightly over the thatch of hair that fringed the oval of her pussy. She stirred uncomfortably. Then he switched tactics and teased the insides of her legs and the soft cleft of her asshole.
The titillation had the intended effect. She could feel her ravaged cunt begin to tingle and throb.
"Tease it," she heard herself rasp, "tickle it inside with the feather!"
"Sure."
He brought the feather back into play on her cunt, and this time he ran the tip lightly over the pouting ridges of her labia.
The pleasure was overpowering!
She felt the mounds of her pussy beginning to open like the wet gills of some giant fish. He saw the development, too, and began to move the feather between the folds of her cunt, scratching a bit deeper with each pass. He twirled and twisted and poked with the feather until her cunt was quivering with joy.
She had never known such rapture.
It's better than a thousand fucks! she thought.
When he had feather-teased her pussy until she could stand it no more, she pulled her legs even wider apart and pushed the trough of her loins out over the corner of the chair.
"Lick it with your tongue!" she hissed.
His head came between her straddled legs and she felt the first wonderful probes of his long, boyish tongue. The texture of the warm appendage was much better than the flickery touch of the feather. It was as if a velvet-covered spoon were stroking just inside her boiling slit.
So this is how it was with Bev and Rodney Bradshaw!
He tongued and sucked her pussy for several long minutes, building her steadily toward a climax. The frenzy of her newly invigorated lust caught in her throat, and exploded in words: "Fuck me, Mike! I'll let you now! Please-fuck me!!
His moving tongue slathered out of her dripping cunt only long enough to answer. "Not a chance, baby. I'm gonna eat this hot pussy until you come. I want to taste your juice!"
With that, he went back to the sweet trench between her legs and began to suck her with a strong, powerful thrust of his tongue. He had his nostrils buried in the soft fluff of hair around her cunt, and his palmed hands were holding up her buttocks and pushing her pussy hard against his jaws.
She let him eat her to the finish-and when it came, she clenched her teeth and flooded his tongue with the liquids of her lust.
He continued to lick and suck the meaty pulp of her cunt until the last drop was gone, then he stood up between her legs and jacked his throbbing prick only twice to shoot a torrent of thick, hot sperm onto her pulsing belly . . .
They lay together after that on the bed. He smoked a cigarette and in the middle of it, began to play with her tits.
"They've grown a little, I think," he said, smiling. "I think they've grown since this morning. The more they're sucked, the more they grow, Mom says."
She turned her head toward him so that the nipple he was handling was twisted under his thumb. "Yes, I'm sure your mother said that," she breathed.
His eyes glanced up at her. He winked. "She's not my mother-she's my stepmother. Didn't you know that."
"No, of course not!"
"I've been fucking her old cunt since I was fourteen."
Laura felt the breath stop in her throat, but the plum-like nipple Mike Barton was playing with fattened and hardened a bit for some reason.
"You're lying, aren't you?" she demanded.
He shrugged. "Why would I lie about something like that? I didn't seduce her, she seduced me. It happened six months after she and dad got married. My real mother died in a car wreck. Stella married dad and we moved here. Stella said it would be best for me if we just pretended I was her real son."
Laura waited, her heart pounding in her throat. "I can't believe that you-you and your own stepmother would-would-"
"Fuck? I told you, when I was fourteen, she seduced me. It happened one summer when dad was away on a business trip. She came to my room after I'd gone to bed and started playing around in the dark. Surprised and scared the shit out of me at first, but she was so damned good at teasing a prick that before I knew it I had a hard-on like crazy. I was hung as good at fourteen as I am now, and I guess Stella could stand her frustration just so long. Anyway, she played around with my big stiff cock until I was too goddamned hot to care, then she crawled on and fucked me half the night. When I got the hang of it, I fucked her. Bet I made her come twenty times that night."
Laura absorbed the shameless story in silence, then threw back her head and laughed. "And you were going to tell your mother about us!
"A-riot, eh?"
"And do you still-have her?"
"When dad isn't looking. I fucked her dry last week. She's a real slut for it. Her clit's as big as my thumb. It ought to be, as much as she makes me suck it . . ."
Before Laura could respond, he bent his head down and took the peak of her aroused tit into his mouth and began to suck it, slowly and powerfully.
She glanced down and saw that his prick was up again, stiff as a club.
She tried to imagine him fucking his mother the way he had fucked her, and the thought made her tits grow firm and large under his lashing tongue.
She had never felt so wonderfully wicked in her life.
Chapter FIVE
Two weeks passed, and instead of Mike Barton diminishing in his desire for Laura's still somewhat virginal body, his passion seemed to grow. And with it grew a rather monstrous young appetite for emotionally abusing her. He told her the most outrageous tales-sometimes she believed they were lies, and sometimes she wondered-about his exploits with the girls of his high school, and sundry females of the city. It was difficult for Laura to believe that a seventeen-year-old male could possibly have experienced what he had, but there was always some nagging hint of truth to what he said.
He told her how he had seduced girls as innocent as the farts of God, how he had turned their tight little slits into lewd and drooling cracks. All any young girl needed, he philosophized, like a teen-aged de Sade, was a banana-sized prick laboring in her cunt to change her overnight from madonna to harlot.
Laura knew only too well the truth of what he said.
After all, she had been changed herself from a prancing little know-nothing who needed her twat feathered, to a wanton who now could feel every pore of her body grown erotic. Like one of Pavlov's infamous dogs, she had a cunt which itched and slathered every afternoon when the time neared for Mike to come to her with his prick stiffened for pleasure.
But the mind-and the libidinal heart-plays tricks on one. In her reckless fantasies, she began to believe that Mike loved her. It is always difficult for the female of the species to think correctly, with a well-fed pussy, and she foolishly mistook the lusty hard-ons with which he reamed her oily cunt for valentines of romance. After all, she had never in her life really had a sweetheart, and now to have a half-grown adolescent coming to her every day to lick and fuck that well of loneliness between her legs was enough to unbalance the most sane of prim heads.
But it was not until another fateful Saturday, two weeks after their first blazing screw, that the truth came home to Laura with the impact of a mailed fist.
"You're almost as good a fuck as that sexy sister of yours," Mike said, as they lay in the afterglow of one of their best fornications. As a matter of fact, it had been their best, in Laura's opinion. She had spasmed until her voice was a strangled, hoarse gasp in her throat. And when Mike had shot his glut of steaming sperm into her, she had used her vaginal muscles to squeeze his throbbing prick into its final rapture.
And now to hear him say that he had fucked Beverly, and that she was a better fuck!
"My sister?" she stammered, thickly. "I don't believe you!"
He grinned and made her eyes glance, with his, down to the sprawl of her thighs where his large, half-soft prick was still lodged obscenely into the parted muck of her cunt.
"How can you look at the way my cock is stuck into your hole and doubt that I could have done the same thing to your sister, good-looking as she was. Hell, she fucked everything on legs in this town. The time I had her, I had to stand in line."
"When!?"
"Last summer. You remember when she was here. What do you think she was doing all those long hours you were working your pure little ass off in the library?"
"She was here, at home, studying the script of a movie she was to have a bit part in."
Mike's smile widened into a harsh grin. "She was studying all right-studying the cock-size of me and four of my high school buddies. We fucked her one afternoon right here with the shades pulled down. All of us are hung like studs, and that cunt of hers accommodated us three or four times apiece. Never saw such a hot bitch . . . glutton for big pricks . . . her hole looked like two slabs of raw liver by the time we-"
"Stop it! I don't want to hear!"
He grinned again. "You mean you don't want to hear how much better she was than you-or how much prettier."
"Stop!"
"I'll even tell you why she was better. Her cunt was hotter, wetter, tighter, deeper. And she talked to us while we fucked her. There's not a sailor on earth who could come close to imitating what she said. And to have a beautiful, stacked doll talk like that to you while you're pumping eight or nine inches to her-"
"Get out! Get out of here!!"
"Your sis is a beautiful whore, baby-that's all I'm saying."
"GET OUT!"
He stared at her for a moment, his cheeks blushing red with scorn and disgust. Then he crawled arrogantly away from her, his oversized, softening cock slipping with a sucking noise between her bruised and swollen labia.
"Cool off," he husked. "By tomorrow you'll be ready for another good fuck."
"Go to hell, you vain little clod!"
He thrust his long, muscled legs into his jeans and grinned emotionlessly at her.
"How long do you think that shaggy puss of yours can live without my twanger? This time tomorrow you'll be smelling my ass and licking my balls to get me to satisfy you."
She took one last savage breath, her eyes blazing with hate. "Motherfucker!" she screamed.
When he was gone, she buried her head in the pillows and sobbed out her hatred for both of them-for the male who takes without love, and for the female who lets him!
But even as she cried, she could feel the distant, teasing itch deep inside her lickerish cunt.
He was right about tomorrow.
Chapter SIX
The tomorrow brought, however, an entirely different kind of problem with it. When Laura was awakened early that Sunday morning by the insistent ringing of her doorbell, she felt a greedy little surge of delight go through her.
Mike had doubtlessly returned to offer his apology for his outrageous behavior, she thought. It amused her to speculate that he had probably spent the long night thinking about her, about the availability of her cunt. It would be difficult for a boy of seventeen to throw away the more than rare opportunity to have sex anytime he snapped his fingers.
As she pulled on her gown and hurried groggily toward the front door, she fought back the twist of a smile that pulled at her mouth. She would not make it easy for him. She would, in fact, be as hard as nails. She'd make him beg for it. The happy thought occurred to her that she might even make him tickle her pussy that very afternoon. How much fun it would be to be feathered again into a clitoral orgasm!
But her quick fantasies were short-lived. It was not Mike at the door at all, but the Special Delivery postman.
He handed her another large, brown, manila envelope.
She signed for the second letter from her sister with a dull thumping in her breast. She had felt her triumph all too shortly: what she had done with Mike Barton had exceeded Bev's mundane and girlish experience with the preacher's son, of that much she was sure. But now, as if in jeering reply, was yet another attempt of her sister to shock and challenge her sensibilities.
She thought once of burning the envelope without even opening it. But the silly temptation passed in a second, and almost as if by hypnotic suggestion, Laura found herself pulling the paper apart and drawing out the thick, typed manuscript. In a moment she was again in her bedroom, the lamp turned on bright, her head bent over the letter to drink in every erotic word: Dearest Laura, I hope you haven't been too impatient to hear from me again, but the truth is that Claude and I have been deliciously busy for the past few days planning a party aboard his yacht. I've told you about the PEACOCK, I'm sure. It's a lovely, luxury thing with a main deck large enough for a garden party. Claude is such a dear to take me under his arm. He has all kinds of connections both in Hollywood and New York, so you may expect to see my face gracing the covers of movie magazines at your corner drug store almost any time now.
But that, of course, is not the subject of this letter-or these letters, I should say. My real intention in penning these little messages of inspiration is exactly as I explained before: to awaken you, dear-to stir you up. The seed of my concern was planted quite forcefully last summer when I visited you. You looked so tired and pinched and pale-so clearly unsatisfied. You looked as if the color in your cheeks had evaporated from sheer lack of passion. That will never do.
I'm sure that you noted the color in my cheeks that darling summer. And for good reason it was there, although now I am certainly ashamed that I kept you in the dark as to the reason for the heady spirits I echoed.
I was simply happy because I was being fucked as much and well as possible. Ask that cute little stud next door, if you don't believe me. What was his name-Mark or Mike or something? The afternoon we wedded cunt and prick was the very first afternoon I met him! I knew I had to have him, and I did. He fucked me like a Trojan with a large, thick solid prick the length of a table knife. I'd never seen a satyr with such energy, but I suppose that's what it means to be sixteen or so, and bursting with sexual desires.
It was certainly true in my case, and it is my own amorous history, Laura, which I wish to convey to you. As for a final word concerning that husky young ram next door to you, I wouldn't set my sights too high at first. He's arrogant and vain, and he said the most insulting things about you while he had his stiff dork throbbing to the roots in my pussy. He said that he would rather fuck a corpse than you, that you were skinny and ugly and dull-and all those heartless things which the very young can so effortlessly accuse their elders of.
So even if he makes some carnal overtures to you, ignore him. Don't begin your lessons in love with a beast who will be laughing at you even while he pumps, but rather begin with the mind I am about to tell you of.
Begin with someone like Willy.
Or do you even remember those long, languorous summers we used to spend on Uncle George's farm? I'm sure you must remember them: the romps in the apple orchard, the canned peaches in the dark cellar, the barns and corrals, the pond where we used to chunk the small stones at the turtles?
Yes, I'm sure those are the things your ten-year-old girl's mind would have remembered.
But I was sixteen that last summer we visited; and it is Willy who hangs on the rim of my memory like some lean and grinning ape of lewdness.
Willy belongs to a distinctive American class of males. To be unkind, one must classify him as the familiar Village Idiot, one of those tall, gangly, grinning boys with jug ears and sensuous, cornflower-blue eyes. Actually, Willy was far from being an idiot: he was as smart sexually as a fox, and more than clever when it came to getting what he wanted from me. But he hid blandly enough behind that yokel pose so that Uncle George never once suspected anything at all about him. All our precious uncle expected of Willy was that he slop the hogs and shuck the corn and hoe the taters. He certainly never suspected that he had employed a stud who would, the first day we arrived, farm himself out to my ambitious young pussy.
I do not use the word "ambitious" lightly, Laura. It is exactly the word a poet or philosopher might choose from a million words to describe what I had become in the two years since my deflowerment by Rodney Bradshaw. Rodney's bold and stiff young prick had made my cunt grow like a nourished, exotic plant. And although he fucked me regularly, twice or three times a week, I had found that even that was not enough to still the numbing, enormous itch between my legs.
I had done spectacular things even before Willy came into my life. Living somewhere between your daisy-like innocence and our mother's hawkish vigilance, I had succeeded in enriching my sex life with at least a dozen male cocks, including that darling, fourteen-year-old Billy Hanks who used to deliver groceries to us on Wednesday afternoons. Do you remember how often I used to be suddenly ill on Wednesdays, locked in my bedroom?
Then there were others, friends of Rodney's who were only too anxious to give my cunt what it needed.
But I had never had a real man at sixteen-and Willy was all of twenty-six.
Willy was milking the cows when I happened upon him. Perhaps it's too glib to say that I "happened" upon him. Actually, I had deliberately followed him to the barn . . . part instinct and part raw desire on my part. There is something about the funky smell of the dark, warm interior of a country barn which has excited me since I was a child. I had, oddly enough, never connected the odor with sex, but I know now that it was a purely sensual stimulation. The mixtures of animal sweat and animal shit combined with the festering tang of overripe corn and alfalfa was like an aphrodisiac.
I found him in one of the stalls. He was squatting on a short-legged stool, his Ichabod Crane legs straddled, his large and sunburned hands pulling at the thick, phallic tits of the cow with a steady rhythm. I could hear the splat of milk in the bottom of the tin bucket, and even that innocent sound stirred me to a boil! The buds of my youthful titties began to harden under my blouse, to stick out and up, raising a full half-inch from the rosettes. Added to this was a crazy, shaggy itch at the center of my cunt.
Willy neither saw nor heard me until I was right up on him, then he turned and gave me one of those long, crooked, corny grins of his that made my ovaries leap. It also pleased me to see that his big ears had turned a pinkish color, as if some little surge of lust had raced into his bloodstream at the mere sight of me.
Without a word, I squatted beside him and watched him languidly pull the fat teats of the cow. I imagined how those hands would feel pulling and stroking my own tits until they gave love's milk, and my nipples hardened more brazenly until they were pushing out like thumbs against my blouse.
I saw Willy glancing at me every few seconds out of the corner of his dumb, blue eyes. He still had the slack, uncertain grin on his face, and periodically he would lap his lower lip with the broad, wet end of his tongue.
He paused at last, glancing at me from under the falling mop of his yellowish hair.
"Yawl wanta milk a little?"he asked, huskily.
I smiled sweetly. "Will you teach me, Willy?"
"Shore. "
He guided my hands around the thick, hanging teats of the cow and moved them in a jacking motion. The feel of those thick, warm tubes of meat filled me with a choking lust! They felt exactly like boyish pricks to me, and the business of gently teasing and pulling on four of them was making the lips of my randy young cunt begin to thicken and part.
Willy knew exactly what he was doing. He was still squatting on the stool, and I was more-or-less squatting between his legs. He had both his arms around me to guide my hands with his own. But after a few jacking movements, he released my hands and brought his own back on either side of my waist. He was testing me, I knew-and I didn't want to fail the test!
I snuggled a bit further back against the insides of his legs, hoping to feel the tell-tale bulge of his hard-on.
That was Willy's cue, and he took it. He slipped both his huge-palmed hands up and cupped my jutting tits. He held them captive for a few seconds, then pressed in gently to feel how firm they were. They were not only firm, the cones were swollen and hot.
He began to play with my tits as I milked the cow, and very soon I could feel something stiff moving against the cheeks of my ass.
With a sultry little moan, I abandoned the artificial pricks under my fingers and reached behind me for the real thing. I found his big hard-on with both my hands, and rubbed it under the rough crotch of his overalls.
God, he was hung like a stallion!
Such prick-teasing had made Willy begin to breathe hoarsely, and his thick fingers stroked at my eager tits more ambitiously.
His mouth came down to my ear, and I could feel his hot breath blast against my cheek.
"Yawl wanta play good with my big peter?"he husked.
I twisted my mouth upwards in the lewdest of grins. "I want you to fuck me, Willy! We can crawl up in the loft and take off all our clothes-and you can put that big thing all the way up between my legs!"
Poor, dumb, lucky Willy! He had never dreamed of hearing such erotic words from a lovely sixteen-year-old girl. His horse-sized prick throbbed under my fingers like a slug of warm iron.
"You ain't gonna tell nobody?" he whispered, fingering the proud nipples of my tits.
I moved my own fingers inch-by-inch over his stiffened tool, measuring it for size and length. "I won't tell a soul, Willy, not if you make me come all I want. Do you think you can fuck me until I'm milked like this cow!"
His hot grin widened into an idiot's drool. "Ah bet I kin fuck you enough to make yore pussy run like a faucet! Ah got a big one. You ain't never had one half as big and long as mine is, ah reckon. "
He was right-and was I glad he was right!
Imagine, sweet Laura, holding with both hands a mature prick of some nine or ten fabulous inches. It was so big around that I couldn't make my fingertips meet, and there were veins as thick as pencils standing out on the sides of it. Like any country boy, Willy was uncircumcised, and the fist of his meatus was half-hooded with a snout of skin.
He had the kind of cock a mare in heat dreams about!
We tore out of our clothes like animals and fell naked into the matted straw. My cunt was already lubricated with a drool of juices generated by just imagining how his tool would feel. But when he came between my legs and drove the whole of his hard-on into place, it was as if my pussy were dry as a gulch. Never had I been stretched by such a ramrod!
There was no finesse in how Willy fucked me. He had no control, if one considers fucking to be the mutual mating of male and female, even give and even take. I might as well have been a side of beef to him. He fucked blindly and bluntly, driving all his inches into my frenzied cunt with every thrust. I could feel his large balls slapping obscenely against the lifted rims of my buttocks; the sound made me more libidinous than I had ever felt!
I don't know how long he screwed me. My memory only brings back ragged bits of ecstasy: the husking pant of his breath, the splay of my legs wrapped tightly around his lean and naked rump, the smell of his sweat and the sweet stink of his sperm being sucked in and out of my oiled hole.
It was that very day, dearest Laura, that I learned to suck a prick. I'm sure that your pristine little heart will turn to lead hearing me say that the taste of a man's balls and cock is a treat unequaled by any gourmet's imagination. But such is the truth of the born honey sucker.
When Willy had fucked me to his satisfaction, he squatted over my face so that his jumbo balls hung like fruits over my mouth.
'Lick them big nuts!" he muttered. "Heat me up again! "
I could smell his body-the musky slit of his buttocks, the earthy pungency of sperm and smegma around the bloated head of his cock. I lifted my tongue and lapped at his round, firm balls. I covered them with my saliva as he grinned and settled his buttocks even lower over my face. He squatted there, in a shitting position-while I licked and mouth-loved his nuts-balanced on the balls of his feet, swaying a bit to compliment the crude rhythms of my tongue.
Without my once touching it, his monstrous prick stiffened again until it was standing out horizontally between his legs. Then he stood up and leaned against one wall of the barn.
"Suck it!"he whispered.
There was no resisting the invitation. My mouth foamed to taste more than his balls!
I crawled between his legs and hung on to his loins as my ovaled lips found the bursting head of his prick. Imagine what a pornographic picture we must have made: I was a beautiful young thing of only sixteen, and there I was, crouched naked between his long, hairy legs, sucking my heart out to pleasure that oversized stiffness.
I ate him shamelessly, loving the way his still-growing dick throbbed against my throat, loving the salty, male taste of him on my tongue.
I pleasured him even more than myself-and when his erupting glut of sperm soaked my lungs, I sucked even more blindly.
Need I tell you that from that afternoon on, I was addicted to sucking Willy's big cock? For the remainder of our stay, I had my mouth moving up and down the column of his prick at every opportunity. Sometimes he wouldn't touch me, but merely lay back with his legs open, chewing a piece of straw around his swinish grin as I fed my lustful vice.
He rewarded me often enough by playing with my pussy before and after the fellatio. He could always get me raging hot with his finger or his tongue. He sucked my steaming cunt for an hour once while I did nothing at all but lick his stiffly erected prick. And another time, I recall, he insisted I sniff and lick his asshole while he was on his hands and knees like a dog. Then he did the same to me, spreading open the crack of my buttocks with his hands and putting his big tongue deep into my anus.
Someone has said that a step, once taken, can never be retrieved.
There is truth to that. Willy taught me the art of cocksucking, gave me a taste of real male meat, and I never drink down Claude's sperm without remembering that idyllic summer of my youth. Ah, what would females like me do without the Willys of the world who are all too willing to feed us the stiff pricks for which we hunger?
Love, Bev
Chapter SEVEN
Laura stayed in bed both Sunday and Monday.
She called in to the desk at the library and lied about her condition. She told them that she was ill with a fever, but the only fever which burned within her was deep in the matrix of her cunt.
She wanted to be fucked desperately, and all the long Sunday she expected Mike Barton to knock apologetically on her kitchen door. But he didn't, and her paranoia grew from a dull, broad point of self-pity into a sharpened spear of anger.
How dare the arrogant little bastard!
In the middle of the agonizing Monday morning, she locked herself in her bathroom and smeared the handle of her hairbrush with thick globs of vaseline. With that uncompromisingly stiff, household dildo, she relieved her itching pussy at last. As she worked the breadth of the handle in and out of her slavering slit, she thought of all the images her sister had so teasingly painted of the hired hand, Willy. She doted on imaginary pictures of his enormous prick, and dreamed that he was there in the bathroom with her, grinning lazily and fucking her into a coma of bliss.
The hairbrush brought her to a squirming orgasm-one so deliciously violent that her liquids spat like sea spray over the insides of her legs. But the instant the undulations of her artificial joy had abated, she was as horny as before. There was, after all, nobody to twtich her tits or rub the lips of her moist cunt in the afterglow.
"Damn Mike!" she hissed, bitterly. "If he won't satisfy me-then I'll find somebody who will!"
And she knew who that nameless somebody would have to be: it would simply have to be a prototype of Willy, a nice, lean, mindless young animal of sex-one with a prick the thickness of an axe-handle, and one who would have no scruples whatsoever about the privilege of servicing a cunt, even if that cunt were his own sister's or mother's.
With an irresistible desire blotting out all senses of caution and propriety, Laura decided to go after her prey. In the late hours of the Monday evening dusk, she bathed and perfumed her hungry body. Then she drove her small car toward the western edge of the city.
She knew that part of the city only by reputation. It was the slum section, an area filled with transient kinds of people: poor whites, bored and starved off their rocky farms; bums, drunks, and the shiftless scum who had neither the ability nor desire to hold jobs longer than it took to buy a bottle or to move on to the next hellish pocket of need.
And, again, not just any male would do; she knew exactly what she wanted. Her sister had been woefully wrong in believing that a girl of ten would remember nothing about the sexuality of an adulterous male like Willy. She remembered every detail of his appearance, and she was sure that she could recognize the type on sight.
And she did.
She saw him coming out of one of the dozens of cheap bars that fringed the side street she was cruising. She knew he was just what she was looking for by the lump which lodged in her throat, and the burning grip the sight of him had on her pussy.
He would be her fuck-horse for the night-and Mike Barton be damned!
She drove the car past him twice before he noticed her. He was walking slowly up the street with his hands stuffed into the empty pockets of his soiled pants. He was of medium height, well-proportioned but spare, and he looked to be anywhere between twenty-five and thirty. He had something of the tired, beaten look about him, as if life had kicked him in the groin more times than once. There was something else about his lean, sexy face with the unkempt sideburns-but Laura couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Perhaps it was a tinge of cruelty about the wide, sullen lips ... or something in the eyes . . . something shifty, imprisoned . . .
She circled the street once more, and by this time he knew. He was certain that his body was the prize she was seeking. He stopped finally and leaned against a battered parking meter, his legs crossed casually, his arms folded over the nub of the meter, his grin half-formed, expectant. Waiting.
He was like the male dog being circled by the bitch in heat, waiting for a chance to have his balls sniffed.
She pulled up beside him and searched his face. The sad, dangerous, bored cruelty was there-but so was the sexual talent, the need to be asked to warm another human body.
"Care for a ride?"
Laura was amazed that her voice did not tremble over the brazen invitation. After all, she might as well have been saying will you fuck me, stranger?
It was the most daring thing she had ever done in her life.
He hesitated perhaps a half-second, as if sizing up all the possibilities inherent in her bid for him, then he stepped off the curb and walked around the car. He got inside her, and she drove quickly away.
"I was just riding around," she said, lamely.
He grinned at her, then dug for a cigarette in his shirt pocket. He offered her one, and before she could think, she told him that she didn't smoke. His grin widened a bit at that, but he still said nothing.
She didn't like his unwillingness to communicate. It frightened her, and she began to call herself a fool.
"You got nothing to drink?" he asked, abruptly. And with the welcome sound of his voice, her fears began to evaporate. His voice was a bit grainy and weak-and above all, polite. He was a docile wolf, she decided-a dumb, sexual wolf like Willy.
"I can buy you something to drink," she said. "What do you want."
"Whiskey."
"I'll get a bottle."
He was looking at her again, the cigarette dangling loosely from the corner of his slack lips.
"Anything I can do for you-for that whiskey?"
She didn't look at him. She didn't dare. Instead, she took a deep breath and nodded at the windshield. "Yes-I want you to fuck me."
He grinned.
"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, politely. "I'd be glad to do that for you . . . after you git me that bottle."
This time she glanced at him. Some wanton little voice made her say her next line: "Do you like to fuck strange women who pick you up like this?"
"Don't make a bit of difference to me. Most times I don't think much about pussy one way or the other. But give me a couple of pulls on a whiskey bottle, and I can fuck all night. I'll give you your money's worth, baby. I'm one of those guys that can keep a hard-on long as it's necessary-and that means 'til I've made you come three or four times real good."
She stopped at a liquor store and gave him the money to buy his bottle. She waited in the car, tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel until he returned. As she drove away again, he was tearing off the seal at the neck of the bottle. He drank thirstily for a few seconds, then smacked his lips and shifted the bottle in her direction.
"I don't drink, either. Sorry."
"Fuckin' is your sin, eh?"
"Yes."
He shrugged. "Drinking makes fucking better, for both of us. It's fun sober, but it's better drunk-or kinda drunk. You never been drunk?"
"Never."
"You oughta let me fuck you drunk sometime. You'd like that shit. It'd make you do things you never thought you'd ever do."
She glanced out of the corner of her eye toward him, amazed by the slow, casual drawl of his voice. There was neither the suggestion of guilt nor passion in how he spoke. It was as if he had himself been picked up every day by women on the prowl. Like Willy, he seemed to take the biological function between male and female as a natural, animal pleasure. While she felt licentious and sinful, he merely felt good.
She headed back to her duplex, greedy for the kind of simplicity his sexual code had to offer her cunt.
She wondered if his prick would be big-like Willy's-but she fought down the impulse to ask.
It was dark when they arrived at her apartment. She parked the car deep in the garage and took him in through the back door. It would be foolish, she knew, to let Stella or her stepson see that she had a man. Once inside, she would lock the doors and they could do as they pleased.
Safely in the kitchen, her pick-up stud emptied the bottle and tossed it onto the table. His face was flushed now, his grin loose and lewd.
"Whereabouts you want me to fuck you, honey?"
"The bedroom."
"Let's go."
Just as she had led Mike Barton, she now found herself leading a mature man into her lair. He was close behind her, the smell of whiskey hot on his breath. He patted her butt once or twice, feeling of the firmness as if she was an animal he was about to buy.
They undressed in silence. She was naked first. She turned down the covers on the bed and snapped off the wall light. A lamp from the narrow hallway gave just a hazy enough illumination to the room so that he could see her body.
She lay down on the bed and watched him struggle out of his clothes. She could tell that the whiskey had made him a bit clumsy, but she hoped the alcohol had also taken the final edges off of any restraint he might have. She wanted him to be like Willy-a simple, lusting young animal who would fuck her into a sweat. No middle-class hangups, no shyness, no fake guilt feelings. She'd had all of that she needed from Mike Barton.
He was down to his shorts. As he pulled them over his lean hips, she stared at what he had between his legs. To her enormous delight, she saw that his prick was long and husky and already beginning to grow abusively stiff.
After he was naked, he casually stroked his cock with one hand, making it grow into a solid column.
Then he came toward her.
She leaned back softly into the middle of the bed and opened her legs. He crawled on top of her and slipped one hand between her thighs, feeling the furred apex of her cunt. The lips of her pussy were already pliant and moist.
"Ready for it, ain't you?" he husked, grinning above her and blowing his whiskey breath into her face.
She nodded, and pushed the hollow of her loins upward, as if searching for the bloated cockhead with the gape of her slit.
He didn't move. He merely hovered above her on all fours, supporting his naked body on stiffened arms, his knees dug in on either side of her hips.
"How much you aim to pay me for fuckin' you?" he breathed.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"Pay?" she echoed, stupidly.
He grinned. "Hell, yes, pay! You don't think I'm gonna fuck a tramp like you fer nothing, now do you?"
Her brain whirred with the unexpected development. She found it impossible to believe what he was asking. It was not only unkind of him-it was damned ungrateful!
"I-I bought you whiskey," she muttered.
"Big damn deal. You bought me that bottle so's I'd loosen up and fuck you better. That don't make it, baby I'm a stud that gits paid for his services. I'll screw man, woman, or beast-long as the pay is good. You give me twenty bucks and I'll make your lonesome old pussy dance a jig. You don't pay me, and you can stick your goddamn cunt down a rathole."
She felt both fury and pleasure searing through her blood! The white trash hovering over her naked body was actually insulting her, actually demanding money from her like a whore.
"How do I know you're worth it?" she heard herself demand.
His finger went down to her heating cunt and slid expertly between the meaty folds of her labia. He went high up inside her crack and found her clitoris. He teased it, turning it from a spongy nub of tissue into a fang of lust.
"I kin satisfy any woman made," he rasped. "I know how to fuck so as to rub your pussy raw, crazy raw. I kin tell by the size of your clit that you ain't never had it worked on right. Fore I'm through fuckin' you tonight, baby, that thing will be sticking out between the lips of your cunt like a big red thumb. That way, I kin suck it like a tit and keep a finger up your asshole at the same time. You'll come yourself to death before I'm half through ..."
His lewd words-the mad teasing of her already swelling clitoris-would have made her promise him a castle on the moon!
"Fuck me, you unromantic bastard," she moaned. "I'll pay you to do it!"
He grinned. "You're talkin' sense for once in your life. A twenty dollar fuck is gonna be about the nicest thang that ever-"
"Wait a minute, damn you! For twenty dollars I want more than a fuck."
"I done told you. I aim to play with your pussy good, suck that old clit of yours, tickle your asshole, git your tits swole up good and hot so's I kin lick on your nipples-"
"That's not what I meant. I want more than that."
He stared at her uncertainly, his animal eyes a bit dumb in the half-light. His finger hesitated over the slippery knob of her clit.
"Spell it out, lady. What the hell do you expect a man to do besides ride your hole and eat it."
"I want to suck you."
He chuckled hoarsely. "Blow my big peter? Sure, sweetheart, I'll treat you to some meat. You kin lick it and love it all night-just so it feels good to me."
She settled back again into the pillows, lifting the sultry arch of her legs until her calves were resting on the rounded leanness of his buttocks.
"Fuck me, superman," she hissed. "You talk a good screw, let's see if you do it!"
With the bargain sealed, he wrapped one hand around the base of his stiff prick and guided the oversized head between the flaps of her soft cunt.
She felt the hardness spreading the walls of her pussy inch after inch until his balls were nestled deep against the crack of her asshole.
Then he began to fuck her with a steady, drunken rhythm that turned to delicious rapture in her loins.
She groaned and dug her fingernails into his back. He was being rough and brutal with her, and she thought of how it might have been with Willy in the bam when she was only ten years old. How lascivious it would have been if she had been ambitious-and knowing-enough to have enticed Willy's dick into her hairless, tight young slit.
The idea was murderously obscene, but her pussy responded to the fantasy by contracting like an oily fist around the stroking tool of the cynical hustler astride her.
The more he fucked her, the more she wanted to be fucked. She bucked and thrashed her hips, trading him thrust for thrust, pushing the elongated points of her tits hard against his heaving chest with every bounce.
"Yeah-work with me baby-work!" he grunted. "Show me how much you want it! Screw, bitch, SCREW!!"
The bed creaked and graoned painfully under them as his knees dug deep holes into the mattress. She spasmed long before he did, and the lubrication oiled his prick so that he rammed deeper, harder into the remotest corners of her cunt.
His hands came up and grabbed her bouncing tits. He stroked and pulled at them, rolling the erect nipples under his thumbs while she fucked her lungs out. He knew when she began to come again by the sucking, clasping muscles of her heated cunt-and he chose that moment to flip the ends of her tits in circles so that her orgasm would be not only wild, but fanciful.
His prick was still hard as stone inside her. He rolled her over roughly, and started fucking her again-this time for his own selfish pleasure.
Before he shot his glut of sperm into her bowels, he made her come yet again.
He lay over her sweating body for a few seconds, then pulled his half-swollen prick from the pucker of her cunt. It came out with a sluttish noise which made her tremble with a fresh urge to be pleasured.
"Don't take it out!" she whined. "Keep it in me-fuck me again! Fuck me like a horse all night!!"
"I want it sucked on first, like you said. Let's see if you know how to eat a big one, babydoll."
He crawled around and squatted by the side of her head. He held out his half-hard, glistening prick and offered the swollen meatus to her lips.
"Lick it. Lick the come off, then suck that sonofabitch hard!"
The odor of his maleness wafted into her nostrils. She could smell his fuck-stink, and her own. The whole column of his husky cock was wet with the juices of their mingled lusts.
She twisted her head to one side and stuck her tongue out as far as she could. He put the bloated head of his prick on top of her tongue like a big gumdrop, and she lapped at the salty pungency of it.
"That's right, sweetie-lick it. Tongue the head. Taste a real, man-sized rod!"
The slap of her tongue against his meat echoed lewdly in the half-darkness of the bedroom. His prick began to stiffen under her fluttering licks, and as it rose, she lashed the underside of it with long, wet strokes until it throbbed. "Now suck it, bitch!"
As if she had been born for sucking a man's cock, she began to eat him. He fed his turgid inches into her throat until she gagged. But even then he didn't give her respite. He grabbed the back of her head and rammed his prick so deep into her mouth that his balls slapped against her chin.
As her tongue lashed at the head of his cock, he was mouth-fucking her. Her need became shameless, and when his passion was throbbing to a peak, she drove her palmed hands under the firmness of his buttocks and pulled him greedily toward her.
Such wanton madness made his balls explode, sending a torrent of thick, hot sperm hissing down her throat. He fell over her on his hands and knees, his prick still vibrating inside her yawning mouth.
She sucked him at her own speed. Like a baby with a huge pacifier, she drained the last creamy droplets from his warm balls.
When they parted, it was with the mutual groan of two sated animals.
They lay side by side for a long moment. Then he stirred up on one elbow and stared at her through slitted eyes.
"You can suck, baby."
She tried to speak, but her throat was still full of his sperm.
He leaned closer toward her, his drunken breath rank with the smell of sex. "Where'd you learn to suck a prick? Tell me whereabouts you learned to eat a man so good-who taught you to lick the head of one like that, fer Christ amighty sake?"
Her swollen tongue stirred in her mouth. Her lips drew back in a savage, vengeful little grin.
"My sister," she whispered.
Then she rolled her head back between his legs and sucked the big softness of his wet prick back into her throat.
He lay back on the bed with his arms behind his neck, letting her get it stiff all over again.
Chapter EIGHT
Mike Barton hung on the screen of her back door with a slack grin at the corner of his young mouth.
"Getting any lately, Laura?"
She stood resolutely in front of the door, blocking any forced entry he might try to make.
"I told you," she snapped, impatiently. "You're not to come back here again. You're not to bother me with-"
"I saw what you dragged in the other night. Who was the guy? He looked rough and mean to me, like something you pulled out of the goddamn gutter. You sure must have been horny to let a character like that fuck you."
"If you don't mind, I'm very busy."
"Look, I know you're sore at me. If you want me to take back all that shit about your sister being prettier than you, I will. What the hell, she gave me and my pals a good time one afternoon last summer. But that doesn't mean that I like her any more than you."
"Or any homely piece."
"Wrong again. In fact, I've been thinking about you all week, Laura. I want it again, and I'll bet you do, too. Be honest with me: Was that punk the other night any better than me?"
"Much."
"Bigger?"
"A lot."
The young stud in front of her blushed with a mixture of anger and pride. "Did he make you come? I mean, could he make you get off one of those deep ones, the way I-"
"He's got you bested in every category in the book, little boy. And I did things to him that you haven't even dreamed about."
"You sucked him off, you mean. Hell, I don't have to ask-I know."
"You don't know anything."
"Wanta bet? Who do you think was standing outside your bedroom window, peeking in? You oughta pull your shades down about an inch more, honey, if you don't want an audience. You sucked his prick like a pig. I want you to do that to me."
"No."
"Mom won't be home for a couple of hours this afternoon. I can come over here and let you eat it good. C'mon, baby-my cock will just fit that hot mouth of yours, and you know it."
Her fingers tightened around the knob of the door. "I've got a better idea," she breathed, bitchily.
"What's that?"
"Tell your mother to stay home those two hours, and get her to suck it. I'm sure she'd love to!" And with that, she slammed the door hard in his face. She heard his muffled, threatening curse as he growled and tramped away, and she smiled upward at the ceiling.
She'd teach him to brag about how much better Beverly was than she!
Besides, she didn't need him. She had a date for the afternoon with Jack, her slum-street pal, and he had promised to fuck her again. This time for free.
Her grin widened. She knew why he had promised that. It was because he liked to have his big dong sucked-and he was playing both ends against the middle to get what he wanted.
She waited until the morning mail came, to see if there would be another letter from Bev. But there was nothing-and the emptiness of her mailbox seemed to be a small mockery from the mysterious world beyond, where Bev was sailing on a yacht of C. Phillip Conner. She knew now, of course, that the disappearance of Bev was nothing but a hoax, some kind of elaborate publicity stunt hatched from the brain of her Claude, or somebody in his hire. Probably they had two ways of thinking about it: one was that her name would easily be splashed in the headlines of the California papers once she did return-and the other was that during her absence she could indulge both their whims in orgies of lust and lovemaking.
The letters spoke for themselves on the latter subject.
As she drove once more to the Western edge of the city, Laura took a long, cold look at what she was becoming. She remembered the husked and grinning question that Jack had posed to her following her brazen act of fellatio: Where'd you learn to eat a man so good?
And she remembered her answer.
It was as if, after all the years of hypocrisy and lies, she had at last communicated honestly with Bev. With their pious mother cold and dead in the ground, it was an act of courage and liberation for both of them. They were two of a kind, only with Bev the process of self-discovery had occurred a long time ago. Laura sensed that she might be moving too fast in her sister's footsteps, but it was the kind of exciting danger that one feels when caught in a whirlpool.
Not that she had any desire at that moment to stop the persecuting itch of her cunt. She had Jack to do that. Just the thought that in a few minutes she would feel his stiffness being plunged between her throbbing thighs was enough to make her pussy begin to drip with passion, with greed: When she rounded the corner and headed up the street of filthy bars and cheap hotels, her heart was beating like a drum. She didn't know what she would do if he had broken his word to her!
But she saw him almost at once, leaning over the same parking meter, wearing the same soiled pants, the same shirt rolled up over his forearms, his legs crossed in the casual pose of a corrupt satyr.
Today he had promised her a treat. He would take her to his room in one of the hotels. Fortunately, he lived in a neighborhood which put a minimum value on conventional morality. As long as he paid two dollars a day for the room, he had told her, he could do as he pleased.
And it pleased her to be fucked by him on his own bed. Besides, she wanted to see where he lived, and how he lived. She associated his loveless sensuality with cheapness and dirt, and she prayed that she would not be disappointed.
She parked on the opposite side of the street from him, locked her car, and sauntered in his direction. She was wearing dark glasses and a modest dress. As she approached, he stuck a crumpled cigarette into the corner of his mouth and grinned at her.
"Follow me," he drawled, softly.
She walked a few paces behind him. They passed several open bars, and she caught the fetid stench of beer- and man. She found herself wondering recklessly how many males there were like him sitting in such dens-males ready to service the bored and screaming cunts of oldish nymphets like herself.
He paused at a shabby doorway and waited for her to catch up. Then, without a word to her, he guided the way up the steep, unpainted steps into the gloom of the old building. She could smell garbage, staleness, and the fetid stink of broken toilets.
"I live at the back," he said, nodding his head in the direction to the left. "Real ritzy."
"Just so it has a bed."
He winked at her and pulled his cigarette from the corner of his lips with a nicotine-stained thumb and forefinger. She followed him down the creaky hallway as he fished in his pockets for the skeleton key.
His room was the last door at the end of the hall, well away from the other doors-and that suited her just fine.
The room was even more than she had hoped for. A battered iron bedstead with a lumpy, dirty mattress, a single chair and small desk, a dark, smelly John shut off by a shattered door. Somebody-perhaps the lonely, horny male tenants from the unhappy past-had pasted calendar pictures of naked women on one of the walls above the bed. They were faded and peeling now, but she could still see the dark splotches of dried sperm where those frustrated males had hurled it after jacking-off. She wondered how much of that wasted nectar was Jack's.
He locked the door behind them, and tossed the skeleton key back into his pocket. He stood with his arms at his sides, watching her as she walked around the room. He was still standing motionless as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
When she, too, was motionless as a butterfly, he walked over to her and fumbled with the buttons at his crotch. He pulled out the large, soft weapon of his sex and wagged it teasingly, obscenely in front of her. It looked like a very big, white banana.
"Suck on it," he breathed. "I need a good blow job."
It was all the invitation she needed.
She leaned forward to the big sleeping snake of flesh which lay across his open palm. The apricot-shaped meatus was tempting, so she moved her nostrils lightly up and down the form of it, sniffing at the rutty, sexual odor of her male.
Such wanton behavior stimulated him immediately, and his prick began to gorge, to move. She continued sniffing it, then as the head of his cock filled with blood and began to blush pink, she ran the tip of her tongue out and licked at it lightly. She tasted the dry, hot sponginess of him, and licked a bit harder. She tickled the eyelet of his prick with just the edge of her tongue, teasing and kissing the underside of his meatus until his prick stiffened upward into a big rod of lust.
"Jesus, you're good at that!" he husked. "Smellin' it like you just did makes my old nuts just boil for a good cocksucking."
She moved her face back a few inches and drank in the erotic sight of his fully erected prick growing stiffly out of the slit of his fly. She loved the size of it, the thickened veins standing out along the sides of the column, the twisted bush of hair that showed at the base and grew in prickly sparseness several inches out toward the middle.
"Don't stop now, baby-suck that big honey-stick."
She ovaled her mouth and sank his hard-on deep into her throat. She began a slow, powerful suctioning movement with her head and shoulders, making his aroused cock throb with pleasure.
Then, abruptly, he pulled the horsy plaything from between her reluctant lips.
"Second, baby-I gotta have me a drink. Nothin' more fun than to sip a little whiskey while somebody tongues around on your dick."
She waited while he tramped over to the bureau and pulled open a drawer. He brought out a fifth of whiskey and unscrewed the top. He drank deeply, gasped, then came back toward her with the bottle in his hand. His prick-as stiff and lusty as ever-still rode lewdly out of his fly. He pushed his cock back into her face. "Now, suck the holy shit outa that thing!" As she had known it would, his bestial behavior only drove her passion to a vibrant, fever pitch. She began to suck him with even more vigor than before. The slurp and smack of her lips filled the room with lascivious music.
"Ever tell you bout the time I was in the Corps," he said, grinning down at her moving head, concentrating proudly on the phallic strength of what he had riding out from between his legs into her hungry mouth. "You wouldn't believe in a billion years the tales I could tell about my sex life in the old Marine Corps. But they's one tale that beats'em all, hands down. Wanta hear it while you suck?"
He chuckled softly to himself and lifted the bottle once more to his lips. She wouldn't answer him-or couldn't-and so he took silence for consent. She was half-listening to him, anyway. She was too lost in communicating with her tongue to the evil stiffness of his prick, but as he talked, his cock seemed to grow stiffer and hotter, and she was thankful for that.
"Happened to me and four of my buddies when we was in boot camp out in L.A. You wouldn't know how it is to be in the marines, but let me tell you it ain't no picnic. They kept us shut up like cattle . . . goin' through boot camp. No Cokes, no movies, no PX, no ass, no nuthin'. The bastards. And you take a guy like me who was used to knocking off a piece of cute tail every other night, come hell or high water, and you take a stud like that off some steady pussy and you got one helluva unhappy human being. I wasn't the only guy who was hurtin', about the fourth or fifth week. We were all horny as a barn full of stud stallions. We'd have fucked anything with tits that walked. And that just about brings me to the good part.
"We had this DI, see-that's short for Drill Instructor-a real rough sonofabitch who'd done hitches in Korea and Vietnam. He was a man every inch of the way-and that included being a hell-fucker with women. He always said that what he couldn't shoot to death, he could damn sure fuck to death. And I'd seen the bastard buck-naked in the shower stalls, and let me tell you, babydoll, he had a piece of meat on him that would have gagged an elephant in heat. You think you're suckin' on a nice jumbo prod right now, you should have tried to get your hot mouth around his peter. It woulda split your grin right up to your ears, then some.
"Anyway, one night the DI comes into the barracks drunk, or half-drunk. He shakes me and four of my buddies real quiet-like and tells us to meet him in the latrine in five minutes flat in our fatigues. Hell, we didn't ask questions. You learn not to in the Corps. So in something like two minutes we're huddled in the latrine, wondering what the shit we'd done now.
"Then the DI comes in and tells us we're to load up on a half-ton he's got parked right outside. He says he'll explain what it's all about as soon as he's able.
"We don't argue. We climb on board and before you can let a fart, the truck is pullin' out the front gate of the goddamned camp!
"We still didn't know shit until the DI opened the flap between us and the driver's seat and gave us the lowdown. He said that he had picked the five of us because we looked like we knew cunt from cornbread-and because he'd be damned if he hadn't noticed that we were a little special in the cock department. He went on with some corny bullcrap about how a good marine is a hung marine, and how a hung marine is a marine who'll take his pussy where he finds it, and maybe fuck-on-the-run if he has to. He went on and on like this until one of the guys had the guts to ask him what the hell this deal was all about. It was then that he told us we'd been picked for a special mission: he had a broad stashed back in a motel-a good-looking dame, he promised-and she had expressed a kind of unconventional desire to him. No shit, them were the words he used! I guess he was trying to make the payoff sound as respectable as he could. Anyway, he said this dame wanted to be fucked by four or five horny young marines who were still in boot camp. It was a cinch, she had figured, that five males like us wouldn't have touched pussy in all the weeks we'd been captive, and she further figured that to be the object of such unbridled lust-I swear to god that the DI said it exactly like that-would just be about the biggest kick of her whole long fuck-life.
"We didn't ask what was in it for the DI. We didn't give a shit. I can tell you, baby, by the time that truck pulled up in front of this crummy motel, there wasn't a soft prick in sight. We were really hot to make a landing on some prime pussy, and fuck it ten ways from Sunday!
"Maybe I should leave the gory details up to your imagination. But I won't-not the way you're sucking that cock of mine right now. It feels too damned good for either of us to stop, don't it? Well, the truth turned out to be even better than what we were dreamin' about back in the truck.
"The DI had not only picked himself up a nympho who was determined to get fucked by a pack of horny leathernecks, he had picked himself up a beautyful nympho. I'd never seen a woman better stacked in my life-and I ain't since. She had tits on her that would have drove a preacher straight to a rubber machine. Christ, she was sexy. Legs and cunt and skin-Everything a guy could imagine in a sex match. And here we were-five tough boot-camp studs with our heads shaved, our bodies tanned and lean and muscled, and our billyclub pricks sticking out between our legs hard enough to fuck through armor plate.
"We lined up and screwed her for a good two hours. I took her on four times, myself, fucking her better and harder and longer each time. Then we got down to the variations. There wasn't nothin' that gorgeous bitch wouldn't do. Talk about a cocksuckin' talent! She damned near ate our balls off! And once the ice was broke, we started takin' turns sucking her hot pussy for her and playing with her big titties.
"I don't have to tell you that the whole damned thing went by like some speeded-up dream. When everybody was good and fucked-out, the DI herded us back on the truck and returned us to the camp. He told us that if any one of us ever breathed a word about it, he'd get kicked out of the Corps. And then he'd come looking for us, one by one.
"We knew what the hell he meant.
"It was just one of those crazy things that happen to few guys in a lifetime-and we weren't about to knock it.
"That cunt in the motel-the one we fucked and sucked and tit-teased-was nobody in the world but one Gloria Gentel, the big movie star. We figured it out later, and coulda kicked ourselves in the balls for not knowing it while we were doin' it! Know what I mean!?"
"You ever been in a gang-bang like that?" he was asking huskily, above her.
She didn't even know the meaning of the word.
"I mean-you ever let three or four guys get at you at the same time. It sure as hell was fun for that movie star, and I reckon it must be a real fuckin' kick for any woman that likes to have her pussy paid a lot of attention to. We had that Hollywood bitch hot all over. One time there, I remember, she had one of us screwin' her cunt, one screwin' up her asshole, and one just plain hot-fuckin' her mouth. That was three of us, and the other two guys were suckin' on her tits, feeling her legs and rump and generally just teasin' every part of her body they could. I know one thing: she loved it. When that slut started coming, I thought she was gonna split in two with joy. She creamed-off for about five minutes there, juice pouring down her legs like somebody had turned over a bowl of soup . . ."
Again, his voice was only a meaningless drone to her. Once she looked upward through the bush of his pubic hair and saw him swigging at the liquor bottle. She was glad he was drinking; it seemed to make his prick stiffer, and kept it stiffer.
Her little picnic of lewdness was short-lived, however. After a few more seconds of cocksucking, he once again pulled his blunt, erect prick from between her lips and pushed her backward on the bed.
"Crawl out of your clothes, doll," he husked. "I want you naked when you drain my nuts. Naked and drunk."
He pushed the bottle down at her. "I told you," she breathed, helplessly, "I don't drink."
His face seemed like a grinning mask of evil. "Yeah-and my guess is that before a week ago, you didn't fuck or suck. Now you do both like a trooper. C'mon, sweetheart, nobody likes to drink alone. You get a little of that whiskey in your blood and you'll wanta fuck like a goddamn monkey. I promise you, a little booze will make your pussy itch good-and think how nice it's gonna be when my big prod starts satisfying that itch. But I don't aim to do it if you don't have a drink with me."
She took the bottle and held it up to her lips. The strong odor of the liquor stung her nostrils.
Shutting her eyes, she took a long, throat-scorching drink. Her eyes burned. She panted, belched, gasped.
He took the bottle back from her and moved his swinish, hard prick back up to her mouth.
"Suck a little more, then drink a little more," he grinned, "and me and you is gonna git along just mighty fine . . ."
Chapter NINE
She remembered taking her clothes off between the drinks. It seemed fun, and Jack helped her. While they both giggled like woozy children, he worked her bra off, feeling of her tits until the nipples were sticking out, pink and erect. He poured a little bourbon on them, then licked and nibbled the precious fluid up with his tongue while she laughed and ran her fingers through his hair.
He got her panties off in the same teasing way, fingering the hotness of her cunt, then cooling it off with a sprinkle of bourbon-which he again claimed for himself by sucking at it between the pouting lips of her slit.
He poured whiskey over the head of his stiff cock, letting it run down over his balls and into the crack of his ass. Then he lay back with his legs raised while she licked up every drop of it. She especially liked the way he groaned when she put the tip of her tongue into his anus. She tongued his asshole greedily as he rubbed the furred, yearning mound of her cunt with the palm of his hand.
He finally slung his hairy legs around her shoulders and pulled her down in a sultry hammerlock. Holding her taut between his legs, he played with her tits until she was choking with drunken laughter. To obtain her escape, she grabbed his balls with both her hands and began to massage them like globs of dough.
This brought a quick truce. Still laughing, they lay tangled sweatily together and finished off the bottle.
Her head was swinging like a bell-tongue.
She was unquestionably drunk-and he knew it.
"I got another bottle," he husked, "I'll git it."
She pulled at his bare shoulders as he moved to leave the bed. "Don't go, Jack. . . let's fuck . . . forget . . . bottle . . . damn it-"
He still pushed away from her roughly. "Don't fret, baby. You're gonna get that crack filled-you're gonna git it filled real good."
She watched as his naked buttocks moved away from the bed. She grinned, her head buzzing with the memory of how he had wiggled and groaned while she was licking his ass. She would do that again to him. And she would make him do it to her, even if- Her mind stopped thinking.
Her vision was blurred, but she saw that Jack had not gone to the bureau, but to the small, dark John at the end of the room. At first she thought he was going to urinate from where he was standing in front of the sagging door. Then she realized that he was making a gesture toward something beyond the door.
The black man came out of the John. Grinning.
Despite the electric, numbing shock that ran through Laura's body, she was able to shift up in bed on her arms, her swollen tits aswing. She stared at the largest man she had ever seen-and the blackest. His skin was the color of eggplant, and his swarthy, muscular body was naked except for a pair of dirty, tight shorts. A mixture of awe and fear circled her brain as her eyes fell on the monstrous bulge inside those shorts.
Both of the men came toward her.
"Jack-! she moaned.
The Negro male moved both his hands to the top of his shorts and pulled them slowly down. Laura stared blindly at the gigantic snout of black meat that flopped out from between his legs. It grew stiff at once, and stood out horizontally toward her.
Jack laughed softly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The black stud stood grinning down at her, proud of the outrageous size and hardness of his swarthy cock.
"Suck him, Laura," Jack snickered. "Suck on his big, horny, coon-cock. You ain't lived 'til you've tasted dark meat!"
She tried to put the shattered fragments of her mind back together again. She tried to understand why Jack had hidden the Negro in the small John. She didn't want to remember that he must have been watching while she and Jack did all those things on the bed. She wanted to believe it was all some terribly humorless joke!
"No, Jack," she breathed, weakly. "No, I don't want to-"
"Hear that, buddy? She licks my white shithole, laps around on my balls, sucks my dong like it was sugar'n spice, then says she don't want to suck a nice black peter. Now ain't that just like a woman. Contrary. That's what she is, contrary."
His words wafted to her ears with stinging mockery. There was neither mercy nor compassion in his voice. It was as if he were talking about a stranger-an animal. And then the word came into her brain like a heavy fist.
Whore.
Laura Miller is a whore now!
She moved toward the edge of the bed, but it was too late.
Jack grabbed her wrists and forced her backward, twisting her arms until a ragged pain zigzagged through her neck.
She opened her mouth to scream, but his hand cupped her jaws like a vise. Her muffled noises only made him grin.
"Tear me a strip off that sheet," he snapped at the other man. "She's gotta be trussed up, I reckon!"
Laura struggled insanely against the iron grip which held her. But she might as well have been struggling against a whole platoon of supermen. Jack held her down while the Negro tore one of the dirty sheets into long strips. Her mouth was gagged with one of them, and while the Negro held her arms and legs tight, Jack methodically lashed her ankles and wrists to the iron bedstead.
She was tied spreadeagled-helpless prey to whatever their sadistic minds could devise.
Jack swaggered over to the bureau and produced another bottle of whiskey. He came back, tearing the lid off with pincering snaps of his fingers.
"Bought this stuff with the money she give me for fuckin' her," he chuckled hoarsely, glancing proudly at the black man. "Yeah, don't that beat a preacher shittin' on his pulpit! She paid me to dick her-and now here she is gettin' all hot and bothered because we want to give her a couple of hours of heavenly humpin' for free. You figger women, I can't."
The Negro had not yet spoken. All through the brutal exercise of tying her up, he had not made a sound. But the solid mace of his huge prick was still in evidence. Laura could hardly take her eyes off of it. She thought once-wildly-of Willy's country cock, and what Bev had said about it. So big and thick that fingers couldn't reach around it!
Worse, Laura now knew that she had made a tactical error. Instead of allowing herself to be tied up, gagged, rendered defenseless-she should have agreed to suck the Negro's prick. At least she would have been able to deal with it on her own terms!
She writhed and kicked at her bonds, making moaning noises against the wad of cloth which filled her mouth.
"She's gettin' impatient," Jack grinned. "She's wan tin' you to dick her with that big prod of yours, man. Don't disappoint the lady. Crawl on... lemme watch you fuck a white pussy!"
A wide, evil smile broke the ebony blankness of the Negro's face. He put one hand around the middle of his throbbing prick, and stroked upward several times until his tool was rigid as stone.
Jack chuckled obscenely.
"Second, man-I got me an idea. We oughta least let her see what's happening to that sassy puss of hers. Hold on."
Jack nimbly strode across the room and pulled the small, cracked mirror off the wall from behind the bureau. He brought it back to the bed, holding it in front of him like a banner. He angled it so that Laura could see the reflection of her own thighs. They were pulled apart so that the pink slit of her pussy was a yawning hole.
"Just like one of them stag movies," Jack grinned. "Okay, hoss-screw your mare. Make her purr for that big dong."
The Negro crawled onto the bed between Laura's legs. She struggled to get away, but he balanced himself on all fours over her thighs, locking her in place. Then he put his dark fingers together at the edges of her labia, and pulled her cunt slowly apart.
Through the mirror's reflection, Laura could see her pussy gaping open-hairy and wet. It looked like a toothless mouth, pink with gums.
The Negro lowered his head briefly toward her sex. His wide, African nostrils flared as he sniffed at the aroma of her pussy. He seemed to like what he smelled. His grin came back as he moved his large black nose even lower, closer, drinking in the pungency of the woman's genitals.
Laura could feel his nostrils tickling the hairs along the lips of her cunt. Her heart began to beat wildly in her breast!
"Don't smell the goddamn thing to death," Jack laughed, softly. "Just fuck it off!"
The dark stud took one or two more lungfuls of her sexual perfume, then brought his head up. The veins in his neck and forehead were gorged with excitement. Through the mirror, Laura could see his black prick: as solid and thick as a ballbat!
The Negro dug his knees under the soft roundness of her buttocks, lifting the trough of her loins up to meet the big nozzle of his cock. The meatus was abnormally large, the size and shape of a small cooking apple. A droplet of whitish sperm hung at the eyelet.
Very slowly, he pulled the labia of her cunt open again with his fingers and lodged just the head of his cock into the satiny pinkness. He fitted it inside the warm slit of her by gradually inching forward with his hips until the entire meatus was buried.
Laura stared with fear and fascination at the mirror. The inky darkness of his huge prick fitted between the lips of her cunt sent a sluttish, unreasoning thrill through her. She watched as he slid his cock halfway up her pussy, stretching the lips back like thick slabs of raw liver.
Her stomach began to palpitate, and the Negro put one of his large, black-palmed hands over her navel to steady the ruthless violation of her cunt. The funky smell of his body swarmed into her nostrils, and she thought again about what her sister had said concerning Willy and the barn. The smell of the male in heat. The odor of a man about to fuck a woman!
The teasing pleasure of his first entrance suddenly gave way to cutting pain as the walls of her cunt expanded to full capacity. She felt choked, gorged by him, and tossed her head back and forth on the pillow to show her pleasure-pain.
He didn't care about her pain or her pleasure. He pushed the oversized prick further into her well-stretched cunt until she could feel the head of it nudging at the nether end of her vagina.
She made animal noises of agony around the glut of cloth stoppering her mouth.
"Git it all the way in!" Jack husked. "Cram her fuckin' cunt full of it!!"
The black buck raised his loins a bit, paused, then drove the whole of his titanic prick deep into her bleeding slit.
A ragged rainbow of pain arched through her. She fought back the blackness of nausea. When she was able to look at the mirror again, she could see that he was all the way into her. His enormous, swarthy balls rested against the crack of her anus.
"Fuck her," Jack whispered, taking a swig from his bottle and wiping his drooling mouth with the back of his hand. "Fuck her 'til it comes out her whore's mouth . . ."
Her brutish playmate leaned over her now, supporting his massive body on his strong arms. He began to work his hips in rhythm. He was trying to show her he was the black masterfucker by spreading the grainy walls of her cunt with each stroke and thrust of his cock.
Laura clenched her imprisoned hands and dug her fingernails so deep into the palms of her hands that she could feel a trickle of blood running down her wrists.
Still he fucked her: bluntly, blindly, steadily.
The pores of her body burned as the pain ebbed slowly away into rakish pleasure. The muscles of her randy cunt wrapped greedily around the hugeness of her black fucker, squeezing and nipping at the cockhead as it moved.
Fuck, her brain cawed. Fuckmefuckme-fuckme-U Her clit grew large and long and sensitive-a meaty, quivering horn of gristle that begged to be rubbed. At the same time, the nipples of her tits pushed out pinkly, thick as thumbs at the base.
"Suck her boobs," Jack breathed, hotly. "Chew her titties while you fuck her-she likes that shit!"
The Negro's thick lips closed powerfully over one pointing tit after another, sucking with deep, hungry strokes until the peaks of her breasts were puffed and swollen and in the same heated condition as her cunt.
She felt an orgasm coming swiftly on and moved her hips wantonly to prolong the delicious ecstasy of it. When it came, she threw back her head and made a long, low strangling noise. Her liquids exploded in a flood of salty hotness, lathering the jumbo prick ramming up and down between her legs.
Her creamy discharge only excited the black stud to greater lust. His sweaty hips rose higher and fell harder now. He was battering the insides of her pussy raw-ripping and tearing the helpless, soft hole without mercy.
"Make her come again," Jack hissed. "I wanta see her joy-sap runnin' down her legs 'til it wets your black balls good. Show us how it feels to tickle a white woman's pussy! Kill her with fuckin'! Kill her, hoss!!"
The Negro grinned-and jacked his hips harder at her succulent, screaming cunt . . .
Chapter TEN
She woke up the next morning in her own little bed, safe in her own bedroom-mercifully alone.
But she remembered the nightmare. And the Negro rapist had only been the ungodly beginning of it. Jack had obviously planned the entire evening with as much care as a sadist-one with the profit motive in mind, of course. He had made money off of her body, turning her whoredom into gain for himself.
She remembered that after the Negro had brought her to several convulsive orgasms, and yet insisted on continuing his pillage of her cunt, that she had asked Jack for more whiskey. He had given it to her with the same wry, twisted grin of malice that he wore when ordering the Negro to mount her body.
He wanted her drunk, and she had sought through liquor to escape the insatiable, plowing stiffness of the black stud's huge prick. But the terrorizing of her flesh had only begun. When the Negro was finally through with her, another was there to take his place. All evening long, the husky taps at the door announced horny males who had been brought in off the streets and offered a piece of hot tail for five dollars a throw!
Through a blur of drunken rage and disgust, she had been forced to let one satyr after another crawl between her legs and stick his hard-on lustfully into her raw hole. She had been fucked until her legs were numb and her nipples bloated like little pink sausages.
The last thing she remembered before passing out was an old man-very old, with dirty fingernails and a thatch of hair at the back of his balding head-lowering his panting mouth between her legs to suck at her mushy cunt, to clean up after all the fun was over!
How they had got her home-or when-she neither knew nor cared.
She was home, and that was all that mattered.
She moved gingerly between the sheets and slipped her hand down between her thighs. The lips of her cunt were puffed and swollen, as if a million hornets had stung her slit through the long night. The furred hair ovaling her sex was matted with sperm and the slobber of the old man.
She lifted her fingers carefully up to feel the nipples of her tits. They, too, were sensitive and raw, and still elongated. In fact, she was amazed that merely touching her breasts sent a lascivious little echo of need through her. It was as if she had been fed some narcotic of sex, and now needed one more satisfying "fix" to make her able to face the day.
A small, sly grin drifted across her lips: it would be a good time for Mike Barton to call. . .
Hardly had the thought passed through her mind than she heard a sturdy knock on the front door.
A rakish thrill ran through the center of her cunt!
She crawled out of bed and slung on a robe. She quickly walked-or tried to walk-toward the front of the apartment. She had been fucked too long and too well to stroll innocently forward. As a matter of fact, the inner walls of her pussy still felt as if a thick, hard cock were lodged there.
She swung open the front door-and stared into the glowering face of Mrs. Barton.
"I want to talk to you," the older woman hissed. "And I also want to give you this."
She thrust a manila envelope toward Laura.
"It came late yesterday afternoon," Mrs. Barton snapped. "I saw the Special Delivery man knocking on your door. I knew you weren't here, so out of the kindness of my heart, I came over and signed for you."
Laura glanced at the postmark-and the return address.
"It's a letter from my sister."
"I know exactly what it is. And I know all about your sluttish sister. The shame of it!"
Laura looked from the envelope back up into the hard, unyielding eyes of her neighbor. "Is that what you came over here to talk about-me and my 'sluttish' big sister?"
"No, you scheming little tart! I came over to talk to you about my son!"
Laura grinned. "Don't you mean your big, sexy stepson?"
Mrs. Barton looked only momentarily balked. "I think of him as my son, I'll have you know. Anyway, that has nothing to do with what I have to say."
Without a word, the woman marched into ,the house and watched as Laura closed the door behind them. When Laura turned, Mrs. Barton's eyes were traveling with venomous disgust up and down her lightly clothed body.
"I never dreamed that you were so-so-"
"So what, Mrs. Barton? So whorish?"
The older woman took in a gasp of air. Her nostrils quivered. "I know all about what you have been trying to get my little boy to do!"
"Indeed?"
"I certainly do! He told me everything-how you invited him in on the pretext of giving him a Coke, then made indecent advances toward him."
"Do you find the idea of fucking a seventeen-year-old boy all that distasteful, Mrs. Barton?"
A purplish rage passed over the tightened face of the woman. "Your language is a disgrace to womanhood! I should call the police!"
"I wouldn't do that-I might have to tell them to look into a slight case of incest next door."
"I don't know what you're-"
"I think you do. You and your stud stepson have been screwing like minks for years. Are you going to deny that you seduced him when he was fourteen-and that you've been using that lusty young cock of his ever since to satisfy your hypocrite's cunt?"
The woman's face drained of all color. "You vicious, wanton young hussy! You should be horsewhipped and-"
"What exactly did Mike tell you? I trust he at least had the courage to tell you that my attempt at seduction was every bit as successful as yours. Did he tell you that the first day I proposed it, he fucked me like a stallion?"
"Shut your filthy-"
"Did he also tell you that only yesterday he begged me to suck his big, boyish cock for him? Incidentally, have you ever tried that hobby? You should. It's very, very satisfying for all concerned.
And it isn't every stepmom who has such a wonderfully well-hung adolescent to practice on. Mike's horsy young balls are made for the madness of licking ..."
Mrs. Barton's breath was coming now in thick, hoarse gasps. "I don't have to be talked to like this! I wasn't going to tell my husband, but if you force me to, I'll-"
"You won't breath a word to anybody-not even to those vultures you call friends. Can you imagine how they would pick you to pieces behind your back if even the hint of a rumor got out that I said your stepson serviced your big, greedy pussy regularly?"
"You can't prove a single word of-"
"I don't have to. Rumors never have to be substantiated. You should know that-you've spread enough of them concerning my sister."
Mrs. Barton's eyes flashed angrily. "Rumors, are they! Well, try this on for size! I opened that letter you're holding and I read every word of it. I know it by heart-and I'm perfectly capable of delivering an oration on it to every ear in reach. Do you think you could live for ten minutes in this neighborhood-or this city-if the real truth were known about your whoring sister!?"
"You brutal old slut. You really did read it, didn't you?"
"Yes! And I want to tell you this. You're going to be out of this apartment by tomorrow morning!"
Laura waited a heart-beat, then grinned. "You're trying to protect your young stud, aren't you? I'm the kind of competition you've been expecting-and dreading-for some time."
"You're a vicious liar-!"
"Don't get me wrong, Stella. I don't blame you for wanting Mike's hot meat all to yourself. But I wouldn't be too optimistic if I were you. You see, he's already fucking everything that walks. The girls in his school line up for him, he told me. And I'm not at all sure that several of your bitchy, tea-time pals haven't taken advantage of his willingness to-"
Before Laura could finish the sentence, the older woman's hand struck her savagely across the jaw.
Laura fell to her knees-laughing.
"You'll be out of here by tomorrow morning, the way they want," Mrs. Barton hissed, "or I'll have the police on you-and I'll prefer the charges!"
With that, she was gone, slamming the door violently shut behind her.
Laura remained on her knees by the door, still laughing, and knowing that very soon she would have to fuck Mike Barton one more time.
Just for kicks.
The way they want.
The phrase came into her head again as she opened the manila envelope. Mrs. Barton had read the letter from Bev-and she must have been referring to something in that letter when she-Laura's thoughts broke off as the certified check fluttered to the floor. She stooped and picked it up, glancing quickly at the amount.
The check was for one thousand dollars-and it was made out to her and signed by C. Phillip Conner. It had been tucked between the pages of the letter-and no doubt Mrs. Barton's bitchy eyes had gloated over the amount, knowing that it would be more than enough to provide an exit for the young neighbor who was now sapping the lust of her ambitious stepson! Laura opened the letter: Darling Laura, Bev again. This one has to be very brief and business-like. Claude says that I must learn to control my impulsive urges to write to you so often and at such length. I am terribly sorry, dear, if I have been shocking and boring you-to say nothing of mystifying you-with the endless details of my sex life. I'm sure that I've given you many sleepless and worried nights, but I want to assure you that I am in perfect health, and enjoying life to the fullest. It wouldn't be possible to enjoy life more than by being with a male like Claude. He's able to satisfy my every whim-both sexual and material. He fucks like a dream, and he's terribly inventive about things to do-inexhaustible, in fact. But he does have one tiny failing. He likes variety. It's not just the spice of life for him: it's life itself. There are a great many tales I could tell if I only thought I wouldn't again bore you . . .
And that brings us to the check you've no doubt found by now. I told Claude that five hundred would certainly be enough for you to get out here comfortably by jet, but as I said, Claude is nothing, if not generous. He wants you to feel you are floating over the continent on a billowy bed of money!
As for that tedious little job of yours at the library, quit it. Just tell them to take all those dusty volumes and pile them high. Books are for the dead, not the living. The living write their own books with their bodies. I know that sounds awfully profound-but it's not original with me. It's Claude's philosophy. In fact, he says that the next great moral philosophy to influence the world will be written by the body. It's already happening, of course, in a kind of fumbling, decadent-seeming way. The loosening up of censorship, the nudity on the American stage, the promiscuity of the younger generation. But that's only the beginning, according to Claude. He doesn't want to be a spectator to the changing times, he wants to be the avant garde-and he is. All of this ties in, believe it or not, with the check enclosed and our overwhelming desire to have you join us on the yacht. It makes absolutely no difference to either of us whether you are still a virgin or not. We have, I'll admit, been making little bets on your status. I say that you are, and Claude says that you couldn't possibly be. It's the male's desire to believe the innocence of the female is a pose that can be stripped away with the least likely provocation-in this case, my letters to you. Claude says that you no doubt were shocked at first by my confessions, and that then you became increasingly jealous-can you imagine his using that word in relationship to us? We were never closer than we are now, I'm sure. But Claude likes to indulge his fancies in some little vision of how you probably seduced the first thing with balls after reading my first letter. Possibly that nice, horse-hung young man next door to you. And then Claude says you probably went on to bigger and better things, so to speak. I have insisted that his version is nonsense, that you are still the same. . . still the sweet, virginal, unhappy little girl of yesteryear.
At any rate, Claude has developed a missionary zeal to see you changed properly before it is too late. The point I'm trying to make, dear, is that Claude wants nothing more nor less than a chance to fuck you himself. But don't worry, I wouldn't dream of letting him put that thing of his into you without your permission. Even my shameless cunt-which has known pricks the size and length of giant sausages-begs for some mercy when Claude attacks. So, letting him violate your virginal little muffin would be an act of sadism beyond description. No, instead we'll let you get your sea legs on the yacht first (we're all sailing to Mexico the minute you arrive), and then, when you're quite ready, you may-if you wish-lose your precious maidenhead to Eduardo, the cabin steward. He's a perfectly darling boy from one of the southern states of Old Mexico, with a temperament just suited to politely fucking virgins. He's an artist at breaking in the sleepy young cunts of such as you. His cock, just for the record, is not at all large, but it is very, very long; and for a nineteen-year-old, he has a perfectly incredible talent for keeping it hard forever and ever. I remember that last Christmas, while we were sailing from Catalina to San Francisco, Eduardo fucked the Duchess of Bismick for three solid hours without a pause. Claude and I watched the whole thing. Voyeurism is something they say one has to develop a taste for, but I find that difficult to believe. The opportunity to watch a sixty-year-old nympho being endlessly screwed by a beautiful Mexican boy is something few could pass up. The Duchess had to nurse her weary old twat for days afterward, but she had the most sublimely satisfied grin on her face!
Do come, Laura. Claude will meet you at the LA International on Friday. Just wire the flight number.
I can't wait to hug you and kiss you and talk about old times.
Lovingly, Bev "The way they want," Laura whispered, softly, looking again at the crisp check on the sofa beside her.
And then she thought of the mysterious Claude-with his missionary zeal-and her smile widened into a warm, slightly leering grin.
Chapter ELEVEN
There was just one bit of unfinished business.
She wanted Mike Barton's young body again-all of it-and she intended to kiss and suck and feel and smell it, and finally to fuck it. She wanted to reduce him to the last decibel of his boyish lust.
Mrs. Barton was keeping an eagle eye on her stepson, so the utmost caution would have to be exercised. It wouldn't be an easy thing to do, but Laura was confident that Mike would cooperate in every way necessary. There is nothing more important to a lusty, male adolescent than the tempting softness of a willing cunt. She was sure that Mike would have strangled his mother in order to satisfy some deeply buried compulsion to be wicked. He knew-because of his own stupid, hypocritical confession to his stepmother-that he shouldn't touch Laura again.
It would make him feel delectably evil to fuck once more the very cunt he had betrayed-and do it while knowing that his word to his stepmother was being broken with every thrust of his voracious prick.
Knowing all of this to be the case, Laura called the high school which Mike attended, and asked to speak with him.
His sullen voice came on with a husk.
"Mike? This is Laura Miller."
There was a dull, uncertain puase from his end, then: "What the hell are you calling me here for." His voice was low, guarded.
"Can you talk?"
His whisper came back. "Barely, damn it. The superintendent's secretary is right across the room ..."
Laura smiled. "You mean you haven't put your prick into her yet? I'll bet she'd like it. Glance out of the corner of your eye at her-she's probably giving her undivided attention to your fly."
"Goddamn it," he hissed, softly, "if you called me up to-"
"I called you because I need fucked. By you. You were right, I don't want to go away to California without one more taste of what you have between your legs."
Another desperate pause. "I don't know how you've got the guts to ask something like that after what I've done to you. Mom was ready to kill you, baby."
"Your stepmother is just jealous. But I don't care-and I'm convinced you don't care, either. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm not talking about us as people-I'm talking about that magnificent young prick of yours, and I'm talking about my greedy cunt. Let's fuck-blindly and without thinking. Give me something to remember you by, that's all I ask."
"You're really going to the coast, then?"
"Yes, but not until I have the pleasure of feeling your hot sperm rolling down my legs again."
His voice was reduced to a hoarse gasp. "Stop talking like that, for Christ's sake. I'm standing here getting the goddamnedest hard-on!"
She grinned into the receiver. "Bring it over with you tonight, and I promise to do exactly what you wanted the last time."
"You'll blow me? You'll suck it?"
"Until you'll have to crawl back to your mummy."
"You're not kidding me?"
"Have I ever, about that?"
"Mom has been a sonofabitch lately. It won't be easy to figure out a way to-"
"You're a bright, clever boy. I'll trust you to find a way. Just keep thinking of what we're going to do."
He laughed softly. "Don't worry, honey. I will. You suck my dick and I'll fuck you to death."
"Till death us do part, then. Good-bye, high school hero."
When she hung up the receiver, she rubbed the pouting lips of her pussy through her panties, feeling the hot moistness of her desire.
She got a mental picture of her young stud turning away from the phone with the front of his pants abulge and the eyes of the secretary starting to grow wide with the sight of his hidden but hard prick.
No doubt it was hard on women who worked in high schools to have all that available young meat around and not be able to touch it because they didn't have the guts.
When he came to her, she was ready. Her bags were packed and waiting in the hallway by the front door of the apartment.
Tonight-her last night in the apartment-would be the most special night she had ever spent in the company of a male. It would be that because she had learned everything she needed to know about herself, and she could put all the experience to good use with a hot-blooded, ruthless, cunt-crazy young stud like Mike Barton. The combination was almost as perfect as the opportunity: Mike would be playing his role with the full knowledge that his mother's rage would be unbounded at the hint of such treachery-and she would play her role with the deft touch of a Messalina seeking sweet revenge. But overriding both of those abstract rewards would be that provided by the libidinous drives of their animal natures.
She set the stage well. She stripped the bedroom of every piece of furniture except the bed. Then she brought in all the lamps in the apartment and focused them on the bed itself. When they were all switched on, the rectangle of mattress and sheet looked like an operating table. And that was precisely what it would become, in a way. She intended to examine Mike Barton's male, adolescent body with the fine care of an expert-an illustrated anatomy lesson for an audience of one!
She spent the remainder of the afternoon going around with a small, curling smile on her lips. She imagined that Bev and her Claude were both watching her, admiring her, approving of her zest for originality.
Mike arrived just after dark.
His harsh, almost vicious tap at the kitchen door sent an erotic flutter through her blood.
She let him in-and was astounded to see that he was wearing track shorts, cleated shoes, and a sweat-stained T-shirt with his high school emblem stamped across it.
"What kind of excuse did you use to get out of the house with that garb?" she grinned.
His breath was husky in his throat, as if he'd been running for miles.
"I haven't been home. I called mom from school and told her that I had to stay for a meeting of the Athletic Council."
"And so if you haven't been home yet, they won't expect you until you get there, eh? Clever boy, like I said . . ."
"Not very. I fooled around too long on the track runs, and got back after the gym was closed. My clothes were locked up. I had to come down so goddamned many back alleys to get here that-"
"I'm glad. You look like a young Greek god. I just hope you're prepared to fuck like one."
He flushed, but his grin spread slackly across his face. "I've been horny all afternoon thinking about the way you talked on the phone to me. Christ, you're a real slut, you know that."
Her hand slithered down and cupped his genitals through the silky thinness of the track shorts. She could feel his big, soft prick doubled up under a thick jock strap. She kept her hand there and felt it harden slightly.
"Look-like I said, the gym was closed. I'm sweaty as a horse. Lemme take a shower first, and-"
"No. No shower."
He stared at her, then licked his lower lip. "Hey, baby, I stink. I've been running around that fucking track for at least two hours. You wouldn't want-"
"I know what I want. I want you just like you are, with all that nice male smell on your body. It sends me."
He grinned at her. "Okay-if it doesn't bother you, it sure as hell doesn't bother me. You can smell me anywhere you want to, nice and perverted-like ..."
She still had her hand stubbornly on the mound of his jock, and she could feel his roguish prick turning into a coil of stone.
"Let's go into the bedroom again," she breathed.
"Then what?"
"Leave that to me."
Again, the abandoned, immoral trek was made to her bedroom. When he saw the set-up, the cluster of lamps, the bed, he grinned and whistled low under his breath.
"What the shit are you planning to do-film us?"
"Not a bad idea-it would make a perfect little birthday present for your adorable stepmother. But have no fear. The lights are for my benefit. I like to see what I'm enjoying."
"Just so you do enjoy it-you and me."
"Pile out of your cute track duds and get on all fours in the middle of the bed. Dog-like."
He chuckled and began to take off his shorts.
She didn't have much to take off of herself. She had been naked for hours under the thin dressing gown. She simply let it fall from her shoulders to her feet, then stepped out of it-nude as a peach.
He was totally naked now, smiling at her.
He stroked his large cock once or twice with his hand, and it stood out from between his legs at horizontal stiffness. His hard-on was so demanding that the twin bags hanging at the root were pulled out an inch or so from the apex of his loins.
"Sure you don't wanta suck on it right now?" he husked. "Come taste this big roll of meat-come lick it a few times."
She shook her head. "Not yet. Get on the bed, the way I told you. On all fours. And get your legs apart wide. I want your balls to hang down nice and full."
He groaned with excitement and crawled onto the bed at once. He assumed the position as naturally as an animal, balancing the main portion of his body on his arms and knees. He turned his head around and looked at her with a cunning grin. Then he made a comical, tiger noise in his throat.
"Grrr..."
She smiled, and strolled to the side of the bed away from him. His lean, virile buttocks were pushed up in the air in full view of her gaze. Slowly, she snapped on all the lamps . . .
She studied the dark crack that ran sharply down between the curves of his ass. The thought of watching him shit came into her mind through some ruttish back door, and she tried to push the thought away. But the tone of the idea hung in her mind, and she warmed to it.
Without a word, she leaned far over and put her nose to within an inch of his asshole-and sniffed.
He smelled strongly of sweat and the faint leavings of turds.
She moved her nose up and down very slowly, smelling him carefully, missing nothing. The healthy odor was stronger where the crack of his buttocks ended and where the hanging brownness of his balls began.
She leaned lower and smelled of his balls. They were quite large and almost hairless-big, overgrown bags of nectar, and all for her.
She thought of the thick, hot sperm hidden away inside those orbs of lust, and a thrill went through her heating pussy. Before the night was over, she'd have all his come lathering the dark, hot corners of her cunt, but for the present, she was content to just look at them-to simply smell them, admire them.
She could see, by glancing between his spraddled legs, that his cock was stiff as a mule's. But she made no effort to touch it. She was amused and gratified, of course, that he was already hot and horny. But she wanted to make him even hotter, and she knew exactly how.
She drew her nostrils away from the enchantment of his rear, and smelled slowly along the backs of his legs-through the light sprinkle of hair that began high up on the center of his upper thighs and extended in ever-thicker growth down over the calves of his legs. She followed the outline of his thickly muscled, still-developing legs, and stopped at his naked feet.
Balanced as he was, the bottoms of his feet and heels were turned upward. On impulse, she smelled his feet and toes-and then began to lick them.
"Jesus," he whispered, arching his neck around to watch her. "That tickles nice-!"
She continued to tickle him, using the soft flatness of her tongue to lave the bottoms of his feet and the rough texture of his heels.
Then she moved upward over his calves, licking and sucking at the hair on his legs as she explored.
He was breathing harder every second. When she got to his round, firm, warm nuts, he gasped.
"Lick 'em!"
She put just the point of her tongue at the bottom of his left nut, and teased it with small, pushing strokes. He waggled his buttocks slowly, making his balls swing gently against her tongue. She licked with longer, broader sweeps, laving the underside of both his testicles until her saliva gleamed on the brownish crinkle of his skin.
He giggled suddenly, like a small boy having his ribs teased with a feather.
Her appetite for his hanging globes of meat shifted into another gear as she yawned her mouth open and deftly sucked half of one inside. She ran her tongue in velvety circles around the fragrantly scented, warm nut until he groaned with the lusty pleasure of it.
"Goddamn, baby!" he gasped. "You're gettin' me hot as a bull doing that!"
She let the testicle fall wetly out of her mouth and sucked in the other one, repeating the process. She was sure that his nuts had grown larger and firmer from her attention. When both of them were glistening with her spit, she gave them several more flat laps of her tongue, then moved up to his asshole.
The smell was still there, but what had first struck her as a mildly offensive odor now seemed a cantharis flirting shamelessly with her senses. She stuck her nose half an inch into the very bud of his anus, and smelled deeply of the fetid hole.
She felt a small, involuntary shudder of surprise and shock go through him, and that pleased her. She wanted to shock him! She wanted his young goat-brain to know that she was capable of running circles around his naive ideas concerning sex!
When she drew her nose from the crack of his asshole, she dove in again-this time with her tongue. She slid the wetted point deep into the musky slit of his buttocks and began to rim him, to lick him, to suck his arrogant butt. It drove him wild.
"Yeah," he breathed, huskily. "Tongue my ass, sweetheart! Nobody's ever done that to me-nobody!"
She lapped and sucked at the pungent trench separating his buttocks until the root of her tongue ached. He didn't want her to stop. Instead, he lowered his body down on his shoulders and pushed his ass higher up into the air. Then he reached back with both hands and spread the firm cheeks of his rear even wider, making a kind of wide, hairless cunt of his anus.
She crammed her rolled tongue as deeply as she could into that most improbable of love-tunnels, probing blindly for his shit.
He grunted like a passionate young animal through the long minutes of her perverted act, then fell forward exhausted on the bed. A loud, greedy fart erupted from his bowels, making her grin as she licked the taste from her lips.
"Turn over now," she demanded, coldly.
He rolled, throwing his legs into an obscene, frog-like spraddle as he did so.
His furiously stiffened cock plopped against his thigh, then stood straight up between his legs, the bloated head pointing directly at the ceiling.
It was the most remarkable hard-on she had yet seen. The kind of total erection that only a seventeen-year-old boy, drowning in his own lust, can produce.
She crouched over him, and he reached blindly for the swollen swing of her tits.
"Don't touch me, damn you!" she hissed.
His hands fell awkwardly, obediently away.
She didn't know why she didn't want to be touched at that particular moment. Certainly it would have been pleasurable. The wanton license she had been taking with his perfect young body had driven spikes of lust into her pores. The nipples of her tits were sticking out like fat, pink corks, and her cunt could have taken his whole fist and loved it. And yet, she didn't want to be touched. Why?
And then she remembered the vicious way in which Jack and the Negro had tied her down, to do with her body as they pleased.
She wanted to do that with Mike Barton-to be master of his emotions. To own him, use him in any unholy way that she pleased.
Dipping her head down like some erotic bird, she ran the tip of her tongue in light, teasing strokes just over the tip of his throbbing prick. It tasted salty and hot, and she lapped it a bit harder.
He groaned and let a teeth-clenched curse escape from his throat. But it was a curse of pure lechery, not anger. It was obviously what he had wanted. It was what he had dreamed about in a thousand hours of masturbation-the lascivious, sluttish, mindless lapping of a woman's tongue over his horny prick!
"Eat it!" he begged. "God-suck me off! Make me come!!"
It was time, she thought, to slake her thirst with hot spurtings of his juice.
Lacing both her hands around the base of his stiffened tool, so that just the head of his cock reared up like some pink piece of lush fruit, she began to suck him in earnest.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw with satisfaction how his feet curled inward, toe-knuckles white with strain. She saw his finger digging like a claw into the thin sheet over the mattress. She felt the beat of his panting stomach against her forearms.
She was bringing him to a climax slowly and powerfully-giving him pleasure he had never dreamed possible.
Sperm began to run uncontrollably out of the eyelet of his cock long before he spasmed. It was the precursor of the flood to come, and she licked and sucked at it like a young bear getting honey from ajar.
He made animal noises for her, forgetting every language except the language of lust.
She sucked with deeper, more powerful strokes when she felt his ultimate vibrations approaching. At that precise moment when his balls began to explode with all the potency and force of his being, she pulled her hands away and drove the whole of his cock deep into her throat.
His prick rocked her wanton throat with savage gluts of boiling semen. He bucked his hips hard, using her mouth like a hot pussy.
She drank it all down, sucking him dry, caressing the column of his sex with her thickened tongue until he was incapable of making his prick move at all.
Then she lifted her mouth up from his loins and let the swollen, wet sausage of his horsy cock lean weakly over against his leg.
His eyes were shut, his face a deeply flushed mask of total contentment.
She waited until his eyelids fluttered open, then she smiled at him.
"Laura..." he whispered, thickly. "I-I love you for that!"
But it was too late for that word. It held no meaning for her. She swung her leg over his chest, then crawled forward until the thickened lips of her wet cunt were hanging over his youthful mouth.
"Eat me-lover." she demanded, woodenly.
She lowered her pussy against his waiting tongue, and began to rock her hips obscenely.
As he sucked, she glanced back at his prick. Already it had started to rise again, growing into another nice horn of stiffness and plenty.
She pressed her cunt harder against his face, feeling the thick lips spread like an open melon over his jaws.
His loving tongue was up into her four or five inches . . . sucking . . . eating . . . getting what they both wanted . . .
Chapter TWELVE
The flight out was marvelous . . . like one long, screaming orgasm as the engines roared and the phallic jet tore through the vaginal tenderness of the sky.
Laura sat near the back of the plane, outfitted in a new, coral-tinted suit, a small white hat, and very large sunglasses. Her luggage was new, too-and everything inside the suitcases. Not only had she left her old self behind, she had left almost every reminder of the past.
The only lingering hint of homesickness-if that was indeed how the hollow feeling of her cunt could be described-was the fact that she would no longer have Mike Barton to while away her hours with.
A small, careless grin turned up the corners of her mouth beneath the huge sunglasses. She and Mike really had nothing to regret about the night before. There was nothing they had denied each other-and once the madness of total debauchery had seized Mike's youthful brain, it had been all she could do to satisfy his fancy. Perhaps the craziest note of the evening had been struck when he poured honey in her cunt, then fucked her vigorously, saying that he wanted to screw the sweetest pussy in town. Then, at high heat, he had pulled out his throbbing, honey-smeared cock and made her lick it while he shot a torrent of sperm wildly against her lips and cheek.
Darling Mike-the all-American boy, with a honey-coated hard-on!
But it really was better that she was leaving him far behind. Otherwise, she might find herself becoming too fond of one dick and one pair of balls, and that would never do. She wanted to be like Bev, at least for a while. In short, she had a hell of a lot of fucking to catch up on.
As such randy, lewd thoughts were running through her mind, Laura happened once to turn and catch a reflection of her face in the seat window beside her. She barely recognized the round, plain face behind the giant, phonily sophisticated glasses. A nervous chill ran through her spine-as if the lost voice of her anguished mother were calling to her from the grave.
Laura listened for a moment, hearing the echoes of a past that could never be recaptured. Then she turned her head away and settled down deeper into the comfortable seat, listening instead to the promising drum of the jet engines which were carrying her closer each second to a new life.
She was met at LA International by C. Phillip Conner, the Claude of Bev's letters. He was right there as she traversed the bright patch of sunlight from ramp to gate. She was both disappointed and pleased by his appearance as he came toward her, one hand outstretched, his crisply shaven face wreathed in smiles.
"You're Laura," he said, in a voice almost brightly effeminate. "Bev has shown me a thousand snaps of you, so I can't be mistaken. I'm Claude . . ."
She took his hand, at the same time staring at him, impressed by him, and yet vaguely disappointed. He was much older than she had imagined. He had deep lines imprinted around his mouth and edges of his eyes. He was tanned a deep brown, and the thick white of his temples and sideburns made a rather startling contrast. His eyes were the clearest and bluest she had ever seen-blue as tropical seawater-and they twinkled with a kind of tired innocence.
He was as fashionably dressed as possible, with a camel-gold, twill country suit, an open-collared shirt and one of those flowing ring-ties of raw silk.
"Where is Bev?" she asked.
"On the yacht, my dear, waiting for us. Actually, she's supervising a little welcome-aboard party we've prepared for you . . . guests arriving, and all-so she sent me on the happy errand of escorting you."
Laura took a scanty breath. "A party? But I thought-"
"That we were still playing out the little game of deception? We are, in a way. The yacht is anchored in a private cove, so nobody has a hint we're here. For all the newspapers know, your sister is still lost at sea." He smiled charmingly over the last phrase. "Beveraly is anything but lost at sea, eh?"
On impulse, Laura blurted the facts of her life at him. "I quit a perfectly good job to come out here, Mr. Conner. I moved out of my apartment, and-"
"And you did exactly what Bev and I wanted you to do. It's time you got out of the midwest. Bev has worried her pretty head off about you. That was precisely the reason for all those long and boring letters she wrote."
'They weren't boring. Not at all."
"Bev will be relieved to hear that. At any rate, let me repeat that you did exactly the right thing to chuck your past behind you. When we get back from the little pleasure cruise that Bev and I have planned, then I'll see to it that you get another job, if that's what you want. My mother founded one of the largest, privately endowed libraries on the West Coast. I can get you a nice, fat, comfortable position there if you find too much idle time on your hands. Everybody should work at something, I suppose."
Laura smiled. "Do you work at something?"
He returned her smile, the suntanned skin of his face crinkling with pleasure. "Yes, Laura. I work at keeping myself amused. And believe me, that's a monumental task at times. Shall we go?"
As they sped down the freeway in Claude's custom-built Ferrari, Laura began to draw together in her head the notes of a not-yet-sung melody. The information which Bev had communicated to her in one of the letters concerning Claude was the primary motif of the little tune: He wants to fuck you.
They drove through a thickly wooded area that was completely shut off from the highway which had carried them off the freeway. At one point, an iron gate momentarily blocked their way before the electric eye operated, and allowed them through. They drove for several hundred yards, stopping at an elegant marina where a bright-red launch was waiting. A man in a white uniform and nautical cap immediately stepped forward to take Laura's bags from the car. The launch was already purring, ready to whisk them away.
Claude escorted her aboard and into the small cabin; the uniformed man took the controls.
"Care for a drink, my dear-something to give you your sea legs properly?" Claude smiled. He produced two crystal goblets and turned a bottle of champagne a few times in a large, silver bucket.
Laura had never had a drink in her life-if one discounted that wild encounter in the cheap hotel where Jack had forced liquor down her before she was raped.
"Just a taste," she said.
Claude dutifully poured a small amount into Laura's goblet and handed it to her. He touched his own glass to hers, making a musical tinkle above the hum of the launch.
They sipped the champagne, and Laura settled back into her comfortable seat, with Claude sitting opposite. Despite herself, Laura glanced down at the V of his crotch. She had not forgotten Beverly's elaborate description of her lover's sexual equipment. She was a bit disappointed to see nothing-not even the outline of a prick. She couldn't keep from thinking how different it would have been if Mike Barton had been sprawled opposite her. He was always showing the long, husky proof of his maleness under his tight jeans.
Suddenly she heard a small, intemperate chuckle from her host. Her eyes went to his face, and she flushed. He had seen the whole thing, and he was smiling.
"I told your sister she was making a mistake, writing all those delicious lies to you in the letters."
She waited, the champagne glass frozen in her grip
"Oh, don't be alarmed, Laura. Not everything Bev said in the letters was a lie. By no means. Most of it, in fact, was quite true, I suppose. It's simply that she is prone to hyperbole-to sexual exaggeration.
I'm not at all the bull she pictured me to be, and as for all that nonsense of satisfying her sexually, I'm afraid that would be quite out of the question. I'm impotent where females are concerned."
He said the last words with such an off-handed bravado that Laura wondered if he were telling the truth either!
"I-I don't understand," she breathed.
He chuckled again. "Don't you, my sweet? It means that I'm incapable of performing all those miracles of heterosexual daring she pictured to you in the letters. But even if I were, it wouldn't be for the charm of a woman's pleasure."
She understood that remark even less!
And then the ridiculous-and faintly disgusting-truth of what he was saying came home to her.
"You don't like females at all?" she insisted, softly.
His blue eyes sparkled. "Oh, my, I wouldn't put it all that grimly. Of course, I like women. I love to have them around. They usually amuse me and I find them quite often clever and attractive and immensely decorative, like flowers and pieces of nice furniture. But as for sex ... I'd as soon make love to a codfish."
"But Bev-"
"She lied to you disgracefully on that point. I suppose it's unfair of me to spill the beans, and all that. Maybe the poor dear would have preferred to tell you herself. Or maybe she wouldn't have, on second thought. At any rate, the truth is out. I'm a homosexual, Laura. I prefer men to women. It's a simple-and quite ancient-facet of human life. There have always been males of my sexual persuasion. But don't let any of this spoil your-ah-vacation. There's always plenty of variety aboard my PEACOCK. If it's a crazy fuck you're after, then I have lots of virile males in my employ who love nothing better. They'll service your spicy cunt until hell won't have you."
He took a long, thoughtful sip of his champagne. His lips were glistening and wet when they came away from the rim of the glass, and twisted into the sardonic smile of a spoiled child.
"Frankly, my dearest Laura, I envy you. It would be a rare treat, I think, for me to experience the joy of a hole between my legs. I'd feed it hordes of sailors and football players and the like, and especially my lovely Eduardo." He paused, thoughtfully. "That reminds me. There is one rule which I always invoke against my female guests, and some of them find it quite distressing. But I suppose I am entitled to my little eccentricities, too. It's a rule that I never allow to be broken."
She heard her voice coming up in a mouse-like whisper.
"And what is that rule?"
"It concerns my young Mexican friend, Eduardo. Under no circumstances is he allowed to touch any of my guests, male or female. He's mine, strictly. Of course, Eduardo would never dream of desiring a male, but I know how desperately he often yearns to put his remarkable talents to use inside the thighs of a female. It makes the total possession of him just that much more enchanting-for me."
Laura remembered her sister's tale about the young Mexican fucking some aging Duchess for hours, and Bev's cynical promise that the same rogue would take her maidenhead, if she wished. It had all been a lie, then.
She couldn't help but wonder what else were equivocations-and for the first time since arriving, she felt a sudden apprehension in the vibrations of the launch that was carrying her out to sea . . .
"You know," her host mused, abruptly, "you remind me of someone, Laura. But for the life of me, I can't recall who. Isn't that tiresome of me! More champagne, darling?"
The PEACOCK was anchored quite far out in the bay, but the minute Laura saw it, she knew how her sister-or any woman-could have been so easily hypnotized into loving it. It was a floating, pink castle with twin cabins and a powerful diesel engine. A dozen or so launches floated around the side of it, like small piglets sucking at the tits of the larger ship.
"I'm sure the party is already underway," Claude breathed, as the engine of their own launch was cut and the foam drifted away to the sides. "Your sister has the irresistible urge to get things underway as soon as possible."
Laura and her host climbed the ladder that had been let down for them, and at the top, smiling and holding a glass of bubbling champagne, stood Beverly.
The sight of her almost took Laura's breath away. She had certainly never looked lovelier!
"Darling Laura-my dearest sweets!"
They enfolded each other into their arms while an amused and curious gaggle of guests clustered around them. Laura had no time to study the new faces. She had eyes only for Bev-and then Laura remembered the letters, and knew that Bev was a living, cheap lie.
From her new, more realistic viewpoint, Laura began to pick her sister's appearance to pieces. Bev was not pretty, she told herself, she was merely flashy, like a painted china doll with a hollow head. Eyelashes, lipstick, rouge-all coming together in a sort of garish blur. If anything, Bev looked haggard and unhappy under all the paint.
Somebody shoved another glass of champagne at Laura, and even before she could protest, she found herself being propelled through the guests aboard the yacht. She was suddenly the center of the gay harlequinade.
There were both males and females aboard-some of them very young, and some of them the age of Claude Conner. They were all elegantly, fashionably dressed, all sipping the champagne, all talking, laughing, watching . . .
And it was nut until Laura's head began to cloud with shadows from the tangy, odd-tasting champagne that she realized they were all really watching her.
And waiting, it seemed, for something very special to happen.
Chapter THIRTEEN
Laura came up through the thick, velvety darkness of sleep-or something very like sleep-and twisted her head from one side of the pillow to the other. Her eyelids fluttered open, her blood pulsed, and she was aware.
She was having her cunt sucked.
The room was large and dark, but she knew from the round window across the way that it was one of the cabins on the yacht. And she was there, snug in a bunk-like bed, naked as a whore, having her pussy eaten with slow, digging probes of a very talented tongue.
The pleasure was what had awakened her. Her cunt was literally blazing with the desire to be stimulated, and the tongue of her unknown admirer was doing a handsome job of it. Instead of raising her head and risking the possibility of disrupting the lusty work of her sucker, she lay quite still.
Her pussy was itching all the way to its core. The walls were thick and grainy, hotly oozing with juices. The muscles of her vagina were taut and alert, and each time the exploring tip of the lapping tongue got deep enough, the muscles contracted against it, as if sucking the head of a hard prick.
The little game gathered momentum now that Laura was awake. She couldn't stop the casual rotation of her thighs, the slow, upward pump of her loins. And her cunt-sucker knew she was waking. The circular sweeps of the tongue grew wider, more salacious, hungrier. Fingertips pulled the thickened, moist lips of her pussy wide so that even deeper plunges could be made, and so that the stiff fang of her clitoris could be teased and licked without hindrance.
The delicious cunnilingual act was driving Laura toward a violent orgasm. To hold it back as long as possible, she curled her toes inward and moved her legs-into a bent position. But nothing helped for long. The rapture was too deep, too constant, too whorishly pleasing.
With a half-dozen throaty moans, she began to climax. It was just a salty trickle of liquid at first. Then, as the stubborn tongue sucked and lapped in a monotonous, sluttish rhythm, Laura gave way to complete ecstasy.
She spasmed so harshly that she heard the splat of her juices against the chin and throat of the one who was eating her.
In order to enjoy the voracious tongue to the fullest, she locked her thighs around the shoulders and head between her legs, squeezing hard. The shivering tissues of her pussy rolled around the sauce of her own orgasm and played joyfully with the wildly moving tongue.
One spasm followed another through her heated cunt, pleasuring her until her breath was coming in ragged grunts through her teeth.
When the final convulsion of lust was over, she went limp as a crushed flower, but the tongue kept licking the sullied lips of her cunt until the last, sticky drop of her vaginal juice was gone.
Then the figure moved from between her legs and away from her.
Laura raised her head and stared into the grinning face above her. "By God, Bev-you"
Her sister nodded, and waggled her tongue briefly against the outside of her lips.
"Tasty, Laura. Just as tasty as I knew it would be. But you aren't a newcomer at having your slit eaten. You couldn't be-not the way your cunt sucked back at my tongue."
The disconcerting conversation with Claude came back . . .
"Bev-are you a-a Lesbian?"
"Laura, darling, you should forget those old-fashioned labels! Freud is dead, didn't you know that? He died with God. The world buried the two phonies together in a dung-heap. I don't like to eat cunts more than I like to be fucked by a man. I simply like sex-in all of its infinite and interesting variations. Sexual freedom is the best mind-expander in the world."
"I'm not shocked, Bev, but I'm certainly not as experienced as you."
"You will be, if you want to be. Now tell me how you lost that winsome maidenhead of yours. It was the boy next door, wasn't it? What was that little stud's name-?"
"Mike. Mike Barton."
"Oh, yes. Did you let him seduce you?"
"In a way."
"He fucked you, then?"
"Yes."
"Marvelous! As I recall, he had a rather enormous prick for just a boy, so you must have been stretched rather well by it. Tad certainly knew he wasn't the first to screw you."
"Tad?"
"Oh, I didn't mention that, did I? Well, dear, we took the liberty of initiating you in the regular PEACOCK way. That champagne you drank when you first came aboard-about four hours ago-was a drug. An aphrodisiac, actually, that the Hindus perfected centuries ago. It's called Nymphaea, and it's a compound of oil of hogweed, echitcs putescens, and sarina plant, yellow amaranth-all kinds of goodies. It put you to sleep while making your sexual needs grow to fever pitch."
Laura swallowed slowly. "And then what?"
"Then we stripped you, up on the deck, so that everybody could get a really good look at your body. It's much prettier than your face, you know. After that, the men fucked you, one by one. And Tad Henshaw was the first-an honor which came to him because his prick is the largest. Something like ten good inches on hard."
"And-you watched?"
"We all watched, even the crew. It's part of the game, the fun. It's why everybody came aboard today, dear. Claude belongs to a kind of club when he's ashore. A sex club. And when he told the group that my possibly virginal sister was coming for a visit ..."
"I enjoyed it, I suppose?" Laura asked flatly.
"With that aphrodisiac eating away at your precious cunt, how could you do anything else? My pet, you were absolutely rutty in your desire to be screwed. Tad loved the way you took his ten inches with the first thrust. I've never seen anybody in my life fucked with such vigor as you were. All the men thought you were a sweet piece of ass."
"And then you-"
"I had you carried down here so that I could sample you for myself. It was something really different for me-my own little sister's freshly fucked pussy, all hot and pliant, and still oozing all that male sperm. It was like a rare meat pie. I suppose I sucked and licked your spicy pussy for an hour before you finally woke up and joined the fun."
"I am shocked, Bev-shocked beyond words. I won't say that I didn't enjoy what you did to me, and I'm sure I enjoyed the sex earlier, even if I was unconscious, but I don't think I like very much being treated like a kind of slave for your friends . . . like a clown."
"Don't be silly, Laura. Nobody thought of you as anything but a nice new tidbit. I can assure you that every woman who was a guest today has had as much done to her."
"Was? Are they all gone?"
Bev smiled thinly. "You sound disappointed. I assume you mean that it seems unreasonable and impolite of the male guests to fuck-on-the-run like that. I daresay it is. But you'll see them all again in a couple of weeks. We'll be back from our cruise by then, and Claude always arranges return meetings of the Sex Club."
"Do you mean that we're no longer anchored in the bay?"
"Of course not. We're well on our way to Acapulco . . . but from the flushed look on your cheeks, I'd say you were thinking less about travel and more about weeding out that burning between your thighs. It's the Nymphaea, isn't it? Really treacherous stuff! And I suppose you might have overdone it just a bit. What exactly are you feeling at this moment?"
"An itch. Like a million little ants crawling inside-"
"Inside the lips of your cunt? I know what you mean."
Laura squirmed naked on the bed. She wanted desperately to put her own fingers into her cunt and scratch at the nibbling, gnawing itch, but she restrained herself. She didn't want Bev to see how utterly helpless she was against the vicious drug.
And then a thought occurred to Laura that seemed to make perfect sense. It even suggested a form of raw justice.
"Bev, would you eat me again?"
Her older sister stood for a moment, looking at her, and the haughty beauty of her face seemed to grow the tiniest bit remote.
"I'm sorry, dear, but I make it a habit not to repeat myself in such matters. You've felt my tongue for the last time. But I will send one of the crew down to service you. I can assure you that he will take care of your itch in the conventional way-by fucking you."
"I'd rather have you take care of me, Bev."
"That's out of the question. There's a whole boatload of men on this yacht-all of them virile as trojans."
"Including your Claude?"
Bev gave her a stinging glance. "You know about that, eh? I suppose he told you that all those things I said about him in the letters-"
"He told me. He put it elegantly, and all that, but I gather that your playboy friend is queer as queer can be."
"Don't use that vile word, Laura. At least not in Claude's hearing. He's very sensitive on the subject. And so what if he is a bit of an invert. Many great men have been."
Laura smiled bitchily. "Have you ever fucked the Mexican boy behind his back?"
"No. And I advise you to follow suit. That's one you can't have."
"I haven't even seen him. Maybe I won't want him."
"I hope for your sake that you don't. But as I was saying, the yacht has a full crew of males, and we are the only females on board, so that means any particular itch you might have can easily be satisfied."
"I have one right now. And if you won't help me-"
"I said that I would not."
"Then please send me somebody who will. I can't stand this wild itching much longer!"
The corners of Bev's mouth turned up slowly in a dull smile. "What size would you like, darling?"
"A big one. The biggest one, in fact. And one that will last me."
"May I suggest Stanos, then? He's a Greek, from the hill country around Athens. He's not too bright, and he doesn't speak a word of English, but he's one of the best honey-fuckers on earth."
Chapter FOURTEEN
Claude rolled the brandy in the bottom of the snifter and put it up to his thin, pursed lips. He sipped slowly, keeping his eyes narrowed on the small closed-circuit television screen just above the foot of his bed. He was watching the scene in his new guest's cabin with great interest.
Beverly had just left Laura's cabin, and now-to Claude's vast amusement-the younger sister was busy rubbing and pawing at her burning young cunt.
"Come look, Eduardo," Claude smiled. "I think you might find this highly amusing."
The young Mexican boy was lounging on the other side of the room, flipping through a magazine. He dropped it carefully and strolled across the room to where his master lay.
Claude's attention had automatically turned from what was happening on the television screen, to observe the graceful but virile stroll of his handsome young lover. Eduardo was dressed today in a pair of those white beach pants that fit snugly around the ass, and show with perfect clarity the size and shape of the male penis.
"Do you like that, Eduardo?"
He watched carefully the beautiful profile of the boy as he stared at the screen. Laura, innocently unaware that she was being observed, was still fingering her cunt, digging her fingers in deep to pacify the blazing itch the Nymphaea had induced.
"Nice, Eduardo, isn't it? Wouldn't you love to help her. And I'll bet the little heathen would crawl across the room to get fucked by you."
Even under the almond darkness of his smooth, youthful skin, the Mexican boy flushed.
"She is not pretty," Eduardo breathed.
Claude held his snifter up from his chest and cackled softly. "But my little mozo, of course she isn't pretty. Beverly is the pretty one. But don't you think that gaping pussy of hers-yearning, as the poet says, to be fulfilled-has some merit?"
"Merit?" the boy repeated.
"Yes. The word means in English, something to be proud of. Speaking solely from the aesthetic point of view, I think her little cunny is most enticing. At any rate, she's about to have it filled. Stanos is going to fuck her-if Beverly followed my directions to the letter."
"Why him?" Eduardo said, sullenly.
Claude put one limp finger out and touched the boy's firm knee. "Because he has the biggest tool on the ship, that's why. And it's lucky for you, my little charmer, that I'm not the size-queen I used to be, or it would be Stanos being showered with gold and favors, instead of you. Oh, look. I think that's our Greek horse now ..."
Both of them watched the monitoring screen as the husky sailor entered Laura's cabin. The camera had been set at the most favorable angle possible, and it missed nothing with its unemotional, electronic eye. It recorded every movement of both Laura and her helpmate in lust.
They watched as Stanos took off his tight sailor pants and T-shirt. He wore no underpants, and his huge, half-hard prick flopped out between his legs at once and hung there like a dark loaf of French bread over two man-sized and hairy balls.
"Isn't he something!" Claude breathed. "Much too marvelous to be wasted on a female's hole. Much!"
When Stanos was naked, he was the answer to a nympho's most erotic dreams. A bronzed chest tufted with black hair, heavily muscled arms and legs, an abdomen flat as a tin plate, and that satyr's cock, getting abnormally large and stiff. It stood out between his legs, in fact, like a massive horn of plenty.
It was obvious to the two viewers in the master cabin that Laura's undivided attention was being given to the size of the Greek prick. She had barely glanced at the face of the sailor-although it was a ruggedly good-looking face with hard jaws and an excellent nose. Instead, her eyes had been pools of desire, fixed magnetically on the length, thickness, stiffness of the enormous cock pointing lewdly at her.
"She's quite ready for it by now," Claude breathed, gingerly rolling the brandy once more in his glass. "My guess is she'll take him right up to his lovely balls the first stroke . . ."
But Laura had other desires-even more burning-to satisfy first.
Both Claude and Eduardo watched with frozen attention as Laura beckoned her lustful stud toward her.
When he reached Laura's side, she dug both hands into his hips and leaned her ovaled mouth forward to suck in the meatus.
"Why, the priss!" Claude gasped. "The silly coquette is a cocksucker!"
They drank in the view. Stanos stood with his beefy hands on his hips while Laura lapped and sucked away at his overgrown cock. It was more than she could handle, of course, but her cheeks bulged like an adder's as she took the better half of him. She moved her head in circles, using her tongue to taste that most forbidden of all fruits. A drool of saliva ran down her chin and caught stickily on one of Stanos' warm, brown balls.
"Greedy little bitch," Claude hummed. "But she'll soon tire of that. Stanos is not one to give up his nectar for such trifles. She could suck that monster of his for an hour and it would only get stiffer than ever. She'll wear her tongue raw, then we'll see what we paid to see-her sinning cunt fucked to a standstill!"
Nevertheless, the spectacle on the screen was too pornographic, too salacious not to have the proper effect on one of Claude's disposition. He felt his own small penis pushing violently against his fly. His moist hands fluttered against the firm shoulders of the handsome Mexican boy.
"My dear, I really must be entertained now. Do me!"
The boy turned with a barely perceptible sigh. His face was expressionless as a carved mask. Without once looking at his master's eyes, he unzipped Claude's expensive slacks and deftly searched for the short, stout penis. He pulled it out as Claude moaned appreciatively.
"That's sweet, darling," Claude breathed. "Lick it gently. Just use the tip of your sweet tongue on me. I want this to last for a very long time."
The comely boy bent his head down and dutifully began to stroke the head of the prick with just the tip of his tongue. Claude giggled, and moved his fingertips delicately into the thick black hair bending over him.
At the same time, Claude kept his eyes glued to the television set. He wanted to miss nothing that was going on there. As he had predicted, Laura was beginning to tire of one of her favorite tasks. No matter how diligently she sucked the titan between her lips, it remained as stiff as a rod of iron. In desperation, she circled both her hands around the base and began to lick the underside of the meatus with solid, wet strokes of her tongue.
"Let him fuck you, you arrogant little tart!" Claude whispered, gleefully.
As if his words had somehow carried to the other cabin, Laura broke away from her oral worship, and lay back on the bunk. At the same time, she spread her wanton legs apart until the thick lips of her pussy were open like a hairy mouth.
It was the moment Stanos had been waiting for.
He brought his hands from his hips and placed them just under her knees. Then he jacked her legs up even wider apart and rested her heels on his shoulders. One hand was now free to guide the bursting head of his outsized cock into her cunt.
Claude had a good side-angle view of the entry. He didn't dare bat an eyelash for fear of missing one of the most erotic dramas the human animal is capable of performing. Somewhere, deep inside Claude's homosexual brain, there was a faint flicker of the heterosexual, something he could not quite put his libido on, and yet very much there. Nothing excited him quite as much as to see a husky, erect prick sliding between the willing, spongy lips of a hot pussy!
Claude leaned forward a bit to watch the big, dark column of the Greek's cock move inch by inch into the doughy softness of Laura's slit, pulling back the furry ridges and stretching her cunt to capacity-and a bit beyond.
"He's going to give her a honey-fuck," Claude hissed. "Goody!"
Laura's body strained and throbbed as the immense prick split her puss slowly apart. When it was only halfway in, her heels were digging deep into his powerful shoulders. He didn't stop there, of course. With a control bordering on the superhuman, he continued to feed the long inches of his hard-on into her until the dark bush of his cockhair crushed against her pubis. His large balls hung snugly now against the thin crack of her buttocks.
He was into her all the way. Her vagina somehow had accommodated some twelve inches of rigid, male meat!
Then Stanos began to fuck her, slowly and dreamily, moving his lean buttocks in a backward and forward motion that pleasured her itching pussy as no rapid copulation could possibly do.
Chapter FIFTEEN
"Ada," Claude said, snapping his thumb and index finger over the plate of pork rissoles. "Her name was Ada Warren. I don't know why it came to me just now, but, Laura, Ada Warren is the creature I was trying to think of earlier this afternoon. You remind me of her."
They were all at dinner in the master cabin: Beverly and Laura, Claude and Eduardo. Not a word had been said about the events of the day-nothing concerning the party in which Laura had been systematically screwed by all the male guests, nothing about the subsequent action in her cabin when, for a solid hour, she had been honey-fucked by the Greek sailor, Stanos. But it was certainly hovering in the air, and in their brains. Laur was satisfied, but exhausted. The sailor had fucked her so long and so gradually that she had lost count of her orgasms. She could only remember that her cunt had foamed like the mouth of a mad dog, and that the brutally, wonderfully stiff prick had thrown her into a coma of hedonistic pleasure.
"Ada Warren," Claude repeated, as if savoring the long-lost name like the taste of a good wine. "An absolutely unbearable doxy-no insult intended, my dear Laura-and one who wooed and won me when I was thirteen."
Even Eduardo glanced up from his plate at that.
"Wooed you?" Beverly echoed, her smile wet and attractive in the muted light of the candles.
"And won you, Claude? Won you to what, for heaven's sakes?"
"To her lewd little heart and body."
Claude was grinning now, but a little nervously. It was obvious that old memories-and rather disturbing ones-were crowding into his mind.
"Would you like to hear about it? I mean, we've all been sitting around like figures in a morgue. Perhaps we ought to make some small attempt to revive the art of conversation. I'm certainly willing to tell you about Ada Warren, if you are willing to listen."
"I'd like to hear about her," Laura said, quietly.
Claude smiled with satisfaction and pushed his wine glass toward Eduardo to be filled again.
"Ada was one of those priceless minks boys often run into at the pubertal stage. Sometimes I wonder if God didn't set them apart in a special category. A category for the sole purpose of fouling up the lives of innocent boys . . ."
He paused and gave Laura a wink. "You will see, my dear, that my conception of the Great White Father is hardly a conventional one. In my opinion, God is the master lecher of us all. What the world terms perversions: voyeurism, flagellation, sodomy, and all the rest, were created as much in His Image as Faith, Hope, and Charity. Isn't there a delightful theory some place in de Sade to the effect that the serpent in the Garden of Eden was female, and that the real sin Eve committed was to fall madly in love with a viper from Lesbos?"
"Please, Claude," Beverly said, blushing a bit at her neck, "you were going to tell us about your Ada Warren-the one who wooed and won your boyish heart."
"And body, don't forget. Very well, darling-if the subject of Lesbianism makes you squeamish, I'll get right on to the main characters in my tale. Ada was certainly anything but a Lesbian by nature. She was mad for boys, and I suppose I just happened to be next on her long list. At any rate, she was my age-just thirteen-and her parents had a summer cottage next to mummy's on Cape Cod. I was quite a lad at thirteen-all boy, in fact. Interested in collecting shells and fishing, wild about sea monsters, and grubby under the fingernails. Sex, for me, was like red smoke on a distant horizon: I simply had not yet found it a bother. And when Ada Warren strolled into my life in her sassy, reddish pigtails and conniving, pink blouses, I took great satisfaction in ignoring her-as long as I could. To me, she was merely a playmate. But to Ada, I was a piece of sexual glitter-a pelt that she could hang at her belt once she had safely snared me. Thanks for the wine, Eduardo. You pour like a hero."
"What happened between you and the girl?" Laura asked.
Claude tipped the wine glass to his lips and tasted the liquid carefully. When he was satisfied, he let his eyes fall back on Laura's plain face with a beguiled expression.
"What happened, my child? Why, the unattractive beast seduced me . . . drove me into such an unholy rut that I fucked her behind some sand dunes."
Beverly grinned. "You?"
Claude raised his eyebrows imperiously. "I'm afraid I fail to see the humor inferred from your question, Beverly. At thirteen one is perfectly capable of performing the sexual act with passion and vigor. At any rate, I didn't hear any complaints from Ada on the subject. She purred like a randy kitten, as I recall."
Very openly, Beverly grinned across at Eduardo. "Describe her pussy for us, Claude. I'm sure Eduardo would be intrigued."
The dark eyes of the handsome young Mexican boy fell on Bev's vibrant face, then dropped slyly away.
"Her pubis was entirely free of hair," Claude said, putting his fingertips together like a Bishop at prayer. "Just a small, soft muffin of flesh, tender as honey and rose petals, but delightfully warm, deep down . . . hot, one might say."
"She enjoyed it, then?" Laura asked.
Of course she did. And so did I. But the denouement of the story is that I fell headlong in love with her. I became dedicated to her essence-a regular Romeo. I collected the best shells for her, combed my hair with her in mind, went about with a dreamy, pie-eyed expression on my face, and jacked-off for the first time in my life just thinking about her whimsical little twat."
"But you continued to fuck her?" Eduardo breathed, heavily.
"Daily, darling. We'd go behind any convenient dune, and she would strip out of her pink panties while I hauled down my bathing suit. Then I'd simply hump her blindly until we both found release. I could make her come three or four times in the space of fifteen minutes."
"Romantic," Beverly hummed, "and how did your Garden of Eden experience come to a brutal end?"
"Simply enough. I found out about the little wanton's activities outside our romance."
"And that was-?"
"It took the form of a seventeen-year-old blond stud who had been employed by her father to take care of their sailing boats. Looking back on it, of course, I can hardly blame the slut for succumbing to his handsome charms, but at the time I thought he was a villain."
"He sounds interesting," Beverly insisted, teasingly. "Tell us all about him-and your Ada."
"I caught them fucking. I saw the whole thing, from beginning to end. They did it in the bottom of one of the boats, and I was high up on a dune with a pair of field glasses . . .
"I suppose you reported him-tattled."
"I did nothing of the kind, Beverly. I knew that would get Ada in trouble. Despite it all, I still loved her. You may smile at the word, but at the time it was a sacred word to me. Somehow, I rationalized the event I had witnessed by telling myself the unscrupulous young stud had seduced my Ada against her will. So I went to challenge him, man to man."
Beverly said nothing, but her smile was a wan, twisted symbol of her cynical amusement.
"I approached him the very next morning-and told him exactly what I had seen, and that I expected him to leave Ada alone or I would kill him. His response to that boyish bravado was amazing to me. He wasn't angry or upset at all. He merely smiled at me, and asked me if I would like to take a sail out into the bay with him. He said he had to test one of the boats for Ada's father, and that he wanted company. Innocently enough, I went."
"I think we know what happened," Laura breathed, "but do go on."
He raped me out there. Under the hot blue sky and chaste clouds, he put that bestial, stiff prick into my anus-and fucked me almost unconscious while I screamed in agony."
"He took something of a chance," Beverly grinned. "Or did he, Claude?"
Claude flushed the faintest coral at his cheeks. "As it turned out-and as you perfectly well know-he had read the signs right. I was material for corruption, and he knew it. Before he was through, the sphincter muscles of my boy-ass were sucking and pulling his hard prick as deeply as possible inside me. I had an orgasm that seemed like a million bursting suns around my head. I had never been pleasured so much in my life! I might as well confess that I let him fuck me twice more before we headed back to the shore. That night I dreamed of him, woke up with a throbbing hard-on, and jacked-off until I was exhausted. The next day I begged to go out on the boat with him again. It was on that fateful second trip that he taught me-allowed me-to suck his cock. I might have hesitated a handful of seconds, but the minute I put my lips around the full blossom of his lovely cockhead, the second I smelled and tasted the strange, thrilling perfume of the male prick, I knew that I had found my life's work. I spent the rest of the summer drugged by a love-sickness for that licentious young satyr. He took advantage of me, too-for the right of sucking his horsy cock, I had to arrange for him to fuck Ada. The three of us used to go on long" outings in the sailboat. It looked innocent enough to our parents, since they trusted the young man completely, but the truth of the matter was, we indulged in the most venereal orgies one could imagine. Ada, the little slut, had grown as addicted to his cock as I had, and between the two of us, we swarmed over his beautiful body like ants after sugar."
"He made you queer, then," Beverly said.
"Mad for men, then and ever after. But still ... at times, in the dark midnight of my soul, I remember that first encounter with Ada herself. . ."
Beverly let a light, careless laugh float up from her throat. "Claude, I never knew you were such an incurable romantic! After all these years, you yearn to be thirteen again-just so you can run away with some degree of honesty in the sullied cunt of an ugly child named Ada. It really is too priceless!"
"Yes," Claude sighed, "I suppose it is all terribly silly, and terribly, terribly amusing."
He glanced once more at Laura and saw that her homely face did not bear even the faintest trace of a smile.
It made him, somehow, uncomfortable. Very.
Chapter SIXTEEN
The PEACOCK moored in the bay of Acapulco four days later, and everybody went ashore-everybody, that is, except Eduardo.
"But why on earth won't you let the boy off the boat," Beverly said, arching one beautiful eyebrow toward Claude. "You know how much he would enjoy it."
Claude smiled thinly. "I know how much you would enjoy it, my pet. The first time my head was turned by one of those coco-loco drinks, I'd find both of you hied off to some cheap hotel. You're dying to fuck him, so there's no point in denying it."
"I've never touched him, damn it."
"No, but I've seen you looking at him, undressing him bit by bit, imagining in that sluttish brain of yours how wonderful it would be to feel his long, brown cock buried to the hilt in your greedy cunt."
"That's a hateful lie."
Claude smiled again. "All right, then, my darling, I apologize for my outrageous imagination. Let's say that I'm insisting Eduardo stay on board because I don't want him being pawed over by strangers. If the little colt stepped one foot onto Hornos Beach, he'd be picked up by any one of a dozen filthily rich American tourists-male and female. Not even Eduardo would be able to say no to an hour in a motel for four thousand pesos. No, I feel safer if my treasure is right here on board. I'll not carry him to the beach like some silly, overconfident pirate captain."
Beverly made a face. "Why don't you just admit that you don't want Eduardo along when you pull down Laura's panties."
Claude gave her a sly, sideward glance. "You've guessed that much, then, my dear wife."
"Of course. Are you going to have her shave her cunt-to make the effect that much more nostalgic."
He clapped his hands like a child. "What a marvelous idea! Just like Ada all the way! You're a genius. I knew there was some reason why I married you!"
Beverly smiled. "You haven't told Laura about that, have you?"
"Of course not. I think the little brat actually believes that she can make you jealous. It would spoil things if she knew we were married."
"Do you really think she's jealous? How absurd."
"Oh, I'm quite sure of it. She will no doubt think that all she'll need to do is snip the hairs off her cunt to make me swoon all over the place. And, all the while, I'll be getting the most delicious kicks out of fucking my sister-in-law."
"Do you think you can, Claude?"
"I shall certainly give it the old college try. Perhaps if she sucks me first, the way she sucked Stanos, then-"
"Where are you planning to take her?"
"To the house of a friend on the other side of the bay."
Once ashore, the crew scattered like scorpions. Beverly knew that they welcomed this opportunity to find pussy on their own, instead of having to play stud to two women only while their queer, voyeuristic master watched it all over his closed-circuit television screen. However, Claude kept one of the crew with him, as he had said he would: Stanos, the Greek. The tall, husky young sailor was the perfect bodyguard, and if all else failed, he would provide Claude a night of sultry pleasure through the art of sodomy.
Beverly always marveled at Claude's capacity for back-door copulation. But she knew that he was capable of taking anything into his ass. She had come upon Stanos and Claude one afternoon aboard the yacht. Claude was on his knees like a puppy, and Stanos was straddled over his thin buttocks, pumping that monster cock in and out of Claude's ass. The sound was a kind of disgusting slurp, but Claude had been in heaven, getting so royally fucked.
Another one in Claude's company for the evening was Laura. She seemed too timid to move out of Claude's eyesight. Like so many people who have never been much beyond their doorsteps, Laura seemed not only awed, but terribly frightened by a foreign country, a foreign tongue.
Beverly and Claude had already worked out the procedure by which Claude would be alone with Laura, but he made a production out of it anyway.
"You can dine with us also, Bev-if you wish," he said as they sped along the Costera Aleman in a taxi. "But I dare say, you'd much rather be off on one of your fabulous hunts."
"That I would," Bev nodded, casually.
Claude grinned. "I'll expect to have a full report tomorrow-but for Laura's benefit, I can predict the evening our Beverly will spend right down to the last sordid detail."
"You can?" Laura echoed.
"Of course I can, my little pigeon. Your big sister will check into the Hilton or the Fraccionamiento Las Brisas. She'll doll herself up to her teeth, then stroll down to the bar. There are all kinds of fabulous people sitting around such places-all ungodly rich, many quite handsome. She'll pick her prey carefully, and he will have to meet exactly the right qualifications. He'll have to have money, but he will also have to be reasonably young. Your sister is a regular genius at finding such types: the fucking rich, I call them.. She'll make her deal right there in the bar. How much are you asking these days, Bev?"
"Powder room change," Bev said.
Claude laughed lightly and put one limp hand on the knee of Stanos, who was wedged into the small cab beside them, smiling when they smiled. "Can you imagine, Laura? I give Beverly everything her little heart desires, so the root of her need can't be material. Nothing so banal as money, and yet she demands that money be a part of the transaction. She says it's something about the Puritan Ethic . . . something about one having to work and pay for one's pleasures. She puts her little missionary pussy to work, in effect. And she's had some absolutely marvelous times. Tell your little sister about the Russian Colonel you met in Spain, the one who had twelve inches ..."
Bev sighed. "Why is it you always remember that episode . . . His name was Ivan, and he was only thirty-one, or something like that. The Russians have a habit of making young men colonels. Ivan was built like a peasant, but he was very refined and cultured. He spoke French and he loved the ballet."
"To hell with his love for ballet. Tell Laura about his damned twelve-inch horsecock."
"It's true. I measured that thing of his at one point during our evening. It was actually a bit over twelve inches. God, I've never seen such a jumbo penis on a man, and I've never been fucked so well in my life."
"Lovely little slut, isn't she! And honest, to boot. She said her Colonel drank a gallon of vodka, and dulled his capacity to shoot off. So he just screwed her all night long while she had one wild orgasm after another. I've forgotten what one might call the climax of the story. Did he ever come at all, Bev?"
"Of course he did-when I sucked on it."
"Decadent beasts, those Russians," Claude grinned. "But awfully male and good-looking. If they ever take over the world, I'll whore myself to death among the troops."
"You can drop me off at the El Paris o," Beverly said. "I'll try my luck there first."
"Good fucking, my sweet," Claude grinned.
"It always is."
Beverly felt a slight, indefinable dullness in the pit of her stomach as the taxi pulled away. There was something odd about this evening, and something very strange about the kind of digging snideness Claude had leveled at her during the entire ride. It was as if he were trying to tell her something in symbolic language.
But he had been quite wrong about trying to second-guess her intentions for the evening. She wasn't after a rich fish, young or old. She had something far more romantic in mind, and she knew precisely where to look for it. If she couldn't have Eduardo, then she would have a substitute, and by one of those lovely quirks of coincidence, she had been told exactly where to find him. The coincidence had come in the guise of Mrs. Bentney Richardson, one of Claude's erstwhile friends, and one of the most lascivious creatures ever spawned from the Devil's balls. One evening a month ago, when the yacht had been anchored off Catalina, Beverly had gotten into a rather drunken conversation with Mrs. Richardson. The wily, perfumed old bitch was every bit of sixty, but when she told Beverly of her adventures on the beaches of Acapulco, her eyes glowed like an amorous cat full of Spanish Fly.
"My dear, I've been fucked in the slums of Liverpool by Beatle-like bullyboys with long hair and gaps between their teeth. I've been fucked by sailors from seven continents, by Arabs in the shade of their camels, and once, I swear to God, in the Sistine Chapel behind a marble angel by a fourteen-year-old altar boy from Sicily who had a prick on him like a stallion. But I have never-repeat, never-been fucked quite so deliciously as the time Alfreno took me across the bay of Acapulco in his little sailboat. He charged me fifty pesos an hour for the ride, but he fucked me absolutely for nothing. My randy old cunt actually foamed, my dear. I thought my clit would rotate all the way around his wicked young Spanish prick!"
"His name was Alfreno?"
And now, the long month later, Beverly remembered Mrs. Richardson's sultry conversation. It set the drumbeat faster in her breast as she walked through the lobby of the El Pariso and followed the inevitable path to the open patio bar. She went beyond that, across the little bridge spanning the twisting swimming pool, and out onto the beach itself.
She walked quickly out to the very lip of the bay where the dark tide was washing in with a curling, muted hiss. Then, remembering more of what Mrs. Richardson had told her, she turned left and began to walk up the beach toward the area known as La Condessa.
It was there she would find the beach boys.
Almost at once, a sharp sail came into her view. It was silhouetted on the horizon like an inverted tit, as if hinting sensually to those who could understand. And she could.
A lad appeared beside her, then another, and another. All dark faces and glistening bodies with smiles that caught the moonlight. Boys of sixteen, seventeen, eighteen . . .
"Sail-eeng, lay-dee?"
She narrowed her choice down to one-the handsomest one of the lot. But she said: "I'm looking for a boy named Alfreno."
Two or three of the boys grinned and hung back. The one she had addressed nodded seriously. "Alfreno no there, senorita. He in Los Angeles, U.S.A."
Beverly smiled. She had come a thousand miles only to find the stud of Acapulco was in California-no doubt fucking for board and keep. "And who are you?"
The handsome young satyr smiled triumphantly. "I am Alfreno's brother-Josel"
The gods they say, are lewd and loving-even if they are also liars.
"And will you take me sailing, Jose?"
"Si!"
The others faded into the shadows as the willowy young boy escorted her down to the small sailing boat. Then several of the older beachboys appeared to help push the boat out into the water.
There was a fair wind, and in moments the little boat was tilted toward the huge pile of shadowy rocks just off the beach. Jose managed the sail very easily, and settled down just in front of her. The boat was so small that she could reach out and touch him-an effect no doubt calculated to please all concerned.
When they were only yards away from the shore, but well into the moon bathed shadows, Beverly reached her hand out and touched the boy's bare leg.
He grinned at her, showing his flashing white teeth.
"Fucky-fuck?"he whispered, coyly.
"Yes, but let's sail further out into the bay. Then we can drift undisturbed."
The boy grinned again-, and nodded.
As he tightened the sail and the breeze caught in it like a velvet fist, Beverly slipped between his legs and pulled his trunks down to his ankles.
She was trembling as her lips closed around the long, quickly hardening rise of his brown, boy-prick. It tasted salty, horny.
She licked at it a few times, then settled down to. suck it . . . hungrily . . .
Chapter SEVENTEEN
The red launch cut across the bay with the hiss of a serpent. The inky darkness seemed to flood into Laura's throat and her breasts, engulfing her in some depraved way until she felt like a minion of one of hell's whorehouses.
Claude was at the controls of the launch, his ascot streaming behind his thin neck, his eyes glittering with the delicious prankishness of it all.
"Maybe you shouldn't leave Stanos behind," Laura had suggested, back on shore. "He might come in handy-if something happens to the boat."
Claude's small, pursed mouth had grown firm as a nail. "I'm man enough to drive that fucking boat to China, if necessary. Stanos is good for one thing only, and you certainly know what that is."
"I didn't mean-"
"I know perfectly well what you meant. You think it would be nicer to have that huge, oily monster Stanos swings between his legs, than to have mine, don't you!"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. But I have a few tricks up my sleeve, Ada."
The slip from his tongue had amused Laura, and put the final cap on her carefully laid plans to seduce him. Since that very first night, over the wine, when he had told her about having been attracted to some homely little sexpot when he was thirteen, she had been at work on his weak spot. She had worked on his stupidly romantic memory of his one heterosexual moment of glory the way a dentist teases the raw nerve in one's tooth. And she had done it without arousing the least bit of suspicion in Beverly's overconfident brain.
But even now, as they were speeding out to the PEACOCK, Laura was still sorting out the final gains in her own head, much the way a conqueror who is sure of the upcoming battle thinks about the loot which will be his.
She was thinking, in short, of Eduardo. She would not only be fucked this very night by Claude, but she would be fucked by Eduardo as well. A double victory-something Beverly had never dreamed of accomplishing! And it would be the sweetest kind of revenge for all those lonely years of behaving herself while her big sister was playing the nympho behind her back!
"We're here," Claude breathed, cutting the engines and twisting the launch wheel to bring it alongside the yacht.
He clamored up the ladder ahead of her, shouting for Eduardo.
The handsome Mexican boy appeared at once, staggering a bit from drink. At the sight of him, Claude's lips curled back in a selfish grin.
"Look, Laura, the little puppy has been at a bottle of rum. Feeling sorry for himself, no doubt. Or do you suppose he is merely heartbroken at having his lover gone from him so long."
Laura saw the dark flicker of anger come into Eduardo's eyes, then slowly fade.
Claude clapped his hands together like a naughty child. "Of course, that's it! Eduardo will be our audience. I love audiences for extravaganzas like this!"
Eduardo stared at him, his beautiful face expressionless as a priest's.
"Don't look so blank, darling boy," Claude purred. "Laura and I are only going to have a nice little fuck, and I think it would intensify both our passions if you watched. Now, Laura, hie yourself to your cabin and do exactly what I told you to do. Eduardo and I will be down to join you in a moment."
When Laura reached her cabin, she took off all of her clothes and hurried into the private bathroom. She soaped the hair over her cunt and began to shave it very carefully. When she was through, the pouting mounds of her labia were slick as glass. She used a hand-mirror to examine the results from all angles. It made her smile. Men were quite right to be fascinated by the concept of the pussy, she thought. That soft, dark, meaty slit between a female's legs looked so very much like a hungry mouth. It must seem to males the perfect thing for swallowing up a stiff prick . . .
When she was satisfied that her cunt was girlish enough, she tied her hair down into pigtails. For ribbons she used two tassels from the bedspread. The results-as she noted in the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door-were startling.
She looked like a grotesquely overgrown child: pigtails, pointing tits, and a mature pussy without a single hair to hide its thickish slit!
She was quite ready to be fucked.
She lay down on the cabin bunk and opened her legs wide. She knew that Claude would be watching on his closed-circuit television set to see when she was ready. And, as predicted, in a moment she heard his quick footsteps, followed by the lighter, slower footsteps of Eduardo.
They entered the cabin buck naked . . . both of them. Laura gave Claude's aging body only a glance, ignoring the small, soft prick that dangled like a cupid's thumb from his tuft of graying pubic hair, but she drank in the body of Eduardo. If anything, he was even more handsome in the nude.
"You look-scandalous," Claude grinned. "Just like Ada must have felt, at least. It's too bad I don't have a horse-cock to satisfy you with, my dear-but I do have the next best thing."
With that, Claude turned to the silent form of his erstwhile lover, and wagged his flaccid cock at him.
"Eduardo-suck me hard!"
The boy hesitated, his eyes slitted with obvious disgust for what he was being asked to do in front of Laura.
"Goddamn you," Claude hissed, "get down on your spic knees and suck me stiff!"
Still the poor boy hesitated, and then Claude struck him savagely across the jaw.
"Now suck me, you brown bitch!!"
Laura watched from where she lay, spraddled on the bunk, as the young Adonis went slowly to his knees. She saw his beautifully formed mouth open and take in the ugly, shrimp-like penis of his master. He began to suck it slowly, then finally to chew it.
The sight aroused Laura so much that her cunt throbbed!
Claude grinned, and glanced scornfully toward Laura. "You'd like to be doing that to him, wouldn't you? Everybody would. You'd be amazed at the offers I've had for his body . . . just. . . amazed . . . ahhhhh . .
Claude's prick had stiffened firmly in the warm tunnel of Eduardo's mouth. In a moment he pulled it out, glistening with saliva. It was still stubbornly small, but quite hard, though somewhat crooked at the tip.
"Now, the tickler," Claude breathed.
For the first time, Laura saw that Claude had been carrying something concealed in his hand. It was a large, round object of semi-soft rubber, with prongs and nodules all over it. Some of the prongs were three or four inches long.
"You'll love this," Claude smiled, fixing the tickler over the snubby head of his prick. "It will do more for that steamy crotch of yours than Stanos could ever do. Sit down, Eduardo. Sit and watch your lover play the butch role."
But when he turned to perform stud service, his tiny prick wilted like a flower. The tickler hung for a moment on the flagging meatus, then dropped to the floor.
Eduardo laughed.
Claude whirled at the boy, his effeminate features flushing with anger and shame. "What the shit are you laughing at, you greasy little hustler!"
Eduardo's grin held.
"Wipe that fucking smirk off your face and suck me hard again, or I'll send you back to that whore you call a mother!"
The young Mexican's smile held just long enough for him to suck in a lungful of breath between his lips and then he was on Claude.
Laura heard the sickening smack of the boy's fist being driven into Claude's flabby stomach even before she saw it. And then she saw the fist rising and falling with a pile-driver force as Claude sagged to his knees, his hands and fingers flaying the air in fury, his terrified voice screaming like a small girl's.
Eduardo was shouting curses as he kicked and smashed at his master's body. His bare feet seemed suddenly to be made of stone as they stomped at the genitals, the face, the abdomen.
Laura felt herself curling back against the bunk, but not in fear. She was, she realized, enjoying what she was seeing. She watched with the same breathless fascination that one might watch a spider attack a fly. She couldn't fathom her real feelings, for a few seconds, but when she did a sly smile pulled up the corners of her mouth. She realized who her fucker would be.
She watched as the older man seemed to become a crouched, twisted, whimpering ball of blood and bruised flesh.
Eduardo was hitting him now with a heavy lamp, cudgeling his skull, battering his teeth out, breaking his fingers and knuckles-one by one . . .
When it was quite evident that C. Phillip Conner's queer life was over, Eduardo picked him up like a sack of old meal and carried him to the porthole. He heaved him up until his head was lodged in the hole, then let him hang there like the slaughtered carcass of a cow, blood running in a stream from his anus.
Laura was still in the bunk, her sluttish legs thrown apart, her shaved cunt throbbing with excitement.
She grinned at Eduardo as he turned, his hair shaggy over his forehead, his eyes still flashing like a young bull's.
"I'm glad you did that," she whispered, hoarsely. "I wanted you to fuck me instead of him. I still want you to fuck me!"
He stood only a few feet from her, his chest heaving, his arms hanging loose at his sides, his naked body trembling from the murderous act he had just finished.
Laura let her eyes fall to his long, promising prick.
"There's nothing to stop us now," she said, icily. "We have the whole yacht to ourselves. No Beverly and no Claude. We can worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Fuck me, Eduardo. Crawl between my legs and FUCK ME!!"
He hesitated only a moment, then nodded.
"Si, gringa. Eduardo fuck you. He fuck you good!"
She watched as he stooped to pick up the tickler. Already his prick was growing stiff as stone between his legs, and she felt a little greedy thrust of desire winnow up her cunt as he adjusted the brutal tickler around the large head of his meat.
As he came savagely toward her, she lifted the trough of her loins to meet him-to grab the final prize from her sister's whoring fingers.
Chapter EIGHTEEN
Beverly glanced at the papers the Mexican police captain showed her. They had been carefully typed in English, and awaited her signature. When she had read them all, she took up a pen and signed.
"That is all, Senora Conner," he said, politely. "Unless you care to see the remains of your late husband and your sister."
Beverly's eyes remained impassive behind the dark glasses. "No, I don't think that will be necessary, Captain. But I would like to see the boy."
The captain's eyebrows went up slightly. "But, Senora, we are holding him for murder."
"I know that."
"And you surely must understand that he is responsible for a most horrible act of indecency against your own dead sister. You yourself were a witness to these things."
"Yes, it was terrible. But he seemed such a nice boy-and since the dead are beyond being hurt, Captain, I may as well confess that my sister was, well, not a moral woman. I'm sure she tempted that young man into performing sexual intercourse, and various other perversions . . ."
The dignified official seemed suddenly shy in front of the American woman's bold talk. "You may be right about that, Senora. But it is no excuse for strangling a woman-and certainly no excuse for the murder of your husband."
"Yes-yes, you're right, of course. My poor Claude. We were only married last month in California-in secret. Not even my sister knew about it."
The captain looked puzzled for a moment. "Your sister would have thought it strange," he mused.
"Thought what strange?"
"That you would keep such a happy event a secret."
Beverly did not allow herself the smile she felt coming to her lips.
"My husband was a strange man, Captain. A bit eccentric, but rich enough to get away with it."
The captain nodded. "We are no strangers to wealthy tourists in Acapulco, Senora. Now, about the boy-I think it would be unwise for you to see him. He is quite mad, according to my report. He is being kept in his cell like an animal. He would probably only insult you if you tried to see him, to comfort him."
"In that case, I'll never see him. I'm leaving this afternoon for the States."
The captain gave a slow shrug of his shoulders. "I wish you a pleasant trip back on your yacht-as pleasant as is possible under the circumstances. And if there is any service I may offer in regard to your husband's affairs-or perhaps with the crew of the yacht-"
"That will not be necessary, Captain. My husband had a very good crew. I have kept them all in my employ."
"Then I will say good-bye, Senora-hasta la vista."
"Good-bye, Captain."
Downstairs, the rented limousine was waiting for her at the curb. When she stepped inside, Eduardo smiled at her.
"The driver speaks no English, my darling Beverly. We are free to talk."
"Good."
As the car pulled away to take them to the red launch, Beverly allowed herself the luxury of a small grin.
"Nobody questioned anything, Eduardo. The boy on the sailboat-Jose-is being held for the double murder."