While fictional in nature, this book has, besides entertainment, the purpose of acquainting the reader with manners of sexual activity at times practiced within contemporary society.
The Editor
Foreword
"There is a really low class here that is a lulu," says Henry Dotson in August B. Hollingshead's ELMTOWN'S YOUTH. "It is made up of families who are not worth ... a damn, and they don't give a damn. They're not immoral; they're not unmoral; they're plain amoral ... They have animal urges and respond to them. They're like a bunch of ... rabbits."
Some people would go so far as to argue that what Dotson said about the lower class of Elmtown could be applied today to the lower class found in many large American cities; could be applied to many people who live in decrepit slums and find their few pleasures whenever and wherever they can; could be applied to the students in the following story- the students at Westhaven High School. For the students at Westhaven, like those described by Allison Davis, University of Chicago sociologist, in Vance Packard's THE STATUS SEEKERS, are young kids who spend their days and nights in sexual exploration, constantly seeking out "visceral, genital, and emotional gratification."
What happens when there is thrust into just such an environment a woman, an attractive teacher, subconsciously drawn to the decidedly masculine, virile, vigorous, potent, and rugged aura exuded by some of these slum-bred boys? What's more, what happens when these students are sexually drawn to her?
How does Melinda Caine, raised in comfortable upper-middle-class surroundings, cope with impulses, desires, and needs, which go against everything she has been brought up to accept as decent, upstanding, and moral? How does she successfully rationalize the sometimes brutal and savage means by which her students-stripped as they are of all civilized veneering-blackmail and scheme to lay claim to her very being?
Read the following story of this attractive young schoolteacher intricately caught up in the maze of conflicting lifestyles. See for yourself how she arises from her baptism in fire to become a woman more thoroughly cognizant of herself and the world around her.
-The Publishers
Chapter One
At four o'clock Tuesday morning, Melinda Caine decided she would go on living after all. She knew the time exactly, because she glanced at the pale green illuminated dials of the clock on the table by her bed.
By four-ten, Melinda was throwing back the blankets and crawling free of her covers.
Melinda walked through the bedroom. She paused just inside of the bathroom door long enough to turn on the light.
Melinda went directly to the shower, turning on its water. She avoided the mirror. She could well imagine what any reflecting surface would play back to her: tear-stained cheeks, blood-shot eyes, uncombed hair.
She was still wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing Friday. Her skirt and blouse were wrinkled, the latter stained with perspiration.
Melinda wrinkled her pert nose, realizing she had a stale, slightly sour smell. But what could she expect? She'd been in bed since Friday night, having gotten out only long enough to go to the bathroom and open a couple of cans of soup.
Melinda took off her clothes. Her creamy white skin was marked with puckering red lines caused by the elastic on her brassiere and panties. No permanent damage done. She'd live. There would be no scars except in her mind.
She reached through the open shower door to adjust the water temperature. She then stepped in.
After she was in the water, Melinda didn't move. She just stood there, letting the flushing liquid claim her. At the moment, she was aware of no erotic quality to the water flowing over her breasts and down between her shapely legs. Really, her mind wasn't on her body at all.
Melinda was thinking about Roberto. She'd been thinking of Roberto for the past three days and four nights. She tried to picture him as he'd been in her English class at Westhaven (the teachers called it Pesthaven) High School, not as he'd looked in the emergency room of Our Lady of the Holy Cross Hospital.
Roberto had had the doctors call Melinda. Not his mother. Not his sister. But Melinda. He'd wanted Melinda to be there with him when he died. And Melinda had gotten there too late.
"Oh ... Roberto," Melinda said, accompanying with a little groan and a shake so violent it splattered water to the shower tiles.
Melinda reached for the soap. She rolled the oval bar between her long fingers. Her hands turned white with the lather.
Melinda stepped slightly out of the spray, turning her back to the force of the water. She absently spread the soap suds over her face and neck, down over her large nipple-tipped breasts, over her flat stomach, into the silky blonde curls that covered her pubic vee.
Again and again, Melinda's mind kept returning to Roberto: as he'd been alive, as he'd looked dead.
"What a fucking ... goddamned ... loss!" Melinda said aloud, surprised by the foulness of her own language. Obviously, her environment was finally beginning to rub off on her-as she should have known it eventually would. When you heard such language spouted as everyday speech, you were bound to be seduced into using it yourself.
Melinda rinsed, soaped up a brush and scrubbed her back, deriving a definite masochistic enjoyment in the rough feel of the stiff bristles against her tender skin.
She washed her long blonde hair, then washed it again. By the time she was working the thick conditioner into her water-drenched strands, she was almost back to feeling human.
By the time she was out of the shower, dried, and contemplating a look in the now steam-hazed mirror, she began to accept the fact that life, her life at least, went on.
She wiped the mirror free of its condensation, taking a good look at what was revealed. Actually, she was surprised. She'd been expecting some Auschwitz-like specter staring back at her: someone made gaunt by suffering. What she saw was the same Melinda Caine she'd seen time and time again. Oh, maybe she was a little thinner because of her small food intake; but, her weight loose had only emphasized Melinda's good looks.
Melinda looked at herself harder, feeling guilty that there wasn't something more visible from her period of grief. There should have been something.
Her blonde hair, already partially dry, framed her attractive face. Her eyebrows and lashes were darker than her hair, saving them from that bleached-outlook had by many light-complected people. Her eyed were large and slightly almond-shaped. Her pupils were dark blue-violet. Her nose was pert, neither too large nor too small for her face. Her lips were full, sensuous, naturally pink. She had a dimple in her left cheek which showed even when she didn't smile.
Melinda wasn't smiling now.
Her body had made her the envy of every girl classmate she'd ever had in school. Her breasts were firm and unsagging, despite her nearing thirty years of age. Her nipples were dollar-size, brown punctuation marks on her smooth ballooned alabaster orbs. Her belly was tight across her hipbones, actually concaving slightly from want of a more substantial diet than Melinda had recently been allowing it. Her navel was slightly indented, surrounded by a sparse growth of corn-silk pubic hair.
Melinda's legs were long and shapely, flowing upward to her firm buttocks and her hair-covered mons.
She reached for her robe which was hung on the hook on one wall. She wrapped the terry cloth material around her, tying it with its sash. She walked out into the bedroom to check the time.
It was almost five. She couldn't believe she'd been in the shower quite so long. She'd been making a habit lately of losing track of time. She was going to have to snap out of it. That's all there was to it.
She decided Charles would be up by now. She sat on the edge of the bed, deciding to call him. He'd drive her to school. He'd called several times during her "sickness" to offer a ride. But Melinda had told him no. Up until today, she hadn't thought herself up to battling with her students. And battles they were: daily battles, teacher against students, students against teacher. Melinda, more often than not, wondered why most of the kids bothered even coming to school. She's been brought to the verge of tears on more occasions than she cared to remember. She'd twice almost thrown in her towel, both times tempted to take offers from private schools. Each time, she'd stayed because of Roberto. Now Roberto was dead: the victim of some drunk hit-and-run driver.
Charles Bankoff answered his phone. He sounded fresh from his own shower.
"Charles ... Melinda."
"My God, are you back from the dead?" Charles asked. He'd begun to wonder. How long had it been? Three days. Of course, the Rodriguez kid had been one of Melinda's favorites, but surely his death couldn't have been so surprising. Charles knew, like everyone else at Pesthaven High knew, that all of these kids ended up dead sooner or later. If they didn't kill each other off with zip guns and switchblade knives, then they'd get it from the police while trying to rob some liquor store down on Broad Street.
"Could you give me a lift to school?" Melinda asked, running her damp towel through her hair once more. "I'm afraid I came away leaving my car in the hospital parking lot."
"You pretty much gotten over the trauma time?" Charles asked. He fully believed that he and Melinda were both too good for Pesthaven. What in God's name was a beautiful woman like Melinda doing teaching in a neighborhood like this city ghetto? She had to be crazy. Charles was frankly surprised Melinda still wasn't a rape victim after her first year. Charles gave no small amount of credit to his own offered protection. He was kind of sweet on Melinda. He thought she was sweet on him, too; although, sometimes she wasn't quite as affectionate as Charles would have liked. Not that he expected her to be as loose as some of those sluts around the school yard, but it would have been nice if she'd put just a bit more feeling into her kisses sometimes.
"I suppose I've made myself the talk of the school," Melinda said, wondering if anyone yet knew the real reason she'd been upset about Roberto's death. She was sure they didn't. If they had, she would have heard about it by now-and probably have been given her walking papers.
"Everyone at that school has gone through what you've gone through these last few days ... "
And Melinda doubted that.
" ... and we know you'll become jaded to the frequent wasting of young lives as much as we have over the months."
And Melinda doubted that, too.
"Cronnley," that was Paul Cronnley, the school principal, "is going to be glad to get you back."
"My kids gave him a lot of trouble?"
"The kids always give him trouble," Charles answered with a laugh. "He farmed most of your monsters off on me and Mary Witlow. And neither Mary nor I is half as pretty as you-know-who."
"The truth is, then, that you're happy to see me back on my feet for no other reason than that you won't have any of my kids to put up with any longer."
"The truth is, that's certainly part of it," Charles said, giving a low chuckle. "But not all of it by a long ways."
"See you in about an hour?"
"Give or take a few minutes," Charles answered, wondering once again why Melinda didn't just throw up this crusade of hers to educate the poverty-level kids. It would have been different if she wasn't wanted elsewhere. Hell, half the people at Pesthaven were washouts. But Melinda had damned good credentials.
"Thanks, Charles," Melinda said, knowing what Charles was probably thinking. Everyone at Westhaven had thought it about Melinda at one time or another.
Melinda hung up the phone. She went to the closet, taking out a fresh change of clothes. She then went back into the bathroom to hot-curl her hair into some presentable shape before putting on her makeup.
Three quarters of an hour later, Melinda was dressed and ready to go. She sat in a chair, waiting impatiently for Charles' arrival. Melinda didn't want any time to think. Thinking only brought back more memories of Roberto.
The intercom buzzer on the wall sounded loudly, bringing Melinda out of her reverie with a start.
"Thank God," Melinda sighed, getting up to press the small black button. "Charles?"
"Want me to come up and carry you down?" Charles voice sounded, much like that of a very small man caught in an echo chamber.
"No, I can make it," Melinda said, trying for a genuine laugh but failing abysmally.
"Over and out, then," Charles said.
Melinda grabbed her raincoat and took the stairs down to the lobby.
"You certainly don't look any the worse for wear," Charles commented after he and Melinda had met and were walking down the steps to Charles' car.
Charles Bankoff was twenty-seven. He'd been through college, had served two years in the Army (only because, according to his father, "no Bankoff had ever shirked his duty to country"), and he had been teaching for two years (both of those years at Pesthaven). In one more year-if Charles lasted- he'd be able to get out of this pesthole; and, unlike Melinda, Charles would have no qualms at all about leaving. He was here only-ONLY-because his father had made it a condition for entering the family business. Charles' father had pulled himself up by his bootstraps (not out of Pesthaven but from a very similar ghetto area), and Baling Bankoff felt he owed an opportunity to the downtrodden to get out of their misery like he did. Baling had been inspired by a schoolteacher in his youth; and Charles was, therefore, supposed to be out inspiring the vermin to rise above their environment.
As far as Charles was concerned, his father's philosophy was a bunch of bullshit. You either had the drive and the luck, or you didn't. It was as simple as that. There was no way Charles, in his role of mathematics teacher at Pesthaven High School, was going to make any of these kids pick up and move on out to bigger and better things.
Charles and Melinda reached the car. Charles unlocked the door and let Melinda in on the passenger side. He then headed around the front to slip into the front seat beside her.
Melinda was surprised to find that summer had somehow arrived without her even knowing it. It had been cold the night Roberto had died. Melinda distinctly remembered having seen her breath on that horrible evening. But now, even though night wasn't all that far gone, it was already warm and even a bit muggy.
"I don't think you're going to need that raincoat today," Charles said, reading Melinda's thoughts.
"No, I guess not," Melinda quickly agreed.
Melinda watched Charles as he moved the car out into the thin trickle of traffic. Melinda decided, as she had often decided in the past, that Charles was quite attractive.
Charles had brown hair, cut short but not militarily. His hair banged attractively over his forehead, giving Charles one of those "dry" and not "wet" looks the commercials were always babbling about on television. He had clear blue eyes, a cleft in his chin, a dimple that creased his whole left cheek when he smiled. He had firm, square jaws, a sensuously full-lipped mouth that, when amused, would draw back over a line of even white teeth.
Yes, Charles was handsome. In fact he was very handsome. So, why couldn't Melinda get all that interested? Charles had certainly sent out vibes that he would like to get closer. Probably it was because Charles reminded Melinda too much of the boys she'd grown up with. That she'd found Charles here, teaching in the ghetto, had been unusual, but that didn't change the fact that Charles was Charles. Melinda knew his story, knew that he was down in this neighborhood only because his father was twisting his arm. If Baling Backoff had said tomorrow, "Son, let's forget this whole asinine idea," Charles would have sighed a long breath of relief and gone back uptown without even packing.
"Penny for your thoughts," Charles said, easing the car into a left turn to make a corner.
"I'm afraid my mind was just wandering," Melinda said. She was quite certain Charles wouldn't have been in the least bit interested in hearing the somewhat unflattering character analysis she had been making of him. "I really wasn't focused in on much of anything."
The two drove on in comparative silence. Charles somehow correctly sensed that Melinda wasn't in a mood for idle chatter; so, he obliged by keeping his mouth shut. He did, however, allow himself carte blanche with his eyes.
Charles was especially attracted to Melinda's corn-blonde hair and milky complexion. Melinda's Scandinavian good-looks were a welcome relief from the blacks, Puerto Rican's, Cuban's, and other minorities that clogged Charles' classroom and all the other classroom at Pesthaven High.
There was also an innocent aura that surrounded Melinda that Charles found irresistible. How Melinda managed to retain even an illusion of sweet innocence while working the cesspool she did was a miracle of the first magnitude.
For Charles, Melinda existed at the far end of a spectrum. At the other end, there existed those girls who filled the seats of Pesthaven High. Any of those young sluts were about as far away from natural innocence as you were ever going to find anywhere, anytime.
Disgusting! That's what it was. Charles, used to a more refined surrounding, had been initially shocked at what he'd found at Pesthaven. Not even when he'd been in Viet Nam had he found girls so blatantly out to exhibit their wares. Quite frankly, he hadn't sufficiently recovered from the initial shock yet.
Charles, being as attractive as he was, was constantly being subjected to lewd displays. Breasts, it seemed, were never held by brassieres any more. Hell no! Nipples were always pressing out of girl's sweaters like two additional buttons. Some girls were always bending down so that their breasts were almost spilling free of their blouses. Or, they were crossing their legs so that their skirts were hiked up past their cheeky buttocks.
Take just the other day. Hell, take any school day for that matter; and, something similar would happen. That girl ... what was her name? ... oh, yes, Rosalie Paranchuchu or something equally unpronounceable. She'd come into the class poured into a blouse and a skirt like jello was poured into a mold. Although she couldn't have been over eighteen, she looked twenty-five if she looked a day.
Charles gave a quick glance in Melinda's direction, glad that she was too occupied with her own thoughts to notice the stirrings of Charles' erecting cock within the crotch of his trousers.
Charles thoughts went back to Rosalie, disgusted with himself for being able to so readily recall the incident and get a hard-on because of it.
Rosalie had sat down in her front seat, licking obscenely at her red, red lips to make them even more glossy. Her tongue had been pink and lewdly long. She didn't keep her mouth shut, but she let it form a kind of seductive oval. Her eyes, big black ones, focused right on Charles' blue ones, and seemingly offered a challenge: "Come on, stud, bring that big, fat cock of yours on over here, and let's see what Rosalie's experienced mouth and tongue can do for it."
And Charles hadn't been imagining things. Why else had several kids giggled? It had been just too fucking obvious that the girl had been flagrantly propositioning her teacher for a blow-job right then and there.
And what did the bitch expect Charles to do? Unzip his fly? Pull out his blood-engorged cock? Plug his lust-bloated prick to its balls up her hot-wet throat? Fuck her face to climax while everyone stood around yelling: "Fuck her, teach! Fuck little Rosalie's hot mouth 'til that big, monstrous cock of yours floods her with rich-warm cum!"
Well, the whole group had something else coming if they thought Charles was susceptible to any disgusting displays they came up with. He'd kept his cool, even if he'd had to adjust the lay of his swollen cock in his pants before coming out from behind his desk. He'd pretended complete ignorance of what was going on. Just as he'd feigned disinterest when Rosalie's knees had slowly come open, giving Charles a telescopic view right up her dress.
She'd been wearing no underpants. None! She'd been as naked as the day she was born underneath that skirt of hers. And she'd given Charles a bird's-eye view all the way up to her shaved pussy. Yes, by God, Charles could even tell that her cunt had been shaved. Its hairless slit was there for the looking, offering its invitation just as readily as Rosalie's mouth had been doing before it.
Shameless! Goddamned shameless!
And Charles, who counted himself among the most civilized of men, had certainly had his mettle tested that particular day, hadn't he? He would have felt more in control if his cock hadn't stayed hard during the whole period. His meaty cock had drooled so much preseminal juices that Charles had felt the rest of the day as if he'd wet his pants.
And if Rosalie's wanton display hadn't been enough during class, she had conveniently managed to stick around after the bell, fumbling over her books until the classroom was empty except for Charles and herself. Then she'd gathered up her school supplies and had walked up to Charles at the blackboard (which was really a green board), swinging her ass as if it had a for sale sign pinned right on it.
"You want to lock the door and fuck me, Mr. Bankoff?" Rosalie what's-her-name had said, plain as the nose on her makeup-clogged face.
Charles hadn't believed it. He'd simply stood there, his mouth probably dropped open like some virgin propositioned for a first fuck.
"I give good head," Rosalie said, her snaky tongue at work, glossing her lips. "My boyfriend says I give the best cock-licking of any girl he's ever had swinging on his monster meat."
"I have no doubts but that you're an expert at your calling," Charles said, or something like that: it was damned hard remembering specifics. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass up the offer."
"You aren't queer, are you?" Rosalie asked, her eyes zooming right in on Charles' crotch just in time to see a spasmodic jerking of Charles' cock inside of his pants crotch. "Naw, you aren't queer by a long shot. Not with a swollen piece of meat like you've got there in your pants."
"I don't fuck boys, Rosalie," Charles had answered, picking up an eraser and beginning to clear the board of chalk math problems. "But that certainly doesn't mean I'm up to fucking dogs, either."
She'd laughed. She'd actually laughed. Those kids were simply beyond being shocked by anything. They'd heard it all. They'd seen it all. They'd done it all.
Charles had been more shocked, at the time, by Rosalie's blas� reaction to his words than by his own exercise in filthy speech. It had only been after Rosalie had left the room, wiggling her ass in yet a third invitation to perverted sex, that Charles realized what he had said. He had to be damned careful, or he was liable to find himself down to their level before he could successfully make his escape from the cesspool.
"A dollar for your thoughts," Melinda said, bringing Charles back from his reverie.
"A whole dollar, huh?" Charles asked, trying to squelch his embarrassment in having been caught in the midst of his lewd remembrances.
"Somehow I just got the impression they might be worth more than mine," Melinda said. Charles had certainly been off in never-never land. She hadn't even been sure that the sound of her voice was going to bring him back.
"I was just thinking how nice it was to be driving along with such an attractive young woman by my side," Charles said, recovering sufficiently to be gallant.
Melinda smiled. Charles was nice. Charles was very nice. Perhaps that was his problem. Maybe he was just too nice to be all that exciting.
Chapter Two
Carla Rodriguez shouldn't have been surprised. But she was. She hadn't expected anything to happen inside the school. But that's where it happened. Right at the lunch break. Right when everyone else was off in the cafeteria or outside smoking on the stoop, that's when it happened. Of course, Carla had played right into Morgan's hands. She'd held back, avoiding the crowds, thinking to sneak off somewhere and eat her sandwich by herself. If she'd gone into the cafeteria with everyone else, she might have been confronted by Morgan, but at least there would have been teachers around. Now there was no one.
"Get your fucking black paws off of me!" Carla commanded, giving a backward kick of her right foot in hopes of contacting a shin. She didn't succeed.
"What are you fighting for, baby?" Morgan Jenning asked the struggling girl, his breath blowing hot on Carla's ear. "I just want a little talk."
"You want to talk, you come on by the house like everybody else," Carla said. She succeeded in breaking free; but, realizing Morgan was blocking her escape, she strutted defiantly deeper into the room.
The room was an unused classroom on the first floor, now utilized for storage of old dilapidated equipment. If the stuff was completely worthless it was usually piled in here; because, anything even remotely usable was used.
Morgan had been waiting behind the door, leaping out as soon as Carla had walked by. He'd then pulled her inside and shut the door behind him. He'd obviously been planning what he'd done for quite some time; which meant, although Carla hadn't seen much of him, he'd been paying attention to her daily routine.
"I wouldn't want to disturb your dear momma at home," Morgan said, flashing Carla a wide smile. His thick lips pulled back along large white teeth. "I hear she's pretty upset about poor Roberto's accident."
"We're all upset about it," Carla said.
"That's why you've been avoiding me since I've become Chief of the Bulls?" Morgan asked.
Morgan was almost six feet of ebony flesh stretched over rock-like muscle. Carla doubted if there was an ounce of fat on Morgan's body, although the girl had never seen the black naked. Morgan just looked solid, the way his clothes molded his young body. Carla could see the way his pectorals pressed domes out against his T-shirt. She could see the small bumps of his charcoal nipples. She could see the way his long, black cock snaked its bulge down along Morgan's left thigh.
Morgan had been Chief Lieutenant of the Bulls before Roberto died. Now Morgan had assumed command of the gang. It was the way things went. The Bulls was one of several gangs that divided the high school population. The gang was called Bulls because most of the members were from a Mexican or Spanish ancestry. Morgan had a Mexican mother; although, you would have never known it just by looking at him. He was so black from his daddy's side of the family that he looked as if he'd just stepped off an African slave ship.
"My brother was killed by some fucking drunk driver; and, I don't need you laying any of your shit on me right this minute," Carla said, folding both arms across her full breasts.
"These decisions can't be put off forever," Morgan answered. He was still smiling. He hadn't stopped smiling since he'd yanked Carla into this cluttered storeroom. "After all, you're a pretty little piece of Spanish pussy, aren't you?"
"You always did have such a way with words," Carla said sarcastically. "You learn such fine English in Miss Caine's English class?"
"Yea, maybe I did," Morgan said, his mind suddenly flashing an image of Melinda Caine. Nice piece, that one. Very, very nice piece.
"Well, go fuck her and leave me alone," Carla said.
Would that Morgan could fuck Melinda Caine. Wouldn't that have been something he would have just loved to do? He'd heard about white pussy. He'd never had any, unless Kathy Winlock could be called white. Kathy's mother swore up and down it had been a white sailor who had gotten her pregnant. Kathy didn't look white, though. She looked just as black, if not blacker than Morgan.
Oh, had Roberto been the lucky bastard, if all those little rumors were true.
"Yea, since the last Bull Chief was fucking Miss Caine's cunt, I guess I should get a chance at her, too, huh?"
"You're more fucked up than I thought," Carla said, mustering up her most disgusted look, "if you think my brother was putting it to Miss Caine."
Carla had heard the rumors, too. But Carla really could neither verify nor dispute them. Roberto had never confided everything to his sister, that was sure. If he was off fucking Miss Caine on all those nights he'd turned up missing, he'd never dropped a clue of it to Carla. Of course, there was the crucifix, the gold one even then hanging around Carla's neck. And what about the initials engraved on its back?
"Quite a few rumors still going around about that," Morgan said, wondering if Carla really knew or was just as in the dark as the rest of them. "I always heard there was fire where there was smoke."
"Yea, well if I believed everything I heard, I'd have to believe you were impotent just because you quit screwing Kathy Winlock."
"That bitch been spreading it around that I can't get it up, and I'll fix her rocker good!" Morgan said with determination that said as much as his words did that he wasn't kidding.
Yes, it would have been just like Kathy to go dropping little snide hints here and there that Morgan couldn't get his big cock up anymore, just because Morgan had dropped the little cunt by the wayside. Morgan was Chief now, wasn't he? He certainly couldn't hang around with the likes of Kathy. She was okay for a Lieutenant's woman; but, she wasn't okay for a Chief. Poor, dumb Kathy could never understand that. Carla did, though, didn't she?
"What in the hell do you want, Morgan?" Carla asked, already knowing what he wanted.
"I want to protect you, baby," Morgan said, temporarily forgetting Kathy Winlock and what she was or was not whispering behind his back. "Now that your brother isn't around, some of the flakes around this school might be getting some pretty funny ideas about what they might like to be doing to his unprotected sister."
"I can protect myself," Carla said with a bit more confidence than she was really feeling. Actually, she'd been trying to think of some solution to her problem ever since Roberto had died. So far, she'd not come up with much.
The truth was, a girl in this neighborhood was fair game for anyone if she didn't have someone to protect her. It was far better to open your legs for one guy instead of for every hard-cocked bastard that waylaid you coming and going from school. As long as Roberto had been alive, there'd been no problem. Roberto had always made no bones about what would happen to anyone who laid a hand or a cock on his sister. But Roberto was dead; and, Carla was vulnerable as a result.
The question was, did Carla want to be Morgan's girl? And that was a pretty big question. Despite the fact that Morgan was now head of the Bulls, he was also part Negro. Did the fact that Morgan was Chief of the Bulls balance off the stigma of his being half black? That was the question. Morgan would certainly be enhancing his own reputation by having Carla for his girl; but, what would happen to Carla's reputation? If she let Morgan at her pussy on a regular basis, would any decent Mexican give her a second look if anything ever happened to Morgan? A girl had to think out these things.
"You're going to need somebody to watch over you, baby. You're just too prime to be walking the streets for long without somebody getting brave and taking a free sample, especially now that Roberto isn't around to flaunt a little muscle. Now, I've put out the word that it's hands off for the moment, but ... "
"What do you mean you put out the word?" Carla asked. She didn't know why she was feigning being so ignorant. She had certainly expected as much since she hadn't had to use her switchblade on any horny stud since Roberto's death. "Who in the hell gave you the right to do anything?"
"You think you'd like getting gang-banged by about ten guys in a row?" Morgan asked, giving her another of his wide smiles. "Because the minute I let it be known I couldn't give a shit what happens to you, then that's when it's going to happen. And after every boy on the block has had your tight little pussy, you're going to find it pretty hard to find anyone of them to put up a fuss whenever a stud with a hard cock decides to get it off inside you."
Which was true. But, the facts be known, Carla had her eye on Teddy Rowales. Teddy was Chief of a rival Mexican gang called the Padres. Teddy's girl had recently gotten a botched abortion and was near death in the welfare ward of some hospital. Teddy wasn't as good-looking as Morgan, that was sure. But Teddy was all Mexican. The trouble was, Teddy hadn't given Carla more than a passing glance. However, that didn't prove he didn't like her. If only Carla had a bit more time.
"You don't have too much time," Morgan told her, verbally echoing Carla's own thoughts. "And, I'm not planning on waiting around forever. A Chief has got to have a girl."
"I don't recall asking you to wait," Carla said. She just wished she'd had a few more days to bring Teddy around. Things like that weren't accomplished overnight, especially since there had always been bad blood between the Bulls and the Padres.
"I know how your little mind is working, Carla," Morgan said, his arms folding over his large chest. His biceps and triceps bulged as he did so. "And you're going to be one disappointed female if you're counting on little Teddy Rowales to give you a tumble. I hear he was really hung up on that girl he got pregnant and sent to the meat chopper. Little Teddy won't be coming out of mourning in time to help you."
"If that's what you've pulled me in here to say, then consider it said," Carla told him, making her move for the door. She had all intentions of bluffing her way by him if he'd just let her.
Morgan, though, had no intentions of letting her go.
"I've decided to help you make your decision," Morgan said, moving to block her. He put out his large right hand, clamping his fingers into Carla's left arm.
"Well, then, I've made my decision. It's no!" Carla said. She was furious that Morgan had the audacity to try and bully her into anything. If Roberto had been alive, this big-ass bastard wouldn't have been here going through his macho number, that much was for sure.
"You may say that now; but, tell me again in about ten minutes from now."
"What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Carla asked, trying to pull her arm away but not succeeding.
"It means, I'm sure you're going to feel a little different about all of this once you've had your cunt plugged chock full of my big, black Negro goodness."
"You mean you're going to rape me?" Carla asked, flabbergasted.
"It doesn't have to be rape, honey," Morgan said. "I don't know what you've heard, but it has been very few girls who have come away dissatisfied after having been stuck on my cock."
"You'd better get your black ass out of my way before I let out a scream that'll bring this school house down."
"I'd have you knocked unconscious before you got your mouth halfway open," Morgan told her, his voice almost daring her to give his dexterity a try. "And I wouldn't let the fact that you were unconscious stop me from fucking you. I might even take it as a good opportunity to roll you over and fuck your ass."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Wouldn't I?" Morgan asked, tightening his grip on Carla's arm. He dropped his left hand to his crotch, his fingers outlining the bulge his cock was making in his pants. "I need myself a permanent cunt to fuck. And the way I see it, it's going to be yours."
"And I have nothing to say about it, I suppose?"
"You're just having a little trouble deciding," Morgan said. "Actually I think you're a little prejudiced about the color of my skin, huh? Although a bigoted Mexican is a bit ludicrous, don't you think? Ludicrous, by the way, is one of those big words from Miss Caine's English class."
"Listen, Morgan," Carla said, thinking she might yet use her wits to get out of this. "Why don't we get together and talk about this later, huh? Maybe tonight. I'll cook dinner for momma and then come and meet you somewhere."
"Nope," Morgan said. He might have been willing to talk at one time, but not now. Carla had miffed her chances for talk. If she'd wanted to talk, she shouldn't have been avoiding Morgan these past few days.
Morgan pulled Carla over to the far wall where an old desk sat with its broken legs propped up on cement blocks.
"Now, take off your panties-if you're even wearing any," Morgan said, releasing Carla's arm while watching to make sure she didn't make any sudden breaks for it. "And then hoist up that skirt of yours."
"You're crazy!" Carla spit, resenting Morgan for having rushed her into making a decision in his favor. Hell, if only the bastard had waited a few more days, he would have probably had her agreeing to be his girl anyway-willingly. But forcing himself on her now, no matter what Morgan thought, was not about to get their relationship off to a good start.
"Meanwhile, I'll pull out my cock," Morgan said, "before it gets too stiff to pry free."
Morgan unzipped the fly of his faded jeans. He pushed his fingers into the breach, his thumb and forefinger hooking around the neck of his stiffened cock head.
"If I don't see some accommodating action from you by the time my cock is out, I'm going to yank your clothes off for you."
"You black bastard!" Carla answered. She mentally calculated her alternatives. Scream? Even if Morgan didn't knock her silly before Carla got her scream out, who would hear her? Everybody was outside or still in the cafeteria. And if they did hear her, what then? Around this school, people were always screaming about something; and, it didn't always mean there was a rape in progress. Run, then? Morgan would be on her in no time. And there was no doubt in Carla's mind that Morgan would have no problem overpowering her. Morgan was big and powerful. There'd been some debate-before Roberto had been killed-as to whether Morgan could have seized the top position in the Bulls if he'd really wanted it. Roberto and Morgan had always been good friends.
So, what it looked like was that Carla was going to have to undergo the indignation of being raped ... right here ... right now ... by a Negro. Well, by God, raped she might be, but it would be just that. No way was she going to give Morgan the impression that she held anything but contempt for him and his big, black penis.
Morgan had pried his cock free of his pants and was waiting to see if Carla was going to drop her panties. Carla pulled up her skirt, hooking her thumbs in her panties waistband. She pulled down, dragging her nylon shorts over her hips, her ass, and her black-haired cunt. All the while, she kept her eyes helplessly glued to the turgid monster Morgan had released from his trousers.
Morgan's cock was big, as big as most people mistakenly imagined all Negro cocks were big. It was almost eleven inches of rigid, hard, black meat, so fat that even Morgan's large right hand only barely succeeded in completely encircling his cock girth. His penis was uncircumcised; although, its head was presently pushed out from beneath its usually cowling foreskin. His prepuce was a turtle necking of bulky skin pulled back around his cock neck just below the hearty flaring of his cock glands. His cock meatus was deep and long, perfectly cleaving his cock head into two identical sections. The small sexual mouth was wet with oozing juices.
"That's better," Morgan said, watching Carla step out of first one panty leg and then the other. Carla could have left her panties hung around one ankle, but there was no point in getting them dirty.
"I hope you've got it through that monkey skull of yours that I'm not doing this of my own free will," Carla said.
"Sure, baby," Morgan said, flashing Carla another smile. He gave the long neck of his cock a stroke, coaxing more liquid out of his bloated cock. With the flat of his thumb, he spread his preseminal juices to a sticky veneering over his cock glands. "You keep telling yourself that while you beg me to stick you harder and faster."
"You'd never get away with this if Roberto were alive," Carla said, still hoping against hope that she was going to get out of this yet.
"If Roberto were alive, I wouldn't have to be here," Morgan said. "You'd have your brother to protect you and wouldn't need yourself a man."
"If it's a man I'm needing, why is a boy like you applying for the job?"
"You're not going to talk your way out of this, baby," Morgan said, giving his cock another masturbatory stroke, "so you might as well quit trying."
"I figured talking was what you did best," Carla said, fascinated, despite herself, with the dark run of vein that formed a meandering edge along the length of Morgan's cock. The vein formed at the knotted roots of Morgan's cock shaft and disappeared into the ring of foreskin that hugged the rim of Morgan's cock glands.
"Pull up your dress, baby; and, I'll show you I can do a hell of a lot more than just talk."
Carla reluctantly pulled up her skirt, slowly revealing the black haired vee between her thighs. Within the black pubic triangle was a thin slicing that betrayed the entrance to Carla's tight pussy. At first glance, it looked doubtful that what Morgan had between his legs could possibly go into what Carla had between hers.
"Lovely ... lovely ... cunt," Morgan said, giving an appreciative inhalation of breath. There was nothing Morgan liked better than the sight of a beautiful young pussy. One day soon, when Carla had gotten over this silly notion that she was too good for black meat, Morgan would take his tongue to her cunt and really show her what a mouth was made for-besides just talking. But that would have to wait. Carla still thought she was better than he was. Silly bitch! How could one minority group be any better than another?
Morgan released the hold his hand had on his cock. He scooped his fingers back into his trousers, bringing out his two large nuts inside their flaccid sac of black-haired flesh. He released his scrotum, letting it fall down between his thighs. His cum-filled balls dropped under their own weight, brought up short by their containing bag, much like two rubber balls suspended on rubber strings.
Carla watched the continued movement of Morgan's balls. The Negro's black wiry hair rolled on the scrotal flesh like buoys on a shifting sea of crude oil. Simultaneously, Carla felt a moisture gathering inside her pussy. A cool draft, rushing in beneath the far door, was stirring Carla's dark pussy hair.
Morgan put his hands on Carla's slim waist. He lifted, sitting Carla on the desk top. As he did so, his freed penis brushed its head against the mouth of Carla's cunt. Carla shivered at the touch, once again contemplating giving out a scream for help.
"Please don't," Carla said, knowing that after Morgan had fucked her there was little hope of ever trapping Teddy Rowales. "You're too damned big."
Morgan laughed: a sounding of genuine amusement.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Morgan said. His right hand once again fisted his black sexual truncheon, pulling it down so that his rubbery cock corona was chafing on Carla's black pussy bush.
Carla jumped at the feel of Morgan's pulpy glands. Her ass stirred the dust on the desk top.
"Please, Morgan ... please."
"You begging for it already, baby?" Morgan asked. He slowly moved his fist-size cock head up and down along the length of Carla's cunt slit. He watched the immediate glassiness that came into Carla's deep black eyes.
Yes, by God, Morgan could tell someone who wanted his cock when he saw her.
Morgan had placed his hips in between Carla's thighs. He now moved even closer into her opened legs, his rubbery cock glands held on position.
"Ohhhhhhhh, Morgan ... don't," Carla pleaded. She put her hands flat against Morgan's chest, pushing, hoping to counteract the pressure his stiff cock was putting to the mouth of Carla's pussy. "Please ... don't."
Anyone not knowing differently would have thought Carla was a virgin. She wasn't. No girl who lived in the neighborhood remained a virgin very long past puberty. Usually they were forced to surrender their virginity to brothers, fathers, stepfathers, strange boys on the street, before they could physically even be considered women.
Carla had been luckier than most. Her father, while he had lived, would have no longer thought of molesting his own daughter than of flying to the moon. Carla's brother had always been handy to fight off anyone with funny ideas, or to threaten the cutting off of a few balls. And Roberto had been attractive enough so that he'd had women after him way before he even had the cum in his balls to give them. He hadn't needed to force his attentions on anyone, including his sister.
But even in the ghetto, there was such a thing as love-or, more likely, infatuation-and Carla hadn't been immune. She'd thought herself in love twice. Once with Jose Calendez. He disappeared one day and never turned up again. That often happened. Carla had been heartbroken. Jose's cock, after all, had been the one that had split Carla's hymen. A girl always held a soft spot in her heart for that "first" cock inside of her juicy pussy.
Then there had been Martin Dominguez. He'd been Roberto's Chief Lieutenant before Morgan had challenged him for the position. Carla didn't even like to think about how silly she'd been to give her cunt to Martin. Martin had turned out to be a coward. The night of his proposed challenge fight with Morgan, Martin hadn't even showed up. He, too, had disappeared; although, everyone knew he'd left under his own chicken power.
At least no one could call Morgan a coward. He'd successfully defended his title more than once and come out the victor, leaving a few broken bones in his wake. There'd been no one to dispute his assumption of Roberto's position once it was known that Roberto was dead.
"OOOOOOOOeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiii!" Carla squealed. Her cuntal lips had been forced open to admit the first section of Morgan's turgid cock head.
Looking down between her breasts and Morgan's chest, Carla could see the black bridge Morgan's cock formed between them. She also noticed, for the first time, that Morgan's cock wasn't perfectly cylindrical. It was actually flat across its back.
"Just relax, baby," Morgan told her. His cock now sufficiently anchored between Carla's legs, Morgan put both of his hands back on Carla's narrow waist. "It just looks big."
"Ohhhhh ... sweet ... Jesssssssssus," Carla said, her voice strained and slightly breathless. She felt the lubricating glands inside of her cunt as they wept a new mess of juice to sop Morgan's entering cock glands.
Carla increased her pushing pressure against Morgan's chest. Even through the material of Morgan's T-shirt, Carla could feel Morgan's quarter-size nipples going hard against her palms.
Morgan wasn't destined to long be content with just a piece of his cock planted between Carla's gripping pussy doors. Because if it felt good with just a small fraction of his penis through the breach, what was it going to feel like once he got all of his thick meat up Carla's sizzling little cleft?
"Take it, baby!" Morgan groaned, his hips accompanying with a forward thrusting.
"EEEeeeeeeeeeiiiiiii ... ugh ... ugh!" Carla squealed and then grunted. Her cunt mouth had yawned open, suddenly accepting half of Morgan's swollen cock meat.
Morgan went up on his toes, shoving another two inches of his hard cock shaft up Carla's hair-fringed cunt.
"Oh ... oh ... noooooooo!" Carla growled automatically. Morgan's cock back had touched her clitoris and then dragged against it.
Carla's legs reflexively jerked upward, the girl's thighs clamping Morgan's hips, her heels hooking into the small of Morgan's back.
"Like it, don't you, baby? Don't you?" Morgan asked. At that moment, Morgan didn't much care whether Carla liked it or not. He liked it, and that was all that counted. And he liked it very, very much.
"Noooooooooo!" Carla protested, wondering who she was trying so hard to convince of her displeasure: herself or Morgan.
"You're lying, Carla," Morgan said, knowingly. "You're lying. Because I know you love it. I know you do."
Morgan's hips gave a final forward bounce. The rest of Morgan's blue veined penis slid into place. The metal teeth of Morgan's opened pants zipper burrowed into Carla's black pubic hair. Morgan's knotted cock roots were gummed by Carla's gripping cunt mouth. Morgan's black balls swung forward, slapping hard against Carla's ass cheeks and against the edge of the desk.
"Ohhhhhh, baby!" Morgan said, his voice a guttural moaning caused partly from the pleasure of his complete insertion and partly from the dull ache arising from his bruised testicles.
Carla's mouth opened, shut, opened again, giving up no sounds.
Carla's guts felt stuffed. She frankly couldn't believe Morgan had successfully put all of his turgid stiffness inside of her so quickly. Had Morgan damaged her? Could Morgan's huge piece of hard male meat possibly have reached its present position without ripping something vital inside of her?
"No ... no ... no," Carla grunted, finally finding her voice. She tried once again to push Morgan away. Simultaneously, though, Carla didn't unhook her legs. She left them tightly gripping Morgan's lower body, her inner thighs chafing on Morgan's jeans. Carla wanted and didn't want what Morgan had fed her pussy.
"Yes ... yes ... yes," Morgan countered.
Now that Morgan had Carla stuck on his phallic skewer, there was no way he was going to pull out until he'd fed Carla's pussy something more than just his hard cock. Morgan wanted desperately to spurt his hot cream up Carla's vagina, stringing her pink and exotic cunt folds with his rich, wet-warm Negro juices. Yes, he wanted that. He wanted that badly. And while he did that, he wanted to feel more of Carla's luscious body than just the moist inner flesh of her cunt.
Leaving his cock firmly locked inside of Carla's body, Morgan freed his hands from Carla's waist. He pulled the tail of his T-shirt out of his pants, rolling it up in front to reveal his wash boarded abdominals and his domed, nipple-punctuated pectorals. He secured the stretched T-shirt material across the top of his chest.
His chest and belly partially naked, Morgan moved to bare Carla's full-blown breasts. He took a handful of Carla's sweater, tugging it out of her skirt.
"Oh ... Morgan ... it hurts ... it hurts," Carla said, wondering if that were quite true. It wasn't exactly hurt she was feeling, was it? That sensation alive inside of her wasn't really pain, was it? What was it, then? Carla refused to believe it was pleasure.
Carla knew that Morgan was trying to bare her breasts. She wanted to stop him. She didn't quite know how. Along with the feel of Morgan's rigid cock stuffed into her, Carla's mind had undergone a strange kind of disorientation. She was finding it harder and harder to realize who she was, who Morgan was, where they were, what they were doing here, now, together.
Carla wasn't wearing a brassiere. None of the girls at Westhaven wore brassieres, mainly because their men, their boyfriends, their lovers, their potential lovers, liked the way unbound breasts jiggled beneath a containing blouse or sweater.
Morgan shifted Carla's sweater up over her luscious breasts, revealing Carla's dark nipples and the gold crucifix nestled within Carla's deep cleavage.
Morgan wrapped his arms around Carla's body. He pulled his naked chest against Carla's naked breasts. His hard nipples collided with the taut buds centering Carla's teats.
"Oh, baby, baby ... it will be good," Morgan mumbled in promise. He put his lips to the crease formed by Carla's neck and her right shoulder. His mouth moved against the warmth of Carla's skin. "Oh ... it ... will ... be ... good."
Carla didn't want it to be good. She didn't appreciate the pleasure even then taking root inside of her. This Negro stud had grabbed her like some caveman grabbing a convenient monkey for a screw. He'd taken her without a by-your-leave, raped her over her protestations. There should certainly have been no enjoyment. Carla refused to admit that there was; even though that denial was becoming more and more difficult.
"Oh, get it over with, you bastard!" Carla grunted, wondering why her words sounded strange and almost undecipherable to her own ears.
Morgan pulled back his hips, dragging his cock inches back out of Carla's cunt. The pleasure of Morgan's cock shaft exiting sensuously through the lubricant-slicked mouth of Carla's cunt was almost too exquisite for Morgan to believe.
Morgan was frankly surprised at the extent of his present pleasure. He, after all, was no more a virgin at this type of fun and games than Carla was. Morgan, like Carla had been initiated early into what-went-where and how. He'd fucked his first cunt when he was twelve. That pussy had belonged to an older girl in the same tenement building. She had seen the big bulge Morgan's cock had made in his pants, and she'd wondered if it could be made to go hard. It had gotten hard all right. It had also shot an almost endless load of cream up that hot bitch's spasming pussy. Morgan had thought he was going to die.
Even that first time, Morgan hadn't had a premature ejaculation. He'd fucked the girl into a frenzy before he'd let her have it. So, why was he so excited now? What was there about having Carla in this school storage room, her ass propped up on a dusty desk top, her cunt wrapped tightly around his now-moving cock, that made Morgan think he was going to blast his hot spermal load before he'd even shown Carla what he could do by way of fucking?
Morgan drew his cock outward until only his barbed cock-head remained stuck within Carla's cunt. His cock glands was washed in the same warm juices which Morgan's emerging cock neck had vacuumed out of Carla's hair-fringed fissure.
Morgan's scrotum, once flaccid and low-hanging, had begun to contract, pulling upward to form a massive prune-like ball at the base of Morgan's penis. Inside his hirsute bag of skin, Morgan's gonads were swelling even larger with unexploded cum.
"EEEEEeeeeeeeeiiiii!" Carla squealed as Morgan rammed his massive cock back inside of her fleshy-lipped cleft. Carla's ass gave a reflexive bounce, jiggling Morgan's impaling thickness deep inside of Carla's friction-reddened vagina.
Morgan pulled his cock out again, screwed it in, drew it out. Carla's erect clitoris chafed on Morgan's moving stiffness, the result being a washing of electric-like waves throughout Carla's body.
Carla wrapped her arms around Morgan's neck. Her thighs vised harder around Morgan's waist. Her cunt clamped down tighter around Morgan's filling meat.
Morgan's hips took up a faster fucking cadence. As much as the big black stud would have liked to fuck steady for thirty minutes before drowning Carla's pussy with his hot male cream, it just wasn't in him-not today anyway. Morgan's bloated balls were just too clogged with thick cum waiting to be free. Morgan's guts were just too knotted with pleasure. Morgan's desperate needs for a releasing orgasm were just too great inside of him.
Morgan fucked. Each time his pelvis banged against Carla's cunt, Morgan's cock was lost completely up the girl's hungry pussy.
He was hot! Goddamn, he was hot!
"Ohhhhh ... Morgan," Carla groaned. Her own will to resist was hastily fading as Morgan's cock churned deep-SO FUCKING DEEP-inside of Carla's body.
Suddenly, Carla felt all of her resistance disappear, having been beaten away by Morgan's pumping ... pumping ... pumping cock.
Carla's cunt was all juiced and buttery, turning hot from the constant friction of Morgan's battering meat against Carla's tender cuntal membranes.
"Baby ... baby ... baby," Morgan chanted, punctuating with forward thrusts of his hips into the saddle formed by Carla's gripping thighs.
The world collapsed in around them, shrinking to include only the two of them. Nothing else was of any importance. All else was ignored-even the distinct sounding of the door opening.
Carla and Morgan were just too caught up in the wonders of the moment. Their pleasure took hold of them, commanding them to ride with it. Their ecstasy was suddenly bigger than the both of them. Their swelling enjoyment was something beyond their control.
"Oh ... Jesus ... fuck me!" Carla begged, un-ashamedly making her request into the sweat-glossed flesh of Morgan's black neck. There was just no way Carla could any longer deny-even to herself-that she wanted what Morgan was giving her. "Deeper ... harder ... faster."
"Hot ... baby ... hot," Morgan mumbled, hardly knowing what he was saying. All he was really aware of was the sudden click that went off loudly in his head, of the sudden explosion somewhere in the vicinity of his lower belly.
"Pump me, stud ... pump me!" Carla pleaded. Her ass was gyrating on top of the desk, her ass-cheeks turning dirty in the dust.
"Ohhhhhhhhh ... sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!" Morgan bellowed loudly.
Morgan's rich, creamy-thick sperm began to spurt from the pouting meatus of his penis. The young Negro buried his exploding turgidness one final time into Carla's cock-hungry cavity and left it there.
Carla's eyes went wide. Her mouth dropped open. She felt her pussy filling with Morgan's scalding cream. It felt as if a fire hose had been jammed up her cunt and then turned on.
Something went off inside of Carla's brain. All she suddenly knew was that Morgan had managed to fuck her to climax.
The bastard! The lovely, fucking, black-cocked bastard!
"AaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuRRRRRgggghhhhhh! I'M CUMMMMMMMMMMING!" Carla Rodriguez brayed as her luscious body bounced helplessly out of control over the phallic stake Morgan had buried to its black balls up Carla's cunt. "GODDAMN, FUCK ME ... FUCK ME GOOD WITH THAT BLACK MONSTER COCK, YOU BLACK SONOFABITCH'N STUD!"
Chapter Three
Animals! Nothing but animals!
So, why had Melinda waited until the two young students were heaving their last before she pulled her head out of the crack and shut the door? Whatever the reason, she refused to believe she'd been made excited by what she'd so innocently stumbled in on.
Melinda stood outside the storeroom door, disturbed that she was visibly trembling. She also felt some of her hot, buttery pussy juices leaking from her cleft and beginning a slow trailing down the inside of her creamy left thigh.
Behind the door, Morgan and Carla had finally stopped their animalistic gruntings.
Yes, animalistic gruntings: that's what they'd sounded like.
Melinda had thought someone was dying behind that door. Little had she knew what she'd find once she opened it. Certainly not some Negro student fucking his girl friend. Jesus, no! Not in a million years had Melinda expected to see that!
Melinda still didn't know for sure who the students were. The Negro youth's back had been turned toward the door, the girl's face had been hidden behind the black's chest. Melinda didn't want to know, either. She wished to hell she had never been walking down this hallway.
It was getting more and more difficult for Melinda to convince herself that the kids she taught were actually human beings. Did human beings go around using "fuck" as every other word? Did human beings have fart contests in the classroom, or jack-off in the back seats, or make lewd comments every time their teacher turned her back?
Did human beings fuck in school storerooms?
Melinda tried to pull herself together. She knew she had to get out of there. It was going to take those kids only a few minutes to wipe up their mess and come back into the hallway. Melinda certainly didn't want to be standing there when they emerged with their silly-ass grins of contentment on their faces.
Melinda headed off down the hall, consciously aware of the loud click, click, click of her heels on the linoleum.
Should she have gone rushing in, pulled that black boy's hard cock out of that girl's pussy, and taken them both up to the principal's office? Yes, that's probably what she should have done. Except that was easier said than done.
When Melinda had been a little girl, her small dog, Puffy, had gotten out of the yard. Melinda had gone after her. Poor Puffy had been attacked by some mongrel dog twice as big as Puffy was. Melinda still remembered how impossible it had been to get the two dogs apart until they'd finished what they'd started.
Who knew how that young Negro would have reacted to being pulled out before he'd completed his obscene rutting.
Melinda began to run over in her mind the black boys she had in her classes, but she stopped herself quickly. She didn't want to make some sudden connection between one of her students and the black boy in that room. She simply did not want to know who that animal was. She ... simply ... did ... not ... want ... to ... know.
Melinda stopped at the girls rest room. She pushed the door open and went inside, thoroughly expecting to find four or five girls sitting on the sinks and puffing marijuana cigarettes.
The rest room was empty.
Melinda walked over to the row of white porcelain sinks, peering into a cracked mirror that hung over one of them.
How could she see no change in her reflection? Just how was that possible?
With each new horror Melinda was subjected to, she thought for sure there had to be an immediate new wrinkle appearing on her face. So, where was this latest one? And if it wasn't there, why wasn't it? How could Melinda continue to look the same outside but be so changed inside?
Melinda was suddenly convinced she should have stayed in her own classroom over the lunch break. Next time she would. Any of the teachers would have told her it wasn't wise to be wandering around by herself-even inside the school building. Teachers, especially the female teachers, were always being reminded to go every place in twos.
Melinda turned from the mirror. Maybe she shouldn't even be teaching at Westhaven after all. Maybe she should start making queries for acceptance to one of those safe but dull private schools that would have loved getting her to teach all those bright, young sweethearts who resembled Melinda in her girlhood. Yes, maybe Melinda should do just that. Because, despite all of her good intentions, she was seriously beginning to believe that no one-certainly not her-could teach these kids anything about survival in a world they could hardly even begin to conceive and would probably never see. Even the ones like poor Roberto, ones who might have had a chance for survival if given a chance, were killed on the streets before they could make it.
"Oh, shit!"Melinda said aloud, simultaneously promising herself that she was going to have to watch her language. One "shit" or one "fuck" uttered on a visit back home would have brought the house down around her ears. Her mother would have been hurt. Her father would have been furious. Melinda was furious with herself. And yet, it was easier to sink down to the level of these kids than to bring them up to her own.
Melinda walked to one of the empty toilet stalls and pushed open its door. She stepped inside the booth and locked the door behind her. She sat down.
She wanted privacy. She wanted to think. This was just as good a place as any-at least at the moment. Charles would never find her here.
It was because of Charles that Melinda hadn't just stayed in her own assigned classroom over lunch break. She'd just known that Charles would come looking for her the minute she hadn't shown up in the faculty dining area in the basement cafeteria. And Melinda didn't want to talk to Charles. She didn't want to hear him tell her one more time that she should get out of this school. She didn't want to hear him, because Melinda thought herself presently too vulnerable to Charles' arguments.
How easy it would have been to just pack up and move out. And her parents would have been kind: not telling her their, "I told you so." But, they'd be thinking just that. And they'd be elated that Melinda had finally come to her senses. A girl of her background and upbringing certainly wasn't meant to be wasting the best years of her life in a neighborhood the rats would have deserted if they'd only been given half a chance.
Leaving, though, would have been a cop-out. Of that, Melinda was quite sure. And there had been some good things about teaching at Westhaven. Really, there had. Roberto had been good. And there had also been that daily excitement, that strange sensual stirring Melinda always got in her loins when she saw one of those cocky, unpolished boys walking into her classroom.
Melinda blushed. Damn it, any sensual feelings-even if she did feel them-certainly shouldn't have had anything to do with why she stayed or didn't stay at Westhaven. Those feelings were what had gotten her involved with Roberto in the first place. And, one of the first rules a teacher was suppose to follow-whether at Westhaven or in the snobbiest private school-was to refrain from any sexual involvements with her students.
Melinda had violated one of teacher-dom's golden rules. And, God, even now she was being punished for having done so.
So, why was she stopping to consider how her cunt was made juicy by the very sight of some of these uncouth schoolboys while males like Charles Bankoff, who were of her own social class, always seemed to be so painfully dull?
If anything, Melinda's obvious penchant for these slum animals over men of her own class and breeding should have been a point for leaving instead of staying. She was playing a dangerous, perverted game with herself. She was, after all, a good girl. She was a clean girl. She was a wholesome girl. Oh, she might not be a virgin-who was a virgin in this day and age-but she wasn't a common slut that would pull down her panties and let herself be fucked in a school storeroom, either.
Melinda's mind went helplessly back to that scene she'd stumbled in on. Why had she opened that door? Why? And since she had opened it, why had she done so carefully? Why had she opened it just a wee crack, just far enough so that she could spy inside? Why hadn't she just thrown the door wide and gone bursting in, scaring the shit out of those two animals? The shock of that kind of arrival would have had that Negro bastard's cock yanked out of that bitch's gripping pussy fast enough.
Had Melinda, then, recognized those groans and mewls for just what they were before she'd even opened the door?
No, damn it! No! No decent young woman, fully aware of her responsibilities as teacher in this school, would have willingly played Peeping Tom (Peeping Jane?). Never in a million years! And that was that!
Melinda had merely been concerned, a bit curious. She hadn't really been able to immediately place those sounds, and that was why she had approached so cautiously. Of course, after she had finally mentally registered what she heard with what she saw, then she had simply been too shocked to do much about it. Yes, that was how it had gone.
Damn, but she had to get hold of herself!
Melinda stood, lifted her dress, dropped her silk panties down around her shapely legs. The crotch of her panties was wet. Why? Why had her cunt started drooling like sixty when Melinda had watched that black young man's buttocks pushing and pulling ... pushing and pulling ... pushing and pulling.
"Stop this, stop this, stop this!" Melinda chanted to herself like some yoga chanting his mantra.
What was she doing? What in the hell was wrong with her?
She didn't have to go to the bathroom. So why was she in here? To think? Well, that was good for as long as it held water. But if she just wanted to think, and if she didn't have to go to the bathroom, then why was her silk pink panties hanging down around her ankles?
Melinda sat back down. She leaned back against the back of the toilet. She shut her eyes. In spite of all her efforts, her mind kept returning to that room and that lurid display of animal sexuality she'd seen there.
It had all been so lewd. So obscene. So filthy.
So, why had her cunt leaked in response? Why was her pussy all buttery now, oozing clear juices into the tangle of blonde pubic hair growing along her cunt slit? Why was her right hand moving up her dress, gliding along her milky inner thigh? Why was her finger moving out to touch ...
"OOOOOOooooo," Melinda moaned, her sounds coming low in her throat. Her finger had touched her pussy lips, shooting intense pleasure through her whole body. Clear lubricating juices slicked her probing fingertip.
She shouldn't be here! Not in this school. Certainly not in this bathroom. Certainly not with her hand playing with her excited pussy. Certainly not thinking of how that black young man was pumping his cock up that young girl's clutching cunt. Certainly not remembering how that girl had been begging that black man to feed her even more of his meaty inches.
So, why was she here? So, why couldn't she stop herself? So, why was her finger delving deeper between her legs, searching out the small clitoris that was already erected beyond the soft velvety folds of flesh that usually concealed it?
"Sweet ... sweet ... Jesus," Melinda gargled, her clitoris touched. Electric-like shocks shook her, making her throat ache and her legs tremble.
Melinda continued fondling her clitoris, basking in the incredibly exciting delight that tingled her being and sent more lubricant seeping into her buttery vagina.
Melinda brought her other hand to position between her legs, sticking its middle finger through her moist cunt lips and into the depths of her clutchingly wet pussy folds.
Melinda found herself wishing her fuck-finger were bigger, were thicker, were longer. Although she hadn't seen that black boy's cock, she bet it had been big, thick, long. Or, was that merely wishful thinking? Every book Melinda had ever read on the subject had said that the Negro male's erection was no bigger than his Caucasian counterpart. Had all of those books, Melinda wondered, been written by white doctors?
Melinda didn't care what the books said. She would have bet a week's salary that in this case that Negro boy's cock had been a huge one. Only a really monstrous cock could have set that young bitch to groaning like she'd been groaning while the boy had fucked her cunt. And the girl had been begging for more, hadn't she? Or, was Melinda only imagining that, too?
"Deeper ... deeper ... harder ... harder!" Melinda hissed through her clenched teeth. She moved her finger in and out of her sucking cuntal membranes. Her fingers played with her clitoris. Her cheeky buttocks revolved on the supporting toilet seat.
Melinda rode her hands to a gut-shattering orgasm, all the time thinking of that lewd scene from the storeroom, all the time knowing that what she was doing was sick ... was obscene ... was filthy ... was shameful.
Yet, even knowing how it was all of those things, why ... in ... the hell ... couldn't she ... stop ... herself?
The small basement room was filled with smoke and milling young people. Carla pushed herself away from the wall and walked over to Morgan who was playing poker around a card table that insisted on wiggling whenever anyone put an elbow or arm on it.
Carla leaned over and gave Morgan a peck on his cheek.
"I've got to head home, Morgan. Momma still gets upset if I don't get home a little early. She thinks I'm out laying under every drunk driver's car, just waiting for him to run me over."
"Oh, hell, and I was winning," Morgan said, checking his hand and wondering if two pair had a chance of winning the pot.
"You don't have to come along, honey," Carla said, the endearment thrown in as a sarcastic afterthought. She had to play at being his girl; but, by God, it was going to be awhile before she gave him what he wanted without letting him know that he was only fucking her because she had run out of alternatives. "I know my way."
"There've been those skirmishes with the Padres lately," Morgan said. The last thing he wanted was Carla running into Teddy Rowales on some dark street. Teddy just might suddenly realize what Morgan had snatched out from under his grubby Mexican nose. And Carla would probably be encouraging, willingly opening up her legs for Teddy's uncircumcised cock just to show him what could still be his.
It wasn't so much that Morgan feared Teddy Rowales. Morgan figured he had the best of the Padres Chief in all areas; but, there was no sense in taking chances.
"Kenny," Morgan called across the room, singling out a muscular young Mexican sitting with a small group in one corner, "walk Carla home, will you? I don't want her getting gang-banged by any stray Padres."
Kenny Hernandez pushed himself up from the upended crate he'd been sitting on. He moved like a cat through the group of young men and women, coming to join Morgan and Carla at the card table.
Morgan had picked Kenny mainly because he liked to put the kid in his place ever so often, letting Kenny know that Morgan was the headman now that Roberto was dead and buried. Kenny sometimes tended to forget who he was. Under Roberto's leadership, Kenny had been looking forward to being promoted to a lieutenant. Now that Roberto was dead and Morgan held the reins, Morgan wasn't too sure he was going to give Kenny the upgrade. Morgan was seriously thinking of bringing in some of the pure-blood Negroes off the streets to join the club. He had long thought the Bulls could use a little new blood.
Then again, maybe Morgan would give Kenny the promotion. Kenny, as quiet as he sometimes seemed, wasn't a guy to get aggravated. Kenny had broken a few heads in his time; and, Morgan would rather have had Kenny for him than against him-even if Morgan was positive he could handle even Kenny in a fair fight.
There was yet another reason why Morgan thought he might move Kenny into a lieutenant slot. That was the fact that several of the Spanish-Mexican members hadn't seemed too happy about the fact that Roberto's sister had become Morgan's special girl; although, they hadn't gone so far as to say as much in front of Morgan. The fact that Carla wasn't acting too thrilled over the arrangement had caused even more hard feelings among some of the gang; anyway, that was the way Morgan saw it.
Of course, there was always a certain amount of friction that revolved naturally around any change in the power structure. Nothing showed up a chiefs real merit more than how fast he could patch up friction in his newly-acquired organization. Making Kenny a lieutenant just might pacify some hostilities.
Morgan began to have second thoughts about having asked Kenny to take Carla home. There were a few other lackeys who would have been more suited to the task. Not that seeing to the safety of the Chief's girl was a very small duty. It was just that the threat of anyone attacking Carla on the streets-even Teddy Rowales and the Padres-was really pretty minor now that the word was officially out that Carla belonged to Morgan. It would have been one silly bastard who would have messed with Carla even in jest.
"If you're busy, I could get Pepe to take her home," Morgan said, attempting to soothe any of Kenny's ruffled feathers.
"Naw, I'm not busy," Kenny said. "I'll take her."
Morgan went back to playing cards. Carla headed for the door. Kenny followed on Carla's heels.
Carla was frankly glad that Morgan had chosen Kenny as her escort. Carla knew an upward mover when she saw one-and Kenny was it. If Kenny had been more established in the gang hierarchy, Carla would have had serious thoughts about going after Kenny instead of Teddy Rowales.
Even though Carla had ended up with Morgan, that didn't mean that she had stopped worrying about her welfare. If Roberto could get killed by some drunkard in a car, then Morgan could just as easily end up dead in some gutter. Whether that happened or not, Carla had to prepare for just such an eventuality. She had to cement friendships, make allies, make sure there were people around to support her if and when she finally needed them. Kenny would have made a valuable ally in any game of gang politics-especially if Morgan promoted him to lieutenant as everyone thought he was soon going to.
It was warm outside. The summer had turned muggy early, beginning a few days after Roberto's death and continuing.
Carla and Kenny had come out into an alley. Carla kicked a stray can and waited for Kenny to catch up. When he did, Carla started off walking.
The two proceeded in silence for quite some time, neither beginning a conversation.
"You think I did wrong?" Carla asked finally. She knew what Kenny and some of the other Spanish-Mexican group thought. If she wanted to get them on her side, she had to assure them that she had teamed up with Morgan not because she was hot for his cock but because she had very little choice in the matter.
"Well?" Carla persisted when Kenny wasn't forthcoming with any affirmation or denial of Carla's previous question. She stopped, moving into the shadows offered by a deserted storefront. She leaned her back against the paint-peeling wood.
"You tell me," Kenny said, stopping a few steps in front of her.
"I would have been fair game without someone after Roberto got killed; and, you know it," Carla said. "You think any girl would choose getting gang-banged to opening her legs for Morgan Jenning?"
"He's part Negro," Kenny said lowly, his voice inflection telling Carla just how much Morgan's mixed blood rankled Kenny's craw. "As good friends as Morgan and your brother were, Roberto would be turning over in his grave if he knew that black's big cock was getting stuffed up his sister's cunt."
"Morgan would cut off your balls if he heard you'd said that," Carla said, feeling a shiver run the length of her spine. Maybe even she had underestimated just how much resentment the Spanish-Mexican faction had against Morgan. Maybe she had made one hell of a mistake in becoming Morgan's girl.
"You going to tell him?" Kenny asked, his smile portraying anything but genuine amusement. "You, the poor little girl who has gone into a black man's bed just because you needed protection-you going to tell him? Huh?"
"You think I let him fuck me because I'm all hot for his black bod?" Carla asked. She didn't know why, but she'd gotten that definite impression.
"You certainly don't look as if taking black cock has been as distasteful to you as it has been to some of the men who have to stand around and watch you take it."
"Men?" Carla laughed, giving a shrill, high-pitched laugh that dripped with sarcasm. "Men wouldn't have stood around and watched it to begin with, would they? Not real men anyway. So, what men are you talking about? Some new ones arrived on the scene?"
Kenny didn't answer. He shifted from one foot to the other and then back again. He didn't look at Carla but over her head, tracing some crack in the splitting, rotting wood behind her.
"Got nothing to say to that, have you, bastard?" Carla asked vindictively. She knew she'd just made a point and was prepared to shove it home. "If there had been any of my countrymen with guts enough to challenge Morgan for Roberto's leadership, I'd now be able to be in that man's bed instead of in Morgan's."
Kenny turned and started walking off down the sidewalk by himself. But Carla wasn't about to let him go. If any gang members thought she had crawled up in Morgan's hard cock of her own free will, she had to set them straight-and damned fast. She also knew the advantages to be had in laying her predicament right on the doorstep of her macho countrymen. She had to convince them that she had prostrated her body to a half-Negro buck only because no one had had the guts to save her from it.
"Listen to me, you shit!" Carla said, taking hold of Kenny's large arm and giving a hearty tug that made even Kenny's muscular body go slightly off balance. "I'm stuck on that bastard's stiff black cock only because you and your friends didn't have guts enough to take your chance when you had it!"
"You love the black bastard!" Kenny accused loudly, not willing to accept something which could very well have been true. "You love his big Negro cock!"
"I'll show you how much I love his Negro cock," Carla said, moving into Kenny's path so that she was directly facing him. "I'll show you just how much I think of that half-caste shithead."
She dropped to her knees in front of an astonished Kenny. She took hold of the zipper tab at his crotch and pulled it down.
"What in the fuck do you think you're doing?" Kenny asked, looking nervously around. Luckily, the streets were deserted; but, that didn't mean there weren't eyes out there watching, or ears out there listening.
"I'm going to sacrifice everything just to prove a point to you and any other of your smug-ass bastard friends who think I'm all that hot for Morgan Jenning's black cock. I'm going to pull your cock out right here and suck it in plain view of anyone who cares to walk by and watch. And then I'm going to scream to high heaven as to how much better your thick, turgid inches are than Morgan's rubbery meat."
"Don't be an ass!" Kenny said. He bent down, took hold of Carla's left arm with one of his hamlike hands and yanked the girl violently to her feet. His other hand quickly located his zipper tab and pulled it back up, sealing off his naked crotch.
"Afraid?" Carla asked. "You are afraid; and yet you wonder why I did what I had to do?"
"Let's get you home," Kenny said, starting off and giving Carla a tug to make her come with him.
"Big man!" Carla said, giving one of her cutting, humorless laughs. "Afraid you couldn't take care of Morgan-afraid your friends couldn't handle Morgan when he came after you for stealing his girl?"
"There's a right time for everything," Kenny said. "There'll be a right time to take care of Morgan. But that time isn't now. So, don't bother trying to botch up my plans with your silly theatrics."
"So, what did you expect me to do while you sit around on your ass waiting for the right time, huh?" Carla asked. "You expect me to put out for every hard cock on the street until you get around to displacing Morgan? You goddamn, fucking hypocrite!"
The two walked on in silence, Kenny's hand still tight on Carla's arm.
"So, maybe we made a mistake about you," Kenny said finally. "Maybe I made a mistake."
"What do you mean, maybe?"
"Just that," Kenny said, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk ahead of him. "How do I know your big scene back there wasn't just that-a scene? How do I know you would have gone through with sucking my cock if I hadn't stopped you?"
"How?" Carla asked, stopping in her tracks. Kenny's continued momentum pulled Carla forward a few steps before they both came to a halt. "I'll show you how."
Carla headed for the mouth of the alley that opened onto the sidewalk. She pulled Kenny behind her; although, she wouldn't have been able to budge his muscular frame if he hadn't wanted to come.
Swallowed by the darkness, Carla again went to her knees in front of Kenny. She reached up and unzipped his trousers. She fished her fingers into his open fly and found his cock. His turgid penis was naked. Kenny wasn't wearing any underwear.
Carla fisted Kenny's thick penis neck. She tugged his cock out through the opening she'd made for it.
"You wouldn't dare," Kenny said. Up until then he'd made no move to stop Carla, almost as if he'd been calling her bluff, expecting her to come out of her little act at any minute.
"You think not?" Carla asked, rubbing her right cheek along the rubbery head of Kenny's hard cock, Kenny's preseminal leakage trailing Carla's skin with translucent strings.
Carla opened her mouth, swallowing Kenny's long cock in one massive gulpings.
"Oh ... dear ... God!" Kenny moaned, not believing even yet that this was actually happening to him.
Carla sucked, proving to Kenny by loving his blue-veined cock that she hated Morgan Jenning's guts.
Chapter Five
Morgan. Morgan Jenning. Melinda knew who the black young man was the minute he came into her classroom after Melinda's last class for the day had vacated it. Since Melinda had witnessed that disgusting display of animal lust in the school storeroom, she had been singling out each and every Negro in her classes and affixing their proper names to them. She had found herself trying to match their backs with the back she had seen there in that storeroom. She'd had anything but positive results, since every kid in school wore a T-shirt and faded jeans. Still, if Melinda remembered correctly, she had once thought this particular Negro youth-Morgan Jenning-looked very much from the back like the student Melinda had seen fucking in the storeroom.
And Melinda. was pretty sure Morgan was just the type who would grab a quick fuck (nooners as such swift bouts of sexual intercourse were called), over his lunch break.
Morgan was the leader of one of the school gangs, wasn't he? Melinda thought Charles had told her that. Although how Charles would have such a fact was quite beyond Melinda. Melinda couldn't sort out the Bulls from the Padres from the Snakes from the Brass Knuckles, ad infinitum ad nauseam.
"Morgan Jenning, isn't it?" Melinda asked, giving a nervous glance around the room. She always felt a little uneasy when she was alone with one of her students-one of her male students. Fear? Melinda tried to tell herself it was fear. She even convinced herself that was it.
"That's my name," Morgan said. He then flashed Melinda a bright smile in order to cover up his own uneasiness.
Goddamn, Melinda Caine was a beauty! Morgan got a stiff cock just standing this close to her.
"Well, Mr. Morgan Jenning, what can I do for you?" Melinda asked. She refused to let her eyes go where they were drawn. Why, anyway, should she even want to look at this boy's crotch? Probably because Morgan's pants were so tight his genitals made a lump so large as to be literally obscene.
Morgan was surprised Melinda knew his name. She had hardly ever called on him since those first few times when he'd given her some wise-ass answers that had had nothing whatsoever to do with the questions asked.
"Well, I suppose I must guess?" Melinda said, getting to her feet. She felt more in control on her feet. Some of her students-Morgan Jenning included- were bigger than she was. Sitting down only made Melinda seem even smaller. "Certainly it can't be anything about your English. You've got all that down perfectly, don't you?."
Melinda didn't know what she was doing. Her attempts at sarcasm were probably going completely over this boy's head. Now that she had told him he had his English down perfectly, he would probably expect her to give him an "A" on his report card.
Morgan felt a little ill at ease. And that made him angry. He wasn't used to feeling ill at ease.
"Come now, Mr. Jenning, don't be shy," Melinda said, hoping Charles would come in and abort this little confrontation. Melinda tried to remember if this was the day Charles had agreed to take over some after-school coaching for the ailing Mr. Tipp's. If not, Charles would be along shortly.
Morgan just stood there, trying to remember how he'd been going to go about this. He'd even rehearsed in his room last night, going over it again ... and again ... and again. So, what with all that practice, why was he tongue-tied now?
Morgan decided it was because Melinda Caine was something special. And Morgan had known that from the very first day he'd seen her. She was real class-real class. Not anything like frumpy Miss Hearthrow, or even pretty but hard-as-nails Miss Thethonton.
"I'm all out of guesses, Morgan Jenning," Melinda said finally.
What did this boy want? Melinda didn't know if she should be frightened or amused.
Morgan decided he was going to have to snap out of it. Damn it, he was the Bull Chief. He'd fucked countless women in his time and had taken control over all of them. And classy or not, Melinda Caine was just another broad. And if Morgan was right in his assumptions, Melinda had been fooling around with Roberto Rodriguez. If that was the case, Melinda Caine was just another bitch with hot pants. That thought made Morgan regain a bit of his temporarily lost confidence.
"I've got something for you, Miss Caine," Morgan said.
Melinda sat on a corner of her desk, folding her arms across her breasts. She glanced once again at the clock over the door. Charles hadn't showed up yet. Obviously, it was his night for coaching football.
Melinda turned her attention back on Morgan. Was he the young man who had fucked that girl in the storeroom? Was it Morgan's obviously big cock that had been plowing that girl's cunt, making her beg for more?
Melinda shook her head to clear it. She had let that one episode somehow affect her way too much. She had lately taken to even dreaming about it. She was simply going to have to put it in its proper perspective.
What was this boy doing? Nothing. He was just standing there doing nothing. That's what he'd been doing since he'd come in.
"What do you have for me?" Melinda asked. She hoped it wasn't what he'd had for that poor girl-if Morgan had been the one sticking her. That thought made Melinda smile in embarrassment.
She didn't remain smiling for long.
Morgan knew he'd hit on something just by the expression Melinda got on her face when she saw the gold crucifix he pulled out from beneath his T-shirt. Of course just because Melinda recognized the gold cross didn't mean she'd been sitting on Roberto's cock. On the other hand, the gold cross was a mighty expensive gift for a teacher to have given a student if she hadn't been getting something from him in return.
"Where did you get that?" Melinda asked, trying to be calm, be cool, be collected. She did not feel calm, cool or collected.
"You do recognize it, then?" Morgan asked, feeling more confident by the minute.
"Should I?" Melinda asked. What was this black boy doing with Roberto's crucifix and chain?
"If it's not yours, then I guess I'll just have to keep it," Morgan said with a shrug. "I thought maybe you'd like to get it back as kind of a keepsake."
"I see," Melinda said. It was important that she handle this properly. She had to find out what Morgan Jenning was out to prove before she committed herself to anything. This could turn out to be something very simple and innocent. Or, it could possibly turn out to be something complicated and a bit nasty.
Why did Melinda already think the worst?
"It is yours, then?" Morgan persisted.
"You haven't yet told me where you got it," Melinda said, avoiding any direct admissions. Still, if it was going to be floating around, Melinda would have preferred having the cross in her possession. Actually, she had been a fool to buy it in the first place. She had been a bigger fool to have both of their initials engraved on it. Still, she had wanted to give Roberto something at the time.
"It once belonged to a friend of mine," Morgan said.
There was no way Morgan was going to tell Melinda that he'd commandeered the crucifix and chain from Carla's neck. Morgan had noticed the cross nestled on Carla's big breasts every time he'd fucked her; and, it had never even rung a bell until a few nights ago. Then Morgan had recognized the cross as the same one Roberto had taken to wearing a couple of months prior to his death. Morgan had noticed Roberto wearing it one day in the shower after gym class. It had looked like real gold even then. Roberto had simply said he'd bought it; but, Morgan had always wondered where Roberto had gotten the cash. However, Morgan hadn't risked giving Roberto the third-degree.
But as it had turned out, Roberto hadn't bought the cross. M.C. had bought the cross. Anyway, that's the way it would seem if anybody checked the engraving on the back of the crucifix: R.R. LOVE M.C.
"If it belonged to a friend, what are you doing with it?" Melinda asked, wondering what she could offer to get the crucifix back right here, right now. Maybe if she offered him a few dollars.
"My friend is dead," Morgan said. "He kind of left this to me."
Carla hadn't been any too happy when Morgan had made her part with the cross and chain. Morgan had had to give her a couple of hard slaps across the face before Carla had surrendered her prize. Then Morgan had fucked Carla in her unlubricated ass hole. She would be a little sore for a few days more; but, next time she would know better than to say no when Morgan asked her for something.
"I'm afraid you've lost me," Melinda said, clearing her throat in the hopes of making her voice sound more normal. "If it was your friend's, and if it's now yours, then what makes you think I should be interested in it?"
"Why don't you let me clear it up for you," Morgan said. Just talking to this classy bitch had given Morgan one hell of a hard-on. He dropped his right hand to his groin in order to move his swollen inches to a more comfortable position in the crotch of his pants. Did Melinda, or didn't she, glance down to see Morgan's fingers shifting the ridge of his large penis?
Melinda's eyes had followed Morgan's hand movement. She had seen the bulged evidence of the young boy's cock down there nestled between his legs. She was embarrassed by what Morgan had done; she was embarrassed for having watched. She had suddenly had quite enough of Morgan's game playing.
"Yes, why don't you clear it up for me," Melinda said as if she were still in the complete dark about everything.
"It belonged to Roberto Rodriguez," Morgan said, deciding to lay it all out on the line. "You remember Roberto, don't you? You and he used to get together for ... ah, how should I say it?"
Melinda shrugged. She wasn't about to give Morgan Jenning any help. Despite herself, she was curious to see just how long it would take Morgan to get out whatever it was he was trying to say.
"I don't really know what a classy young woman like you would call it. Where I come from, we call it fucking."
Melinda's mouth dropped open. Her jaw just fell. She knew she must look ridiculous, but she simply couldn't help it.
The audacity! The utter audacity of this bastard! Just who did he think he was using that filthy language in front of: one of his hot-pantsed sluts?
"I think this conversation has just run its course," Melinda said. She pushed herself off the edge of the desk, turning to gather up her books and papers. She had no place she wanted to take those books and papers, but she had this sudden urge to be doing something. Maybe if she kept busy long enough, Morgan Jenning would disappear in a puff of black smoke.
"Look, Miss Caine," Morgan said, moving in close behind her. "I thought maybe you might like to buy it. You know, some people just might get the wrong idea if they found out about it."
"Are you threatening me?" Melinda asked, turning back to face him. Morgan had moved in so close, his T-shirt got brushed by Melinda's breasts when the woman turned.
Morgan didn't step back. He had a sudden whiff of the perfume Melinda was wearing. It was a light, fresh, and summery fragrance. It lingered in Morgan's nostrils. Morgan's cock gave a sudden jerking and then drooled a mess of clear and sticky juice to the inside of his trouser fly.
"No, I'm not threatening you at all, pretty lady," Morgan said, wanting to reach out and touch Melinda's flowing blonde hair, wanting to touch Melinda's soft white skin, wanting to bury his face in Melinda's lusciously ballooned breasts. I'm merely asking the question: Do you or don't you want Roberto's crucifix?"
Melinda felt trapped between the desk and Morgan's muscular body. She wanted to run but knew that would have looked ridiculous. Morgan hadn't physically threatened her, had he?
"All right, so you need some money, right?" Melinda asked, leaning as far away from Morgan as possible. Her buttocks pressed hard against the desk top. If she sat on top of the desk and opened her thighs ... if Morgan stepped in a little closer and pulled out his big cock ...
What in God's name was she thinking?
"How much do you want for it?" Melinda asked, mentally computing how much cash she had in her purse. Unfortunately, it wasn't much: just enough so there was something to give any kid who stuck a switchblade in her ribs and asked for her pocket book. Still, there would be no problem getting more money.
"I don't want your dough, if that's what you think," Morgan said. What if he just reached out and took hold of her, felt her body, kissed her lips?
"I'm afraid I don't understand," Melinda said. And, this time, she wasn't kidding. She knew all about communications problems, and she definitely believed the two of them were having one. "You've come to sell a piece of jewelry that isn't even yours, but you don't want money for it. That, in case you don't know it, is known in the English language as being a bit incongruous."
"All it means is that I'm willing to give you this," Morgan said, fingering the gold cross, "but not for money."
"For what then?"
Morgan's hand-the one on the cross-moved slowly down along his chest, over his belly, down between his legs.
Melinda's eyes, helplessly captured by the movement, had followed Morgan's hand as it went. Melinda saw as Morgan's fingers pressed the worn and faded jean material at his crotch, molding more distinctly the outline of his cock which was hidden beneath the material.
"You're crazy!" Melinda hissed. "You filthy-minded little bastard. You want that kind of animal rutting, then you go off and do it with one of your girl friends in a storeroom."
Melinda could tell immediately, without Morgan even saying a word-she could tell just by the expression on his face-THAT IT HAD BEEN MORGAN DOWN THERE FUCKING THAT GIRL.
Morgan's mind raced. How did Miss Caine know about that? How? Had there been someone at the door? Carla had said afterwards that she vaguely remembered having thought the door had opened. And shut?
"Did you like what you saw, Miss Caine?" Morgan asked, momentarily grabbing at straws. He didn't know Melinda had been there that day. He didn't even know for sure that the door had opened and shut. If it had, Morgan certainly hadn't heard it. But was it only coincidence that had made Melinda say what she had just said? "I can give you a little of what I gave Carla, Miss Caine. For you I can even make it better."
Carla? Carla who? Carla Rodriguez: Roberto's sister? Surely not. But that might explain how Morgan got his hands on the crucifix. That might explain how Morgan knew about Roberto and Melinda. Had Carla known? Had she told Morgan? Or, had Morgan found out some other way? Roberto had belonged to a gang. What gang? The Bulls? The Padres? One of those Mexican ones. What gang did Morgan belong to? Surely not a Spanish one. Morgan was a Negro, wasn't he? Wasn't he? Or, had someone once told Melinda-Roberto? Charles?-that one of the school Negroes had a Mexican mother and a Negro father? Melinda should have paid more attention. But there were so many kids. It was hard to care about all those who didn't show any interest in school or learning. What was the point?
"I think you had better leave," Melinda said. "Or, I'm going to have to call in a male member of the faculty to physically remove you."
"Look, what if you just touched me down there between my legs? Just touched me. That would be small enough payment for this cross, wouldn't it? Think of all the bother you could get out of the way just by touching my cock. Just by touching it."
"You ... are ... a foul-minded young man," Melinda said. Why were her legs going weak? Why was her cunt getting wet? Fear? Yes, it had to be simple fear.
"I'll admit that," Morgan said. "I'm a regular bastard. I'm a real sonofabitch for wanting what I want; but, what's the big deal? You trying to tell me a pretty white woman like you has never touched a guy's hard cock before. Never?"
"I ... will ... not ... touch ... your ... your ... anything!" Melinda hissed. "Why should I? If you think that thing around your neck means any kind of a threat to me, you are sadly misinformed."
"What about the engraving?" Morgan asked. "R.R. LOVE M.C."
"What about the engraving?" Melinda replied haughtily. "There must be hundreds of people walking around the streets with those particular initials. How you happened to fantasize them into meaning myself and Roberto Rodriguez is completely beyond my realm of comprehension."
"It's an expensive crucifix," Morgan said. "I got a friend who's a pawnbroker. And he told me. He says there's probably only three or four fine jewelry stores in this town that would sell this type of thing. A little checking, and someone just might find someone who remembered who bought it and had it engraved on the back."
"Who would want to go to all of that bother on hearsay?" Melinda asked, wondering if the clerk would remember her. Melinda couldn't even remember what the clerk looked like. Would anyone-the school principal?-really go to the bother of checking out a mere rumor? Probably not. Still, what if-JUST IF-someone did decide to check? Did it naturally follow that if Melinda had bought an expensive piece of jewelry for a student that she had then gone to bed with him?
How easy it would be to just give this black boy what he wanted. Melinda had touched cock before. Never, though, Negro cock.
Melinda tentatively reached out a hand. Her extended forefinger actually touched the swollen ridge grown downward along Morgan's left thigh.
God, what was she doing?
"There," Melinda said. "Now give it to me."
"That's hardly fair, is it?" Morgan asked, pouting slightly. He'd almost jumped out of his pants when Melinda had touched him. His black cock had leaked so much preseminal juice that the sopped spot was beginning to readily show through the material of his trousers. "There's no one down in the boiler room now. We could go there for a minute-just a quick minute. That's all it would take. A few seconds even. A few touches. I'm so hot, I'd be creaming before you even gave my cock one full stroke."
"Come on," Morgan cajoled. "It'll only take that minute. I promise."
Melinda started to make a move to escape but had second thoughts.
Was she actually considering going to the boiler room? Was she? Was she? And what if she did go with him? What if he went babbling it all over the school that he'd gotten to Miss Caine in the boiler room? Would anyone, students or faculty, believe him? Could sweet little Melinda Caine ever be thought to have masturbated some black stud in the school boiler room? It was just too fantastic a story to be believed. Even Melinda thought it sounded preposterous. And it was impossible!
"You go, and I'll follow," Melinda said. It was a good way to get rid of him. He could go, and then Melinda could get away, escape to the safety of her apartment. Morgan could wait down in the boiler room until his balls turned blue.
"You come with me," Morgan said. He risked putting a hand on Melinda's creamy arm.
"No!" Melinda said, automatically jerking her arm free. The very feel of his black fingers had sent a rushing of electricity down her arm and directly into her cunt. "What possible excuse could I ever have for walking around the halls with you?"
Morgan knew she was right. Yet, he was reluctant to believe she would follow him. Oh, she had touched him already-for a brief fraction of a second; but, a tentative feel now, a small touching of his jean-shielded cock, was quite different than actually fondling the real and naked thing.
"You go," Melinda insisted. "You go now before I have second thoughts about this little game of blackmail you're playing."
"Black male blackmail?" Morgan suggested, wondering if Melinda would smile at his little pun.
Melinda didn't smile. If anything, she frowned.
Morgan left. He went to the boiler room. He leaned against a cool wall, trying to control an impulse to cream in his pants. He kept glancing at his watch. The minutes kept ticking by.
"She's not coming ... she's not coming!" Morgan exclaimed under his breath, banging a fisted right hand hard against the cement wall. "The fucking bitch isn't coming."
But, then, the door to the boiler room opened and shut. And Melinda was standing there.
God, she was beautiful ... God, she was beautiful ... God she was beautiful!
Morgan's penis oozed a new deluge of preseminal leakage that further soiled his already drenched trouser crotch.
Chapter Six
This whole business was disgustingly sordid! So, what was Melinda doing here, seeing Morgan's eyes going wide with animalistic excitement? Just look at that bastard! Just look at him. He was obviously more animal than human. That grotesque cock-that lewdly obscene bulging in his pants-wasn't to be believed. Melinda didn't know how she was ever-EVER-going to bring herself to touch what that bulging concealed.
"Don't be afraid, Miss Caine," Morgan encouraged. Goddamn, his cock was hard!
Sure, don't be afraid. That was easy for him to say, wasn't it? This situation was fraught with all kinds of danger to Melinda. What if somebody-anybody-walked in now and caught her here with this hard-cocked Negro boy? Yes, what then, indeed? What was the point of trying to get hold of a gold crucifix to cover up her tracks on one hand when being here now could have more immediately dire consequences?
"I really think I've changed my mind, Morgan," Melinda said, letting her second thoughts get the best of her. "There's just no way I can risk being caught down here with you."
"Lock the door," Morgan said. Damn, but she couldn't leave! She couldn't. If it came to that, he wouldn't let her go.
"That will only lock us in as well an anyone else out," Melinda answered, wondering at how practical her mind could be even under pressure. "We would have to come out eventually, wouldn't we?"
"There's another way out," Morgan said. He'd chosen the boiler room for very good reasons. "It locks only from the inside. If we hear anyone trying to get in this door, we'll beat shit out the other door."
"Even so, Morgan," Melinda said, giving a long sigh, "I just don't think I can possibly do what you ask me. It simply goes against my delicate sensibilities."
"Come on, Miss Caine," Morgan said, as if Melinda was trying to lay a line of bullshit on him that he just wasn't about to swallow. "There's no way that a beautiful lady like you has gone through her life without having had some first-hand exposure to a guy's body."
"You forget, Morgan," Melinda said, objecting strenuously to the Negro boy's smug insinuations that Melinda could in no way be the innocent virgin she was trying to play, "I wasn't raised under the same sort of circumstances as those girls you're used to."
"And I'm telling you that a pretty girl gets fucked whether she's Miss Rich Bitch or Little Miss Slum Child."
"What could you possibly know?" Melinda asked, speaking a little too loudly than she would have liked to. She told herself to be calm, to ... just ... calm ... down. "How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
"Nineteen," Morgan said, flashing a wide smile. "I kind of got held back a time or two by teachers who didn't like Mexican Negroes."
Well, that answered one of Melinda's questions. This was the boy she had heard about with the Mexican mother and the Negro father. That also meant Morgan was probably in the same gang Roberto had been in. It probably had been Carla Rodriguez that Morgan had been fucking in that storeroom.
"That your problem, Miss Caine? You hate black niggers?"
"I have nothing whatsoever against blacks," Melinda said. My God, wasn't it obvious she had very few-if any-racial prejudices? She was at Westhaven under her own volition wasn't she?
"Then lock that door behind you, and show it," Morgan said. "You've proved your point anyway. You don't want to touch my cock. I'll accept that. Still, we all have to do things we don't like, don't we? Think of what you're going to do that way. For a few brief moments of revolting body contact with my cock, you're going to get yourself an expensive gold crucifix. Dollar value for dollar value, you're probably getting paid more for what you're going to do in a few minutes than a professional prostitute gets for putting out on her back all night long."
"Remind me to have you talk to the class on the subject of 'More Picturesque Speech,'" Melinda said sarcastically, wrinkling up her nose.
Melinda then surprised herself by turning and locking the door. Still, she wasn't about to do anything-ANYTHING-until she was sure this place was safe. A horny Negro buck was liable to lie through his teeth to get what he wanted from a white woman.
"Where's this escape route you've been talking about, Morgan?"
"Right on down that hallway," Morgan answered, nodding off toward the right and stepping back against the wall in an open invitation for Melinda to check it out for herself.
Melinda squinted to penetrate the shadows of the hallway, finally deciding that there was, indeed, a door at its end. But a door to where? That was the question. A quick mental rundown of the school layout told her that such a door could possibly lead out to a loading platform. Then again-
"It's not that I think you're lying, Morgan," Melinda said, taking a few tentative steps forward, "it's just that I'd feel a little safer if I knew for sure there was a way out besides by the door I just came through."
"Fair enough," Morgan said. He headed away from Melinda and walked into the shadows of the hallway. He was so black, Melinda soon lost sight of him completely. His voice, though, came at her from the shadows: "Well?"
Melinda cautiously headed after him, finally catching sight of him down the hallway by the door.
Melinda's legs were strangely weak as she walked on them. She, also, had a tight feeling in the pit of her belly. She'd felt like this the first time she'd been alone with Roberto, the first time Roberto had taken her hand and placed it on the hard and swollen bulge at the young man's pants crotch. Had Roberto told Morgan about that time? Was that why Morgan wanted Melinda to touch his cock now?
Melinda shivered. There was just no way things here and now could ever be compared to that other time with Roberto. Melinda had been attracted to Roberto Rodriguez from the beginning. Even she had admitted to that. She certainly wasn't even vaguely attracted to Morgan Jenning. The truth was, she was possibly prejudiced because of Morgan's color. He was also a sordid blackmailer who could only coerce her into giving him what he wanted. Where, with Roberto, Melinda had always given-given more than the touch of her fingers-more than willingly.
"Shall I open it?" Morgan asked. His hand on the dead bolt, he pulled it to one side to free the door for opening.
"Please," Melinda said. "But just a crack. There's no sense in making more noise than we have to make."
Morgan opened the door far enough so that Melinda could see that it did allow access to the loading platform outside. Seeing that, Melinda was satisfied. Morgan shut the door and threw the bolt. He then headed back toward the boiler room, walking past Melinda as he did so. He stopped suddenly, though, and turned to face Melinda who had just begun to follow.
"Now, what do you say we get down to business?" Morgan said.
Melinda had difficulty making out Morgan's features in the darkness. All she could really see at the moment was this huge silhouette blocking her escape route. Should she turn, run back to the door, try to release the heavy bolt? Morgan would be on her before she did that. No, it was best just to pretend that she was in perfect control of the situation, Morgan not scaring her one iota.
The problem was, Morgan did scare her. And wasn't that silly? She was a grown woman. He was a child. He didn't look like a child, though. He looked very much like a man. He looked like a man who was used to getting his own way-whether he wanted a hand on his cock or something more.
Morgan studied Melinda there in the darkness, reading the fear in her eyes and being made stronger because of it. He was consciously aware of the entrapped blood throbbing painfully in his large cock shaft, as well as the clear preseminal fluid coating his cock-head and beading in his kinky pubic hair.
Morgan began to open the fly of his jeans.
Melinda seemed to grow a good two inches in fright. Her right hand went nervously to her mouth. Her eyes went even wider than they already were.
Still letting his cock remain hidden inside of his pants, Morgan massaged his thick wealth of black cock meat. He drew his bulky foreskin back and forth over the rubbery bulb of his cock glands. Then, when Melinda dropped her gaze to the floor in seemingly shameful horror at what Morgan was about, Morgan yanked his hard, thick cock out through the flaps of his trousers.
"I, oh, please, Morgan ... I ... don't ... really ... I just can't ... I'm sorry ... but, I just can't."
Melinda hadn't actually looked up yet, even though she sensed intuitively that Morgan's prick was freed for her viewing. She kept her eyes focused on a crack in the floor, telling herself she mustn't look at it at any cost. She must stay right like she was until Morgan took his horrendous black cock and left her alone.
Morgan's erect penis was a lewdly menacing mass of meat as it jutted upward from his open pants fly. His nuts, which the boy had scooped out to join his hard cock, were enclosed in their black bag of flesh and were hung from Morgan's massive cock roots.
Something deep inside of Melinda told her to run, told her to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. There was no way she should have been here to begin with, down in this boiler room, alone with this Negro, being subjected to such an indecent display of vulgar carnality.
But Melinda couldn't run, and not just because she knew for a fact Morgan would have her captured before she got two steps. She was simply paralyzed, her feet rooted to the floor as if they'd been sealed in the original concrete of the building foundation.
Melinda still couldn't look up at Morgan's penis poling out from the young Negro's gaping trouser fly. This was all so crazy, so insane, so hideously sinful!
"Why don't you just relax, Miss Caine," Morgan said, licking his lips. He used his right hand to give his solid inches a lengthy masturbatory stroke. Pleasures rippled outward and upward from Morgan's groin, shooting into the rest of his body. Goddamn, he was horny!
Melinda took a deep breath and then another. She'd gotten herself into this mess. Now, she had to get herself out of it. She would only make things worse by standing here and doing nothing. Far better to touch Morgan's obscene cock and get this whole revolting mess over with.
Melinda looked up finally, seeing Morgan's up-jutting penis. She couldn't hold back her gasp of surprise. My God, that thing couldn't be real!
Morgan's black eyes glinted with pleased amusement as he noted the stunned expression on Melinda's beautiful face. Morgan took the few steps necessary to close the distance that separated him from Melinda. He released his hold on his cock, letting his prick sway back and forth in front of his belly like a giant metronome. He reached out his hands, cupping them over Melinda's large, trembling breasts. He felt nipples that were hard beneath the soft cloth of Melinda's dress.
"Don't!" Melinda cried out in a quick rush of courage. She jerked back to break all contact with Morgan. "You said touch it. You said nothing whatsoever about you touching me."
"So, touch it then," Morgan said, finding it difficult not to grab this sexy blonde and crush her against his muscular young body. He reached out and grabbed hold of Melinda's right wrist, pulling her hand over to his crotch. "Go ahead, then, bitch, and touch it!"
"Noooooooooo!" Melinda groaned, simultaneously feeling the velvety hardness of Morgan's hard meat against her fingers. "Oh, please ... please ... noooooooooooooooo."
"It's not going to bite you, baby," Morgan said. His voice was strained and breathless. His fingers moved Melinda's resisting fingers up and down along the length of his cock, getting the young woman's fingers wet with the ooze that flowed unceasingly from Morgan's blue-veined cock head.
Melinda shut her eyes. Oh, this was just too, too horrible! What had made her be so foolish as to come down here? What had made her even let this black boy think she would ever condescend willingly to touch his massive cock.
"Grab hold of it, baby," Morgan said, rubbing the palm of Melinda's right hand over the pulpy knob of his large cock corona. "Please ... baby ... just ... take ... hold."
"No, no!" Melinda protested. This whole scene was too sickeningly obscene to be bearable. She just knew she was going to be ill: she just knew it.
"It'll only take a minute," Morgan said, his voice an earnest entreaty. "I'm so hot, I'll be off in no time. Then it'll be over. You want it to be over, don't you, baby? That's what you want, isn't it?"
Yes, oh, God, yes, Melinda did want it to be over. And if she had no other choice, then she had no other choice. But could she possibly bring herself to do what Morgan was asking? It was all so monstrously horrible: white woman, black boy; teacher, student. Oh, she wished she could die.
"Please ... teach ... please," Morgan was begging. He was grinding his cock against Melinda's hand. His cock was smearing Melinda's fingers with a continual deluge of warm and sticky juices. "Take it ... hold it ... stroke it ... beat it ... whip it ... make it cream!"
Melinda, her eyes still tightly shut, slowly closed her fingers. Whatever it was she was fisting at that moment-my God, could it actually be Morgan's blood-bloated penis?-it was larger than Melinda's hand could completely contain.
Morgan's cock was warm. It was hard. It was wet. It ... had ... been ... up ... Carla ... Rodriguez's cunt. My God, how?
"Yes ... yes ... baby, yes," Morgan said. He pulled his hips back. His hard inner cock core slipped back through the loose outer cock skin Melinda's hand held to. Morgan pushed his hips forward. His cock slipped again, this time his charcoal-colored cock glands pushing out through the "U" formed by Melinda's thumb and her forefinger.
"Ohhhhhhhhh," Melinda moaned, feeling the movement of Morgan's cock, knowing what he was doing, he ... was ... fucking ... her ... hand!
Morgan couldn't believe his pleasure. He simply couldn't believe it. Why was fucking this white teacher's hand even better than fucking Carla's tight cunt? How could that be? How ... could ... that ... possibly ... be?
And, she was doing it now all on her own, wasn't she? Yes, Morgan had turned her hand loose on his cock. He was no longer forcing Melinda's fingers to remain fisted to his blood-engorged stiffness. Melinda's hand held there all by itself, holding tightly, making a cunt of its fingers for Morgan's lust-ballooned inches to fuck.
"Strip it ... strip it," Morgan moaned, feeling his testicles being jerked closer to the base of his cock, it wouldn't be long now. Just a few more beautiful ... beautiful ... pumps of his cock in Melinda's hand.
"Oh, Jesus, this is madness!" Melinda screamed. She turned loose of Morgan's cock. Her feet started to move. Her body brushed Morgan's panting body as she rushed past him.
She had to get out. She had to get away. She had to go somewhere and get this Negro boy's juices and smells washed free of her body.
For a moment, there in the darkness, Morgan had had Melinda holding to his cock. And Melinda had actually begun to feel a kind of pleasure welling up in her guts, seeping into her very being. There had been something enjoyably hypnotic about the movement of Morgan's stiff meat inside of Melinda's hand. Juices had begun oozing into Melinda's cunt, warming her vagina and making it want a finger ... or a cock ... to churn inside of it.
Melinda had panicked. Who wouldn't have panicked upon suddenly realizing that she was actually coming to the point of enjoying this lewd obscenity?
"Bitch! You goddamned bitch!" Morgan screamed upon realizing that Melinda had indeed turned loose of his cock and was running away. Morgan had been so close-so fucking close. A few minutes more, a few seconds even, and he would have been there. Had that been too much to ask? Hell no, not for the cunt's precious crucifix. But she hadn't even been willing to give him that much. But, by God, she was going to wish that she had. Did she actually think she was going to beat his meat until he was hurting and then leave him to finish off himself? If she did, she was seriously mistaken.
My God, the hallway was long! It hadn't been this long when Melinda had walked down it to that bolted door at its other end. How could it be so long coming back? Why wasn't she yet even in the main boiler room? She had so far to go, even after she once reached the main room. She had to cross that room, reach the door on the other side, unlock the door, get free.
AND MORGAN WAS CHASING HER!
Morgan's cock was so blood-engorged, made so heavy from stimulation, it-was like a weight at Morgan's belly. As Morgan ran, his massive erection weaved, threatening to break off from its anchorage at the boy's muscled belly. Morgan's balls, gathered in a prune-skinned bag at the roots of his cock, were sore, glutted with a reservoir of thick creamy cum that had been deprived of its race through Morgan's tubes for its jettisoning from Morgan's pulsing cock meatus.
Morgan caught Melinda just as she reached the door, just before she could unlock it. He circled his arms around her, crossing his forearms over the resilient orbs of her heaving breasts. His erect cock pressed hard again Melinda's buttocks, leaving an eleven-inch strip of wetness on the cloth of Melinda's dress.
Morgan pulled Melinda away from the door, dragging her back into the room. Melinda momentarily got away from him, heading back for the door. She slipped, ended up grabbing the leg of a work table to keep from falling.
Morgan was at her again. Melinda heard him pant loudly in her ear. She felt his hands all over her body. She felt his inhumanly large cock jabbed against her. She heard the dirty, disgusting filth he kept spewing from his foul mouth.
"Bitch ... cunt ... whore ... prick-teasing ... white ... pussy."
"Noooooooooo!" Melinda screamed, sure that the noise would bring someone to her rescue.
But Morgan hadn't chosen the boiler room just because of its two exits. He'd chosen it because he knew it was made virtually soundproof by the thick concrete walls.
Still, all of the racket made Morgan uneasy. What if someone did hear?
"You're going to make it worse, honey," Morgan said. He was trying to pull her free of the work table.
Melinda refused to come unwrapped, holding on to the table leg for dear life.
"You bring someone down here, and they're going to want to know what Miss Caine is doing here with one of her black students. And you know what I'm going to tell them? I'm going to tell them that you asked me down here, that you told me you were dying to sink your mouth around my big, black cock."
"Pig!" Melinda grunted; although, it was no longer the scream it might once have been. "You lying Negro pig!"
"You're a fool," Morgan told her. He used his body now not to pull but to push. He mashed Melinda against the work table, keeping her pinned there as his hands dropped down and then came up again under her dress. His thumbs skillfully hooked in the elastic waistband of Melinda's panties and pulled down.
"No ... bastard ... noooooooooooo!" Melinda protested hopelessly. She felt her underpants being stripped off around her hips. She was afraid to let go of the table long enough to pull them up. She was afraid she would soon lose the only support she'd been able to find. But if she didn't turn loose, what was Morgan planning for her? Jesus, God, what was he planning to do?
"All you had to do was get me off with your hand, bitch," Morgan said. His hands were now on Melinda's naked belly, dropping down between her milky legs. He felt the silky blonde hairs of her pubic vee.
"God, nooooo!" Melinda yelled, feeling Morgan's fingers at her quivering cunt.
Melinda let go of the work table, trying to get away. Her panties were down around her ankles, making it impossible for her to take anything but small steps. She tried to kick her panties off, but they'd somehow managed to get hung up on her shoes. Morgan hadn't let go of Melinda. He had even managed to hitch Melinda's dress upward so that her bare ass was suddenly exposed.
"Please ... please ... please," Melinda begged, letting out a loud, guttural groan when Morgan's hips rammed forward, placing the length of his hard cock into the crease of Melinda's creamy ass-cheeks much like a large burnt hot dog would be laid between the cupping wedges of a freshly baked bun.
"You should have jacked me off, teacher," Morgan grunted. "Now, you're going to get yourself a bit more than you bargained for."
And, what in God's name did that mean?
Morgan's left arm wrapped Melinda's middle. A quick squeeze took Melinda's breath away. For a moment, Melinda thought she would go unconscious.
Morgan's right hand moved down between Melinda's buttocks and Morgan's belly. Morgan's hips swung back, releasing his cock length from its resting along Melinda's hairless ass-crack. He fisted his cock neck, yanking his turgid prick down to a position that paralleled the floor.
Morgan's hips swung forward. His pulpy cock glands jammed in between Melinda's creamy white buttocks, missing her virgin anus and flattening against unyielding flesh.
What was he doing? WHAT WAS HE DOING?
Morgan's right hand moved his cock this way and that, sending his cock glands in search of Melinda's rectum which Morgan knew for a fact was located somewhere between the woman's alabaster ass-cheeks.
HE WAS TRYING TO FUCK HER ASS! JESUS, HE WAS TRYING TO FUCK HER ASS!
"Don't fight it, baby," Morgan growled into Melinda's ear. "You're going to get this big Negro cock rammed up your ass hole; and there's nothing on God's green earth you're going to be able to do about it."
"Nooooo! Nooooo!" Melinda screamed, her voice once again as loud as it could go. She dug her fingernails into Morgan's wrapping left forearm, drawing blood. She arched her body, actually letting her feet come free of the floor. All to no avail ...
Morgan's rubbery fist-size cock head found its target. Morgan knew immediately he was home when he felt Melinda's nether ring concaving instead of holding firm beneath the pressure of Morgan's prodding cock.
Morgan's hips came forward with a vengeance. He gritted his teeth, enduring the pleasure and the pain inherent in ramming his lust bloated cock up Melinda's unlubricated asshole.
"Oh, please stop, Morgan ... don't do it. Pleeeeze ... pleeeeeze ... pleeeeeze," Melinda pleaded, her body flooded with the pain.
But Morgan was already doing it. His cock head and four inches of his cock neck were already stuffed up Melinda's anus. And there would soon be more. Morgan was determined there would ... soon ... be ... more.
Morgan's eyes were nearly popping out with his pleasure as he shoved more of his massive cock up Melinda's tight anus.
"AAAAgggghhhhHHHH ... OH GOD, STOP!" Melinda cried as another sheet of red-hot pain enveloped her. Desperately she tried to pull her imprisoned buttocks off the hard stake that was stuffing her. But escape was impossible. She was a slavish victim of Morgan's sodomistic raping. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing anybody could do.
Melinda sobbed piteously as Morgan added more inches to Melinda's rectum. More pain exploded into Melinda's molested body. Melinda wished she could simply die or pass out. She simply couldn't bear the humiliation, the degradation of this wanton and animalistic sin against her body.
"AAaaagh ... goddamn, you've got a tight ass," Morgan said, a bucking of his hips skewering his stiff manhood completely up Melinda's asshole.
Melinda felt a sudden limpness take hold of her, as if every bone in her body had turned to jelly. She felt her torso slumping forward, her arms hanging down toward the floor, her ass lodged tightly against Morgan's lower belly. If it were physically possible, Melinda would have sincerely believed that Morgan's huge cock had penetrated all of the way through her stomach and into her throat.
It wasn't only Melinda's sodomistically raped anus that hurt her. Her whole being was raging with the pain. Her cunt, empty as it was of cock or even fingers, felt as if it had been set on fire. Her eyes ached in their sockets. Her head throbbed with her agony.
Morgan left his lust-bloated stiffness inside of Melinda's subjugated body, feeling strangely triumphant, ecstatically victorious, wondrously excited by the utter helplessness of this white school teacher pinned on his hard cock like an exotic butterfly pinned for display.
Morgan had shown the bitch who was master, who was boss. He had shown her who was the man. He had punished her for teasing him, degraded her in a way she wasn't soon going to forget.
Now, Morgan would fuck her, fuck her good, let her know that there could be pleasure even for the victim once she accepted her defeat, once she realized she was hopelessly in Morgan's power.
Melinda, at that moment, would have been hard-pressed to believe there could ever come any pleasure out of Morgan's thick cock rammed up her anus. How could there ever be any enjoyment associated with an act so loathsomely vile?
Morgan, though, knew differently. He had fucked enough assholes in his time to know that it wasn't just the guy who could enjoy it. Some girls he had fucked had been able to get off just with the slip and slide of his meat inside of their rectums. Hell, you would have thought their assholes were really their cunts for all the pleasure they got out of their butt-fucks.
Morgan began to withdraw his long, hard cock. He eased it slowly out, leaving behind it a trailing of sticky preseminal juices that would make his cock reentry easier.
With just his lust-bloated cock head remaining embedded within his teacher's tightly gripping sphincter ring, Morgan rammed forward again. More of his sexual secretions lubricated Melinda's clutching passageway.
Her ass was getting fucked! Melinda knew that. The very idea made her shiver with revulsion. How could she live with herself after this ultimate humiliation?
Melinda, at first, thought she had merely become accustomed to the presence of her pain. She truly believed it was still there inside of her, but she had merely somehow been able to anesthetize herself against it. After a few more minutes of Morgan's fucking of her ass, however, Melinda began to wish for a return of some of the more intense agony. The pain, when present, had been a vivid reminder that this thing happening to her was a revolting display of purely animalistic lust. And that was how Melinda wanted to look at it.
So, why was the pain fading? How could it fade? And, what was that other feeling arising way down deep inside of her? It wasn't pain. But Melinda refused to believe it was pleasure.
Morgan cupped his right arm around Melinda's waist. He then moved it upward to a position beneath Melinda's hanging breasts. He lifted, succeeding in bringing Melinda back to a modified standing stance. He hadn't interrupted his fucking cadence as he'd done so. In fact, his thrusts were becoming shorter and faster as his pleasure increased.
"Not so bad, after all, is it, teach?" Morgan asked, his voice a gasping wheeze in Melinda's left ear. "Just see what you've been missing out on all these years."
"Bastard!" Melinda answered, her voice weak and drained of all previous power.
Morgan, now inside Melinda's ravaged asshole and pumping, would have loved to ride her tight ass forever. But he'd been just too hyped by the rape. He'd been so ready to cream when just Melinda's fingers had been on his big cock, it was frankly a miracle of sorts that he'd been able to come this far without blasting. Still, he would have liked to go on ... and on ... and on, knowing that the longer he could endure, the better it would be for him and for Melinda.
Melinda's mind, though, had begun to flash danger signs. Her original pain was almost all gone now, replaced by that other "something" she refused to believe was pleasure.
Melinda was frightened, not so much any longer of Morgan, but of something even more perverse than her rape. Morgan, in short, seemed to be trying to make Melinda enjoy this sodomistic ravagement of her person. He was trying; but, Melinda was suddenly determined that he wasn't going to succeed.
SHE WOULD NOT LET MORGAN PULL HER DOWN INTO THE PERVERSE GUTTER WITH HIM! SHE WOULDN'T. SHE WOULDN'T!
Melinda became frantic to get Morgan off inside of her asshole. She suddenly had to get him off fast; and, then he would pull out and go away, leaving her alone.
Melinda began experimenting with the muscles in her rectum, using them to tighten the rubbery grip of her anus around Morgan's pumping cock. Melinda could tell when she was meeting with success, because Morgan would start moaning in her ear or go into a fit of heavy breathing.
Morgan didn't know just when exactly it hit him as to what Melinda was doing. Whenever, it was already too late for him to do anything about it-even though he would have liked to. The stupid bitch was doing nothing more than cutting off her own nose to spite her face. If she had just waited, just enjoyed, just let everything go at its natural rate, she would have come out of the deal knowing she hadn't been quite the victim she had originally imagined herself to be. But, oh, no, not this baby. She didn't want to accept any of the pleasure Morgan was giving her. She wanted to come out of this the thoroughly wronged woman, the raped innocent, the lily-pure maiden who had been taken and abused by force and force alone.
"You ... silly ... silly ... cunt!" Morgan accused, his hips humping out of control. His belly pounded hard against Melinda's naked and bruised ass.
Too late! Too late! Too late!
"Ugh ... ugh ... UUUUGHHHHEEEeeeeeee!" Morgan growled animalistically. His pumping cock went bigger up Melinda's ass hole. His lust-bloated testicles rolled inside of his scrotum. His sticky, opaque love-juices overflowed their reservoirs, jetted up and out of Morgan's friction-reddened penis.
Morgan's hot sperm flooded Melinda's asshole, was streaked along her bowel by Morgan's cock as it kept on fucking even as it continued to ejaculate.
The bastard! He had actually gone off up her anus! Finally! Well, thank God, it was over. Actually, it could have been much worse. It could have been much, much, much worse; although, Melinda would never let the Negro know that.
Morgan gave one final heave. His cock was once more lost to its total length up Melinda's cum-sopped rectum.
"Are ... you ... quite ... finished?" Melinda asked, slowly, clearly, calmly. Her voice still quivered slightly. She had a sudden urge to stick a finger up her cunt, see if she could feel Morgan's softening inches through the thin dividing membrane that separated her cunt from her asshole.
Morgan didn't answer. He simply released his hold on Melinda's body, and he slowly pulled his cock out of her asshole. His cock came free with a lewdly loud plopping sound, sucking out a mess of Morgan's cum that stayed behind on Melinda's pucker.
Morgan stuffed his cock back into his pants and then zipped up.
Melinda-weak, very weak-bent over for her panties which were still around her ankles. She untangled the filmy pink material and pulled them up over her hips and battered ass cheeks. She dropped her dress, smoothing the wrinkles in it as best she could. She turned to see Morgan heading for the door.
"Haven't you forgotten something?" Melinda called after him.
Morgan looked back at her, giving her one of his widest grins.
"Yea. Thank-you, m'am. That was one of the best ass fucks I think I've ever had the pleasure of performing."
Melinda blushed red with a combination of rabid fury and embarrassment.
"The crucifix," Melinda reminded, walking toward him, her right hand extended palm up.
"Oh, yeah, the crucifix," Morgan said. "Well, the truth is, you were such a damned good fuck, I thought maybe I'd just hold onto Roberto's little gold cross. You know, just in case I might want to come around for seconds."
"You black sonofabitch'n bastard!"
"You learn that in Miss Caine's English class?" Morgan asked, accompanying with a low chuckle.
Morgan opened the door and left, pulling it shut behind him. He found himself surprisingly weak, surprisingly drained of energy. Goddamn, but that ass had sucked him dry!
Melinda went directly from the boiler room to the deserted ladies rest room. She locked herself in one of the stalls. There, Morgan's cum still leaked out of her sperm-flooded ass hole, Melinda finger-fucked her juicy cunt to orgasm, calling Morgan a lying black bastard over ... and over ... and over again.
Chapter Seven
Charles eyed Melinda over the lip of his wine glass. He swallowed some of the white liquid and put his glass back on the table, his eyes still lingering on Melinda.
It would have been obvious to anyone, let along to Charles-who thought he knew Melinda very well-that the attractive young blonde woman's mind was temporarily occupied elsewhere. Not on the food. Not on the wine. Certainly not on Charles. So, where in the hell was it?
"Is that Jenning kid giving you any kind of trouble?" Charles asked suddenly.
"Jenning?" Melinda asked, Charles' voice having brought her back from her reverie. She blushed; even though it was likely Charles had only made a lucky guess and hadn't known the truly obscene depths of those thoughts he'd just interrupted.
"Yea, the Jenning kid. Morgan Jenning," Charles elucidated further. "The big Negro jock with the Mexican mother."
"Oh," Melinda replied, trying to make it sound as if there was nothing further from her mind than Morgan Jenning. "No. Whatever gave you that idea?"
"It just seems that every time I've seen you lately, you've been talking to that kid."
Melinda told herself not to get flustered. She had expected Charles to bring up Morgan in their conversation sooner or later, hadn't she? She'd known that Charles couldn't possibly have missed the number of times Morgan had finagled to be somewhere at the same time Melinda was there. Damn it, she had told that black bastard he was going to set everyone's tongue to wagging if he wasn't just a little more careful. Morgan, though, had kept on showing up, appearing out of the woodwork every time Melinda turned another corner. He seemed to think that, if nothing else would get him back into Melinda's panties, his constant harassing would do the job.
"Oh, he's having English problems," Melinda replied, realizing Charles was still waiting for her to say something. She reached for her wine and almost spilled her water in the process.
"You know if he is giving you problems, I'll have a little talk with him that'll set him straight fast enough."
"It's nothing, Charles. Really, it is nothing," Melinda insisted, laughing nervously. Maybe it had been a good thing she had agreed to meet with Morgan one more time. She had to get that black bastard off her back. Melinda found herself shuddering at that particular turn of a phrase: off her back. She still had dreams about Morgan's black body hunched over hers like some raping gorilla in a primeval forest.
"Well, something is definitely wrong," Charles said with the authority of someone who knew what he was talking about. "Ever since that Rodriguez kid bit the dust, you've been acting kind of funny."
"Well, nothing is actually settled yet; but, I've given my notice at the school," Melinda said. "Maybe that's why I've been acting a bit strange."
"You're kidding!" Charles said, genuinely surprised. He never thought he'd see the day when Melinda would be giving up on her crusade to save the Negroes, the Mexicans, the Puerto Rican's, and everyone else who seemed so desperately stuck in the ghetto.
"I didn't want to say anything, because nothing is really final yet. I've applied for a position at Tattinger."
"Hey!" Charles exclaimed with obvious delight. Tattinger was a private girls school just outside of Cranfield. When Charles finished his term of servitude at Westhaven, he was sure he could get his father to let him take over the Cranfield offices. Charles and Melinda would then be able to get together regularly. "This calls for a bit of a celebration, wouldn't you say?"
"Let's hold off celebrating until things get more set, shall we?" Melinda suggested, giving what she hoped was a happy smile.
Melinda had definitely decided it was time for her to leave Westhaven. Things just weren't the same there without Roberto. And they never would be. Melinda had simply lost some of that old spark, that old determination that told her she really could do something for these slum kids. She'd simply had a turn-around in her way of thinking. She's had her rebellious period, and it was time to get back into the mainstream of middle-America. If it wasn't Tattinger, then it would have to be some other "safe" school. Somewhere that had kids who were civilized even if they did masturbate in the rest rooms or smoke marijuana at parties.
And Melinda's decision hadn't been perpetrated by that horror she had endured in the boiler room with Morgan. Anyway that's what she kept telling herself. If anything, that had only been the straw to break the proverbial camel's back.
Oh, Melinda would go meet Morgan one more time as she had finally been made to promise him. But whether or not the lying bastard gave her the gold crucifix this time-as he'd promised-would make very little difference in affecting Melinda's decision. And if Melinda didn't get the crucifix from Morgan, as the black youth had sworn, then there would be no more meetings with him in the future. Melinda felt fairly safe in her assumption that she was now pretty well protected from any scandal even if Morgan did take the gold cross to the principal. Paul Cronnley would hardly go to all the bother of checking out any sordid rumors about a faculty member who was leaving shortly, especially not rumors about dear, sweet Miss Caine.
And once at Tattinger, or wherever, Melinda hardly saw Morgan following after her, threatening his sordid blackmail. Morgan was a child of the gutter and would feel lost and ill at ease outside the ghetto atmosphere. But if he did follow, who would believe the rantings of a deranged Negro boy who could only produce a gold crucifix in evidence? Roberto, after all, was dead and wouldn't be around to point any accusing finger-something Roberto would never had done even if he were living. Roberto had had his own special brand of honor which certainly wouldn't have allowed his betraying his affair with Melinda.
Still, if she could, Melinda would get the crucifix from Morgan, if just because it did have an exceptional sentimental value to her. Melinda had been genuinely fond of Roberto. She had found in that boy everything she had ever wanted in a man-at least as far as his performances between Melinda's opened thighs.
"You know, dad has got company offices in Cranfield," Charles said. He had decided to order another bottle of wine anyway and had motioned for the waiter.
"As a matter of fact, I did sort of have that in mind when I applied at Tattinger," Melinda answered, flashing another smile. And what she said was true. Tattinger would be a place where Charles could easily have access to her. And Charles was as "safe" as Tattinger was. He was someone Melinda's mother and father would approve of. He would be a good provider. What more could a girl ask for?
The fact that Charles would probably never be a Roberto Rodriguez in bed surely was offset by all of his other good points. Wasn't it?
If only Charles were a little more animal and not quite so civilized. Oh, not an animal in the sense that Morgan Jenning was an animal. MORGAN WAS ONE STEP BEYOND MERE ANIMAL. Melinda just wished Charles would be a little more assertive sexually. Charles seemed quite content to wait until after they were married before taking Melinda to bed. Charles would have been almost perfect if he would have just cast aside some of Melinda's weak protests some night, throw Melinda on the bed, and fuck her senseless like Roberto had done.
My God, what was she thinking?
"This night does indeed call for more wine," Charles said, watching as a new bottle in its silver ice bucket was being maneuvered to their table by the smiling waiter.
Chapter Eight
Morgan was determined that both Carla and Kenny would pay dearly for their betrayal. They had both thought they were so very, very clever, hadn't they? Kenny had thought he would make the jump from newly-appointed Lieutenant to Chief in one quick maneuver. Well, Morgan had ended up proving he was their superior in intellect as well as in physical strength. They would think again before they tried to displace him as Chief of the Bulls.
Morgan leaned against the brick wall, lighting up a cigarette and waiting. Everything was quiet, but Morgan knew he wasn't alone at this condemned building. They were all there inside: all of his men, even that bastard Kenny. And Kenny would be waiting for Morgan to make a mistake. Well, Morgan wasn't going to make any mistakes.
In a way, Morgan felt guilty as hell about what was about to happen to Melinda. Morgan, after all, really liked his attractive blonde English teacher. If he could have seen any other way but this way, he would have taken it. However, Carla and Kenny had made any other way impossible.
Carla and Kenny had gotten together several members of the gang and had told them how Morgan was fucking the young English teacher with no intentions of sharing her. Sharing was one of the rules. Oh, no man was required to share his official girl friend; but, any girl who wasn't officially a Bulls' woman-well, she was simply up for grabs. It was as simple as that. Therefore, when Carla and Kenny had gone to broadcasting that Morgan had stuck his cock up Melinda Caine, Morgan had been left with only three choices. One, he could cast Carla to one side and tell everyone Melinda was not officially his "girl". Two, he could have denied that he and Melinda were screwing. Three, he could have done just what he was now doing.
Because, casting Carla aside at this moment (as much as he might have liked doing just that), would have been political suicide. The Mexican-Spanish members weren't too happy with the fact that Morgan had grabbed up Carla to begin with. Tossing Roberto's sister aside like an old shoe would have only ruffled more feathers.
And no one was going to believe that Carla made up the whole thing just to get Morgan into trouble.
What Morgan should have never done was go bragging to Carla that he'd gotten more pleasure out of Melinda's hand than he'd ever gotten out of Carla's cunt. And Melinda's ass hole? Well, Morgan had told Carla, there had been nothing around to compare it with.
What had he expected Carla to do? She didn't particularly like him anyway. Had he really expected her to turn against him, though? Probably not, or he would have been a hell of a lot more careful than he had been. Carla, he now knew-and, thank God, he'd found out not too late-was a dangerous enemy. Morgan would have to take care of her in some special way later on-when Carla was least expecting a reprisal.
Roberto, had he lived, would never have found himself in this situation. One, his sister would have never ratted on him. Two, even if she had, Roberto had had enough support on all sides to just tell the bitch to fuck off. Three, even if some of the guys had gotten upset about the rule regarding sharing, Roberto could have merely made Melinda Caine his official lady. Roberto never had had an official girl friend. He'd always played the field.
Well, Morgan had been set up by Kenny and Carla. Morgan had a few powerful enemies, besides Kenny and Carla, who he hadn't successfully yet weeded out. Morgan had an official girl friend and had no apparent way of putting Melinda under his protection.
Carla and Kenny, though, had miscalculated their moves on several fronts. To begin with, they had probably suspected there was no way Morgan would condescend to turn Melinda over to the wolves-the wolves in this case equaling the Bulls. Then, they had misinterpreted the nuances within the gang power structure.
Despite what some people thought, not everyone wanted to be leader, head, master, el numero uno. Some people were quite content just to be followers. In fact, it was usually the majority who really never wanted to make waves or disturb the status quo, no matter how much they might have disliked the person in charge. That was especially true among the membership of the Bulls, since there was always too much fighting going on between gangs to safely risk civil war within the ranks. Besides, Morgan had been Roberto's Chief Lieutenant. He had been next in line to succeed to command.
Carla and Kenny had counted too much on there being more like them in the gang, more guys and gals who were out to shake up the equilibrium. Well, they had been wrong. They had stirred up a wasp nest, all right, but not so badly that Morgan had lost control. Most everyone had been content to believe Morgan when he said he didn't give a damn who fucked Melinda Caine. He had an official girl friend, didn't he? He wasn't about to give Carla up, was he? Therefore if Melinda put out for him, it was only right that she should put out for his good amigos. Right? Right!
Oh, Carla and Kenny had been right there to jump on that. They had seen pretty damned fast that they had tipped their hand a little too early in the game and had better save the day. They had screamed, they had shouted, they had maneuvered until Morgan had had to deliver Melinda Caine up on a silver platter. Well, Morgan would deliver Melinda up all right. And then when everyone was walking around agreeing what a good El Numero Uno Morgan was-well, that was when Kenny and Carla had better start watching out behind them.
In a way, Morgan figured he should be thanking Carla and Kenny for giving him this early opportunity to cement himself securely into position as the Bulls' Chief. After this was all over, who was there going to be-besides Carla and Kenny-who would argue that Morgan didn't have the welfare of his gang always topmost in his mind?
A car drove by. But it wasn't the car Morgan was waiting for. Morgan checked his wrist watch. Damn if the bitch wasn't late!
What if she didn't turn up?
Morgan got a sudden chill. He had had a hell of a time getting Melinda to agree to this meeting. Not that he could blame her. He had promised her the crucifix if she came to the boiler room, hadn't he? She had gotten his rocks off-if in a way she couldn't have originally imagined-hadn't she? And, Morgan had gone back on his word. The fact that he had gone back on his word rankled him even now. He didn't like the idea that he had given someone like Melinda Caine one more verification that his kind was uncivilized filth: "Meet you again, Morgan? Meet you again? Why should I meet you again? Even a common criminal has a code of honor. You don't even have that. Your word isn't worth the breath it's made of."
Damn it, Morgan should have handed over the crucifix. But Melinda's asshole had been so deliciously tight, so fucking good; it had been just too hard to pass up the possibility of getting a rematch. Besides if he had given it back, how could he have ever gotten Melinda to agree to come here this evening?
Fifteen minutes later, Morgan broken out in a cold sweat, Melinda's car pulled up to the curb and came to a slow stop.
"Thank God ... thank God ... thank God," Morgan mumbled, heading for the car. He had been entertaining visions of being rushed by his fellow Bulls and being left de-balled on the rubble.
Melinda, looking very young and vulnerable, opened the car door and got out. She was nervous. She was very nervous.
What in the hell was she doing? What in the hell had ever possessed her to come here of all places? Morgan could rape her ass, knock her over the head; and, no one would ever find her until the big wrecking ball came to knock down these dilapidated buildings-maybe not even then.
"You're late," Morgan said. He was so relieved to see her, he wasn't even angry. Actually, he was feeling paternal, almost protective. Then he began to feel guilty. Quickly he rationalized that a woman who could come out to a place like this, in the middle of the night, deserved everything she got. Maybe it would make her think again before she did it next time.
"So, I'm late," Melinda said, feeling immediately on the defensive. She had almost apologized. Imagine that! Actually, Morgan was lucky she was there at all. Charles had come over to celebrate her acceptance at Tattinger; and, it had taken all of Melinda's wits to get rid of him.
Melinda glanced nervously around her. There wasn't even a streetlight anywhere near. If it wasn't for a moon somewhere up there above the smog, there would have been no light at all.
"Expecting the bogeyman?" Morgan asked, giving a nervous laugh.
"Couldn't you have arranged this little meeting somewhere a little less out of it all?" Melinda asked. She bet these old condemned buildings were alive with rats. The thought made her shiver.
"You wanted privacy, didn't you?" Morgan asked. "I would have willingly met you on an uptown street at rush hour."
"So, enough of the small talk," Melinda said, deciding to get right down to business. The less time she stayed around here, the better. "You did bring the crucifix?"
"Come here," Morgan said. He walked alongside Melinda's car, stopping near the rear fender.
Melinda watched, wondering just what the bastard was up to now. She had asked a simple little question that required merely a yes or a no. And, what was she getting?
"I said, come here!" Morgan persisted.
Reluctantly, Melinda joined him.
"Unlock your gas cap," Morgan instructed.
"You're really not planning on siphoning out my gas, are you?" Melinda asked. She almost laughed, which was as good an indication as anything of her nervous state.
"Just unlock it, damn it!"
Melinda unlocked it, turning to see what came next.
"I brought the crucifix," Morgan said.
So, why in the hell hadn't he just said that in the first place?
"See," Morgan said. He lifted his hands up behind his neck and unfastened the gold chain. He pulled the crucifix up along his chest so that it came out through the neck of his T-shirt. He handed the cross and chain to Melinda. "Go ahead, check it over. I don't want you telling me later that I came with the wrong one."
Melinda checked it. It was the right one all right. But there was something funny going on here. She had been expecting a bit more bartering before Morgan turned over the merchandise.
"Satisfied?" Morgan asked, smiling. Damn it, he was getting a hard-on! Oh, well, he'd simply have to stand in line this evening.
"I haven't heard you mentioning a price," Melinda said suspiciously.
"Drop it down the gas tank, and then we'll talk."
"Drop it down the what?"
"Drop ... it ... down ... the ... gas ... tank," Morgan repeated slowly. "No way am I going to be able to go back on my word once it's down in your gas tank, am I?"
Melinda was tempted to tell him he could always steal her car, drain the tank, use some kind of mechanical can opener.
"How do I get it out?" Melinda asked instead.
"Go to a garage and have them do it," Morgan said.
Melinda shrugged. She dropped the crucifix down the tank, listening to the tinkle of metal against metal and then the final metal against fluid.
Morgan put the lid back on the tank. He took the keys from Melinda to engage the lock.
Melinda extended her hand for the return of the keys. But Morgan apparently wasn't going to give them back.
With his left hand, Morgan reached out and grabbed Melinda's extended wrist. He gave the woman a tug.
"Come on!" Morgan commanded, literally dragging the reluctant Melinda behind him.
Melinda resisted, but not as much as she might have. She had learned from bitter experience that Morgan was far stronger than she was. Besides, she had suspected something like this, hadn't she? It had been only too obvious that she was going to now pay for the merchandise deposited in the gas tank of her car.
Melinda had a strange thrilling in her guts. Fear? Yes, fear. But again, there was that special "something" more.
Morgan stopped at the brick wall of the old building. He dropped Melinda's car keys on the ground beside the wall.
"Can you remember where your keys are?" Morgan asked. "Will you be able to find them again later?"
Melinda, curious, fearful, excited, nodded yes. "Good," Morgan said, pulling her into the building entrance and the surrounding darkness.
Chapter Nine
"Nooooooooooo!" Melinda screamed. "Oh, God ... no ... God ... no ... Jesus ... Jesus ... NO!"
What was happening? What was happening?
"MORGAN?!" Melinda yelled frantically.
Someone had her arms. Someone had her legs. There seemed to be a hundred hands on her body, touching her everywhere.
"Morgan isn't the only one who can fuck, honey," someone said loudly in Melinda's right ear.
Where was that bastard Morgan? Had he planned this?
"The bitch bit me!" someone sounded loudly, shortly after Melinda had sunk her teeth into a hand that had tried to clamp across her open mouth.
"I'd watch out, then, before you started sticking your fat cock in her mouth," someone else laughed.
"Let me go! Let ... me ... go!" Melinda shouted. She continued to struggle, even more so when she felt those lewdly exploring hands beginning to pull off her blouse and skirt.
"You'd think she didn't like cock by the way she's fighting," someone said.
"Naw. She's just putting on a show." Who said that? Morgan? Morgan, that bastard ... bastard ... bastard!
"Yea, feel these hard nipples!"
"EEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiii!" Melinda cried out in pain, trying desperately to twist her body away from the fingers that were sadistically twisting her tender nipples.
"Here. Put her down here!"
"Put her down, hell. I'm going to fuck her standing up. Put her down later."
"You're going to fuck her? Not before I get my hard cock shoved up her ass."
"Noooooooooooo!" Melinda screamed, knowing there was no one around to hear her screams but her attackers.
Melinda was now naked except for her panty hose. There was a hard cock at her cunt. There was a hard cock at her ass. Neither cock could get in: the nylon of her panty hose keeping Melinda's holes more safely protected than any natural hymen would have done. If her situation wasn't so desperate, she might have found it funny.
"Damn it, I can't get in!"
"Here, give me a try."
"Try, hell. Wait your fucking turn!"
"Jesus Christ! Oooooooooooooghhhrrrrrr!"
"What the hell happened? That you, Karl?"
Karl? Karl? Karl who?
"Ohhhhhhh ... Christ ... she kicked my nuts ... she kneed my balls!"
"You silly shits, she's still got her panty hose on. Don't you know anything about fucking?"
"Well, where in the hell is the light? Why doesn't someone get it on so I can see what in the hell I'm doing?"
"You get the lamp. I know what I'm doing."
Someone knew. Someone was yanking down Melinda's panty hose, rolling the nylon down over her hips and ass.
"Please ... please," Melinda begged, knowing there was no point in her begging. She intuitively knew that no one there was going to listen.
"Goddamn, she's got lovely breasts!" A mouth was on Melinda's left nipple, sucking. Another hungry pair of lips were kissing her right breast. "MMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm."
"AAaaaaghhrrr!" Melinda groaned as teeth bit at both of her nipples. "Pleeeeeeeeeeez."
There was a rubbery cock head back trying to get into her anus. Twice that cock head tried to penetrate and failed. Twice Melinda had shifted, foiling any such entry. Melinda, though, was losing her strength. There were just too many of them ... just ... too ... too ... many.
Something hot and wet splattered Melinda's alabaster buttocks, sticking like warm gum to her milky skin.
"Damn it ... damn it ... damn it!"
"What happened, Craig? She get your nuts, too?"
"Fuck no. I just creamed without even getting it in."
"Out of the way, novice! No way is my cock going to go off out in the cold."
"Ohhhhhh," Melinda squealed, helplessly trapped with someone in front of her and someone behind. Another cock was now at her quivering buttocks, looking for her rubbery anus. And a cock was drooling its thick, clear juices in her curly blonde pubic hair.
Hands were holding to her legs, anchoring her feet to the floor. Hands were holding her arms so she couldn't fight.
Melinda was tired. God, she was tired! Her energy was going. Her resistance was about ended. But if she stopped resisting, what then?
Oh, God, wouldn't anybody help her?
"AAAAAGGGGHHHHHHRRrrrrr!" Melinda groaned animalistically. One cock had found its target, invading Melinda's unlubricated anus.
Melinda's rectum was on fire, the friction caused by the battering cock burning all the way through to Melinda's empty cunt cavity. Melinda's body jerked on the sticking phallic shaft like a fish on a spear.
"You in her, Kenny? You in her?"
"Oh, God ... she's tight! Jesus ... is ... she ... tight."
"Are you fucking her ass, Kenny? Are you fucking it?"
"I'm fucking it," Kenny answered, his hips giving a bounce to sink his cock in to its balls. "Jesus, yes ... I'm fucking ... her ... asshole!"
"Is someone in her cunt?"
"Who is that? Manuel, is that you?
"Get your cock out of here, man! Her cunt is all mine."
"Well, you had better get your fat cock inside of her or go to the end of the line, you slow sonofabitch."
"She's squirming like a fucking worm. Can't anybody hold her still?"
"Get that cock in her, you bastard! Or, give her pussy to someone who knows what to do with it."
"Ooooooh, I've got her ... I've got her ... I've got her."
"Aghhhheeeii!" Melinda cried, feeling her cuntal lips being forced viciously apart as her pussy was being plugged with someone's fat male cock. Manuel's? Manuel who for Christ's sake?
Melinda was sobbing. She could taste her tears in her mouth. She was weeping from the pain of her dual rape. She was crying because of her humiliation, because of her utter helplessness, because she was being used so ruthlessly by these unfeeling rapists. And, they couldn't even fuck her right. They had to fuck her ass, too. They couldn't leave her any dignity. There were all animals like Morgan was an animal. She should have never ... never ... never ...
"EEEEEEEiiii ... ugh ... ugh ... ugh!" Melinda grunted gutturally. The cock up her cunt had been shoved in all the way at the same time the cock up her ass was en-lodged to its healthy balls. The wide bellies of the two blood-engorged cocks had mated deep inside of Melinda's ravaged body, separated only by a thin partitioning membrane.
"Put her down on the floor! I want to get my hard cock in her mouth."
"Wait your turn, fucker! This little lady isn't going anywhere until she gets an ass load of my cream."
"Damn it, where's the light?"
"Here."
Someone turned on a battery-run lantern off to one side. The resulting light didn't help Melissa identify her attackers. It only added a weird dancing to the shadows in the room.
Jesus, she was in a madhouse!
"Ohhhh ... ohhhhh ... ohhhhh!" Kenny was groaning heavy and hot in Melinda's ears.
Melinda felt strong male loins jerking convulsively against the cushion of her bruised buttocks. Then she felt a jarring surge of hot, swirling sperm flooding deep into her rectum.
Kenny gasped ... gasped again ... until, at last, he grunted one final moan of total release. He then collapsed against Melinda's sweaty back.
A fat, blood-bloated cock was still working hard in Melinda's pussy. It was still moving in and out, in and out, churning up Melinda's guts.
"Hurry it up, Manuel! This isn't a fucking endurance test. You can have seconds later."
"Damn, you bastards, hurry up! I've got a cock on me that's so fucking hard it hurts."
"Kenny, you shit, aren't you off yet?"
"Christ, yes, I'm off. Have at her!"
Kenny's cock came free of Melinda's clutching buttocks, dragging out a mess of its own exploded sperm.
"I fed the bitch a good gallon," Kenny bragged. "I've got her ass hole all slicked up and ready to go for the next taker."
"Fuck, I'm hot ... fuck, I'm hot!"
Melinda shut her eyes, wondering if her horror was ever going to end. How much was she expected to endure? There was only so much a girl ...
"Ugh!" Melinda grunted as another blue-veined hunk of male stiffness was buried up her ass. Surprisingly enough, the insertion of this second cock wasn't as painful as had been the first one. Would the third cock be even easier to take? And what about the fourth? The fifth? The sixth?
"Get it off, damn it, Manuel, or we're going to pull you off her."
"A minute ... a minute," Manuel was grunting. He had buried his face into Melinda's shoulder. He was biting as he fucked. He was so close now. So close. "Give me another ... fucking ... minute ... bastards."
"The stupid shit has to pick now to prove he's a goddamn stud."
Manuel's cock blasted up Melinda's ravaged pussy. It pulled out, though, before it had shot the last of its sperm to drape Melinda's raw-red pussy flesh.
"Hey, you goddamned fuck-heads!" Manuel whimpered as his cock shot the last of its healthy load into the empty darkness.
"You've hogged the best spot too fucking long!"
"But, shit, I was cumming ... I was cummmming."
"Well, now it's my goddamned turn to do some cuming."
A new cock head nudged through the semen-sopped pubic hair of Melinda's pubic vee. That cock didn't waste any time. A thrust of young, powerful hips planted the cock quickly to its hair-furred balls. And this cock was even bigger than the last one.
Melinda yelled and gasped. Thick guttural mewls of forbidden lust rose from somewhere deep inside of her as she remained nakedly stuck on two pumping cocks at once, helplessly sandwiched between two raping young men who were wickedly skewering her on their massive, throbbing cocks.
The blood-engorged penis battering up Melinda's ass was humping her without mercy. It was fucking wildly, directed by a young man gone mad with his pleasure.
Melinda's body endured the double-fucking thrusts. Occasionally, during an extra violent cock thrust, Melinda would gargle or moan with more pain. But, on the whole, her squeals of genuine agony were getting further and further apart.
Because somewhere during the course of this wickedly animalistic attack on Melinda's ripe young body, something strange had happened. Like an audible clicking, the pain had begun to shut off inside of her brain, leaving first a general numbness. But the numbness was being replaced now with something else.
Pleasure? Oh, Jesus, surely not pleasure! How ... could ... there ... be ... pleasure?
As had happened when Melinda had begun to enjoy Morgan's ass fucking in the school boiler room, she now panicked at the horrible realization that she could actually be getting even one small modicum of pleasure out of a sexual attack upon her person.
She had to get this over with. She had to make them finish, get their cream inside of her, leave her alone to her shame and utter degradation.
Melinda tightened the muscles of her vagina and her rectum. Two young men, spearing Melinda's body, groaned their immediate approval.
Melinda simply had to get them off ... get them all off. They wouldn't leave her alone until they had filled her body, emptying their cum-filled testicles. Let them, then, pull out their sex-depleted cocks and disappear back into the darkness. Melinda desperately needed to be alone with her shame while she was still able to think of it as shame.
Melinda squeezed her muscles tight again.
"Oh, Jeeeeezus!" the young boy belonging to the cock up Melinda's ass groaned. "Her cunt is eating me alive!"
"Hurry it up, you shit; because, I've got an even bigger meal for this blonde's little pussy."
Melinda felt suddenly incredibly powerful, knowing as she did that she could intensify the pleasure of these two bucking and writhing young men inside her. She also began to admit a certain deliciousness in being dominated-while not being dominated-by these young, hard bodies, and young, hard cocks. She had always had a certain attraction for this kind of unpolished young man, hadn't she? Her own boyfriends had always seemed so dull by comparison. Charles had been so dull, too. Hadn't Melinda wanted Charles to fuck her and rape her like these young men were fucking and raping her now?
No! How could she ever even think such a wickedly sinful thing?
Still, now that her pain was gone, now that that extra something was taking the pain's place, a multiple raping wasn't as bad as Melinda had first imagined. She had merely been hysterical in the beginning. She had merely been furious at Morgan's treachery. She had overreacted. Actually ... actually ...
"Ooooooooh!" Melinda voiced breathlessly. The cock up her cunt had just slid its back against Melinda's distended clitoris. The result had been a definite thrilling, a definite enjoyment.
She would show these bastards! She would show them! They got their precarious thrills raping women, did they? She had heard about such men, studs only able to get their bennies off by forcefully taking a helpless woman. Well, Melinda just might be able to deflate their sails-if just a little-now that she had gotten control of her own panic and didn't feel quite as helpless as she once had.
"Oh, baby ... oh, baby."
"Feel good, stud?" Melinda asked. "Want me to make it even better?"
Melinda squeezed her cunt and ass muscles tighter.
"Oh, Christ ... oh, sweet, sweet, Christ!"
"Can't hold on, baby?" Melinda asked. "A real man could hold on. A real man could fuck me like a woman likes to be fucked. You guys are all rank amateurs."
"Oh, Jesus ... oh, Jesus ... oh, Jesus."
Melinda felt the sudden explosion of more male sperm up her cock-clogged vagina.
Really, these kids were just babies. Getting them to pop their adolescent nuts was as easy as sticking pins in water-filled balloons. She would have them all off in no time. She would come out the winner yet in this little battle of the sexes.
The cock pulled sloppily from Melinda's cunt. Before another one could take its place, someone had pulled Melinda's feet out from under her. She went down hard on her hands and knees, landing on a stained mattress on the floor.
"What the fuck!" Melinda's lone rider voiced loudly as his cock was left fucking thin air. Obviously, though, his nuts had been on the verge of popping, because they went off without benefit of Melinda's cock-clutching anus. The cock meatus pulsed, shot out a comet-like stringing of wet-warm sperm. The cum showered Melinda's bare legs, her buttocks, her back.
"Hey cunt, I'm going to ride you like a god!"
Melinda felt the young male body dropped on top of her. She felt a hand grabbing one of her hanging breasts. She felt another rubbery cock head searching for the cum-smeared entrance to her rectum.
"Think you're man enough to fuck this real woman's ass?" Melinda taunted.
Why did her ass feel so empty without cock in it? Why was she actually anxious to have this newest cock exploring her bowel? Why was she wishing there was a cock buried up her cunt, a penis in her pussy to match any butt-strokes one to one?
"You think you're woman enough to eat my cock, honey?" someone asked, taking a handful of Melinda's hair.
Melinda's face was pulled upward. In the grotesque lighting supplied by the lone lantern left deserted in one corner of the room, Melinda was brought face to face with a monstrously large cock-a black one. She knew without looking any further that his cock belonged to Morgan Jenning. The black bastard had raped her ass and now he was going to rape her mouth and throat.
"Ooooooh!" Melinda sighed automatically as the cock at her asshole found her sperm-slicked pucker and streamlined in on the pathway prepared for it by the raping cocks which had come before.
Morgan took advantage of the opening Melinda's groaning gave him. His left hand holding Melinda by the hair, his right hand zooming his blood-hardened inches to the target, his hips swung forward.
"Ughhhhhh ... ughhhhh ... ughhhhh!" Melinda choked helplessly on Morgan's rubbery cock corona which had first mashed against Melinda's bony palate and then slid through her tonsils into her throat. Morgan's large black scrotum flapped obscenely against Melinda's chin. Morgan's kinky black pubic hair ground into Melinda's pert nose.
"Feels good ... feels good," Morgan muttered, luxuriating in those sensuous sensations derived from Melinda's gagging reflexes.
"I wouldn't trust her with any cock of mine," Kenny said, standing against one wall, trying desperately to play his cock back to an erection so he could move in for sloppy seconds.
"Oh, Miss Caine knows what will happen if she starts getting funny, don't you, Miss Caine?" Morgan asked, slowly beginning to draw his cock free.
Melinda groaned, determined to get Morgan's big, fat cock off inside her mouth as quickly as possible.
Chapter Ten
Charles should have gone for help. He'd had all intentions of going for help. So, what had stopped him? Maybe it was a lewd fascination to be had in seeing two men fucking Melinda at the same time. Or, maybe it was the intuitive realization that Melinda wasn't protesting all of that much. Actually, Melinda seemed to be enjoying what was happening to her.
And, what had Melinda asked loudly? "Feel good, stud? Want me to make it even better?"
And, then when she had been forced to her knees, that young man dropping on her ass and threatening to ride her ass like a dog, what had Melinda asked? "Think you're man enough?"
Jesus, this couldn't be the Melinda Caine that Charles knew. It simply couldn't be. That Melinda Caine wouldn't even let Charles into her panties. This Melinda Caine was sucking cock and grinding her fucked ass like a professional whore.
Charles stayed crouched in the darkness. He had followed Melinda all the way from her apartment, having been suspicious that something was wrong when Melinda had hurried him off with his bottle of champagne he had brought over to celebrate the young woman's acceptance as a teacher at Tattinger. Charles had gotten even more suspicious when he had parked his car and watched Melinda rendezvousing with that Jenning kid.
There had been something funny about the way Morgan Jenning had been hanging around Melinda at school.
And, what had been all that stuff going on at Melinda's car in front of this deserted building? It looked as if Morgan had been checking Melinda's gas tank. Strange! But no more strange than what Charles had found once he'd sneaked up one of the back stairs and followed Morgan Jenning and Melinda Caine into this condemned building.
Charles had heard about women-bored housewives-who lived secret sex lives. But Melinda Caine? Charles couldn't believe it. He still couldn't believe it, and it was all being played out there before his own startled eyes.
Charles, of course, had first thought Melinda was being gang-raped, Morgan Jenning having somehow lured Melinda into a trap. And, the only thing which had kept Charles from rushing immediately to Melinda's rescue had been the realization that one man against twenty husky young men would have been a one-sided battle. And if Charles had been overpowered, neither he nor Melinda would have had a chance to survive.
So, Charles had held off, planning his strategy. He had stayed hidden. He had frankly been fascinated by the sexual spectacle, anyway. He'd then become even more enthralled by Melinda's active part in this lewd and sensuous orgy.
Charles had suddenly found himself rooted to the spot, held the captive of his own voyeuristic excitement derived from viewing one sodomistic attack after another on Melinda's stripped and naked body, further derived from watching one cock after another being rammed up Melinda's-willing?-cunt.
And now Melinda's ass was once again being ridden by a young fucker with his blood-bulged cock fucking ... fucking ... fucking ... Melinda's gyrating buttocks, while Melinda's mouth was obscenely wrapped around Morgan Jenning's massive Negro-Mexican cock.
How easily Charles had found himself able to put himself in the place of those lucky fucking youths as they took charge of Melinda's body and forced her into doing every obscene act in the book.
Even now, Charles' cock was rock hard in his pants as he fantasized his penis-and not Morgan's cock-being pushed and pulled within Melinda's salivating mouth. Simultaneously, he imagined it was his cock sodomistically ravaging the rubbering asshole running inward from the wrinkled cum-stained pucker nestled within the cheek-formed cleft of Melinda's creamy ass.
For Charles, it was his cock that shuddered to its climax down Melinda's throat, his cum flushing out through Melinda's bruised lips like foam from the mouth of a rabid dog. It was Charles' hard inches spasming up Melinda's bowel while he ejaculated his mess of cum to join the deluge already flooded up Melinda's clutching, rubbery asshole.
It was Charles that Melinda was asking for when she finally pulled her cum-smeared mouth free of Morgan's juice-slicked cock and called lewdly into the darkness: "Goddamn, somewhere in here there must be one real man to satisfy this woman!"
Chapter Eleven
It was over. It was done. They were gone, having left nothing behind but their young and virile cum. That sticky sperm had been their going away presents; although, they hadn't realized that it was Melinda who was leaving Westhaven.
Melinda stretched like a sensuous cat. Cum was leaking from her ass. Cum was oozing from her pussy. Melinda's hair was matted with sperm, her pubic hair dark with the sexual spillage. The taste of youthful sperm still lingered heavily on her tongue.
Melinda ached. It was, surprisingly enough, a pleasant aching that extended from her cunt, to her ass, to her mouth.
Some little bastard had even fucked the cleavage between Melinda's full breasts. When he had blasted off, he had laid strings of his creamy sex juices all over Melinda's neck and face.
Had all those smug little boys gone home thinking they had subjugated pretty little Melinda Caine? Well if they had, they had another think coming. They hadn't beaten her down. She was a survivor. She had survived them all. And they would all be dead and buried-hit-and-runs, knifings, bullet holes, muggings-while Melinda was still fucking up a storm somewhere.
Yes, by God, Melinda had outlasted them. She had exhausted the whole fucking bunch. She'd conquered the Bulls. Conquered Roberto's gang. Bulls, hell! They were more pussy than she was. She could take them all on again, right here, right now, and still wring their cocks dry, and still be ready and willing for more.
If nothing else, this little experience had brought home some hard facts to Melinda Caine. For one, she could never be happy with Charles Bankoff. He was just too dull. And not only that, but he would have been scandalized if he only knew how Melinda had outlasted this macho street gang and ended up enjoying it.
Oh, yes, Melinda had enjoyed it. There was no sense in denying that now. No point at all. Oh well, she would have had to face up to her inherent brand of sexuality eventually-gang-bang or no gang-bang. She had always been attracted to the rough, the macho, the butch male. Roberto had been one of those. Roberto had really turned her on in bed. Roberto should have been the all-important clue that Melinda needed a real man and not some milksop puppy dog like poor Charles.
Yes, Melinda needed a real man. She needed a man to dominate her-or one who thought he could dominate her, like these rough boys off the street had thought they had dominated her. Only men like that could bring out the real sensuality of Melinda Caine.
Wait a minute! One of the boys hadn't gone. One of them had stuck around for more. Jesus, he must have really been a stud if he could still get it up.
"How do you want it, stud?" Melinda asked. She couldn't see which of the boys it was: someone had taken away the lantern. But the kid was naked. Melinda could see that much. And he was still hard. She could see that much, too.
"You want it up Melinda's hungry mouth?" Melinda asked, licking her long pink tongue over her red and puffy lips. "You want it up Melinda's hungry cunt?" And she lifted her tired legs, letting her knees drop open so that her pussy pouted invitingly and leaked a combination of female lubricant and male love-juice. "Or, how about up my ass? You boys seem to go in for that kinkier kind of sex, don't you?"
Melinda turned to her belly, elevating her hips slightly as she rolled her ass seductively in the stud's direction.
Charles Bankoff, standing naked in front of Melinda, gave a low and throaty groan. His right hand gave an upward stroking that milked his cock neck of its preseminal juices. Charles smeared his meat with a veneering of his clear, natural lubricant.
"Yea, I thought maybe you'd like that," Melinda said. She folded her arms beneath her right cheek, continuing to grind her ass in invitation.
Charles moved through the shadows, his bare feet stepping in the spilled cum that had been left behind by those young Bulls who had already had at Melinda's luscious mouth, delicious cunt, and richly luxurious asshole.
Charles knelt down over the back of Melinda's thighs. He used his left hand to pry open the cheeks of Melinda's bruised and battered buttocks.
There it was: wrinkled, cum-covered, so thoroughly, thoroughly, thoroughly inviting. Had Charles ever-EVER-contemplated fucking any woman's asshole before?
"Stick it in, baby," Melinda said. "Stick that monster in real deep and ride me until I'm begging you to give me more."
And Charles did just that. He shoved his blood-stiffened member up Melinda Caine's asshole. He shoved it in deep. And once his cock was in there, Charles knew he would never be able to get enough of it. It was that good! It was so very, very good. It was better than anything Charles had ever known before.
Charles fucked her. He fucked her like none of those snotty-nosed kids could have fucked her no matter how hard they'd tried to put over their macho numbers. They, after all, were just kids, weren't they? A man, a real man, knew more about fucking than any eighteen-year-old kid could possibly know.
"Oh, you're good, honey," Melinda moaned, rolling her ass. And she figured she now had had enough cock up her asshole to be a good judge of any man's skill at ass-fucking. "You're really, really good. MMMmmmmmmmmmm."
Charles fucked Melinda long and hard. He fucked her until she orgasmed on just the feel of his cock up her rubbery anus; and, then he kept on fucking her until they were both ready to let go.
"Love it, don't you, bitch? Love man cock, don't you? Can't get enough of it, can you? Can You? CAN YOU?"
"Fuck me!" Melinda commanded. "GODDAMN, YOU STUD, FUCK MY CUM-FILLED ASSHOLE!"
There was no way-just no way-that Melinda could imagine submitting to Charles Bankoff's probably mediocre fucking now that she knew there were real men-real men like the one pumping hard and fast up her asshole-who could hump her until her guts turned to sensuously palpitating mush.
"I'M CUMMMMMMMMMMING!" Melinda squealed helplessly, her belly and flopping breasts banging the mattress beneath her. She raised her ass back hard into Charles' grinding lower belly.
