The facade of respectability often crumbles to dust with remarkable swiftness once its protective armor has been pierced.
The relatively minor investigation into the conduct of one police officer results in the discovery of massive corruption within the force. A routine check by the government of a corporation's finances turns up damning evidence of widespread tax evasion, graft, kickbacks, bribes and payoffs. Insignificant-looking cysts reveal malignant tumors.
And what of the facade of righteousness and puritan morality in the tree-shaded, picket-and-wrought-iron-fenced suburbs of middle-and upper-middle-class America?
What really goes on behind those freshly painted doors? Is depravity an exclusive right of the ghetto-dweller, as many of the more fortunate would like to think?
The serious and shocking story of one pleasant suburb, and of some of the students and teachers in its ivy-covered high school who helped to crack the facade-and watch it crumble about their heads.
A novel that goes beyond the fictitious town in which it is set ... possibly any American town?
-The Publisher
CHAPTER I
EVANSMETTE High School is filling. Locker doors are clanging. There's a great deal of chattering in the halls as the kids social climb over each other.
Teachers say hello, look as if they're in a hurry. Principal Alec Bartwell says hello to some people, walks into his office with ah air of polite disdain for everyone-which he does not really feel-but which is necessary if he is to keep fawning underlings at arm's length.
Evansmette High School. A nice suburban high school in a wealthy suburb. Vine-covered walls of immense concrete blocks, sparkling clear windows, huge parking lot to accommodate the numerous automobiles driven by the affluent teens.
It's 8:35 a.m.; the kids are filing in. Mr. Williams, the speech and drama instructor, checks his watch. On the other side of the school, at another doorway, Mr. Murray, a biology instructor, stumbles on a low front step, straightens his tie and moves on.
Most instructors who have early classes are already in school. Those arriving late are surrounded by attractive young girls in their teens bubbling with good health and morning-after gossip, and well-muscled young men discussing recent sporting events of both an indoor and an outdoor nature.
The girls, many of them sunny blonde, have a freshly scrubbed look; there are few hippy types. Evansmette is a fairly wealthy suburb and pretty girls are the rule instead of the exception. They wear their hair quite long as a rule, and they wear suggestive outfits like tight sweaters, short tight skirts that are forever accidentally climbing too high, tight blouses under which may reside artifacts of a somewhat plastic nature in many cases, although a great many girls do not even wear a bra, preferring their young tits to shake and bob for anyone who cares to notice.
Many people, like Alec Bartwell, do.
Bartwell's is not an easy job. Lately the school administration has been the target for severe public criticism. There have been teen-age gang fights, high-school kids caught at pot parties, teen-agers assaulting residents on their private beaches, young girls having babies out of wedlock in accordance with the new permissiveness, and other small scandals. Alec Bartwell has been blamed because people feel that the schools are breaking down, that they have reneged on their obligation to influence the young, that they aren't doing enough to influence how Evansmette youngsters spend their spare time. All of which might well be true-if it weren't for the fact that Evansmette was having no more difficulty with its young people than any other community of similar size and affluence.
"Good morning, Karen."
Karen Peterson, a tall, blonde girl of twenty-five who has been secretly in love with her bachelor boss for a good many years, nods shyly as he enters the office.
Alec Bartwell breathes a sigh of relief as he shuts the door to his inner office. He has run the gamut of attendants without any undue difficulty.
Now he can relax into the easy chair at his desk, prop his feet up, and peruse the latest issue of Playboy. After a while he lets down the centerfold, opens his pants and pulls out his cock, which he gently massages, pulling the foreskin up and down, over and back from the head of his tingling prick. Her ear against his door, Karen Peterson eventually hears his groaning begin.
* * *
"Good morning, Dulcie."
"Good morning, Mr. Murray. I have to talk to you."
The girl looked around nervously. Melvin Murray gave her a puzzled glance. As a rule, he was not usually chosen as an instructor to be confided in.
"Well, why don't you come and see me in my office at two-thirty?" he told her, fiddling with the dial on his watch. "I can see you then." He looked at her closely. Dulcie was a statuesque blonde with blue eyes and the pinkest lips. He wondered if she was more than sixteen. Her tremendous young tits were brassiered and stuck out in sharp points. "It's something important, is it?" he asked with some concern, as the last thing in the world he wanted was to get involved in any student's personal problems-and Dulcie looked as if she was suffering from something like that.
"Yes, yes, important," she said nervously, still looking around, licking her gorgeous young lips so that they glimmered.
He nodded, pursing his lips, hoping quickly that there would be no complications. He didn't value personal talk with students. They were too far removed from him, too much a part of a strange, unknowable world that he would never understand or have the slightest chance of gaining entrance to.
He put his hand on her soft young shoulder (not too familiarly, he hoped). "All right, Dulcie. See me in my office at two-thirty. Will you do that?"
She nodded wordlessly.
"Good," he said. Then he stepped into his classroom.
As he usually expected from a morning class, the students were somewhat disorderly. On one side of the room someone was throwing something at someone else, amid gales of laughter, and generally the kids were talking quite a lot. Melvin Murray sighed and adjusted his glasses, opened his briefcase and began to thumb through his papers. As he did every morning, he vowed that hereafter he would have to come in earlier and be better prepared. Then he wouldn't always be faced with such raucous prospects and the necessity of shouting down thirty-odd vibrant teen-agers.
He found the papers he was looking for and called the class to order. The youngsters fidgeted nervously in their seats.
You're no more nervous than I am, Melvin thought, mopping . his brow with a stained handkerchief. He had never quite gotten used to the fact that every morning, without fail, he had to begin. Beginning, getting started, whirling into the day ahead was the hump that he had never succeeded in mastering. Every first morning hour was a challenge akin to swimming the Hellespont or sweeping the Aegean stables. He knew that he had to do it, but he had never dreamed, back when he had been only another student, that it was so hard. Where did one begin? How did one plunge daily into learning and swim out safely on the other side by nightfall? What was the secret? How did one keep from being' terrified by these awesome menacing creatures known to the public as teen-agers?
"Today we're going to have a look at the reproductive processes of the frog," he said, and he began wiping the blackboard.
This was when he expected it, and this is when it came.
There was a loud snicker from somewhere.
He didn't turn around, but it cut into him, as always, with the sheer efficacy of a laser beam.
"Does that have anything to do with sex, Professor?" came a voice.
Melvin felt something clutch at his throat.
Forcing himself to turn around was an effort beyond all human reason.
"Who said that?" he said in a very soft, casual voice that did not, he hoped, betray his terror.
"Me."
It was Norman Thornton, scion to a pharmaceuticals dynasty, worth more at sixteen than Melvin Murry would be at sixty-five if he saved every penny he ever earned, and whose father was on the school board-a nice-looking boy, tall, blonde, with wavy hair a little too long and the sort of all-American looks that gave Melvin a pang of jealousy as he replied, "Norman, you know very well that 'reproductive processes' is just another euphemism for sex. And you know very well that I, as a father of three, am in no small measure familiar with both terms-and related terms that you have probably never even heard of when you're swapping dirty stories with your friends back of the schoolyard or on some drug store corner. So why do you choose to interrupt the class at this time?"
The boy said nothing. He looked completely miffed. A dark color rose up from the base of his neck and settled around his earlobes. Harvey thought that he was probably correct in assuming that the youngster didn't know the meaning of euphemism.
He turned back to the blackboard, hastily sketching in some details of frog anatomy, writing the few descriptive words that would be necessary. Then he moved over to one side and turned over a series of charts until he came to a large colored one that dealt in detail with everything froggish.
He found himself sweating. Lured into another demeaning situation; struggling; giving comeuppance to a boy scarcely old enough to remember John F. Kennedy as a President, half his own age; fighting, all the time fighting. The war never let up. It was undeclared, but it never ceased. What if the time came when he would be stymied for something to say to these little bastards? Sometimes he woke up in a cold sweat, nightmaring about it. What about when the day came, the moment in time when he suddenly found himself without speech?
He began to speak. Melvin Murray, biology instructor at Evansmette High, on the gracefully swank northern shores of Lake Michigan. Melvin Murray, father of three, thirty-two years old, medium height, indistinguishable dark Jewish features (his grandfather's name had been Minsk), but his nose just a little large; brown, unpressed, baggy instructor's suit, thick lips, eyes brown and vague, hands meaty. Melvin Murray, who wanted to go to graduate school so that he never again would have to teach in a high school. Melvin Murray, who wanted anything in the world but to have to be on intimate terms with persons below the age of twenty-one.
Melvin began to speak. His voice came out somewhat high and flutey, and his hands were clammy. His students watched him for the slightest sign of weakness, like lions held at bay by a cracking whip.
In the background, the school band had struck up something in the playground. It was The Marseillaise. Melvin noticed briefly that a dark young girl in the front row had crossed her legs so that her skirt had climbed all the way up to the top of her thighs, revealing nyloned meaty legs and black garters. She was a dark girl with long, wavy black hair and an opulent set of tits. Her grave eyes, very dark, stared at Melvin with the concentration of a cat watching a robin, and her small mouth curved into a sort of smile.
Melvin Murray, thirty-two years old.
* * *
"Good morning, Mr. Williams," was the first greeting that instructor Alan Williams received as he entered the Evansmette High School auditorium. It came from an admiring slender redhead of about seventeen who had serious ambitions about going on the stage.
"Good morning, Susan." He made a mental note to get to her at the earliest possible moment.
Alan Williams, twenty-seven years old. He had a purposeful stride as he came down the aisle toward the stage, a kind of handsome dash that compelled females of all ages to take him seriously. Blond, tall and slim, well-groomed in a sleek way, he wore blue suits because he knew that blue was his best color. Alan was a career teacher in speech and drama, hoping to do graduate work next year because high-school girls were getting to be too young for him. With a graduate degree, he'd qualify to work at some all-girl college, he hoped. That was something he was dead set about. He'd calculated ratios of female-to-male for most colleges of the country that used speech instructors.
He was a career bachelor, too.
Dulcie Winslow was there, looking somewhat disconsolate after her brief exchange with Mr. Murray; also, Evaline, Tracy Thornton, some other girls not quite so pretty, and the usual complement of effeminate boys and a few boys who were not queer, but were theatrically inclined. It was the fairies he really appreciated; because there were so many of them, it made his seductions so relatively effortless. There was little competition in his classes.
This season they were doing My Fair Lady and a mime show. He was having devilish troubles with sets for Lady, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to the play following-The Glass Menagerie.
The girls crowded forward, their faces beaming adoration, good will, and ambition. As Alan was sole casting director for the school's theatrical attempts, he was the perfect object on which to practice their future roles as teases and seducers of men-who-could-do-them-some-good. Several of them had already sucked his cock. Alan Williams had groomed himself for his role in life as carefully as he brushed his gleaming golden hair every morning.
He looked up from his briefcase. Oddly enough, he hadn't had near as much cocksucking as he had expected from this group, he had gotten so involved with girls in his other classes. Now he studied them with the interest of a man looking for something a little fresh. The little girls who had developed crushes on his masterful cock were already beginning to bore him. One of them had even broken down and cried last night. He liked that sort of thing not at all.
"Begin at the beginning, kids. We'll do this without props for the time being. Bumble said he'd be able to help us with the sets tomorrow."
Bumble was the old janitor. Bumble was not his real name, but nobody now seemed to remember what it was. More dead than alive, he had promised equipment for sets about a month ago, and had been unreliable up until the very last moment when they were doing the first play of the season. Bumble's big problem was that instead of getting things done he liked to go up in the balcony and masturbate as he watched the nubile young girls jump around, their tits jiggling, their smooth brown legs flashing, with every so often a glimpse of some frilly panties. He would jack off wildly and splatter his semen over all the chairs. His groans were often audible although he sat well back in the darkness, and occasionally some girl would mutter, "Now, what was that?" But he was never caught.
"Go ahead, Dulcie."
Dulcie Winslow was a blonde girl with very pale, fair hair and a honey complexion. Only this morning she looked somewhat pale and uncomfortable. She didn't seem to have heard him. She was staring straight ahead at the stage as the others mounted it.
"Dulcie?" he asked.
She seemed to snap out of her reverie; she jumped out of her seat with a mild exclamation and ran up onto the stage. He was glad of that, because he liked to hear her sing. She was a pretty girl with a nice voice and it was apparent that, if she had the drive, a career as an actress was a definite possibility for her. He wondered idly what it would be like to fuck her. He could imagine her with her legs spread and her pussy dripping all over the sheets, her knees drawn up to her voluminous breasts, her pale hair spread out like a fan on the pillow.
Suddenly he felt hot breath on the back of his neck. There was a warm feeling in his loins as he glanced partly around and found Susan Carter giving him a knowing little smile.
Now he knew that she was almost certain to be his next fare. She was slender, but full-breasted, and she had the sort of long red hair and freckles that appealed to him. He could imagine all that red hair falling over his loins as she devoured his cock. He wondered idly what sort of a ruse they would use in order to bring themselves together.
It was just at this moment that Dulcie first showed signs of fainting. It came during a sort of dance. She began to fall for no reason whatever; and if she hadn't immediately stood up again, Alan Williams might have been worried.
* * *
The school got through the day. Principal Alec Bartwell successfully avoided all responsibilities of any weight, delegating all tough jobs to his underlings, and finished up the afternoon throwing darts at a dartboard that he had pinned up to the inside of his closet door.
Once over the initial hump, Melvin Murray drifted into the remainder of his classes with a sort of practiced ease, breathing more slowly. There were a few minor eruptions during his day that were of no consequence-a girl asked permission to cut a class, a boy was caught truant and sent to his advisor, some kids got out of order and made a lot of racket that he had to shout down. But all in all, an average day.
Norman Thornton, after being called down by Mr. Murray, was somewhat quieter for the rest of the day. He spoke to his friends somewhat, kidded, talked sports, eyed the girls, went to swim-team practice, had a brief conversation with Dulcie Winslow during which he looked ill-at-ease and somewhat subdued, anxious to get away.
Alan Williams, immediately at the close of morning rehearsal, saw to it that he joined Susan Carter in a conversation, during which some casual mention was made of the fact that perhaps he should give her some private coaching in the evening in order to bring her up to par in her role. They agreed to this without looking at each other, and no one would have been able to tell what both of them were expecting.
High school was a noisy affair. Young people coming and going, instructors in the halls With gleaming smiles or cross, busy faces, and noise, noise, noise, noise. The shuffle of two thousand pairs of feet, the jiggle of one thousand breasts, the murmurs and shouts of many voices, the rustle of books and folders and briefcases, the clanging of metal locker doors, the locking of combination tumbler locks.
All this was part of the cacophony of sound that assaulted Melvin Murray and Dulcie Winslow as they met at his office on the third floor at 2:30.
Melvin was surprised to see her, at first. He had completely forgotten his promise. When it dawned on him, he said very coolly, "Come in, Dulcie." Then he opened the door, allowed her to enter, and closed it behind them.
Outside, sunshine was covering fresh green lawns. It was a hard thing to imagine the town of Evansmette without sunshine.
Melvin put up his briefcase on the desk, looked around to see if he had any mail or any memos of interest, straightened up things a bit, and offered Dulcie a chair.
He looked at her closely. She was a sort of white-blonde, about seventeen. His first estimate of about sixteen had been mistaken, he thought now. He had had her in two biology classes, one this year and one the year before; she was a girl with the kind of sleek, slender, tall blonde good looks that one expected from a town like Evansmette. A girl who wore plaid skirts, and sweaters not-too-tight, a girl with a small, lovely face who had everything going for her that the world could allow. Melvin could just imagine this Dulcie Winslow at a party, harmlessly necking with some boy, maybe his fingers tweaking her nipples, her giggling, drinking a little, smoking a marijuana cigarette for an upper-middle-class thrill, going for long rides and picnics, to Evansmette Beach, attending luncheons at the Junior League, or brunches, or dinners, or whatever it was the Junior League had, or threw. Eventually, she would make her "debut", although fewer debutantes were doing this every year. When she married, her name would appear on society pages of all the metropolitan dailies.
He pursed his fingers. "Well?"
He studied her; she seemed to be agitated and in some difficulty. He noticed for the first time that her eyes were somewhat red around the edges, that her makeup was smudged, that her small lips trembled, and that she was rather pale.
Her fingernails, he saw, had been chewed heartily, and her knees, now crossed, appeared so bony that he wondered for a moment how he could ever have thought her pretty.
"Mr. Murray," she said abruptly in a quavering voice. "I-I think I'm going to commit suicide!"
Stunned as he was by this initial revelation, he didn't' know what to make of her face dropping into her hands, of her sobbing so that her entire body shook from it. For just an instant he wanted to make light of the whole thing and explain to her that suicide was merely a form of Chinese food poisoning. Then it occurred to him: Suicide? In his office? For what? He'd be ruined!
He struggled to compose himself. He put his hand on her arm. "Now, Dulcie-"
She looked up at him, her face so shaken, so full of some unnameable fear that he could feel the fear himself, feel it radiate outward from her much as the electric coils of a broiler radiate heat.
"Mr. Murray, I-I'm going to have a baby!"
Melvin looked up at the ceiling, at the walls of his little cubicle, at the door. No assistance in any form seemed about to materialize. He was trapped in a closed room with a teen-age maniac girl whose only interest in life seemed to be his destruction.
"Well-but, why tell me?"
She looked at him with eyes full of pleading. "You know about biology. I-I need help! Please! I can't bear this baby, Mr. Murray! My parents would kill me!"
He tried to smile and felt something rather large lodge in his throat. When he felt it dislodge, he was able to say, "Yes, but I'm no doctor, Dulcie. I'm just a schoolteacher." He spread his hands. "Honest, that's all I am. Just a stupid schoolteacher." What the hell am I saying?
Large tears rolled down her white cheeks. He didn't know what to do. He was terrified of touching her, yet at the same time he knew that he had to do something positive, had to break out of the chain of negative events with every power at his command.
It took every effort at his disposal to put his hand on her shoulder and say very gently, "Have you spoken to your family doctor about this?" He gazed at her golden blonde hair falling across her shapely shoulders.
She shook his hand off and shuddered. "I couldn't-he's a friend of my father's."
"And he's probably a friend of yours, too, Dulcie."
Her deep blue eyes looked up into his. "I don't want anybody to know. I can't have the baby-but I've got to have an abortion, Mr. Murray!"
She began weeping again, as if abortion had been the hardest word in the world to say.
Without thinking, he put his arm around her shoulders and looked up at the ceiling. He could feel the points of her tits against his chest. His nose was miraculously in her hair. Her scent was divine and not of this world. He could feel a massive hard-on begin around the middle of his thigh and slowly creep upward until it was fitting securely into her crotch. To his alarm, this only caused Dulcie to sigh and worm her way more closely into his arms.
This had certainly turned out to be a fine day. Now he did begin to do some thinking-and very fast, too.
CHAPTER 2
"MELVIN!" called the woman from the second-floor window to the man getting out of the car in the street. He looked up at her and catalogued her: She was as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.
"What is it, honey?" he called up.
"Melvin, will you get the laundry, please? It's down in the basement." With that she shut the window and disappeared.
Zahava Murray, age twenty-nine, graduate of the University of Chicago, wife of Melvin and mother of David, Alicia and Poo-poo. Overweight and zoftig, with long black hair, giant pendant tits, big ass, and sturdy legs a duscus thrower would have been proud of.
Melvin went down into the basement and peered around at the clothes. He couldn't tell which clothes on which line might belong to his household. Nodding thoughtfully to himself, he grabbed a clothes basket, and dragged it over, and began taking things from the lines and throwing them into the basket willy-nilly.
Dulcie Winslow had left him considerably disturbed. At this point he could scarcely believe that it had happened-that she had zipped down his pants and reached inside for his cock while imparting the most sensual of open-mouthed kisses. He felt ten feet tall just thinking about it. And then when she had gone down on her knees, whispering terms of endearment ("You're luscious, Professor ... ooooh, this is a nice big fat one..."), taking his cock hungrily into her gaping mouth, washing it with saliva, sucking on it as if she were consumed by the headiness of its flavor, he had honestly almost gone faint. It must have been scarcely twenty seconds before his hot wad of gunk came boiling up to shoot down her throat. How she had smacked her lips and sighed with ecstasy! What wonders this did for his morale!
But why had she supposed that a biology instructor would necessarily be able to assist her abortion? Why? Because the young were inculcated with the idea that if you had adult problems, you took them to an adult. Yet the old folks were no more adept at handling their problems than they were.
So he knew a lot about the mammalian reproduction process. Big deal. Who didn't? Kids on the corner knew more than he did, despite what he had told Norman Thornton.
Not that he told her as much. On the contrary, once she had sucked him off, drawing all the semen out of his cock and swallowing it, he could no more have denied her anything than he could have flown to the moon.
He would just have to find some way to help her, now.
He grunted, struggling with the wash. Already he was getting another hard-on just thinking about her. He wanted to fuck her. He was imagining her ... legs spread...
Unaccountably he suddenly began wondering who the father of her child might be. Well, what did it matter after all? So she wasn't a virgin. With true love one had to be a bit forgiving.
But on the other hand he didn't know any doctors who made a habit of performing abortions on under-age girls, either. Yet he couldn't let her commit suicide. A real impasse.
He pulled the basket up to the front steps of the basement and propped his briefcase up on top of it.
He had taken her phone number and promised her he would think of something. He had even (foolishly, he realized now) given her his home telephone. He had made her promise to put suicide out of her head for the time being. He couldn't let her kill herself. Not with soft, pink young lips like hers, so wonderful at sucking. He would never get another blow job like hers, that was for certain.
But what was to be done?
Upstairs, he set the wash down on the kitchen floor. Two of his children came rushing up to meet him. Poo-poo put her little head between his legs and looked up at him admiringly. "Papa," she said.
"Very good," he murmured, touching her blonde locks. "To the head of the class. You've recognized me again. And me your very own father."
Alicia just looked up at him shyly, shaking back and forth. She was the quiet one, shy. She would wait for him to come to her. Perversely enough, she was the one he felt closest to-perhaps because he himself had been quite shy at one time.
Both of the girls were sort of blonde, Alicia mostly so, although their parents were quite dark. David, the boy and the eldest, was dark-haired, much as his father had been at his age.
He stretched out his hand for Alicia and she came to it.
He looked up, through the house-the sound of Zahava scuffling off somewhere, nothing from David.
He loved the children, but it was times like these, when he was home after a hard day and wanted nothing more nor less than complete solitude, that he felt the most trapped, hemmed in by the forces of his past-forces unleashed through the unreasoning sexual performances of his glands.
"You had a telephone call." Zahava came charging into the kitchen. She was a strong person who dominated not through her ideas, but through the powerful miasma of her personality.
Melvin winced. "Telephone call? Who?" He almost didn't want to know, and then again he was tickled to death. He could feel his cock begin tingling.
Zahava gave him a scribbled note. "Miss Winslow. Who's she?"
Just the greatest cocksucker that ever lived, Melvin thought. He said, "My secretary." In that garbled moment he felt himself take his first step out onto the limb.
But it held. Zahava said nothing more. She had no interest. It would have been so out of character for Melvin to be having an affair that she was not capable of conceiving that he could receive anything other than a business call from a strange woman.
She added, "She wanted to call-she wanted you to call her back."
Melvin nodded wordlessly. He unpried Poo-poo, let go of Alicia, and walked into the dining room.
* * *
The police car rolled silently alongside Evansmette City Park. A figure could be made out in the dark distance, swimming in Lake Michigan. The two city patrolmen decided to stop the car and see what was going on.
Policeman Ralph Flannigan radioed in their position: "04-04, bather at the beach. Checking on it. Over." His thumb left the transmitter.
He looked over at his partner, Patrolman Kling. They were two beefy men of a relatively fearless variety. Both of them had graduated from the Cook County police force. They had had a beer for the evening, a couple of cigarettes, and told a few dirty stories. They were ready to do some serious investigating of any treacherous bathers who might be out breaking the law-which maneuver might also delay their being shot at by needlessly alarmed and well-armed burglars.
They trudged across the grass toward the beach. It appeared now that the swimmer was a girl. She had a towel around her, and was drying her hair. They made a few noises as they walked across the sand so that they wouldn't alarm her.
"Good evening, young lady."
"Good evening, officers."
Flannigan waved a hand. "You been out swimming?"
"Is there a law against it?"
"Beach can be dangerous at night, miss. Me and my partner here, Mr. Kling, thought we oughta warn ya."
"But there's no law against my being here, is there?"
Flannigan looked at Kling. The other cop shrugged; he was too busy studying the girl's figure to think very deeply about legal matters. like most cops, the two partners were not very well versed in all laws governing every situation; they just played it by ear.
"No law, miss. But ain't it cold swimmin' out there like that? This time of year?"
Dulcie Winslow shrugged. She was in a nervous state to begin with, and was scarcely able to come up with the dialectics necessary to carry on an argument with minions of the law. Her eyes scanned Sheridan Road. No sign of Melvin Murray. The memory of his cock was still strong in her mouth. She had never tasted anything so delicious. His massive, meaty cock had far more flavor than
Norman Thornton's, even though-fresh from his pants-it had been covered with lint. Or was that what had made it so attractive?
She hugged the towel around her, sat down on the blanket, and reached into her purse for a cigarette.
Officer Kling whispered to his partner, "Hey, is she wearin' a bathing suit?"
Patrolman Flannigan blinked and stood motionless. He studied the girl up and down with the intentness of a man peering down a dark hallway. In this light it was difficult to make out anything, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to. If she had been swimming nude, well, there was no longer any evidence of it. And in any case, so long as there was no one else around, she couldn't very well be arrested for indecent exposure.
Not that there was anything indecent about a body like that. The shapely cannonballs of her firm young breasts left astounding cleavage rising above the concealing towel. He'd have given anything to rip the towel off her.
Instead he merely touched the brim of his hat gallantly. "Well, miss, we just wanted to warn ya. That's our job, you know."
"I know. Yes, thank you. I'll be all right, officers."
"Okay." Flannigan made a motion to Kling. Together they turned and walked back to the police car. Kling kept looking over his shoulder at her. She was a very pretty girl.
The police car gurgled up, oozed off into the distance and disappeared.
The park was silent for a long while. Dulcie sat, legs underneath her, staring off into the distance. The million waves unfurled, foaming whitecaps, striking the beach with the soothing sound of something not quite of this world nor of any other. From back of her, in the Evansmette business section, came the sounds of cars roaring up, stopping, moving on.
All very peaceful. Wind whispering through the trees that had stretched out their branches to soak up the spring. Cold sand at her rump. Cold grass underfoot. She lay back, her blonde head in the sand, staring up at the endless, starry sky. She had never been able to make out the constellations, and she could not do so now.
From off to one side came the sound of shoed feet moving heavily through branches. She sat up and clutched the towel around her voluminous breasts.
"Mr. Murray?" she asked, peering off into the thick darkness.
He came up like an apparition out of the black, sank down heavily on his haunches, and finally nestled solidly into the sand with a sigh of great depth.
"I'm glad you came." She put her hand in his and tickled his palm with her forefinger.
"Damn," he murmured. He looked at the lake, the boundless waves. He looked at her. "What the hell are you wearing under that?" he asked in a tired voice.
She opened the towel with a giggle so that he could see. He gasped at the majesty of her tremendous young tits, so heavy and yet so uplifted, with their sharp, cherry-red nipples. They were the most beautiful he had ever seen.
He ran his fingers through his hair as he gazed at her. He was surprised that any of it was left. Melvin had no doubt whatever that he was now enslaved. Not that he minded. The memory of that hot young mouth on his prick-
"Why the hell did you want me to meet you here? Don't you realize I'm a married man?" She bit her lip. "Oh, God," he said, "don't cry-I couldn't bear that, you little bitch." With one sweeping motion she was in his arms. That hot, fresh young mouth against his own, her pink tongue searching down his throat and around the roof of his mouth. Her fragrance was overpowering. He wanted her desperately. He felt as if he would go blind if he didn't shoot into her soon.
And then he noticed how she was trembling uncontrollably. He didn't have the vanity to think that was for him. She was wet. The little fool must have taken a swim.
"Come on, get your clothes on. We'd better get you some aspirin."
When she was finished putting on her jeans and sweater she was still shaking fiercely and he had to hold her tightly. "We've got to get you some place warm. Come on."
In a little while they had arrived at the nearest drug store.. He made her go inside with him, bought aspirin, and ordered a couple of hot chocolates for her.
"Go ahead, take two, drink up." She did. Then he made her take some hot soup. It was then that he noticed the young man in the mirror.
At first it was just another blonde, good-looking young man, but then the identity dawned on him: another instructor from Evansmette High!
He gulped, gasped, choked. He looked around with the air of a trapped animal. "Meet you at the car," he whispered thickly, then stood up from the counter and walked quickly to the revolving doors.
The blonde young man smiled at him. Melvin couldn't remember his name. Of all the luck! as he broke into the street he felt himself coming out in a cold sweat. He looked around. The young instructor was looking after him. Cursing his stupidity, Melvin shuffled quickly away. Why had he looked back? Everything in his manner gave him away.
He jumped into the car, furious. The smartest thing to do right now was to get as far away as possible.
Suddenly the blonde man came out into the street. Melvin gasped and ducked his head. But the other instructor only looked around, then went back into the drug store.
Dulcie came out a few moments later. She hurried to the car, looked around, jumped inside.
Melvin started up the motor with a roar and sped off. As they went past the drug store he thought he saw the blonde man staring at them through the glass doors.
But Alan Williams had merely come to the drug store to buy the prophylactics Susan Carter had insisted upon. When he had first seen Melvin Murray he had recognized him immediately, felt subtly guilty, and after that had paid little attention to him.
He did consider it curious that the other instructor hadn't said hello. With just an iota of curiosity, Alan had gone to the door and looked around, then returned inside. He hadn't noticed Dulcie Winslow at all. He was too preoccupied.
The evening had gone well. Susan had stayed after school and they had met in the auditorium. They had gone over her lines, had a few laughs, talked lightly for about an hour and a half. Then he had asked her if she would care to come to his place to hear recordings of her role he had made in New York. With a bittersweet, knowledgeable smile, she had agreed, then gone to phone her parents that she would be home late.
He wondered what excuse she had given.
"That's a dollar-fifty," said the druggist, casting his eyes downward over such a personal matter.
"Guaranteed to burst, I hope," Alan muttered crossly.
The druggist looked up. "What's that."
"You'd think in this day and age they'd all be on the pill."
"You'd think anything in this day and age, brother."
"Amen on that score."
They nodded to each other. Alan handed him some small change, accepted his package, and went out to the car.
Yes, it had gone more smoothly than he had expected. He felt very pleased with himself. He had taken Susan up to his apartment, a perfectly safe location. Set as it was on the top of a garage in back of one of Evansmette's more fashionable homes, it was easy for him to get Susan upstairs very privately. No eyes. No questions.
He had taken off her coat, asked her gallantly if she'd like a drink. Of course, the child didn't want to seem immature, so she had been happy to accept anything he cared to offer-in this case gin and tonic, which she had sipped cautiously.
Then the talk had fallen to his collection of books on the theater, which was large-but most of which he had never read and never would. As a part of his seduction program, they required frequent dusting and the sort of careful rearranging that left them looking as if they were constantly poured over, the permanent subjects of his questing mind.
Young girls interested in the theater, of course, were inevitably fascinated by such magnum intellectual activity. What a great mind he must have! What a sensitive spirit!
Susan was no less intrigued. She curled up daintily on the floor by the bookcase, looking beautiful, as pretty as a Renaissance painting, her head bent in intense concentration on whatever book she had selected.
The lights were low, carefully selected for color and mood. As Susan poured through odds and ends in the bookcase, he put some music on the stereo, made himself at home by discarding his coat and tie, rolled up his sleeves, took a drink and sat down beside her.
She had an overpoweringly clean, fresh-scrubbed scent. As she turned her head, her red-orange hair tickled his nostrils. He liked the freckles on the side of her nose, and the way her young tits poked so pointedly beneath her bright-red sweater. He felt his palms go sweaty.
At long last her dark, deeply shaded eyes gazed into his.
"Susan," he whispered, as if trapped helplessly in an emotion not of his own choosing, a feeling so strong that he was swept away completely, beyond all reason.
She looked as if she were in a daze. Her eyelashes fluttered, her mouth parted slightly, her creamy cheekbone lifted up to graze the day's growth of beard on his chin.
"Susan..." he whispered again in that helpless, tone, as he drew her hungrily into the circle of his arms, into his demanding, hungry kiss.
Sweet lips, the sweetest he'd tasted in a long time. He drew on them voraciously, like a vampire at the throat of its victim. There was nothing like the mouth of a young girl ... so sweet, fresh, and virginal. His arms enfolded her slender body, his hands fanned out along her thighs. They slid to the floor together, deeply engrossed in the enchantment of his overwhelming first kiss.
But when he tried to push up her skirt, she looked at him sternly and spoke in a scolding tone. "Do you have protection?"
"Huh?" It took a moment for him to comprehend what she was saying.
"I don't want to have a baby," she said, rubbing her silky cheek against his rough one, sliding her slim hand up his trouser leg to touch the bulge of his cock.
He wanted her so badly he'd have promised her anything. But weren't little girls on the pill these days? "Sure, I'll get you protection," he said hurriedly.
"All right," she said, suddenly drawing her arms away, folding them in front of her massive chest.
"Right now?" he had asked in a weak voice.
She smiled up at him, then patted his cheek as if he were just a little boy. "You don't expect me to put it on afterward, do you, dear?" And then she gave him her mouth with a sort of greedy violence, using her tongue, her hands on his legs, on his cock ... but she abruptly broke off this hectic kiss and shoved him away.
He got the message. Cursing under his breath, he slipped on his coat, looked back once to scowl at her briefly, and then he had hurried to the drug store...
Now he was hurrying back up the stairs, his breathing strained. He had all the agitated look of an archly demonic lover who has been put off too long. He was as earnest in his passion as the most desperate of men. "Susan?"
He opened the door to the apartment. Through the dim light he looked across the room. A dressing-screen had been pulled in front of the bed-but two slender, naked legs protruded behind it. He wondered desperately if she were naked or-what?
A lazy moan or murmur greeted his approach. He passed the screen.
Susan was still dressed-all sixteen years of her. He grunted thoughtfully to himself and reached into his coat pocket for the little can of rubbers. Apparently she had fallen asleep; her skirt had lifted all the way up her creamy thighs, so that he found himself staring at a pair of molten pink panties through which a dark, fascinating patch of curly foliage shone.
He gulped, steadied himself, removed his coat and began removing his shirt. In another moment he was just in his trousers and undershirt. He dropped to the bed and put a hand on her cheek in order to draw her mouth up to his own.
"What-what?" She rose up in protest as he grabbed her, but he was insistent. He blotted out her mouth as effectively as a fly is crushed under a falling boot, stifling all protest. Momentarily he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back long enough to tell her, "I've brought protection." Then he resumed the kiss.
This piece of intelligence seemed to excite her, and her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him passionately close. Her tongue dug into his ear as her knee came up to rub his crotch.
His hands moved under her sweater. He unleashed her brassiere and her huge, firm tits came into his hungry hands. The nipples were already distended, hard and eager for his touch. He ran his hand up into her crotch and pressed his fingers into her moistening cunt. The mat of her pubic hair was crisp but wet beneath the panties.
His mouth fell on her breasts, devouring first one and then the other, sucking hungrily on each tall nipple in turn as he tweaked the other with thumb and forefinger and listened to her moans.
He kissed her again, more savagely now. The more demanding and cruel his mouth, the more excited she became. As he forced her mouth open very hard, locking teeth with her, forcing her into a deeper kiss than she seemed to want, she whimpered and held onto him for dear life.
You beauty, he thought. You beauty, you gorgeous young girl. I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to drive my good stiff cock high up into your clinging cunt and fuck the life out of you ... I'm going to suck on your tits ... and grab your ass ... and fuck you ... fuck you ... fuck you...
He grabbed her tits and twisted them savagely.
"Oh, my titties ... you're hurting ... ohhh..."
Here again, she seemed to want cruelty. Her gorgeous young body squirmed and struggled under his masterful grasp. When he touched her nipples gently, she was made of wax; but when he began to pinch and pull on them so deliciously, so excitingly, so painfully for her, she squirmed ecstatically. He pressed her breasts in, squeezed and mauled them dreadfully, finally pushed his chin into them to scratch them back and forth-so that now she sobbed and thrashed like a mad thing, whimpering, moaning and gurgling as if she were being driven out of her mind...
"Oh, please ... please ... oh, please ... fuck me ... oh, please ... don't ... you ... you're-oohh..."
He gasped, ripped heatedly at the zipper on her skirt, then pushed the skirt down around her long tanned legs, which rose up in reflex like a steel trap around his thighs.
"Say it again," he commanded. "Say you want me to fuck you."
"Fuck me ... oh, please ... your cock ... I love it ... yes ... love it..."
He dropped his pants and ripped off his underwear. His masterful hard-on stood out from the apex of hair beneath his belly, a long, fleshy pole etched with a tracery of thick, pulsing blue veins. His balls, pounding sperm in their cavernous depths, hung halfway down his thighs.
"Say that you love my cock," he ordered.
"Oh, yes ... oh, yes..." Susan gasped and sat up, drool slavering from her tender young lips. Her face moved forward and opened up, so that she swallowed his tool almost before he had realized it, her nose deep in his cock hair.
He grabbed her hair and, snarling, threw her back down on the floor. He wanted to fuck her, fuck that juicy red snatch. He loved redheads. Just another suck was not going to do at all. He wanted to be in her, sliding along her love-slick vaginal walls down into the molten center of desire...
He pulled her panties down over her legs and threw them away. She was syrupy and steaming. Clenching his teeth, he forced his hands under the tiny balls of her luscious ass, pulling her toward him. As he went into her starving young pussy a soft cry burst from her young lips, quickly rising to echo the ferocity of his lunge. And then he was swimming inside of her, as deep as he could get, with her hot, juicy young cunt undulating all around his plunging cook ... his nose in her glorious hair ... his hands on the balls of her ass ... her huge tits flattening out against his chest. This beautiful young student only earlier today had been a mere stranger ... but who now wanted him fucking her ... fucking her ... slowly ... slowly, faster...
"Oh! Ah!"
"Hur..."
Her wonderful fingers were feeling around through the hairs in the crack of his ass. His balls, heavy as lead, thundered forward with each merciless pounding stroke into the crack of her ass. Beautiful ... beautiful ... beaut....
"Ohhli! Oh! Darling! AlanAlanAlanAlan!"
Her fingers clutched at the bookcase, then gripped his back. Her fingernails dug in ... deeply ... deeply ... her entire body straining for some terrible, unimaginable release.
"Ooh! Oh! Ooee..." Her voice trailed off into a high-pitched whine as her nails dug into his back, bringing forth little rivers of blood. He continued to pound her helpless, feminine young body without mercy ... his ass moving up and back ... his cock driving hard into the tight, squeezing juicy confines of her hot young cunt, which seemed to cling to his rod on every outward stroke, then fold back in joyous desire. "Fuck..."
Her knees were up, her entire body clenched in some terrible agony, her neck muscles taut and straining for release ... He threw her legs over his shoulders and gave her one last final pounding such that his teen-age love-slave fainted and Alan Williams finished himself in her, shooting forth clots of sperm into that hot young redhead pussy, letting her clinging cunt devour his prick as each new shudder of delight that racked his straining flesh was ... A convulsive shudder of desire shook him, and he was enveloped by a feeling of ecstasy so sweet, so pure, so beautiful that he wanted to die rather than exist in this hell of a torment for longer than a single moment in time...
He had been so surprised to find that she was so fluid, so tight. Just a moment into her, it seemed, and she had come with the ferocity of an alley cat, tearing at his skin with her fingernails, thrashing wildly with the savagery of her climax, her young body arcing upward into him. He had been genuinely surprised.
Now they lay spent on the bed, arms and legs akimbo. She was breathing softly, her eyes shut. He supposed she must be dozing. He grabbed one tit and began to squeeze and pull it from side to side. Then he began nipping at the nipple with his teeth. She moaned and twisted under his ministrations. He wanted to bite hard into that nipple and bring up blood. It was still standing up hard. He flicked it and twisted it and licked it. He could imagine it giving milk as he sucked on it and licked it. His cock was growing hard again. She had huge cherry nipples backed up by aureoles as large as his palm and flecked with tiny goose bumps. She had the most exciting breasts he had mauled in a long time. They were completely unique for a redhead.
She pushed her arms around his neck, murmuring dreamily, "Oh, Daddy ... that's it...
Papa ... suck my nipples ... Papa ... Papa..."
He had forgotten the prophylactic, of course, after all that trouble. He would have to get her taking the pill, because he loved fucking her. She had a wonderful fluid cunt that .gripped his prick as it went through like a million searching little hands.
He ran his hand up the smoothness of her thigh and she sort of purred, opening her eyes dreamily. He pushed his fingers into the wet furry softness of her mound, inside her love-slick passages, and wiggled them around. She moaned with delight. Her juice began spitting and splashing all around Iris wrist.
He pressed his mouth on hers and they kissed. The edge of his hand continued punishing her steaming wet cunt and she made delirious little whimpers over each stroke. She was a good kid. His cock as hard as it had ever been on its best day, waving around like a huge pike in the air, he propped up one of her legs, found her hot wet crevice in the dark again, and entered ... She stiffened, gripped him tightly, and then began to moan with a sound that resembled nothing human.
After this, he thought silently, I've got to get her to wrap that gorgeous little mouth around my cock. And she's going to swallow every last ounce of it. She's going to suck me off.
And then he began to fuck her savagely.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! Papa!"
* * *
After they had left the drug store, Melvin had driven Dulcie Winslow around in a panic-stricken mood, aimlessly. When he finally managed to calm himself, he couldn't imagine why he had been so upset.
She sat very straight in the seat, staring straight ahead. Her gold-white hair was still damp and plastered irregularly around her head. Her eyes were serene. She had the look of a young platinum goddess, he thought. For a girl with looks like these, nothing was impossible.
"That was Mr. Williams in the drug store," she said quietly.
He nodded, remembering now. Williams-speech and drama. He remembered now very well.
He tried to change the mood by asking, "Who got you pregnant?"
"You wouldn't know him."
They continued to drive aimlessly. She took out a cigarette and began smoking, rolling down the window on her side just a crack. For some reason, he didn't think she should be smoking while pregnant.
"Shouldn't he marry you or something?"
She smiled tolerantly. "They don't do that any more, Mr. Murray." She ran her fingers into the curls of his hair. He could feel a tingle start in his balls and start climbing like a logger toward the head of his cock. "Anyway, I don't want to get married. I'm too young to get married. I'm only sixteen."
He gulped. But you suck cock like you were ninety, he thought. He had hoped that she were at least a little older. She was just a baby.
"I'll just get an abortion," she said.
He sighed and shook his head. "I've tried to tell you-I don't know the first thing about abortions."
He pulled the car off the road. They were at the edge of a large, dark park. Oak branches waved in the night breeze. The air was very silent. At one end of the park sat an old, old church, black and morose. Melvin felt weighted down like Atlas, but he was glad to be out of the traffic and some place quiet-and private.
"But you're a biologist," she insisted, her delicate slender hand running along his leg, finally gently cupping his balls.
He groaned. It was as if she had bitten the head of his prick. Then he mumbled, "I'm no biologist, I just have a college degree in it. What that means, in plain language, is that I've had maybe six lousy courses in biology, only one of which-if that-contained any information, to any important extent, on the human body." He took her small delicate hand in his, lifted it to his mouth, and licked and kissed her palm. She shivered.
"Dulcie, what I know best are frogs, amoeba, Paramecium, lions, uh, dandelions, and a lot of other stuff that is of no earthly use to human beings. In short, I don't know a fucking thing."
She sighed, sounding as if all the air in the world had left her. She looked disconsolately down at her hands. "I wonder if I could do it myself."
He choked, grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently. "Don't even think it!"
They paused in a silence more dynamic than sound. They wanted each other desperately. They stared deeply into each other's eyes. After a moment he looked away. They didn't speak again for several minutes.
Suddenly she murmured softly, "If you would help me, I'd do anything you wanted me to."
He looked at her. His burgeoning cock was leaping around in his pants to be let out. Every man's dream, he thought. A helpless blonde teen-ager prepared to do my bidding. He wondered if her ass was very tight.
"You could fuck me in the ass," she whispered silkily, reading his mind. She was a gorgeous thing. All that blonde hair. She would have a squinting pink ass-hole, just like a baby's. He had never fucked a girl in the ass.
He looked at her. His breathing was coming very hard. Her hand crept over the bulge in his pants and grabbed his cock. Her jaw was set in a firm, patrician line. He couldn't remember what it was her father did, and for no relevant reason he began to wonder. Did he work in an office? Chairman of a board? Shop owner? Bank president? What? Did he play golf at the country club on Sundays? How did he feel about Jews?
"You'll do anything for me," he whispered dreamily. "Like the way you sucked me off in my office today?"
She cast her eyes down at the growing bulge in his pants. "I-I couldn't help myself. It was so beautiful ... so big..."
"Is it?" No one had ever told him it was big before.
She smiled and caressed the bulge. His eyes were rattling around like marbles in his skull. "I'll say."
He let out a sigh. This was ecstasy. He wanted to kiss her. But he also had to think ... this gorgeous blonde girl ... so young ... so full of tits...
"But I might kill you ... I don't know anything about abortions ... and you can't do it yourself ... too dangerous..." His voice became high and whistling, with a fluting quality; she caressed his balls, reached for the zipper on his trousers.
"I'll do it myself," she murmured. "Now just let me suck ... please..."
She reached into his pants and his shorts and took out his prick, uttering a little exclamation of abiding delight. Her fingers played it as if it were a musical instrument; his teeth chattered recklessly in his head. She ran her fingers lightly, tantalizingly along its brutish length, feeling every ridge ... right down to the base, where her fingernails scraped around in the hair on his pulsating testicles...
He couldn't afford to lose her.
"All right," he muttered through passion-clenched lips, "I'll do it...."
She smiled. "I knew you would..." And her golden head bent, her glorious yellow hair spilling out over his thighs as her mouth descended onto his rich red length of meat...
"Ah..."
"Oh..."
"Oh..."
"You have a beautiful prick..."
Her voice came to him as if from a great distance. All he could think of was the marvelous quality of her mouth undulating on his cock. The hot wetness of it. All that young mouth ... moving ... sucking on his cock...
He looked down at her golden head and brushed some hair away so that he could watch her mouth moving, hollowing, expanding, rising and falling as she sucked on his prick...
He reached inside her jeans and ran his fingers up the crack in her buttocks. Soon he would fuck her there. Drive his powerful log up between the balls of her ass while she screamed for. mercy-splitting her terribly, painfully, with exquisite rapturous torture for the both of them. He had never thought of himself as a sadist before, but right now he could only think of her tight young ass and how it would feel ... with his hands on her slender waist ... her screaming ... his cock driving up her backside ... squeezing in and being squeezed back ... his gripping around to pull at her young tits as if he were milking a cow ... his nose buried in her hair...
Each swiping lick of her tongue on his prick was bringing him higher and higher. He pressed his fingers in her almost platinum hair, felt the sweet softness of her neck as she sucked, caressed her ears. He could hear his own voice moaning as if in delirium from far, far away ... Was that him?
That terrible groaning? That cursing? Those obscene things he was saying?
"Suck on my prick, you little bitch! Go on, suck on it, you bitch! You whore! I'm going to fuck you ... and fuck your backside ... and you're going to eat my cock ... and then I'll lick your cunt..."
She squealed a little as he uttered this last, and he began to imagine it-his lips and tongue working at the steaming hot ooze of her pussy lips, licking them back and forth, up and down, the little pleasure button bobbing in his lips, her thighs clenched tightly around his face as his mouth dug at the center of her hot young being, his nose deep in her pussy hair and drenched with her passion sweat, her hot cum dripping off his chin...
"Suck me, you cunt! Suck my cock!" He grabbed her hair and twisted it so that she cried out in pain.
"Yes, master! Oh, master! Love it! Baby loves it!"
And with that she continued sucking. He could feel the boiling sperm crowding his testicles with an agony too sweet to bear. His entire cock was on fire under her burning lips, her tongue, the way her mouth ... it was like a ... million suns...
The cascading tingle rushed across his cock. He felt as if his cock were exploding in all directions, but actually it was only spitting spunk down her throat. Dulcie choked as she caught the white gravy and began swallowing eagerly, licking the hole in the head of his prick, careful not to miss a single drop...
"Oooohhh." Seven shudders racked his passion-strained body. Lust shot out from his prick and down her eager throat. Load after load of boiling sperm in one ecstatic spasm after another foamed down that gorgeous young blonde's throat until he felt as if he were dying. There was a burst of joy echoing through him that was like nothing else he had ever felt in his entire life.
He lifted her up and brought her mouth to his own so that he could suck some of the milky sperm off her tongue. Then his cock started growing hard again and he started working at her jeans. . .
* * *
It wasn't very late when Melvin got home, but Zahava was asleep.
He peered in on the kids before going to bed. David was sleeping with a fatuous smile plastered on his face; the girls were silent. He wondered why David was smiling, muttered something to himself, and started to remove his clothes.
Zahava was deep in the soft breathing of sleep when he crawled in beside her. She had a smile on her face, too. Very curious.
He put his hand on her hip, ran it over her chunky zoftig behind, palmed the flaccid belly, put his face in her long black hair.
She slept on.
He felt around for her tit, found it, plucked a large dark nipple between his fingers.
Nothing. Nothing except his own hard-on. Dulcie had left him wonderfully turned on. All of a sudden he couldn't get enough.
Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine what it would be like to be lying like this, belly-to-back with Dulcie Winslow, his beautiful blonde girl. The car had been very difficult to be comfortable in.
He tried to imagine her smooth white flanks, the firmness of her slender back, the way her backbone would protrude out into his fingertips. His face would be in her white-yellow hair, his cock down between her legs, both hands on a tit and stiffening nipple...
"Melvin ... David..." Zahava squirmed in her sleep as he started to prod her. Her legs opened a little, but she was dry. "Melvin ... don't ... please ... I'm tired..."
Why had she mentioned David?
Suddenly his hardness departed. His prick was dead. He felt disgusted.
He got up from the bed and went into the dining room, foraged around in Zahava's purse for a cigarette. Ordinarily he didn't smoke, but this was no ordinary night. He lit one and went over to the window.
They lived in Palmer Square, a considerably less fashionable section of Chicago than suburban Evansmette. Every morning he made the trip north, struggling with the traffic, struggling back late in the afternoon-about thirty minutes each way.
Now Palmer Square was quiet; it was late. A little rain had started, and the cars swished as they moved in the streets. Melvin gazed thoughtfully at the buildings across the street, at cars stopping at a stop sign, at stretches of park in the corner of his vision.
"You awake, Mel?"
It was Zahava, rubbing her eyes with a wrist, stretching the misshapen nightgown over her voluptuous, overblown flesh, her enormous floppy mother's breasts.
"Yeah." He looked her up and down, waited for her to say something, looked out the window again.
"What time is it?"
"Eleven, I think."
"What are you doing up this late?" She put her arm around him and nestled her tousled head against his shoulder. "Cancha sleep?"
"Just restless." He looked down at her. Her eyes had closed. "Zahava," he said, "I think I'm going back to school in the fall."
Her eyes opened. "Huh? What for?"
"I should have graduate degrees. I can't get anywhere if I don't."
Her mouth seemed to sour. "Oh, yeah? And what do we do for money while you're going to school?"
"I'll get a fellowship."
She smirked. "Enough to support three kids and a wife, huh?"
He didn't say anything, although she seemed to be waiting for something. After a few seconds he was surprised to feel her hand coming around and gripping him between the legs. For some reason, the gesture seemed lewd, although he did feel called upon to note that she had a very meaty ass which, for some obscure reason, he had never partaken of. He wondered if there was much shit lining her rectum and if her ass-hole was very hairy. In his present lascivious condition, it would be interesting to find out.
She played with him for a little bit, worked him up, then she muttered, "I'll get some jelly," and crept back into the bedroom.
He followed her back. She ruffled a table drawer, finally found a jar of vaginal jelly and, removing the top, she began to work some between her heavy legs. Melvin felt vaguely disgusted. Dulcie Winslow had had such a beautiful, pure blonde body ... so slender...
In another moment Zahava was lying back on the bed, her nightgown pulled up to reveal the dark mystery of her sex, her legs propped up, her deep black gash ready for his entry.
"Come on," she whispered, holding out her arms. "Come on ... baby..."
With a sigh of surrender to something terribly obscene, he dropped onto her, pushed himself between her legs and insinuated his prick into the cloying grip of her dominating pussy. In another few moments, clenching his teeth, he began thinking of Dulcie Winslow, and then spurts of excitement started to well up in him. The jelly of her cunt surrounded his swiftly motioning cock, caressing it expertly. He gasped, grunted, and found a weak sort of pleasure flowing through him as thrust followed thrust. And then he found that she was grunting and groaning with him. He pulled hard on the dark black hairs in the crack of her ass and listened to her squeal of delight. His shaft continued to plunge until he made it yet one more time, full of aching, throbbing, spasmodic joyful shudders, and she clenched him, screamed, whinnied like a mare being raped by a renegade stallion, and then expired in a shriek that gradually descended toward the agonized hiss of a rapidly deflating inner tube.
Norman Thornton was peeping at his sister through the keyhole in the bathroom door when the telephone rang. He went to get it with no eagerness whatever. For about half an hour he had been watching Ms young sister, who was only fourteen. She had long brown hair and sweet little tennis balls for tits, and hair in her armpits and fleecy down between her legs. She had been masturbating furiously the entire time-with a hairbrush.
Part of the time she had been rubbing her gash in the shower, and part of it on the toilet seat. The slick lips of her cunt had dripped juice all over the tiles. Before that he had watched her also as she did her nails and paraded before the bathroom mirror admiring her young body and studying it from every angle. She would lift up her small but perfectly formed breasts and squeeze them. Then she would bend over and watch them hang. Then she would pull her long brown hair over onto them. Then she would masturbate before, after, and in between. His little sister was literally full of tricks.
So he was not tickled to death to be called to the phone. He picked it up in a very disgruntled mood. "Yeah?" he said crossly.
"Hello, Norman?" It was Dulcie Winslow. He cursed mentally.
"Hi, Dulce. What's up?"
"You haven't called me."
"God, swimming practice every night, Dulce. No kidding, I'm really hung up."
"I think I've found somebody who can take care of me."
His throat went dry. "Yeah?" he said, licking his lips.
"You don't know him."
I don't wanna know him, either, the boy thought. "Swell, then whatdya want me to do?"
"Just call me once in a while, so I wouldn't feel so lost. I feel so-cheap."
Norman Thornton was coming up against one of man's age-old problems-what could he do with a woman when he no longer had any use for her? He found it almost impossible to understand how he could have been so incredibly hot for Dulcie Winslow at one time last year. Now he felt as if he would be relieved if she just dropped dead. After all, his own sister had nice tits, too. And he got to watch them every night. He found it hard to believe that he had at any time been so mortally excited over Dulcie. It was true, she was a powerful good suck. But sucking cock wasn't everything. He said, "Gosh, I'm sorry, Dulce. I just."
"You don't want to see me any more?" He sighed. "Well..."
"Norman, if I die in the abortion, I'm going to leave a note behind me, and I'll tell all about what happened between us."
"Dulcie-"
But she hung up. He cursed and put the receiver back on the hook.
Of all the times to call. As he walked back to the bathroom, he wondered if she would really carry out her threat. Anyway, she wouldn't die. Why did she make a big tiling out of it.
She had said once that she might commit suicide. And they sure couldn't get married; he was still in high school. What if she did die? Would that look so bad for him? Lots of guys laid girls. He was no worse than anyone else. His old man would probably be plenty proud of him.
He arrived back at the bathroom door, squatted down so that he could peer through the keyhole again.
His sister was still masturbating on the toilet. She was squirming like crazy, her brown hair flying all around her shoulders and arms.
Dulcie had been a fairly quiet lay, although she had whimpered a little afterward. He wondered a little what a squirming lay like his sister would be like, but he didn't wonder too hard. He had no expectations along that line; he just liked to watch her.
After a bit he went back to his room and fingered his cock. He had some girly magazines that he ignored, for he was still thinking about Tracy on the toilet, her tanned young legs spread, her fingers moving furiously inside her deep brown snatch, her head and hair thrown back...
As he masturbated he heard his sister entering the room next door, her bedroom. He continued to play with himself until he heard the knock on the connecting door.
"Yeah?" He jumped out of bed and picked up his jeans.
"Open up, Squeegee. Are you decent?"
"Yeah, I'm decent." He zipped his jeans up and went to the door.
Tracy had put on a kind of gauzy nightgown that puffed out in all the right places. He caught the scent of cleanliness plus something she must have just sprayed on for going to bed.
"Come on in, kid. I was just looking over the stuff I got to hand in tomorrow." He went to the desk as if he had just gotten up from it.
He worked through his papers for a while, trying to look as if he was concentrating. Meanwhile, he heard her sit down on the bed.
He cleared his throat. "What's happening?"
She bounced on the bed a little, making the springs squeak. For no apparent reason, he began wondering what time their folks were coming home. He was aroused like crazy, and he wished like hell that Tracy would get back to her own room. He wanted to masturbate. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her small, firm titties spring up and back through the nightgown as she bounced on the bed. In his present condition, he couldn't stand up.
"I was just thinking," she said.
"Yeah?" He felt exasperated. She was thwarting his desire to jack off and get cum all over his chest. He felt as if he were going to burst right out through the sides of his balls.
"Moose Gorber asked me to the dance at school next week."
He turned around in his chair. "Yeah?" Moose was an all-state football player, as big as any professional, and he was rumored to be very rough with the girls.
She wriggled her toes. "I wasn't sure whether I should go out with him or not." She had painted her toenails a deep red.
Now he was really concerned. "They say he's . pretty fast with the girls."
"What do you mean by fast?"
He had never discussed sex very much with his sister, and he didn't imagine that now. He looked around blankly.
She looked down at her toes. She had pulled the gown around in front so that her burgeoning tits were well concealed, but the way the gown slid up her thighs made him definitely nervous. "Norman, would you tell me something honestly if I asked you?"
"Oh, sure," he said, completely doubtful.
"Have you ever had a woman?"
He pursed his lips. He felt like bragging, but he didn't. He didn't look at her as he said, "What d'you mean?"
"You know. Have you ever gone into a woman with your-" The sentence dropped off.
"Sure," he said evenly. He looked at her. "Why?"
She pursed her lips and looked away, keeping her hands huddled carefully in her crotch. "Oh, nothing, I just wondered what it's like."
His eyes narrowed. "You never-"
She shook her head. "A couple of guys have tried to feel me, and that's not so bad, but I never let anybody put his hand ... or do anything..." Her voice trailed off.
He looked thoughtful. His sister was such a gorgeous piece. The blood was pounding in his veins, throbbing up through his outstretched cock, hammering on little anvils in every corner of his pulsating organ.
Suddenly the downstairs door slammed. "You better get back to your room," he said right away.
She hurried to the door. "We'll talk-about this again? Okay?"
"Okay," he said, nodding. After she had closed the door he discovered that he had broken out in a cold sweat.
CHAPTER 4
EVANSMETTE High School-just another suburban high school in another nice extension of the metropolis. Vine-covered walls of immense concrete blocks, sparkling clear windows, huge parking lot to accommodate the many automobiles driven by affluent youngsters. Everybody had a car.
It's 8:30 in the morning; the kids are filing in. Alan Williams checks his watch, feels a warm glow of contentment, remembering the night before with his gorgeous red-headed student. On the other side of the school, at another doorway, Melvin Murray looks thoughtfully at a low front step, moves carefully, exhaustedly, up the concrete stairs, apparently deep in thought.
Most instructors have early classes and are already in school, yawning at their students as their students yawn back at them. Those arriving late are surrounded by attractive young girls in their teens who are chattering away about whatever it is young girls chatter about, and slender young men discussing sporting events of both an indoor and an outdoor nature.
The girls have a freshly scrubbed, sexual look, very feline, as befits a wealthy exurb like Evansmette where natural heredity is going to produce prettier girls than elsewhere in the metropolitan area. They wear their hair long, as a rule, and they wear suggestive outfits comprised largely of tight sweaters or blouses, miniskirts that are always creeping too high, and bosom-enhancing artifacts. These girls are okay.
The school is filling. Locker doors are clanging. There's a great deal of talk and commotion in the halls.
Another day begins.
* * *
After school Melvin drove down to DePaul University library and picked up everything he could on abortions.
He read until his eyes were weary, until he felt as if they would fall out of his head.
He hoped to get more from medical journals. There were a few books on the subject, and he took whatever was available. Unfortunately most of them dealt with the legal and moral aspects of abortion. Only in minor instances did he find anything even remotely related to the mechanics of abortion. He wondered if he should contact a doctor for advice.
It didn't occur to him until he had left the building that he had nowhere to hide the books at home or at school. His office at school was shared by several other people, and his desk was not immune to casual search on one pretext or another. And there was no privacy at home.
Why was he doing this, in any case? When it occurred to him that he might actually go through with such an incredibly hideous and illegal act, his entire body began trembling.
What source of deep confidence had welled up to cause him to tell Dulcie Winslow so assuredly that he alone was going to be her rescuer? Weren't there public services for this kind of thing?
Ideologically, he wasn't even sure he liked the idea. It was really much like murder. Philosophically and scientifically, the fetus was already an individual. It slept and had dreams the same as any human being outside the womb. It took in sustenance and gave off waste. It had vestigial limbs, an ass, a head, eyes, and so on. It moved in that viscous sac. Its little heart beat, and its brain gave off waves as distinct as fingerprints that would remain uniquely coded for the rest of its life. Indeed the only thing that made it unique from any other human being was its parasitic relationship to Mama, its attachment via umbilical cord. Otherwise one would be hard put to say that it was not a real human being in every way. It had a right to life if it could survive the knitting needles. With babies so easy to give away-or sell, with so many childless couples eager to adopt, did any mother have the right to destroy it when it was already alive?
The moral question had evaded him until this moment. Now he cringed thinking about it. I'm a swine, he thought.
Why did I tell her last night, with such certainty, that I would do this thing? I must have been out of my mind. It must have been the darkness, her mouth on my cock, sucking, sucking....
No, he couldn't let her kill herself. He needed her now too badly. She had sucked him off, and then he had fucked her with her sitting on top of him, bobbing up and down. He had sucked on her heavy young breasts, and run his hands over her deliciously smooth body, and let her kiss him in that open-mouthed way, so voraciously, with her glorious golden hair flying all around them and her cunt doing its dance up and down on his prick ... clenching it...
How she had moaned ... and he had felt the cheeks of her ass and wormed his fingers up into the soft wet folds of her sliding pussy, pulling at her untii she squealed with joy. How they had loved...
Got to see her tonight, got to talk to her. Got to. .
He plodded to the car, threw his books into the trunk and drove home.
* * *
When Dulcie got home from school, the first thing she did was go down to Evansmette Township Public Library and look up everything she could on abortions. There were no books available, but there was a surfeit of magazine articles listed in the Reader's Guide to Periodical Literature, most of it of a very legal and abstract nature. She read through most of it with waning interest, then went home.
Ralph Talbott called, and she agreed to go out with him Saturday night. After that she looked listlessly through her homework, then called some of her girl friends.
Dulcie was not an unpopular girl. Up until the time she had started dating Norman Thornton, she had had a wide circle of friends who called her day and night and invited her to parties.
But, going steady with Norman, she had turned down a number of boys who had wanted to date her. Ralph was one of those-but he had hung on a bit more sturdily than the others.
She had also somewhat lost touch with her clique of girl friends.
While she was dating Norman, those imagine cars driven by her young girl friends no longer showed up in the Winslow driveway with windblown, handsome girls waving, their rosy cheeks excited, their long hair caught in the wind. Norman had been her beau, and gradually she had lost contact with everyone else.
She was in her bedroom now, and she looked into the mirror of her bureau. She was still a pretty girl, even sexy. She knew that many men wanted her-men of all ages-because of the way they looked at her when she walked by, her tits and ass jiggling, her long blonde hair caught in the wind. She pursed her mouth and studied it. She had a pouting, sensual lower lip. Her mouth was made for cocksucking, as many a boy had told her. She imagined that was the first thing anyone saw when they looked at her.
Why then, had Norman thrown her over?
But today she was pregnant, a very serious offense for a teen-age girl even given the new permissiveness abroad in American culture.
She licked the inside of her mouth nervously. The white blouse she was wearing! today had become soiled somehow, yet she was not very inclined to be rid of it. Lately she had become somewhat careless of her dressing habits.
Some impulse struck her and she removed the blouse, then her brassiere.
Breasts-huge, fulsome. She lifted them like gourds in her hands. Ever since she was twelve years old boys had always watched her jiggle. Massive aureoles. She had difficulty with athletics because they were so heavy, so huge. When she ran they swung from side to side like ponderous gongs.
Mouth-watering, one boy had called them. As far back as she could remember some boy had been trying to get her alone-on staircases, in the back seats of cars, in doorways-always trying to cop a feel. And she had been eager to let them, while trying not to appear too eager.
She brushed out her long blonde hair and smiled to herself. Even a few girls had tried to get funny with her. She had almost let one, her gym teacher, a tall, severe brunette from Tennessee. Once when she had taken a nasty fall in gym, the gym teacher had kept her after class, made her undress, and felt her all over, saying, "Does that hurt? Does it hurt there?" Then she had made Dulcie spread her legs and attempted to kiss her vulva. "There, Mama's going to kiss it and make it feel better." The first tantalizing brush of the older woman's lips across her cunt had sent her into a frenzy of leg-thrashing desire.
But unfortunately the bell had rung at that moment. Afterward, Dulcie had tried to avoid her. But she could remember the feel of those feminine lips on her cunt...
Somehow her nipples seemed larger and more sensitive since then. She continued brushing her hair, wondering if she might find herself alone with Miss Lusty, the gym teacher, one more time before the close of the term...
Her hair was quite long, almost pure white but interspersed with strands of gold. It hung down very long and natural.
She made a mental note that she was going to have to get back into the swing of things socially. Melvin Murray's mature cock was delicious, but he was, after all, married. She could not suppress a giggle when she considered how he had speared her the previous night, however. She could see herself now, legs high up in the air, his tremendous prick ramming in through her tightly puckered young pussy...
Lately her mother had taken to criticizing her stay-at-home habits, and Mr. Winslow had begun looking at her strangely. She would have to start getting out again.
Still, she needed Mr. Murray to help her with the abortion. He seemed like an honest person, and he had promised. She was at least a little bit relieved to know that now she was not totally alone. Ever since she had stopped menstruating the previous month she had been almost out of her mind with worry.
My Fair Lady would have to be her last play for the season, too. Every rehearsal seemed to be more discomforting than the last. She often found herself staring off into space for no reason, and Mr. Williams had been quite critical and anxious about the way the play was going. There was too much dancing in it, for one thing. She wouldn't be able to hold up much longer. Perhaps she should ask him to get someone else right away.
Strange how he had looked right through her in the drug store last night. He had been quite preoccupied.
"Dulcie?"
She jumped up at the sound of her father's voice and almost immediately felt faint. "Yes?" she said weakly.
"Can I come in, honey? Are you all right?"
"Yes. Just a minute." She put on her bra and blouse again.
"Hi," he said, entering. He went immediately to the window and threw it wide open. "Pee-yew, what stinks in here? Kind of close, isn't it?"
He closed the door, took her hand and sat her down on the bed. "Come on over here, honey. What's wrong? We hardly ever see you downstairs any more. Why do you spend so much time in your room? Or out roaming the streets until all hours? I can't let you take the car if you're going to disappear until too late. That's too dangerous."
She took in all of this, nodding wordlessly. It occurred to her for not the first time that her father was a very attractive man.
He put his arm around her shoulder. "What is it, huh? What is it that my little girl can't tell me?"
She fell against him, sobbing. Her eyes fell on the apex of his trousers, but there was no clue. She wondered if he would like to be sucked.
Colin Winslow III gasped. "I demand to know what's got you so upset!"
She muttered soulfully, "I've broken up with Norman, Daddy."
Winslow was relieved. If that was all there was to it ... He grunted, patted her on the shoulder and hugged her. It occurred to him for just a moment that his daughter had unusually large breasts..."Well, if that's all. I thought it was something important. Just puppy love, darling. Read your Bible tonight before you go to bed, and you'll realize how silly this all is. You're just a foolish little schoolgirl, Dulcie."
She nodded.
He kissed her ear lightly. "Okay, honey, now get a little rest. Don't worry about your homework for the rest of the week. Just relax. Sunday you're going to start going to church again, and Sunday night there's a crowd of kids at the church that are good fun that you want to start seeing again. Start getting out of yourself. See your old friends! Then you'll be okay."
"Yes, Dad."
"Okay, now kiss me good night, precious, and we'll say no more about it."
Winslow had always kissed his daughter good night on the lips from time to time, but this was one time he was in for a distinct surprise, for Dulcie unthinkingly, just from reflex after thinking about sex, inserted her smooth pink tongue between his lips...
He jerked away as if he had been struck with a torch. Dulcie's face contorted in pain, rage, and shock. She had guessed wrong about her father.
"And just where did you learn to kiss like that, young lady?"
She said nothing.
After a moment, his teeth clenched, his jaw tight, he stood up. "You're a devil witch from hell," he cursed. "You've brought evil into this house."
But he still couldn't take his eyes off her massive tits and their irregular pattern of movement. Swiftly he turned and hurried from the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
* * *
"Dr. Flintstein, this is Melvin Murray."
"Yes, Melvin. What can I do for you?" Melvin could conceive of the doctor saying this as he wiped his hands on a towel.
"Uh-I'm writing a novel, doctor, and I wondered if you could give me some advice about some things."
Soundlessness from the other end. Dr. Flintstein consulted something. "Could you come in, tonight, Melvin? I'd be happy to talk to you."
Of course you would, Melvin thought. Who wouldn't at ten dollars for two minutes? "Thank you, doctor. I'll come in right away."
It wasn't far. Melvin considered what he was going to say on the way.
It had first occurred to him to talk things over with Dr. Flintstein on the way home from school. For one thing, the doctor was an old family friend. He'd known him practically all of his life, ever since years ago. And the doctor had always taken a kindly interest in him, he thought.
There was almost no one else in the waiting room at the clinic when he arrived. He gave his name to the girl at the switchboard and sat down to read a magazine.
In about fifteen minutes, a woman went in to see Dr. Flintstein. Melvin studied his watch, compared it with the clock on the wall. He was becoming nervous.
It must have been another twenty minutes before Dr. Flintstein came out to see him-a portly little man with thick eyeglasses and a funny waddle when he walked.
"Come in, Melvin." Dr. Flintstein showed him the way. Melvin had been to this office often enough, ever since he was a little boy.
The door closed. Flintstein took a cigar, lit it, sat over on the other side of the desk with his knees crossed. Melvin took the chair across from him.
"How've you been, Melvin?"
"Just fine, Doc."
"How's Mom and Dad?"
"Fine, thank you."
"And your sister Laura?"
"Fine, thank you. She's in California now."
"Mmmmmm. Still single?"
"Yep. Laura just-likes to work and party a lot."
"Mmmmmm. And yourself?"
"I'm teaching at Evansmette Township High School. Biology."
"Mmmmmm. Had no idea you knew anything about that."
"What? Biology?"
"No, teaching school. Do you like it."
"Oh, yes. Definitely."
"You're writing a novel? Was that what you said over the phone."
"That's right."
"What is it you want to know?"
Melvin gulped, cleared his throat, shifted in his seat. He leaned forward. "What I want to know is this-Doc, can you ... that is ... just how does one go about giving an abortion?" There, he'd said it. He hurried on. "You see, I have this character..."
Dr. Flintstein looked piercingly at him. "Just how old is the female in the case?"
"About sixteen?"
The two men looked at each other. Flintstein was a man of the world. There was no mistaking the message in his glance.
Melvin went on, "I'd just like to know some of the details about how one goes about this sort of thing-you know, just to make the book authentic."
Dr. Flinstein launched into a rambling narrative dealing with how one could tell pregnancy, various legal and moral obligations of the medical profession in such cases, recent cases of illegal abortion that had landed in the courts, and finally into the more technical details of the operation.
Melvin felt as if he were gasping for air by the time Flintstein had finished. His hand had clenched around a paperweight on the doctor's desk, and now he was holding it so tight that his knuckles shone white. He dropped it hurriedly, but Flintstein had seen.
Melvin stood up and thanked him profusely.
Dr. Flintstein slapped him on the back. "Think nothing of it, Melvin. I'll be looking forward to seeing your book. Glad to be of help. Give my regards to your father."
"I will." Melvin opened the door. "Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
He was halfway down the hall when the good doctor called to him again. "Oh, Melvin!"
Melvin looked back at him suspiciously. "Melvin," Dr. Flintstein called. "Let the girl live. Let the baby live. Don't do it, Melvin. Don't do it. Please, don't do it."
He turned the corner quickly, and didn't look back.
Dr. Flintstein closed the door with a sigh. He stood staring into space, toward the door, for several moments. Then he turned around and picked up the telephone book. In a moment he had the number he wanted.
"Hello, Zahava? Yes, this is Dr. Flintstein. Remember me? I was wondering if we couldn't have a little talk."
* * *
They met at the park bench again. He had only been able to get through to her on the telephone by telling Mr. Winslow that it was Mr. Williams, of the speech department. Dulcie's father had sounded decidedly suspicious, too.
They sped off down Sheridan Road in Melvin's beat-up Plymouth, Melvin driving furiously. It was a good fifteen minutes before he got control of himself, and by then they were driving around in Chicago.
He looked over at her. He had the hots for her something terrible. He needed her, there was no denying that.
She had tidied herself up a bit, and put a blue ribbon in her hair. She reminded him of all the lovely WASP girls he had watched around the campus when he was going to Northwestern for summer school. Money-they reeked of it. Wealth.
Cleanliness. Sex. Boards of directors' daughters. Slender legs-hairless, encased in nylons. Sunburned cheeks. Perfect complexions. Blondes, blondes, blondes. Firmness in the bust and everywhere else. Tanned legs-very long. Beautiful arms-soft flesh. Carefully done hair-long, fine, straight. Hair ribbons and sexy sweaters, tempting walks with asses swaying from side to side, swinging hips. Steeply pointed torpedo tits. White teeth. Perfect pink lips made for kissing. Long lashes. Blue eyes. Dark eyes. Deep eyes. Knowing mouths.
"I decided to take you up on your offer," he said in a very slow, business-like manner, daring her to change her mind, call the whole thing off, scream for help. Would she really let him fuck her in that perfect white virginal ass? Her shit must come out wrapped in pink ribbon.
She said nothing, just stared straight ahead.
They pulled up on a side street somewhere. It was dark. He asked her for a cigarette and lit it with trembling hands. "I've decided to take you up on your offer," he said again. He looked at her, daring her. "Remember?"
She looked uncomfortable. She didn't really want him to screw her in the butt. She'd never done it that way before. And anyway, he should do the abortion first. How did she know he wouldn't just fuck her for Old Glory and then dump her as Norman had?
He felt his collar with his fingers. His coat was constricting. This new role was a different one; he'd never been a very dynamic person. But he'd brought ajar of hand cream just in case.
They sat like that for some time, saying nothing. "Well?" he said at last.
"Do you want to do it in the back seat?" she asked pleasantly enough to make him feel deeply guilty and ashamed.
"Sure."
He went first, lumbering clumsily over the back of the front seat.
She giggled delightfully, and he couldn't repress a smile.
"What the hell's so funny?"
She rested her chin on the seat. "You. The way you go over. It's just like a water buffalo." Then she chuckled wildly. He grabbed her arms and helped her over. He was hard as a rock. Her ass brushed his nose as she went over and he caught the musky scent of her cunt and ass all mixed up together.
They maneuvered around for a few moments, trying to get the right position. He said, "I think we'd better take some of our clothes off first."
She laughed and began removing everything. One by one, the wonders of her marvelous youthful flesh were revealed: the dark-blonde muff of pubic hair down between her legs, already dripping juice onto the seat; her shapely ass, so tender and ready, so wanton and eager; her magnificent tits, hanging down and brushing the seat as she got up on all fours; her long blonde hair hanging down over her shoulders and back.
Melvin got his shoes, pants and underwear off.
His prick felt raw and glowing, heavy as lead. It seemed to burn out there ahead of him like a hot iron. He had to hold it to keep from falling, it was so heavy.
He had put the jar of hand cream on the window in the back. Now he opened it and took gobs of it in his fingers. She looked back and smiled as she saw the length of his dick swinging like a cleaver in back of her ass. "Well, you certainly don't need any help tonight."
He grunted something unintelligible and parted the cheeks of her ass with his thumbs. There was the neatly puckered hole, very pink, winking back at him. All of a sudden the wildest sort of crazy desire overcame him and he bent his face toward her ass while pulling it toward him. His nose went right up that muffy crack and his tongue snaked out toward her aperture. His fingers buried deep in the thick hairy muff of her pubis, rubbing the slick folds of her cunt as he licked her anus. He found it far more delicious than he had expected. There was something wildly erotic about pulling her anus toward his face, probing that most secret of orifices with his tongue, listening to her squeal as he licked the hard wrinkles of it and tried to force its outer walls apart. The taste was very curious-not quite shit, but not pure Elysium either-just incredibly, unbelievably exciting. He wouldn't have believed that analingus could excite him so wildly. Semen was welling up on the head of his prick and dripping on the seat as if from a loose faucet.
But of course this was getting him nowhere. He took his face and tongue away from her ass-hole and found her moaning, "Oh, please ... put it back ... that was so nice..." Dulcie's ass wriggled back toward him, but he held her at bay and parted her buttocks again. Now he shoved up two fingers heavy with cream.
She was slightly tight for two, but his index finger entered her rectum easily. A deep, long, drawn-out moan of desire echoed from the gorgeous young lips as his finger went into her and wormed around. She pressed her backside savagely back down on his hands and Melvin smiled a deep, knowing smile of satisfaction. She was going to like this after all.
Now he rammed in a second finger.
"Oh!" Dulcie exclaimed as this new intruder entered her backside. She pressed back against it, her heart pounding in her lovely chest. Her rectum had never been assaulted so scandalously, so disgustingly, before. Now she was finding a whole new set of thrills being delivered up to her consciousness. The pressure in her was snug, tight, to some extent painful, very painful in fact, but at the same time there was another kind of feeling, the quality of which was amazing. She actually felt as if she were impaled on a skewer and being roasted while rotated over a small fire.
This must be how Joan of Arc felt, she thought unwillingly.
The agony of this incredible feeling, so dominating and implacable, was almost too much to bear. She was hopelessly speared, a slave to the whims of the strange man behind her, his fingers working unnaturally in her rubbery depths. Occasionally those fingers touched pieces of flesh which echoed such mortifying thrills through her body that it was just incredible. She winced, groaned, whimpered, and whined. This terrible feeling, this awful, horrendous burning inside of her ass was at the same time glorious and wonderful. New thrills, glowing shafts of ecstasy burned through her glands, flooding her intestines and from there outward to her entire being.
Melvin couldn't wait any longer. There was a loud smacking sound as he withdrew his fingers and wiped the encumbering juices all over his cock, plus a little extra cream as well. Dulcie began whimpering, pleading for him to enter her ass-hole again.
"Oh," she gasped, choking with passion, her voice barely audible, "please ... you must ... stuff me up ... quickly ... quickly..."
He positioned her again, bending his head quickly and taking two bloody little bites out of her rump. Then he parted the cheeks of her ass. Her anus was dripping now, a clear, thick liquid, traveling right down the strawberry crack and down her nicely tanned thighs. He got up close to her on the seat and pulled her toward him, his fingers going into her golden pubic hair, then rising again to pull and tweak at her nipples.
His cock touched against her greasy puckered ass-hole, exploring it. Then he pulled her hard against him and smiled. "Hoooh!"
Melvin laughed. There was something about her cries of pain and agony that made the entire experience somehow exquisite. He forced his hot cock into her rectum, a little at a time, grunting mournfully, pulling her against him, twisting her, tweaking her young flesh, taking bites out of her side and the flesh of her back.
To Dulcie this sadism was all the most excruciating torment. She had never had any idea that she could get so much joy out of pain. As Melvin Murray's shaft sank bit by bit into her rubbery, tightly clenching ass-hole, it was pure ecstasy, as pure as anything else she had ever known. She had never experienced anything like it.
"Fuck you..." Melvin muttered. "Fuck your ass ... your beautiful sixteen-year-old blonde ass-hole ... I love you ... you beauty ... you beauty..."
The tears of pain were like a torrent down her face, but at the same time Dulcie had never felt so wonderfully alive. She felt as if she were flying headlong toward an orgasm of fire and ice that could only end with either a blinding flash of light or her death, or both.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" She was coming, she was making it. Each powerful stroke was too much, too much ... And now his fingers were rifling her dripping cunt, taking her there, too. The combined assault was a feeling out of this world.
"Oh! Melvin! Melvin! No! No! Hurt! Hurt!"
But even as she whimpered he thrust the more savagely against her, wildly excited by the mewling sound of her protests which signaled to him only the solid completeness of her surrender. He rammed it home all the harder and laughed aloud as she whimpered, pleading for mercy. Her torment was fiercely exciting. This beautiful young blonde love-slave-his cock deep in her ass-doing his bidding as he wormed it in and out of her-hopeless, helpless ... beautiful ... beautiful. Creamy tanned legs bruised under his ravaging fingertips ... those smooth thighs. He pressed his face into the halo of her blonde hair, clenched her tits, played with the hollow of her cunt. She was juicy all over his fingers. The small curling blonde hairs entwined in his fingers. A severe trembling shook him from head to toe. A string of obscenities broke from his lips in a steady stream. He was big for her and this made it all the more painful and delightful. All sides of her rectum seemed to squeeze him at once with a million searching hands.
Piercing cries of anguish broke from her lips and then she began murmuring unintelligible obscenities. "Fuck me ... you big cock you ... ram me ... fuck my ass you son of a bitch ... fuck me..."
He took the strokes with agonizing sweetness, drawing them out, quaffing every strange, heady, delicious brew. His mouth was on her ears, her neck, her cheeks. He growled mercilessly and this sound seemed to excite her, as if she was being raped by an animal, and she uttered staccato little cries of excitement.
And then he could feel it-that wild sensation like logs going down a rapids, rushing, rushing to the sea ... the sea deep within her belly where his semen could dance for happiness. His balls screwed up hard against his scrotum...
"Arrrggghhh..." He grunted and swung her from side to side, ramming in and out, up and down and then ... there ... there ... the exploding rush of the white gravy, urging toward the head of her womb, exploding along the fleshy length of his cock-down, down deep into the horror of her aching, flaming bowels...
"Melvin!"
"Dulcie! Darling! Darling!"
Shudders of ecstasy shook him, each one promoting the squirting of his milky cum deep into her bowels. Dulcie pressed back against him, consumed by the onslaught of his flaming gunk. A deep and wide-swelling orgasm burned slowly through her like liquid fire. Afterward there was only the fiery glow, the sweet and pervasive radiation as her climax expired and left her shattered, her lips drooling, slavering, her eyes rolling around in her head, a fatuous smile plastered on her pretty blonde face that would not leave for days afterward. "Darling...."
"Sweetheart...."
Their voices were sweet in the cold night air...
CHAPTER 5
NORMAN Thornton roared up to his house on top of the back seat of an ancient Model-T roadster. The driver hooted his horn twice, just to hear it, and the other boys in the car laughed and cuffed each other about. They had all been drinking pretty heavily, mostly beer, and Norman was in no condition at all to leap from off the back seat onto his concrete driveway. He slid on the side of his right foot, caromed to one side and struck the side of his head on the driveway with an efficiency that would have been envied by any normal assault-with-intent-to-kill convict.
The boys in the car jeered and hooted, laughed, and drank some more beer. The motor was gunned and the roadster roared off down the street.
Norman picked himself up. He looked up at the windows of the Thornton residence. It was a majestic place, about fifteen rooms (no servants, but two colored girls came in), with a large double garage fronting the street to the left of the house.
The light in his sister's room was the only one on except for the bulb that glowed over the doorway.
He trudged up the driveway, keeping his eyes focused on her windows.
The interior of the house was very silent. He took the stairs two at a time. He was at the second-floor landing, his breath coming very hard. He put his hands on the side of her door and pressed it slowly open with the thumb of his right hand.
She was seated on the bed, propped up on her legs in the middle of it, her blue peignoir falling in loose folds over the full curves of her teen-age figure. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could make out the dark spots on the tips of her breasts.
"Hi," he said drunkenly, reeling, struggling for composure and something else that he could not name.
"Hi." She looked at him curiously. After a little bit she said, "You've got blood on your head."
She came up and peered at the place where he had struck his head, almost touched it with her fingers. "I'd better fix that."
He nodded, his eyes smoldering, staggered over to the connecting door and went into his own room.
He fell down on the bed like he was dead. Somewhere he could hear her in a cabinet in a bathroom, getting some iodine perhaps, or a bandage or something. He dozed instantaneously, then awoke to find her cleaning his forehead with a damp washrag.
"Where'd you go tonight?" she asked, leaning over him. He could make out the perfect curves of her tits beneath the peignoir.
"Out with the guys. Where's the folks?"
"Opera."
A scent of lilacs or something came from her, enveloping him in a mist of fine spider-silk. "What'd you do tonight?" he asked.
"I went to the Youth Center with Jocelyn Collins."
"Lotta kids there?"
"Yeah."
"Meet any nice guys?"
"Oh, they were okay, I guess." She looked away, did something with the rag, put it to another area of his face. She was cleaning the bruise.
He put his hand on her hip. She didn't say anything. Her hair was a brown veil across the valley of her back.
"What's it like for a girl?" she asked abruptly as she made a bandage for him.
"What's what like?" His eyes narrowed.
"Sex."
His heart was pounding in his ears. His cock perked up as if it were a dog seeing a cat walk by.
"You have to experience it," he said finally, measuring her.
"What's it like for a boy?"
"Good. Great."
She applied the bandage, then slowly let her hands caress the side of his face. Her blue eyes peered deeply into his. "I'm afraid, Norman," she said.
"Don't be."
"Were you drinking tonight."
"Yeah. And smoking pot."
"That's not good for you. You shouldn't go out with those guys."
"They're all on the swimming team."
They gazed into each other's eyes for a long time. There was nothing left to be said. He reached up and palmed her breasts. The nipples were stiff. A surging wave of desire rippled through him. He pushed her breasts up and she closed her eyes. He felt them like that, squeezed, got to know their contours, pinched at her tips. They were full, very full, and very firm.
She bent her head, breathing fast, and began to unbutton his shirt. She spread it open, lifted up his T-shirt and immediately bent her head to plant a hot kiss on the muscles of his athletic stomach. She kissed him there again and again, murmuring, "I've wanted to do that for a long time ... for so long ... " Then she began to undo his trousers which, tight as they were, were already being strained.
The zipper went down and she clasped his cock in her hand. Norman thought he would faint. That cooling palm on the burning heat of his rod ... the way she clenched and unclenched it, whispering endearments...
Together they worked to remove his shirt. She pulled down his trousers. He felt so sleepy, so dreamy. He felt as if he were walking in some unimaginably deep forest. A cluster of green leaves were a part of the earth at his feet. Overhead the trees made a ceiling of darkness that masked off the sky. Coolness and humidity swam up from the forest depths.
His shoes pounded the floor as they dropped. His socks were next. She stared at his underwear smolderingly, saying, "I want to see all of you, Norman, all of you, all of it ... " And then she drew his underwear down and off.
For a long time she just stared at his cock, studying him from all angles, fascinated. "It's beautiful, Norman ... beautiful..."
Her fingers moved in and played with his cock, played with the texture, moved in his pubic hair, then traveled tantalizingly over his hairy balls. Norman groaned in response. Her fingers glided more. Then, unexplainably, her head fell forward, washing her long hair over his belly.
"There..."
Norman groaned as she took his cock in her mouth. Her lips formed like rubber over the slick hot knob and she sucked it into her throat with a rhythmic slurping noise. Her saliva mixed with his sexual secretion and dribbled down his shaft into his hair. The taut purplish skin felt like warm velvet to her full, pouting young lips. Tracy would have never believed that anything could be so beautiful.
She went on massaging his cockhead, then took in all of it again. Norman groaned and pressed her head. "Suck on me, Sister ... suck it...."
Norman's fluid was all over her mouth, salty but delicious. She was surprised at how good it was. She flicked all around his cock with her tongue as she sucked, caressing it. The liquid spread over her taste buds and her passion soared. A shivering thrill stabbed up into her cunt as if she had been hit there within axe. She took in every last inch of her brother's hot cock and wished there was more. She sucked mindlessly, without conscious thought. This was just too beautiful, too wonderful...
"That's it, Sister ... that's it..." He ran his fingers in her glossy, thick hair. "Suck..."
Tracy's heart was racing out of control as she laved his scrumptious prick with her tongue and formed her lips snugly to his pulsating shaft. A tiny moan of pleasure escaped her flared nostrils as her cheeks sank inward from sucking so hard.
"What a mouth..." Norman mumbled. "Sweet ... what a mouth ... mouth ... mouth..."
His words rang ecstatically in her ears as she let him grab her head and move it up and down. The head of his cock bumped the back of her throat. She gagged slightly. Now up, her mouth hungrily holding his fat prick and distending around it. Her teeth nicked the coronal ridge. She licked the purplish rose and whimpered, then lowered her head and took in inch after inch until she had a mouthful of thrilling hot meat. The cock in her mouth was throbbing and warm. Its taste was heady and musky. She loved it now, forever.
With one eye she could see Norman's dense patch of blonde pubic hair; with the other she watched his nuts. They seemed to be drawing up to his crotch. She kept her lips working up and back hungrily on his staff of hard meat and sucked hungrily as it slid past her teeth and tongue. The head of it bumped the back of her throat, but she loved it and wanted it even deeper. Straining her neck, she managed to take the throbbing head into the ringed portion of her throat. She swallowed around it and gurgled with happiness. She couldn't remember when she had been so happy. Her excruciating joy was only accentuated as, moments later, her brother sent torrents of hot semen, the most delicious cream she had ever tasted, all over her suctioning mouth. She whimpered and quaked through what was almost an orgasm of her own as he poured it down her throat. She tried to eat it alive in her ecstasy, and Norman let out a bellow of ecstasy and pain. He was a virtual reservoir of cum. She swallowed and swallowed, drinking his musky juice as fast as she could. It was so delicious she didn't dare lose a drop.
"Sweetheart ... baby sister ... oh, sugar..." He curled his fingers in her hair. The viscous milk was coming too fast for her now, and she was gagging slightly. A wave of stringy white gunk washed over her pouting lips and trickled down her chin, where it hung for a moment, then jerked under her chin and stuck to her flesh.
"Aaaahhhh..." he breathed. "Oooohhh ... sweetheart..." He pushed his fingers into her hair and touched the sides of her cheeks. That was the most wonderful suck he had ever had. His own sister. It was miraculous. This proved that God listened to prayer. He felt as if he had drawn all the meat out of his buttocks when he had shot into her. He was drained.
Yet he still wanted...
She looked up at him with eyes heavily lidded. "Thank you, Norman. Thank you."
"Sure. Now...? "
She smiled at him, his sperm like drool on her lips. Suddenly she doffed her peignoir. He gasped, breathless. His sister had much larger and more shapely tits than he had expected. They were perfect. He reached out and cupped one in his hand, then she moved toward him so that he could suck on it.
"Norman, I'm burning up..."
"Okay." He shoved her back down on the bed. She fell back and spread her legs. Her slick young cunt was gaping, dripping pussy juice all over the bed.
"Norman, please..."
Her arms were outstretched. Norman shrugged. I suppose I owe it to her, he thought. It won't be too bad. She's real young. And she is my sister, after all.
He stared a moment longer at the marvelous flesh of her young, perfectly formed body-the long, nicely tapered legs; the slender little-girl's hips that were really so attractive; the uplifted, mountain-peak breasts; the long brown hair that was a blanket around her pretty, undefiled young face.
"Norman, please..." She was drooling, her voice a whisper.
He went down to her, his face close into her crotch and he lifted her supremely light ass off the bed and licked her juicy cunt. She moaned and thrashed in delirium with each swiping lick until finally Norman found himself getting aroused again. Then he came over on top of her. She arced her slender body off the bed to meet him and he wormed his prick up into the tight virginal confines of her cunt. Her hymen burst as if it were paper and gave only a small amount of blood. And then he was riding her-riding his own sister-as she clutched him and pumped with her ass like a belly dancer, whispering horribly obscene phrases into his ears...
* * *
Alan Williams had returned home from school early. He was surprised to find Susan there, waiting for him.
"Don't you know it's broad daylight?" he said crossly as he put the key in the door and looked up at the big McCormick mansion across the yard.
She ran her fingers playfully through his hair. "Oh, come on, Alan. Don't be such an old sticky."
He looked at her questioningly, then pushed the door open and turned on the stair light. She followed him upstairs. In the apartment he quickly got rid of the groceries on the kitchen table.
He pulled down the shades, lit a cigarette, and sat down at the table next to the groceries. "Well, what is this? What's up?"
She came up to him and ran her long-nailed index finger up into the collar of his suit. "Alan, honey, you don't sound very glad to see me."
"I'm tickled to death." His eyes narrowed as his face whitened slightly, almost imperceptibly. "All right, what's cooking? What're you doing here?"
"I just want to know if you still love me," she said puckishly.
His eyes rolled. "Sure, I still love you. That doesn't mean I want to find you on my doorstep every forty seconds."
She developed a consoling tone. "Don't be so harsh with me, honey. I just wanted to see you."
His eyes narrowed. He blew smoke. "Yeah?"
She fingered his lapel. "Honestly, Alan, for a guy who's just screwed a sixteen-year-old girl..."
He blanched. So that was it-blackmail. The dangling cigarette fell to the floor and began systematically to eat away the linoleum. He said, "Well, we're getting to the nitty-gritty of it, aren't we?"
"Statutory rape," she whispered sweetly.
He felt as if he had been hit in the stomach with a telephone book. He sort of doubled over, then straightened up again. A fearful pounding began in his brain and his eyes felt as if acid had washed into them.
For a long while they just sat there. In his wildest dreams he wouldn't have been able to think of any reply. His jaw clenched until he felt as if he would bite right through his head.
She jumped up from the chair perkily and went into the living room, humming to herself. He watched dolefully, hate welling up inside of him in a great red boiling cauldron. She selected records for the stereo.
Finally he managed to begin thinking again in some semblance of order. First of all, he couldn't sleep with her again. He could notify the police; he would notify the police. They could station themselves outside tomorrow and be there when she came to see him. They would see right away that she was approaching him; that would be evidence.
Horseshit. Police behaved efficiently only in the movies or on television. They wouldn't bother at all. And anyway, what would he tell them? "Officers, I seduced this under-age girl and now she's trying to blackmail me." He would go to jail, and she would get a slap on the hand.
No, there had to be some other way. Maybe sandbagging her and dropping her into the lake off a pier, or off the end of a boat. He could see her going under struggling with her bonds, trying to scream through the gag, her red hair floating downward through the water like seaweed.
The music was on the stereo. Something soothing by Sergio Mendez. His lips curled, he stood up and began to pace. After a while she came over to him and put her arms around his waist. "You're not mad at me, love, are you?"
"Get the hell out of here."
He began to consider other alternatives-leaving the state, dismembering her into several pieces, strangulation, a number of other things. Nothing seemed quite satisfactory.
She moved one of her hands down to his crotch and started lightly caressing him there. No response.
Finally she broke away and took something out of her purse-it looked to be a very thin, homemade cigarette. Pot. She lit it and he watched her.
She blew out a few smoke rings, then looked at him. "Come on, let's stop this fooling around."
He felt his breath come very fast. He guessed she was right. There was nothing he could do for the time being anyhow. She held all the high cards, for the moment. He would just have to continue fucking her and work out something later at his convenience.
But it certainly seemed likely he would have to kill her. No girl had ever threatened him like this before. It could set a dangerous precedent. Another good argument for quitting the high-school scene. Kids were too smart nowadays.
"Okay," he said. He walked toward her and took her in his arms. In another few moments he was ripping off her clothes, propping her legs up over his shoulders. He rammed her hard against the wall, making her whimper feverishly, cry out in agony, and moan in delight.
He was in no hurry. He let her have it for a long time before he finally led her back to the bed. And then he took his time again-worked her up slowly, made her beg for it. He wanted a lot of time to consider her and what he was going to do about her.
If he couldn't find some other way out of this mess, there seemed no alternative-he would have to kill her.
* * *
"How was that?" Melvin felt stupid almost immediately after he had said it.
Dulcie nodded; she said nothing. Her eyes glinted in the darkness, quarter-moons of yellow reflected from lamps that shone in the darkness around the park. Her legs had become unclenched and she had fallen forward on the seat, her golden hair falling across her shoulders and onto the floor.
She nodded and looked around, studying him. He didn't want to ask her anything more.
The perfectness of this night! He looked around. His first ass-fuck! And it was marvelous. He couldn't remember when he had felt more pleased with himself. He had even lapped up his own cum as it squished out of her ass-hole in a milky stream. He had never felt so immense, so entire.
To think-that a little thing like that could do so much for a man's morale and feeling of well-being. It almost defied imagination. Such power in those little movements, the tiny bands of her rectum caressing him, those grinding hips coming back on him, those swaying limbs, those straining lungs. Such power to make a man feel so tremendous! No doubt most of the wars of the world were due to the fact that the leaders of the world were not getting enough ass-fucking. That's why they were so unhappy and war-like, looking for trouble, taking out their frustrations on others.
In all of his married life with Zahava, he could not remember the sexual act as having had such a tremendous, spellbinding impact. It was as if some potent adrenalin had flowed into his vitals, drenching him with this very complete feeling of power. The effect was shattering.
He gazed at her. He felt so dominant now. She was a flower, a rose petal of perfect virtue. Fucking her ass had given him such an overwhelming feeling of divinity ... it was like being close to God somehow.
She slid down on the seat and he took her into his arms. They were silent for a long time, then she asked, "How many children do you have?"
"Three."
"How old are they?" He told her.
"Is your wife very beautiful."
"Yes," he lied. He knew that much. "Are you happy?"
He looked into her eyes. "Never more in my life than I am at this moment."
She smiled knowingly. The memory of his cock was still a bittersweet ache in her rectum. She admitted, "I don't think I've ever felt the way I felt just now with you."
He said, "Go and have the baby. I'll send you money."
She looked away. "You can't do that. You can't have that much money. Anyway, I don't want my baby to come into the world a bastard."
There was no answer to that. He took her into his arms, held her close. Outside, the moon was fading. Her blonde hair was in his nose. The scent of something undefinably sweet approached him. "All right," he said at last. "If that's what you want, I'll start preparing for it. But where will we do it?"
"There's a garage at my house. We can go there some time during the day, when there's no one home. My dad's out downtown at work, and my mother goes shopping most of the day."
He grunted, but he didn't like the sound of it.
"How did you become a schoolteacher?" she asked suddenly.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time. An easy way of making a living, I thought. Why?"
She looked at his hands, turned them over. "I don't know. It just seems to me you have very strong hands-hands that should have been doing something else."
He laughed, stroking her hair. "When I was very young I wanted to be a cowboy, or a lumberjack, or a policeman. But you see, I'm Jewish, and we're city people-"
"You're Jewish?"
"That's right. The name used to be Minsk, and before that it was something else. Anyway, with my background there were certain influences at work. My family didn't like the idea of me working with my hands-and being a policeman was out of the question. One didn't even consider it.
Second-generation American Jews get educated and make money with their minds. A Jew doesn't become a cowboy or fight forest fires, see?"
She didn't exactly, and he could tell. She looked very thoughtful, then offered., "My Uncle Benjie is a forest ranger in a national forest. Maybe he could get you a job."
Melvin laughed. He could just imagine what his mother and family would say if he decided to do a crazy thing like that. It wasn't normal.
"No thanks," he said. "I'll just stay where I am."
She didn't understand. "But why should you, if you'd rather do something else?"
They nag you to do as they want, and they nag you to do as you want, he thought with solemnity. If it's female, it nags. Part of the species.
* * *
"No!"
Norman rolled off of her. His sister lay with her eyes shut, her face turned to one side, looking completely spent, used and contented. Her tummy was thick with moisture that spread down onto her legs and up into her swollen breasts.
Norman couldn't get over how good she'd been for him. She'd been the absolute best ever.
He got off the bed and went to get a towel. In the bathroom he wiped himself off; then he came back and wipe the sticky cum and sweat off of her panting young body, caressing her tits and beautiful thighs in the bargain.
Suddenly the downstairs door opened. Tracy had been cooing. "Oh, that was heavenly..." Then suddenly they were both on their toes, running for their clothes.
The Thorntons came into the front hall and began taking off their coats. Jason Thornton called up the stairs: "Tracy ... Norman..."
There was no response and he went slowly up the stairs. Suddenly it seemed to him that he could make out the scuffling of feet. Then there was a kind of rumbling as if there were several people running around in the children's rooms.
He hurried up the stairs. "Tracy ... Norman..."
Could it be burglars? Or something worse? He banged on his son's door. "Norman! Norman!"
"What is it, Dad?" Norman opened the door looking for all the world like the sleepy student. He had wrapped himself in a towel.
"What's all the commotion up here. I thought I heard a couple of wrestlers going at it. Are you all right?"
"Sure. I was just doing some exercises, that's all. 'Night."
"Good night, Son," Jason Thornton muttered in puzzlement as his son closed the door. Then it occurred to him to wonder why Tracy's hair ribbon had been on the floor of Norman's room...
He thought about that for some time afterward. When he was downstairs making small talk with Mrs. Thornton before going to bed, he thought about it, and later, when he nestled for the night in his wife's arms, he thought about it as they made middle-aged love.
He even found himself more sexually powerful than he had been for some time as he imagined Norman and Tracy...
But no, that was impossible. He cursed his obscene imagination, completed his bout with Mrs. Thornton, and then rolled over, his cock making a loud, slurping smack as it slid out of her hairy cunt. Then he fell asleep.
Later he woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Why had Tracy's hair ribbon been on the floor of Norman's room?
He went downstairs to the refrigerator. He opened it up and hunted around. Cold milk turned out to be very refreshing.
As he sat there at the kitchen table, sipping delicately, without hurry, for the first time in his life he gave some thought to the fact that Norman and Tracy, being about the same age, their rooms connected by an unlocked door, could possibly be a serious temptation to each other.
They were, after all, teen-agers. At that age attraction knew very little about the recognized bounds of moral propriety. When teen-agers felt an attraction, they felt an attraction, and that was all there was to it.
He shook his head. Ugliness was very seldom a part of his everyday life, and he was a stranger to it. But it was possible-if not very probable.
Still, what could he do about it? Lock the connecting door? That might cause a scene.
He shivered. Pillar of the community, leader in church and civic affairs, member of the Rotary, Lions, etc., exemplar business leader-accusing his own son and daughter of. . .
He winced, shook his head, drank up the rest of the milk, then put out the lights and groped his way back upstairs in the dark.
CHAPTER 6
MELVIN somehow managed to get through the next day, although his elation was mixed with foreboding.
After he had taken Dulcie back to her car, they had agreed that tonight would have to be the night. He would leave school early, and then they would go off to her father's boat, which was parked in Wilmette Harbor. The boat hadn't been used in several seasons, and it was an ideal place for privacy. What he didn't like about it was the possibility of sudden bad weather. Even the smallest of spring storms could be disastrous in such a situation.
Still, he couldn't help but feel swamped at the tremendous feeling she had invested him with. Nothing Zahava had ever done could ever compare with it. He would never forget her smooth-sliding rectum if he lived to be a hundred. Only sixteen years old-she was worth every risk. And the feel of her mouth on his meaty cock...
Compared to Zahava, Dulcie's twisting, churning young platinum-blonde body was a holocaust made specifically for the purpose of turning men to melted butter. When he eased himself between her fresh, tanned young legs, he was overwhelmed by a series of thrills that could not possibly be matched by anything else that existed in the world. And when he ground into her ferociously, up and down, in and out, a shattering fire broke in fierce waves through his brain and his flesh.
He was able to leave school early by talking Mabel Swoffletit into taking his study-hall class. Then he made right for a store.
In a way, he felt tremendously giddy and self-assured-as if this were the most natural thing in the world!
He didn't realize at all, when he arrived home, how strange his cheerful manner must seem to Zahava, who was never used to seeing him looking other than vaguely tired. "What are you whistling about?" she asked crossly as he entered the kitchen.
His face soured and he cursed his stupidity. The last thing in the world he wanted was to arouse her suspicion.
He kissed her on the cheek. "I got off work early. Anything wrong with that?"
She looked at him suspiciously. "There is if you're planning to commit an abortion," she said.
He gasped. The package in his fingers clattered to the floor.
"What's this?" She knelt down and reached for the bag.
He kicked it out of her reach. "Get away from that!"
She looked at him coldly. "Pretty touchy, aren't you?"
"Keep your hands off my stuff!"
"Oh, fuck you." She was still kneeling. She was wearing an old, unattractive cotton dress that opened deeply at the neckline to reveal a haven of immense breasts. He had almost forgotten what enormous globes she had. These days he felt her body only in the dark.
"Are you going to hit me?" she asked.
"I might. Do you want me to?" He went across the kitchen and retrieved the bag.
"Dr. Flintstein called," she said, still kneeling.
"Oh?" He tried to sound uninterested. That cocksucker, he thought. He stuffed the objects back into the bag and tightly twisted the neck.
"Yes. He said that you had asked him about the details of performing an abortion-that you had claimed to be writing a novel or something, but that he was worried about you."
"Worried about me?" He clutched the little bundle possessively.
"Who are you giving an abortion to, Melvin?" she asked abruptly.
"That's none of your business!" He took a stumbling step backward.
"It is my business if you're my husband. Don't I satisfy you? Have you taken up with somebody?" She stood up and brushed herself off, gazing vaguely down at her dress. He didn't answer. She went on, "I can scarcely believe it. I always thought you were a little nobody who didn't have the guts to do anything. And now I find out you've been giving it to somebody else all along. If that doesn't beat everything."
"Zahava!" He was genuinely shocked. He had never heard her use such vulgar talk.
She looked at him and grinned. "All right. So what has she got that I haven't?" Carefully she undid the bun at the back of her head. Her ebony hair came spilling out in a cascade of shining inkiness. She wiggled her head back and forth in order to loosen it, and her immense tits jiggled with every movement.
Melvin could feel his mouth water. He was going to see her titties in daylight. He stared at her in awe and with a vague anxiety crawling up through his scrotum.
"All right, Mel," she said shamelessly, "what does your little whore give you that I can't?"
Suddenly she reached forward and grabbed the bulge in his trousers. Without realizing what was happening, he had become aroused.
He was surprised now at the intensity of his need. Perhaps that was the secret of Dulcie Winslow. She had given him that-she had made him lust for sex all the time now-from any quarter.
"Zahava-"
"Ssshhh, don't say anything." She came forward and snaked her free arm around his neck, pulled his open mouth down to her moist, humid lips. Her huge breasts, expanded with years of motherhood, ballooned against his chest.
Her hot, searching tongue wound around the insides of his mouth, caressing his teeth and tongue while her energizing hand continued to impart its own electricity to his balls. Suddenly he heard the sound of his fly coming open. Zahava knelt swiftly in front of him like an abject slave of olden times, her dark hair swirling around her shoulders. "Zahava, what in the-"
She reached inside his shorts and fondled his cock, bringing it into the light of day. Already it was pulsating and meaty, rich with a thick tracery of bulging blue veins. A little groan of desire escaped her as she took his meaty cock into her hot, yearning mouth.
"Oh, God," he murmured, his fingers pressing into her hair.
Her searing tongue cajoled and licked, caressed. Her hungry lips struggled after his milky offering, sucking masterfully-lips so moist and full, so swollen with the heat of earnest sensuality that he felt himself being carried away on a great tide of warm, steaming ecstasy.
His fingers curled in her glossy black hair, controlling her eager head as it moved. A great swelling pleasure seeped through his agonized flesh. It was like being made out of cotton candy and being licked by a little girl at the circus. It was heaven. His buttocks began to jerk slightly. His belly was spasming.
"Don't bite..." he whispered, and she heeded him, making him spasm, stiffen and clutch at her head all the more. The fierce erotic pleasure that burned through him was so lewd that he wanted to die in the flame of it.
Gradually it built toward its quenching explosion. His body stiffened and arched as his aching flesh yearned for that magnificent release. And then it came-wave after wave of joy that made his body shudder as it spurted down her thirsty throat. Her mouth accepted greedily this naked tribute to her ability...
She stood up and smoothed her dress as he leaned backward, weakened, gasping for air against the kitchen table.
"There-that wasn't so bad, was it?" she said.
A sigh escaped his parted lips. It had been tremendous. Zahava had the huge, cavernous mouth so necessary for perfect cocksucking. It was bizarre. He had never expected ... that Zahava should be so expert...
"Where the hell did you learn that?" he demanded.
She grinned slyly. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she said mysteriously. Then she wound her way out of the kitchen. He stared after her, partly mad, partly curious, partly angry to think that she had perhaps practiced this lovely rite with someone else at one time or another. Forgetting totally about Dulcie, he dropped his bag of purchases on the dining room table and stamped toward the bedroom.
Zahava had lain down as if for a nap, her eyes closed, a dreamy sort of coquettish smile on her full cherry lips. Her bosom heaved as if she were giving birth, spilling forth abundantly from the tight bodice of her house dress, the skirt of which had slipped all the way up her sturdy thighs.
Her legs were full and warm. In earlier years he had often thought that they were the most exciting things about her. They were full in the thighs, with slender knees that tapered into well-rounded calves, finally descending into very tiny ankles and feet. It was easy to imagine those sensual legs locked licentiously around one's hips, driving, jerking, spasming.
From where he stood he could also see the underside of her panties. A faint aroma pervaded the room that seemed to come from-
She was wearing no stockings, so that nothing was attached to the see-through panties. A jungle of dark foliage like a black diamond made the setting for the joining of her legs. Wisps of it curled around the edges of her panties.
For a moment he wondered vaguely if he were up to it, and then he discovered with some astonishment that he was.
He gulped. He had never in his life been so spontaneously excitable. At least not since he was a teen-ager!
"Where are the kids?" he asked lamely as he began undoing his trousers again.
"Playing outside, maybe. Don't worry about it. Let's go." She lifted her hand airily and her legs fell mindlessly open.
"I asked you before where you learned what you did to me just now," he said. He had finished undressing and dropped his clothes to the floor. Her thighs were open.
She didn't reply. She just smiled mysteriously and pressed the fingers of one hand down between her legs, rubbing herself ever so delicately.
"Aren't you going to give me any, Mel? I need it so bad. Come on-please..."
"Are you going to tell me where you learned to suck cock like that? Or am I going to have to beat the answer out of you?"
She looked up at him and sneered. "You're not man enough. Come on, quit your kidding."
That was the last straw. Uttering a low, guttural snarl of anger and impatience, he grabbed the front of her dress and ripped it violently, leaving the buttons scattered all over the floor.
"You-you-you bastard!" she screamed.
He laughed with the pleasure of getting her angry at last. Her huge, bulbous tits quivered with her fury, the tremendous dark aureoles very wide and dark, shaking like dark-brown egg yolk. He reached down and grabbed one of her nipples, twisting it savagely.
She screamed in pain.
"How's that-you bitch!" With his left hand he swung widely around and delivered a fiercely stinging slap to her other titty.
She cried out again, thrashing her legs and starting to get up. "Melvin-have you lost your mind? What in the hell?"
Doubling his fist, he used his arm as a club and knocked her powerfully back down again. Then he proceeded to pummel her thrashing body, stroking her savagely on her wildly kicking legs, stomach and breasts. Each time he saw a blue mark rise, a deep glow of satisfaction welled up in him that was like nothing he'd ever known before.
A low growl was beginning to grow in his throat. He felt swift shots of ecstasy cascading through him. He was amazed that an act of brutality could so turn him on, surprised that Zahava's pain could act as a catalyst for his pleasure.
"Melvin, stop!" she pleaded, but he struck her again and again, flailing at her dangling watermelon breasts as if they were soft punching bags. He felt their softness spill over his hands, he watched her squirm in a weird mixture of agony-and delight! Zahava was enjoying this too!
As this realization dawned on him, he was astonished, then pleased. What they had been missing all these years by not trying every possible lewd combination of sensual satisfaction! He was just beginning to appreciate the possibilities that lay open.
He grabbed her nipples fiercely and twisted them until he thought they would bleed. She screamed and squirmed, her voluptuous mother's body thrashing wildly.
He dropped his mouth to her tremendously distended nipples and bit at them savagely, threatening to rip them off of her expanding blue-veined breasts. Then his fingers ripped away at the thin material of her panties. It came away in shreds in his hands and his fingers plunged.
Her body clenched, arched fiercely upward as he plunged his fingers deep into her steaming hot cunt. She mouthed vulgarities he had never even dreamed she knew. Her back bent passionately as she squirmed against his raping fingers. He prodded her without mercy, squirming his hand all over her juicy red gash, poking it in and out, meeting every wild movement of her twisting flesh. She was a combination of lightning and fire. Dropping onto her with a throaty little moan of desire, his throbbing prick sought her volcanic hole ... and he entered that lava-filled aperture.
"Oh! Melvin!" She moaned and began sobbing. "Give it to me ... fuck me, Melvin ... fuck me ... God fuck me ... fuck me ... harder ... harder ... Give it to me good and hard ... hard! That's it ... keep moving ... don't ... aaahhh ... help..."
David closed the door to a thin crack as he watched his parents. He had often wanted to fuck his mother between her legs, but his peenie was so small-he was only nine-that she had always insisted that he put it only into her ass. Now as he watched his father brutally assaulting his mother, he could think of only one thing. He whipped out his tiny little prick and began softly to massage it.
* * *
Dulcie had been waiting for an hour and a half before she saw Melvin's car come spinning around the corner.
Originally she had been waiting for him to call her at home, but when he hadn't she had just supposed that he was probably waiting for her at the park. She had taken one of the family's cars without her dad's consent and driven to Evansmette Park.
Now, as she watched Melvin come down the street, she was glad she had waited. She felt a deep sigh of relief well up in her chest and expunge itself in the cool spring night air.
"Hi. Get in," he said coldly through the window of the Plymouth as he came alongside her.
She didn't say anything, just climbed in.
She couldn't repress a shudder of desire sitting next to him. She could still feel the meaty thrust of his rod raping her ass-hole. She looked down at the black hairs on the back of his hands as they handled the steering wheel with such confidence. The blackness of that hair seemed to her to impart to him an aura of great strength. She couldn't forget that only a little while ago those hands had made her quiver with passionate happiness, had helped to impart to her a tremendous explosion of joyous delight. A man with a cock like his could have any girl he wanted, she thought.
Norman Thornton hadn't been anywhere near as good. For some reason, she had it for Melvin. Maybe it was the darkness of his hairy body; maybe it was because he was so much older; maybe it was because he was such a marvelous, exquisite ass-fuck. Whatever it was, she got a thrill from him that shot her to the moon-a succession of orgasms, each more explosive than the last. She had never dreamed that so much pleasure could exist in the world.
Melvin didn't say anything. He stared straight ahead. He had a rough idea where Wilmette Harbor was, and he didn't feel like asking directions. The experience with Zahava had left him feeling quite mellowed.
He had never dreamed that his wife could be capable of kicking up such a fuss sexually. She seemed a totally different woman now. Where had she learned it all? Could she possibly have had a lover during their marriage? Were all of the children really his? Or had she just had a lot of experience before marriage? And why had she called out David's name when he was eating her? It was true that many Jewish women were passionately attached to their sons...
He looked over at Dulcie. Because of this little platinum-blonde beauty of the firm young breasts, he had indirectly managed to uncover a side of his wife he'd never even guessed at.
What other secrets did his friends and acquaintances conceal about their private lives? Were they all hedonists marching around in masks?
"There it is," Dulcie said.
He had been so deep in thought he had almost missed the turn-off. He put his arm out to singal and swerved off sharply down to the right, down a dark gravel road that led steeply to the harbor. The night was pitch black.
"Where's the boat?"
"Down there. It's that cruiser with the coat of arms on the spinnaker. See it?"
He nodded. He saw the boat. Outlined in the full of the moon, it looked like a ghostly cross between a pirate ship and a slave-smuggling vessel of the nineteenth century. He applied the brakes slightly and spun gravel as they approached it.
It was some cruiser, all right. Sleeping four in double cabins, it had every possible convenience. The lights went on in a jiffy, and he began rummaging through his sack. Dulcie busied herself for the moment by looking around.
He dumped everything out on a galley table and began arranging things. He checked the water from a convenient sink tap-it was fresh, and the guage showed plenty more available. A stove stood near to the sink, and a pantry opened on a wide assortment of utensils, plates, pots and pans.
"Melvin..." came a syrupy voice. He looked around and, dropping everything, walked back to the cabins.
"Over here," came the voice. His head shot to the right to discover Dulcie lying on her back on one of the bunks, her right leg propped up, her slender arm resting in back of her platinum-gold hair. She was wearing a tight red sweater that outlined starkly the matchless points of her straining young tits. Beneath that was a tight blue miniskirt that clung to all the right places. Her young body moved on the bed with graceful little feline jerks.
From where he stood, Melvin could look down Dulcie's propped-up knee, down her thigh to the tabs that connected her hose to her pink panties, through which a white hump shone enticingly. "What-what is it?"
"Come here." She tapped the side of the bed imperiously.
He went and sat down by her side. The bunk gave and she slid over next to him. Her eyes were closed and her slender fingers fell on his thigh.
He studied the long, tapering clear nails of her fingers, the fine hands with their total absence of hair. Her pink lips were parted and a very delicate tongue shone through. He wondered idly whether or not she would...
Gazing down at her rosy pink cheeks, the fluttering dark eyelashes on her cheekbones, the finely molded face, he knew he would have to insist. . .
His shoes dropped to the floor. His fly came undone. Suddenly he was clambering over her. He mounted her upper body, then pushed his cock toward her waiting open mouth.
At first her lips teased him. Her tongue flicked maddeningly at the underside of his penis, and his entire body trembled. But then she took him inside ... those rubbery soft lips clinging over the ridges, advancing. He felt as if every nerve ending in his body was sliding forward into molten lava. Her young mouth was so eager. She licked at him, caressed with her tongue; her slender teen-age hands reached up and fondled as she chewed.
He felt a deep well of pleasure seeping up like lava through a fissure. She accepted everything and cried for more as he bumped the back of her throat. Her head bobbed back and forth. He pressed his fingers into her glistening hair and moaned in delirium.
Then he approached ... paused ... approached again ... and suddenly went off in a supreme spasm of fire, a delirious spinning over and over into space...
Afterward he lay gasping by her feet, stretched across the lower end of the bunk. Her fingers curled delicately in the damp curls of his hair. "That was great," he murmured with reverence.
She smiled softly to herself but said nothing.
His lips were pressed accidentally against the sleek smoothness of her stockinged calf. Suddenly he realized that he owed her something. He reached upward and undid her stocking tabs with trembling fingers, then slid her hose downward to let them festoon around her ankles. The warmth of her teen-age flesh closed in around his nostrils. He followed her skin with sucking little bites up to the milky sheen of her quiveringly expectant thighs.
The deliciousness of those young thighs made him giddy with obscene desire. A demanding perfume was coming from the direction of her cunt, enveloping him in its overpowering muskiness...
His lips continued their mad journey. Her young body began to jerk and twitch. A series of small moans echoed from her squirming, twisting lips, misshapen by passion.
His fingers reached for the delicate waistband of her panties and inserted themselves inward. He found an oozing heat in the folds of her hot young pussy which immediately began working to dissolve his fingernails.
The panties came down-there she was in a blinding glare of milky softness. His mouth worked ardently up her thighs, sucking, biting, nibbling. His hands caressed her thrashing legs. Her entire body was a fiercely squirming mass of sensuality.
"Do it," she panted, fingers in his hair. "Do it ... lick me ... lick my cunt ... oh, please..."
His mouth glued to the juicy folds of her cunt and she gave a jerk that splattered her cum all over his face, her fingers pulling his his hair. His lips and tongue worked fiercely as he chewed and licked her gaping red gash, surrounded by the musky steam of her passion. Then her hips began jerking violently, back and forth in time with his lips ... and she began to fly, fly ... He could see her shoot straight for the moon on a thrill older than time...
"Dear God! GOD!" A great scream of joy rose from her pink throat that threatened to capsize the entire boat, and perspiration began running from her shuddering teen-age flesh...
CHAPTER 7
SUSAN had fixed Alan Williams an excellent dinner and now, afterward, as he sat in his big leather easy chair reading the News, feet propped up on his favorite ottoman, he began wondering if domesticity was such a bad deal after all.
He watched her from the corner of his eye with interest as she worked at tidying up the small kitchen. Her movements were fluid and graceful, and her long orange hair swirled around her deftly moving figure, outlined like flame against the green of her dress. Her young body had a lithe gracefulness to it; slim and yet masterfully full-breasted-sumptuous pears of perfect firmness, with nipples like black diamonds that distended half an inch whenever they were touched. The memory of their deliciousness was still full in his mouth.
He watched her walk away with a growing sense of urgency. The sway of her youthful hips was exciting. He knew very well the slender smoothness of that firm young body...
He stood up quickly and dropped the newspaper to the carpet.
She didn't appear to hear him as he approached her. She was working at the sink and didn't give any attention to the sound of his zipper dropping, or the loosening of his belt buckle. He reached into his underwear and freed his erection. Then he came up behind her and put his arms around her. "Alan!"
"Shut up, you cunt." He pressed his mouth into the delicate curvature of her creamy neck and bit it savagely.
She struggled in his grasp. "Wait-"
"Now!" he insisted. Bearing down with all of his manly weight, he forced her to her knees, then pushed up her skirt to reveal frilly yellow panties.
She was already squirming and moist as his fingers found her cunt. Pulling her panties aside, he climbed on top of her from the rear, forcing his iron hardness up the crack of her ass.
He met with a great deal of resistance; her ass-hole was very dry. But he didn't care. He continued to force her anus with all of the male power at his command. He located her properly, and...
"Oooohhh..."
She exulted and her slender body jerked backward as he finally rammed himself home. His body lay across her, his face in her glowing orange hair. She was still propped up on her hands and knees, supporting both of them, as he struggled for lubrication.
Finally her rectum began to moisten, his prick slid easier ... then he was spinning through her with terrific speed and mastery, back and forth, as her squirming young ass wriggled from side to side in an earnest desire to help.
A deep cry of exultation erupted from his lips as he exploded his gunk into her, and a series of thrills rippled through his ecstatic flesh as he finished.
He climbed off of her and sank down onto the kitchen floor. "Whew," he murmured.
She smiled and lay down next to him. Her lips extended in a kiss and their mouths met lightly. She said, "Not bad for just a kid, huh?"
There it was again. The implied threat. Twenty years for statutory rape. She was way under-age.
But could he kill her and remove her threat? Was that in him?
The thought had run through his mind quite a bit during the last twenty-four hours. He gave a low grunt and picked himself up from the floor. He glanced at her once, then retreated to the living room where he picked up the newspaper again.
It was several moments before he noticed her again. She was still on the kitchen floor, but now she had her bare legs spread and her fingers were dug deep inside the rim of her panties. Wisps of orange hair curled up from them. She was making love to herself. Her hand moved like a pile driver and she whimpered strange little slogans. Alan felt himself go hot again just watching her. What a marvelous little piece!
He got up and went into the kitchen again. She was really there, on the floor, her skirt up around her waist, her fingers inside of her panties, her body locked in a torment of self-manipulation.
Her body arched and strained, her head straining back, the blue veins pulsing vigorously in her young neck. Her eyes were closed, and she was oblivious to everything in the world except her own passion. She had unbuttoned the front of her dress and loosened her brassiere, so that one immense tit was falling out, its huge dark aureole pulsing with life, its nipple hardened and distended as her free hand manipulated it, pulling and fondling.
He watched her for several moments before she finally made it with a profound series of whimpers and hoarse cries, then climaxing with a moan of great depth.
The sweat poured out on her forehead as she opened her eyes and looked at him. "I couldn't help it," she said. "I had to."
He smiled and whispered, "You sex-crazed little jailbait."
She looked at him, her eyes smoldering. "That's right, and you'd better not forget it."
There it was again. The threat. He felt a tentacle of pain in his chest.
"I'm just a kid and you've been using my nice body," she said accusingly.
"Using you?" he snarled at her. "You're goddamned right! Of course I've just been using you! I wanted to have a nice little red-haired piece to fuck and you filled the bill. But as for who's been using whom, you've been doing some terrific moaning and squirming yourself! Every time I squirt into you, you get a thrill that sends you right to the moon. So don't give me any of that 'using me' crap. I'm the one who's been used-so you could get your rocks off!"
With this last remark he swung wildly and caught her savagely on the side of the head. She crumpled up like a rag doll at his feet.
"Come on." He motioned her with his toe. "Quit your faking."
Suddenly his face went very serious. "Susan?" He knelt down beside her. A worried look came into his eyes. The side of her head was filling with blood.
He pushed up the lids of her eyes, then picked up her hand to feel her pulse. It was weak, but it was there. He felt a vast wave of relief. She was alive! For just a second he had thought-had been afraid-
He picked her up and carried her over to the couch. She was mercifully unconscious. What a blunder. He should never have struck her before he was ready, never have allowed her to egg him on...
What now? For one thing, there was a good possibility she would scream bloody murder when she came to. He could go to jail for years-his entire life finished, ruined by this one catastrophe! In one fell swoop, all of his great plans would be wiped clean from the slate. All his struggles-worthless.
What would she get out of it? The profound sympathy of the community, no doubt. More likely than not, her name would not even be released to the newspapers.
He could go to jail for a million years, but she, she would merely spend a few days weeping in court and then return to school with the excuse that she had been sick. And she would never hear of him again. College would be hers, and mature beauty and all the lucky things that went with it.
And he-he would just rot.
No, there was no getting around it. He would have to get rid of her. Tonight.
He looked out the window. The twilight had come up very fast. He tried to think of where the best place would be for him to-
He had an interesting idea: Why not make it appear as if she had been raped and murdered by some sort of sadist? If she was knifed beyond recognition ... In any case, it would eliminate any suspicion of himself. Who could be less suspect of such a monstrous crime than a schoolteacher?
Still, he couldn't help but wonder...
She stirred on the couch and he was instantly alarmed. The chance that she might wake up screaming was terrifying. He quickly ran to the cupboard and came back with a large paring knife. Then it occurred to him that he couldn't have her bleeding all over his apartment...
He dropped the knife and searched for something blunter. Finally he came up with a rusty old hammer he had brought with him from home in Iowa.
Home. What a word. If his mother could see him now, preparing to bludgeon a young girl to death ... He shook his head.
A moan came from the living room as Susan stirred. Grabbing up a towel, he raced into the next room.
Her young body was writhing, contorted, on the couch. Small, incoherent moans broke from her bloodied mouth, revealing darkly bloodstained teeth-teeth that only moments before had been a perfect pearly white.
He wrapped the dish towel around the head of the hammer and approached her. There was a fierce pounding in his brain. Every nerve in his body seemed to be exposed on the surface of his freezing flesh.
"God..." he whispered. He gazed down at her beautiful churning body and felt his throat choke off with a lump the size of an asteroid.
"Susan..." he whispered. But as he said this, she suddenly reached out one gnarled, searching hand and he was horrified. Unable to stand the anxiety any longer, he struck out wildly.
Something had snapped in his mind. Now it was not a human being pummeling this helpless teen-age girl, but a raving animal.
He brought down the hammer again and again. The first time it broke her left cheekbone and her face seemed to cave in into a shapeless mass. As he continued to pound it, emitting low, savage growls, Susan's dying face progressively took on the look of some sort of red putty that might be in use in college art class. It quickly caved in, lost consistency. Bone structure disappeared, the nose was broken, teeth knocked down her dying throat, her helpless skull caved in as if it were made of plastic.
"Alan..." that dead face whispered. He jumped out of his skin; he screamed; he dove at her again in ruthless, merciless terror, striking again and again. All the time that long red hair, so alive and vital, mocked him with its vigor as it swirled around the destroyed death's head.
"Die, damn you!" he screamed, and he continued, continued, continued...
It seemed like hours before he was able to see light again. The dead body of the girl came as a shock for just a moment, and then he remembered.
He picked himself up off the floor and staggered to the kitchen. Splashing his face with cold water in the kitchen sink, he knew just what he had to do next.
He would take her body down to Wilmette Harbor. . .
He sat down to think out carefully all of his movements. Meanwhile his eyes rested on her deceased flesh. She was putrefying already. Alan laughed crazily. She had threatened him.
He walked over to where she lay on the couch and drew out his cock, fondling it. Uttering a crazy laugh, he passed it over her blood-soaked lips.
CHAPTER 8
NORMAN Thornton had played baseball all afternoon with some of his friends in the lot in back of Evansmette High. Now, coming home tired and dusty, he felt the need of something cool and soothing.
"I'm home," he called out as he entered the kitchen, banging the back door against the wall. But there was no answer from the silent house.
He shrugged and pulled open the refrigerator door. He reached for a jar of grape juice and also picked up an apple and placed it between his teeth. He kicked the refrigerator door shut and walked over to the kitchen table.
Taking the apple from his teeth, he called out, "Ma?" There was no answer and he sat down, starting to eat. He chomped the apple and opened the jar of grape juice.
Just then there was a rustle of activity from another part of the first floor. He looked up.
"Hello, Norman." It was his mother. She rustled in some sort of print kitchen outfit, all middle-aged smile, bent down and kissed him lightly as she went. "Have a good day, dear?" she said as she busied herself about the kitchen.
"Sure, Mom." Now that she was here, he studied her as he drank the juice. His eyes fastened firmly to her steadily moving figure. She was in her forties, but she was still buxomly put together with a trace of voluptuous girlhood. His mother still had a tremendous and unusually firm bust. He remembered very well her abnormally enlarged aureoles that were as big as his palm, the strong stout legs that he saw daily. She was still all right ... all right. . .
No, that was too absurd to even conceive of.
God, what am I thinking of? he thought lamely. She's my mother.
"Your father had to work late tonight," Mrs. Thornton said. She was baking something, leaning over the stove and peering into the open door. Her lusty thighs shone full and strong where her dress lifted up over her nicely curved ass.
"Oh?" Norman said carefully.
"Yes, but that's all right-I'll just hold dinner a little later, that's all."
"Mmmmmm." Norman nodded. His father would be late. "Tracy home?" he asked casually.
"No, but she'll be home soon. She went shopping with some girl friends after school. Why?" She looked at him curiously, he thought. Or was that just guilty conscience?
"Oh, nothing." He fumbled around in his jeans pocket for a moment, feeling his cock harden, then he just walked out of the kitchen without a word.
That was close, he thought. I thought sure she was going to see it.
He warned himself to stop thinking about his mother. The way she had straightened up and made little movements around the stove had turned him on something terrible. After he closed the door to his room he lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling and began slowly masturbating.
The screen door opened downstairs. He heard his sister's voice. Reflexively he jumped out of bed, zipping up his jeans as he went. He met her tripping up the stairs, her brown curls rippling down the curve of her back, her full firm tits pointed like shields against the tight blue of her sweater.
"Hi, Norman," she said cheerily. "Hi," he said, then added in a lower voice, "Get in here as soon as you can. Okay."
"Okay."
He must have waited for a good half-hour, smoking one cigarette after another.
But she turned out to be well worth waiting for. She entered his room wearing a pale chiffon negligee that had little holes for the tips of her breasts to shine through. Her nipples were rosy with lipstick.
"Like it?" she asked, whirling around.
The breath caught in his throat. like it! He wanted to eat her up!
"Get over here," he ordered, "in a hurry!"
"Yes, Norman." Her face turned puzzled, but then she saw the size of his erection. "Goodness," she murmured, "what have you been doing all afternoon?" Without another word, she got up on the bed beside him.
Norman had pushed down his jeans and underwear, and she took them completely off for him. He stiffened as her long brown hair tickled across his thighs, kneecaps and calves. As she dropped his jeans to the floor, she impulsively bent down and kissed his toes. Then something seemed to seize her. She took his big toe completely into her mouth, washing her tongue over it, sucking, drawing it out desperately-as if it were a cock. He groaned in agony as her hair flowed over his legs, and then one of her dainty little hands did reach for his cock.
Her fingers caressed his balls and penis, the long nails scraping. Her right hand held his foot, fondling it as her mouth exhausted the possibilities of his big toe.
Slowly her lips traveled upward, kissing his ankle now ... His hands reached down feverishly and began pulling at her negligee. He pulled it up over her waist...
He plunged the fingers of his right hand into her buttocks, reaching for the little puckered rosebud. She moaned in surprise and wiggled her ass back onto his hand.
The negligee had come up around her soft white neck, and now she bent so that her hardened nipples grazed maddeningly back and forth over his kneecaps. He felt himself going blind with desire. His cock jerked involuntarily and spat a lick of cum onto her heaving young belly. His teeth chattered in his head.
"Hurry ... please..."
She pushed the full beauty of her gorgeous breasts into his crotch, pushing those pillows against him. uttering little cries of pleasure. He groaned with helplessness, caressing her buttocks, her small waist ... Finally she dropped one of her opulent tits full into his ravenously hungry mouth. With one hand he fondled and caressed her dangling right titty, pinching its pink nipple and pulling it, while her left globe fell directly into his gaping mouth. His tongue and lips took in as much of her shapely tits as his mouth could hold, feeding on it like a man possessed.
"Mmmmmm ... good..."
Then her legs parted. Her hand gripped his cockhead and she positioned him properly. A deep moan of ecstasy shot from her lips as his hips jerked forward, impaling her. He slid into the warm, silky moistness, making her whimper...
He again assaulted her ass-hole with his fingers. This dual siege front and rear made her dead to the world, dead to anything but her own quivering, ecstatic passion.
She rode him up and down for what seemed like an eternity, and Norman felt little explosions well up in him like a string of Chinese firecrackers.
And then she made it. He thought the scream that echoed from her young lips would make the walls fall down. She fell across him in a dead-to-the-world heat.....
Suddenly Mrs. Thornton's footsteps were on the stairs. Norman jumped from the bed. He pulled and dragged Tracy to the connecting door, opened it and shoved her into her own room. "Cut yourself on something quick!" he told her, and then he ran for the door to the hall, grabbing a towel as he went.
Just in time to catch his mother at Tracy's door.
"What is it, Mom?"
She jerked her hand away from the knob. "I thought I heard your sister scream."
"Yeah, I think she did. We'd better find out what it's all about." He went over to Tracy's door and took the doorknob from her. His mother took a quick step backward and he opened the door.
Tracy was sitting at her dressing table-stark naked. The negligee had fallen around her glistening full thighs. She was holding her right hand, which was bleeding. She looked up as they entered. "Hi," she said gaily.
"What happened?" her mother wanted to know.
"Oh, nothing. Just cut myself on these scissors." She held up a pair of sewing scissors.
"And how did you do that? Is that anything to rattle the windows about? I thought there was a banshee up here."
Norman laughed and put his hand on his mother's shoulder. "Now, Mom."
"I did, too." She shrugged his hand off, and looked down at Tracy as if she were seeing her for the first time-the huge uptilted breasts with their rosy points, the flat girlish belly with its kiss-nook dimple, the round hips, the thighs, the smoothness of her daughter's flesh everywhere, the pulsing vein in her clean young neck, the long hair, the soft down between her legs, the sparkling eyes and full, pouting lips...
Mrs. Thornton gulped and turned around on her heel. She didn't want to look any further. She wanted only to get downstairs to the kitchen. It didn't occur to her until after she was in the hall again, that Norman was still in the room with his naked sister.
"Norman, come out here at once!"
"Yes, Mom." He stepped out of Tracy's bedroom, closing the door gently behind him. "What is it?"
She looked him up and down. He was naked, too, except for the small towel that only went halfway around him. She couldn't help but notice the firmness of his youthful vigor, the flat, muscled hardness of his young body, the way the skin clung tightly to bone and sinew. His father used to look like that, she found herself thinking involuntarily-the long, sturdy swimmer's legs, the broad shoulders, the wiriness, the long blonde hair and clean boyish face...
With something clutching at her throat, she whirled from him, hurrying down the spiral staircase.
She looked back up at him once, and he was still looking at her, eyes coldly appraising. And she knew that now something had changed-that whatever this house had become, it would never ever quite be the same again.
* * *
Melvin had left Dulcie unconscious below deck and thrown the aborted fetus in the harbor. Now he gave himself some time to look at the stars.
But stars weren't all that he saw.
Quite a ways across the water from where he stood, on the dock in front of th? boats, an eerie figure was bustling about in the moonlight. Carrying something that seemed to be weighted at the legs. Odd, Melvin thought, why did I choose to call that end "Legs"?
The man was stooped by the weight of his package. It must have been about five feet long, quite bulky, and wrapped in a sort of blanket affair.
Melvin watched with no small fascination as the man appeared to look around, then heaved with a distinct grunt the ponderous burden from his shoulders. It went into the water with a splash.
Melvin didn't understand why, but he felt unaccountably nervous. That he had watched such a strange performance, however fleeting, was remarkable enough in itself. Now, would he compound the mystery by just standing complacently by while the distant, unseeable figure departed once more into the darkness?
Acting more by reflex than anything else, and full of curiosity, he reached into his back pocket and came up with his flashlight. As the figure on the pier stood there, Melvin shone it full on the side of the mystery man's face.
"Hey!" The man threw up his arms.
It's that speech instructor, Melvin thought. Whatsisname.
Alan Williams disappeared as fast as his legs could carry him. Now he was just the sound of rustling in the distant trees.
Very peculiar, Melvin thought. Probably dumping some garbage. He tried to think of how Zahava might looked wrapped up like that, tied at both ends like a hunk of meat. . .
He shook his head as if to relieve it of its silliness. Then he hurried below. Immense thunderstorm clouds, lifting their anvil heads high into the towering sky, began to roar up overhead, threatening a second deluge. The sky rumbled like an angry old bear. He would have to see how Dulcie was feeling.
* * *
As soon as the downpour started, Norman got out of bed and went to the connecting door.
Tracy was sleeping like a baby, her hot little hand still clutched around her throbbing tit. Sheet and blanket had been thrown off, and her other hand rested low in her snatch, one digit slowly fingering her slit. A warm smile rested on her sleeping face.
Still moving almost soundlessly, Norman went down the hall to his mother's room. Stark lightning flashed in the huge windows that held each end of the long second-floor corridor. The wind roared and whistled, rattling the panes and chandeliers downstairs. Thunderbolts shook the heavens with a deep, rolling swell of sound that was like eternal drums.
He knocked softly at Mrs. Thornton's door. "Mother?"
"Who-who is it?" He could picture her pulling the covers up over her massive tits.
He opened the door. "It's me-Norman."
"Oh!"
"I couldn't sleep," he said as he walked across the room, closing the door behind him.
She looked nervous and pulled the blankets tighter over her breasts. "Well-what do you want?" she demanded in a voice that struggled to be authoritative.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and she backed awkwardly away. After all, he hadn't actually done anything yet. How could she explain that she felt nervous and ill-at-ease about her own son?
"Where's Dad?" he said right off.
"Your father stayed in town tonight because of the storm warnings-and he had dinner with some friends."
"I got scared when the lightning and thunder started up. Is it all right if I stay in here with you for a while? Just until it lets up?" He fingered the edges of her blankets.
"Why, I-"
"Gosh, Mom, I'm terrified. No kidding." He looked up and around. "Every time that thunder rolls off I turn into a trembling ball of terror." Congratulating his literary imagination, he went on mournfully, "I wish you'd let me stay in here until it clears up..."
"Norman ... I don't see how ... you never before had this sort of reaction..."
"Please," he begged.
Confused, she stammered, "Well, I suppose it would be all right-for a little while..."
"Gee thanks, Mom." He wasted no time in getting under the covers.
"Norman!" She shrank from him as if he were bearing bubonic plague.
He looked at her innocently, his long lashes and blue eyes combining to make a singularly helpless picture. "What's wrong, Mom?" He stretched himself out to full length under the covers. "Gosh, if Dad was here, of course, I could stay with him-"
For some reason the thought of that upset her even more. She fell silent, not having the slightest idea of what to say or do.
When Mrs. Loralee Thornton went to bed, she always let down her long dark hair. She had never had it cut, and it swam all around her lovely face, her shoulders, and what Norman could glimpse of her nightgown. The periodic lightning made her a very clear picture, the eyes staring at him in amazement, the pouting moist red mouth, the promise of bulging tremendous tits beneath those quivering blankets that she had held tight in her tiny hands.
"Go on to sleep, Ma," he told her, and he turned over on his side, seeming to accidentally graze her leg with his as he did so. She winced as if electric fire had shot up through her thighs. Her heart began to race as she studied his square shoulders, his slender hips-the hips she had given him.
It was with some misgiving that she turned away from him toward the wall.
Norman smiled to himself. Soon she would be fast asleep. He had all night. He would take her very slowly, with finesse.
He was already in an excruciating pain of desire. He gripped his cock and ran his hand along its throbbing length. He wondered if she had noticed-the bottom part of his pajamas was sticking out a mile. He ran his finger over the tip of his prick. Already cum was starting to ooze outward.
Of course there was no way for her to reasonably throw him out of bed without creating a scene-she didn't want to look like a fool. In any case, after a while she began to calm down, and then she discovered sleep just as Norman had supposed that she would.
With her asleep, he very carefully edged over to her so that their bodies were touching. He could feel the warmth exuded by her hips. He passed his hands over her wonderfully large round buttocks, pushed his fingers in between them. The silky hairs between her ass cheeks descended to become more wiry between her legs. He could feel the lightly moistening folds of her pussy, and all of a sudden he was fiercely excited, his cock bouncing up and back. Mrs. Thornton moaned desperately, deep in a sweet dream of something terribly lewd.
Slowly her left leg lifted to allow his hand greater freedom. He shucked off his pajama bottoms and his cock pressed forward, following his searching fingers. She moaned in delirium, sounding as if she were crying, her breath coming in a high, fluted whistle.
Norman drooled. She was wet as the inside of a fish's mouth. Very carefully he lifted her nightgown. There was her great and glorious ass in full view. He put his hands on her cheeks and strained forward, his prick reaching for her moist, steaming black hole. Then a pounding wave of pleasure surged through him-he had penetrated!
"Uuuhhh ... " she moaned, and then she started making little gargling noises deep in her throat as he pulled his prick in and out of her juicy insides. He sank into her deep vat of moisture with an exultant moan, pulled out, and went swimmingly forward, again, again ... Mrs. Thornton's body lurched forward as he began pumping her.
"Go-go-go-go-go-" he whispered, every muscle in his body straining. The cords of his neck stood out as he agonized into her. He buried his face in her long fragrant hair and reached around to clutch at her massive breasts, fondling her huge nipples desperately with his fingers...
"Uuuuh-uh-uhhhh..." Mrs. Thornton moaned and whimpered in delirium-and then he knew that she was making it; her body arched and she screamed out loud.
And then he made it-slowly at first, and then with mounting heat. Finally his young body began to shudder in an ecstasy more fantastic than anything he had ever known in his life.
CHAPTER 9
"MOM! Mom! Mom! Oh, oh..."
"Norman-my God! What are you doing!" She squirmed forward to get him out of her.
Norman spat the last load of gunk into her cunt and let out a low, long whistle, falling back bathed in sweat. He looked at her through half-lidded eyes and gave a little smile. "Come on, Mom, don't be such an old fuddy-duddy."
She screamed and scampered away from him and he struggled after her, grabbing her waist.
"Gee, Mom..."
She fell over the edge of the bed, her hair disheveled, and glared up at him, "If your father knew what you were doing, he'd thrash you within an inch of your life-he might even kill you!"
"Aw, heck, Mom..." He reached down and inside her negligee. Before she could stop him, he was fondling one of her mammoth tits.
"Oh, my God..." she murmured as he prolonged that sincere titillation.
He had found her left nipple. It had become huge, hard, and distended, and he worked on it purposefully. "Gee, Mom," he went on convincingly, "you wouldn't let Dad kill your own little baby, would you? Your own little sonny boy? Who loves fucking you so much?"
Her only answer was a muffled gurgle. Finally he grabbed her by the arms and lifted her back onto the bed, removing her gown as he did so. She let it spin up over her head without protest. Almost immediately he began nuzzling one of her furry dark armpits, simultaneously pulling at her nipples with his fingers.
She moaned and whimpered in helpless desperation.
He was pleased to see how full and firm her belly was. He caressed it gently with his left hand.
Her legs were stout and very long. The thick jungle between them was a heavenly dark oasis of warmth. Her waist was still small, and her tits-they were the moist immense pendant punching bags he had ever seen in his life!
Working furiously, he finally prodded her into a position in which she was kneeling on all fours above him, her cunt dripping on his hard young legs. Mrs. Thornton looked very dizzy, as if she didn't believe she really existed. Her nipples were a very dark brown and huge-like those of a colored woman-and they hung, distended, inches in front of his face. He reached up and pulled them down to his hungry lips.
"Nor ... man ... Oh ... oh..."
His mouth first grabbed the huge dark nipple of her swinging left tit, sucking it deeply into his ravenous maw, practically pulling it down his throat. It was so big that it practically filled his young mouth.
His hands were at work, too. He reached up with both hands to try to encompass her hanging tits, but he couldn't do it-they were too large. He pulled on them, manipulated them, trying to draw them out.
Mrs. Thornton whined in torment. "Do you like those, sweetie boy?" she asked, her eyes half-closed in delirium.
He tried to express his delight, but could only get out some weak, muffled noises, afraid that he might lose her tits if he let go. And it tasted so good.
But he needn't have worried-she was helping him now. She was straddled nicely over his cock, her tremendous tits swinging over him as he grabbed them, fondling, pressing in and out, pulling her titties, letting them balloon around his hands like dough in the hands of a pizza maker.
His mother moaned in agony and desire. From time to time she was letting herself drop onto his cock, then arching back up. The slurping of her cunt lips on the head of his cock was unbearable. Each time a heavy gurgle of desire broke from her lips. She continued to insert him, just a little each time, pulling up and out. Finally she rammed all the way downward, his mighty young rod sluicing savagely upward through her fleshy hot cunt.
"Mama-I-I'm coming!" he blurted.
And then the sweet juice squirted upward and located a well of sensation deep within her lascivious being. Mrs. Thornton shrieked as his scalding hot sperm spattered at the neck of her uterus. And then her head rolled forward and she fell, jerking, across his handsome flesh.
* * *
Dulcie Winslow hadn't been able to sleep very well. The abortion had left her very sore. So she kept going downstairs to the kitchen to fix coffee. Then she'd return upstairs and sit reading a magazine for a while.
Her mother had stayed late at a garden party on the south side and was spending the night at the Windemere Hotel in Hyde Park. She had no idea what her father was up to.
She couldn't help thinking of what a masterful person Melvin was. The way he'd driven into her so relentlessly, sparing her nothing of his Jewish power. Jews were marvelous lovers; she wondered if it had something to do with the fact that they were circumcised. A circumcised prick was attractive and meaty; they had a fat look to them, like sausages.
Melvin had eaten her beautifully, too-his tongue deep in her cunt, juice all over his face. She'd loved eating him, too, and swallowing his jizz. He was delicious.
She got a charge just remembering the way he had looked with her legs wrapped around his dark head, his face deep in her snatch. And she couldn't remember anything so hard, powerful and strong as his cock, his wonderful cock.
The door slammed downstairs. Her father. She heard the tread of his heavy steps on the stairs.
"Dulcie?" The door was pushed open and there he stood, panting, looking disheveled. She wondered what was troubling him. He was in his standard dark suit, briefcase in hand-but he looked somehow ... very anxious.
Her father was not a bad-looking man by anyone's standards. He had considerable white in his hair, which was sexy and distinguished. But his hair was also curly and thick, and framed a very handsome face. He was trim as a movie star.
"Why are you awake at this hour?" he demanded.
"Just fingering my clit," she mumbled, which was true.
"How's that?"
'You know-my honey-pot."
He grabbed her by the wrist and she struggled to break free. "Young lady, you'll give me a straight answer!" As she was sitting up in bed with nothing but a white nightgown on, this movement caused her gown to slip from one shoulder, revealing one magnificently rounded pink tit topped by one delicious palm-sized aureole.
Mr. Winslow gasped and staggered backward. "My Lord," he said, "you're naked!"
She noticed with some satisfaction that a large bulge was appearing at one side of his trousers. Suddenly all caution left her.
"Is that so terrible, Dad?"
He wheezed. "Why-you're nothing-you're nothing but a flagrant hussy!" He backed away from her as if she were the edge of a precipice beyond which lay onTy a roaring hellfire.
She smiled at his outburst and watched the growing bulge of his trousers with increased interest.
Then suddenly he vanished out the door in a huff. Dulcie laughed and rocked back and forth on the bed. This was the first time in her life she had ever seen him genuinely unable to cope.
But her laughter was short-lived. Suddenly he was back at the door-with the longest black leather belt she had ever seen!
"Dad-what-"
She tried to cover her bare tit, but it was too late. The belt came down like a thunderbolt, running liquid fire all over her sensitive young flesh. She screamed out in pain. "Dad-please-"
This time the heavy pointed belt buckle struck fully on her pulsating pink nipple and swacked at her joggling breasts. She screamed again, lurching forward on her haunches.
"I'll teach you, you bitch!" he hollered, continuing to deliver resounding smacks all over her throbbing hot young flesh. Her nightgown came away in shreds, revealing her naked white body, her gorgeous huge tits, her wide soft shoulders, her dimpled flat tummy, the pale cunt hair below her curvaceous belly, the bare creamy legs...
"Oh!" she screamed, trying to get away. But he would not let her escape. As she scrambled fearfully off the bed and crawled across the floor, he brought the belt down fiercely on her lovely white backside. Huge, crisscrossing red welts began to appear on her helpless young flesh. She crawled across the floor like some small animal evading a bird of prey, her white-blonde hair straggling over her body like a frayed shroud.
And then, through all of this perversion, a strange feeling began to assault Dulcie. She looked down at her legs ... moist. Suddenly she realized how excited she had become. As her father brought the belt down again and again, she felt like a slave girl beneath the lash of the dread overseer. The feeling was terrifying-but exciting! She felt herself oozing a tingling warmth that asked only for the dreadful taste of that terrifying lash for its sustenance.
Ecstasy beat through her with a force that could not be ignored...
"Oooohhh..." she moaned with delighted lust each time the belt burst across her helpless flesh. "Daddy ... harder ... oh, please..." she begged.
Mr. Winslow was taken aback. For just a moment he withheld the lash. Could this pleading, begging slave be the same sweet young blonde daughter who had taught Sunday school? To see her so crazed with lust from such an average beating made him tremble, and suddenly he noticed that his trousers seemed very snug.
"Daddy-please-help your little baby..." She held up her hands entreatingly.
"You're a slut!" he yelled. "You deserve damnation!"
"But I'm only a sweet little girl," she begged, crawling across the floor toward him, her titties dragging across the carpet. "Nobody's perfect. Hit me again! Please!"
"You-you-" he stuttered.
She knelt and kissed his shoe tops. Mr. Winslow winced. An electrical sensation coursed through him, as if he was sitting in a bathtub filled with his favorite voltage.
She continued kissing. Her lips were at his shoelaces. She licked them with her tongue.
"You're a helpless little love-slave," he muttered crossly, watching her.
He passed his fingers through his hair, wondering if he was nuts, wondering if he was imagining all this. "You and those globby little things of yours," he muttered.
She was at his kneecaps. Her long-nailed fingers reached up the leg of his pants. He felt her nails scratching his very sensitive shins, curling the hairs on them.
"Sweetheart, you really mustn't-"
But she continued unmercifully. She bit at his kneecap through his trousers, ran her hands up the backs of his thighs, pressed her head between them, reached up and ripped off the buttons of his trousers with a feverish intensity. "Why can't you use zippers?" she demanded. Then her groping hands had his cock poking out from the hood of his shorts, his hairy balls still concealed...
"Aaahhh..." he groaned with lust as her hand pulled him down and aimed him unerringly for her waiting red mouth. Her hot lips were all around his tool, enveloping him in steam. He felt the insides and the undersides and the topsides of her lips. She laved him all over as if he were the only man existing in the world, her tongue tickling and caressing all at the same time. "Aaaahhh-ohhh!"
He felt an ecstasy too great to be borne; and then he could no longer control himself. Swifter than he would have imagined it possible, he erupted in a fury of wanton lust into her whoring mouth, squirting load after load of steaming semen down her throat. She choked and gurgled. Then a great pleased smile washed across her face as she held his shuddering hips and swallowed all he shot into her mouth.
They lay around in bed for several hours after that, trying every imaginable position. He licked her and she licked him. He sawed away in her ass-hole for a good thirty minutes before finally quitting.
Mr. Winslow looked well spent. Dulcie was lying back with her long blonde hair flowing around her body. Her legs caressed each other wantonly and she kept whispering terms of endearment.
"Daddy..."
Every so often her pink hands would reach up to fondle the little nipples on the soft melons of her chest, but her tits were in a very relaxed state.
She sighed and he cradled her head deep in his guilt, almost resentful of the way her gorgeous young body snuggled against him. He smoked his cigarette, deep in thought.
"Dulcie," he said philosophically, "how old were you when you first discovered you were a wanton?"
"Oh, I don't know. Why, Dad?"
He put his arm around her and assumed a very serious tone. "Because, sweetums, it's not going to do at all for you to throw open your legs every time you feel like having your daddy throw one into you. People have ugly words for that kind of thing."
"What kind of words?"
"Unprintable," he said mysteriously.
"I should think it would be worse if I had sexual relations with just anyone-a stranger, for instance."
He shook his head dolefully and ran his fingers through his whitening hair. "Not in our society, sweetheart. You'd be better off throwing open your legs to the garbage collector than to your old dad."
She looked miffed and made a pouting face.
Mr. Winslow sighed. There was no getting along with teen-agers these days.
Suddenly Dulcie got up on her knees and swung around in front of him, her full, firm tits brushing his face. "You like these, don't you, Daddy?" He grinned and she grabbed his cock, stiff as a pike, and squeezed it gently in her soft hand. She straddled her legs across his hips, into position. Her eyes lit up. "I think you're ready again, Daddy."
He groaned as she touched him. "Is nothing saered?" he asked in a tight small voice. "Years spent working for the Lord, making myself a pillar of our community-all to see my good works shot to hell and gone in a matter of moments..."
Suddenly she fell on him, his cock sliding all the way up her greasy shaft. Dulcie began bouncing up and down, uttering little squeals of delight as he greased up and down through her. Then she felt herself making it-slowly at first, then with greater and greater force.
"Aaahhh!"
He grabbed her tits and pulled them back and forth. Then he punched them with his fists. Then he pulled on them and she moaned terribly, squirming licentiously on his rod, bouncing their pubic muffs off each other. Deep gasps wrenched her shivering young flesh. She jerked and twisted, her blonde hair flying all around them.
And then he felt something shoot up from the very depths of his being. His body convulsed, and, like a shooting star, something hot and bright flashed through every nerve ending in his body.
CHAPTER 10
"TRACY? Norm?" Mr. Thornton called upstairs.
He looked but the front window toward the driveway. Norman's car was parked there.
Without thinking any more of it, he began taking the stairs one at a time. He had called Loralee from the office and she had seemed unaccountably worried about something. For the life of him he couldn't imagine what it might be.
He was going past Norman's room when he heard the strange noises. At first he thought he might be hearing things, then he looked downstairs to ascertain if maybe the strange noises were coming from outside the house. No, they seemed to be coming from the second floor-in fact, from Norman's bedroom. They sounded very much like someone engaged in the act of sexual intercourse.
He didn't mind Norman fooling around a little, of course-after all, young bucks had to sow some wild oats-but he was astonished to think he might have had the nerve to bring some little chippy into his very own house!
"Oooohhh, Norman," hissed the girl's voice. There was the sound of squishing, of bellies slapping together in heat, the inevitable sound of bedsprings which modern technology had as yet no cure for.
"Take that!" Norman was saying in a harsh voice, and the girl was moaning and gargling ecstatically.
Considering the situation, Mr. Thornton felt honor bound to see what was going on. Not to disturb the dear children, of course-merely have a look-see ... to ascertain what...
Mr. Thornton bent over and pressed his eye to the keyhole in Norman's door.
On Norman's bed lay the happy couple. The girl had long brown hair, and while he couldn't make out her face, he could make out everything else about her quite readily.
Her sleek brown legs were wrapped around Norman's hips and she was pumping away, uttering little moans of pleasure. He, in turn, had wrapped her securely in his arms. His buttocks were jerking in and out, tightened dreadfully in the act of consuming his adolescent lust.
Mr. Thornton uttered a little sigh. His hands seemed to find their way to his trousers, where he was obviously being affected by the scandalously lascivious scene.
His fly came open and he came to grips with the situation. Suddenly he fell backward onto the floor, jacking off wildly. A crazed look came into his eyes; he began making strange guttural noises. His entire body seemed to consist of one long convulsion.
Mouth parted widely, he echoed little sighs of rapture. "Uh-unk-aahhhnnn!"
The squeaking bedsprings and sounds of squishing flesh were his background music and aphrodisiac all rolled up together. His body arched, strained and thrashed, and then, "Uuuunnn!" He shuddered from head to toe.
"Whew!" he exclaimed as he began closing his trousers again. When he was finished, he got to his knees and went to the keyhole again.
Tracy!
He almost fainted. He couldn't believe his eyes-his daughter and his son!
Without thinking further, he threw the door open!
"You bastards!"
"Dad!"
"Hi, Pop."
Jason Thornton came raging up to where his children lay, their handsome young bodies entwined. Distracted, Norman's cock had slipped out of his sister's cunt and was trailing milky spunk over the sheet, a thin white trail which led back to her cunt.
"God in Heaven!" Thornton bellowed wildly, his eyes blazing.
"Aw, heck, Dad," said Norman, "don't go blaspheming. We might get thunderbolted." He grabbed his sister's titty and licked her nipple, watching his father. Tracy giggled.
Mr. Thornton blanched. He was speechless, miffed, completely at a loss. To think that he had harbored such venomous lechers in his house for so long. "This is incest!" he screamed madly.
"Yeah," Norman agreed, smiling. His hand pawed one of Tracy's honey-tanned breasts and her head fell back against his shoulder, her face all light and dreamy with bliss.
"But-but-you can't do this!" Mr. Thornton stammered.
Norman put his mouth down to his sister's nipple and drew on it heavily, shaking back and forth while she sighed with happiness. "But we are doing it, Pops," he said when he could come up for air.
Mr. Thornton thought about that. "Well, yes-I suppose-" Then he came to his senses again. Despite everything, he was beginning to feel a kind of hardening-and it wasn't of the arteries.
Suddenly he turned on his heel and hurried to his room. The .45 automatic that he kept in a lower bureau drawer leaped readily into his hand. He hurried back to Norman's bedroom, slapping a clip into it as he went.
He kicked open the door, snarling, full of hate, and leveled the gun at their jerking hips. They were entwined on the bed again. He could see Norman's glistening shaft lifting in and out of his sister's cunt as if it were pumping for oil. Their pubic hair was matted with cum.
"You bastards," he growled, and he started to squeeze the trigger-
"Jason-oh, Jason!"
Loralee was downstairs! He jumped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. This was all getting just too involved! He couldn't let
Loralee find out-
"Oh, Jason-" her voice rang as she ascended the stairs.
Mr. Thornton raced for the bed, dragging Tracy out from under Norman's spasming body, completely disconnecting them. "Come on! We can't let your mother see you like this!"
He dragged Tracy over to the closet and forced her inside it with him, placing his hand tightly over her mouth.
The knock at the door came swiftly over Norman's protest. "Norman," came Mrs. Thornton's voice, "who's in there with you?"
"Uh, nobody, Mother."
Mr. Thornton heard the door to the bedroom swing open. He looked down at his daughter. Only fourteen years old, yet the fleecy softness between her legs was intriguing beyond all imagination. He felt an intense desire to reach down with his hand and-
Her deep brown eyes stared knowingly up into his. Suddenly she grabbed his hand. He tried to draw away, but suddenly he felt as if his strength was sapping away into her touch. He had no will to resist. She took his hand and placed it between her legs. Slowly his finger curved up ... into a silky moist smoothness. A musky scent rose up around them. Tracy's knees buckled and she began to sigh and moan softly in rapture. She clutched his shoulders for support. His eyes steadied themselves on the beauties of her fresh young tits. They were so full and firm. Mrs. Thornton's were very huge, but they didn't have that same rock-like firmness.
Suddenly he thought he heard the bedsprings squeaking again. Tracy began panting and whimpering, and he ignored the bedsprings. He could only be imagining them anyway. He wanted to touch those breasts, those adorable titties of his daughter's...
He bent his mouth to her nipples, nipping each one in turn. They blossomed into delightful hardness within his attentive lips. Her aureoles had that quality of being able to form secondary mounds on the wonderful curves of her young globes. Protruding, circled by a pair of dark-purple bull's-eyes as large as his hand, each of which were surmounted with rows of fascinating tiny goose-bumps that made his mouth water as he sucked on them.
He put one hand behind on her ass as he continued to nibble. She was so delicious he couldn't get over it. Her ass was nice and firm, yet juicily pliable. He kneaded it with his hand, inserted a finger in her tight little ass-hole and listened to her whimper for joy.
She was thus dually besieged, with fingers front and rear. He worked his fingers swiftly in and out as he sucked her nipples. Her juice was all over his wrist. Why in the hell were those bedsprings squeaking? And then Tracy began to come-a kind of gurgle washed up into her throat and he had to stifle the rest of her cries with a hand over her mouth. She licked the cum off his hand as her body shivered back to normalcy-whatever that was, now. She wondered.
Her hand reached now for his open fly, found his tremendous adult cock, and uttered a little cry of desire as she pulled it out. She fell to her knees and took it into her mouth...
"Ohhhh, Tra..." He curled his fingers in her hair as she licked and sucked. Then it seemed scarcely a moment before he, too, was shuddering in the grip of profound and burning ecstasy. Her lips worked with an expertise he would have expected from a much older woman. And then he shot his bolt-all that scalding sperm shooting down to her tonsils and all over the inside of her mouth. A deeply satisfied look flowered on her devastatingly sweet face, and she swallowed everything he had to offer, then licked off the tip of his prick to be sure she got everything...
Tracy stood up and he took her into his arms. They kissed desperately, open mouths glued together, his limpid cock banging against her thighs. Somewhere he heard the .45 automatic clattering to his feet in the closet. As their enclosure was only slightly larger than an average telephone booth, a musky odor completely surrounded them, so thick Mr. Thornton could almost taste it. He wondered vaguely if it might not dissolve his clothing.
There was no sound coming from the bedroom now. They were too cramped for him to bend to the keyhole, and there was too much clothing in the way.
Warily, then, he proceeded to open the door.
Norman was lying on the bed with a peaceful smile on his face. There was no one else in the room.
Mr. Thornton stepped out of the closet cautiously and took Tracy over to the bed. "Who was in here, Son?"
"Nobody, Pop. Just me." Norman made himself bounce up and down on the springs. His pubic hair was matted with cum and his cock wanged up and back. A small bead of cum was stuck to his glans.
Mr. Thornton looked at him skeptically.
"Your fly's open, Pop. Tracy been givin' you a good licking?"
Mr. Thornton closed his fly angrily, but red-faced. "Watch your tongue, young man," he scolded.
"No-that's what Tracy-likes to watch," Norman smirked.
Tracy giggled and put her hand in Mr. Thornton's. Norman went on. "Come on, Pop. Why try to fight it? You'd like fucking Tracy and you know it. Well, a new day's dawning. The revolution has arrived, Pop. Bathed in blood, sweat, tears-and sex-like fuckin', for example. There's going to be a lot of changes around here."
"Like what, for instance?" Mr. Thornton asked nervously. Tracy had gripped his prick again with her soft pink hand.
"First of all, Pop-get out of those sticky clothes and into bed. Come on." Norman held the covers open.
"I will not!"
Tracy didn't seem to have heard. She began methodically stripping her father, ohhing and ahhing as each new portion of his anatomy was revealed. She carried out the whole thing with utmost cool, so swiftly that Mr. Thornton couldn't compose himself fast enough to protest. Before he knew what was happening, he was stripped to his shorts. He looked down at himself and gasped. He was fully aroused again, his cock sticking out at almost a right angle to his body, jerking licentiously.
"Come here, baby," Norman told Tracy. "Give old Dad a chance to adjust to the new situation."
Tracy went over obediently and lowered herself down on Norman's upraised cock, swinging her tits across his lips. Mi. Thornton gulped and gagged and choked t:nd sputtered. The sheer erotic lasciviousness of this perverted scene was enough to-Uttering a little cry of anguish, he suddenly skinned out of his shorts and ran for the bed. By now Tracy had taken herself off her brother's cock and was licking it as if it were a lollipop, her hair flailing across his flat young belly. Mr. Thornton got up on the bed and rammed her savagely from the back, his immense tool ripping right up through her ass cheeks and plunging accurately into her puckered anus. "Ooooohhh ... Dad..." He continued to worm his cock up her backside, uttering little cries of torment and desire. Ecstasy coursed through him like a raging fire. She moaned and jerked backward onto him, continuing to suck
Norman's prick. While she applied her oral ministration to Norman's supine form, Mr. Thornton ravaged her rear with his savage cock.
She squealed and shook. A deep hissing sound issued from her throat. She gulped and gagged. Mr. Thornton began panting like a man running the three-minute mile. He jerked in and out, riding her for all she was worth. He buried his face in her long fragrant hair, and then, with Norman's prickly cauldron rising to a boil, the three of them climaxed at once...
They exploded off the bed in all directions. Mr. Thornton clunked his head against the wall. Tracy went sprawling in good daughterly fashion across the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs, her legs pumping as if she were riding a bicycle. Norman seemed to bounce three feet in the air, then landed back down on the bed, spitting cum all over the room from his jerking prick.
"Whew," Mr. Thornton said again.
"Gosh," said Tracy in profound admiration of their mutual achievement of accord.
"Wow," muttered Norman.
"Gee whiz," said Mrs. Thornton from her vantage point beyond the keyhole of the connecting door to Tracy's room, where she was busily running a miniature motion picture camera.
That's the last time he'll leave me without spending-money, she thought with some truth.
Mr. Thornton stumbled to his feet. He was still mildly horrified, but now only mildly. He gazed down at his lovely daughter and then gave her a hand up and sighed.
They sat down on the bed. Mr. Thornton lay with his head across Norman's chest and smoked a marijuana cigarette. Tracy soothed him by massaging his calves.
"We've got to think this thing out," he said philosophically, his eyes narrowed.
"Sure, Pop. Whatever you say."
"Stop calling me Pop. Say, how about fixing this bed so that we can lay around on it properly?"
The mattress supports had crashed to the floor under Norman's flying weight, and one of them was broken altogether. The three of them combined to put the bed back into working order. They got the box spring and the mattress off onto the floor, re-installed the slats, lifted the box spring back, threw on the mattress, and then they all bounced onto it with singular enthusiasm.
Mr. Thornton lay on his back while Tracy dropped her breasts into his crotch and rubbed him there. He was thinking.
Murder the old lady? No, that was too crude. They would just have to stay under cover-an amusing thought-as long as they could, and see what happened.
If she found out, then he would consider what to do next. God, poor innocent Loralee-right under her very own roof. She'd probably faint away into a state of catatonic shock if she ever learned what was going on.
Though that was not a bad idea, either. So far as Jason Thornton was concerned, his wife was a frowzy old bag anyway. Tracy's lithe teen-age body was much more generous and firm. He ran his hands over that wonderful young flesh. Now he failed to remember what he had ever seen in Loralee-except possible her 46E bust. He'd been a nut on tits when he was younger.
Suddenly he seemed to hear a whirring sound in the air. He looked around, but was unable to detect where it emanated from...
He shrugged and dropped the matter from his mind. In a few moments he was happily dozing, his head in Tracy's crotch. After a few moments Tracy climbed over her dad so that she could continue dropping her titties between his legs while Norman assaulted her from behind.
That's it, Normie, worm it in ... qhhhh, good Normie..."
* * *
"Melvin! Oh, Melvin!"
Melvin shrugged up the back stairs. There were times, upon hearing his wife's voice, when he easily could imagine a banshee wailing for judgment.
"Coming, sugar," he called out.
He had been thrashing with the Alan Williams problem all day. Alan Williams. Dulcie Winslow. Between the two of them they had combined within a very brief time to virtually eliminate the normal complacency of his life.
What had Alan Williams been doing at Wilmette Harbor last night? Was there any connection to the fact that Susan Carter had turned up missing?
What did Dulcie mean to him, anyway? She was a terrific fuck, and he realized that he was going to be needing her-and kneading her. She was already becoming a form of addiction. But what did he really know about her? Was she, for instance, a good girl, a bad girl, indifferent, a fallen Venus? Did he really need her blonde hair and her creamy smooth young body?
Yes. , And Alan Williams-what was he all about? What more did he need to do about him? Melvin had the vague feeling that something was still unsettled about his relationship with the fair young speech instructor, if one could call it that. Yet, how? What was bothering him? What was remaining that was unsaid, undone, incomplete? Why this vague feeling of disquiet?
Was there any connection to the fact that Susan Carter had turned up missing?
And who was Susan Carter? A pretty redhead he had seen around school. She had sat in on one of his freshman biology lectures. Nice pointy tits. She had also been in one of Williams' classes.
But what else did he know about her? What kind of ESP was nagging him about her? From time to time in his life he had some terrific precognitions, or premonitions, and had even been invited to be examined at Duke University. But what was his very minor and latent ESP trying to tell him this time? Was it high time he consulted an Ouija board?
"Your dinner's getting cold," Zahava told him as he finished mounting the stairs.
Poo-poo ran up and threw her arms around his legs before he could answer her.
"Hello, Papa," Poo-poo said.
"Hello, sweetheart." He lifted her up in his arms and carried her across the kitchen.
"Don't go far," Zahava whined. "I've got this stuff hot, and you're going to eat it while it's hot!"
"Sounds interesting," Melvin remarked. He continued on into the dining room, where Alicia also came up and put her arms around his legs. II anyone else grabs my legs, he thought, I'm going to collapse.
He took the children into the bedroom and tried to tell them a story before going to dinner. He started out with Red Riding Hood, somehow got involved with The Three Bears, then finished up with Cinderella.
Then Alicia said something that struck him as strange.
"Daddy, do you know a man named Mr. Williams."
"Huh?"
"I met a man in the park today who was asking about you."
He stiffened. "When?" Suddenly he felt beads of perspiration rolling out on his forehead.
"Oh, about last hour." She looked at him coyly. "He asked me about you."
Melvin gulped. Alan Williams? "How did you know his name was Williams, sweetheart?"
"He had it written on his bag."
"You mean his briefcase." Melvin congratulated himself on having taught her to read a little. "Uh-huh."
"What did Mr. Williams want to know, darling?"
"He gave me some candy and asked me to pull up my dress." Melvin blanched. Somehow he couldn't really picture Alan Williams as a sex maniac. She must have made that up. That's all I need, he thought, another sex maniac in the house. My daughter. She's putting me on.
"What else did he say, sweetheart?"
"What time you came home?"
"He wanted to know what time I came home."
She played with her fingers. "And if I was your little daughter."
Melvin's face soured. What was this guy Williams up to? He would have to force a showdown on this whole strange business and settle it once and for all.
"You coming to dinner?"
Zahava was at the door. He turned to her with ill-concealed distaste. "Coming right up," he said. Then he dropped Poo-poo to the floor and headed for the kitchen.
The soup was rotten, the potatoes worse. The roast beef tasted as if it had been boiled in vinegar for an hour previously. He had never liked frozen entrees.
"This stuff tastes rotten," he told her. She made a sour face. "How come you were home so late last night?" she asked.
"I had to work late at the office. Anything else you'd care to know right now?"
She snickered. "Work till all hours of the night in a high school? Cut it out."
"Sure. Some little sweetie came down with a severe case of nymphomania and I had to shoot her full of penicillin."
"Is that all you shot her full of?" She turned from the stove and gave him the full force of her black-eyed gypsy glare.
"Sure, would I kid you? You don't suppose I had to spread her legs to make the injection, do you?" He walked up to her and flicked his fingers under her bust. Her full blouse quivered. "I know you pretty well, Zahava. You're thinking I've got some little cutie at school I'm banging, right?"
"Well, no, I-':
He sat back down again and pushed his plate until it damn near fell off the table. "If you would feed me some decent food once in a while, and not this frozen, reactivated, cellophane-wrapped plastic stuff, maybe you wouldn't have any cause to worry."
"Then you have been with another girl!"
Completely losing his cool, he picked up a frying pan from the side of the stove and whanged her on the side of the head with it. The strike made a slightly metallic sound that was not at all bad.
"That hurt," she said, rubbing her head.
"It'll hurt a lot more if you don't close your teeth and start seeing about making me some hot tea."
She went grumpily about doing just that. She had never dreamed that he would actually put the slug on her just out of conversation. Few women ever do.
As he sat sipping tea, he concentrated on giving the Alan Williams question his fullest attention.
First of all, it was all very nebulous-unless it had been Susan Carter in the sack he dumped into the harbor. Or was he exaggerating the situation out of all proportion to its actuality?
As he sipped his tea and thought, he was vaguely conscious of something remarkable going on in the vicinity of the stove.
Zahava had opened her blouse.
He gagged. Her full, motherly melon tits were pressing violently at the thin bra. He could see full dark aureoles through the scanty material, and the buds of her nipples were starting to break through to the surface.
"C'mere," he said in a husky voice, placing his teacup squarely upon the table.
She edged slowly over to him. There was a strange kind of light in his eyes, and she wasn't sure whether or not she should be afraid of it.
As she moved, she unhooked her brassiere. Her massive globes flopped out, firm and soft, tremendously huge. His fingers reached instantly for her nipples. He twisted them violently and she cried out.
"Hurt! Oooohhh..."
He continued to knead them dangerously with his hands. The more he hurt her, the better she liked it and the deeper she moaned. He twisted them and pulled at them-up and down, back and forth. She squirmed in an agony of lust. Her eyes shot fire, and her mouth parted to echo lewd sayings that belonged only on toilet walls.
"Fuck me, Melvin! Here! Right here! Hurry, darling ... oooohhh ... please ... Fuck me on the floor!"
Melvin looked around. He could hear the children cavorting in the bedroom, breaking dolls and screaming at each other. He pressed Zahava back against the stove and lifted up her dress.
"Ooooh, Melvin..." She was delirious with delight, alive with desire.
And she was wearing no panties. He reached into her squirming moistness, almost to the wrist. She gasped and clung to him for dear life, her legs crawling up around his hips. Her vagina lapped at his arm.
"For God's sake, let me get my pants open," he scolded, trying to get at his fly.
Her face took on a miffed expression-but that was changed quickly to startled joy as he rammed home, whipping his cock back and forth in her dripping cavern. Zahava began clucking like a hen and clawing at him, ripping his clothes to shreds. Deep tremors of sensation shook her violently. She moaned, pleaded and whimpered. Her breath came in agonized sharp gasps. She seemed to be alternately moaning, crying, sobbing, whispering, hissing, panting. By the time he felt himself reaching his climax, her eyes were rolled ceiling-ward, her neck cords straining, every muscle in her body straining toward an impossible goal.
She drew in her breath sharply. Melvin began muttering obscenities and this seemed to help both of them, urging them on to new heights of frenzy.
"...Love to fuck your hot cunt, Mama . . : cock ramming in and out..."
Suddenly they were riding stark raving crazy toward the finish line, bumping hell-for-leather. She clutched him and squirmed-blowing to the moon-and he felt an equivalent explosion that he thought would rip the guts right out of his body as he squirted his gunk deep into the cavernous confines of her belly.
They slid to the floor in a mangled, spent heap. They didn't notice at all that Alicia and Poo-poo were standing at the door of the kitchen, watching with interest.
Poo-poo was licking a sucker and making rude noises. Alicia asked, "Are you hurting Mommy?"
Zahava gasped. "Get out of here!" she yelled when she recovered her presence of mind.
"I wasn't hurting your mommy," Melvin explained patiently, like the perfect father he was, ever interested in his children's welfare and education. "I was merely helping your mommy to have a good time. That's why people get married, dears."
"Oh," said Alicia. Poo-poo merely giggled.
Melvin looked blankly at them. He tried to think of a better illustration. Finally he .spread-eagled Mommy on the floor.
Zahava squirmed in his grasp. "You bastard-the children! What the hell are you doing?"
"Honey, the old moral laws are passe," he explained patiently as he forced his freshly aroused cock into her squishing pussy. She grunted as he drove home. He continued, much like a professor at the lectern before an auditorium of eager students, "You see, it's up to each of us to provide the leadership that has heretofore been ignored. In the new world that's coming, our children and their children's children will be freer than ever before." He droned on as they continued to hump and grind. Zahava was beyond understanding a word of it; the children stared, fascinated.
"You see, it's up to us as parents of the modern world to guide our children properly-to be sure there are no dark corners, no secrets. In this way we eliminate the Puritan bias of our society. Our children will grow up healthier and happier if they have an honest attitude and understanding toward sex. We don't want them to be frustrated. That leads to neurosis. And the less that is hidden, the less they will be inclined to experiment promiscuously ... We must eliminate all artificial glamour. That is the safest way to keep our children pure..."
Alicia and Poo-poo left the kitchen to see if they could think up any new games. Mommy and Daddy continued humping on the floor, sliding all over, as Zahava had spilled some butter there only a half-hour before and neglected to clean it up properly. They slid like fish in a greased pan, scales and fins flopping. The rhythm of Melvin's thrill climbed higher and higher. He had never in his life been quite so in love with Zahava. And when he finally made it, he thought that the ecstasy of it would dissolve him.
When he stopped moaning and flopping, he slithered out of her with an extravagant sigh, trailing a line of milky semen along the floor. She had never been quite so sensational in normal-style convolutions. He lay back on the linoleum of the kitchen floor and looked at her.
She sighed. Her legs were still spread wide, a silly smile plastered on her face, her fetching jungle open to his interested inspection.
He listened for sounds of the children, and wondered where David was. He also waited expectantly for Zahava to start nagging him again. He didn't have to wait very long.
"Melvin," she started in, "do you think it's wise for us to have sexual intercourse in front of the children?"
"You think it'll stunt their growth?" he asked with all seriousness.
"I don't think it'll do them any good, if it comes to that. And this kitchen-floor bit is awfully tough on my back." She twisted and touched her backbone with her fingers. "If my mother knew you were throwing it to me on the linoleum, she'd have an absolute fit."
"Let her get her own guy. Your mother is living proof of the theory that there's only one way to keep a nice Jewish girl from putting out-and that's to marry her."
Zahava sniffed. She hooked her brassiere back up and went into the dining room. He followed gallantly after her, zipping his pants up as he went.
They found Poo-poo and Alicia playing together in the bedroom. They were very relieved to find that their play was of a very clean variety. They didn't notice at all that David was hiding m the closet, masturbating.
Zahava picked poo-poo up in her arms, hoisted her high into the air. "I'm glad you didn't give our darling girls any dirty ideas, you lecher."
"No hurry," Melvin muttered, "there's plenty of time for that later..."
CHAPTER ll
ALAN Williams had been stalking Melvin's apartment building for about an hour-up and down in front of Palmer Park, hands in pockets. The wind was fearfully chill, and now he wondered just what had ever prompted him to come out on such a rotten night.
His first consideration was that he had to effectively ascertain just what it was that Melvin Murray knew, if anything. It may well have been that it was too dark at Wilmette Harbor and he hadn't recognized him. Or maybe Murray's suspicions were too vague to be of importance.
Thus far all anyone knew was that Susan had just disappeared. Unless Murray was going to encourage dredging operations in the harbor, or look for the body himself, there was really no way he could know anything.
Still, the situation was tricky-which was why the best solution was probably to kill Melvin Murray.
Alan felt in his pockets for the gun and the knife. The gun had been a gift from his father, just in case he should ever want to "blow his fool head off." The knife he had picked up in an Army surplus store on South State Street.
Suddenly he leaped behind a tree. Murray had just come out of his apartment building and was heading for his car. As Murray pulled away, Alan raced for his car, jumped in and gunned the motor, roaring off after him into the night.
He must have followed the other instructor for about half an hour before he finally came to a stop in front of Evansmette Park. Almost immediately a little Corvette came coughing up and parked in back of Murray's Plymouth. A blonde got out of the Corvette and jumped into Murray's car.
So that was it. The instructor, a family man, had a girl on the sly! Who could it be?
Murray and the blonde embraced ardently. Their arms tightened, the kiss became prolonged. Occasionally the kiss was broken and their mouths wandered over each other's faces..
Williams could tell by the way the girl was squirming that Murray's hands were going under her skirt. For one thing, one of her legs was threatening to climb right over the back of the seat. Williams felt himself getting hot just watching them. He passed his hand down to his trousers to discover a massive hard-on.
Moving stealthily, he left his car and went on tiptoe through the spring grass. Once near the Plymouth, he sank to his knees and crawled up to the window.
He peered over the ledge and got the shock of his life. Murray had the girl in a sexual embrace and was fucking her for all she was worth. Her legs straddled him widely, sliding up and down along the steering wheel. A sort of steam seemed to cover the front windows. He could see her face over Murray's shoulder very clearly.
Dulcie Winslow! Unbelievable!
But her face was contorted with the excruciating power of her lust as Melvin Murray's cock rammed into her. Her lips strained as if she were moving at three G's through the stratosphere. Her blonde hair flew gloriously around her strained, tear-glistened face; her eyes rolled skyward. Her head was thrown back in desperation. Desire seemed to fill her struggling flesh with convolutions and contortions that were beyond all reason. Williams felt a crazy, intense desire just watching her.
He looked down at his trousers, and felt them. He pulled out his prick and began rapidly to massage it...
So engrossed was he in what he was going, that he scarcely noticed the squad car that had pulled up on the other side of the street...
"It's them again," said Patrolman Flannigan.
"Yep," said Kling. He pulled out his little citation book. "What shall we ticket 'em for?"
"Whatever we like. But why bother?" Flannigan poked into the glove compartment and came up with a miniature camera. "I've got the most terrific little camera in the world right here. Absolutely foolproof. Very high speed, very sensitive."
"Yeah, but don't you need a very steady hand with that kind of stuff?"
Flannigan grinned. "I brought a tripod."
"What!"
"Yeah. Got it right here." He reached into the back seat and came up with an oblong leather case.
"Gee, I always thought you was carrying a rifle in that thing.", "Are you kidding? What do I need a rifle for?"
They left the squad car stealthily, Flannigan moving to one side of Melvin Murray's Plymouth, Kling bringing up the rear. The two policemen peered over into the front seat. They were able to see Dulcie's blonde head bobbing up and down in ecstasy. Her legs were spread wide and Melvin was deep within her. Her fingernails were ripping his shoulders bloody as she bounced on top of him.
"Holey Moley," said Kling. Flannigan only nodded, completely enthralled. He had put the camera on its tripod so that it just barely peeped up over the bottom of the window. He pressed the shutter release.
Muted groans and shuddering echoed from the car and made it tremble. The windows began steaming. Dulcie's sweater was lifted; her bare-titties leaped about freely.
"What boobs," muttered Kling.
Melvin and Dulcie grunted like animals in some abysmal jungle.
On the other side of the car, Alan Williams was already fiercely masturbating. It was his luck that Officer Kling spotted him.
"Hey, Bill," he whispered, "you notice something funny on the other side of the car?"
Flannigan spotted Alan Williams' bobbing head immediately. "Holy cats, we've got a peeping torn on our hands. Shocking but true."
"He's jacking off, too."
Williams' hair and eyes rose above the window, straining backward. His hand moved vigorously on his prick. He was panting like crazy, occasionally supporting himself on the grass with his free hand while he peeped from time to time over the window. His tongue was lolling out of his head, his eyes were rolling, and saliva filled his mouth. He was the perfect picture of a pervert consumed by a licentious desire that would send him hurtling toward orgasm in a matter of moments.
Flannigan and Kling began to edge around the car very slowly. At precisely this moment, Dulcie began to utter a deep sigh of relief. Melvin stiffened, then shuddered through a long string of firecracker thrills...
Dulcie and Melvin rolled away from each other. They lay panting at either end of the automobile.
"Wow," said Melvin.
"That's the best yet," murmured Dulcie.
They both heard the shufflings around the car at the same time. They looked at each other. Awareness and mutual understanding shone in their eyes like tiny fires.
"There's someone sneaking around this car," Melvin said, glancing out the window. His eyes fell on Alan Williams' gyrating body. Oh, brother, he thought.
Dulcie shifted in the seat. Her full, globular breasts dangled and brushed against his face. He impulsively grabbed one and sucked noisily on her juicy nipple. Dulcie groaned with rapture.
But he still struggled for presence of mind. He had to get the car started right away, before he got too excited and lost control.
He twisted the ignition, pressed his foot on the gas. The Plymouth started up with a roar.
Kling jumped from the front of the car and narrowly missed having his leg run over as it roared off. Flannigan, who had been bringing up the rear, got a beautiful view of his camera-and-tripod combination being smashed to smithereens.
And in the meantime, Alan Williams was rolling on the ground, deep in the throes of his ecstasy...
Officers Flannigan and Kling walked up to their red-handedly caught pervert. They let him finish. As Williams trembled and then lay still, sweat breaking out across his face, Flannigan tapped him very lightly on the shoulder with his nightstick.
"What!" Williams leaped into the air, grabbing his pants.
"Pardon us, bub, we'd like to ask you a few questions."
The impact of having a police officer upon him at such a sensitive moment drove Williams to a frenzied burst of activity. He leaped high into the air, then took off northward across the park at a full gallop.
"Stop!" Flannigan yelled after him. "Stop or I'll shoot!" He reached for his service revolver.
"Wait a minute!" Kling grabbed Flannigan's firing arm. "You can't just shoot the bastard because he's a pervert. That's 'cruel and unusual punishment.' "
Flannigan snarled. "He's resisting arrest, ain't he? Anyway, it'll save the State the cost of a trial."
He aimed carefully at the fast disappearing figure, hold his revolver tightly in both hands. Then he squeezed carefully.
The .38 slug blasted Alan Williams' backbone to shreds. The last thing he said before he died was: "Rosebud."
Flannigan and Kling arrived at the corpse just in time to rifle its pockets with a casual air.
CHAPTER 12
NORMAN had been pretty despondent all day. For one thing, he had run into Dulcie Winslow that morning, coming out of his biology lab, and he had felt rather guilty.
He hadn't asked her, of course, what she had done with their baby. He didn't want to know.
What I don't know won't hurt me, was his earnestly-arrived-at conclusion. Anyway, who needs babies?
She hadn't said anything; she'd merely looked him directly in the eye as if she didn't really see him.
Actually, she didn't look too bad. She seemed a lot less harassed than she had been previously, when she had been nagging hell out of him. Her hair had a nice shine to it, her walk was jaunty, her body looked more delicious than ever. There was good color in her cheeks.
What had worked such a miraculous change?
And she hadn't seemed interested in him in the slightest.
Getting something on the side, he thought with considerable element of truth.
The house was pretty quiet when he came home. He tried to think of something interesting to do.
Then he heard the rather muffled noises going on upstairs. Taking off his shoes and moving on tiptoe, he hurried up the stairs.
Oh, boy, he thought.
Tracy had come home early to find her mother at work on the dishes. The maid hadn't come in that day.
"Hello, dear," said Mrs. Thornton, attempting to plant a kiss on her cheek.
They were both surprised when the kiss landed on Tracy's full young lips, and a rather ardent one at that. Mrs. Thornton gazed into her daughter's charming eyes with some apprehension.
Tracy looked knowledgeably into hers. "Thank you, Mother, for that nice kiss." She put her hand on Mrs. Thornton's cheek. It had become flushed and hot.
"Oh, it's nothing-Tracy..."
Tracy grinned slyly and went wispily up the stairs to her bedroom.
Taking off her clothes slowly, she considered her mother's kiss. Meanwhile she studied her reflection in her dressing mirror, admiring the elegant contours of her voluptuous young body.
She took a sustained bath with plenty of bubble soap, then toweled and placed a subtle hint of perfume in all of the most intimate niches of her sensitive flesh. This accomplished, she sat down on her bed so that she faced the mirror, and began to apply a bright-red polish to her toenails.
There was a knock at the door.
"Yes?"
"It's Mother, dear."
Mrs. Thornton opened the door nervously and closed it in back of her. Ever since she had taken up with her son, she didn't know what had taken hold of her. She seemed to feel sexy virtually all of the time. Now, with her and Tracy alone in the big house ... something had drawn her to Tracy's room.
"I just thought I'd see how my little pumpkin's doin'. " .
"Oh, fine, Mom." Tracy finished the last of her nails. She was stark naked as she raised her leg to admire it. Mrs. Thornton's throat clutched as her eyes fastened on the slick brown folds of her daughter's young cunt, surrounded by all that frizzy brown hair. "How does it look?" Tracy asked.
Mrs. Thornton gulped. She felt a terrific thirst sieze her by the throat and threaten to fling her down the front stairs.
"Very nice," she finally said in a choked voice, feeling a deep stirring in her crotch.
"Would you like to do my hair?" Tracy asked sweetly. She jumped off the bed, her heavy breasts jiggling, and went to the vanity. Sitting down on the little stool, she took up the hairbrush. "Well?" she said sharply.
Her mother hurried to comply. Quickly she took the hairbrush and bent to her task in her daughter's glorious hair.
She took the brush worshipfully through Tracy's long hair, through that shining brown gloss in quick, even strokes, marveling at its silkiness. She didn't think she had ever been aware of what a sensationally beautiful girl her daughter was.
That supple small waist, so smooth and shining, that beautifully formed bust carrying two sumptuous pears and their large, rosy aureoles topped by two succulent strawberries ... the way her lovely thighs flared ... her long, smooth legs ... her nicely square shoulders and well-shaped back ... that perfect face that God had given her...
"What are you looking at, Mother?" Tracy asked suddenly.
"Oh! It's nothing-nothing, Tracy!"
"I caught you looking at my boobies." Tracy said in the mirror. She lifted her tits like gourds and squeezed them. Mrs. Thornton gasped.
"Aren't they beautiful, Mommy?"
"Are those your 'boobies'? " Mrs. Thornton asked.
For answer, Tracy reached in back of her head and grabbed Mrs. Thornton's hand. She forced her mother's fingers unerringly to her burgeoning hot nipple.
"Oh!" Mrs. Thornton gasped. But then her fingers slowly began to dig into that lovely breast flesh...
"Ooooohhh ... Mama .--. . Mama ... That's ... ooohhh..."
Mrs. Thornton pinched Tracy's nipple and felt a tremendous thrill flash through her like wildfire. "God ... oh, Tracy ... my little girl ... " Moving as if under control by a force greater than her own will, she grabbed Tracy's head and twisted it around, burying her daughter's mouth under an avalanche of kiss that was more soul-enveloping than anything else either of them had ever known.
Their mouths moved ecstatically together. Mrs. Thornton sucked lasciviously on her daughter's pink tongue. Acting without words, the two females moved toward the waiting bed. Tracy lifted the covers and began to undress her mother, who began shaking and sighing uncontrollably.
Tracy pushed her fourteen-year-old face into the older woman's massive breasts. Mrs. Thornton moaned. Slowly the girl began sucking on her voluminous nipples, pulling them in her mouth and sucking in as much of the surrounding titty as she could.
"Suck me ... dear..." Mrs. Thornton's fingers wound in her soft brown hair as Tracy sucked. Slowly the girl fell back on the bed, dragging her mother with her.
They kissed, a soul-searching, open-mouthed quest for desire, their drool mingling, their tongues laving each other's mouths. Mrs. Thornton mashed her huge warm breasts on Tracy's. They clutched each other's flanks. Tracy grabbed her mother's hair and pulled their mouths apart. "Mother ... eat me ... please-I command you!"
Loralee Thornton nodded her head obediently, dragging her tremendous globes across her daughter's body as her head moved downward. Her fingers snaked under the luscious firm balls of her daughter's ass, and then her mouth was pressing tightly at the little girl's cunt, her tongue lapping warmly into the warm and dripping aperture which seemed to give way on every side and cover her face like a mask.
"Mother ... Mother ... oh! Aaaahhlv. . . "
Mrs. Thornton's tongue moved with artful flicks-tasting, savoring. Her lips pressed savagely, trying to suck up all of the wonderful essence of this beautiful daughter of hers, drawing in as much of the soaking cunt lips as she could, biting on her pleasure button until she shrieked as her mother's nose and face kept rubbing, masturbating all over her cunt.
"Aaaahhh ... harder ... That's right ... Oh ... now to the right-oh! Oh! Mother! I'm coming! Mother!"
Violent spasms of sensation shook Tracy's perfect body. Her back arched. She clutched wildly at Mrs. Thornton's shoulders, trying to push her away and yet in closer at the same time-pushing her mother's face in, gripping her hair.
"Oh, Mom ... Mom ... ooohhh..."
And then she made it! Fire flashed through her body, racking her and making her sob and cry out. She beat at her mother's head with her fists. And then there was warmth and tingling and love and a great feeling and thrills galore...
By the time Norman reached the top of the stairs, things were in a slightly different position.
Mrs. Thornton was lying with her head near the end of the bed and her legs wrapped around
Tracy's head. Norman could not make out what Tracy was doing with her mouth, but he suspected that it was not very nice. It appeared as if Tracy was licking their mother's cunt.
Those bitches! he thought vehemently. Two-timing me!
With grim determination he took the stairs two at a time down to the downstairs phone.
"Hello, Sam? This is Norm. Look, can you get some of the guys down here right away? I've got some women for 'em. A gang bang ... Naw, my old man won't be in till late. Today he always works late. Okay, I'll try to have some sandwiches and some beer. And Sam-it wouldn't hurt a bit if the guys got a little high before they got here. Okay?"
He busied himself about the kitchen preparing little ham-and-cheese sandwiches, and bottles of cold beer. For himself he took a couple of glasses of port wine.
"I'm going to need it," he said to nobody in particular.
The boys arrived only a short half-hour later. An open convertible, vintage 1930, chugged loudly into the driveway and knocked over some garbage cans. Norman went out to greet them, wiping his hands on a towel.
All of the eight boys jumped from the car carrying half-empty beer cans. "Where's the chicks?" yelled Sam Goldman as he jumped down. Norman grabbed him laughingly and led him into the kitchen.
"They're upstairs."
"Anybody we know."
"Yeah-my mother and sister." The boys stopped short.
"Come on, they're waiting for you," Norman told them. The boys shrugged and followed him up the stairs. Someone flung a beer can over the stair railing into the reception hall. It crashed to the tiles with a bang.
Sam looked kind of thoughtful. "I've always thought your mother was kind of sharp. She's got a good set of bazongs to suck on-although it will make me feel I'm robbin' the coffin..."
"The room at the top of the stairs," said Norman, pushing them ahead of him. The boys needed no encouragement now. They stormed upward. One of them turned the knob on Tracy's door, another kicked the door open. A series of shrieks echoed from the pagan boudoir.
Norman laughed uproariously as he followed the boys upward into their screams. By the time he reached the bedroom, one of them was already giving it to his mother in the ass from the side, another forcing his cock into her mouth. She was fondling the balls and prick of another. Suddenly cum was squirted all over her face, dripping from her eyebrows like milky drool. After the briefest of difficulties, Tracy was on all fours before a boy seated on the bed, lapping his prick like it was a lollipop, his hands in her hair. Another boy lying under her was ramming his greasy pole up into her dripping cunt.
