The realm of sexual expression has remained one of controversy for many centuries, and undoubtedly will remain so for many more. There is no answer for the individual considering any particular form of sexual outlet, except that he must be true to himself. The mature individual who has achieved this sort of self-honesty and completeness will be little harmed or affected by the illogical or irrational opinions of others.
In this exceptionally well written novel the author has cleverly woven this truth like an unseen thread throughout the entire work. Had the characters faced up to their unusual desires instead of trying to repress them, much of the anguish they suffered would logically have been avoided.
The author does not claim this concept of opinion to be solely his own, nor a revolutionary thought. To the contrary, it has been expressed by the wisest thinkers through the ages. "This above all: to thine own self be true, " was Shakespeare's way of saying the same thing; but it comes to us from still an earlier source, and one which not even the most rigid moralist can contest . . . "Happy is he that condemneth not himself for that which he alloweth himself. But he that doubteth is damned if he eat." Those who deny others sexual pleasures by quoting the Scriptures would be well advised to consider this quote from Romans.
No doubt this era could be called the age of sexual enlightenment. That this ultimately will be for the benefit of all mankind is obvious merely by looking at the past and previous ages of enlightenment. But even a brief glance backwards will also reveal that, in such times, honored traditions and concepts were re-examined, and many times discarded. What was considered fact was found to be fancy. In short, the excuse that "it isn't done" or "it's shameful" will no longer suffice in denying man a specific form of pleasure.
The author has published many volumes of contemporary fiction with us. We offer no further comment, except our extreme pleasure in presenting this timely work. We now suggest that you read it and draw your own conclusions. A work of art, no matter how contemporary, should speak for itself.
-The Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Ocean fog slithered in long graceful fingers over the top boughs of the redwood trees, their haughty stature shrouded by the translucent veil of misty air that wafted in, announced only by nature's time clock, from the California coast line. Nearer the ground, where the air still hung heavy with morning mist dotting manzantia berries with jewels of red, blue jays cackled and hungry squirrels chattered noisily in victory chants for the sunshine dueling with the fog, creating patchwork of sun-conquered spots of hallowed verdant ground. Morning in the mountains . . .
Inside the one-story rustic summer cabin nestling on the side of the mountain, the death-rattle of rusty pipes coming to life, reborn once more by unexpected use, sluiced the ethereal silence, and a gravel-grey metal coffee pot gushed heavily to the brim with spring water fresh from the melted spring snows. Dottie Thompson, hunched against the cold morning air, clutched her peach-colored fleecy robe tightly around her lithe young body, crossed her arms over her firm young breasts, hugging her own shivering body to warmth. She sat on the wooden bench, hand hewn by some forgotten carpenter - maybe the same man who built the cabin, perhaps for his family, long, long ago when country living was a necessity - and waited for the water to boil, staring sleepy-eyed at the swirls of steam slowly rising with an unearthly life from the spout of the coffee pot.
Must be about fifty degrees in here, she shuddered with cold, thinking, and rising to her slippered feet bent over the deep double sink to gaze through the window, squinting against the morning sun, now but a brightening globe of light. Yup, sure enough is, she told herself and lingered there for a moment drinking in the primeval splendor of the forest, its freshness sparkling back at her in smiles as if to say, "you will love it here, my lady, you will love it here."
Had it not been for her husband's ceaseless neglect of late, perhaps those words might have rung true. Dottie squinted again, but not against the sun this time. Tears of misery welled up in her clear blue eyes as she stared unseeing over the mountain. A heavy sigh and her shoulders dropped, releasing some of the pent up, unspoken agony that had lingered there for the past two months - since the time her husband started actively working on his book. As any wife, she beamed with pride when the advance came in the mail marked "Special Delivery"; they'd celebrated with champagne and he'd bought her a dozen red roses. All peaches and cream - then. But when the reality of the task settled on their lives, twisting and changing every aspect, every habit, and every dependency into a tight rope of uncertainty, Aron had suggested they rent a summer cabin for her as an escape from his ponderous work.
"Sure!" she's said at first. "That would be wonderful, darling!" She kissed him long and hard, thankful for the time alone, time when she too, could develop her talents, express and create. So they had made arrangements and promises to each other that no matter what, this summer of separation - except for weekends - would not create a chasm in their marriage. A tactful and diplomatic man, older than she, Aron explained to her the necessity of the self-imposed separation, how his book on the history and techniques of contraception from the earliest civilization to 1975, would involve intensive research and having lived with his professorial temperament for the past five years of marriage, she'd agreed with a nod. Yes, it would be best. That was before she'd found out he'd hired a research assistant - a twenty one year old divorcee, ex-wife of a visiting professor at the university; and if the reports, some admittedly conjured by green-eyed wives, stood unattested, she had to admit, however, that this solitude was teaching her, her likes and dislikes, and she knew what kind of research he was up to. After the initial shock of sleeping alone abated, she was beginning to truly enjoy her freedom.
The boiling water hissed and spit from the swan-neck spout, breaking Dottie's grieving daydream. Yes, she thought, bolstering her spirits, the week end will soon be here and Aron and I will hike in the mountains if he feels up to it, maybe try to find that secret path to the stream where she'd heard everyone went skinny-dipping and no one cared. A warped drawer pulled open and she drew a coffee filter from a box, her gaze lingering long enough to spy a baby spider darting across the raw wood. So much to do, she reflected, plenty to keep my mind off Aron. Have to get this place in order, and that means getting rid of you and your friends, little spider.
Slowly sipping the hot black liquid, her body warmed and her soul did too. Pencil in hand, she drooped over the table and making a list of errands: bird seed for the feeder, Windex, paper towels . . . Two fingers thumped in rhythm as she stared out the window. Maybe some garden seed . . . but no, on reconsideration; that required heavy-duty manual labor and she had neither the tools nor the strength to till the heavy mountain silty soil. But if I had some help, somebody strong and willing who wouldn't charge me a fortune for labor, it would be wonderful picking my own vegetables and drying my own herbs and I could prove to Aron I don't depend on him as he says I do. Again she reminded herself that if Aron was there with her, he'd disapprove of her attempts at self-liberation, labeling them childish and insignificant.
Taking her half-empty cup of coffee with her, she went to the bedroom, a heaven, she sighed, if only Aron were there to share it in the early morning before the sun rose in the sky to stare blindingly through the many latched windows that swung open to emit the cooling air. She'd bought a brass bed at one of the local auctions and it glimmered in the sun light as if alive. With one swoop of the arm, she pulled the patchwork quilt over the thick, still warm mattress that she shared with her cat, and plumped up the pillows with a joyful, carefree motion.
With little consideration, from a growing habit perhaps, she drew a pair of Levis from the bottom drawer of the antique dresser, grateful that she lived in the country where clothing was selected for function rather than impression and, with goose bumps scaling her body, she endured the cold before a plaid blouse and sweater clothed her nakedness. A gold hoop earring slipped easily through each pierced ear accentuating her honey blonde wealth of hair that hung loosely down her back. Just to try a different style, to become another, happier Dottie Thompson, she yanked her hair straight back from her face, twisting it into a rope before securing it with a tortoise shell barren. There! Her hands hung loosely at her sides as she stepped back two paces anxious to study the new image. Experimentally, she pulled two strands of hair from behind her ear, and with her manicure scissors she whisked them shorter, wetting her finger to curl them into flirtatious little spit curls that tickled the high cheek bones of her flawless complexion. With a grin of approval she stared unbelieving. She looked eighteen again - well, maybe twenty one.
Stepping close then to lean over the feminine litter of her dresser top, she smiled at the reflection greeting her. Living in the country had been good for her. None of the strain she'd been feeling seemed to show on the face of the woman reflected in the glass. Why, her expression was as clear and untroubled as that of a child - blue eyes, round and innocent, in a sweet pixy's face. She had always had a little girl's face, and that, combined with her five foot four stature, had made her the butt of teasing from the youngsters she had grown up with. But no more. She'd married young, at twenty years, and for some unexplainable reason, in those five years her body had blossomed into that of a voluptuous woman. And staring back at her image, she felt truly lovely and desirable.
Yes, she mused, as she stared at her reflection, she certainly did not look like a child anymore. Even in her faded Levis and heavy sweater, her figure looked perfect, proud, full breasts above an impossibly tiny waist that sloped faultlessly into trim, but well-rounded hips and buttocks.
One last gaze at the shiny youthful face and she slammed the kitchen door shut not bothering to lock it; there was no need in the mountains for such privacy, for on that mile long road that rutted and twisted down the mountain side, only three houses marred the verdant landscape.
Her size five tennis shoe firmly jarred against the clutch, she coasted down the impassible dirt road, clouds of dust billowing in the fresh crisp air darkening the red raspberry bushes hanging in gasping clutters, heavy with the uncalled for litter of human intrusion that dirtied their virgin leaves. Around the curve . . . she slowed waiting with a smile on her face for the lazy German shepherd to lift his head and climb somnambulantly to his feet only to plunk down in the shade of a crab apple tree. Barely moving then, she studied the small house nestled in a man-planted forest of fruit trees, looking for any sign of life. A matronly-looking woman, apron accentuating her trim countryish figure emerged from the side of the house, a wash basket piled high with wet heavy clothes making her stoop with the burden of its weight.
I almost feel embarrassed, thought Dottie. I've been here for three weeks and I haven't even tried to meet my neighbors yet. This is as good a chance as any she reasoned, and braked her Volkswagen to a halt, feet away from the sleeping dog who didn't even bother to raise his head or bark in warning of this intruder.
Dottie waved a tiny hand in friendly acquaintance, calling out her welcome: "Hello, I'm your neighbor. Live up the hill a ways," she said, pointing to the snake-like path nearly invisible now, hidden by the unsettled dust of her traveled path.
The woman picked another clothespin out of the apron pocket and, securing the corner of a bleached white sheet, paused, wiping her hands on her apron that bulged with its load of clothespins making her otherwise trim figure look as if she were eight months pregnant. She extended a hand, smiling. "I'm so glad you stopped. I've seen your little VW cuttin' up and down this road and I said to Bill, that's my husband ..." she added in an aside with a meaningless tilt of her head, "... I've just got to climb that hill and make friends with our neighbors. Just don't seem right for people to stay so far away from each other when there's so few of us."
Suddenly Dottie found herself at a loss for words, wondering why she had stopped knowing full well she had no message to convey, but realizing after a seconds pause that loneliness was her unadmitted reason. After listening to the radio and watching a blurry television screen every night it felt good to hear another's voice, especially a woman's. She flushed then, realizing she hadn't introduced herself.
"I'm Dottie. Dottie Thompson and I'm living here for the summer and if I'm brave enough, part of the autumn."
The tall woman gestured her toward the screen door of the house and she followed the other's footsteps in slow, measured paces. "My name is Dora Simpson," she announced over her shoulder at the same time untying the heavy equipped apron with long graceful, well-manicured fingers, an observation which Dottie soaked in with surprise. Country women were supposed to be careless about such things.
They stepped over a mother cat nursing three baby kittens lazily stretched out on the bottom step. "Scuze the mess," Dora tittered with a friendly woman-to-woman look in her clear brown eyes, "but country people get so used to bein' outdoors they sometimes forget the inside needs tendin' too."
"Oh, don't worry about that," chimed Dottie, relieved to know there existed a common thread of communication here, "you should see my place. It's a dump! I don't think anybody's cleaned it for years. It took me a whole day just to clean the kitchen and get rid of the bugs."
Dora turned the burner on high and motioned for her neighbor to have a seat at the kitchen table where a plate of homemade caramel rolls, straight out of Betty Crocker, decorated the red and white checked table cloth decorated with a spray of fleshy cut spring flowers.
Pot holder in hand, Dora poured a cup of black coffee and set both the cup and the pot on the table. "So you're living in the old Homer's place?" She rested her head in the upturned palm of her hand, elbow on the table. Dottie winced at the first sip; far too hot yet, so she blew over the steaming liquid watching the ripples gently splash against the rim of the cup.
"That's right." She rested the cup in the saucer and gazed up into Dora's face, a soft feminine, yet not motherly face that seemed to say, "I'm glad you're here; I get damned lonely living here with nothing but cats and dogs and a grumpy husband." Her chestnut brown hair with just a hint of red, pulled straight back from her head and tied with a blue ribbon at the nape of her neck accentuated her high cheek bones and straight perfect nose with slanted nostrils. She wore little makeup, Dottie noticed, yet did not need it, so clear and vibrant was her complexion. In other clothing and perhaps with just a bit of the right makeup Dottie guessed this woman would be a knockout . . . with her hair hanging loosely and some gold earrings similar to her own. An earthy, solid quality to her - maybe her cheek bones and brown eyes - hinted at a few Indian or Mexican genes in her blood.
"My husband is still living in the city." She tried the coffee again, cutting her sentence short with a loud slurp that embarrassed her. Dora noticed this and with a half-smile on her lips, looked the other way.
"... He's working on a project and we thought it best that he work in the city at home and I stay in the country ''til it's finished." Dora's dark eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to tell Dottie her explanation somehow reeked of nonsense and the young blonde quickly explained the situation in full, starting from the book project and ending with their decision - "mutually agreed," she added with a nod of quiet acquiescence, then quickly put the subject to rest.
They talked on and on, and they seemed to share a warm glow of friendship that accompanies spontaneous communication. After another cup of coffee and a sweet roll the subject turned to husbands, living in the country and the seemingly small, things in life that either put a smile on your face or a tear in your eye.
It was obvious to Dottie that Dora was not completely happy, perhaps lonely and a bit frustrated like herself, and she promised herself that she would make a habit of stopping by twice a week to help fill the gap in both their lives.
Dora walked her to the car just in time to hear the roar of a motorcycle grinding its gears up the rutted mountain road.
"Bikers," added Dora, appending her farewell. "Just boys but they do cause trouble - especially with my husband." Dottie thought she spied a smile on Dora's face, but she ignored it.
The door of her blue Volkswagen shut with an empty thud and she turned on the motor, waving good- bye to Dora who stood under the apple tree, arms crossing her full breasts.
CHAPTER TWO
One more bend and three more pot-holes and the blue Volkswagen was half-way to the country road that led to the coastal town where the only supply depot within miles was her destination. Dottie realized that talking about Aron and their new living arrangement had undammed the pool of suspicion and loneliness that had plagued her since last weekend when she'd called to say she couldn't make it, that chapter eight was nearly finished, researched and proof-read, but not quite . . .
No, she promised herself, she wouldn't think about him.
Automatically, and without thought, she stopped at the junction of Country Trunk M, the narrow road that led to the coastal highway connecting Elm Ridge with the rest of the world. She braked the car and walked across to the wooded clump of manzanita bushes where a line of battered and scratched mailboxes sat lined up like birds on a telephone wire. Second from the end ... it was becoming a habit. A churning sensation in her stomach startled her for a moment, blaming it on the two cups of black coffee she drank on an empty stomach; but had she been more honest with herself, she would have admitted the anticipation of a letter from Aron as the true cause of her nervousness.
With a sense of relief, she closed the metal box shut: ten-past-ten; it was too early for the mailman. Well, okay, she thought; it's such a beautiful morning I think I'll go for a walk and wait for the mailman, and with the anticipation of a teenager waiting for her boyfriend to pick her up for her first dance, she gingerly climbed the wooden gate leading to the creek below. It was a heaven of tranquility - she'd hiked down there several times before.
On the creek bank path shrouded with wild lilacs heavy with blossoms, she picked her way along until a noise in the bushes, a low moan, made Dottie jump and stop, her hand to her mouth. It sounded like . . . she listened again . . . like a moan, like somebody was hurt. The small figure stood still, still and silent as the hawk watching her from the lofty bough of a pine tree on the other side of the creek bank.
She knew that several high school and even grade school children fished and played; no cause for worry, she assured herself and continued 'til she got to the small clearing, a crevice between a rock and a tree and slowly parted the bushes and looked in. She gazed down on a little fairyland-like clearing, with the sound of water flowing nearby with rocks forming walls and a thick carpet of grass and moss on the ground. The trees completely hid it from view except for where Dottie was looking.
She held her breath, for in the shadows, she could see figures moving although she couldn't make anything out. There was a quiet throaty laugh and one figure broke away from the other and emerged into the sunlight, followed by another figure. Dottie gasped. It was a young boy and girl, naked and embracing! She looked at the girl's figure as she laughingly pulled away. She was tan and young and her breasts jiggled as she pulled away. The young man seized her and Dottie saw his lean naked young body with is cock rigidly erect, standing up against his stomach. With a lunge, they fell to the soft earth, the man kissing her mouth with his mouth wide open and the girl writhing half under him as one free hand massaged her breasts, seeking great handfuls and pinching the girl's willing flesh.
Stunned, Dottie watched as still another form came from the side of the little dell. Another young man, older looking with long shaggy hair, appeared. He stood watching the two figures at his feet while his hand stroked his own ramrod hard prick in a slow and tantalizing manner. Opening her eyes, the girl on the ground saw the figure standing over them.
Wantonly, lewdly, freely, she spread her legs, revealing her sparsely covered young pubic area. The boy fell to his knees then lay flat on the grass, his head buried in the girl's rotating groin. The figures writhed on the grass before Dottie's astounded eyes, the two boys with the girl.
Gathering her senses and realizing the carnal scene below was real, Dottie jumped back only to fall over an unseen rock half buried in the ground. Stumbling to her feet, unbelieving, she could do nothing but gape at the scene below. It was unbelievable to her. Never, in her wildest dreams did she think a thing like this went on. She watched, wanting to yell out, to stop them in some way. Yet, she couldn't move. It was too unbelievable, too insane, too embarrassing for her to be able to do anything but watch with wide open eyes.
The boy on top rolled off and lay in the grass, stroking his cock, watching the other two. The girl let her hands slide down her belly and tangle themselves in the hair of the young boy who was greedily licking and sucking her cunt. The girl moaned, her head held back in abandon as she spread her legs still wider, her knees doubled up and crushing her breasts as she desperately tried to spread her legs wider and allow the poker-hot tongue to probe deeper into her cunt. "Oooohhh," she moaned. "Do it, lick it, oh, do it harder, don't ever stop licking my cunt, I love it!" the girl exclaimed in a rush as her buttocks began pumping a regular deep thrust up to the boy's hungry mouth. "Please, don't stop, I love it so!" she squealed, gritting her teeth.
Her head flailed around in sexual ecstasy and she saw the boy lying beside her. One hand flew out and began stroking his cock. The older boy edged closer and Dottie found her breath coming fast as she saw the girl squirm into position, her red mouth open, her tongue greedily licking the hard rounded head of the cock she held in her hand.
The boy thrust his hips forward and the girl slowly took the full length of his hardened male flesh in her mouth. Dottie could see her lips lock tightly around the thick cock, could see the girl sucking, squeezing her lips tight then relaxing just a second before squeezing again and again. Slowly, her hips now moving in time with the boy sucking at the clitoris in her cunt, she began sucking the prick in and out of her mouth. Slowly, tantalizingly, she did it, her whole body moving in a lewd, lascivious manner as she sucked the prick out of her mouth the full length, clear down to the bulging head then slowly back into her mouth again.
The boy smiled down at her sucking his cock and slowly began to pump with his hips, reaching down at the same time and slowly massaged her breasts with his hands, catching her tight nipples between his fingers.
Dottie's mind reeled. She actually felt dizzy, as if she was going to faint. She shifted her position to try to put a hand to her eyes. The scene was the most erotic thing Dottie had ever seen and she couldn't, no matter what, admit to herself that she was aroused.
And yet she was aroused. Never, back in San Francisco, even with her husband had she felt this way. It was horrible, it was degrading, it was perverted and nothing but raw animal lust; and yet, in spite of her revulsion, it was fascinating. Some feeling, some little guilty feeling, some trickle and delight in a feeling she had always had in the city when she had worked as a volunteer tutor to young boys . . . how she had flirted with them, that delicious excitement that made her want to tease boys and prolong the teasing, was now coursing through her body as if on wires. Every nerve in her tingled the same way it used to on those evenings in she and Aron's study when she would look up from a book and see young boys staring at her breasts with a moustache of perspiration on their upper lips. She loved to laugh at their coltish reactions when she accidentally-on-purpose brushed up against them.
And now she was watching a scene that she could never even admit existed. Slowly, down below them, so near yet so unaware that they were being watched as the trio increased their tempo, writhing slowly across the grass nearer and nearer to her as Dottie's breathing came harder and faster and she could feel her body breaking out in a fine sweat. Her nipples strained against her shirt as she watched the girl sucking, her lips compressed tightly around the young pulsating cock in her mouth, her eyes closed. Dottie unconsciously began to imitate her rhythmic pulsations, pushing back with her buttocks in lewd little circles of voyeuristic pleasure.
God, she told herself, it was evil, it was sinful, but it was wicked and exciting. The thought rushed through her brain: if only once she could do such a thing, do it with a young . . . She caught her breath and shut her eyes. How could she think such a thing! How could she allow herself to think such a wicked thing.
A low moan rising into an animal sound Dottie had never heard before, stopped her and she opened unwilling eyes to look. She fell forward again, wedged deeper between the rocks, her buttocks only spread wider. In an excited helplessness Dottie could feel the lips of her cunt swelling and straining achingly against the band of her panties. Her cunt felt warm and moist and spreading open as her clitoris swelled. A lewd excitement, a desire to give in to the most wanton and sexual thoughts, flooded over her, warming her body and making her nerves tingle as if she had taken some powerful drug.
Below her, the boy with his prick in the girl's mouth, was moaning, his body writhing faster and faster, Dottie watched, her eyes glazed as the boy went wild, fucking the girl in the mouth now with all his might, tossing her head around as the girl sucked harder, her hands reaching for the boy's driving buttocks and pulling him forward with each stroke, deeper in her throat as she sucked with all her strength. With a long moaning sound, the boy's body went rigid then shook in violent spasms as he suddenly ejaculated like a young bull in the girl's desperately sucking mouth. Dottie watched as the girl's cheeks and neck bulged as the boy filled her gullet with hot cum again and again and the girl swallowed hungrily each time.
The boy sucking on the girl's voraciously gyrating cunt crawled up and on top of the girl, driving his prick home into her waiting cunt and at the same time the girl let the spent cock slide slowly out of her tight lips, still sucking, strands of cum like liquid rubber between her lips and the cock as the boy moaned and rolled over. The girl turned all her attention to the boy wrapping her legs and arms around his body and taking his hardened cock fucking into her with delighted groans, thrusting her own hips up to meet his.
Dottie wanted to scream out. Never had she felt so hot or so lewd as she was this minute. Slowly, she screwed her buttocks up and wiggled her upturned loins hard against the tree trunk in back of her. With a low moan she relaxed her buttocks and anus, let it spread ever so slightly open. Her excitement and lewdness grew and she found herself smiling, smirking, as she rubbed her hands over the pubic mound of her Levi's. She pressed harder against the tree, pretending it was that young stud male, sending a hot thrill of pleasure up her spine and causing her cunt to moisten even more, staining the band of her panties. A hand slipped under the now open zipper and slithered under the elastic band of her bikini panties that were forced up into her cuntal slit, pressing harder against her clitoris and exciting her more; the lips of her cunt with soft fine pubic hair, bursting free of the narrowing and on either side. God, how she wanted a man ... a boy. . .
From the angle she was watching, she could see the girl's split buttocks, and the boy's hard cock fucking in and out of her cunt in a frenzied way; disappearing from sight only to appear again as they fucked and the girl moaned and cried, "Oh yes, fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck me hard while Bob watches."
Yes, fuck her, Dottie wanted to scream, fuck her and someone fuck me too! She closed her eyes for a second and tried to catch her breath as her free hand slipped inside her blouse and her fingers found her hardening nipples and teasingly began to caress them. The thought, the wonderful wild thought of a young, not yet mature boy doing obscene sexual things to her danced in her mind like an insane flame. Christ, how she wished one of the boys would see her so desperately clinging to that edge of wanton insanity, grinding her buttocks into the tree behind her.
Watching the other couple fucking furiously and seeing the boy getting aroused again and beginning to stroke his cock hard and huge again, Dottie let herself get to the point of madness before sluicing two then three fingers into her wetly seeping pussy. She stroked her pussy lips making them swell even more, then removing her fingers from her cuntal opening and tweaking her clitoris with wracking sobs emanating from her throat. Dottie's groan of frustration and lewdness was covered by the roar of the boy below as his back suddenly arched and he came, the girl crying, "No, wait for me, no!" and gripping the boy harder and pumping her buttocks up furiously at his spewing cock.
Now in a lewd dream world, mindless of everything but the fact she wanted a tender young boy to do the things to her that her own fingers were doing, she watched as the boy in front of her rolled off the girl. The girl scrambled to her knees and, with one hand feeling for his cock, she slowly crouched, his renewed hardness sliding readily up into her sperm-lubricated cunt.
Dottie watched as he began pumping up and down and Bob lay spread-eagle on the grass, his eyes closed. Behind the young girl and the boy, far, perhaps from the other side of the creek, they all heard a loud voice booming threateningly as someone crashed through the bushes. "Goddamn you kids, get the hell off my land or I'll shoot. I told ya before I didn't wan' no high school bikers on my mountain!"
A shotgun ran over their heads, searing the still skies - and three naked bodies ran for the protection of a glen, not even bothering with their clothes that lay scattered over the creek bank in lewd piles of lust.
With the agility of a fifteen-year-old, Dottie jumped the fence and found her way to her car, still running, motor on. She turned off the purring engine, legs stretched out laxly in front of her, finished zipping up her Levi's and, adjusting the mirror, picked the bark shavings from her honey hair.
CHAPTER THREE
"Hello, is this Bob Welsh?" asked Dottie in her soft, little-girl voice.
"Yes it is," a teenager's voice cracked on the other end of the phone.
"My name is Dottie Thompson. I found your want ad on the bulletin board at Dennison's saying you'd be interested in doing yard work."
"Yeah." He droned in a monotone voice typical of adolescence.
She paused for a moment, staring out the window over the pink sky, the evening fog returning once more to claim its place among the nighttime silhouettes darkening the valley below. "Uh," she brought herself back to reality with a jolt. "Sorry, I was just looking for something," she lied with a childish giggle, clutching the phone still tighter in her tiny hand. "I have a garden I need tilled and I'm wondering if you would be interested."
"Sure. How much you pay?"
"Let's discuss that when you see what's to be done," she suggested, making her soft voice even softer for a reason she could not explain. "Could you stop by tomorrow . . . say around four o'clock? Or would that interfere with your school work?"
He laughed hoarsely. "I'm not one for schoolin' . . . tell me where you live."
"In the old Homer's place up on the mountain road off Country Trunk M."
"See ya tomorrow. What you say your name was, lady?"
"Dottie. I live alone." She spoke those words slowly, softly and then hung up.
Thursday passed slowly, minutes ticking by like two ships lulled in the windless, seaweed clutches of the Sargasso Sea. Silliness overcame her in waves of giggles and she experimented with her hair, each time studying her profile in the mirror. Should she wear it up or down? The blue ribbon or the pink one? Was the tie-died tee shirt too revealing? Why this mood had overcome her, she did not associate, but a vague tingling in her belly told her it might have something to do with what happened yesterday down by the creek.
Five to four and the unmistakable roar of a motorcycle grinding its gears up the eroded mountain road told her young Bob Welsh was on his way ... or was it one of those awful bikers Dora had warned her about?
Quickly tying a ribbon around each perk pigtail growing like sprouts from her pixy face, she heard the din grind to a halt, then die, outside her door. Straightening her posture so that her braless breasts poked out proudly from her tight tee-shirt, she answered the knock on the door, followed by heavy boots pacing back and forth on the wooden porch.
"Hello ..." she began. Her beaming smile faded into a wan grimace of a woman met with her consciousness.
"Dottie?" he asked, towering above her through the mesh screen separating their bodies.
She gulped and nodded her head. How could this be? My God how humiliating! She stared again, just to make sure. No doubt about it ... it was Bob, Bob Welsh, the same Bob she'd seen down on the creek bank yesterday. That same young hard body so ripe and virile that had fucked the girl in the mouth, then stroked back to life to fuck her in the cunt . . . Oh, my God!
"Come . . . come in," she faltered, holding the screen door open.
Hands thrust deep in his Levi pockets, and her gaze started at his cowboy booted feet nervously shuffling right then left, followed up to slim hips where a most obvious bulge in his Levi's told her she wasn't the only one with tingles up her spine. His work shirt was open nearly to the waist revealing a forest of pubescent fuzz on a deeply tanned chest. Her eyes halted there, too embarrassed to travel the full route to his face, smiling unabashedly down at her.
There in the last of the day's sunlight that filtered through the window he reminded her somewhat of the young men she had dated before she met Aron. Against her parents advice, she'd willfully eloped with Aron, fifteen years her elder and now, for the first time she was beginning to realize the immensity of that error. Not even admitting it to herself, she had already begun to hope Bob might feel the same way her boyfriends had felt - that she was beautiful and desirable, yet someone to be worshipped and respected.
"Nice place ya got here, Dottie." He looked around and scratched his head. "Gotta admit when I first seen ya I thought maybe you was Dottie's daughter. How old are you? . . . God you don't look any older than Margie, my girlfriend . . . she's eighteen."
She grinned impishly, flailing her head provocatively so that her pigtails swayed softly from side to side. "I'm a little older than that," she giggled. And then abruptly - nervously: "Come outside and I'll show you what has to be done, then we can settle on a fee." She motioned for him to follow, straightening her posture again so that her buttocks wiggled salaciously in her skin-tight Levi's. "This is the garden ... or was the garden should I say," she began with a twitter of her mascara-darkened eyelashes with just a hint of blue eye shadow clouding her lids. Gesturing with her hands, she turned her head, expecting a nod, a groan or some response. Instead he just stared at her.
"You told me on the phone you live alone. Ain't you scared livin' up here all by yerself. You got a husband?"
She cleared her throat. "Yes, I do have a husband and he's living in the city. This is just a summer time home for me. We've made arrangements," she said softly, wetting her pouty lips with a slow salaciously slithering tongue that just peeked through her full red lips. Her proud breasts with the hardened berry-like nipples created circles of their own through her tie-died tee-shirt. Dottie turned her attention to the garden once more, hand resting on a fence post, she flashed a perfect profile, cameo-like as she gazed over the valley below. "I love it here," she began, pointing to a squirrel who'd stolen an apple core from her compost heap and struggled up the rough bark of a tall tree with his precious treasure.
"Me too, Dottie. Real romantic like."
"Now how much would you like for this job?" She enunciated carefully so that her dimples deepened with the o's and w's. A practiced gesture, learned through hours staring at a mirror.
He looked down at her for a long time, a deep warmth smoldering in his brown eyes. Then, as he gently pulled her closer to him, he asked in reply: "Maybe we can work out some other arrangements, you think? I mean you bein' alone and all ... " Suddenly, he gathered her into his strong fifteen year old arms, her warm flesh pressing tightly against his, and kissed her with fury, flattening and spreading her lips open until his tongue jabbed deep into her mouth.
A frightened hollowness came alive in the pit of Dottie's stomach as she realized for the first time just what she wanted, of him - the same thing she'd wanted yesterday and God knows how long before that. She knew that this was wrong, that she had no right to accept this kind of kiss from any man but her husband. Yet, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been kissed so passionately, so fiercely. It was beautiful and virile, expectant and wild. Everything a kiss should be, so unlike her husband's forty year old lifeless nibbles that always left her frustrated. Impulsively, she wondered just what would happen if she decided not to stop him, just to see what would happen. Besides, she was older and more experienced than he and she could call an end to these foolish odysseys any time she chose.
Dottie parted her soft, moist lips to meet his next kiss, wrapping her arms around his broad back and shoulders to draw him even closer to her. Except for the lewd moments yesterday, she'd been left abandoned sexually, having seen her husband only once in the last month, and then he paced the floor all night scratching his head, mulling over theories, of what kind of leaves the women of Tanzania used to brew contraceptive teas or what spell medicine men cast for abortions. She resolved to enjoy these few stolen moments of delicious passion, even though she would soon have to end it and make sure that it would never have to happen again. After all, her curiosity was now satisfied as well as her ego: she was still young-looking and attractive even to young men . . . boys . . . such as Bob Welsh.
Some time later, and she was not certain just how long, she was shaken from the reverie of the moment by the insistent pressure of his fingertips along the delicate line of her throat, his fingers dropping even lower as his hand circled in a seemingly innocent movement that brought him dangerously close to the covered cleavage of her breasts. The closeness of his gentle touch sent sharp electric thrills running through her breasts, centering magically at the distended nipples, and she instinctively pressed forward to thrust the tender, swelling mounds further into his palms.
"Dear God," she moaned, knowing she had to stop him soon before it was too late. Yet, she had never felt anything so exciting as the maddening teasing of his strong young hands that had now moved down to her nipples, pressing and pinching them through the thin cotton material of her tee-shirt until the tiny bud-like tips throbbed in pleasure.
Then, to her surprise and disappointment, he suddenly stopped his manipulations and stepped back away from her, nearly falling over a rusty garden rake in his trembling nervousness. She noticed for the first time that his breathing had become ragged and husky, and when she looked up to see his face, she could tell that he was making a. concentrated effort to bring his overwrought emotions back under control. Thank God, he had been able to hold himself in check, she thought gratefully, as she quickly straightened her clothing which had become slightly disheveled in the ardent embrace of youth.
"Don't you think you should show me where the garden tools are kept?" she suddenly heard him ask in a voice that was still a little breathless and harsh with passion.
"Y-yes ... all right ..." she murmured, trying desperately to ignore the tingling sensation that was still burning deep in her loins and in the exquisitely throbbing tips of her breasts. Yes, yes, she thought, let's do anything, except don't touch me again or I'll never be able to stop. She turned, heading for the house, down the dirt path.
Ahead of him now, she heard panting and then strong arms enfolded her lithe body. She could feel Bob's prick again under his clothing rubbing against her buttocks. It felt good, it felt evil, it felt delicious. She stood stock still, knowing she should run . . . but didn't. Bob spun her around his groin against hers and then slowly ran his wet tongue in her ear, bathing it in hot swirls.
Dottie shivered all over. Aron had never been like this. Aron usually pleaded for her to go to bed with him and then revealed his flabby and aging naked figure. He needed exercise badly; he spent too much time with his nose in books. The thought and sight had always frightened her a little, seeing herself as an aging woman, behaving the same lifeless way. Bob was young and slim and hard, and more than anything, he was young! "D . . . don't do that," she whispered.
"You're a great cock teaser," Bob whispered in her ear. "I'd like to fuck your brains out!"
Dottie almost fainted, and she leaned up against something hard and supportive. Her body sagged against the fence post, her knees feeling light as balloons. Yes! Yes, she would like that! It was insane, it was evil, it was not something she should ever think of, let alone do, but it was exciting! "Oh," she sighed, "I feel funny."
With a gentleness that amazed her, Bob helped her down to the path to the house and through the kitchen to the living room where he helped her down onto the couch where she sprawled limply and helplessly before him.
She looked up at Bob, standing over her with smoky, half-closed eyes. This couldn't be happening to her! Aron had done nothing to excite her for the last year, and the few sexually satisfying moments she'd had with him had made Dottie think herself frigid or only mildly interested in sex. Now she felt like a hungry female animal; now she felt her body tingling alive with a million nerve ends all crying for satisfaction.
Above her, Bob was swiftly undressing. "I had you figured from the first when I saw you hiding down there in the bushes watching us yesterday. Then when you called and told me where you lived, I knew I had you pegged." He stood above her, straddling her body, Dottie looking up in amazement at the size of the boyish cock and testicles. He looked so firm, so filled with vitality. "But you kept flirting so now here it is."
Dottie tried to rise on her elbows, but Bob was on top of her with all his weight and hot body. She fell back and let out a moan. She teetered on the edge of giving in completely. She could barely resist as he fumbled then tore at her clothing, ripping the front of her tee-shirt in one jerk, and while her hands fluttered, trying to keep her shirt together, his hand tore at her Levi zipper, one strong pull and they were at her knees.
Her head swimming, unable to rise against his weight, she felt him pulling her Levi's down, and she tried to kick her legs, only succeeding in spreading them and allowing him to get a knee between her thighs. With a grunt, he tore the Levi's away and flung it across the room. "No, Bob," she panted. "This isn't right."
Bob raised her head with both hands and kissed her on the mouth, his own mouth wide open and his tongue probing her sealed lips and teeth. She resisted as long as she could, but then Bob struck a finger in her ear and licked her lips. This was not a kiss of tenderness of love, this was an open invitation to lust! She felt her lips parting, forced back, and then her mouth opened and Bob's tongue shot in and wormed around hungrily like some wanton animal, and Dottie found her body responding, equally abandoned, her tongue burrowing into his fresh young mouth.
Finally, allowing her to catch her breath, Bob stopped kissing her, and his fingers toyed with the elastic waistband of her panties. He moved his head to whisper in her ear. "If I had a party and made you strip, I'd be sure you wore a pair of bikinis. I'll bet you'd like getting fucked by a couple guys at once wouldn't ya?" Bob teased in a low, insinuating voice, his fingers rolling her panties down until they were like a pair of bikinis on her. "You could walk in front of my friends and let them look at your body, let them touch you. Touch you like this."
Bob cupped his hand over her cunt, feeling it warm and furry and moist under his touch. Dottie let out a low moan and let him do what he wanted.
He went on. "Then you'd take your bra off, real slow and teasing, and we'd watch you and then you'd stand there with your breasts out, and we'd all watch the nipples get hard. Bet you'd like making love with three of us, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, God, please don't touch me and say those awful things!"
Dottie could only moan again, her eyes shut, his hand now stroking the soft curls of her pussy under the crotch band of her panties, her body involuntarily beginning to move in rhythm to his stroking. "Answer me!" he insisted.
"No, I can't," Dottie breathed, her voice barely audible.
Bob licked her ear again with his tongue then said, "We'd make you scream when we licked and sucked your breasts."
A long low moan escaped Dottie's lips and her body relaxed completely. It didn't seem as if she would ever stop moaning, the salaciousness building like a growing fire down between her limply spread legs.
"And we'd all suck you . . . everywhere," Bob went on, pausing a moment before he asked in a whisper. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
It came out of her in a rush, it came like a mighty unstoppable wave. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that! I'd love it! Oh, God, with those young boys!"
Above her, Bob smirked, taking his hand away and putting his full weight on her, his hot hard cock cushioned on her smooth, white belly.
As if in a dream, Bob's boyish young face swimming before her, the thought flashing in her mind; he hasn't even begun to shave yet! And then her brain whirled and her mouth opened involuntarily and murmured, purred, "You can do anything you like to me, Bob."
Bob seized her shoulders and kissed her on the mouth with Dottie responding instantly. Tearing himself free, he said, "Say you want me to fuck you!"
"I want you to fuck me, fuck me all night!" she groaned huskily, the words setting her afire. Every moral was gone now, every shred of decency. She spread her legs and tilted her cunt up to him. "Fuck me all you want!" she cried hoarsely.
Bob lifted her and reached down and tore off the rest of her tee-shirt; she lay back and shivered and moaned while his tongue snaked across her breasts, flicked at the tips of her hardening breasts, then his whole mouth closed over her nipples and sucked hard while Dottie moaned and writhed. Then his teeth nibbled and pinched each full rounded globe, the nipples responding and sending spasms of pleasure down to Dottie's groin where her cunt swelled and moistened the tight crotch band of her panties.
Bob pulled away and jerked her to a sitting position, her eyes only half-focused and smoky with passion. "First, I want you to suck it."
He stood up and roughly took her head in his hands, his fingers entwining in her hair. "Come on, suck it. Say you want to suck it."
With trembling fingers, Dottie reached forward and took the erect young cock in her hands, and felt its hardness, its ramrod rigidity. Aron had never looked this excited, his body was flabby with age and worry. This cock she fondled in her hands a few inches from her face was beautiful and hard and young. "Say it!" Bob demanded.
"I want to suck it," she crooned. "I want to suck your beautiful prick." The thrill of hearing herself use such language coursed through her body. She really meant it, and the fact that she really meant it was all the more thrilling.
Gently, she pulled it toward her mouth, on her knees now with Bob needlessly forcing her mouth forward. His cock seemed huge and red in front of her passion-dimmed eyes, and she could see he was excited because there was a tiny droplet of cum on the mushroom end of the prick. Slowly, gently, her eyes shining, she pulled his foreskin back, his prick seeming to bulge bigger. It felt so big and fierce and strong in her hands. Slowly, the tip of her tongue licked the droplet off his cock, and Dottie slowly licked her lips and tasted the cum. It tasted good! Perhaps he would cum in her mouth if she did it to him really good!
She couldn't help moaning, her body writhing. This was the way it should always be! She hoped he would cream in her mouth a hundred times! No a thousand times! Forever!
Eagerly, she opened her lips and let his hard, youthful cock slide slowly in, filling her mouth, sliding forever in until she thought she'd gag and choke. Then slowly pulling out to the very tip.
It tasted delicious. Almost moaning, Dottie wished all his young friends were here so that she could suck all their cocks. Slowly, Bob began fucking in and out of her mouth while Dottie alternately sucked and ran her tongue around the hard wet prick. Bob fucked her face faster, gasping, "Suck harder!"
Dottie obeyed, abandoning all reason, sucking as hard as she could, not caring or believing she could hurt him. It was too strong, too big!
With a cry, Bob pulled free and pushed her back on the floor, gasping, "Spread your legs, I want to lick your cunt while you suck my cock!"
Instantly, Dottie obeyed, lying spread-eagled, naked on the floor, as Bob tore her panties free between her thighs, the elastic band still around her waist with wisps of cloth still hanging from it, somehow making Dottie feel more naked and wanton. She watched as Bob kneeled upside down above her, knees to either side of her head, his gorgeous young cock directly in front of her eyes. Eagerly she took it and stroked it in her hands, her tongue reaching for it. Bob leaned down over her body, and Dottie leaped when his tongue found her open cunt, moist and seeping. She let his cock slide into her mouth, her lips tight around it and her hands reaching up and cupping the cheeks, the firm strong cheeks of his buttocks and tried to pull him down into her face as his tongue wormed around inside and probed at the smooth wet walls of her cunt.
She pulled her knees back up as far as she could and spread her legs like she had seen the girl back at the creek do as Bob's insistent tongue found her tiny throbbing clitoris and began licking at it.
She was no longer the same person. All sense of identity or role in life washed away. She was only an animal, an animal in heat, and she hoped that it would never stop, that the young prick she was so avidly sucking and tasting would never grow soft.
With a muffled cry, she felt the onrush of a coming orgasm, and she only sucked harder, her buttocks twisting up and rotating madly around as Bob clung tenaciously, sucking on her clitoris, forcing it into his mouth where his tongue licked. Rockets exploded in Dottie's head as she came, bucking upward, her body held rigid in trembling spasms as she came again and again with Bob hanging on, sucking and licking as though his mouth were glued tightly between her legs.
With a cry she fell back limp, Bob's hard pulsating cock falling from her mouth while her head lolled and her eyes rolled back in her head, and she almost fainted, so complete and utter was her pleasure. Bob scurried around and crawled between her legs, breathing hard, kissing her full on the mouth again, with Dottie tasting her cunt juices while his hand held his cock and guided it into her saliva moistened cunt.
It slipped in slow, spreading and stretching the tight unused walls of her cunt, deliciously, Dottie wincing under the pleasure-pain. It seemed to slide malevolently in forever, filling her up and stretching her cunt beyond belief.
A thrill ran through her. She kicked out in the air and locked her arms and legs around his tense young body and pulled him close. The thrill of gratifying so young a boy, of bringing him to a climax was overpowering. Lewdly - thinking she must look like a slut, was indeed a slut, a whore, willing to fuck forever - she began moving her buttocks in the most provocative manner she knew how. She'd give this boy something he would never forget. She'd give him anything his young body desired!
The youth began fucking her hard, his cock slipping with a wet, sluicing noise in and out of her cunt with Dottie holding tight to his cock, determined never to let it go, holding tight by clenching the soft hair-lined lips of her pussy as hard as she could. Nothing mattered, nothing at all; she could get tired, exhausted, and still she would fuck this boy. She could go insane and still she would fuck him forever if he wanted her to! "
In abandoning self, in giving in to the feeling of only satisfying the boy, Dottie found a freedom she never knew existed. She found herself growing aroused again, growing more lewd and obscene by the second, by each hard stroke of his stiff cock in her hot willing cunt. She felt another hot orgasm coming on her, and it exploded with twice the force of the first one, and she opened her mouth and screamed, "Aaaaagggghhhh!''
Above her, Bob fucked on, his face twisted, increasing the pace as their bodies slid down onto the floor. He didn't care if they fucked out the door and into the grass. This was no teeny-bopper, no giggling little girl he had, this was a full grown woman who had been married, must have fucked with a lot of men, and he was going to fuck her like she'd never been fucked before!
They were both covered with sweat now, despite the cold draft wafting in through the open window; they were breathing hard, their mouths open and Dottie's wet hair matted in fine wisps across her face, her hair no longer in pigtails, but wild strands of hair, liberated and free. They clung together, slipping and sliding in the sweat which somehow made it all the more exciting.
Half-conscious, half-delirious, Dottie felt herself cumming still again, thinking in her mind, I've got a fucking machine on top of me, and it won't stop until I'm dead.
She started to moan, couldn't stop herself from moaning as it rose into a wail like a plane dive-bombing down and heard Bob above her, beginning to moan and felt his cock swelling, straining the walls of her cunt until they both yelled and locked mouths and Dottie felt herself coming for the fourth time, floating in space on red hot lava, every nerve in her on fire as Bob's cock seemed to burst at the head and pump white hot sperm deep into her ravaged cunt again and again until she lost consciousness with Bob's eager young cock still cumming in her cunt like an unleashed fire hose.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Dottie awoke, it was with a dreamy smile that soon vanished, and she sat bolt upright in bed. It was morning and she was in her own bed, her cat at her feet digging his claws, eyes closed, into the colorful patchwork coverlet. She put her hands to her face and uttered a low moan.
She stumbled out of bed, holding her fleecy robe to her and went forward in the house to the living room. There was her clothing, thrown around on the floor. And there, on the floor, were the telltale spots of sperm. Dottie closed her eyes and moaned again. How could she have ever done such an evil thing? Oh, God? She knew she was not like that!
Stumbling forward, her body aching and her eyes still smudged with sleep, she saw the kitchen door was still open. Bob must have put her to bed and then left. How could she ever face him again? What would people say if they knew she was going to bed with a young boy? How could she ever look another boy in the face? She had not been brought up that manner and hadn't ever thought of such things. But there was no denying last night. He had been right, the half child, barely sixteen had known things about herself that she had never suspected. It was true, her flirting was her true nature! It had to be! She held her hand to her head and hurried back to her bedroom.
She rummaged through her closet and pulled out a sundress; the late morning sun now high in the sky shone mercilessly, its piercing unbending fingers of light streaking through the crystal clear window panes stung her eyes.
She choked down a cup of instant coffee, forcing the drink down and holding her breath and was out the door. The fresh morning air soothed her anguish and in her bare feet she chose to walk the mile long path to the mailbox where maybe a letter from Aron would be waiting.
Aron. The remembrance of her husband stung her heart. How would he feel if he knew she'd made love to a sixteen year-old boy? Tears sprang to her eyes and she bit her lips. Something moved in the raspberry bushes along the wooded path; she jumped in alarm, her hand flew to her mouth as a black and white animal poked his black, wet nose out of the underbrush. A skunk! Oh God, her heart pounded. That's what I deserve, she thought in self-loathing, I'm no better than a skunk for doing what I did. And if he sprays me, it'll be my own fault. I deserve it.
The sun warmed her naked back, its warm hands massaged her aching muscles. Ten toes dug into the loose dirt of the dusty road, smooth and powdery between her toes. Despite herself, Dottie began to laugh. She began to laugh and cry at the same time, choking, her hands to her mouth. This is crazy! How can a sixteen year old body do this to me - a twenty-five year old woman! Then despite her firm resolve to forget the whole mess, her mind wandered off, relishing over the events of the night before, of Bob's hard cock in her mouth. Her tongue peeked out from laxly parted lips and licked salaciously in mocking motions of the night before. She did! She wanted it again . . . and again! She couldn't help it! No! Another part of her berated. You can't: you're a happily married woman; this is ridiculous. You're getting senile and old. You're just afraid of getting old and that's why you're clinging to youth.
"Hello there!" called a woman's voice from behind the grape vine covered fence of the Simpson's. A chestnut colored head peeked up.
"Why, hello Dora," stammered Dottie, lost in her daydreams. Her face flushed crimson for a second. Was it embarrassment I feel? Shoes still in hand she gingerly tip-toed over to the fence and peeked over. Dora pulled at the crab grass choking the tiny green lines of vegetables barely poking out of the aromatic earth.
"Jest pullin' a few weeds," smiled the woman. Then standing erect, her hand on the small of her back to ease the discomfort of the task, said, "I got kinda worried about you late yesterday. Saw that Welsh kid roarin' up toward your house on his motorcycle and then he didn't come back for a long time. Thought maybe I shoulda gone up there and checked up on you. That's why the other couple that used to live there moved up - we heard there was a case of rape up there, but then you can't always go by what people say ..."
"Uh, no, I didn't see anybody, Dora." She flushed again and transferred her shoes to the other hand, a nervous gesture. Anything to ease the growing tightness that was gradually screwing her body to the ground. "Well," she stammered, "I better get on down the road. I'm waiting for a letter from my husband." She turned her head and headed on down the road, walking faster now, her heart thudding in the dirt with each step.
Oh, God! she thought guiltily, why did I have to act so suspiciously? Why didn't I just say I've hired Bob Welsh to cultivate my garden? . . .
With a gasp of surprise she tore open the letter from Aron. The first two paragraphs were nothing but a synopsis of his book, but paragraph three drew a smile on her taut lips. He does miss me! He really does love me! Here shoulders relaxed the tightness in her chest as she read each word, savoring the sweetness of his words. She held the letter tightly to her breasts and swirled, her skirt flaring out in dancing ripples, the sun shining down on her golden hair.
An idea hit. Why not spare Aron the time of coming down here? Even if it is only Wednesday it's not more than a three hour drive to the city. I could surprise him. It would please him so much.
It didn't take long for Dottie to climb the mile road back to her cabin. She bathed herself and dressed in slacks and shirt. After scenting herself, she seated herself in the car and started the engine, coasting down the bumpy road fast to the country highway where she turned and sped along, reckless, going back the way she came, heading back home to her husband.
She amazed herself with the strength and stamina she had. She was so calm it was frightening. Despite her lack of sleep and food - not to mention the brutal rape she'd been subjected to last night. For that's what it was, wasn't it? Hadn't he forced her to kiss him, then made her suck his thing, and finally sticking it in her as hard as he could 'til she screamed . . . wasn't that how it happened? Aron would have to know about it. He must be told.
She drove for two hours and then stopped at a way side to take a short nap. She could feel nothing when she awoke and forced herself to concentrate on driving with a cold kind of determination. Above all, she could not let herself think of Bob or anything that had happened to her, anymore.
She reached the freeway outside the city at three o'clock in the afternoon, stopping off at a liquor store to buy a bottle of burgundy. Aron would be so happy to spend an evening alone with his wife. She'd convince him to set his work aside and they'd drink the wine - the whole bottle - and then she would slip into one of her sexy robes, maybe the pink one with the slits up the thighs, and they'd make love all night and she'd teach him a thing or two, things that nasty Bob Welsh had taught her.
En route she went over and over in her mind, tried to think of how she would tell her husband, it all seemed so unreal. How could he believe such a story if she told it to him just as it had happened? Such a thing would sound crazy, and worse, if she was going to be honest, she'd sound like some kind of pathetic pervert. If she were going to be honest, she would have to admit that she unknowingly egged the young boy on until it was too late. By the time she realized what she was doing, it was too late, and . . . she loved every minute of it!
Dottie Thompson turned to the right, watching the street signs flip by in recognizable order, wondering if there were other people who wake up one day and find their whole world changed, their whole life up to that point a lie? There must be others, she told herself, there had to be others!
What was she going to do? Should she move back to the city and pretend none of this had ever happened? Maybe find a doctor who was qualified and was willing to help her get over this perverted desire of hers.
Her house key slipped easily into the latch and with a beaming smile, perhaps out of nervousness, she flung the door open and boomed: "Aron. I'm home. It's me darling!"
No response.
Out of instinct she headed for his study, littered with books open to pages heavily underlined in yellow magic marker, the waste basket was overflowing with crumbled up sheets of paper, and a cold cup of coffee sat untouched next to his calendar.
She feigned a smile and patiently went to her bedroom to change into something more city-ish, combed her hair and strolled from room to room checking to see if the plants had been properly watered. Three weeks in the country's really changed me, she thought. For some reason I feel awfully nervous and fidgety . . . almost claustrophobic. So she opened every window that wasn't painted shut, but it did no good. The tightness wouldn't leave.
She waited and watched the Wednesday night at the movies on television. She waited and opened the bottle of wine. She waited and drank the last dregs of the burgundy. Still no sign of Aron. She went to bed, but did not sleep.
In the morning at ten o'clock she was on the highway heading back, tears springing to her eyes and a half-empty box of Kleenex at her side. It was a glorious morning, not too hot yet and, despite all she had been through, she felt like she was a new person and glad to be alive. For somehow, the guilt she'd been harboring had magically lifted. Why should she feel bad about Bob when her husband was out all night?
She turned on the radio and sang as she headed down the coastal highway, the ocean breeze filtering in through her half-opened window, slapping her in the face with its vibrancy and separate, ethereal life. Oh, it was good to be back in the country.
At the crook in the road she stopped by to say hello to Dora, maybe share a few minutes of conversation before heading home to her little cabin where her cat would be hungry and cranky. It was then that Dora informed her that her husband had chased the young bikers off the mountain road again, shooting high over their heads to scare them off. The news was meaningless to Dottie who shrugged it off with a tilt of the head and climbed back into her car to go home.
' She had just reached the crest of the hill when she spied a silhouette hunched over in the garden. And for a second she'd forgotten about Bob, that she'd hired him for this job, that he was now technically her employee.
Resolved to forget about the night before, she lifted her heavy sack of groceries from the back seat of her car and strolled over to the wooden fence, nervous but not obviously so, as long as he maintained his distance he couldn't hear her heart thumping like an African congo drum.
"Hello ..." she called. His head turned and he set down his rake and stepped over to the fence, leaning against a post.
"Howdy ..." he smiled knowingly.
"Aren't . . . aren't you supposed to be in school?"
"Yup." He snapped off piece of crab grass and chewed on it, his pearly white teeth contrasting sharply with his deep tan.
Dottie looked incredulous. "What does your mother think about that?"
"She don' care. I'm jus' gonna be a farmer like my ol' man, anyway." He spit out the pulpy chlorophyll and smiled. "Guess I better get back to work. Got it all dug up and now I gotta rake it to make the soil nice and moist. Lots of earthworms in there," he added, narrowing his eyes in concentration. "That's damn good for the soil, aerates it so's the organic matter can break up. Learned that in agriculture class."
"Very good," she nodded approvingly.
He finished his work by six o'clock and without so much as a request for a glass of water, he jumped in his Harley Davidson and headed on down the hill. That was the last she saw of him that night.
See, she told herself, peeking through the kitchen window admiring the clean raked, weedless garden ready for seed, I knew there's nothing to worry about. It's just one of those things that happens once and is then forgotten.
She opened a can of beef stew and settled down for a meal in front of the television set, promising herself that tomorrow for sure she'd start on the macrame wall hang that lay among the small mountain of boxes piled next to the space heater in the living room. Her worries now over, she'd settle down to her art, one of the reasons she'd moved to the country for the summer.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dottie awoke early the next morning, stretching her petite arm over the empty expanse of cool sheet. Two blue eyes opened slowly, squinting against the morning sunshine peeking over the ridge beyond. Although she knew she should be adjusted to it by now, the shock of waking up alone in bed brought a frown to her pixy face. Then the remembrance of Aron set in, the lurid memory of yesterday and how he had stayed out all night. As if to counter that misery, she jumped to her feet, not bothering with her robe and padded in slippered feet to the kitchen and turned on the water.
Without waiting for the water to boil she went back to her bedroom Dottie stood before the dresser mirror, inspecting her body in the pale morning light as she pulled her nightgown over her lithe body and carelessly threw it on the bed. As she had hoped, it looked the same as it had yesterday morning - lush, youthful, almost pristine. Her ivory skin was still as smooth and unflawed as before, her face showing no wrinkle or sign of stress. She smiled slightly, thinking of the silly fear that had gnawed at her mind only a moment before: that Aron was having an affair with another woman. And now that Bob Welsh had finished his gardening job, she would be left alone with no worries or doubts.
Suddenly, she heard a noise that grew louder with each second. Her hair brush crackled against the dresser top as she set it down, listening intently. How silly, she smiled at herself in the mirror, for a second there I was sure it was a motorcycle. But wait a minute ... it is. It's Bob! Although she didn't want to admit the ridiculous truth to herself, although she knew it was insane, she felt a small tingling in the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Probably coming to pick up his check, she assured herself, brushing aside the insinuating fingers of remembrance. I'm sure that's what he wants; he did a fine job and deserves to be paid well for it. I wonder if three dollars an hour would be enough . . . well, I'll have to ask. She pulled a blouse over her lacy bra and inspected her image once more before rushing to the door.
Heavy foot steps in the kitchen told her he'd made himself welcome and, at the last moment before confronting her young boy lover, curling her eye lashes with a dampened finger, she greeted him with a warm smile. All was forgotten and now they could be friends ... the way it should be.
"Did you come for your check, Bob?" She asked, heading for her purse to draw out her checkbook.
"Aw, I wasn't worried about that, none. I figured you was a good enough risk." He smiled knowingly at her, his hands thrust deep in his Levi pockets and Dottie couldn't help but stare at his fuzzy chest so young, virile and strong. Her eyes refused to meet his and she nervously dumped the entire contents of her purse on the kitchen table.
"So silly, you know how women are stuffin' their bags with all this debris," she tittered nervously, "So senseless, really . . . " Would he really just take the check and leave? . . . "Seems I never have a pen when I need it." Eyes to the floor she accidentally-on-purpose brushed pass him, his furry chest tickling her nose as they collided into each other.
Dottie could feel her body coming alive under that mere brush with youth, and her body began to throb and burn with growing excitement. Oh God, get him out of here before I go crazy!
"Mrs. Thompson," and it was the first time he called her by her married name which strangely excited her ... it was adulteress and evil and it made her feel deliciously sinful. Dottie pivoted, temporarily abandoned her task of finding a pen in the junked desk drawer, and stared at him, fully and penetratingly.
"Yes ..." she asked expectantly.
"I didn't come here to get paid, really." He shifted weight and began taking off his Levi jacket.
"Then . . . why?" Her hand went to her mouth and she gasped. Oh, God, he was going to do it to her again!
"We're gonna have a little party, you and me, and then maybe somebody else'll show up and we'll have a bigger party." His jacket lay in a heap on the floor and he made himself comfortable on the wooden bench pulling off his cowboy boots with a hefty tug, letting them fall from his hand with a heavy thud, the only sound in the room at the moment.
"What do you think you're doing, Bob Welsh?" Her hands on her hips, she stood in a militant stance, almost comical looking, the tiny figure trying to appear seriously angry as she shook a finger at him.
"Anybody ever tell you you're cute when you're mad," he laughed. "Now calm down, there ain't nothin' to worry about. You sure as hell liked it the other day and I promise you it'll be even better this time. Now come here and sit on my lap."
"You've got to be out of your mind! I'm not going to sit ... "
He rose to his stocking feet and stepped toward her, a smile of victory brightening his young handsome face.
"Leave me alone, you bastard!" she screamed as he picked her up effortlessly and slung her over his shoulder, her tiny fists pounding on his back in a steady staccato rhythm. "Let me go, you . . . you brute! I'll have the cops on you . . . you brute! I'm not kidding . . . my husband will kill you!" Dottie's face was red with rage, every muscle in her body taut and fighting.
He answered her with a laugh and opened the bedroom door where he threw her down on the bed. "Get naked," he smiled down at her, as he started unbuttoning his shirt. "We gotta get goin' - sorry I ain't got much time today."
Dottie watched in silence as the high school boy began removing his clothes. When he turned away from her to pull down his Levis, she used the opportunity to try to sneak off the bed, but it was no use. He caught her and threw her down on the bed, hurting nothing but her pride. She realized she was completely at the mercy of this strong young boy.
"Got 'em off yet?" Her train of thought screeched to a halt as Bob Welsh turned around, completely naked, to walk back to the bed. She could see that his young long thick cock was only partially erect, but it was even bigger, more powerful looking than she remembered. Just the sight of it started that involuntary churning between her legs and, though she hated herself for the obscene thought, she had to admit that it would be wonderful to have his huge pulsating hardness, so young and hard in her warm hungry cunt. Oh, God, just the idea made her shiver with anticipation and, in spite of herself, she found that she was smiling up at the handsome boy.
"Let me help you with that," he said, bending down and pulling each arm out of her shirt sleeve. The warmth of his virile young body touching hers sent shivers up and down her spine and seeing her goose bumps, he laughed teasingly.
Soon she was naked and as she felt the weight of his body lowering onto the bed beside her, she closed her eyes in delicious expectation of the exciting touch of his fingers on her tingling body, his warm lips pressing hard on hers so untamed and free, so wanting, so . . . young!
To her surprise, though, she felt him lifting her head and she opened her eyes to see him gathering up both the pillows from the bed. A moment later, he had wedged the pillows down under her head and neck, propping them up until she felt her chin almost resting against her chest. She looked up to see his face wreathed in a grin of salacious amusement.
"What . . . what are you going to do?" she questioned, truly puzzled by his arrangement of the pillows under her head.
"Well, Mrs. Thompson, ma'm, I think it's about time you took the initiative, you know. Now Margie my girl friend always says how she loves the taste of my cock and I don' wanna deprive you, Mrs. Thompson."
Oh, God, no, her mind screamed. He couldn't mean that. Why couldn't he be satisfied with just fucking her and letting her go. Why did he have to play on her weakness? She watched in disbelief as he lifted a leg over her torso and positioned himself with his buttocks above her breasts, his knees snug into her armpits, his throbbing prick dangling before her face.
"No-no, Bob, please," she whined, knowing already that she wanted it more than anything else in the world right then.
He answered by shaking his long, blood-engorged young cock before her eyes. "Now kiss my cock, woman."
Dottie closed her eyes; this was even worse than she imagined. The humiliation, the debasement she was going to suffer today simply was beyond belief. She had been certain it was over, that she'd had her silly little fling and that it was over, a mistake not to be repeated. Yet something within her made her forget those promises to herself and she opened her mouth; her lips were trembling from desire.
"Now put your lips around the head of my cock," he commanded, "just like you saw that girl down at the creek do."
Oh, God, thought Dottie. Why does he have to bring that up? So he'd seen her peeking out from behind that rock while she fingered herself.
Moaning with mortification, Dottie reluctantly did as he directed, closing her lips hesitantly around the blunt, distended tip of his fleshy staff. To her surprise, it was not unpleasant at all, and she could taste the bittersweet piquancy of a clear, sticky substance already oozing from the tiny opening at the end. In spite of herself she felt an unmistakable tremor of excitement at the spicy, pungent taste of the warm, young male semen on her tongue. She swirled her tongue over the thick, purplish head and her efforts were rewarded by her young lover.
"Ooooooh, that's it, baby. Now lick it." he breathed, panting slightly from the excitement of seeing this older woman sucking his young hard cock. "Lick it like a lollipop, baby. Lick it all over and keep your eyes open so you can see what you're doing," he instructed. "That's the way Margie does it."
Oh, God, it tastes so good, thought Dottie and following his directions, Dottie stared at the long, rigid pole that rose before her face. It was hard, so hard that the skin stretched tautly over its surface shone as if it were polished and the thick veins that covered it pulsed madly against the tightly drawn skin. Below, his two huge balls hung in their soft, swaying sacs, swollen and heavy with the sperm that boiled within their young balls.
So young, so young, she thought as she ran her tongue down his sixteen year old cock, daintily licking it all the way, lavishing her tongue over its base, along its thick underside to the dark ridges sticky and protruding from the thick foreskin, playing and caressing it with every lapping stroke. Then, as she licked at the hardness of the young boy's cock, Dottie began to feel a strange perverse excitement growing in her body at the thought of being used this way, as a woman slave to a young and strong boy, being forced to suck his long lovely cock. Deep in her belly she could feel a fire kindling and she suddenly thought that she would like to take the whole thing into her mouth, just to see how far it would go.
Above her, Bob trembled slightly from the exquisite sensation of her pointed tongue slaving over her master's balls, the giant rigid cock he held before her face. As if he could read her thoughts, the young boy moaned and growled. "Now suck it! Suck my prick!"
Quickly, Dottie trailed her tongue back over the heavy cock and then ovalled her soft lips and slipped them gently over the smooth, rubbery head. Bob groaned loudly and flicked his hips forward, sliding the lust engorged rod into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth and down the full length of her tongue until the tip banged against the back of her throat. She panicked for a second, so big was it, but Dottie quickly remembered what he had told her to do and began to suck, simultaneously slipping her tongue up and down the rock-hard lance, nibbling softly at the base with her teeth.
"Aaaaggghhh!" he gasped. "That's good, so gooooood! Oh, suck it, baby, suck it!"
Slowly, the sixteen year-old boy began to rock his hips back and forth, fucking into her mouth as if it were a smoothly shaved cunt. Obediently, Dottie tried to suck on the hot throbbing cock, but she could barely get a breath before he had fucked it down into her throat again. Her cheeks hollowed on each outstroke, then bloated like balloons each time he fucked back in, grazing her tonsils and almost choking her.
By now Dottie had completely forgotten her humiliation, her promises to herself that it would never happen again, that no sixteen year old boy could do this to her, a twenty-five year old woman. She was in another world where all there was, was this huge young prick fucking into her mouth, banging against her throat. Yet, in a way, it thrilled her to know that she had no choice, she could not move her head; she had to suck on this huge, excitedly vibrating cock. As if to demonstrate her complete subservience to his will, Dottie managed to raise her head enough to bob it up and down in cooperation with the boy's fucking thrusts into her mouth.
Bob Welsh was out of his mind with the ecstasy of the moment. Looking down, he could see the lovely oval of the woman's lipstick rimmed lips stretched tightly around the thick base of his cock, then fucked forward even harder, trying to make her take it all into her mouth. He could see tiny ridges of soft pink flesh as he pulled back from her gently sucking lips that disappeared back inside as he slid it forward again even deeper into the tightly confining depths of her throat. His eyes widened as he saw his pubic hair brush against the sides of her mouth as she all but swallowed the full length of this fleshy male hardness.
God, but he tastes so good, she thought. If only her husband could please her like this. Her young lover began a rhythmic fucking, back and forth, never quite drawing it all the way out but leaving the tip just inside the warm moistness of her mouth, then fucking further, deep, deep into her throat. He felt her gag beneath him, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but shooting his white, hot cum into the warm, sucking hole in her beautiful face.
"It's here! Oh, suck it, suck harder!" Bob screamed, locking his hand around the back of Dottie's bobbing head, drawing it over his rigidity until all he could see was a small bit at the base protruding wet and glistening from her wildly sucking lips. He watched in animal delight as his balls erupted and her throat tightened and loosened, swallowing in great desperate gulps the hot, sticky fluid he was spewing into her mouth. Her cheeks expanded and hollowed as she greedily gulped at the warm flooding gushes to keep from choking. She went on sucking as he emptied his sperm into the wetness of her mouth. Finally, he moaned his last and grunted in complete fulfillment. Slowly, his cock deflated in her mouth but she continued the gentle sucking, drawing every last drop of the warm sticky sperm from his softening cock.
At last Bob Welsh's thick flaccid prick slipped from her mouth and he collapsed on the bed beside her.
CHAPTER SIX
"What's the matter now?" Bill Simpson leaned on his rake and wiped his perspiration dotted forehead with the back of his gloved hand. He knew it had to be something of significance to bring over his wife hopping over wire fences and trotting at such a speed over the rough clunks of earth in the apple orchard, waving her checkered apron at him in alarm.
Breathlessly, holding her right hand over her heart to stop its thudding and pounding, she licked her lips, parched from the horse-like gallop she'd sustained for the last fifty yards.
"Come on, come on, woman, what is it?" He grew impatient with her displays of exhaustion.
"It's those bikers again, Bill. They . . . " she choked, her throat parched and she swallowed hard trying to regain her strength at the same time pointing toward the small cabin up the hill where at that moment Dottie Thompson lay exhausted in splendorous ecstasy: a woman fulfilled. "... there were three of 'em all together and they headed for Dottie's place. I told her the other day when she was down for coffee that she oughtta watch out for 'em. Remember all too well what they done to Mrs. Homer, tyin' her up to the bedpost with her husband's neckties and doin' those awful things to her."
Bill's expression changed to one of mock amusement. "Well, if she got a brain in her head she's got a gun. Ain't nobody lives in these parts without a gun or a dog. Now why don't you mind your own business for a change and leave me alone."
Dora fought down her impulse to grab his rake from his hand and bang it over his head. Ever since they'd moved to the country after he'd lost his job at the greenhouse-nursery fifty miles south, he'd become anti-social, a gentle description for a man who hadn't even kissed his wife for the past three years. Dora had been patient at first, understanding how his ego had been shattered after being supervisor for so long, but enough was enough. She was getting tired of being treated like his servant, a necessary but not particularly well-liked housekeeper. Well, at least he has his damned orchard, she thought. If he gave me half the attention he's giving these sapling apple trees, I wouldn't feel like a washed out dishrag.
She knew she was still a beautiful, desirable woman, but he didn't seem to notice. If she were just a bit younger she'd leave him, in fact, she wished she had when she was still young enough to find another husband.
She stared at her husband in disbelief, hoping against hope he'd show a sign of compassion for feeling for something alive like a human being. He shooed her off with a flick of the wrist like she was a dog lifting its leg on the trunk of his apple tree and hunched over, resumed his work, chopping into the ground with angry motions.
Dora's eyes filled with tears as she hiked back toward the house. He wouldn't have been so mindless of three bikers, the ones Bill found such pleasure in shooting at, if he'd known that Bob Welsh had been paying visits to their young neighbor, a fact that was difficult to ignore when she'd seen his motorcycle whizzing up and down that crooked road for the past three days. Dora shook her head violently to clear her mind of the vile, but exciting thought - Dottie Thompson had found pleasure in that young boy's visits. It all added up: a young woman living alone away from her husband, used to being with a man every night; those bike rides up the mountain, with a smiling, gloating Bob Welsh coasting back down hours later. Something was amiss.
It was intriguing to imagine such a fascinating scandal in the house up the hill. Thoughtfully, Dora ran her hands over her own still perfect body. Even through her light cotton dress, the sensation of her warm palms following the smooth, full curves of her voluptuous form sent unusually sensuous thoughts flooding into her mind and she wondered for a moment how Bill would respond if she really did find a lover. Pensively, she lifted the wire careful not to rip her dress on the barbs, and slipped beneath the wires. Pensively she walked back to the house and sat down at the kitchen table, her favorite vantage point where she could watch the seldom-passing traffic dust its way up the mountain road.
* * *
Aron Thompson sat in his office desk, struggling over the closing summary to chapter ten. His shirt unbuttoned to the third button revealing a dark forest of chest hair, eyes blurred and blood-shot from the exhaustion of overwork. Hand pressed into the small of his back, he leaned back in his chair, fingers digging into the taut muscles of his back, trying to release some of the tension harbored there. He'd been sitting for four hours without moving, pouring over facts and figures. In disgust over the enormity of his fatiguing task of finishing his book by the end of the summer, he threw down his pencil. He'd had enough for one day. At four o'clock in the morning he'd awakened to the buzz of his alarm clock and started at his work. Now it was nearing ten and time for a break; time to turn to other things.
Like his wife for instance. Hands on his hips, he stood before the open window of his office, overlooking the back yard. He was troubled by her behavior; it was obvious she'd come to visit. That was plain to see from the plants, wilted and drying from neglect, that now stood perky once again as if blessed by the magic hand of someone. Other evidence - an empty wine bottle and one lipstick smeared glass - left on the living room end table all pointed to an unexpected visit.
Too bad, he thought, rubbing his temples with his fingertips, too bad I spent the night with my assistant. A smile came to his lips. Well, it wasn't for naught, that's for sure, we finished all of that chapter and completed the outline, too. In fact, ironically enough, she was the one who warned him he'd lose his wife if he didn't start paying more attention to her. He sighed and crossed his arms across his chest, staring blindly at a rabbit poking its pink nose out from under the low-growing hedge.
He had neglected his wife just as he'd neglected everything else in the house since he'd started on this damnable book Not only had he neglected her, he realized, but he'd done nothing to promote her happiness, spending all of his spare time with his assistant doing research . . . Well, that game was over with now and it was time to start playing husband again. He hadn't really thought about it before, but perhaps he'd been a little too wrapped up in his work lately, been ignoring her for too long. Though he may not have shown it over the past two months, he did love her and a beautiful woman like her might not wait forever for a little love and affection.
Yessir, he decided suddenly, he owed it to the both of them to start doing his part to make their marriage more close and joyful. By God, starting right now!
And he rushed to the bedroom, rummaging through his closet for the overnight bag. He'd surprise her, bring her flowers, and make love to her in the light of the setting sun.
He smiled in self-satisfaction as he yanked out a fresh set of clothes from the still-swinging hangers and hastily folded them, taking only a second to check the time on the digital clock near the bed. Let's see . . . three hours driving will get me there just in time for the afternoon.
CHAPTER SEVEN
So enrapt had young Dottie Thompson been in the sexually exciting minutes when young sixteen year old Bob Welsh had knelt above her, pillows cushioning her head, that she hadn't even heard the roar of two motorcycles grinding their way up the hill.
Now the sounds of a small commotion, whispered voices, startled Dottie, parting the clouds of ecstatic slumber. With a start, she sat up, abruptly remembering everything that had happened that morning. Licking her parched lips, she found the saline taste of young Bob's sperm still on them. The pungent taste brought back other memories of what it had been like to lie helpless under the hard cock fucking in and out of her mouth. Though she knew she should feel revulsion and shame, little pangs of raw uninvited pleasure began to nibble again at her nerve-ends, peaking in her nipples, and budding into full flower in her throbbing clitoris. Stop it, stop it, her mind screamed as her faithless body responded to the mere thought of the degrading act which young Bob Welsh had subjected her to.
Next to her lay Bob, eyes open and smiling as they both heard footsteps creaking through the kitchen, slowly approaching.
Abruptly, the struggle of Dottie against her body was halted as a young boy walked into the room, a stranger almost.
Dottie flushed hotly as she lay naked and unable to cover her body from the young boy's gleaming eyes, but the tall powerful looking boy just chuckled at her discomfiture, smirking. "Jesus, Bob, you ain't jus' a kiddin'. She's a hot little piece all right."
Suddenly determined not to show her alarm, Dottie smiled back. They weren't going to intimidate her, these young boys who thought they knew it all, no way. She would not submit again to the outrageous indecency they had planned and she knew they had something planned. She could tell by their salacious smirks. Well, two of them she could handle. They might conquer her body, but they would never conquer her spirit again.
The young tow-headed boy walked up to the side of the bed and Dottie closed her eyes tightly as she felt the humiliation of his hands moving over her body. She gritted her teeth, determined not to get carried away . . . this time. How could she ever face her husband again after being made to feel like a common whore by two young boys? She had no idea what to expect, but her imagination ran wild. What would they do to her? What would they expect her to do?
"Don't you touch me!" she wailed, opening her eyes and staring directly at the young boy standing over her. "Get away from me, you, you little kid!"
"Come on, lady," he said slowly, gazing back with blue sparkling eyes. "We ain't gonna hurt you none. We're jus' gonna have ourselves a good noon hour lunch that's all. Be back in time for English." He calmly began unbuttoning his shirt, watching her from the corner of his eyes as he did so. Dottie stared back at him arrogantly, refusing to drop her eyes from his almost amused gaze.
"You ever had a sixteen year old cock, lady?" he asked suddenly. "Well, it's time we get to know one another. I'm Dan." He smiled over at his friend Bob who lay leaning his head on his hand. "You ever had anything so good and so hard up in that white belly of yours?" He smiled, flickering his eyes over the blonde girl's prone body.
Dropping his shirt on the floor the young boy placed his hand on one of her full naked thighs, moving it slowly upward to the soft, curling vee at the junction of her legs. Dottie lay quietly beneath his touch in a temporary state of disbelief, but suddenly, her body reacted when she focused on his hairless chest, so young and hard. Her leg drew back then flashed out.
"Hey, now what kinda way is that to treat a house guest?" But before she could kick out and try to get out of that house, his strong young hand was wrapped around her slender ankle, pushing it back, back until her knee was bent and pressed tightly against her chest. Her other leg he pulled over until her foot hung over the edge of the bed and her crotch was presented to his view, wide open and defenseless.
"Let me go!" snapped Dottie. "You can't just come into somebody's house and rape them!" She wiggled, trying to pry loose of her hapless position. He only grinned down at her. Making love to Bob had been enough, that in itself was humiliation to occupy her conscience for the rest of her life, but two of them? No, she couldn't go through with it.
She could see the muscles rippling ominously beneath his gleaming white skin as he reached down and firmly grasped her full white thighs, then suddenly she was turned over on her stomach, held in place by a huge young palm pressed into the small of her back like a twenty-pound weight. She cringed down into the mattress like a small dog cowering before his master. Small pleading sounds leaked out around the cloth of the soft bed quilt.
"You're gonna like this good, lady. You're gonna be beggin' for more," he laughed.
Suddenly she felt a tingling softness running up and down the back of her naked body, starting at her toes and slithering its way up to the nape of her neck where it nibbled at her ear, only to trace a path back down again. With that titillating gesture, any ideas of defiance she might have harbored had been soothed out of her. There was no further sense in postponing the inevitable for these young boys seemed to know what to do when it came to making a female submit. She clenched her teeth, promising herself she would not be conquered. Her spirit would remain free no matter what they did to her.
Suddenly, she felt the young boy's hands moving over her shoulders and back, rubbing softly as if to ease her fear-born tenseness.
"Okay, Dottie," she heard him murmur. "Now, I want you to take a good long look at my little kid cock, as you called it. Pretty soon it's gonna be buried deep up where nobody's gonna be able to see it. Ain't that so, Bob?" They laughed in a chorus of lewdness.
She wearily raised her head again and stared at the long, young cock he held over her head. It was gigantic and hard as stone with the lust he had worked up during his salacious tongue-flicking up and down her spine.
Her blue eyes traced a slow path up his shining young body to his grinning face. Her eyes housed a final, futile plea for mercy, to let her go before she lost control staring at these young cocks.
"Ain't I got a pretty cock, lady?" he tormented with a chuckle.
She tried to find the breath to speak, but nothing came out of her mouth but hoarse gasps. God, she wanted to scream. God, it is; it's beautiful!
"Ain't it," he tormented her, a useless remark for he knew full well that Dottie Thompson was another one of the typical lonely young women who lived in the country, needing a man, a young boy such as himself to keep her happy while her husband was gone, doing whatever it was he did. She was not the first and would not be the last, he knew.
"It's . . . it's beautiful," she faltered at last through her clenched teeth. It was no lie.
"Why, I'm so glad you think so, Dottie," he drawled above her, "'cause this little cock is gonna fill you so full of sixteen year old cum, you gonna have to swim around in it."
As Dottie's head dropped back down on the bed, she heard laughter from behind her at the young boy's lewd remark. What was going on now, she thought. Certainly there can't be more!
"Hey, Dan!" she heard a strange voice say. "I thought you just wanted to prepare the lady for us. She don't look like she got anything left for the rest of us."
"Don't worry man," the young Dan laughed. "I just cleaned some of the doubt out of her. She'll be ready and begging to fuck in a minute or two."
They were talking about her as though she were a dog being trained to do tricks, Dottie thought. If only ... if only . . . but she knew it was no use anymore. The moment of truth had come. These young boys had guessed her character correctly; they knew she had a penchant for young boys, there was no doubt about that anymore. Even she could not deny it.
She felt a body drop to the bed and roll against the full length of her back. She looked up to see someone's hands touching her. They knew she wouldn't run now, there were too many of them and besides, she wouldn't want to. Someone's hands were slowly and relentlessly forcing her knees apart.
She fought with all her will power to keep her legs closed, but it was a hopeless struggle. The boy lying beside her, rolled over and dropped between her long shapely limbs as they were stretched wide across the mattress until her toes hung either side of the rumpled bedclothes. A tiny, despairing moan escaped her as she felt the rubbery hardness of an erect male cock, young and juicy, rubbing into the soft flesh of her thigh, just below her sensitive cuntal opening. He wiggled forward, easing the huge cock along soft, vulnerable crevice of her buttocks. In silent protest, she desperately writhed her hips to free her body but her only reward was the sound of the young boy's harsh breathing as her struggles incited his lust.
"Get up on your knees, Dottie," she heard a young boy say.
It was Dan, she realized. She closed her eyes again, seeing sparkles of light flash before her.
No, she promised herself a final time, I'm not going to like it, I'm not! I can't! They're so young, so young! But her thoughts only added to the confusion of her mind challenging her body - one wanting, the other denying that want.
That stone-hard cock of the sixteen year old pressed into the bottom of her spine like a flagpole and it was obvious that he wanted to fuck her from behind - like an animal. Hot streams of undefined feelings rushed through her as she pictured herself there on the bed kneeling over like a bitch in heat, panting, waiting for the young stud male behind her to fuck her from behind. Oh God, it was so wicked, so evil, so wonderful! Her mind raged as she thought of the young boy's skin pressed against her own velvety flesh.
Dan couldn't put it off any longer. They all had to get back to school before somebody ratted on them; that's what had happened with Mrs. Homer and it resulted in the expelling of all three, just because of one jealous guy who'd overheard them discussing their plans in the men's room. Best to get on with it, he told himself as he gripped her hips, pulling them up from the bed, another hand firmly behind her neck to keep her breasts and face down on the mattress. She groaned in helplessness, not sure if it was her mind or her body talking as she thought of the full moons of her buttocks waving in the air, offering up her moist, warm cuntal passage to the first taker. She knew there was no use in trying to dispel the pleasure it would bring and she decided to let them carry out their every young whim. She was nothing to them but an object to use for their own selfish vengeance against society and then to be used again to satisfy their base animal instincts. Well, let them, she thought.
Behind her, the young Dan stared at the exciting spectacle of Dottie's perfect white ass, offered up to him like a gift to a visiting monarch. For a few seconds, he scraped his young hard cock within the warm valley of her buttocks, squeezing the trembling flesh to form a luscious, tantalizing pocket around his sixteen year old prick. Then, suddenly he moved away and gently he slid his fingers down to the thin red folds of flesh that covered her cunt, softly caressing the delicate tissues. Under the careful manipulations of his experienced fingertips, the young boy could feel a slight moisture forming on the soft insides of her thighs as, in response to the unexpected tenderness, she let her backside slip wider and wider apart.
The blonde woman fought to hold back a rising moan she felt growing from deep in her chest. The sudden and unexpected gentleness of the young boy's touch, her own desires all were taking their toll of her will to resist. Despite the humiliation of being held captive in her own home and being forced to make love to this stranger, she felt a searing hot flame suddenly lick at her bowels. Pinpricks of glorious sensation danced madly under her skin, following the course of the young boy's fingers teasing up and down between her thighs. Around her body, she could hear the fevered breathing of the other two boys as they watched, mesmerized by the spectacle of their young school mate playing this beautiful young woman's body like some kind of musical instrument. Oh, God, she thought, please, please fuck me now! All these young cock are driving me insane! I can't stand him just playing with me like this.
"Ooooooh, God, ooooooh," she moaned joyfully as she felt one thick young finger carefully insinuating itself into the burning hungry folds of her throbbing cunt. She could feel hot and cold flashes making her body weak and aching for the young stud poised in back of her. Her resistance was completely shattered now and she wantonly pressed her hips backward to gather even more of the exquisite sensation carried by that insolently invading finger, so young and sure of itself.
Above her, the young boy grinned triumphantly as the smooth rounded cheeks of her ass relaxed before his hotly gleaming eyes. Gleefully, he ran his middle finger all the way into the depths of her cunt and smiled wider as she instantly responded, screwing back on his hand and releasing a deep sigh of involuntary satisfaction. Her breath was coming in small, muffled gasps as he flicked his finger in and out of her wildly jerking buttocks. Her cuntal passage was contracting opening and closing tightly around the long, knuckled length of his finger sunk deep inside her. Her cries were one long, continuous moan now as he suddenly withdrew his finger from the warmth of her moist channel and began massaging her hard, throbbing clitoris. Pulling and teasing at it without respite, he watched delightedly as her buttocks churned and writhed before him in a lewd dance of desire.
Dottie suddenly realized shamefully that she was almost ready to cum. She could feel her cunt, against her will, blossoming wider and wider until warm trickles of her lubrication ran down the insides of her wide-stretched legs. The thought, wicked and evil, of these young boys watching as their friend finger-fucked her from behind made her pant all the harder, bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. " Dan, too, could sense the impending climax from the frenzied agitation of her body and knew that it was finally time to fuck his cock into her waiting chasm. He wanted to share in the moment that was so near now, wanted to feel her smooth muscles tightening around his cock as she reached that climax. He'd show this pretty young woman that young cock was just as good, no better, than anything her husband could ever give her. She'd never be satisfied with anything else but young cock again once he fucked it to her, he gloated to himself, lifting his head to watch the awed expression on his young friends' faces.
Suddenly, he moved up against her and began grinding his hips into the now wet and glistening crevice between Dottie's thighs. His large young cock tingled and ached with the frustration of waiting.
"Hey, man, watch this," she heard Bob Welsh whisper excitedly to the over friend who held her. "He's going to fuck her now!"
"Yeah, he'd better hurry up," the young David's voice answered hoarsely. "I don't know if I can wait for my turn."
Dan was kneeling behind her now, the fat swollen head of his huge sixteen year old cock pressing against the tight, elastic opening of her cunt. Dottie felt it begin a slow prodding and working against the warm, soft folds, parting them and forcing its way past the ring of flesh that guarded the entrance to her secret passage.
"Ooooooh," she gasped as she felt the tender lips of her cunt being stretched apart and he fucked into her, like a great bull on top of a young heifer. The sudden motion had taken her completely by surprise, clearing her mind of the cloudy daze that had fogged her since the torturing slowness with which he'd brought her nearly to orgasm earlier. Now, her body trembled in a new world of complete ecstasy. Her cunt walls throbbed and burned from the unaccustomed size of the huge young cock imbedded in her belly, but a new kind of arousal was taking hold of her body and mind.
She knew all too well the degrading reality that she was hopelessly trapped on the bed between the hands of the young teenage boys in front and the thick, fiery cock impaling her from behind, but suddenly the realization of her humiliation made her feel a strange kind of pleasure. It wasn't masochistic, it was far too wanton for that - it was more of a screaming demanding lust building to a crescendo in her body and she knew that after they were finished with her, she would be a different woman, more knowledgeable than the old Dottie Thompson. Unfamiliar thrills of wicked excitement coursed through her body as she understood that this was her punishment. Some divine power was testing her to see just how far she would go. She had no choice but to accept these feelings, the young woman thought, and began to undulate her buttocks lasciviously in circles in rhythmic movements to the long, thick cock that had slowly begun to fuck her from behind.
"Sheeeit, man," David whooped, "that little pussy looks as tight as a heifer's. Hump her, Dan, hump her!"
Biting her lip to hold back the tears of wonderful lust Dottie pressured back. To her shocked surprise, he fucked toward her again, forcing another inch of hard flesh into her cunt that already felt stuffed to bursting. He's not even all the way in yet, she thought in delight, clenching the muscles of her buttocks tightly together to keep the huge staff from fucking into her further. It would take time, she knew, before she could accept all of it.
"Please, please, it's so big," she moaned.
"Gal, you ain't got but half of what little Dan is gonna fuck to ya. Now hump, baby, hump back, cuz I'm gonna give you the ride of your life."
Her struggles incited him more, and the young boy fucked forward again, crashing into her with all his strength until the huge rubbery head of his cock banged against her cervix and his balls slammed down against her throbbing clitoris.
God, it was monstrous! Delicious.
Dottie felt as though her buttocks had been stretched beyond human endurance. That huge young boy cock he had waved before her face was not fucked all the way into her. She felt someone's hand softly stroking the white globes of her quivering buttocks. Other hands kneaded and squeezed at her breasts, nipping at her bud-like nipples until they stood out in tingling erection. Within her, the huge young prick flexed like a clenching fist, stretching and soothing her ravaged cunt as she gradually became accustomed to the unbelievable size of Dan's cock.
"Isn't that good, Mrs. Thompson?" Bob Welsh's voice taunted. "How do you like young cock?"
Before she could gather her wits about her enough to answer, another hand coursed over her spine, following the bony ridges down to the split of her ass where, without warning, a finger dug deep into the confines of her tight, unused anus.
"Aaaaaaggggghhhhh ..." she groaned at the pain-pleasure then forced herself to relax the muscles to ease the discomfort. The pressure passed quickly as her back passage became accustomed to the unnatural impalement, and in its stead was a strange new kind of pleasure that melted with the now-wonderful sensation of Dan's huge, hardened cock fucked deep up in her helplessly exposed cunt.
Kneeling behind her bent form, the young boy began fucking in and out of her with long, lunging strokes. A feeling of absolute power rippled through him as he held her hips down in total subjection to the rock hard cock fucking into her. He could feel the soft fleshy ridges deep inside her giving way before the relentless onslaught of his fucking cock.
He stretched the quivering moons of her buttocks wide with her fingers, watching in the afternoon light the pink folds of wet glistening flesh clinging tightly around his rampant instrument. Higher up in the crevice of her ass, Bob's finger ground and twisted deeper, circling and expanding her anal passage. His hands buried deep beneath her quivering torso, the teenager named David squeezed at her naked breasts, teasing and pulling at every part of her naked young round firmness, his breath coming in harsh gasps as his own passion mounted beyond endurance. With his every forward lunge, Dan's thick cock filled her cunt to the bursting point and flung her hard forward against David's thighs.
He fucked into her with lustful fervor, incited by the sight of the hand working at her every sensual part. Her breath had become one long, continuous sigh, her face turned sideways so she could breathe freely. Her face contorted in passion, cries of ecstasy forced through her tightly clenched teeth.
"Hey, man, I can't wait any longer," Dottie heard the young boy gasp. "Let's get her from both ends."
There was a movement around her head and she felt the mattress dropping in front of her as a heavy weight descended on it. Strong hands lifted her shoulder until she rested on her hands and knees and then something spongy and wet pressed against her mouth. Dottie's eyes flew open and she saw a long hard cock poised at her, in front of her face. She looked up at the boy's swarthy smirking face and opened her mouth to beg for mercy. Another hard lunge from behind drove her forward, her lips slipping forcefully over the cock in front of her.
The boy was kneeling on the bed before her and he grasped both sides of her head vice-like between his palms, fucking forward into her gaping mouth. She could feel the rubbery bluntness of the head sliding the length of her tongue, lifting momentarily her concentration on the huge cock fucking into her body from behind. The stranger immediately began fucking into her face like it was a second delicious cunt. Dottie gagged as he fucked halfway down into her throat, his huge prick disappearing into her ovaled lips almost up to the hilt. The blonde woman closed her eyes tightly to block out the sight of the tightly-curled black pubic hairs growing at the thick base. Moisture filled her mouth, puffing her cheeks wide as she fucked forward, cramming the shaft deep in her throat, keeping pace with the cock fucking into her from behind.
Dottie tried not to think about what she was doing but it was impossible not to. The boy's hairy young testicles bouncing against her chin and an odor of sexual juices filled her nostrils with a constant reminder of the lustful sensations coursing through her body. She struggled to breathe, catching small gasps of air on the outstroke. Suddenly she felt a rising tide from deep in her belly. The very helplessness of her position flashed through her mind of the evil and licentiousness of her situation and she thrilled at the thought. Two wildly excited boys, nearly ten years her junior, were using her body as a receptacle into which they would fuck their hot boiling sperm and the depraved mental picture of her helpless body being fucked between them, strangely excited her.
She began to swing her buttocks in tiny circles, teasing hotly at the mammoth fleshy staff that was fucking into her cunt. She licked and sucked at the hardened prick rhythmically fucking into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing and filling with his thrusts. She wanted them to cum, to shoot their young boy sperm into her cunt and her mouth. She wanted to swallow that young liquid so juicy and virile and full of life and feel it running down her thighs. She wanted it to run through her very veins in great hot floods. Sucking and fucking back like a mad woman, she felt her own orgasm building until she thought she would explode.
Suddenly, she felt the cock fucking into her cunt inflate and erupt, spewing its white hot stream into her hungrily clasping belly. The tall young boy jerked convulsively forward, triggering Dottie's orgasm and she groaned around the cock fucking into her mouth as her body exploded in great sensual waves of cum around the quivering, squirting cock in her cunt. At the same time, the young teenager crushed his loins into her face, sinking the full length of his cock deep in her gasping throat. A soul-searing groan shattered the air and Dottie's mouth was flooded with his hot, thick liquid. She gulped unthinkingly savoring the sweet, salty taste of the sixteen year old's sperm and reveled in the lewd, animal-like debasement she felt. There was nothing in the world but those two spewing pricks and her own wildly quivering body, a mere vessel to be used to satisfy them both. Small, liquid droplets ran from the corners of her mouth as the boy called, David, collapsed in front of her and his limp cock slithered wetly from her still sucking mouth.
Her strength suddenly gone, Dottie collapsed to the bed as the boy's prick slipped limply from her stretched and ravished pussy and gushes of air rushed in to cool the unplugged opening. She lay panting in utter exhaustion as weary sighs of satiation slipped from her sperm-coated lips. Above her, Bob Welsh, smiling impishly, stroked his swollen and ready cock.
"Oh, God, Bob. Not more ... I don't think I could take any more cock right now," she half-begged, shamed in spite of her satiation, at the spectacle she knew she must present to these immature youths.
But she was not paying attention. Even while his prick jerked from his own manipulations, his head cocked to one side as though he were listening to something. Dottie tried to still her own ragged breathing and listen too.
She jerked up on the bed in horror and amazement as she recognized a similar sound of heavy breathing in the living room, just around the corner from the bedroom where the twenty-five year old woman and the three teenage boys all listened. Oh, dear God, who could that be?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dora Simpson tidied up the kitchen, washing the morning coffee cups and saucers and watered the houseplants that lined the curtained window overlooking the mountain road. Despite her natural curiosity and concern for her friend up on the hill, she soon grew weary of that concern and decided to make some cookies to take her mind off the harsh, curt words her husband had flung at her that morning.
She stood at the counter then, breaking eggs into the cookie batter; the three bikers that had roared up the mountain road that morning and the remembrance of the hot scandal that had rocked the mountain community last year - claiming Mrs. Homer had willfully allowed three teenage boys, the same three boys whom Dora had spied winding their way to Dottie's cabin - was now well behind her as she cracked the walnuts and broke them into the buttery batter.
Smooth spoonfuls of batter in symmetrical rows rose and browned in the oven while Dora had walked out of the kitchen to the bedroom to change the sheets on her bed. Another cookie pan of raw batter transformed into chewy morsels of rich goodness and she settled down to the latest Ladies Home Journal; for several minutes, she had sat, staring at the printed pages, reading the recipes and clipping out a few choice formulas, but it did not satisfy her. She had not been able to concentrate on the articles.
No matter how she tried to dispel her worries, the same strange mental images of her friend Dottie Thompson being tied to a bedpost and forced to submit to three burly teenage boys had kept returning to bother her. Bill had told her to stop worrying, that the woman could take care of herself, but what if those boys were up to no good?
The pretty woman took the last batch of cookies out of the oven and slipped them off with a spatula, lining them up on wax paper to cool. As she did so, her instincts - pure intuition - took over again and she fidgeted, dropping two of the cookies on the floor in her nervousness. There was no use, this concern would not leave her alone. She couldn't live with herself if her friend was being raped up there all alone with no one to protect her while she, Dora, sat down here uselessly thumping her fingers on the kitchen table. She would bring Dottie a batch of cookies, still warm from the oven, and that way, in case there was no problem amiss, it would not appear as though she was being nosey.
There was another motive, too, alongside the first; one that Dora Simpson could not consciously admit to herself, even though it was as real as her friendly concern. Just out of idle curiosity ... if by chance those boys were making Dottie do awful things . . . how would Dottie react? Would she scream and scratch at those nasty boys who probably stood all around her, their young hard organs hanging lewdly out of their pants? Would she submit? Except for accidental glimpses, Dora Simpson had not seen a man's genitals for three years and it had a strange effect on her, leaving her with the curiosity of a child, always expectant and wanting to see more.
It didn't take as long as she thought to climb the quarter mile to the crest of the hill and when she saw the three Harley-Davidson's lined up outside of the old Homer's place, she knew she'd been right all along. A moment later, she stood outside the kitchen door, knuckles poised for rapping, but something halted her for a moment before she rapped on the door. There was no use in announcing her presence when she knew those nasty boys were in there, so setting her aluminum foil covered plate of cookies on the front step, she circled around the cabin to the front where she knew the bedroom to be. But the vantage point was too high and she couldn't hear anything without climbing the low branches of the pine tree. With the agility born of curiosity, she pulled herself up on that bough, bracing her weight against the tree trunk with the strength of her well-developed legs, and peered in, just a peek before letting her body fall to the ground.
For what she saw inside that house was so shocking she lost all strength in her body, and her arms felt like balloons. Three boys were in Dottie's bedroom, all naked. That was as much as her brief peek revealed.
A flash of doubt: should she go back home and get her husband's gun to chase these boys away? Oh, God, somebody had to do something to save that poor woman surrounded with those three hard, young boys with their big things down there between their legs standing straight out like red hot pokers. She listened intently for the sound of a telltale scream or groan of desperate pain that would instantly answer her query, telling her that Dottie desperately needed help to save the sanctity of her marriage. All she could hear were muffled, rhythmic sounds that she had been unable to identify.
Reconsidering her position, she decided it senseless to go bursting in on Dottie if she didn't need her help. Just a peek, she told herself, to see what was going on in there. Sneaking around to the front of the house, she entered through the kitchen door, taking off her shoes so as to be as silent as possible. There was nothing else for her to do, she had decided; her curiosity would drive her mad unless she found out for herself exactly what was happening in there.
* * *
A moment later, she was dragged from her vantage point by young Bob Welsh.
"My God!" screamed Dottie when she recognized her friend.
Dora stared in fascinated horror at the trio who lay panting on the bed in the bedroom. A moment ago, she had seen them all involved in something she had never even dreamed could exist - even in her wildest sexual fantasies over the past three years. She could see, couldn't keep her eyes off those hard young cocks on those virile confident young boys, a slight hint of fuzz darkening their upper lips. There was young Mrs. Thompson kneeling on her hands and knees with two boys using her mouth and cunt at the same time and another, the third boy, plunging his finger in and out of her anus!
Oh, my God! her mind screamed silently, how long has it been since I've had someone even touch me down there! Oh, my God! Somebody, help me, please! Her horror had lasted only until she realized that the fantastic spectacle was arousing her violently. Then, moving back into the darkness of the unlit living room, she had begun to try to satisfy herself, peering every few minutes around the doorway to make sure it was really happening. She had been nearing a climax when Bob Welsh had heard her heavy panting.
Now, she stood blushing in chagrined embarrassment before the three naked boys and Dottie. The slim skirt of Dora's dress was still wrapped high around her full hips where she had pulled it up in the heat of her excitement. Satisfying herself was no mystery to her over the past years.
"Look what I found outside the door,"
Bob Welsh announced to the exhausted threesome on the bed. "I've seen her peekin' in on us before. She's old man Simpson's wife, ain't she? She's been out there in the living room fingering her cunt like it was goin' out of style."
"Wahl, God all mawghty," mocked David. "Yesssireeee, that's ol' Bill Simpson's ol' lady, awright."
"That son of a bitch who was shooting at us the other day, huh?" asked Dan, propping his sweat-shiny body up on one elbow.
Dora smiled nervously, not sure of what to say, not sure she even wanted to escape from what was obviously going on. Her body still raged with the fires of passion and she knew that her husband certainly would not have the desire to put them out. And the sight of these young boys, so confident and attentive, so strong and virile and naked, was too much for her to ignore.
"Oh, God, Dora, I'm so sorry," Dottie moaned from where she lay sprawled on the sheets. "These boys . . . th-they're crazy . . . they made me ... "
"Oh, be quiet, Mrs. Thompson," the swarthy-faced David growled. "You weren't complainin' a minute ago and Mrs. Simpson don't look like a little cock would hurt any either."
Dora shivered with excitement, the boy's lewd words flustering her. Something told her that she should run, try to escape from these crazy boys, but she held back. It had been forever since she had been so aroused. She could not help but admit to herself that she wished it had been her instead of Dottie between those two cute boys.
"Sheeitt! We gonna do a hundred years of probation," growled Dan. "That is ... if they tell. Maybe if we give it to her real hard she'll keep her mouth shut."
It was David who struck on the idea. "Why don't we give ourself a rest and let these two little ladies take over. Let's get these two married women together, playing with each other and sucking and fucking."
As she heard the teenager's words, the look of happy anticipation faded from Dora's face. Fearfully, she searched the three boys' eyes for some sign that they were only joking.
"Oh, no," she faltered. "I . . . can't do ... I mean, I've never ..."
Dora's eyes came last to Dottie who met her gaze with a look of quiet despair.
"You'd better do as they say, Dora," Dottie calmly stated. "They'll tell your husband and then there'll be more trouble for you."
Dora gulped and nodded. It was all too apparent that Dottie had been persuaded by something. The ivory flesh of her thighs was smeared with cum and a trickle drooled from the side of her chin. Slowly, as if in some kind of trance, Dora reached behind her and pulled down the zipper of her dress. Slipping the garment off her shoulders, she let it drop to the floor, revealing that she wore nothing beneath it but panties and a low-cut bra.
The boys in the room gasped in amazement and appreciation. One of them whistled loudly. "Boy, if I'd a known ol' man Simpson had such a fine ol' lady back here in the hills, we wouldn't have missed paying her a visit long ago. Ain't that right, guys?" They all nodded and grinned in agreement.
Dora's flesh was as firm and smooth as that of a teenager. The bounteous swell of her large breasts all but overflowed the scanty lace bra she wore and her waist narrowed breathtakingly above her full, beautifully proportioned hips and thighs. Even Dottie gazed admiringly at the marble-white flesh of the woman's body. The young blonde had not yet completely calmed down from the earlier lust session and now she found herself becoming unexpectedly aroused at the sight of the older woman's body.
"Come here, Dora," Dottie whispered throatily. "Let me help you."
The farmer's wife hesitated for a moment, then walked over to stand beside the bed. Dottie slowly rose and stood beside the taller woman, her eyes roving hungrily over her full-rounded body. The young girl could not understand what was happening to her, but suddenly she realized that she was unfastening the clasp of Dora's brassiere, gently pulling the garment away from her shoulders. Dottie dropped the flimsy lace under things to the floor, then reached out to tentatively touch the pale gleaming skin of her neighbor's breasts. They jutted proudly from the woman's body like full ripe melons, their large nipples the ruddy-beige color of doeskin. As though in humble homage to their dramatic perfection, Dottie's fingers traced a trembling path over the smooth swell of Dora's breasts, circling and finally coming to rest on the sensitive tips. The young woman felt a strange new arousal at her own bravery and she looked boldly into Dora's face to register the effect as she began to squeeze and pinch the rosy protuberances. To her delight, she saw the older woman's eyes close in ecstatic though involuntary reaction as beneath her busy fingers the soft flesh contracted and tightened under her insistent touch.
Her mind alight with joy at her power to control another woman's body, Dottie slipped her hands down Dora's torso and began to tug gently at her filmy panties.
"Oh, no," Dora breathed. "Please don't . . . no more ... I can't."
"Relax, Dora," the blonde woman murmured. "I won't hurt you. Relax."
Oh, my God, thought Dora. It feels so wonderful being touched, oh, my God, why doesn't Bill ever do this to me anymore?
Around the two women, the trio of boys stared with eyes ablaze with lust. Despite their "worldliness" none of them had ever seen anything like this happening before. The sight of the beautiful Mrs. Thompson seducing the older woman was arousing them beyond belief and the boys stared at each other in delightful disbelief.
Bob Welsh stroked his still-rampant prick and moaned in frustration. But he did not want to interrupt this unbelievable performance, not yet. Dottie's ragged breathing broke through the stillness of the afternoon as she slid Dora's panties down over her rounded hips and thighs, then gently lifted one ankle then the other to remove the underclothing. She tossed away Dora's last vestige of protection, then crouched beside her. Caressingly, she wound her arms around Dora's legs, then slowly began to run her palms up the inside of the woman's thighs. Above her, Dora trembled and groaned in an agony of conflicting emotion.
"P-please, dear, don't do anymore," Dora gasped. "I can't stand it . . . it's been so long . . . please, don't torment me like this, Dottie."
Dottie just smiled smugly and moved her hands upward until her fingers grazed the soft sparse hairs that framed Dora's pussy. Something had happened to her that day, she knew, something that had snapped something inside of her, somehow releasing all her inhibitions. Now, she could not calm her body down. It was blazing again with need, screaming for release. For some reason she could not yet fathom the sight and the feel of Dora's body which was arousing her even more until she could not care less about the uncertainty and fear she sensed in the other woman. In fact, the idea that she was forcing Dora to become excited against her will aroused in Dottie a new sense of freedom. Rising from her squatting position, she began to nudge Dora back against the bed.
Dora's mind was a confused jumble of agonizing indecision and mounting passion that was straining at what was left of her control. She knew she wasn't a lesbian, yet this young woman's touch was driving her mad and she almost thought she'd like nothing more than to have this innocent-faced young blonde sucking and licking at her burning cuntal slit. Hesitantly, she allowed her body to be muscled back against the bed, then forced down onto the mattress where Dottie sat down beside her.
Dora's eyes were riveted on the other woman's face. There was a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and she apprehensively tightened her buttocks. Dottie's blue eyes gleamed as she gently pushed Dora down on her back, then lay down herself, stretching her body against the older woman's. Dora could feel the heat of the young blonde's body next to her own, thigh against thigh, smooth belly against hip, her breasts crushed against Dora's ribcage with each of the hard pink nipples jabbing into her soft flesh.
Both women had completely forgotten the three boys who stood around them, staring in wide-eyed innocent fascination at the scene being enacted before them.
Slowly, Dottie took Dora's face in her hands. Dora felt Dottie's lips on her own, soft and warm at first. It was done so gently that Dora wasn't even aware of the exact moment that Dottie's tongue floated into her mouth. The older woman was breathing in short gasps now, excited by the idea that she was doing the forbidden, and more so, that she was being touched in an exciting way, something denied her for the past thousand days, and that was an eternity. Her objecting conscience was completely overruled by the thrills of delicious feeling between her legs as her cuntal muscles expanded and contracted in delightful anticipation.
Almost without knowing what she was doing, Dora began to lick and suck greedily at the strange tongue swirling in her mouth. When Dottie pulled it back, Dora's tongue quickly followed it into the other woman's warm sucking cavern.
Dottie slipped one leg over Dora's firm upper thighs, rubbing her swollen clitoris over Dora's hip bone. Dora felt an electric shock course through her at the contact, shuddering as she realized that Dottie's hand was moving up toward her breasts again stroking and massaging at Dora's snow-white skin with an exciting knowledge, born of this strange new lust that had captured the young girl's mind.
"Oooooooohhh," Dora moaned in sheer delight as Dottie's lips left her own and began kissing and nibbling their way down to the breast she now held tightly in her grasp. Dottie's hands had become suddenly aggressive, locking and squeezing on both snowy mounds, pushing them high up on Dora's chest to ease the blonde's access to Dora's throbbing nipples, which she sucked on alternately like a starving child.
Dora was trembling with passion by the time Dottie reluctantly released her hold on one of the older woman's breasts to reach down and tangle her fingers in Dora's dark pubic hair. A moment later, Dottie's long middle finger began carefully sliding up and down the damp, secret crevice between Dora's thighs, maddeningly avoiding all contact with the distended clitoris, even though Dora was helplessly undulating her hips with frustrated desire.
A strangely exciting idea popped into Dottie's lust-inflamed brain as she felt the narrow crack becoming more and more lubricated from the overflow of Dora's cuntal lubrications. Why not let Dora experience the same oddly sensual pleasure that she, Dottie, had felt for the first time today, she thought eagerly. Following her inclination, Dottie's fingers slid further and further back in the damp crevice until it reached the tiny anal ring. Here, it began an unrelenting pressure to break into the forbidden opening.
Suddenly frightened, Dora raised her hips to get away from the uncomfortable pressure, but the slender finger was moistened and slippery enough to penetrate with a slight pop into the hot twitching cavity.
"Noooo, please, noooo," Dora suddenly screamed. "That . . . that hurts."
In answer to the complaint, Dottie sank her teeth into the tender flesh of the neighbor's wife's breast, seemingly trying to cram the whole thing into her sucking mouth. The pain, she knew, would fade quickly and become an exquisite sensation. Dottie began to move her finger back and forth in the tiny quivering rectum, trying to gain more depth, but she could not get it in any deeper than the first joint. The puckered ring had so tightly clenched on Dottie's knuckle that it followed each movement of the blonde's squirming finger.
Dora moaned from deep in her chest. The pressured sensation had changed into something else - something fantastically exciting. Suddenly, she began to move the muscles of her naked buttocks in a frantic effort to pull the invading finger in further. Flexing and relaxing desperately, she found herself building toward a climax. Her body quickly worked toward the badly needed peak of sensation. She wanted more and more of that finger shoving in and out of her pulsating anal passage, she wanted something fucked in her cunt . . . something big and hard . . . something she'd been needing for a long, long time.
Suddenly, Dottie was pulling away from Dora's frantically churning buttocks. Both women groaned with growing frustration as they were separated. She had been so close, so close . . . but, then, Dora looked up.
Before her stood Bob Welsh, grinning salaciously and lewdly massaging his young inflamed cock. Beside her, Dora heard the bed squeak as the boy climbed between Dottie's widespread legs.
"That was some show, Mrs. Simpson," the handsome sixteen year-old boy purred, "but we just can't wait any longer."
"Oh, God, hurry," Dora fairly screamed in the agony of her need. She stretched her legs wide apart. "Fuck me now! Somebody hurry and put one of those young hard cocks in my cunt!"
The young boy knelt beside the bed, his huge, blood-engorged prick resting against the side of the mattress. Grasping her hips, he jerked Dora toward him until her buttocks hung slightly over the edge of the bed and her legs were splayed on either side of his panting form. Grabbing his cock, he aimed it at her gaping hole and lunged forward with a violent thrust.
The young seven-inch prick was fucked in hard like a battering ram until the two sperm-filled balls slapped hard down against the sensitive ring of Dora's rectum.
"Aaaaaaiiiiieeeee ..." she screamed in ecstasy. The thin, soft edged of her cunt clung lovingly to the cock as it slowly withdrew and she screwed her ass down into the mattress. Then the thrusts - the fiery entry that brought her body to blazing life - pushed the soft fleshy fold back into her. The glistening young cock, like a never-ending all consuming thing, disappeared into the warm dark depths of her welcoming cuntal passage.
For just a moment and no more, Dora thought of her husband, feeling a brief spasm of guilt, but then she remembered how long it had been he'd denied her this ... the very thing a sixteen year-old boy was giving her. If it had not been for his constant neglect she would not be here now and the centers of her reason and sanity shorted out in a shower of delicious sparks.
The bed jiggled wildly from the action of Dottie and the young boy fucking into her and Dora realized she had never been so excited in her life. Her eyes rolled and she saw someone behind her, unhappily stroking his huge rampant erection as he waited for someone to finish. A new and exciting idea struck her and she grasped her own huge breasts, pushing them together invitingly and glancing significantly at the tall tow-headed boy smiling at her. His eyes lit up as he caught her thought.
Bob Welsh stopped his rhythmic stroking for a moment as the other boy climbed over Dora's body until he was kneeling over her chest. Lubricating his bone-hard cock with a drop of spittle, he wedged the massive hardness of his youth between her pair of tightly-pressed tits as he'd seen done in French girlie magazines his father stored in his underwear drawer, and found the narrow, warm tunnel between them. The two boys using Dora's body began stroking again, this time in rhythmic unison.
Dora looked down and sighed in ecstatic contentment as she saw the head of the young boy's cock peeking through the valley of her cleavage at the same time the young prick battered excitedly against her tingling cervix.
"Harder ..." she moaned. "Fuck harder you boys."
The bed quivered and shook as the three boys fucked their young cocks harder and harder into the two women humping on the mattress. Dottie's legs were pushed higher and higher by David until her ankles were pressed over her quivering shoulders. Dora, too, was in a position where she could not do much but take what the two boys were fucking into her body. Still, both women screamed and moaned with the force of their approaching orgasms.
Dottie felt the first scalding spurt as David's ejaculation began to pour into her. Her cunt instinctively contracted and squeezed around his spurting cock, sucking at it to pull all of it into her. His orgasm triggered her own and her body began to twitch uncontrollably, her feet and legs dancing in time to some unheard wild abandoned music. The boy's life-giving white hot cum filled her quivering belly and when the cum continued to erupt, the flow spilled out of her pink quivering cunt and cascaded down the smooth white crevice across the white mounds of her still-twitching buttocks. She was too exhausted to notice or care when David's prick slipped out of her and he sank beside her on the bed.
A moment later, though, both their heads lifted at the sounds coming from the other side of the bed and they turned to watch the spectacle before them.
Dottie gasped in amazement as she saw Bob riding Dora's ribcage, his huge prick sliding in and out of the deep furrow between her breasts that the woman held so tightly together that bloodless ridges of flesh bulged between her pressing fingers. At the same time, automatic rhythm with the young boy's lunging, fucking strokes, Bob Welsh was fucking his own visibly growing cock in and out of the hungrily sucking hole between Dora's legs.
"Ooooooh, fuck harder, both of you," Dora suddenly screamed as her body began to twitch and hump against them. "I'm cummmmmmming, oh God, I'm cummming!"
The two boys began fucking with renewed fury and the sound of their three damp bodies slapping against each other could be clearly heard. Dora's back arched from the bed and she savagely used her heels as spurs to drive Bob even further. The young man gave one mighty lunge and his buttocks began twitching as he reached his climax as the same time. Then, suddenly, all three were groaning and panting happily. Later, when they began to feel more energy, the momentary embarrassment between the two women was quickly dispelled as they both realized that it would be silly at that point, to start acting shy and innocent before one another.
Predictably, it was Dora - whose husband had shown her so little attention for so long - who initiated the idea of one more bout of fucking and sucking before the party broke up an hour later. It was five o'clock, a mere half hour before her husband would be in growling like a hungry dog for his supper. The boys too, realized with chagrin that their parents would be looking for them if they didn't get home before the school bus dropped off their brothers and sisters. A few minutes later, the five happily bid each other adieu in gleeful anticipation of another day's fun. Tomorrow would be just another school day for them.
Not one of them had noticed or heard the quiet footsteps in the kitchen forty-five minutes earlier or the heavy-hearted trudging steps of a man walking, eyes downcast, down the mountain road.
CHAPTER NINE
Aron Thompson, hunched and broken, sauntered through the verdant forested path back down the mountain to where he'd left his car hidden in the bushes. The golden sunlight that had smiled on his expectant face two hours before now mocked him cruelly.
When he had arrived at the mountain cabin, complete with a bottle of her favorite burgundy that he'd paid handsomely for to celebrate the rebirth of their marriage, she didn't answer his subtle rap on the screen door. He knew, however, that somebody was in the cabin from the telltale plate of cookies left on the doorstep, not to mention the three Harley Davidsons painted with red devils on the sides.
He'd gone to the front of the cabin, keeping a low profile and all but crawling on his hands and knees. It was there under the open window to her bedroom he'd heard a familiar voice screaming: Fuck harder you boys!"
Aron had walked back to the kitchen door and with shoes in hand surreptitiously slipped into the kitchen, peeking around the corners just enough to catch a glimpse of one, two, oh my God, three naked young boys. But what was that? A woman . . . yes, it certainly was, but not Dottie nearly crying: "Please, Dottie, don't torment me like this." Then later: "Oh, my God, hurry, fuck me now!"
Like a man in the throes of a nightmare, he daringly slipped unnoticed into the living room for a better view and it was there that he spied his wife in the middle of an orgy!
He couldn't stand the sight so terrifying and horrifying was it: he walked back to the kitchen, picked up his shoes and headed on down the mountain road taking a hidden side path that dipped through bushes of raspberry bushes and poison oak. He didn't notice. The only reality for Aron Thompson at that moment was the abandoned breathing and heaving on his wife's bed, the wild shrieks and moaning and, after a few miserable minutes, he had decided to go back to his car. It had been painful enough to listen, but he had known he might lose control of himself if he tried to just watch his wife being fucked by three young boys!
White faced and trembling, he had slipped on slippery rock near the creek bed. The ultimate humiliation for a mature man who'd seen forty summers and he just lay there on the ground with tears blinding his vision, oblivious to anything but the gruesome mental pictures of his wife in various poses of intercourse with three young boys. But the woman, my God, what was she doing with the woman?
The pain had soon diminished though, followed by a calm rage that frightened him by its intensity. Forgotten was the guilt he had felt for neglecting his wife and his intentions to rebuild their relationship. He had to know more, had to know the facts.
Rising to his knees and bracing his weight on a rock, he slowly rose to his feet and brushed off his trousers. The other woman . . . who was she?
He judged himself to be only about a quarter of a mile from the scene of the lewd tableau. Strength renewed by the red hot adrenalin coursing through his body, he traced his steps back up the road, thankful that he'd taken the short cut where he would not be seen and sat and waited for the guilty to pour out of the house and spill down the road.
The bikers were first, the tall one still zipping up his Levi's with a wild shriek, head turned to the sky. Three wild banshees climbed on motorcycles, yelping a victory cry and roared down the mountain road, dusty clouds shrouding their forms.
Aron stood there in a clump of trees digging his nails into the bark. The woman, where was she? A loud crackle ... a gun shot perhaps rang over his head. Instinctively, he fell to the ground in one swift movement and lay there trembling. Jesus Christ, what kind of a nightmare is this? First I hear my wife fucking three high school boys and maybe a woman too, and then somebody starts shootin' at me.
Bushes parted behind him and a form approached with the intensity of an angry bear. Aron peeked his head up and cried out a small whimper of warning just as a heavily booted foot was about to step on his back.
"Now, what we got here?" the frail overall covered man growled above him. His eyes were dark and piercing with anger. "Who the hell are you? We got 'nough stinkers on this mountain without strangers pryin' aroun' these parts."
"Listen, mister, I happen to be the husband of a woman who lives in that cabin and I'd thank you to quit shootin' at me." Aron pulled the hair out of his eyes and stood erect before the farmer in a stance of defiance. "Now would you mind tellin' me who it was you were taking such careful aim at?"
A calloused finger pointed at the cloud of dust and the trio of sixteen year old boys shrieking their way down the mountain. "Them bastards. Catch 'em on my property all the time. From the looks of things, they been on yer property too, mister. My wife tells me they been payin' visits to yer little honey."
"What?" Aron's eyes narrowed as he stared incredulously into the colorless pool of the farmer's mocking orbs. No, he thought to himself, not my wife. Not Dottie. "Well if I'm not mistaken, there's another woman in there too, mister. It must be some kind of joke."
"Joke, hell!" blurted Bill Simpson. "I don' call it no joke when innocent women get raped by young boys. But they don' dare touch my woman, no siree. Dora can take care of herself." He stared hard at the cabin, his eyes growing even wider in disbelief then horror. His mouth hung open and he rubbed his eyes. No, it couldn't be Dora! Dora!
"Something wrong, farmer!"
"Dora ..." he mouthed the words. "Dora was in there. In there with them young boys ..."
"Your wife?" Aron turned to look too, just as she emerged from the house, running a comb through her hair and buttoning her dress.
The farmer nodded, paling.
"Looks like we're two cuckolded men, pal." And Aron patted the stooped figure on the back.
The two men parted ways then: Aron returned to his car for a quick trip to the nearest bar. Anything to soothe his tattered nerves. He would return later so as not to embarrass Dottie; she had enough to be embarrassed about already.
Trudging trough the bushes all the farmer could think about was his wife's audacity in daring to criticize him for his coldness to her - while she was probably anticipating meeting her young lovers the next day. He would make her pay, he decided, and not only Dora, but that bitch-wife of that city slicker. He had never had any doubts about his wife's fidelity until that city woman came to live up there. So that's why she kept comin' down to visit Dora, heh? To convert her, just like those damned Mormons that kept pestering them all last summer.
The beginnings of a plan started to crystallize in his tortured, angry mind.
He arrived at the house just as Dora emerged from the bathroom, a fresh layer of lipstick covering her swollen lips. She had changed somehow in that afternoon - more color in her cheeks and happier. He felt his anger rise at the sight of her contented expression, but he fought it, forcing himself to stay calm.
"Hello," he greeted her, smiling coolly, at the same time thinking: Come on, you lousy bitch, let's hear your lies. "Where's supper? Don' you know it's nigh five o'clock, woman?"
Dora's jaw dropped at the sound of his words, but she quickly regained her composure and answered him, side-stepping him on the way to the refrigerator where she pulled out a bowl of cold boiled potatoes and cut them up into a sizzling pan of hot butter.
She turned to him and said confidently, "Supper'll be on the table in five minutes, dear."
Dear? Christ, she ain't called me dear for the past five year. What the hell kinda plan is she up to now. His eyes narrowed and he squinted at her, using all the willpower in his body to keep from slapping her when he noticed she'd buttoned her house dress wrong and a great gap between the second and third buttons from the top revealed her full luscious breasts. She'd forgotten her brassiere in the melee of dressing - five excited people dressing at the same time.
"I was thinkin', Dora ..."
She turned her head abruptly, nearly nicking her finger with the wildly slicing paring knife. He hadn't called her anything but 'hey you,' or 'woman' for so long. Something was astir.
"... was wonderin' if you'd like to go visit yer mother up in the city tomorrow. Bus comes through at ten o'clock in the mornin'."
Dora stared at him in astonishment. Did he somehow find out about what happened today, she wondered fearfully. Was this some kind of a trick to make her feel guilty? She studied her husband's expression, but could find nothing more than the expansive grin he wore on the infrequent occasions when he had a plan in mind. That happened about once every two years.
Why, he is trying to get rid of me, she thought in rising anger. He feels badly about something . . . maybe about the lousy way he's been treating me for the past three years, so he is trying to get me out of the way. "But you know how I get sick from the exhaust fumes on that damned bus. Maybe I'll ask Dottie Thompson if she'd like to go along with me. I'm sure she wouldn't mind driving, in fact, jes' yesterday she mentioned something about us goin' to the city."
"Naw, Dora, I don' want you hanging around with no city folk. They're sneaky and mean. Naw, you take yer pills for car sickness and you get on that bus."
Smiling to himself, Bill strolled into the living room and settled down in an easy chair and petted the dog. Ah, yes, he thought to himself, tomorrow will be a day to remember. That little snip on the hill is gonna learn something no city life ever taught her. Ya gotta have lived in the country to learn what I'm gonna teach her.
CHAPTER TEN
Blind rage directed Aron Thompson down the winding, twisting road that had once seemed like a Utopia in its total lack of sophistication and raw earthiness. Now it transformed from a beautiful butterfly to an ugly hungry moth that preyed on the goodness of the earth, chewing up the purity only to turn itself an uncomely brown, dirty color. Empty crates and wagons lined the sides of the road, left there for the next day of hard manual labor in a country where brains were honored as a gift, but nothing deemed worthy of development. Muscles, calloused hands and hardship was the path to survival here. No doubt that was the fate of those three young boys, so hardy and confident.
But where would they be ten years from now when their future was bleak and determined by the fates of nature's forces and youth would be but a memory?
Aron Thompson opened the window just a crack, enough to emit a wafting breeze of fresh air. He needed it, badly. Thoughts, ideas, excuses for his wife's behavior clogged his mind. With the benefit of a good education and the maturity of reasoning on his side, he struggled to forgive those young boys, struggled to find one reason for their actions and develop it in his typical logical professorial way. Forgiving was the thing, that he knew, but to believe in that conviction was another matter entirely, especially since his wife was the spider who'd spun the web.
He leaned his elbow on the window and scratched his head wearily, tears stinging his eyes as he glanced down on the car seat to see the bottle of burgundy glaring up at him and the card written in his own hand, that read: "to bring a little freshness into our lives, All my love, Aron."
Oh, damn, damn, damn! He pounded his fists on the steering wheel in a childish tantrum of anger. Why did this have to happen. Oh, God, why? He implored the foggy skies for an answer. None came.
Approaching the junction in the road, he automatically turned right, for no explainable reason. Habit, perhaps.
Her father was right, he admitted heavily to himself, we never should have gotten married. Fifteen years difference in age can create more damned problem than I wanted to admit. Could she really be that frustrated that she'd have to turn to young boys? Oh, God, it hurts so bad knowing that I can't satisfy her anymore! Oh, Christ! How much can one man bear?
A drink. I need a drink, he thought, turning into a small rustic looking restaurant-bar with a picture of a tilted martini glass with an olive in the bottom painted on a rusted sign. Give me a chance to get my head back together again.
The interior was dark and clouded with a blue haze of cigarette smoke. Still early in the day it was uncrowded, with only a few farm workers perched on bar stools sipping away at foamy glasses of beer, laughing raucously, probably exchanging stories with the bartender, a swarthy looking fellow with a mustache and unusually white teeth.
Aron chose a stool at the end of the bar, as far away from everyone as possible. It suited his mood well. He ordered a martini from the bartender who leaned over the wooden bar studying his customer with steady dark eyes. The man was in turmoil, that was plain to see by the deep furrows in his forehead, thought the bartender who'd seen many a similar expression in his years there at the U-Drop-In.
Quarters, dimes, and nickels tinkled out of Aron's hand onto the bar and the bartender counted out eighty-five cents and snuck an extra quarter as Aron stared blankly out the window. The man's from the city, rationalized the bartender, he can damned well afford it.
A bitter sip of the alcohol and his mind cleared one degree. Another, this time longer sip, and some of the pain lifted to be replaced with an empty feeling of nothing definable.
The door opened, he realized from a cold draft of wind, and he turned to see a dark haired woman, buxom and very made up in darkly penciled eyes and bright red lipstick. Unlike most women dressed in a tight fitting dress, this woman did not look cheap, mysteriously enough. Aron looked at her, unable to take his eyes off of her. Something akin to his torment reflected in her dark sloe eyes: for her it was poverty, for him age.
She caught this eyeing him closely and slithered forward ignoring the cat calls and whistles from the few farm workers whose beer-bellies and paunchy figures drooped over the edges of the bar stools. They had no money, she knew. They looked once, stared twice, and then went back to shooting craps at the bar, the rattling of the dice now mingling with the sound of Walter Cronkite from overhead.
Nobody in those parts of the country watch the news: living it is bad enough.
"What's yer name, honey?" the black haired vixen seated herself announced only by the tinkle, crinkle of her dime store jewelry lining her tanned arms with silver sparkles.
"Aron," he answered with an air of dignity, perhaps even a bit haughtily; he was not a local and he wanted that known immediately.
"I'm Joy." She offered a well-manicured hand, soft and unaccustomed to housework; hers was a less domestic profession, a fact that Aron detected, but chose to ignore.
"Could I buy you a drink?" His ego now pasting itself back together again, slowly, with some residues of misgivings still evident in his high-toned voice, strained from the emotion that wouldn't choke out or down.
"Sure can, honey. I'll have a glass of wine, Alfred." She beamed up at the bartender and he returned her smile with a knowing grin. He'd seen her at work before and if his guess proved right, she'd have this city-slicker emptying out his pockets in five minutes ... or three more drinks, however one chose to measure such things.
"How 'bout you, mister," inquired the bartender, "you want another?" The customer nodded, as Alfred knew he would, and another martini found its way to Aron's lips, going down more smoothly this time, by passing the lump in his throat, dissolving it with careless fantasies.
They fell into easy conversation, far easier than Aron had thought possible. Joy was witty, intelligent with an earthy sense of living, divorced, the whole bit. She didn't talk about her work, preferring to talk about what Aron did. There was another round, then another, and still another.
His suspicions were aroused when Alfred slipped Joy a key along with the change for her dollar bill for a pack of cigarettes. Aron had paid no heed to the meaningless maneuver until he looked at the flashing eyes and enticing young all-woman next to him. What the hell, he reasoned in his drunken mind, Dottie's up there fuckin' young guys, why the hell can't I have a little fun. Christ, it's been long enough, that I am sure of.
There was one more round and then Joy said, "Well, want to come for a walk, honey?"
At first Aron thought that meant it was time for them to break up their illicit rendezvous and both go about their business, of whatever nature that might be. But he was wrong, oh so wrong. Joy led him out the door, showing no signs of the five glasses of wine she'd consumed, and led him to the back of the bar and slipped a key in the door. It opened easily and she flicked a switch on the wall. The lights came on, dim despite the naked light bulb that glared from the ceiling above.
"How about a little private party, Aron? It sounds from what you told me, that what you need more 'n anything is a little love. You're a deprived man, Aron."
He hung his head, her words opening up a valve of despair plugged for so long. She was right and he knew it; there was no denying the fact. Pulling his limp body, yielding and pliable, close to her and he could smell fresh gardenias between the tumescent swell of her melon-like breasts.
With that, Aron was propelled inside the small damp smelling room and Joy shut the door, latching the lock on the inside then pulling the curtains to shut out the glaring pink neon lights that spelled out "U-Drop-In" in eye piercing brightness.
A shudder ran up the back of his spine. He was alone ... in a strange room with a whore!
But as he sat on the bed, staring weakly up at this beautiful prostitute, Aron had to admit that she was one hell of a woman. A little lacking in education perhaps, but then he could tell that formalities impressed her none anyway. She exuded pure animal sex, and he had to admit it would be sort of tempting to take her in his arms and kiss her, love her up a bit . . . oh, nothing more. Just enough to satisfy that need of having a warm body next to his, perhaps to cuddle him and soothe over the raw sand-paper edges of his tortured mind. He wouldn't fuck her or anything, but Lord, it would be nice to kiss those cherry-red lips, caress her breasts to hardness . . .
He felt his cock jerk into instant rigidity as if it were alive and independent of him. He tried to will it limp again, to banish the lewd thoughts swirling in his martini-filled head, but it remained throbbingly swollen. Guiltily, he looked away. He couldn't let himself get carried away. Oh, no!
Joy chuckled. "Aron's got a hard-on." She was smiling at his bulging pants. "Aron's got a great big hard-on because he knows he's going to fuck me ..."
Aron had never heard a woman talk in such lascivious language. "Joy . . . cut it out, for Christ's sake!" he snapped, offended by her language. Dottie would never talk like that . . . or would she? With that thought, his head lifted to stare at the voluptuous breasts inches from his face.
"You're going to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me ... " She came to him, and her breath was like white-hot firebrands stinging his cold cheeks. She touched his knee lightly, her fingers almost searing the cloth, and then she reached higher, higher . . . and touched the throbbing protuberance down between his legs!
"Oooooh, God!" he managed to breathe, almost leaping off the single bed mattress covered with a rough Indian blanket of multi-colors. He could feel his testicles ache with a sudden pressure of sperm, and will as he may, he couldn't pull away from her caresses. Her tongue trailed over his cheek, searching for his mouth, and her hand continued to rub his uncomfortably swollen cock.
"It's purely physical," she droned on, mesmerically, hypnotically. "You want to get your big cock into my wet pussy, and I want it, too . . . "
"I ... I love my wife," he protested weakly.
"Sure you do, but where is she now?"
Her words stung his consciousness like an angry hornet. As much as he hated to admit it, this uneducated woman knew more about the affairs of the heart than, he, a college professor.
" ... All of them do," she continued. "But that doesn't have anything to do with us, with here and now, with fucking."
This is wrong! his tortured mind screamed.
I'm a married man . . . what would Dottie say?
I can't go through with it! He wrenched himself off the bed, his heart hammering, and he was aware that his prick was still granite-hard and seeping hot droplets of excited lubrication. He had to compose himself! To somehow make an excuse to leave.
Joy's husky voice whispered: "Aron-baby..."
He turned, gathering the courage to reject her, but then the words froze in his throat. His mouth hinged open and his eyes blurred.
She stood before him, stripped completely naked!
The lovely prostitute had unhooked the one article of clothing, her dress, and it lay puddled at her feet. Neither panties nor bra were evident, and as he gazed transfixed at her white sculpted body, he could see she didn't need any artificial supports. She smiled at him, the tip of her wet, pink tongue showing. The hair-lined lips of her cuntal valley were displayed for him like an Aztec sacrifice, the black down glistening lusciously in the pale glow of the neon lights outside the window. Her high, perfectly rounded breasts, startlingly alabaster white against the tan of her other parts, jutted out like ruby-crested mountains, and her long, slender legs seemingly trembled with desires.
""Well, lover? You like what you see? Would you like to kiss me? Here?" Her hands had moved to her black triangle, and when she said, "here," her fingers blazed a trail down through the soft, pink lips of her cunt and spread them slowly, slowly apart, revealing the tiny trembling bud of her erect clitoris. She began to stroke it back and forth, round and round.
It was a lust maddening sight to Aron. The thought of kissing, of licking her sweet young pussy set his prick into a wild dance. It had been so long since he and his wife had made love, and longer still since they'd indulged in anything except an on-again-off-again kind of love making. "Please, Joy, please," he moaned, his breath all but stopped.
"And I'll kiss your cock, Aron, I want to kiss and suck your cock ... I love to suck cock, did you know that?" On and on she went, and the one sure way of building Aron to a point where he couldn't say no, couldn't leave this whore, had been used. He'd been denied oral love by his wife the last time he saw her . . . and he had wanted to feel the soft down of a woman's pussy as it opened to his mouth with lusting desire ... if ony his wife understood that he wanted to better their sexual relationship, that that's why he'd come here for the weekend, that he wanted his kisses, his tongue, his cock in her mouth . . . Oh, God! he could feel his swollen cock palpitate wildly.
He had to have her! He suddenly didn't care about Dottie and her little boys any more, about his adulterousness with a whore, about anything! The only important thing was the billowing heat in his genitals, and the desire to suck and be sucked! Yes, he had to have her! Yes, Yes!
As if somehow spirit-free from his body he watched himself unfasten his belt and remove his clothing, dumping them wherever they happened to fall. He stood before her as she stood before him, his thick, bursting cock standing out at right angles.
"Oh, it's lovely," Joy crooned in ecstasy. "Just as I knew it would be." She walked to the bed, the very motion a sensual experience and lay down on the cover. "Come here, Aron," the voluptuous young whore purred, "let me suck you off!"
Aron came to her, and the next thing he knew he was writhing beside her, feet-to-head, and Joy's fingers scratching lightly over his cock, her expert lips kissing his legs, belly, and inner thighs, building him to still higher a fever pitch.
"God! Hurry!" Aron groaned, not sure he could keep the boiling semen inside his testicles another moment. "Hurry!"
As if in obeyance, Joy plunged her head forward and Aron felt the incredible hot moistness of her lips close butter-like over the sensitive head of his cock, felt her searing tongue licking tiny circle of fire around it. Sighing, completely enraptured in the exquisite manipulations, Aron moved toward her, and buried his face in her cunt. There was a sudden jerk of contracted muscles in the excited prostitute's body, and she pressed closer to his mouth. The very abandonment, the complete capitulation to sensuality by this whore overwhelmed him and blotted out all thoughts except the delicious debauchery of which he was a willing partner.
Joy, the practiced professional that she was, tasted the piquancy of his fevered secretions hungrily, twirling her tongue faster and faster. Then she began to suck him rhythmically, with full expertise of a woman in love with her work. He tasted good clean, that was the most important thing, she thought. Not like those dirty farm worker's who've been out in the field all day. Better yet, he's got money. No more IOU's for Joy.
Aron looked up once and watched her convoluted lipstick-rimmed lips ripple up the down his hardened cock, watched the soft skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in as she sawed the full entirety of his cock. Never had he envisioned such an erotic sight! And he was aroused still more and his loins tensed and jerked upwards into her face, all the fleshy expanse disappearing with each hard forward thrust so that only a small stretch of it showed white and glistening with the saliva between her lips.
He returned to her soft, hair fringed cunt and drew her firm rounded buttocks down over his mouth so that he was sunk nose-deep in the soft-rimmed cunt. He held her tightly with both hands on her buttocks, thrusting his own tongue up teasingly between the tender fleshy folds. He heard her gasp and renew her nibbling with frenzied motion. Her pussy contracted and opened around his mouth and then he moved his hands down and opened her still wider and began to curl and flick his tongue at the smoothness of her pearl-white back side. He sucked and licked while she swayed above him, completely out of control, her cunt flowering open wider and her secretions mingling with his saliva and rivuleting down his cheeks.
He could feel her muscles cord as he worked slave-like, and then he plunged to her clitoris, sucking and biting it tenderly, his tongue reaming the sensuous little button while she churned and writhed in a lewd dance of desire above him. Aron sensed she was straining to cum, her mouth and cheeks sucking wildly at his cock as she bucked and arched both her back and head in an uncontrollable quaking of body. Her breasts danced as she sucked voraciously, her pumping mouth making the pressure spiraling to a final, huge release of his building semen.
"And then - "Uuuuummmmmmmm!'' came the irrefutable cry of her climax and the warm, pungent milk of her softly pulsating pussy spread hotly across his face. She screamed out her orgasm, though her mouth was still sucking hungrily at his deep-thrust cock, and she snaked her heels against his shoulders and rubbed her fervently heaving cunt in an uncontrolled, tormented surge. Then - All at once he too felt the eruption of fire leap along his cock. He gasped as though in agony, and then his cock began a wild, convulsive jerking that flooded without advance warning the vivacious whore's maddening bobbing mouth with rush after rush of boiling sperm, bloating her cheeks and forcing her to swallow wildly to keep from choking. Then as quickly as it had started, there was one final spurt and he lay back, half unconscious over the power of his release.
Still the girl sucked ravenously at his lust juices, milking every last drop of the hot gushing male ambrosia until at last, his cock jerked softly and slowly deflated in the warm, sperm-filled cavern of her mouth. She slid her lips from his cock with one last swallow, and cradled her face to his still throbbing groin.
"How was that, lover?" she murmured appreciatively.
He could only sigh in contentment for an answer. He knew that he should feel guilty now, but the stirrings of remorse and shame were not forthcoming. He only felt like a satisfied, virile man, one who had satisfied a woman as well. He felt a certain power, a certain pride.
His wife. The thought of Dottie echoed in his mind, and a small part of his brain tried to make the self-deprecation come; but he fought the thoughts away and he simply lay there, taking in the musk of the young prostitute's body perfume and the permeating odor of their consummated lust.
He felt her stir then, and suddenly she was on all fours and beside him, smiling down in his face. She said, "How was that professor? I'm gonna teach you things you never could learn from no books." She leaned down and kissed him tenderly, the taste of his semen still on her mouth. "Would you like that?"
He ran his tongue across his lips. Already there was faint stirrings in his limp cock, displacing any fears of not being able to get another erection. "Yes . . . yes, I'd like that!"
"Good," she stretched out and snuggled in the protection of his arms. "It'll be wonderful and we have all night ..."
Aron had the strong, erotic sensation that she was good at keeping her word. He wasn't wrong . . .
Hours later, they slept together on the small bed, cuddled under the Indian blanket, a space heater the only source of heat against the dampness of the coastal air.
He awoke to an empty bed, his head pounding from the foray of the night before, his loins still sticky from lust.
Got to get dressed, he told himself, got to get out of her and back to the cabin. One leg in each hole and the zip of a metallic sound and he was on his way. Checking his pockets, he was delighted to see that his wallet was still intact. But wait, there was something foreign in there. Digging into his pockets he drew out a piece of paper and read the poorly written note written on one of his blank checks: "Thanx a lot, mister. Couldn't sleep last nite cuz you hogged the hole dam blankit and didn't leave me no money. Who the hell you city people think you are anyhow paying with checks?"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dottie turned the rusted faucet until the rattling pipes ceased their vibrating noises then slipped into the warm bath water, sighing at the much needed comfort only hot water can bring. She'd slept late that day, much later than she'd planned, and now all her body muscles relaxed happily in the bubble bath as she looked unseeing out the window.
She remembered the day before, an incident difficult to forget and her guilt returned with a new more vital force. She had to empty her soul to someone, had to tell somebody about what had happened. This morning, though, she had discovered that the daylight made it much easier for her to think rationally, to put things in their proper perspective. Dottie Thompson had realized after several minutes in the soapy water that everything that had happened was a one time incident, never to be repeated again. If necessary, should those boys return, she would buy a dog, a big dog, well-trained in the art of protecting a master and if that was not sufficient, she'd move to a different part of the country side. God knows there must be thousands of little cabins out here in the forests. There she could start her summer all over again. Nothing wasted, she told herself, and sponged her back with delicious suds.
She languidly soaked for what seemed like hours, until her smooth skin puckered like a dried prune. She rose from the tub, smoothing talcum powder over her body and slipped into her robe. A hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs with juice and the world would smile for Dottie Thompson once again.
Two broken eggs swirled and whipped with the rapid motion of a fork and then dribbled into the slow heating pan. She'd eaten nearly nothing in the past couple of days and a good man would help her spirits out, too, she knew.
No, she wouldn't feel guilty about those boys ... or Dora, either, for that matter . . . everybody makes mistakes once in a while and what could she have done to protect herself? Nothing! she reassured her conscience and sat down to her breakfast, her cat purring next to her on the bench.
She'd just finished the last of her juice when she heard a scratch at the screen door. Oh, God, she wondered, who could that be? Certainly not Bob Welsh again. Oh, God, please no!
"Hello?" she called, getting up from the table and wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. Whoever it was they could at least have the courtesy to announce their presence instead of sneaking around like this.
A hunched man in overalls smiled amiably through the screen door at her. Must be a salesman? she thought.
"Hello," his voice droned. "I'm Dora's husband, Bill." He took off his straw hat and muscled past her, looking around as if in search of something.
"I'm . . . glad to meet you Bill. I've gotten to know Dora quite well, but I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you before." What in the world does he want? Does he know about yesterday? Did Dora tell him?
"I'll bet you have," he muttered over his shoulder before seating himself on the sofa in the living room.
Although a small man, Bill Simpson carried an undeniably powerful presence as if to say, "everybody out of my way." Dottie couldn't define his expression; it was deep and mysterious and left her with cold chills up and down her spine. No wonder Dora's bored to death of her husband, she thought empathetically. If I had to go to bed with that twit every night I'd enjoy a little youthful company once in a while myself.
"Call me Bill," he stated coldly. His eyes virtually stripped the young woman of the fuzzy peach bathrobe she wore. Weakly, she slumped into the overstuffed chair. Something was amiss, her instincts told her.
"You and I are gonna get to know each other real good. Even better than you and those young boys I seen roarin' up and down this road."
Dottie's heart leapt almost into her throat as her mind tried to digest what the man had just said. It was too much to believe that Dora, her trusted friend, had told him what had happened yesterday, yet he seemed to be obliquely aware of her activities of late. No, she reassured herself, Dora wouldn't tell; hadn't she been warned about Bob Welsh and his friends? Didn't everybody around know about them and their tricks?
"Mr. Simpson," she daringly started, crossing her legs in a defensive posture, "I hired Bob Welsh as a gardener, nothing more. He did and excellent job of tilling my garden. If you'd care to look for yourself," she pointed toward the garden, knowing there was no way to prove her point without getting up to see, but not wanting to risk any further contact with this weasily looking man than she could help.
He answered with a lewd laugh, thinking, Jesus, it's been a long time since I've had a piece like that and it's gonna be good, real good. Shit, those female ewes ain't gonna be nothin' compared to this city ass. " Jes' came to tell ya I seen a man up here yesterday sneakin' around in the bushes. Tall dark fella, good looking, guess ya might say. From the looks of his clothes I'd say he was from the city. Claims he knows you ..."
Aron . . . she mouthed the words.
"Saw him right after I got a real good look at the orgy you all had goin' here and then . . . "
"Where is that man now?" she nearly screamed. "Aron ..." she was on her feet now. "Where is Aron?"
Bill gestured with his hand as if to calm her. "Now don' you go gettin' all excited, Dottie. He'll be back I'm sure."
Dottie gasped audibly. Was Bill spying on her? God, how many times before had he seen Bob Welsh there? But her rational mind took over and the important point, she realized, was why was Bill Simpson there?
As if reading her mind, the farmer grinned slyly and said, "'Spose you wonder why I'm here?" He drew out a can of Prince Alberts and stuffed a wad of ugly looking brown tobacco in his mouth and then Dottie realized what that smell was and why his teeth were so dark and rotten looking. "What you say we make a little bargain, Dottie?"
Oh, God, no, not him, too, she thought. When is this thing every going to end? "What do you mean?" she asked calmly, praying that it would not be what she thought, the same thing that everyone else seemed to want of her.
"Well ..." he chewed on the tobacco, a dark line of spittle running down his whiskered chin. "... Dora and me," he stopped to wipe the brown saliva on the back of his hand, "we ain't been havin' such a good time of it lately. Seems neither of us cin git loose in bed." He stared coldly at her, waiting for her expression to contort. "To tell ya the truth, I'm gittin' a little bored with the woman and ever since the law come in and said I didn't have fittin' grazin' land for my ewes, I ain' had much to satisfy my maleness, ya know. Now, way I got it figured, Dottie." He sat forward on the couch staring directly into her tortured blue watery eyes, "... You and me kin help each other out every once in a while. You ain' got no husban' to keep yer feet warm at night and I ain' got no wife gonna let me do what I like."
The blonde woman stared at him aghast. Hadn't she been through enough already? she wondered. "I can't, oh God, no, I can't!" she shrieked, hiding her face in her hands.
"Hey, you!" snapped Bill Simpson as if condemning the bad taste of her outburst, then leaned back in the couch and spit the tobacco into his hand in one awful wad, looking for somewhere to dispose of it and finally eyeing a potted plant reached over and dumped the finely chewed tobacco into the dirt. "There it is, pure and simple, Mrs. Thompson. Now I know who yer husban' is, it won't be no problem lettin' him know what you been up to all along, that it weren't no rape took place up here yesterday."
Completely shaken by the unexpected turn of the vicious cycle in which she was involved, Dottie broke down into tearful pleadings. She knew that if Aron found out about she and Bob Welsh, that it was not a case of rape, he might never forgive her. "A-all right, Mr. S-Simpson, I'll do . . . anything ..." she sobbed brokenly, "anything y-you tell me ... "
"First of all, please quit that damned cryin'. Sounds like a hurt dog," he snapped.
"Yes, of course," Dottie said, trying desperately to pull herself together. If she had to act like a tramp for these men, at least she could preserve her dignity, she told herself. Brightening, she realized that Bill Simpson looked like an absolutely inept lover. There would be some consolation, at least. If nothing else, she could preserve the tattered remains of her self-respect. Nothing this repulsive little man could do would make her enjoy sex with him. Then, someday, when this nightmare was all over, she would make sure that he knew that she was laughing at him all the time.
"Now, Dottie, I want you to take off your clothes and sit down on the rug." Bill was feeling very proud of himself. Things were going even more smoothly than he had planned and the little bitch was a pretty little thing. He only hoped her body was as good as it appeared through that thick robe. If so, this would be a real pleasure. There was only one thing that would hurt Dora more than his fucking another woman and that was his fucking a beautiful girl who was at least ten years younger than she. Yes, old Dora was going to be sorry she had played around, but, first - first, he would have the enjoyable task of paying back the little cunt who led his wife astray.
A gasp of admiration whistled through Bill's lips as Dottie dropped the robe, revealing that she had worn nothing beneath it. She felt as much as she saw his eyes lustfully lingering over her ripe young curves. Suddenly embarrassment over came her and she suddenly sat back down on the rug, curling her legs and arms tightly around herself to protect her body from his gleaming eyes.
"Quite a little heifer, Dottie," he chuckled. "Don't go gettin' shy on me now. Cain' tell me yer a modest one after what I seen yesterday." His expression suddenly turned sinister. "Now, do as I say and don' try no more silly tricks. Spread yer legs! Wide, so I cin see yer cunt."
No, no, she silently protested. I was forced to do everything I did; I had no choice. But the expression of determination on the farmer's face killed any thought of explanation. He would believe only what he wanted to believe and he had already called her a heifer. He's too bright; she shuddered with repulsion. Slowly, Dottie swallowed her pride and spread her legs apart. When she could see by his eyes that the coral slit of her cunt was visible to him, she stopped and leaned back against the chair she'd been sitting in, closing her eyes to the humiliating leer that twisted his thin features.
"I said, spread your legs, you little slut," he suddenly bellowed. Dottie's eyes flew open and she saw him gesticulating wildly with his hands, his face almost purple with rage. "I want one foot up on that chair and the other one touching the floor. Now, do as I say!"
Numbly, she did as she was told, splaying her legs wide open and positioning them as he had directed. She found herself leaning back into the corner of the room, her thighs spread so far apart that it almost hurt the taut muscles. Shuddering in revulsion, she saw a drop of spittle form at the corner of the man's mouth and trickle down his chin as he stared hungrily at her helplessly exposed crevice. Her humiliation was heightened by the fact that the man still sat there, completely dressed as she posed naked before him, presenting up her open cunt a slit to his devouring eyes.
"Now," he growled hoarsely, "start playing with yerself."
"Oh, no, I can't do that," she gasped in horror. "I've never done anything like that."
"My dear, I've been quite patient with you ..." he began, an evil light shining from his eyes. "But if you don't start cooperatin', I'll be mad." His baleful gaze sent chills up Dottie's spine and she nodded wordlessly to indicate that she understood. "Very good, I'm glad ya know I mean business. Now play with yerself."
Hesitantly, Dottie lifted her trembling hands to her full luscious breasts, commencing to pull and tweak at the aureoles and nipples until her body began to respond to her manipulations. She was certain that she was never so mortified in her whole life, but she forced herself to go on, rolling the nipples between her thumbs and forefingers until they became erect, standing out from the smooth swell of her breasts like tiny, hard cocks. After being roughly used by so many men in the past few days, boys, she corrected herself with a grimace, Dottie found it oddly pleasurable to just be able to touch herself, without fear of harm of further unexpected humiliations.
"Enough of that," she heard the farmer suddenly command. "Yer cunt. Touch yer cunt. I want to see you make yerself real hot." His hand now resting on his trousers below his belt and Dottie could see the rising protuberance under his stubby fingers.
You stupid old fool Dottie silently fumed. I can't make myself hot, and it would certainly take a lot more of a man that you are to arouse me. Catching the vulgar thought as soon as she had formed it, Dottie chastised herself for sinking to his level and began to concentrate on the task he had set for her. Even if she could not satisfy herself, perhaps she could pretend enough excitement to appease him. Maybe, she mused to herself, maybe he just wants to watch me.
Encouraged by the idea, she let her hands drop downward and flutter like pale birds over the golden thatch of her pubic hair. Slowly and dramatically she ran the tips of her fingers over the smooth, sensitive outer lips of her cuntal opening, experiencing an electric shock of surprise as a startling shock of exquisite pleasure resulted from her first tentative touch.
Inquisitively, she stroked her forefinger over the tiny rosebud of her clitoris, softly at first, then with more and more vigor as a delicious tingling sensation radiated out around the tiny swollen peak. It was good, almost as good as a man, she realized joyfully as, forgetting the presence of her audience, she furiously fingered her clitoris, feeling her whole torso quivering in response to her fevered manipulations.
A tortured groan slipped from between her lips as she suddenly plunged one finger into her hot waiting passage. She wiggled it experimentally inside of herself until her impaled cunt became accustomed to the invading finger probing at the lubricated softness of its tender walls. She could feel its moisture covering the palm of her hand as it ground erotically into the fiery knot of her clitoris. She moved her finger in tiny circles, expanding the tight hole with each teasing rotation.
Realizing that two fingers would probably be even better than one, she quickly added another and began to frantically finger herself as she started to fight for an orgasm.
Bill Simpson watched the depraved drama before him in undisguised delight, his belly, nearly invisible under his overalls, heaving up and down as he felt himself becoming more and more aroused. His eyes were glued to the fascinating spectacle of this lovely, young blonde woman trying desperately to bring herself to a climax, and, almost involuntarily, he had begun to stoke his rapidly rising member. "That's it, give it hell," he growled hoarsely as beads of perspiration began to break out on his forehead and upper lip. "Go ahead, whole, fuck it, Fuck yerself!"
Oblivious to his obscene words, Dottie was almost out of her mind with excitement. She was ready to crawl the wall to quench the fire raging in her clenching cunt. Her two long, slender fingers dipped wildly in and out of the swollen, deep pink lips of her cuntal passage, the outer surface of which was pearled by glistening droplets of her lubricating fluids. Tiny rivulets of perspiration coursed down her trembling thighs as she began to heave her buttocks upward, trying to get more and more of her skewering fingers. A deep growl of frustration rose from deep in her chest, then changed to a whine of ecstasy as she added one more finger to the two with which she was punishing herself.
Dottie drove herself on, three fingers now in her wide-stretched, liquid drenched cuntal channel, trying insanely to break out of his plateau of passion on which she found herself stranded. But, she could not do anymore. She had turned herself on, and now she found that she was driving herself mad because she could not come to a climax.
At last, there was nothing to do but give it up. She allowed her hand to fall away from her throbbing, aching slit and moaned despairingly. Suddenly, her gleaming eyes fell on the man who had started this.
"Oh, God, Mr. Simpson, help me, fuck me."
"I thought you'd never ask, Dottie," he grinned lopsidedly and rose to tear down his trousers.
A moment later, Bill Simpson, stood before her, completely naked, his great, heavy cock standing out from beneath his smooth hairy belly like a thick ramrod. His weighty sagging balls swayed ominously between his thin thighs as he stroked the thick uncircumcised foreskin back and forth over the bulbous head of his shaft.
He moved closer to the rug on which she sat and she sensed unwanted flames of desire burning furiously in her loins. Staring in horror and disgust at the unattractive middle-aged man, so unlike the young virile boys she'd spent a glorious afternoon with yesterday, she wondered again, what had happened to her in the last few days that she could feel desire for someone like him. A lifetime of chastity and now she was reduced to this!
The farmer reached down and ran his hand over the awakened mounds of her breasts and down over her belly to the soft, fleshy folds of her cunt below. "Oooooh," she moaned as his touch sent new waves of pleasure over her body until her nerve ends felt scorched and frazzled from the heat of her desire. A rash of goose bumps arose over the ivory paleness of her sensitive skin.
Yes . . . she wanted him. She wanted him! She wanted him to crawl up inside of her, to possess her, to quiet the thunder that was building up deep, once more, from his maddening fingertips, playing over her defenselessness. "Yes, please touch me like that. Fuck me . . . now!" she pleaded piteously.
"Shut up, whore," the farmer rasped, enjoying his hold on the beautiful slut who had introduced his wife to other men. "You'll get cock when I decide to give it to you!"
His greedy eyes feasting on her squirming nakedness, the farmer lowered his bulk onto the floor, then crouched on all fours over the white moving body, resting his palms hard on the inside of her wide-spread thighs. His mouth watered as his eyes fastened onto the hair-framed slit of her open crotch, rotating sensuously, expectantly, a scant few inches from his lips. Saliva drizzled down his chin to mingle obscenely with the lubricating juices oozing from the narrow passage at the bottom of her smooth white belly.
Through half open eyes, Dottie gazed down at the man crouched between her parted thighs and suddenly she wished she could widen them even further for him. She was no better than a whore now, a slave to his lewd desires, bought and paid for!
"Aaaaaagggghhhhh!" she groaned piteously, jerking upward as she felt his hot lips clamp down over the pulsating opening of her cunt. She felt his lips suck, drawing the warm, soft folds deep into the hot cavern of his mouth, while his tongue began a maddening licking against the straining pink bud of her hot, excited pussy. She wriggled her buttocks unashamedly against him as the hot, probing tip worked its way up and down the length of the narrow, wet slit, then worked its way into her straining cunt like a racing lizard. Her hips ground wildly into the rug, soft mewling animal sounds of pleasure escaping from between her passion-clenched teeth.
Then, suddenly, he stopped, raising his head to grin up at her through her heaving thighs.
"Go on! Don't stop!" she pleaded. "Oh, God, don't stop now! Lick my cunt! Lick it! Lick it!"
But, in response, she merely received his salacious grin and the words: "Turn over, woman. I've got a real surprise fer ya. The ewes sure did like it."
Unthinking, willing to do anything for the release she needed so badly, she twisted around on the rug, changing position until she was kneeling with her body resting on the back of the chair. She felt the farmer rise from the floor and stand up behind her, his hands suddenly resting on the smooth oval globes of her buttocks. Then, she felt him kissing the ivory cheeks of her ass, biting into them with sharp little knives.
Through the haze of her passion, she felt him opening her buttocks, drawing the cheeks wide apart, then licking the crevice between them. He pulled and stretched at her asshole and she could feel the strain on the tight, rubbery ring of her anus. Suddenly, she felt obscenely naked and exposed as the panting form leaned over her buttocks and sloberingly kissed the tiny, brown puckered hole. But she didn't really care now. Nothing seemed to matter any more as long as he could give her some kind of release from this agony of arousal.
Then, she felt the tip of his finger again at the entrance, of her naked rectum and she jerked automatically away from the strange sensation.
"Relax," the man rasped, jabbing again at the tightly clenched opening. "Open your ass." She gasped, then relaxed to be used as the man behind her desired. He probed for a moment longer at the outer edges of the small elastic circle, then shoved forward, sadistically sinking the finger up to the first knuckle. To her surprise, the pain was not nearly as keen as she had thought it would be. The farmer dug into the tight, expanding hole, insinuating his finger slowly and methodically into the velvety depths of her rectum.
She began to relax slightly until suddenly she felt the extra pressure of another finger ram unexpectedly in alongside the first. She winced with pain and tried to cringe away from him, but he followed; pinning her upper torso to the back of the couch with the palm of his hand.
"Oh, stop it, please. It hurts." Tears of pain and humiliation streamed down her cheeks as she realized for the first time what he was going to do to her. He was going to shove his long, thick cock up into her rectum in an unnatural act of love she did not even know existed before. This is what he had meant when he said "the ewes like it." No wonder poor Dora had refused, Dottie thought in disbelief. God, it's so unnatural.
As if in cruel answer to her plea, his fingers began to work together inside of her clinging rectum, grinding down into her tightly contracting anal passage, expanding it mercilessly as he twisted and turned his fingers in the narrow hole, preparing it for his coming entry. She tried to jerk her buttocks away, but her quivers only drove the probing deeper and deeper into her ravaged depths.
"Ya know I ain't never fucked a woman in the ass hole like this before," the farmer said softly, as if talking to himself. "But if they behave anythin' like those sheep, boy, oh boy!" She could hear him smack his lips and then say: "Ya got a pretty ass, Dottie, nice and hairless."
"No, please don't do it to me," Dottie pleaded, knowing already that it was futile.
As suddenly as he had worked the fingers in, he pulled them out of her. They seemed to come out reluctantly, the rubbery skin of her anus clinging to them and making a sucking, hissing noise. Climbing onto the chair behind her, he forced her legs wide apart with his knees, then moistened the tiny hole with a drop of spittle, preparing it for the greater entry. She was held wide, and helpless, completely at his mercy and she bit down on her lower lip to keep back to tears of fear and frustration brimming to her eyes. She couldn't bear it: this was just too horrible.
His hands grasped harshly at her hips, holding them firmly in the air as she felt the excitedly pulsating head of his cock resting within her split crevice. She gasped in surprise at the first contact. It was huge! As big as Bob's. She hadn't expected it from an old man like him. She would never be able to accept that into her back passageway. It would certainly rip something! Desperately, she tried to pull away from him but he held her tight and began to probe at the tight, hairless opening of her backside.
His hands coursed down over her buttocks, his thumbs pressing on either side of her tiny, puckered anus, stretching it wide. The gentle probing grew into a hard, unresisting bluntness.
"Oooooh! No! Pleasssseeeee!" she shrieked as the tight resisting ring gave way before the unyielding pressure, the tip popping into her with a slight jerk.
The pressure was easing a little but she twisted and screamed, again, and again, trying with all her strength to get away. Her buttocks were moving wildly, but her thrashing only allowed him to drive his huge cock deeper and deeper inside her. There was no escape from the horror and degradation of her defenseless body. Filling her backside ceaselessly as if she were being impaled on a tree trunk, pushing the soft rubbery flesh inside of her widely-stretched anal passage in great waves of pressure before it.
"Please stop. Take it out! It's too tight!" she cried, her eyes open wide.
But he ignored her pleas, forcing inch after inch up into her vainly resisting rectal passage as he hugged her hips tightly in his barbarian attack and growled, "Push back, damn you. Shove back, you fucking cunt. Open your ass!"
With a mind-reeling effort, she forced herself to move back against him, then gasped in agony as his prick slid smoothly into her rectum, not stopping until she felt her buttocks flatten to her hipbones and his pubic hair slap hard against her ass. The excitement she had felt before was ripped away by the reality and overpowering presence of that hot, pulsating staff sunk deep in her rectum.
The farmer chuckled lewdly and throbbed his long, hard prick deep within the confines of Dottie's rectum. "How do ya like that?"
Dottie heard him snicker again and she groaned in anguish as he began to saw rhythmically and without mercy deep into the soft depths of her back passage, bringing further sobs of pain and misery to her tortured lips. She had never felt so soiled and degraded in her life, she thought miserably as the farmer began to fuck the full length of his cock into her with long smooth strokes.
He could see tiny ridges of her pink, clasping flesh pull out with the base of his cock every time it withdrew for another vicious lunge inside. This was it, this was his revenge. He had conquered the little bitch and was ass-fucking her. Now, he thought triumphantly, he would make her like it, whether she liked it or not!
A moment later, Dottie felt the farmer's arms reaching down under her heaving belly and his fingers stroking her clitoris, fondling the knobby protrusion until the familiar sensations of pleasure again began to radiate out around it. To her amazement, she also began to feel a change in her rectum; the momentary pain was becoming oddly pleasurable. She was beginning to experience some enjoyment from his thrusts and she instinctively knew she would enjoy it even more if she reared back to meet those thrusts. She began to shove backwards with vigor, in tempo to meet the forward movement of his loins.
The farmer groaned again and surged into her with renewed power. She too was groaning and twisting and waving the whiteness of her ass back at him in a lewd invitation to fuck harder and deeper. Her buttocks were swinging in tiny, rotating circles, clenching tightly around his cock with a slight throb of her rectum on each outstroke.
Sweat poured down the face of Bill Simpson. He stared in delight at the sight of his balls smacking resoundingly against her tight cunt each time he sunk his prick to the hilt in her wide-split crevice. He had stopped fondling her clitoris and still she bucked before him like a mare in heat. He knew she was his to do as he wished now. She was kneeling like a slave before him, prepared to follow his every whim and demand. He would give it to her now as she had never had it before and she would love it - hell, she was loving it, he realized as he watched the wiggling of her buttocks and the golden curls bouncing around her head and neck as she worked frantically in front of him.
"Aaaaaahhhh," she moaned and grunted beneath him as he pressed forward as far as he could, pulling the soft cheeks of her ass wide apart to allow him to go deeper, and just holding it there. "Oh, God, yes, fuck it like that," she gasped, rotating her buttocks around the giant blood-filled head deep in her asshole.
With long, unending thrusts, he began to batter into her quivering ass. His balls had commenced to throb almost painfully and his prick felt as though it were charged with a thousand volts each time he plunged into her. Dottie was moaning like a crazy woman, her face flushed, her eyes rolling in her head as she sought her final fulfillment. He had always wanted to fuck a beautiful woman in the ass and now he had one. And she was his to do as he liked, just as he was doing - digging his cock into her ass and leaving it there, hearing her cry and beg while he pushed and probed, moving it inside her any way he liked and not having to worry about facing her over the breakfast table the next morning.
"Oh, yes, fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck harder," she gasped as he fucked into her with a mighty thrust that seared up her roundly stretched anus. He did it again, pulling her back over his cock, causing her to half-scream in the exquisite sensation of mixed pleasure and pain. She whined in ecstasy as he increased the vigor and power of his strokes.
And then the boiling lava began to churn in his balls. His prick tingled and he knew it was time.
Dottie, beneath his battering attack, felt his giant cock begin to grow and expand until she thought it would not stop. "Oh, God, cum, cum!" she screamed in pleasure and fucked back against him in wild abandon.
He gasped above her and fucked forward with a mighty thrust that almost tore through the walls of her quivering belly and shot the hot torrents of his thick, white cream deep up into the welcoming depths of her rectum. It surged through her body like a volcanic eruption, warming her belly like a hot soothing bath. He cried out and his strangled voice set off her own experience.
Dottie screamed as a great gush of pleasure rippled through her. Her body tensed and shuddered as the long awaited peak of sensations was finally achieved, then gasped as she felt his deflated and limp cock slowly withdrawn from her flooded behind. There was a slight, wet, sucking noise as it slipped out from between the full white moons of her buttocks with a lewd slurping sounds. Then a sudden rush of cool air into the wetness of her loins as she remained kneeling with her buttocks waving high in the air for a moment and then collapsed off the back of the chair.
Finally, she opened her eyes and looked across the room. She saw that Bill Simpson drying his limp, deflated cock with a corner of her bath robe. She stared at him for a long time, her vision still somewhat glazed by the ordeal to which she had been subjected, but reality was slowly returning, bringing with it all the harsh ugliness of her situation.
She hung her head and cried, great tears of grief and loneliness flowing down the tumescence of her melon-like breasts. She didn't see him, only heard him leave by the slamming of the kitchen screen door . . .
* * *
How long she cowered there against the chair, weeping in never-ending sobs that wracked her body at the remembrance of the week's horrors, she did not know.
All she knew was that when she finally stopped sobbing enough so that her vision had cleared, there was a man standing there, then kneeling, then stroking her matted hair.
"We're going home, baby," he purred with a gentleness she'd never experienced before. "Come on, let's go."
Great sad blue eyes looked up at Aron.
"Come on, get dressed," he urged again. "I'm taking you home with me."
* * *
The ride back to the city was a slow one, punctuated by frequent stops at rest areas-and an occasional pullover to the side of the road for a view of the ocean and a much needed stretch for the physical torment Dottie Thompson had experienced in the past few days had left her muscles taut and aching.
"Don't worry, honey," Aron's strong protective arms assured her. "Everything's gonna be alright from now on."
"Oh, Aron," she wailed, wiping her pixy face on the corner of his shirt tail, choking back the tears. "But you don't know ..."
Stroking her baby soft hair, he looked down at her youthful features, her perky upturned nose and innocent blue eyes, thinking, she's such a child sometimes it amuses me. I can't even stay angry at her for all the frolicking she's been doing down here in the country. "There are things that are going to take a long time to iron out, honey, but I realize now more than ever that we need each other: me to help you grow up, and you to keep me young."
"I hope you mean that, honey," she purred, resting her head in his lap.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Months later, around Christmas time, Dottie came back from the mailbox, a beaming smile brightening her youthful face.
"Guess what, honey!" she burst into his study where he sat slouched over his desk, glasses slipping to his nose. "I got a letter from my friend, Dora, you remember her? Says she's finally left that old grouch of a husband and she is coming to the city to look for work and find a place to live. What ya say we hire her for a maid for awhile until she can find a job?" Her mouth pouted, making her freckles stand out all the more and her small frame all but shivered with expectancy. "Please, honey, please, Aron, Please? Can we, can we, can we?"
Aron dropped his pencil on the desk and rested his head on his upturned hand. How could he resist a plea like that? "Come here and let's talk about it," he said, motioning with a crooked finger. Her Levi clad buttocks slumped on his lap, tennis shoes kicking into his desk with a playful thud and a short arm wrapped around his neck. What could he say? And for a brief second he realized she could do anything short of burning down his house and he'd always take her back. She was irresistible.
That's when she leaned down and whispered in his ear: "Is it okay, honey, if she brings a friend? He's a real good gardener and I'm sure we could find some use for a boy around the house for a while. Huh? Please . . . oh, please, Aron?" She nibbled on his ear, the whipped cream on the hot fudge sundae, and wriggled her buttocks into his fast-growing protuberance.
"Anything you want, baby." And then on second thought: "Just remember, you're sleeping with me."
