Don't think you are going to conceal thoughts by concealing evidence that they ever existed. Don't be afraid . . . to read every book .... People who hold unpopular ideas are still part of America, and even if they have ideas that are contrary to our own, they have a right to have them, a right to record them, and a right to have them in places where they are accessible to others. This must be unquestioned, or it is not America.
Dwight D. Eisenhower, Dartmouth College, June 14, 1953
THE SUCK-FUCKERS
When Mae Anderson moved around, her big bosom seemed to stride on ahead of her, as a sort of advance guard. One that seemed to say, Look if you must. But don't touch. Unless you must. And Hank Anderson knew that this night he must. There had been too many must-not nights. Mae was moving with quick efficiency from one room to another, setting things right for the night. And with every move that her big, blonde body made was being followed by her husband's sharp, blue eyes.
He got up and moved behind her until his hips were touching hers, and reached from behind to take the soup tureen. His hand brushed across her bosom. He gave a little jump and his mouth opened. But before his fingers could connect with the china- ware, she had deftly moved from between him and the sink.
"Let me help you, honey?"
A brisk shake of her head. "No, no. Oh . . . thank you . . . you aren't usually so eager to help me put away the dishes. What's got into you?" She quickly looked at him, quickly looked away.
As if you didn't know. It isn't what's got into me, it's what I'd like to get into you. And will, and will, and will, damn it. But all this he said to himself, within the tight prison of his brainpan. If he said it out loud it might make her mad. In which case. Nothing doing. Not just nothing doing on the living room rug or on the sofa, but nothing even upstairs in the conjugal bed. If she got mad. Maybe.
Still, they were alone. Which was half the battle. And in all promise of certainty would be alone for hours. So. Onward. And in less than an hour, at last, at long last, they were in bed together. His fingers plucked eagerly at her. She, however, did not pluck back, although it was dark, dark, dark, the way she wanted it. And although he had slipped out of the pajamas, she felt he should always put on, and had pulled her nightgown as far up as he could without forcing her to move. And although he had placed her hands on him, here and there, and then up there, and then down here. He heard her draw in her breath and he gave a silent cry of triumph: at last! And heard her say, "Do you suppose a different location would be better?"
"A different location?" he repeated, feeling confused. He wondered for a moment if she meant to say, position. Sure a different position, if she wanted it. He opened his mouth and licked his lips and then she went on, "For my Gift Shop, of course." He sighed. But he carried on. He slid his index finger into his mouth and got it good and wet and then he- "That Barton Swift is a very nice boy," she said, her conversation turning to that boob of a boy their daughter had gone out with tonight. However, bless Barton Swift, boob or not, for taking Daughter Jacqueline out on a Friday night date. Thus giving Daddy a better chance at Mommy. "Seems very nice," Hank muttered, slipping the finger up and down the dry ridge beneath the crisp matting. Blonde matting. Almost never got to see it any more, hardly ever even got to feel it, damn it! He wet his finger, after automatically passing it in review under his nose: nothing: and again began to ride it up and down Cunt Hill, hopefully awaiting a sign of softening. Crisp mat of blonde cunt hair. Jacqueline must have the same. Was Barton Swift even now-? No, not very damned likely. Too much of a goody-goody. And besides- "Oh, I'm sure she must be," Mae said, suddenly apropos of nothing. But Hank knew. He knew exactly what Mae meant.
"Sure she must be a virgin?"
"Yes. Oh. How did you- Well, why shouldn't you know what I meant? We're married, we're her parents, you as well as I."
Hank put two fingers in his mouth, tasting the very faintly salty taste; with his other hand he felt his cock, and was faintly surprised to note it was still hard. He slid the two wet fingers into the very slightly opened cleft between her thighs, up and down, up and down, not too rough. And by and by he felt the little knob, the little nubbin, the little man in the boat: the clitty-clit- clit-clit clitoris. Gently down on it. Gently up. Gently make it rise. Gently stroke underneath. And a sudden boom and blast made them both jump. But he held on. He wasn't going to lose it now. Loud music next door. Never mind. He wet three fingers and now he slid them past the tiny taste-bud to the tightly closed and puckered cunny-hole itself.
But now he was getting somewhere. Slowly the tense tissues were relaxing, the slit was softening, the outer lips were opening more widely, and a slight but welcome flow of ladycock fluid made the sliding, gliding fingers move more quickly and slickly. He sighed, and the little movement made him realize that he was covered with sweat and had wet the bedclothes underneath him with perspiration. It was a labor. A labor of love, but still a labor.
"Why is that music so loud?" Mae whispered. Hank panted over his task. Music? Music? Oh. Yes. The boom and blast next door, the solid sound of the music on the Tomlins's record player. The 1812 Overture. Cannon roaring. Brass bands. God knows what. Mae hissed and clicked her displeasure. She knew why it was so loud. So did he. Three fingers now working their way into Mae's joyhole, tickling and caressing the slippery opening. Thank God for the neighbors' feudal fuck music. Mae began to tremble. Her body twitched.
Very quickly Hank tried to do everything at once: Kiss her, slide her nightgown from underneath her hips, suck her nipples, keep prodding good and tender at that little old button, and slide his patient, patient prick inside.
"Oh, you'd think they'd be ashamed," Mae said, beginning to pant, too. "Letting everybody know. Oh! Oh! Oh!" Hank tried to go slow and easy, slow and easy, but his cock seemed to have a will of its own, now. And it didn't, wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't.
It was funny about that, Hank thought, as he rode high and swift and lovely. He pressed the crown of his hot rod against the rim of the cunt and plunged into a glory he knew would be too brief since it had been too long delayed; it was funny about Mae and what they had come to recognize as the Tomlin's "mood-music"-it was almost as though she had been waiting for it.
Hank's last clear thought before the unbearably joyful pressure of his love-starved cock burst inside the sweetskin like a ripe sweet fruit-his last cool thought was, If Jacqueline is as hard to get into as her mother is, then Sure she's a virgin. Sure she is, sure she is-Oh!
Oh! Sure! Oh! Oh! Oh!
Sure! Sure! Suuuuuure!
Ohhh . . . !
* * *
Three-Twenty-Two and Three-Twenty-Four Birch Road was a ten-room house split down the middle by a too-thin wall, upstairs and down. Bed brick with yellow brick trim. A tiny lawn in the front and a tiny lawn in the back. That is, three-twenty-two had a lawn in the front (tiny) and an equally tiny lawn in the back. Its Siamese twin had red gravel in front and a barbecue in back. The Andersons had a young daughter and a Valiant, the Tomlins had a young son and a Ford Ranchero. Both couples had married much too young.
So far, a fairly even balance. And the Andersons had Helga, an enormous Great Dane, and the Tomlins had no pet at all.
"I've been thinking of getting a cat," said Annie Tomlins that Friday night as she sat on the edge of the bed. Downstairs a record player was booming its way through the early part of the 1812 Overture. Annie scratched herself, thoughtfully.
"That goddamn Olga would probably try to eat it like she did the last one." They had twin beds, but Randy was now also on Annie's bed. He had on his jockey shorts. She was bare.
"Helga, not Olga. I guess you're right about the cat, though. I missed her." She stretched out and sighed and looked at the ceiling. "What a racket that music makes."
"Your idea," said Randy. "I don't care if they hear us. Hey. Why the book? Not going to read now are you?"
She shook her head and fluffed out her long brown hair with her long thin hands. "No, later. You know it's hard for me to get to sleep afterwards. Unlike some people - I don't really care if they hear, either. Us , or the music."
Randy stripped out of his jockey shorts and looked at himself admiringly. "Should I turn off the lights?" His wife shook her head again, and said that she'd only have to turn it on, later. She looked at Randy, who was on his knees, and a slow smile spread across her face. She began to breathe more quickly. He moved towards her. Suddenly her eyes flew wide open and a surprised look replaced the smile.
"What's the matter?" asked Randy. Moving his hands from her knees to her thighs, he began to stroke lightly.
"Oh . . . Nothing's the matter, really . . ." She let her fingers play with the sandy hairs on his crotch and arms. "I was just wondering. Do you think Jeremy is still a virgin?"
The house shook slightly as the record player announced Napoleon's invasion of Russia.
Randy Tomlins for a moment forgot what he was holding in one hand, and why. "Is Jeremy a virgin?" he said, repeating his wife's question in amazement. "I should hope to hell not! Why should he be? He's a young man now, he's a healthy, good-looking kid. And he always has a date or some girl calling up asking for him. I don't think he's a virgin. What put the idea in your head?"
The idea may have been in her head, but the cock was in his hand. She reached out and began to stroke it, from the root of the shaft hidden behind the hairy balls up the whole long length of it to the slightly pouting lips. It twitched, and she gave it a friendly pat. "Oh . . ." she said, "he doesn't look satisfied. You know what I mean? Men who're getting laid regularly have a sort of satisfied look. And-" But Randy, whose flagpole had grown even larger and longer as she skillfully caressed and tickled and playfully pumped it and lightly scratched her long fingernails on it so that minute red lines appeared on the white skin and by now not a single wrinkle was left-Randy began to slide forwards onto her. "Well, he's a kid, they're never satisfied. When he gets my age, he'll realize that one good woman is all any man needs. Hey, Annie, you ready?"
"I'm always ready," she murmured. She lifted her slender legs and he put them over his broad shoulders. "I'm always ready," she murmured, and with her fingers she drew apart the dark lawn of her pubic hair, "for you," she added.
He slid the round and rosy head of his standpipe into the hot, moist slit; and, without pausing, he pressed down and into her until the full shaft was in, then he gave a sigh of satisfaction, and her hands clasped the cheeks of his ass. Now, on the phonograph record, Moscow was entered by the French Grand Army; upstairs, Annie was entered by Randy. Both events were noisy, and both sounded like boots stuck in the snow.
He plunged up and down. "Hoo! Hoo!" he kept half-crying, half-grunting. Her long fingers caressed the crack of his ass, increasing his pleasure and his speed and the frenzy of his plunges. With her legs over his shoulders, the angle of penetration was increased so that she felt the head of his cock butting against the innermost end of her cunt. She cried out her pleasure, and again, and again, swaying her hips from side to side. She reached one hand between his legs and very gently touched with her fingers the sensitive underside of his scrotum, feeling the jiggling balls within.
With that he gave a loud gasp. She felt his cock swell inside of her, Moscow crashed into flames, she felt herself lifted up on a wave of soft, sweet fire that sent surges of pure joy through her whole body, there was an explosion of incredibly intense sensation; dimly, through the exploding cannon fire she heard her voice rising uncontrollably. His voice still louder. Trumpets, bugles, and drums.
Oh, why can't it go on forever? she wondered. Aloud, she moaned, "Don't stop, don't stop. Don't . . . don't . . ."
He kept on fucking her. He felt that her cunt was now, as always just after she'd come, even more delightful than ever. They both made more noise. But although he pressed closer and closer and tightened his muscles, his long dick grew more and more limber, then softer and smaller. Finally, with one last, loud gasp and groan, he sank, almost fell, upon her, and lay motionless. After a long while her legs slid from his shoulders. His hands caressed her sweating breasts. Then nothing moved but their breaths.
She saw his dick recede, still dribbling milky sperm. She saw the look reflected on her husband's face. No . . . she thought . . . Jeremy has to be still a virgin. Or I'd have seen that look on his face. At least once . . .
But by and by that contented feeling began to ebb. She wanted it again. More. More. It was too good to stop at just once. Her hands reached out to capture the limber little dicky bird which had its nest in the sandy-brown straw between Bandy's legs. How long was it since they'd come? Who counts, she asked herself. Long enough. Too long. The time, not the tally-whacker, which was no longer long enough.
But that could be taken care of. She slid over and down and lifted his pecker. The normal pink of the head was still deepened into red, and the come had begun to dry on it, making it look as though it had been glazed with egg-white. She gave it a little lick with the tip of her tongue, caressing the gaping and tender tissues of the open lips of his prick. His whole body shuddered, but he said nothing, just made a small sound. She took the whole head in her mouth, moving her lips over it as though it were a maraschino cherry. She moved her lips back and forth around the rim, while her fingers ran lightly up and down the shaft, tickling his balls, moving along the thighs and on the sensitive skin between his balls and his asshole. He sighed.
By and by she began to feel it swell inside her mouth, and she lightly ran her tongue around it. This time it gave a tiny kick, like that of the first movement of a baby in the womb. Now she began to lick the head, tasting the come on it, and she could feel it moving farther back into her mouth as, with little jerks and twitches, it expanded. It stopped, but had by no means reached anywhere near its full length, so she began a more active movement, taking more and more of the cock in her mouth, manipulating it between the surface of her tongue and the roof of her mouth, and even gently scraping the sides with her teeth. Feeling the soft flesh filling up with blood and growing harder and harder excited her. She would have liked to have moved so that they could sixty-nine while she was bringing him up to a full cockstand, but didn't want to interrupt what she was doing, even for a moment. This was no time for him to lose a hard-on.
Instead, she let her fingers find her cunt. It was wet and ready. When wasn't it? And her fingers slid easily up and down inside the outer lips until she began to jump and twitch each time her fingertips, now greasy with cunt-juice, passed over the eager little love-bump of the clitoris. Finally she could wait no longer. She released his prick and gasped, "I'm ready." She wanted another good fucking so much that she could hardly stand it, she could hardly breathe, she could hardly move. Randal had a beautiful hard-on, big and red and wet, curved up and back like the blade of a sword ready to cut into her eager flesh. It twitched rhythmically with each pulse beat.
"I'm ready, Randy," she said, panting. "Lay me down and fuck me now, or do it dog-fashion."
He said nothing and didn't move. She looked up. His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell. A contented smile was on his face. And even as a horrible suspicion entered her mind, a huge snore broke from his lips, and he mumbled and turned over on his other side. After a second she said, "Why, you son of a bitch ..." She reached for him, grabbed his hip and shook him. But it was no use. It was never any use. She had only been kidding herself. Nine times out of ten this was more or less what happened. But the tenth time was so great, so rewarding, that she relished in her excitement and her eagerness when she felt his dong sliding its way inside of her, making her forget the other nine times.
The shock and disappointment was so great that she began to cry. Huge tears rolled down her cheeks and, as she sat up, they splashed down upon her breasts. They were a good pair, too, but a lot of good they did now! "Son of a bitch, son of a bitch, goddamn, shit, piss, fuck," she muttered. Then she shrugged, lay down, lit a cigarette, and opened the detective story she had been thoughtful enough to have ready on the nightstand.
"Anybody that would sleep through a first-class blowjob, too," she muttered. Fortunately it was Friday night and fortunately it was a big book. God only knew when she would be able to get to sleep, all worked up like this, or when she'd wake up tomorrow. And would be a bitch on wheels for days, too.
* * *
"Well, here we are," said Bart Swift.
There were only half-a-dozen of them. Bart's mother said, "What a nice little crowd. Oh, Jacqueline! Oh, how sweet you look! Why you must have spent hours ironing that lovely little dress. Oh, I just know you young people are going to have a lovely time together. The refreshments are on the dining room table, and the icebox is just packed with Cokes and things."
Mrs. Swift looked around, beaming, trying to focus her eyes on the others, then waved at one. "Why Jeremy! Jeremy Tomlins! Why, how handsome you look! Oh, I just love that pageboy bob . . . Oh, they don't call it that anymore. Your beetle haircut?" She staggered slightly, looked quickly around to see who had noticed. Everybody had, but they all smiled as though they hadn't.
Finally Bart got her up the stairs. He came down holding up a fifth of vodka and held it up for all to see. "I wish my mom drank," somebody said, enviously.
"I wish my mom did something," someone else- Bitsie Clay, it was-said, "besides bitch, bitch, bitch, and sniff, sniff, sniff." She was a full-figured brunette, on the nervous and fluttery side.
" 'Sniff, sniff, sniff'?" repeated redheaded Bill McDowl.
Bitsie nodded. "When I come home. She sniffs my breath for alcohol. She even sniffs my fingers- for cigarettes."
Bill looked sympathetic. He clicked his tongue. "Does she snuff your cunt?' he asked.
Bitsie looked him straight in the eye. "Strangely enough," she said, "she doesn't."
"Oh," said Bill, as though nonplussed. Then his deadpan expression brightened. "Bitsie, may I?" he asked.
"Oh, please do," said Bitsie. She slipped out of her shoes, hopped onto the seat of an easy-chair, slipped out of something small and black and filmy and stuffed it into her purse. Then, spreading her legs, she leaned back against the wall. Bill sniffed loudly. He sniffed again. He sniffed till his nostrils showed white dents. Then, bending and then crouching, he nosed along with his curly red head close to the floor like a bloodhound. "Cunt," he muttered. "Cunt ... I love it, I love it . . . and I can smell it, too. The smell that drives sane men mad and makes madmen sane. When they can get it. Sniff. Sniff . . ."
And his russet mop of curls vanished under Bitsie's skirt.
"Watch the birdy," his voice sounded, muffled as he knelt on the seat of the chair.
Jeremy Tomlins chuckled. He said to the slightly plump girl next to him, "Well, now you know the rules of the game. The rules of the house. No smoking, no drinking. Just clean, wholesome fucking, screwing, cunt-lapping, and cocksucking. You game, or you want to back out now, Betty?"
Betty looked at him, her head on one side, peering through her glasses. " 'Back out?' You are the one who can back out . . . when I'm all through with you. I haven't come all the way from Springfield to back out. This is what I came from Springfield for, Lover." She took off her glasses and set them on the table. They fell into a clinch and onto the sofa.
Bart, expressionless, said to Jacqueline, "Jer always has an out of town girl, have you noticed?"
Equally expressionless, she said, "Yes, I have." And, as he started to put his arms around her, she withdrew. "Oh, Bart, no. I've told you. I don't want to crush my dress. Help me take it off, would you. It's got a million buttons and zippers on it and I'd have to be a contortionist to get it off. I suppose my mother thinks that by the time somebody else would make the attempt that I'd change my mind."
"Little does she know," said Bart. His fingers began to unbutton and unzip. "Don't you ever get tired of this make-believe we have to go through, this damned front we have to put up all the time? I know I do ... Of course, my mother is so juiced ninety percent of the time, she wouldn't know the difference, between vodka and nembutal and Seconal and Southern Comfort. It's your mother and father and the other good citizens like them, that I have to keep the mask on for. Don't you get tired of it?"
She stepped out of her frilly dress as calmly and coolly as she had stepped out of his car. "I get tired of lots of things," she said. "But they're necessary. I'm going to keep my mask on and my parents happy and get my little yellow motorcycle and finish high school and go away to college. And until then, you-are going-to play along."
Her fingers darted down the front of his starched shirt front, untying his necktie and undoing his buttons. Shirt and trousers were neatly bestowed. In another moment they stood face to face in their underclothes. Now it was curious that they did not embrace at once. They just looked at each other. Then he pulled his T-shirt off. Her brassiere unhooked in front. He unhooked it.
"I can't get over your tits," he said. "You have the goddamndest set of boobs I've ever seen outside the National Geographic." And indeed they were not the type of breasts conventionally shown in 20th Century American Art-or usually found underneath 20th Century American brassieres. Not big and yet not shallow, they came out and down and then up again, like a pair of exotic foreign fruits, and pointed outward away from the breastbone, with the nipples pointing up-and one left, and one right.
Jacqueline looked at them and touched them. She smiled. "I know. They do look like something from Pango-Pango or Bora-Bora. I used to be so ashamed. Now I like them. They're . . . they're rare!" They bobbed proudly as she bent slightly and began to take off her panties.
"That's my job," he said. And he did his job slowly and lovingly, till he paused to run his finger from her navel down to the first little crisp runnels of golden curls. "Turnabout is fair play," she murmured, and, with a quick click-click-clik unsnapped his shorts and let them gradually descend. And then, free at last of all clothes, they put their arms around each other, hard strong chest to soft breasts, hairy forearms around smooth back, and with the tips of their tongues they caressed one another's lips. His cock pointed down, but it was straight, half-full, and the head of it, like a red-purple plum, nuzzled warmly into the natural cleft between the outer lips of her golden downy cunt.
She breathed into his ears, as she stroked his back and buttocks, "No more mask for now, anyway. No more masks now."
Over his shoulders her eyes caught Jeremy's eyes for a single second. Then his were turned once more to the naked Betty, whose plump legs were for this moment straight up in the air. "I want you inside me now," Betty said, in a thick, heavy voice, a voice as thick and heavy as his dick, a jack-ass cock of incredible length and width which poised at the lips of her cunt. "Fuck me now. Now!" He flung his head up and he rammed his hard-on into her. She croaked like a frog and wrapped her legs around the small of his back.
Bill McDowl still had his face between Betty's legs, but their clothes were off and the two of them were spread all over the easy chair. His head was between her legs and her head was between his, his lips around the head of a prick as red as the thicket of hair it curved up and backwards from. They were making odd and muffled sounds-and then he pushed them apart. For a moment he lay there, panting, and she hung from his upthrust arms. For another few seconds they seemed to be engaged in some sort of free-form wrestling match. The light gleamed on the head of his glistening cock-robin, its riding hood pulled down. And then he was on top and had her pinned to the chair seat. "Oh, don't make me wait-" her voice rose to a howl. He put his hand over her mouth. Sweat glistened in the ruddy hair thinly covering his chest and thickly on his belly.
He took his cock in one hand and guided it. Then he pressed forward. He felt her breath come swift against his hand and he took it away. The movements of his hips were slow and very slight. She groaned, a long, low shuddering moan. He moved just enough to shove in the silken-smooth head of his love staff, then withdrew. Exquisitely sensitive tissues glided against exquisitely sensitive tissues, her cunt seemed to reach out and clasp itself tightly around the swollen rim, or corona, around the edge of the head of his cock.
She groaned when he slid it in; he groaned as he slid it out. "Oh, that's good," she whispered. "Oh, that's good . . ."
"I know that it's good," he whispered back. "I'm doing it! Christ, you've got a lovely cunt, baby. Christ, you've got a lovely cunt ..."
"It's beautiful," she breathed. "It's the most beautiful thing in the world-" Her voice went high, her eyes sprang open wide upon this last word, her lips parted, she thrust her body up in an arc in one sudden movement that almost knocked him off, and she let out a soft scream. "Oh, I came," she murmured, as though astonished. "I came ... I came . . ."
"I didn't," he said. "But I will now." His teeth took hold of the skin of her neck where it joined the shoulder, not painfully, but firmly. She could feel his muscles swell. Once more he slid slowly out. And then he thrust forward like a charging ram, and again and again and again and again. The chair began to thud up and down against the floor and wall. She uttered one cry after another, her fingers tightly raking his back and buttocks. And then it was he who screamed.
* * *
Hank Anderson hopped briskly out of bed and into the bathroom, where he showered, washing the clotted come out of his curly black pubic hair. He would have liked it if Mae took a shower with him, but he had long ago given up asking. He would have liked a lot of things he didn't get. Things he had learned to do without. Such as being fucked more than once a night. Such as fucking Mae every night. Such as being able to fuck whenever he fucking felt like it. He would have liked not to have to chase his own goddamned wife around and around the house before getting her into bed so that he could finally fuck her in the one and only place she would consent to be fucked in.
There were a lot of things he would have liked, he reflected, stretching out his dick and soaping and massaging it and then holding it stretched out under the hot water. He saw it begin to grow hard again, and he sighed. He would have liked to fuck Mae downstairs in the living room, the same way he had screwed so many girls before meeting Mae, who had insisted that she wanted to be a virgin when they got married; so he had "respected her scruples" and had not broken her cherry until the night of the wedding-and even then not until she had placed six huge bath towels under her virginal ass on the hotel bed. He could still remember how exciting the soft, thick towels had felt against his naked legs.
But that had been among the last exciting things about the honeymoon. To be sure, it had been exciting when he was stroking and caressing and kissing her, and he had been patient and waited her arousal. But the arousal hadn't come, and, finally, he had been unable to wait any longer and had collected a mouthful of thick saliva and made his more than impatient cock good and slippery, and then he had put it in. That is, he had started to put it in. It took a damned long time, but he managed. The experience, however, had been painful for both of them. And he had waited some time before trying it again.
They had planned to wait five years and then have a child. They had both agreed that one child was enough. But suddenly a lawyer friend of Mae's parents knew a girl who had gotten herself "into trouble." It was a quick decision, they paid the hospital bills and a slight bonus and they paid the legal adoption fees. So that was great, a pretty infant girl and Mae never had to worry about ever being asked to get pregnant.
In a way she had become more relaxed, sexually. She didn't learn to play sexually. She would not learn to play. She accepted his caresses, but she wouldn't caress back. Now and then, a gesture, a hand lightly across his back while he was feeling her dry cunt. If he wanted her hand on his cock, he had to put it on his cock, and it never moved until she moved it away altogether. And as for "responding" during the actual fucking, the only response she made was to keep on breathing.
Now and then it had occurred to him to wonder if she might be frigid.
But then there had occurred what he always thought of as The Incident of Wednesday Night, the 26th of October.
On a Wednesday afternoon on the 26th of October, Wilbur J Fleming, the head of Hank's department at work, had perforated an ulcer. While awaiting for his car to be brought around, he had told Hank what he wanted done. The company was in the midst of a reorganization and it was, Fleming felt, impossible to wait for Fleming to return in order to have his work done. "You stay tonight as late as you can, Anderson," said old Fleming, grunting and doubled over. "Witherall can stay tomorrow-then Duncan-then your turn again-" Dutifully, Hank had phoned Mae. Dutifully he had cleaned up his desk top at five, and dutifully gone into Fleming's office. To find that more than files and contracts were involved; to wit, Miss Novack, old Fleming's secretary was involved. Hank, insofar as he had thought about Miss Novack at all, had thought her blowzy. All he had on his mind then and there was doing his fair share and a good night's work and getting home to a warmed-over supper and to bed. Maybe if it hadn't been for Jack, the loyal old janitor, that's all that would have happened. Loyal old Jack, however, about five minutes after five, had stuck his head in the door and said, "Terrible thing about Mr. Fleming, but don't you folks worry about a thing because I'll see it stays good and warm tonight whiles you're working."
It had done more than stay good and warm, it had gotten sweltering. And about seven that night, with all the innocence in the world, Hank said, "Excuse me, Miss Novack, I'm going to take off my coat and tie."
Miss Novack, without turning around from the card file, and with equal innocence, calmly said, "Why don't you take off your shirt? You'll be more comfortable."
Hank had laughed, because the idea of anybody being shirtless in Mr. Fleming's sacrosanct office was funny; and, because it had reminded him of a remark he had made himself more times than he could remember to more girls than he could remember. He had repeated that same remark out loud, with only a slight change of emphasis: "Why don't you take off your dress? You'll be more comfortable."
Miss Novack said, "All right." And reached her hands around her neck and unsnapped her dress at the collar. It was as though two voices spoke into Hank's ears at that moment, one in his right ear and one in his left. One voice said, You can fuck Miss Novack. And the other voice said, Lock the door. The latter was what he did first. If any doubts existed in his mind, they vanished when, turning from the door, he saw Miss Novack had not only removed her dress, but was working on her garter belt. Hank felt his cock uncoil like a watch-spring inside his jockey briefs, and his heart began to thump out a heavy, happy message. He unclicked his cufflinks, clicked them back after he slipped his hands out of his shirtsleeves, hung the shirt on a chair and pulled off his undershirt.
Then he went and put his arms around Miss Novack, who had taken off her nylons and her spectacles, and gave her a long, long, deep, deep kiss, and grabbed her gently but firmly by the ass. After a while they came up for air and looked at each other. She no longer looked blowzy, she looked earthy, she looked hot, horny, and healthy.
"Oh boy, I see the devil in those blue eyes!" she said. "If you must know, I've had hot pants for you for a long time, Anderson, more than once I've said to myself, 'Anderson looks sexy. I'd bet my ass he'd be a good fuck'- but you never gave me a tumble, you bastard."
He unhooked her brassiere and let it fall and grabbed a double handful of her full, ripe tits. "Mister Bastard to you, Miss Novack. I am a good fuck, and I'm going to give you a tumble tonight, baby." Then she did something that no girl had ever done to him before. She leaned over and ran her tongue across and around each of his nipples. His prick began to throb, there was a tremor in the nerves and muscles of the inner parts of his upper thighs, the very soles of his feet tingled; and he felt ten miles high, and all male. "Oh!" he gave a delighted gasp. "Oh, wow!"
She grinned. "Like that? Well, now you know how it feels." And she bent down and did it again. And again and again. He caressed her back with his hands, and she gave a delighted shudder. He continued the gesture inside her panties, then down the crack of her lovely white ass, then inserted his fingers between her legs, and she spread for him. While her tongue continued to lick his nipples, her hands were at work on the bulge inside his jockey briefs. He was vaguely aware of having stepped out of his trousers. One of her hands gently stroked his balls, and she ran the thumbnail of the other hand up and down the ridge-muscle on the underside of his cock.
They kissed, sometimes softly, sometimes hard, sometimes exchanging tongues. Their hands wandered lovingly, leisurely, over backs and shoulders, arms and hips, necks and sides and ears. She was wonderfully responsive. And then, it seemed so suddenly, he pushed just a little bit closer to her, and his cock slid up into her cunt, and up and up and up.
"This is where we lie down," she said, after a second, her breath uneven. He forced himself to realize what she was saying, when all he wanted to do was to ram it up and up and up, until it came out of her mouth. There was a screen in one corner, and behind the screen was a couch-an old-fashioned, black-leather couch-and, somehow, without either disentangling or tripping or collapsing, they waltzed slowly over and got onto it. That is, she got onto it, backwards, and wrapped one leg around him and hung the other one over his shoulder. And she put one of his hands on her cunt and the other one on her tit.
And then he was butting his way in and out of her, his cock caroming onto and over angles and nooks he hadn't even suspected were inside of cunts. One of his fingers neatly covered that delicate little love-wart, and every thrust of his pelvis slid it up and over and back again. Just as every to-and-fro movement of his back moved his other hand back and forth over her breast.
He felt free-after years of increasingly subdued expression of sexual feeling-to let himself go, to cry out with her well-educated cunt closed around the head of his cock with its hot and soft and slippery membranes just barely allowing the hard, strong cock-head to withdraw . . . and then to penetrate again . . . again . . . again ... It was resistance, but it was good resistance, beautiful, ecstatic resistance. And he felt free to cry out as his loins and glands and cock and belly convulsed in that supreme convulsion. And he felt himself shooting, thickly, richly, into the hot treasure-box of her cunt, once and twice, and how she shuddered and let out a strange, high shriek, three times and four he shot, five, six, and kept on ramming the spurting sperm-staff in and in, and seven times he shot and then he lost count.
They showered in Mr. Fleming's private bathroom and had lots of fun playing drop-the-soap, and dried each other on the old man's private towels. When he started to put on his clothes, she said, "What for? We'll only have to take them off again."
"Put like that, Miss Novack, I see your point." So they went to work again, perfectly seriously but utterly bare-ass, pattering back and forth with her big boobs bouncing and his big cock dangling. It was about two hours later that she turned and caught him admiring the way her two white buttocks went up and down as she walked across the room. "Well, I see it's time for the other friendly fuck," she said.
"And how do you see that, Miss Novack?"
"By the way the big hand on the clock is pointing. Or, cock, to be more correct."
He looked down, and was astonished at what he saw. Not astonished that he was big and hard again, but at the angle of his erection. His cock was up so high and curved back so far that the swollen red head of it was nuzzling the black curls on his belly. He hadn't seen it like that in years. "In you go, then, buster," he said, patting it, and heading towards her.
"Not so fast, pard," she said, pointing to the chair. "Kindly be seated." Puzzled but agreeable, he sat down. She knelt in front of him, her light-brown hair falling into his pubic tangle and brushing his thighs as she took his cock in her mouth. It jumped and throbbed. The head was exquisitely responsive to her lips. "Oh, don't blow me," he pleaded. "Let me fuck you again. I so much want to fuck you again."
She released his prick and looked up at him with an odd crooked grin on her red mouth. "You fuck me? she asked. "Not a chance, Anderson. Because I am going to fuck you!" And she got up and kissed him. Then she turned around and, taking the huge prick in both her hands, she straddled him. He placed both hands on her big boobs and rolled them around. "Mmmm," she said. "Love that . . . And you're going to love this ..." He was trembling with delight just from the touch of her fingers on his dickstick. He felt the head among the hairs of her bulging cunt. Then he felt it touch the hot, wet lips of the cunt. Then it went in so far as to cover the head. How tightly the cuntflesh closed around it. "Oh, Jesus," he groaned. And then she took her hands away and she slid down the whole length of the shaft, groaning softly. Her full, soft white ass was in his lap. She lightly passed her smooth legs loosely around his hairy ones.
"This is going to be the joyride to cap all climaxes," she said. "Put that finger where it was before . . . not too much pressure. There, like that. Hold on, now, Blue-Eyes!"
This was a night full of "Firsts" for him. No woman had ever ridden him, straddle-saddle, sitting up, before.
In theory, she commanded about a forty-five degree arc on his cock, and it seemed to him that she managed to work out on every one of the forty-five. Sometimes she plunged up and down and sometimes she glided. Sometimes she leaned back against his sweat-wet chest and sometimes she bent so far forward he feared his tool would pop out . . . but it never did. His cock was an instrument that she played on, now fast, now slow, now rapid drum-beats. Now she reached a certain angle and rolled her hips again and again. As he breathed out, groaning, pausing for another breath, he heard her breathing and groaning. At times the sensation was so intense that he wondered how he didn't come. But invariably she slowed down at such a moment.
Her ass made plop-plop noises as she bounced up and down in his lap, and cock and cunt together made slurping, sucking sounds. When she bent forward and rode high, he could see the skin of the cunt-lips stretching out as they clung to the cock. In a muffled voice she asked, "How close are you?"
"I've been holding back ... I can come . . . almost any minute now," he panted.
She said, "I'm almost . . . there ... oh ... oh . . . my God . . . !"
He wrapped his arms around her and lunged up as she slid down. She screamed, slid up, he lunged again, and in those motions, legs wrapped around each other, between sitting and standing, ass against belly and cunt over cock, and the loud smack! smack! of flesh against flesh, the strings of control were loosened . . . broke . . . she twisted on him, grinding her hips and giving strangled, groaning sounds . . . screamed ... he felt a pain shoot through his belly . . . and then pang after pang of hot, fierce pleasure; higher and more intense than any before. It seemed that she was being forced up by each spurt of sperm, and he released his hold on her waist and held onto her shoulders. And while he was still coming she toppled forward, so intense was her moment that she lost all muscular control, he still holding onto her, fell with her; and his last spurts of joyful sperm were shot into her trembling twat while they were on their hands and knees.
* * *
Mae was in bed when he got home. He ate quickly and got into bed. Either she was awake or she woke up. "You must be very tired," she said, whispering.
It was incredible-two of absolutely the hottest, hardest, most sexually satisfying bouts of love he had ever had-and now, barely two hours after the last one, here he was with a hard-on again! Well-well!
"Oh, I'm not that tired!" he whispered back, and, hauling up her nightgown till he felt her backbone, he nuzzled his cock against the cheeks of her ass, so smooth, so well-proportioned, so soft, so clean he could smell how clean they were. "Open wide," he said. He felt that he could fuck every woman and girl on Birch Street, knock on every door, brush aside every limp-loined husband, hop on them all, and happily fuck it to them.
"Oh-Hank! What's- Oh, not that way-Oh! Hank!" She rolled over. He hauled up the nightgown even more, leaped on top of her, thrust his knee in between her legs, quickly spit a copious gob into his palm, then transferred it to his still urgent cock. While she still writhed and protested, he pushed into her twat. He laughed triumphantly, wrapped his legs around hers, forced his hands under her upper body, and took hold of her tits.
"Now we really, really do it, wife of my bosom and my balls," he hissed into her astonished ear. "I'm going to fuck you! I'm not going to have intercourse or sexual relations with you, I'm going to fuck-I! Am! Going! To! FUCK! You!"
And fuck her he proceeded to do, with long, lazy, slow, firm strokes. This was no athletic activity, he was in no hurry, he had all night to perform, and he felt he was entitled to make up for all the other nights in which he either hadn't gotten fucked, or had had to work too damned hard to get fucked, or- Well, and for all the nights, which was every night of their marriage, on which he had not been well-fucked at all.
Long, lazy, slow, firm strokes. No danger this time of his coming too soon. Maybe he wouldn't come at all. Never mind. This domestic fucking lacked the wild, fierce joy of fucking Miss Novack. But once Mae's cunning little cunny-hole got well warmed up and nicely lubricated, it was very friendly to Man's Best Friend. His legs and loins had her pinned so that she couldn't move her thighs, which thus pressed just right and just tight enough against his long, lazy, slow, firm fucker.
"Oh, how good that is!" he breathed. And it went on forever, minute after minute, hour after hour. He felt things about her cunt that he'd never felt before. It rubbed and it clung and it pressed and it yielded, and it was so good to his good old cock, which damned well deserved the best. He just kept on and on with his long, lazy, slow, firm strokes, running his roger into her cunt between her sweet-smelling ass-cheeks. And the sensation grew and grew inside of him and he never missed a firm, slow, lazy, long stroke; and he was ramming in a nice one when he began to come. He just trembled and gasped and let it come, spasm after slow sweet spasm, while he kept on with his long, lazy, slow and firm strokes. And finally he just lay there, spent but oh so satisfied . . .
That was when Hank Anderson had begun to feel like a Beast. That was the night of The Incident of Wednesday Night, The Twenty-Sixth of October.
And now it was years later, Friday night, at Three Twenty-Two Birch Street. Jacqueline Anderson had gone out with that nice, trustworthy young Swift boy, to dance to phonograph music at his house with a few other equally trustworthy young people, such as Jeremy Tomlins from Three Twenty-Four: certainly a nice, polite and decent boy, even if his parents were . . . well, what they were. How awful they'd been when Helga defended herself against their vicious cat! And so many other things. As, for example, playing that music, That Music! every time they Did It. As though she couldn't hear every now and then through a soft part of the music their bedsprings thrumming and the horrid fuck noises they made. Funny noises. As though they enjoyed it. Both of them. Mae had known this was part of marriage-fucking. That awful first night! And all the other awful nights . . . except of course that one wonderful night, that Wednesday, the twenty-sixth of October! Then she had for the first time understood what sexual pleasure meant. Hank had been so odd, it was almost as though he were raping her, and she was too astonished to say anything, and the way she was pinned down- He'd been so wonderful, he'd just kept on and on and on and on-until finally she had begun to feel so strange . . . then so good . . . oh, so good! . . . and then that wonderful, wonderful thing had happened. And she had bitten the pillow to keep from crying out. It was an orgasm. It must have been! And she just wept from sheer joy. But couldn't understand. Why, if Hank had done it once, hadn't he done it before? Of course she couldn't ask him! And she had hoped he'd do it again without her having to. Hoped and hoped he'd keep on that way again, that long and slow way, until finally, after a long time, it would happen with her as is it had that once.
But it never had.
And so now tonight, while Hank was thoughtfully drying his dick in the bathroom and sighing regret- fully that his wife didn't like sex, his wife lay dry-eyed and tense and rigid in bed, hating Hank and hating herself for hating Hank and hating him as she hated him after each time he screwed her because although he could have prolonged it as he had once, he never had again.
* * *
Bart Swift was fucking Betty-from-Springfield, dog-fashion, squeezing her round, full tits with his big hands while his big dick plumped in and out of her cunt from behind. She was yelping like a bitch, and with each lunge of his ass she yelped and jumped and slid forward on her hands and knees. They had already been twice around the room this way. Bill McDowl and Bitsie Clay were in the dining room, gathering strength for the next round. Jeremy Tomlins and Jackie Anderson were on the sofa.
"You gave Betty a very nice time, earlier," she said, after waiting for him to start the conversation. Few people knew it, but Jeremy was really rather shy.
"Oh, well," he said.
"No, really, you did. She came three times. I heard her."
He took her hand. She moved closer to him. He had a beautiful and well-proportioned body. Very little hair on his body, just the neat brown pubic ruff. And, of course, that perfectly enormous dong, with the head somehow always reminding her of a certain thick and fleshy kind of mushroom, under his long foreskin. Long, lovely dong. Horn of ivory. Even now, when it was limp, it hung over the edge of the sofa. Some girls were afraid of it, wouldn't let him inside of them. He had given Betty a beautiful time, she had come three times. And here he sat, fresh as a daisy, whereas Bart had circles under his eyes and Bill had kind of staggered off to get something to eat and restore his energy.
Jacky stroked Jeremy's arm. "You've come a long way from the little boy I used to jack off," she said. Another nod and smile from Jeremy. She put her arm around him and kissed him. He stopped smiling and took her tits in his two hands. She reached down for his dong and slipped the foreskin back; sure enough, it had a luminous nose. It began to grow, like a snake creeping slowly across the edge of the sofa, inch by inch and jerk by jerk, it grew longer and longer in her hand and it grew thicker and thicker. Finally she let go of it and just watched. Then she heard him make a low noise in his throat. She knew that noise. She reached out and took a cushion from the back of the sofa and lay it down on the seat. Then she sat on it, wiggling to make it firm. Then she lay down, her ass elevated, resting one leg on the top of the sofa and flexing the other leg, knee up.
Jeremy faced her, intent. His jack-ass cock was so heavy it almost never stood up anymore the way it used to, when it was smaller. A clear-colored drop glittered at its tip. He milked his dong down, rubbed the fluid over the huge head. He straddled her and put his hands on her upright and balloon-shaped breasts. He kissed her softly and gently on the lips. His dong leaped forward another half-inch. She took it and guided the head of it to her cunt, the lips parting under the curly golden mantel. He slowly pressed into her. Slowly her cunt yielded. One inch. He kissed her and gently squeezed her tits. Two inches. She stroked his hard young arms and she liked the feel and play of the muscles, and her cunt liked it and softened some more and let flow some more liquid. His hard young cock went in three inches. Another firm thrust. Four inches. He withdrew a bit. Pressed himself down in again, oh so big and hard and lovely, five inches.
She caressed his smooth but hard and firm young ass-cheeks, and his cock released more fluid. Six inches. This was the difficult part. Difficult with Jackie, anyway. He'd just sunk right into Betty. She must have been very big. Or very hot. Or both. She felt him tremble, bite his lips to control himself. Seven inches. Then, suddenly, she felt something give.
She said, "It's all right now, Jer." And he sighed and tossed his head. He let himself sink and thrust all the way in. They wrapped their arms around each other and she wrapped her legs around him. He half-rose, his cock glistening as it half- emerged, red and wet and thick. Then he plunged in to the hilt, and she felt his balls slap against her body. She yielded her mouth to his fierce kisses and her cunt to his cock.
Afterwards, she said, "Lovely Jerry." And kissed him again.
He said, "You did come, didn't you?" She nodded. His teeth flashed their quick white grin, then he was somber again. Then he got up, his dong bobbing. "You hungry, Jackie?"
They made sandwiches and washed it down with icy Cokes. "Christ, aren't we wholesome tonight," said bare-assed Bill McDowl, scratching his fire-red pubic thicket. He put a dip chip between his teeth and Bitsie took the other end in hers. Their noses met before their mouths, and they spluttered laughter, and the chip splintered and fell, leaving a gob of oyster-flavored cream on his pecker. Bitsie licked it off.
"Waste not, want not," he said. "But avoid the demon rum, my child, to say nothing of the filthy weed: tobacco. As well as the maddening fumes of the dread killer-herb, marry-ja-wanna.
"My Uncle Jim," he went on, "is one of those damned Lapsed Baptist types. The first time he signalled me to depart from all the aunts and cousins in the living room, he leered and ogled until, honest to Christ, I thought he was going to pull down my pants and bugger me-" Bitsie said, "Well, what the hell. It's all in the family, isn't it?"
Bill looked at her and rubbed his red-hairy ass. "Well, it's not going into this family," he said. "-Well, what was the Big Secret and facial semaphores all about? 'Got some beer here,' he says. 'Don't let your aunt see.' I said, 'Oh, wow, Uncle Jim!' and guzzled it and rolled my eyes and he winked and slapped me on the back. Oh, it was all very manly and devilishly daring. Bet if I'd said, 'Uncle Jim, how about me screwing my cute little Cousin Carrie with the cute little ass and cute little tits if I promise to use a Triple-X rubber, huh?'- he'd of had a heart attack. Shit."
Bitsie took hold of his prick and led him away. "Come on, Lover," she said. "Let's see if Bart and Betty have finished the six-day bicycle race. And if they have or if they haven't, let's fuck."
Evidently they hadn't, but they agreed to change partners. Jackie and Jeremy could hear the grunts and groans and the squeals and quick-snorting breaths which followed after the short silence. He gave her a conspiratorial look over one white shoulder and slipped under the table. She understood at once. This was their old game, under the table in the garage, hidden by boxes from prying eyes, for several years in their childhood. Their fingers traced a familiar mystical design on each other's bodies, on his chest, between her tits; though they had begun playing the game before she'd had any tits.
"Cross your heart and hope to die if you ever reveal what goes on here," they chanted together. Then, cross-legged, they began their old, familiar terribly wicked childhood game. He twiddled her nipples and rubbed the outside of her twat. Just the outside. They had both been convinced that she would bleed to death and he would hang for her murder, if he so much as inserted the tip of his little finger inside of her twat. Of course, after a while he and she had learned which part of the outside was best to rub.
And while he rubbed her nipples and twiddled her twat, she stroked his dong. "The thing you make tinkle with," she had first called it. "It's my peter," he'd insisted, proudly. Later, another girl had told her it was called a dong, and this remained for some reason her favorite word, even after Jeremy had, word by word, informed her that it was also a dick, prick, penis, cock, weenie, shaft, sex organ, phallus, sir roger, and what have you. She stroked it now, as she had so many times before. Though not for a long, long time in the garage. Almost without having to spell it out it had appeared to them safer if they were not seen too much by parents in each other's company. She stroked it and watched it grow. She squeezed it and watched it grow. She scratched it and pulled it and rolled it between her palms and watched it grow.
And when it had once more swelled out and was full and firm and hard and thick and huge, she got down to business. She began to work her hand up and down, grasping the odd, fleshy, mushroom-shaped head within the foreskin. She knew how slow to go and how to bend her wrist, and her other hand touched him here and there where she also knew, and how. By and by she saw his mouth open and heard him begin to breathe more quickly and more deeply. His eyes were unfocused. She tightened her grip and began to knead the head of his cock as though she were working on a cow's teat, as well as moving it up and down. His head began to nod and she saw the telltale signs by the way his body moved. She pulled his peter-prick-dick-dong-cock to one side just enough to allow her hand to press both more easily and more firmly against the left side of the rim of his cock's head. And she changed the tempo of her strokes. He shuddered and all his beautiful body shook and he gave a deep sigh, and she deftly held up the paper napkin she'd taken under the table with her and bent his prick a bit more and he came; the gouts of thick, white sperm arching through the air, spurt after spurt, falling upon the napkin with a spattering, pattering sound like rain.
After a while she said, "I wish I could give you the same release when you were fucking me. But I guess I still have so much to learn."
He shook his head in quick, brief denial. "You're all right," he said. "Either way. Both ways. Every way."
"Can I ask you a question, Jerry?"
After a second's pause he said, "Sure."
"Why do you always bring an out-of-town girl to parties like this? And, well, why do you always go the first round with her?-But that's obvious: because it's courteous. So it's only one question after all."
He thought a moment, and she moved her hands over his chest. Then he said, slowly, "I guess it's because I like to start out with something less familiar . . ."
"Oh. Well, I can understand that. I just wondered."
Then he said something very quick in a very low voice. She thought he may have said, "And because I don't want you all comparing notes about me." But she wasn't sure.
She saw him grimace and she heard him swallow. Then a voice called his name from the front room. It was Betty. "Jeremy. Jeremy? Come back out here, Jeremy. I want you to fuck me again, and forever. Fuck me forever, Jeremy, the way you did before!"
But he quickly turned and put his fingers on Jackie's soft thighs and she lay back and spread her soft white thighs out wide for him, let the golden triangle of her cunt spread open for him. His smooth brown head lay down upon it. For a moment it just rested there, as though it were insufferably weary. She ran her hands over it, gently. Then it raised up a little bit and she felt his tongue along the slit of her cunt. She felt his tongue gently part the lips of her cunt. She felt his tongue gliding up and down on the traces of his own come, felt his breath, and knew he was smelling the smell of his own young, hot male body mingled with that of her own flesh.
At first it was only a slight and pleasant pressure. But in a moment he had found the place he knew so well, and it was as though he had turned a light on in her cunt. As though a tiny glow had started there, between her legs, inside that golden crown, beneath his head with the brown hair that glints of light shone on, even here beneath the table. And as the point of his gentle tongue, his sweet and lovely tongue, stirred around and around and up and down, that tiny glow increased, became a light that was rosy-red and summer-yellow and it was a tiny glow of heat that was like no other heat in the world. Waves of warmth spread out from this pinpoint of a glowing light in her vagina beneath the lovely pressure of his tongue. She rested her hands upon his head as though she were ordaining him into some strange and wondrous priesthood. She was the altar, he performed the service, her cunt was a golden vessel full of light, full of love, and she crossed her legs around his neck and rested her feet upon his smooth, strong back.
"God," she said. "God. God. God."
* * *
They all joined in a mass shower in Bart's bathroom and scrubbed each other's backs and crotches and armpits with cakes of scented soap. Then they dried each other off and the girls took off their shower caps and fixed their hair and faces, and then they all got dressed. They had already tidied up the house. And a few minutes before twelve, Bart, his starched cuffs and collars as smooth as ever, and Jacqueline, her ruffles as crisp as before, presented themselves at her door. Mr. Anderson was subdued and sleepy, Mrs. Anderson noted everything. Or thought she did. And was pleased.
"Goodness, Barton, look at you, you've got circles under your eyes as big as soup plates!"
No wonder, Jackie thought, since he's fucked three women in four hours, and two of them twice. . . .
But he politely covered a yawn. "Guess I'm just not used to staying up such late hours," he said, " 'scuse me." ' Mae said, "Well, you go right straight home and drink a glass of hot milk and then into bed," as though this were some sage and novel suggestion which only her long years of experience as a mother enabled her to make.
He nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Goodnight, Jacqueline."
"Goodnight, Barton. Remember us to your mother, and be sure to thank her for being so nice."
"Goodnight, Barton. Thank you for taking me. I had a very nice time."
Thank you for taking me. Well, he had sure taken her, all right. Twice. And done his best. Everyone said he was a good lay. And Jeremy. But she hadn't come with either of them, nor with Bill. Only when Jery had tongued her. Not when any of them were fucking her. She never did come when she was being fucked. She never had come when she was fucked. Never, never, ever . . .
She went to bed unhappy. Her mother went to bed unhappy. Her father went to bed unhappy. Annie Tomlins was already in bed, unhappy. Randal Tomlins was long asleep. For a brief second he had been aware that he was not happy, because Annie was not happy. Jeremy was the last to get to bed. He and Jackie each sensed that the other had a problem, but neither knew that each had the same problem. He had had what was in its own way a perfectly good orgasm . . . when Jackie had jacked him off . . . but he hadn't had one inside of her . . . not inside of Betty . . . nor inside of Bitsie. In fact, he had never in his young life come inside of a woman. Not once. He hoped nobody knew that. And he went to bed unhappy.
THE FUCK-SUCKERS
Randal Tomlins, all the way through engineering school, had dreamed of building bridges and universities. He was employed by the second largest engineering firm in the state. An outfit of this size, uses a great many blueprints. Randal Tomlins was in charge of the blueprint department. He had never built so much as a brick shithouse, and he really did not care if he ever saw another blueprint again in his life, except that it was a job. He was unable to come up with a plan for any life-style not requiring him to have a job.
He had developed a galaxy of hobbies, ranging from Hunting and Fishing through Bowling to constructing Boats in bottles. Dimly, he was aware that these, plus his wife, kept him happy. Dimly, he was aware that his wife was unhappy. Dimly, when he thought about this, it made him unhappy. So, naturally, he seldom thought about it. Thinking about more or less nothing came very naturally to him. He was real good at it. And here it was Saturday morning and two whole days to think about more or less nothing.
* * *
If Mae had not discovered a crack in the left hind leg of her writing table at eight o'clock that Saturday morning; if Jacky at eight-fifteen had not decided to take up the hem of her brown-and-yellow hopsacking skirt; if Anne Tomlins had not come to the conclusion about half-past eight that she had to get the hell out of the house; if Jeremy had not wanted a glass of orange juice at nine, then the whole history of the world would have been different.
* * *
Even if there had been a punching bag on the premises, Mae Anderson could hardly have stood up and batted the hell out of it. It might have been better for her if she could. The fact is, that a very large proportion of the world's population has never been tremendously contented with its sex life. For example, Mae's maternal grandmother, Mrs. Her- man Hemmingway. Herm was by no means any much of a hot-shot on the corn-shucks "mattress" of the Hemingway farm. Historians do not tell us if the phrase, "Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Mam" had been in use in those days or not. But it adequately summed up Herm's fucking technique. And his wife, Sofie, hadn't liked it one bit. In fact, she hated it. In fact, she literally hated it to the point of violence. But by the time she had cooked breakfast for Herm, six children, a pair of in-laws, and two hired hands, and cleaned up afterwards and gotten lunch started; helped run down the sow and helped hold her down while Herm stuck her in the throat and helped hoist and gut and scald and cut her up; fetched the horse from the south pasture and thumped him and backed him into the buggy and harnessed him and loaded a few sacks of produce and drove into town and done her trading and drove back, fighting the horse all the way, and unharnessed and unloaded - In short, long before dinner was on the table, Ma Hemmingway had worked off her violence and forgotten all about Pa's nasty animal ways and the dirty thing he did with his big thing.
Until, of course, the next time he used his dirty thing.
But on Birch Street there was no way of working off either sexual frustrations or the hate-thoughts they caused. Long ago Mae had gotten the five-room duplex so well under control that it hardly ever got out of it. The normal routines of keeping house she disposed of with no more thought than the average woman allocates to the task of picking her nose. True, Mae had not set the problem down on paper in neat columns the way she often did other with other problems.
A. Doesn't Get Fucked Properly.
1. Husband's fault for not lasting in the saddle.
a. What to do about it?
No, no.
"I have too much time on my hands," she said, briskly. "I am not a woman who likes to loll around being idle." Scorning the traditional escape clause of the badly sexed. Mae threw herself into community affairs, volunteered for this and that, opened Mae's Gift Corner as a part-time affair; and, in short, did what strong-minded, modern women do as the equivalent of the cold hip baths which the Boy Scout Hand Book used to advocate as a sure cure for impure thoughts, sublimely unaware that the average Boy Scout concentrating on his impure thoughts to the point of locking himself in the bathroom with them would certainly masturbate while waiting for the tub to fill.
After lying awake till two in the morning and hating her husband for not being understanding enough to understand that it would only take a slow, sweet fuck of about three-quarters of an hour to satisfy her, she awoke at the stroke of six and began hating him all over again. At seven o'clock, with a murmur of, "Heavens! Is he going to lie in bed all day?" and, "That rug! It's filthy!" she started the vacuum cleaner. This did not do much for her stock with the Tomlins-that is, Randal woke up, gazed incredulously at the clock, muttered, then went back to sleep-and Annie, who had automatically hoped that he would wake up with a hard-on and stay awake long enough to use it on her, Annie seriously contemplated buying a voodoo-doll and trying to get a strand of Mae's hair for it before sticking in the pins.
At seven-thirty she was running Hank and Jacqueline through breakfast with a precision which would have been the envy of any drill sergeant. At five minutes to eight she was ready to attend to her correspondence, and at eight o'clock on the button, she noticed a crack in the left hind leg of her writing desk.
"Hank!" she called.
Hank was attending retreat in the large closet officially called "Father's Den," where he had a copy of Playboy behind the morning newspaper. "Yes, Mae?" he called.
"I'll want you to help me take my writing desk to the cabinet-maker's at half-past nine."
"Okay . . ."
He hoisted the duck-blind once again. Wondered if his daughter had a Saturday night date and, if so, he stood much of a chance of getting a Saturday night fuck. Ah, the clouded crystal ball. Hank thought of his own far-from crystal balls and wondered, alternatively, if he might instead simply down his drawers and go for broke over the luscious Playmate of the Month. He might have wondered what happened to Miss Novack, playmate of The Night of Wednesday, October the Twenty Sixth, except that he knew. Miss Novack had become Mrs. Witherall after playing the same fun and games with the third man to take night duty clearing up old Fleming's Work. And Witherall had gotten her a job with a different outfit in a different line of business.
"She's too good a piece of pussy to let get away," he had told Hank at the Stag Party the boys at the office gave him before the wedding. "I know you fucked her, Hank old buddy, but you won't fuck her any more, ho boy," dribbling his highball onto old buddy's shirtfront. "Cause I know no one mere mortal man is going to be able to keep her happy, and I doo't give a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut about that. Old Witherall is not surfish. Mean selfish. I get mine, she can pass round the rest. But one must keep up appearances. Can't have his own wife being fucked by staff of own office. Never do."
Hank had been so overwhelmed with guilt at his act of adultery, and so horrified to think that he had not only come straight from the arms of a fallen woman to the clean bed of his moral wife, but on that selfsame bed had more-or-less ravished her ...
"My God, oh my God, what a beast I am," he had groaned. But to himself only. For some years the memory of that guilt had kept him from trying any further games with anyone else at the office. And by the time his original resentment at his moral wife's dislike of a marital fuck had reasserted itself, his reputation at the office was one of a sourpuss.
"Boy, is that Mr. Anderson in Cost Accounting ever a sourpuss," a girl from the Steno Pool would say companionably in the course of a two-cigarette shit in the Ladies can.
And her fellow-employee in the next compartment would agree. "Probably doesn't get enough You-Know-What at home."
"Probably not now that I come think about it. But gosh, he doesn't have to take it out on me!" If Hank had only given her a pleasant smile and patted her on the ass, of course, she would certainly have let him take it out, on her and into her.
And so here he was now, vainly imagining that if he just followed the financial section of the newspaper even on Saturday morning, he would thereby make himself more valuable to the company. Whereas the company, knowing nothing of his sex life and caring less, had nonetheless gotten the message that Anderson was a loser and had gone about as far as he could go. After a vain attempt to dig into the details of the latest corporation merger, the financial section served only to hide Playboy and what Hank now and again with a sigh did with his still healthy enough cock, splattering the stock market report with his up and coming come.
Take the writing desk to the cabinet-maker's at half-past nine? What the hell. Be something to do, anyway.
Playmate of the month. Look at those boobs! Wonder how deep her cunt was. Love to grab that round little ass. Prick real hard now. Saturday night. Still. Should he or shouldn't he?
* * *
Mae had tried hard but had failed to pass on the traditional notions of sexual morality to her adopted daughter.
Jacqueline's mother was not present under the table hidden behind the boxes in the garage. She wasn't present at cock-parties in the home of supposedly present but actually absent parents. Her mother, thank God, wasn't in the front seat of cars while Jackie was wiggling her lovely and utterly naked ass on the back seat. While Jackie, ostensibly at a pajama party in a Sunday School classmate's home, was actually in a motel with the classmate's brother and having a non-pajama party while playing tunes on the bedsprings, her mother was sure as hell not there.
-Although, Jacqueline/Jackie had more than once thought, it might do Mom a lot of good if she were. And Daddie, too- However. When they were both together, it was Mom's way that ruled. And Mom's rule was not to loll around idly. And Jackie wanted that yellow Honda. So it was not to loll. And so at eight-fifteen she decided to take up the hem of her brown-and-yellow hopsacking skirt. Of course she consulted her mother. "Hmm. Another mini-skirt, eh?" said Mom "If it's all right. You can see how it's getting kind of worn along the hem there. And it would go well with my tan leotards."
"It is getting worn there, isn't it. Very well, then."
"Thank you, Mom."
By and by the phone rang. Mae answered it, said, "Yes, she is. -Jacqueline! For you!" If it had been a boy's voice, Mae would have asked, "Who is this?" and woe betide the callow kid who tried to answer with "A friend." And even if the boy had passed the examination, Mae would have listened while her daughter was talking on the extension. But a girl, well. There are no girl rapists. Girls cannot get other girls pregnant.
This girl was named Helen Sterns and was known, God knows why, as Twee. "Listen, Jackie, I didn't get you up, I hope?" she said. "Listen, can I borrow your yellow-brown hopsacking-" And while Twee was saying, "Because, listen, I'll tell you why," Jackie was saying, "No, I'm sorry." There was a silence. "I'm just now cutting it up and making a mini-skirt," Jackie said. Twee moaned, Jackie sympathized; Twee was willing to tell her, nevertheless, all about why she wanted to borrow it, but Jackie said, "I have to hang up now, I'll see you in school."
The point is that Twee didn't believe that Jackie was already ripping up the brown-and-yellow hop-sacking. She thought Jackie was being mean. And she brooded on the matter, which Jackie had almost at once forgotten.
And this was the second stroke.
* * *
Randal was only the second man that Anne Tomlins had ever fucked, and she had never fucked with any other man since.
Her parents had been painstakingly aware and modern. Other parents gladly gave their kids a quarter and sent them off to the movies on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, so that Mom and Dad could have a nice, friendly fuck at leisure, and then lie comfortably bare-assed in bed and fondle each other between puffs of a shared cigarette. But not the Wilsons. They were perfect fiends for togetherness. They were determined to show her how a good family behaved, with love and icky togetherness. If Mother and Father went to the theater, little Annie had to go too. If Father wanted to go duck-hunting, Mother and Daughter squatted bravely with him in the cold and wind. And so Annie learned the lesson that to love is to give and to share. Not a bad lesson.
In the private and very progressive day school she attended, all the girls were agreed on this: "If you love a boy, you go to bed with him. If you don't love a boy, you don't."
Annie went away to college, and for the first time in her life she was without a family with which to practice togetherness. She was, however, fully primed to give and to receive love. She was ready to love and be loved and to share. Fred Farrell was a happy, healthy, lying young Irishman with a clear skin, wide-spaced blue eyes, the gift of the gab, and a small apartment of his own. He dated Annie twice, kissed her with warmth, and after the third date told her he loved her with all his heart, and asked her to stay the night.
So of course she did. If Fred loved her, then she loved Fred. So it was right for her to go to bed with him and it would have been wrong for her not to. And he was obviously so happy that she agreed that it made her even happier than she already was. Lovingly, he undressed her, kissed her small breasts and lightly pinched the pink nipples, happily peeled off her stockings and ran his hands along her slender legs and stroked her pale thighs.
"Oh, great," he crowed. "Oh, this is going to be lovely! Annie, darling, I love you, I love you, I love you!" And she didn't flinch or cower when he, softly singing, "Take it off, take it off!" took off her pants and stroked the soft bun of brown pubic hair with a tint of red in it. "Ah, my God," he breathed. "Oh, it's beautiful. Oh, I love you, Annie!"
"I love you, Fred," she said. And, at his suggestion, then she undressed him. His skin was very white, and he had freckles on his arms and shoulders. There was a nest of blonde curls on his chest and on his stomach, and his legs were shaggy with them. And out of the thickest, shaggiest, curliest tangle of blonde hair hung something she had never seen before. It was long and white and had a bulge on the end of it, and after the bulge was some skin like a hollow nipple.
And Fred said, "Take it in your hands. Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it the greatest thing you ever saw before? That's Brian Boru, the High King of All Ireland!" She did take it in her hands and it seemed to jump a little and it felt so very warm, except the bulb at the end, which was hot. It was soft and hard at the same time, and while she held it, she could feel it growing. And it grew and grew bigger and harder and stiffer and it went up, up, up! in little jerky movements. She could feel Fred's hands on her, he was toying with her breasts and playing with her vagina. And the thing in her hands kept on growing, and then it was like a turtle poking its head out of its shell, and it was red and glistening and something liquid, a sort of bluish-white, was leaking out of it. And Fred was doing something with her vagina that no one had ever done with it, but it felt so good.
"Oh, Fred, Oh, Fred," she murmured. And he kissed her and put his pillow under her thighs and spread her legs apart. Then he got on top of her, resting on his elbows. Then he took his big, huge thing he called Brian Boru, the High King of All Ireland, in his hand and she could feel the hot, moist end of it touch the slot between her spread-open legs. And then he shoved his hips, and the King slid up partly inside of her cunt and she cried out. He was breathing heavily, and he shoved again, and something tore and she knew it was her cherry, and it hurt, it hurt, and she groaned, "Oh, Fred-" "You like it, do you?" he snorted. And he gave another lunge, and it surely went all the way up inside of her where nothing at all had ever been before, and it hurt. Then it slipped almost all the way out, then it went plunging in again. Her mouth widened as though to scream in protest. Happily he glided sedately in and out of her, making sounds which were half-humming. And then it didn't seem to hurt anymore. She was being loved by someone, she was making him happy, so how could it hurt? And after this she felt a change. It was as though inside of her somewhere was a track and something was gliding on it and wherever it touched it felt good. Differently good than anything before. It was as though something big and warm and very good was parting her flesh, and her flesh wanted to be parted. It was wonderful how good this strange thing felt.
"Oh, Fred," she whispered. "Do you feel it, too? Isn't it wonderful?"
His voice was rich and soft and tender against her ear, "Yes, my darling," he crooned. "I feel it, too. I'm fucking you, my lovely Annie."
The word flashed in her mind. Fucking you. She was hearing it between her hips, hips which now began to move regularly. Fucking you. Hips going up and down and churning around from sound to sound. I'm fucking you. Warm, smooth, furry, glowing sound inside of her. Sucking inside of her, drawing her cunt down with it, beautiful! Fucking inside of her, pushing her cunt back in, so hot, so good Joy! Joy! Joy!
"Ah, my God, Annie!" his voice exploded inside her ears. His King was exploding inside of her. "Ah! Ah!" Thick voice, thick King, something spurting inside of her, so hot and thick. Everything going around and around, spinning like the chalked spiral on top of a spinning top. She was all body. She was all bliss.
After a while the bed stopped rocking and she opened her eyes. Fred was standing beside her, grinning happily. His king wasn't standing any more, though. She could see the rosy wetness of its bulbous top, the skin pushed way back. She saw sweat glittering on his skin. "Did you like that one? he asked. "Did you ever have a better one?"
She felt at the same time exhausted and full of life. It was so new and strange, she had no words for it as yet. Her voice trembled as she said, "I never .. . I never f-fucked before . . ."
His grin trembled, he cast a quick look at the bed. He lifted her up and looked at the crumpled pillow, stained with her blood and his spunk. His face, ruddy a minute ago, was white, the freckles she hadn't noticed standing out against the pallor. "Oh, my God," he muttered. "You're a virgin. Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you're a virgin . . ."
"Was," she corrected him.
"Ah, Annie, why did you let me do it to you? Why? Why?"
She looked at him, as uncomprehending as he himself. "I love you, Fred. And you love me." His eyes fell, his mouth fell open. Then he fell on his knees and kissed her mouth and her little pink nipples and swore that he did, he did, he did love her. And she believed him, and she believed that this love would live forever.
For two days she stayed in his tiny apartment and never went out. "You've got to heal," he said, sternly. "It was me that wounded you."
"No," she said. "It was Brian Boru, the High King of All Ireland."
He burst out laughing. "But you've got to heal," he repeated. "Before I'll touch you again. I'm not such a brute as that. No, I'm not. I love you," he added.
It seemed a sort of shame to waste the weekend, as it were, but it was the last one they did waste, As soon as she was "healed" he began to fuck her again, and she thought it was the greatest thing since the creation of the world. Her sense of duty was strong enough to make her not neglect her studies, but Fred taught her the most valuable sex lessons she had learned so far. Nothing beat fucking. Nothing was worth one ride on Fred's big cock. For she had learned to use words like that, now. The secret parts of the body weren't secret any more. "Penis" and "vagina" were in the dictionary.
"I want you to put your cock in my cunt." That was how she spoke to him when she felt the familiar heat rising up inside of her oozing pussy.
Fred had what he called, "Instant hard-on."
"You want me to put my cock in your CUNT?" he would cry, pretending astonishment. And then his familiar Irish grin would appear, and so would his familiar Irish cock; he'd only tug at the boxer shorts which was all he wore in the house days, and it would leap forward from the open fly: huge, heavy, hot and high. He fucked her standing up, and he fucked her as she squatted down, and he fucked her in the shower while they were washing off the sweat and spunk of the last fuck. He showed her how to ride him and how to suck him, and he opened the new world of the tongue-in-the-twat before her eager eyes. He rucked her from behind, and on chairs, and on the floor. And, just as she had just about forgotten that there had been a world without Fred, Fred dropped her.
"Well, it was lots of fun, little Annie," he said, not even apologetically. Just grinning away as happy as ever. "But I have this other girl, I mean, well, I've had her for over a month now. And I mean, had her. But she's one of those jealous little bitches. So . . ." He grinned, shrugged. At his feet were the two suitcases full of Annie's clothes and things which he'd brought from his place to the dormitory room where she'd spent so little time the whole semester.
Annie didn't understand. "But . . . Fred . . . You said you loved me ..."
His smile was only slightly sheepish. "Ah, well. To tell you the God's honest truth, Annie, I really do say that to all the girls. -Bye bye now. Be good."
* * *
Be good. She no longer knew what that meant. Certainly it didn't mean yielding to the dozens of boys who came sniffing around from nowhere, now. Boys who hadn't shown they knew she existed before. Fred had perhaps not been a gentlemen. Perhaps he'd thought he'd been doing a favor, get her mind off him, let the word get around that Anne Wilson was a hot little number. That she "put out." But Anne Wilson had no interest in young gawks who wanted quick snatch in their stinking old automobiles with used condoms carefully left to dry on the floor as advertisements for their virility.
In fact, the only boy she was civil to was one whom she'd met in the library. He seemed gentle and honest and good, made no demands, was as happy to walk with her as others would have been to go away on a weekend with her. When she told him that she was quite determined to quit college, he asked what she was going to do instead.
"I don't know. Any ideas?"
"Marry me."
His low-pressure, or rather, non-pressure pitch was a change. "I graduate next month, you know," he said. "Have my choice of three good jobs. How'd you like to be an engineer's wife? Watch me build dams in Nebraska, maybe. I don't snore."
She laughed, but she was, to her own faint surprise, considering it. Free love had failed, had knocked her ass for a loop. Why not try marriage? Simple, wholesome, old-fashioned marriage. She took another look at Randal Tomlins. His face was of the simple, rugged sort, with high cheekbones. His eyes were grey-brown with little green flecks in them. He had sandy hair. There was nothing pretentious about him.
"I'm not a virgin," she said.
His expression didn't change. "I'm not, either," he said.
The question of their sleeping together before their marriage simply didn't come up, and they were married soon enough, anyway. His father, a widower, suggested that they'd probably get enough traveling on Randy's job. "I'm going to visit my sister in Indiana," he said. "Spend your honeymoon here, is my suggestion, but of course: up to you." So their wedding night was spent in Randy's boy's bed in his old room, and they had a nice, hearty fuck and then they had another one. And then they raided the ice-box and had sandwiches and milk, and she examined his cock under the kitchen light and realized that it was circumcised. So much less, then, to remind her of friend Fred.
And then they went upstairs and had another hearty fuck. This one lasted longer than the first two, not surprisingly, and she came three times.
That was the first time and that was the last time. It was also the last time they ever made love three times in a single night. Also, she never watched him build dams in Nebraska. That job never came through, nor did the one involving bridges in British Columbia. What came through was a place in the blueprints department of Hornebuckle and Gully-twiste.
A year later she became pregnant. Now it was almost twenty years that they'd been married. She was never sure if she had ever "loved" Randal, but she had never stopped liking and respecting him. She'd grown at ease with suburbia. She was proud of but quite relaxed about her son. Yet here were the simple facts: Sex was much more important to her than to her husband. When he made love to her, it was still good. But he made love to her less and less often. And his lovemaking, no, damn it! his fucking!-hi$ fucking, which she wanted, always put her in the mood for more fucking. And this, she never got. Anne had read every detective novel in the Public Library and some of them twice. But the best detective novel was no substitute for the worst fuck.
And that Saturday morning at half-past eight, she felt that if she stayed on in the house the roof would come crashing down on her head. She didn't remember getting up. One minute she was sitting down and the next minute she was on her feet and yelling. Bandy and Jeremy came running in, alarmed.
"What's the matter, Annie?"
"Hey, Mom, what's wrong?"
She took a deep breath. Her hands were trembling. In a low voice, she said, "I have to get out of the house for a while." She had two good men on her side. They didn't ask a single question.
Randal said, "Come on, then. Let's go. We haven't had the car out for a real ride in weeks."
That was the third stroke.
And Jeremy said, "Here, take some money, Dad, Why don't you two go on a sort of brief honeymoon somewhere? I mean, you never had a real one."
Five minutes later Anne and Randal were driving out of town together, a hastily packed suitcase on the back seat. They had no idea where they were going.
Jeremy sat and watched TV for a while. Then the notion came to him that he'd like a glass of orange juice. Now, had his mother not whooped and hollered at half-past-eight, the three of them would be in the dinette together having Saturday morning breakfast at nine. Jer got up and went into the kitchen, and as he was opening the door of the refrigerator his eye fell upon his bicycle standing inside the still-open door of the garage.
"Yeah, I might go for a ride on it," he said. "Sure."
This was the third stroke.
* * *
At nine-thirty Hank and Mae Anderson folded up the writing-desk, and together they got it into the Valiant. "Of course you could fix it yourself," Mae said. "But then the house would smell like a glue-factory."
Hank cocked an eye at the gas gauge. "Well, it's a healthy smell," he said.
"So is horseshit," his wife remarked, "But I don't choose to have the house smell of it."
He almost drove the car into a telephone pole, he was so shocked. Not that the word horseshit itself shocked him. In fact, it was one of the earliest words he had a clear recollection of having heard. Homer you are drunk again, said Grandma. Horseshit, said Grandpa.
But he had never, in almost twenty years of marriage, heard his wife use the word. "Well, there is hope for the human race yet," he murmured.
"What?"
"Can it be that you have decided to let down your hair and speak the speech of the rest of us mere mortals?"
Mae gasped, clicked her tongue. "Oh, Lord. I... I don't know what got into me," she whispered.
He thought, BUT I know what I'd like to get into you . . . Out loud: "Got to get some gas."
"I'll use the restroom."
Shock must have unsettled her bladder, he thought. "Fill her up. Regular," he told the attendant. "Check the oil, too." He noticed Jerry Tomlins with his bicycle, at the air pump. Nice kid. Half-assed mother, half-wit father, but nice kid. The 1812 Overture, when Bandy gets to fuck Annie. Come to think of it, he doesn't get to do it very goddamn often, either, or we'd hear it more often. Poor guy. Got same problems I have. Why are American women so frigid?
-By this time he was over by the drinking fountain, between the two restrooms. Mae was still inside the pay-stall, unseen by human eyes. A gaggle of girls were half-inside, half-outside of the ladies' room and had the door open as they babbled away.
"-that Jeremy Tomlins fixing his bicycle tire?" said one.
"Where? Where? Oh, he's cute? Isn't he the one they say has this enormous whang?"
Randy turned his head aside and grinned. Not for long.
"-and lasts forever! Yes! It's true, Jinny! He lasts forever!"
"He screws Jackie, doesn't he?" "Who doesn't?"
"Oh, meow, meow, meow, Twee!"
For, yes, it was Twee, who still resented Jackie's non-loan of the yellow-brown hopsacking, and couldn't resist the dig. To give her credit, she would have died of shame if she had known that Jackie's father and mother were within earshot. What else might have been revealed will never be known, for at that moment three boys came out of the mens room, where they had all pissed and combed their hair and bought rubbers from the slot machine . . . more for the fun of showing them to the girls than to use, for what sophisticated teenager has to use rubbers today, for crying out loud? Which is one reason why so many sophisticated teenagers today catch the clap.
"Ya ready there, chicks?" called the gallants. Hank buried his face in the drinking fountain as they pattered past him on their bare, sophisticated feet. Then he beat it back to the car.
His main hope was that his wife hadn't heard. Or at least not heard everything. He found himself looking around murderously for that rotten little bastard Jerry Tomlins, formerly Nice Kid. Stick his simply enormous whang into sweet and innocent little Jacqueline and maybe rupture her kidneys or something, would he?
"I'll kill him," he growled. "I'll kill him!" fortunately Jerry was no longer there. And besides maybe it wasn't true. No one had actually said, "Yes, he does fuck Jackie." And as for that rotten, filthy thing the other girl who said, "Who doesn't?" why, this was immediately condemned as a jealous lie by the other girl, to wit: "Oh, meow, meow, meow, Twee."
Still, it was an odd coincidence that Mae and he had mentioned this subject just last night . . . Jacqueline, sweet child. Couldn't love her more if she were the child of his own loins, instead of adopted. Deserves the best. And if the best was a good screw-He caught himself, astonished. Then he found himself suddenly hoping that Jerry at least had sense enough to use a safety. Because a boy the size of whose prick was a matter of general reputation, as well as how long he could last-a boy like that would have lots of girls. Even if he'd never fucked sweet Jacqueline, no proof he might not tomorrow. And might give her the clap or something even worse-A baby.
Measures (he told himself) must be taken.
And not of the length of Jerry's cock, either.
* * *
Jerry, meanwhile, was peddling his way through the park, wondering about his mother. He decided it must be the change of life. Did that mean she wouldn't be able to screw anymore? Tough on his old man. Too bad. But maybe not. Maybe it was only a nervous breakdown. His mind rather relieved, he increased his pace and bent over the handlebars.
* * *
Mae had heard, though. Every single word. She went cold with shock. Then hot with shame. Then hotter with shame. Because the first words which repeated themselves in her mind were not concerned with her daughter at all. "They say he has this enormous whang . . . It's true! He lasts forever!" Every atom of morality within her cried out that this dreadful thing about her daughter was not and must not be true-must not be allowed to be true-but it was as though a huge hand simply pushed this aside, as though something else in her was stronger than morality and insisted that the really important thing was that Jeremy Tomlins who lived next door had an enormous whang and lasts forever. .. . lasts forever . . .
No one, she reflected bitterly, could ever say that about her husband.
After the girls left, though, calmness reasserted itself in her mind. She even made a neat little notebook in her mind.
A. Charge that Jacqueline had sexual relations with 1. Jeremy Tomlins.
2. Others not named.
a. Untrue.
b. But if true, how wonderful for her that he has an enormous whang and lasts forever.
Hastily, Mae grabbed a mental eraser and wiped out b. And then she let out a sudden gasp, and wrote: B. Possibility that Jacqueline might become pregnant.
Obviously something had to be done and done immediately. So she took four pieces of toilet paper and delicately dried her pussy.
* * *
She even stopped hating Hank long enough to be thankful that he hadn't heard. About Jacqueline, that is. Do him good to hear that a mere boy could last forever.
They did not tarry long at the cabinet-maker's, either, and were soon back home. Jacqueline was still innocently at work on the fatal brown-and-yellow hopsacking, her head demurely bent over her work, not a single yellow hair out of place. Bring my Candy Man home, she sang. Bring my Candy Man home . . . Mae's heart was touched. So was Hank's.
Now, only one block away on Birch Street was the office of Edward L. Foster, M.D., who had attended the entire Anderson family from time immemorial. On Saturdays his office hours ran from 11 to 2, but he always arrived early in order to catch up on his professional reading. This he was unable to do at home because of his ever-loving wife, whose cry was, "Put that damned book down and look at me when I'm talking to you! I didn't marry a librarian." Dr. Foster was a man of great patience, and had resolved to allow her another five years, after which he proposed to poison her very quietly. But that is beside the point.
Mae slipped into his office by the side door and found him engrossed in an article on Pseudomorphic Aspects of Lymphogranuloma Sine Die Among 27 Adult White Males. He put it down and stroked his moustache. "Yes, Mrs. Anderson," he said. Nothing ever surprised Dr. Foster.
"Doctor, it's about Jacqueline." Mae spoke in flat, calm tones. "I am quite certain that she is a-that she is a good girl. But her very goodness may result in her being unprepared for-Dr. Foster. I want you to tell her everything about birth control. Everything! In plain language. See that she is . . . supplied .. . with anything . . . everything ... I want you to see her immediately! Right now! Only-" She paused, and thought a moment. "But I don't want her to know I've been here. And my husband-he's not to know either." She took her hand out of her purse and put something into his hand. "And this is not to go on your records, either. I want that quite clear."
Foster said, "Mrs. Anderson, I understand perfectly, and I want to tell you how fortunate Jacqueline is to have such a fine mother. Now you just go home and see that Jacqueline is still there in one-half hour. At that time I will call her and ask her to come over for a routine checkup. Everything will be fine. Don't worry about a thing."
Before he had finished talking, he had her out of the side entrance again. Then he opened his hand and unpeeled the paper. Here was one hundred dollar bill that neither Mrs. Dr. Foster (who checked the books) nor the Internal Revenue Department was ever going to learn about. He secreted the bill inside his jockstrap, the one place his wife had never yet thought of looking.
And scarcely had he gotten his fly zipped when the side door opened and another old patient was at hand. "Yes, Mr. Anderson," he said. Nothing surprised Foster.
Hank wiped his forehead. "Doctor, it's about Jacqueline. Now you know and I know that, uh, she is, um, well still the way Nature made her, and a good fine decent girl. But still. We live in an age of drug-crazed permissiveness. VD, I understand, rampant. Now I couldn't broach this subject to her mother. But we are both men. What I want you to do, you got to get her over here somehow and tell her all about VD. And, um, be blunt. If she, uh, needs anything, see that she gets it." He pressed something into Foster's palm. "Keep this off the record. And I don't want her or her mother to know I was here. Or why. But you got to get her over here right away."
Foster told him that he understood perfectly. He commended him for being such a fine father.
Half an hour later Jackie was in his office. "What's this about a routine hemoglobin test?" she asked.
"Jackie, I am afraid that your parents are beginning to suspect," he said. And he told her what had taken place.
"Oh, I think that's so sweet of them!" she exclaimed. "Isn't that sweet? Oh, I don't think they really suspect anything. Probably it's all those newspaper articles. -But I tell you what!" a sudden idea struck her. "There's this groovy little yellow Honda that I want for my birthday. Why don't you point out to them that a girl can't get pregnant or infected on the back seat of a motorcycle?"
He nodded. Got up. "Well, since you're here, we might as well examine you."
"Do I get to put my feet up in those stirrup-things?" she asked. "I do? Oh, groovy!" And in another minute she lay on her back with her feet supported in the air, her hands behind her head, and showing three little patches of golden pubic hair. Dr. Foster took up a tube of clear surgical lubricating jelly and lubricated his cock with it. He was in fine shape for a man of his age. He didn't have an ounce of unnecessary flesh on him. Not even a foreskin. And, having whipped off his clothes with the speed of a quick-change artist, he now didn't have on so much as a hairnet as he climbed onto the examination table.
"Most women," he said, "have to be pregnant before they get up here."
"Which I won't be unless I want to, thanks to you," she said, holding her big banana-shaped titties in her hands and pointing them towards him.
Foster, squatting on his ass between her wide-open legs, guided the red-brown head of his cock, the veins standing out beneath the glistening lubricant, into that cunning little cleft between the lips of her cunt. He let it rest there as he took the tit fruits she offered him. He began to massage them gently. She gave a happy sigh, then passed her hands up and down her back. "Well," he said, "if I had to wait for the parents of all my teenage girl patients to get wise, the adoption agencies would be doing even more of a roaring business than they are now. -Well, the bosom seems to be in good shape."
Her hands went down. One played with the tangle of his crisp, dark pubic hair, scratching the skin at the roots. The other began to play with the slippery surface of the physician's big dick, then went under to tickle his balls. "These all seem to be in good shape, too," she said.
"Now, about the vagina," he said. Jackie put her hands on his hairy ass and pressed him close to her. The enormous cock went slowly up and in . . . and up .. . and in . . . The lips of her lovely little pussy were still tight, so tight that the surplus lubricating jelly was scraped off his prick and made a ring around the shaft which slowly rode down as the shaft itself slowly rode up, the deep dark red rose sinking steadily into the little rose-pink pussy surrounded with soft golden wires of cunt hair.
Jacky began to sigh and moan, moving her head from side to side. "Oh, it's so lovely," she said. "I love it, I love it, I want it all, I want it all, shove it up into me, darling Dr. Foster. I want your cock in my cunt, I want it all!"
He increased his effort, grunting. "I'm going to give it to you sweetheart," he said. "It's my medical duty to examine your sweet, slippery little slit with the best medical instrument at my disposal-and this is it! Mph! Uhh! I'm going to slide it up until it touches your cervix, because I've got to examine that, too."
Jackie dug her fingers into the cheeks of his ass, then gave a cry and a shudder of pleasure. "It is touching it! It is touching it, I can feel it way up there inside of me! Oh, Foster, fuck me hard, please!"
Doctor Foster pushed with his palms against her firm young breasts, feeling the nipples hardening and pushing back against them. "I am going to give you the finest fucking known to American medical science," he said. He took the lobe of her left ear between her teeth, and she cried out in pleasure. Then, slowly, he began to withdraw his swollen cock from the depths of her tight little cunt. It was beginning to get juicy inside there and tiny little drops and beads of cunt juice stood out against the jelly-slick surface of his slippery cock. Between her legs, her ass suspended in the air because of her feet being up in the metal stirrups of the obstetrical table, then puckered folds of her outer cunt began to grow a darker pink from the blood congested in the tender tissues there, and the melting lubricating jelly began to trickle down towards her tiny little asshole.
"Oh, that's good," Dr. Foster groaned, as the rim of his cock rubbed delightfully against the smoothly rough surface of her cunt. He withdrew slowly until the fire-red rim itself could be seen peeping coyly from the inflamed edges of her cunt. Then he gripped her tits tightly and rammed his whole prick into her pussy.
"Oh, God!" she exclaimed. "Oh, my God!" He began a well-regulated plunging up and down, keeping the head of his cock as much as possible against the upper wall of her pussy, but never allowing himself to be so overwhelmed by his passion as to make bad strokes or to slip out of her entirely. Jackie's sleek blonde head began to roll from side to side and her eyes rolled up until the whites showed underneath her pupils. She moaned. Her fingernails dug into the muscles of his ass. A line of tiny pearls of sweat sprang up on her upper lip. She could feel his giant cock swelling even bigger inside of her as it rose up and down, riding in and out, leaving a trail of invisible fire. And she could feel her tits swelling against the hard muscles of his chest as it pushed against them, back and forth.
Jackie, having space beneath her ass, began to bob it up and down in rhythm with his ramming. Each time he came down, she bounced up, and they met belly to belly, with a slapping sound. "Oh, God," she moaned. "Oh, Foster, it's so good, it's good, I can't stand it, I'll go crazy, make me come, Foster, please, please, please, make me come-" then her words seemed to fall back into her throat and nothing but a thick-low-pitched babbling emerged.
This seemed to excite him to a higher degree than before. His eyes bulged, he growled and made gobbling noises which almost drowned out the smick-mack, smick-smack sucking sounds of his cock slobbering in and out of her cunt. By now she had her weight entirely on her shoulders and on her feet in the stirrups. Her body, jerking and twitching uncontrollably as she writhed and babbled, was arched up in the air. Dr. Foster was holding on for dear life, though, with his arms and legs wrapped around, and still ramming home his huge handle as though trying to force her back down on the table.
"Foster, Foster, make me come," she whimpered. He began to caress the round little cheeks of her silky-smooth ass with his fingers, and a faint smile settled on her parted lips. He slowed down the movements of his mastlike prick which by now was covered with lather created by the heat and friction on the lubricating jelly and the slippery secretions of her small, sweet pussy. He was grunting like a bear gobbling honey.
And then he uttered a deep groan and threw back his head. Jackie screamed, "Oh, you're coming, you're coming, I can feel your prick getting bigger-Oh! Oh! You're shooting inside of me! Oh, don't stop now, make me come, too . . ."
He gave one vast lunge and let out a high-pitched squeal. For a moment they seemed frozen stiff. Then she sagged beneath his weight and her ass hit the padded table with a plop. His cock came slithering out of her and smacked her cunt with another plop. Little dribbles of spunk still ebbed from it. Then it began to shrink. He breathed raggedly, and said, "Jackie, I'm sorry that I couldn't hold out."
She hid her disappointment from him. "Well, never mind, Foster. Even if I didn't get to the end of the ride, I had a lovely ride." She started to get down, but he stopped her.
"I haven't finished examining you, yet," he reminded her. He inserted several fingers into her twat and pressed upwards as she wriggled and gasped. "Yes," he said. "The intra-uterine device is still in place."
She raised her eyebrows. "Now you found that out? Supposing it popped out last week while I was on the John and I didn't notice?"
Foster wiped his slippery cock on a sterile towel and handed one to her. He shrugged. "If it were a healthy baby, I'd find it a good home," he said. "And if it weren't, I'd keep it myself-" "I bet you would. In a jar of formaldehyde."
* * *
Jackie finally finished turning the brown-and-yellow hopsacking into a mini-skirt. Mae had finally finished her correspondence. Hank had finally finished his copy of Playboy and had decided against unzipping his fly after all. There was always the possibility of tonight, Saturday night. But it was a close decision . . . his balls seemed so full that they ached. He felt an old familiar resentment against his wife. A woman who felt that way about being fucked, should never have gotten married.
And he and Mae having stayed married-had that really been good for Jacqueline? Suppose that ugly gossip he'd overheard at the gas station were true. Could it in some way have been his and Mae's fault?
It gave him a damned odd feeling to think it was possible that his own daughter might be enjoying a fuller and richer and more satisfying sex life than either of her parents.
He wasn't getting any younger, life was passing him by, and one of the basic needs and rights of human life-to be well-fucked, and regularly-was denied to him. It wasn't fair! Of course he loved Jacqueline . . . but what right did she have at her age to pleasures denied him at his age? And he tried not to think of it and of course he could think of nothing else. An enormous whang. Lasts forever. Screws Jackie. Who doesn't. To his astonishment, his shame and his rage, he felt his poor neglected pecker rising again. This would never do. Must read something, distract his mind . . . He picked up Playboy and it opened automatically to a luscious young girl with pretty, perky boobs. And he hastily put it down again.
Almost desperately he grabbed out of the bookcase an old volume which had been his father's. "Decline And Fall of the Roman Empire." He opened it at random. "... an interval of fifty years, till the memorable reign of Justinian, is faintly marked by the obscure names and imperfect annals of Zeno, Anastasius, and Justin, who successively ascended the throne of Constantinople ..."
Glumly, Hank sat down to read, and tried to forget what was between his legs.
* * *
Mae had always scoffed, secretly, at those weak and feeble males who met domestic Or internal crisis with the words, I feel as though I were going out of my mind. But that was just the way she herself felt. Of course she loved her own daughter, adopted or not. But to think that she, Mae Anderson, a woman still in the prime of life did not have a decent and satisfactory sex life, while her teen-age daughter did!
A counter-thought occurred to her. Suppose that Jackie did have a sex life, but that it was not satisfactory? Nonsense! Why shouldn't it be satisfactory?
He has an enormous whang. He lasts forever.
And while she was still trying to get this thought out of her mind she happened to look across the fence which separated the two back yards. There was the young sex-fiend himself, who, having been just washing down his bicycle, was now returning to his house. He had taken off his shirt and undershirt to keep them from getting wet, and from where she was standing he might have been naked.
Usually on Saturdays the Andersons had lunch at about one o'clock. Then Hank and Mae would go for a ride in the car and Jacqueline went to a movie. Or, at least, she thought Jacqueline went to a movie. Now she wasn't sure. Suppose it was that while she and Hank were making their loveless circuit of the country roads, Jacqueline . . . and that boy . . .
Mae came to a sudden decision.
"I am not feeling very well," she told her husband and daughter. "Nothing serious, just a headache. So I want you, Jacqueline, to keep your father company while he has his Saturday afternoon ride. Have lunch out somewhere. And supper, too."
"Yes, Mom," said Jacqueline obediently.
Hank said, "Lie down and try to get some sleep." Otherwise, he reflected, gloomily,' there went his chances for a Saturday night bang . . .
When they had gone, Mae did something she had never done before nor dreamed she would ever do.
She tiptoed over to the wall dividing the two duplexes and pressed her ear to the wall, to find out if Jeremy Tomlins was still home.
* * *
Once, as Jeremy Tomlins was walking down the street and peacefully minding his own business, a young Negro lurched up and stopped in front of him. Jer had to stop, too. The other was so drunk that he had no more whites to his eyes, just reds.
"White Boy," he said. "You' white. You got everything. I got nuthin'."
Jerry had wanted to ask, "You come when you fuck, don't you?" And when the other answered, as he must, "Yess" - then Jer would have said, "That's something, isn't it?"
But instead, he just mumbled, "excuse me please," and walked around the Colored fellow and continued on his way. Because just supposing this Colored fellow turned out to know somebody who Jerry knew? He might ... he might tell. "White boy say so-and-so . . ." And people might put two and two together. And that, as far as Jeremy was concerned, would have been the end of everything, and he'd have to run away, or commit suicide.
He'd gone to see a doctor, sure. And the doctor said he found nothing organically wrong with him. "You after all are still very young," the doctor said. "And are still what we call inhibited. Things will work themselves out before very long, I'm sure."
But they hadn't.
"And of course there is the possibility of psychotherapy," the doctor said. He also said that psychotherapy could cost hundred dollars a session, and that some psych doctors insisted that anything less than five sessions a week was useless, and that such a course of treatment could last from five to twenty years.
So forget it.
Besides, he knew very well what the reason for it was. There was no mystery about that. It had all begun the first day of school when he was in kindergarten. He hadn't been shy, and he was happily pissing into the little, low-down urinal, digging the we're-all-boys-together feeling. When some tough kids who must have been in the third grade came bursting in and one of them took a gander at Jeremy, holding his pecker in his hands and being mature and careful not to spill anything.
"Look at the size of it!" this kid yelled. "Holy it's so big he gotta hold it with both hands!"
And then everybody ran over to look, and shouted and pointed. Naturally he didn't like this. He tried to hide it, and they grabbed at his hands, and he had pissed on his pants. He burst out crying. At which they yelled and pointed all the more.
This hadn't happened again, simply because he took good care to piss at home, or else he held it in, or else if he couldn't hold out, he locked himself into a toilet-stall. By and by he quit being sensitive. It wasn't until junior high that the boys saw him naked again. This was in the showers at gym. But instead of making fun or shouting, they were impressed. After all, he "had hair" in the seventh grade and not all the others had. "Wow, gee," they said enviously. And, having thirty to sixty other young cocks to compare his to, he definitely had to face the fact that his was bigger. Boy, was it bigger! When word got around, no Show Party was complete unless Jeremy Tomlins was invited, to show his, too. And by the time they were all in the eighth grade, and holding circle jerks . . .
In the ninth grade a tall, slim boy named Flinders Cotton, invited him up to his room "to look at some dirty books." The books were indeed delightfully dirty, and illustrated too, and both boys brought out their hard-ons for more convenient handling while continuing their reading pleasure. And then the depths of Flinders' cunning was revealed. He produced a jar of vaseline and took his pants down and begged Jeremy to "give it to him" while they both observed the proceedings in a full-length mirror leaning against a trunk.
Jer had heard of such things. He knew that traditionally he was supposed to bust Flinders in the nose. But Flinders was always very nice to him, and he didn't want to bust him in the nose. And besides, he wanted to know what it would feel like. So he said, "Okay." And Flinders lovingly smeared the entire length of Jeremy's hard young cock. And then he hiked his shirt up, revealing his slender hips and bent over the trunk and turned his head to look in the mirror.
"I'm ready," he said, twiddling his own little cigarette-sized peter and then spread his pallid ass-cheeks.
"Ready or not, here I come," said Jeremy, sliding the greased piglet up to the hole and tensing to shove it in.
And at that moment Flinders squealed, "Oh, look at the size of it!"
And the whole damned scene in the elementary school boys toilet flashed vividly before Jeremy's eyes, and he heard the bad kid from the third grade yell Look at the size of it!, and he remembered the mocking and the shame, and he felt his cockstand begin to wilt, and he said, "Oh, shit!" and the two boys watched helplessly as the beautiful big banana went down . . . down . . . down . , .
Of course, long before that time, he and Jackie had begun their secret games, their wicked games, under the table behind the packing crate in the garage. But that had been okay, because Jackie was a girl and there hadn't been any little girls there in the boys toilet that time. And Jackie hadn't made any disparaging comments about his cock. How could she have? It was the only one she'd ever seen. One time, yes, she brought him a book with pictures of mushrooms of all different kinds and pointed to one and said, "Guess what this looks like?" He said at once, "It looks like my prick!" She punched him and told him to watch his language. He grabbed her, and they wrestled playfully, and he pinched her tiny titties, and by that time they were beginning to breathe heavily. So out they went to the garage and got under the table again and neatly and deftly got half-naked again.
He already had a crisp little ruff of brown hair, and she had a few soft little golden curls. Her small hand was playing a familiar and skillful tune on his skin-flute, while his index finger was plying up and down the outside of her cunt and each was making the kind of noise that kids make when they get to lick the spoon. Then he felt a new and funny feeling inside of him. It was so different that he didn't know if it felt good or bad. In another minute he knew. It felt good. And immediately it was joined by a strange pressure. He drew in his breath and was about to say, "Stop," when the first of a series of spasms grabbed him and he said, brokenly, "Don't stop . . ." She had only barely paused, when the first gust of liquid came bubbling up, but went on as he had asked: stroke I stroke I stroke.
It was different from the blue John which had been oozing from the lip of his prick for some months prior to this, and which they had discussed without coming to any conclusion. It was at once clear to them what this new stuff was, though, that came spurting out like curdled milk. He was doubled over, yielding to the strange but delightful spasms. She asked, "Does it hurt?" and his only answer was, "Don't . . . stop ..."
They only played that secret, wicked game, always prefaced with the crossing of their hearts, a few more times. And each time she had next produced a kleenex from her pocket. They stopped because . . . well, because . . .
A summer's day in the month between ninth grade and high school. Whitlow's Point, a private beach belonging to someone who knew someone who knew someone's parents. And a bunch of them were there for the day, with swimsuits and a beach-ball and a barbecue and a tent to change in, so they wouldn't have to go back and forth a quarter of a mile to the house of Old Mrs. Someone who owned the beach. Old Mrs. Someone, who was in her ancient forties, had specified that at least one boy had to have a Red Cross Lifesaving Certificate; and she had contributed an air mattress without any comment as to what function it might serve.
Jeremy was emerging from the tent when he noticed, and was at once noticed by a girl with red curls peeping out of her bathing cap. She was a healthy-looking girl with curves in the right places, including a lovely little bulge between her legs, out front. She noticed him noticing it and she drew a circle in the air towards him and jabbed her finger through it and said, "That one"-Jeremy-"is mine!" A few of the other kids, who knew her, said, "What Lola wants, Lola gets."
He always thought of her as "Lola." In fact, he couldn't remember what in the hell her name actually was. At lunch time the girls started fussing around getting the food ready, the boys spreading out to collect driftwood for the fire. Freckled Kenny Colt was with Jerry, and they started a discussion as to which of the girls fucked and which didn't. "That redhead you got," said Kenny. "Wow!"
"She fucks?"
"Does she! Like a fucking mink, man-" Jerry swallowed. He felt something tickling inside his swimtrunks. "Have you been inside her?"
"Oh, yes, man. And just aching to get inside again!-But don't worry about that-I wouldn't jump your claim." Jerry didn't bother pointing out that it was really Lola's claim. He turned away so as to hide the growing cock-bulge inside of his trunk.
After lunch someone suggested swimming again, but someone else said that they ought to wait at least an hour to avoid cramps. Gradually most of them moved away, to gather shells, or toss the beachball, and Jeremy and Lola were left alone by the dying fire. They had been talking idly and, then one of those lulls in the conversation occurred. And Jerry became aware of some curious noises which had been faint before and were now growing louder: squeals, moans, grunts, indescribable vocal sounds, and a funny slapping sort of sound. He looked at Lola enquiringly, and she laughed, and said, "They're really going good in there." "What-?"
She pointed towards the tent. "Kenny is fucking Mary Anne," she said.
He felt his skin grow warm. It was the first time he had ever heard a girl say fuck. And felt it grow warmer, when she leaned over and put her hand on his wrist and said, "We're next."
He found himself looking down into the top part of her bikini, and what he saw there was nothing like Jackie's tiny titties. Lola's boobs were something else, full and firm and with a real valley between them. Almost without thinking, he reached up and gathered them in his hands and said, "Kenny is fucking Mary Anne, but soon Jerry will be fucking Lola."
And she grinned, and said, "Groovy," and pressed her hands onto his. Then the sounds from inside the tent grew louder. Kenny was half-shouting, "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" and Mary Anne seemed to be trying to call for help but squawking instead. And the sbp-slap-slap grew louder and more frantic. Then it ceased. Then one more final slap. Then silence.
Kenny came out, grinning happily. Mary Anne just rolled her eyes. "It's all yours, kids," he said "Keep the American flag waving!"
Inside it smelt like a gym, but they didn't care. He was kissing her and liked kissing her and pressed his hips against hers and tugged at her bikini bottoms. Somehow, everything was taken oft and then they were rolling on top of the air mattress and Jerry was rolling on top of Lola and almost rolled the two of them off the mattress. "Gee, take it easy, please," she begged. "I want to be fucked, not raped!"
"Okay . . ." he agreed, panting. ". . . okay ...! She took hold of his cock, and, with no more comment than, "Mmm, nice!" skinned it down. The light was dim inside the little tent, but the crimson head of his cock glowed brightly. She bent down and took it into her mouth. She began to lip it. A lovely warm glow seemed to flow from her red lips to the red bulb, and he gave a sigh of pleasure. Then she lightly ran her tongue around the rim and he jumped, jerking his prick up to the roof of her mouth and rubbing it there. "Oh, Christ!' he groaned. For a few minutes she knelt there, crouching, moving her head up and down along the top part of his cock-shaft, as though she were bobbing for apples. He began to whimper, the pleasure was so keen, and he thought that he would come right there, and shoot his spunk down into her throat.
The same thought must have occurred to her, because she drew her head back, releasing his huge rod, now swollen still bigger. "I did say I wanted to get fucked, didn't I? Come over here, big man, and fuck me."
He felt between her legs. She was already open and wet, and, as she moved, her pussy made little sucking, smacking sounds. She raked her nails down his back from neck to ass and, breathing hard, said, "Fuck me now, big man!"
He had his cock between her legs, but it was already so slippery there that it almost went into the wrong hole by mistake. He was leaning forward as he slid it up, and this pressure caused it to pop right into the waiting cunt-up, up, up, pushing aside the moist and delightfully resisting walls of her love-canal. "Oh, God," she moaned, "I don't care if I die right now," and she wrapped her legs around him.
There was no thought on his part about what technique to use. His healthy body acted instinctively, as, doing what came naturally, he moved according to the curve of his cock and the curve of her cunt. He had enough cock inches so that each thrust and each withdrawal was long and lovely - slowly out, so as to savor the ecstatic pressure against the underpart of the rim of his roger-then, with his strong back behind it, heavily and unhesitatingly in.
She was moaning beside his ear. He understood her words and allowed her trembling hand to guide his. "Put your hand here . . . two fingers inside ... ah . . . oh! . . . yes, please, please! Oh, like that! Oh, like that!"
In between his two fingers was a little button he could feel swelling up as the fingers rubbed it, going up and going down, and squeezing it, going up and down. And because he did have a long, long boa-constrictor cock, he was able to give his hand plenty of room to maneuver in. With the other hand he pressed her tits and stroked the nipples. Lola began to make a continuous high moaning noise of joy. And now, as her ass was moved off the air-cushion each time he pulled his prick partway out, because she had her legs wrapped around him, and then rammed down onto the air-cushion again each time he rammed his cock back up into her, they began to hear that slap . . . slap ... slap .... which had puzzled him before.
The slapping sound grew more and more rapid, because his heavy thrusts were growing more and more rapid. Lola's mouth was now wide open, but it seemed as though she had no breath to make a sound. And then the light suddenly grew brighter. Someone had pulled aside the tent-flap. This didn't bother them; in fact, knowing that someone was watching him fuck her seemed to increase the pleasure. Jer felt that he would begin to come. And then a girl's voice, high with astonishment, cried, "Look at the size of it!" And a boy's voice, equally astonished, said, "Oh, Christ, look at the size of it!" And then the others were all outside, crowding to look at the size of it.
He didn't lose his hard-on, he was going too hot and heavy for that. They wanted to look, did they? Okay, he'd give them something to look at. He emphasized the swing of his ass so that they'd all be able to see the almost full length of his cock as he slipped it almost entirely out and upwards-and then rode fiercely, heavily into her again. Lola began to scream into his ear. But his ear was hearing the kids in the toilet, his ear was hearing Flinders Cotton, asshole bared and waiting. Look Look Look At The Size Size Size Size.
Lola writhed and twisted and raked his back, till the blood came. She uttered two long and drawn-out shrieks, and then she seemed to collapse. He rode her, he rode on and he rode on, and he made her rise up and come again and then when he had her almost dead, with her red hair wet with her sweat and her eyes rolling and glassy and her boobs squeezed in his hands, then he made her come again.
And he gasped and shuddered. But he hadn't come.
The air-cushion was so wet and slimy and sloppy that no one noticed. Besides, the audience was so roused and eager that two couples shared the space for the next fuck. So no one knew, just as no one knew that this was his very first fuck, so no one knew that he hadn't come.
How many times he had been into women since then, he had lost count. But he'd never yet come inside of one. It seemed insane that he could fuck for half the night, and then have to jack off in order to loose his load. But that's the way it was.
That's the way it was that Saturday afternoon when, before he could put his shirt or undershirt back on, there was a knock at the door, and, opening it, he saw it was Jackie's mother.
* * *
Bandal and Annie Tomlins were on their third beer in the rustic bar of the Elmo Lodge. It looked as though she was beginning to relax. She'd scarcely opened her mouth the whole time, except to exchange a few words with another couple they'd met in a roadside restaurant that afternoon. And, the long arm of coincidence reached out to tap them as the same couple now opened the door of the Elmo Bar and stood there, looking around.
Bandy raised his arm and waved. Anne looked up.
The couple smiled and walked towards them, but only when they got close did they recognize them. "Hey, Sandra, it's the nice people we met at the Triple-Burger," the guy said. He was a big guy, with an out-in-all-weather kind of face.
"Why, hello-hello," said Sandra, beaming. She was on the small side, and was wearing a blouse and pedal-pushers, both of which seemed a trifle too small on her. "Well, now you know what my name is. This big bruiser is Bill. We're the Frazers."
Randy said, "Join us." And completed the introductions. He ordered more beer. The Frazers insisted on getting the next round. By that time Bill and Randy had finished blaming the last three Administrations, impartially, for the sad fact that the construction business wasn't what it ought to be-Bill was in Heavy Equipment and Randy was in Blueprints-and Annie and Sandra were exchanging obstetrical experiences.
"How do you like this kind of beer, Bill?" asked Randy. "They don't seem to distribute it where we live."
Bill said he didn't like it much. "And besides," he said, "I think we're all about ready for something more responsible, aren't we? -Hey, Boss, what brand's your bar whiskey?"
Boss, who was small and sad, shook his head. "I don't have that kind of a license. Business don't warrant it."
"How about set-ups, then? I got some booze in my car."
But Boss was regretful about that too. "Not in the bar. The law in this county is very strict about that. But I tell ya what. You got your own booze, I can let ya have set-ups in your cabins." His little eyes surveyed them, shrewdly. He knew that the Tomlins were already registered at Elmo Lodge, and he wanted the Frazers, too. And in no more time than it takes to sign the book and pay the price, he had them too. They got a cabin with the Tomlins on one side of them, and nothing but the whispering forest on the other.
The whiskey was as good as the beer hadn't been, although of course the ladies drank it mixed. Elmo Lodge was not really a motel, it was one of the last of the old-fashioned auto courts, and there was no TV. However, they were managing without it all right. And then suddenly Sandra looked at Bill, who was looking at the rest of them, rubbing his chin.
"Oh, no you don't!" she said. "No, I don't what?"
Randal and Anne looked up, hoping there wasn't going to be a spat when everybody had been having a good time. But they saw that her look was good-humored, and they relaxed. In fact, her look had a suppressed smile in it which made them curious. So Anne said, "Yes, Sandra-'No, he isn't what?"
Sandra shook her head, and said she didn't dare to tell them. "You'd stomp right out of here and never want to speak to us again," she said. But Annie and Bandy laughed, assuring her that they wouldn't do anything like that. "Oh, come on, tell us," they begged.
So Sandra said, "Welllll . . . He's got that look in his eye which tells me he's on the point of saying, Let's play strip poker!'-And we've just lost too many friends that way. Which is why I say, 'Bill! Oh, no you don't!' " There was a laugh at this. And Annie said, "It seems to me they couldn't have been very good friends, to let a little suggestion like that bother them ... All they had to do, was say, No."
"Or, for that matter, Yes," said Bill.
And then Annie said, "All right, then, Yes!" And then everybody laughed, Randal, until the tears came to his eyes. And when he wiped them away he saw that the bottle and glasses had been moved to the dresser and that Bill had started to deal from a pack of cards. Annie's eyes met his. He looked at her with a sort of confused amusement. She flashed him a sort of, Well-what-the-hell expression.
The game was like no other that Anne or Randal had ever played, there was more than money at stake. At one point, when he was down to his shorts, Randal asked, with mock suspicion, "You sure you're not playing with a marked deck, there, Frazer?" and everyone had chuckled. But for the most part the game went on in an atmosphere of suppressed excitement.
Randy's eyes kept flickering from his cards to Sandra and from Sandra to Annie. The former certainly had a pair of nice boobies on her! Not that Annie didn't have a nice pair. Nice enough, that is. But he was as familiar with her small tits as he was with her small ears But the thought kept occurring to him as looked at Sandra's, Now there is a pair that a man could hang onto and not be afraid of falling off!
He watched Sandra's big boobs bounce as she got up to get a drink. He observed how nice and plump the cheeks of her ass were. Something else to hold on to, to keep from falling off! And with funny dimples in them, too, that a man could stick his thumbs into. And a man could stick his thumbs into her navel, too, right in the middle of her cute little round belly. His eyes couldn't stop there. They gazed down at the wad of glistening black hair, so exciting different from Anne's light-brown bush. Sandra had a nice plump little cunt, too. He could even see the hint of a groove splitting that plumpness. A man could stick his thumb into that, too.
And then, like a bolt of lightning, he realized that a man could stick something else into that, too. Namely a big, stiff dick.
"Keep your mind on your work, Tomlins," said Annie. But she wasn't angry. Her eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed. She had noticed everything that her husband had noticed. And she had noticed how big Bill Frazer was. His big body was as shaggy as a bear's. Exceptionally long tufts of black hairs grew around his nipples. He had on jockey shorts which fitted him tightly, a white interruption between the shaggy blackness of his stomach and the shaggy blackness of his thighs. And judging by the bulge which pushed the fly of his jockey shorts out, he must have been hung like a stallion.
Bill, for his part, hadn't been having eyes exclusively out for aces. He had sized up Randal in a glance, and his verdict was: a nice guy, grown-up, but still a boy. As for little Annie, well, he, Bill liked a lot of woman for steady screwing. But for purposes of change, he had a hankering for the slim, boyish type. Those cute little titties she had, now. Oh, sure, they drooped a bit, but what the hell! A nice game of flip-flop-flip could be played with them. And she sure looked as though she could use some nice games. But of course what she could use most of was a king-sized cock, such as nature intended to occupy what she had inside the light-brown hair of her cute little cunt.
Sandra, sipping her drink, caught Randy's eye and coyly pressed her cards against her big boobs. Though well she knew that this nice, new fellow wasn't trying to see what cards she held. She didn't think she'd like to be married to him. He didn't look as though he had staying power for night after night, year after year of fucking. But he was cute in a sort of naive and unspoiled sort of way. He looked as if he didn't even know that his cock had stuck its head out of the fly of his boxer shorts, and with one tiny gleaming eye was now looking around like a groundhog uncertain whether to retreat or advance. Yes, yes, Mr. Randal Tomlins looked like a delicious little tidbit and she would like to gobble him up. Gobble, gobble, gobble.
Bill's shorts were the last to go, and as they went, Annie saw that he really was hung like a stallion. It was more like an arm with a clenched fist than anything else. She was aware that she was staring, but she couldn't take her eyes off it. That familiar ache and need was growing inside of her. It was all she could do either to keep from grabbing it, or from jumping across the table and hopping onto Bandal for a fast and furious fuck . . . Her mind drifted into a maze of hot images.
It snapped back almost with a click. Bill was handing the cards to Bandal. "Shuffle and draw," he directed. Bandy took the deck but seemed puzzled. "Sure . . . but what for? I thought the game was over. I haven't even got a band-aid on."
"I've got a hard-on," Bill said. It was certainly true. He certainly had. It was like a tree growing straight up from the forest of his immensely thick black pubic hair, and it was immensely thick. Randy had the funny feeling that if he didn't take the deck and shuffle and draw, Bill might bend him over and shove its immense thickness up his ass. He didn't feel at all frightened, though. He felt a tremendous excitement. In fact, he hadn't felt such excitement in his whole life since, in his freshman year at college, he came upon a girl named Diane pissing in the woods, and saw that she had red hair all over her cunt.
"You've got a hard-on?" he exclaimed. "So have I!" It was so hard that it almost hurt him. Was he that big? He sure was.
Bill said, "Shuffle, cut and draw."
Randal could never remember what card he drew, and afterwards he realized that it hadn't mattered. Randy drew the card, and Bill turned it over. "You win," he said to Randy.
"Uh-" "You win. I play for real and I don't back out. You win. So you get to fuck my wife."
The words were like a bomb going off inside of Randy's head, waking him up from a long sleep. "Right," he said. "I get to fuck your wife. And you get to fuck mine."
Sandra gave him a look which was like being goosed with an electric prod. Then she turned to Annie and asked, with just a touch of concern, "That's all right with you, Honey, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Annie, "that's just fine with me."
The old-fashioned cabins of Elmo Lodge had two double-beds each, and in the old days Mom and Sis had slept in one and Dad and Bud in the other. But if those days weren't gone forever they were sure going fast. And as far as this cabin tonight was concerned, they had already gone. Sandra reached out and took hold of Randy's cock. She pulled him gently along. "This way, Lover," she said. She felt that he was on the shy side and needed a little guidance and assistance.
Bill, meanwhile, faced Annie, who had begun to tremble. This one wants it rough, he said to himself. He grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder, then walked to the bed. Annie, upside down, had a glimpse of the hairiest and most muscular ass she had ever seen; it was the first time she'd ever seen one from that angle anyway. For two seconds she saw the shaggy mounds go in and out with the black-haired columns of his legs moving beneath. Then he unslung her and tossed her on the bed heavily. She let out a little yip. She heard the bed protest as he leaped onto it and straddled her.
Annie expected any minute to be almost split in two, and hoped she was wet enough to take his column-like cock without getting rope-burns in her cunt. But Bill Frazer did not stay where he was, when he threw his left leg over. He walked up over her on his knees, his cock thrust forward and balls swinging beneath in their hairy sack like three of his own pieces of heavy machinery designed to batter down walls.
"Take it in your mouth," he said. And while her mouth was still open in astonishment, he held up her head by the hair and shoved it in. He had caught her off balance but she fell to with a will, licking the salty globe and running her tongue in between it and the foreskin. It was like nothing she had ever felt, and she was eager to learn more of it. While she rolled her tongue around it and nibbled and learned there were tiny bumps under the ace of the skin of the shaft, she felt him flipping her tits and rolling them around under his horny, calloused palms. Electric shocks went through her, and she wanted to cry out. But the huge cock-head and part of its shaft almost filled her mouth and all that she could utter was a moaning noise.
"That's enough of that for now," he said, withdrawing it and letting her head fall down. The hard palms of his hands took her ass-cheeks and squeezed them and lifted her bottom off the bed as though she weighed no more than a feather. He kicked her thighs apart with his knees. She felt what she at first thought was a blow from his fist, right on her cunt. But his hands were holding her ass up, and she realized he had butted her pussy with the huge head of his enormous cock. He rammed it again, and he shoved her hips up and forward. Then he thrust down and against her and she felt her cunt parted by something wet and huge and heavy. She cried out.
"That won't help you," he said, his craggy face glaring at her. "I won the right to fuck you and lam going to fuck you!" With that he hurled back onto the bed and fell upon her with all his weight. The head of his cock was already partly into her, and now, as she felt his hairy body on her, the whole cock slipped into her with one fierce lunge. It went up and up and up, and rammed against the mouth of her womb with such force that he bounced away.
She felt her legs fly up. Her cunt had never been as full as this. The pressure against her clitoris was wonderfully heavy. She wound her legs around his furry thighs and let her heels nestle in behind his knees.
Bill now began to let the bed work him. The yielding springs tossed them up again, and he slipped his cock-shaft partway out, and then simply allowed himself to fall back down and on and into her once more. The bedsprings sang and thrummed, and Bill and Annie flew up and down, and up and down, and his cock plunged in and out. His thicket of pubic hairs pushed and shoved against her clitoris. His shaggy chest filled her breasts and nipples with a thousand lovely red-hot needles. His rough hands chafed her ass so beautifully. Bed-hot joy rode up her cunt. His weight was wonderful. She felt as though she were being given artificial respiration by a hundred thousand big-cocked Boy Scouts, and her breath gasped her delight.
For a while, Bandal and Sandra on the other bed just watched and chuckled and toyed with each other. He did indeed put his thumb into the deep dimples of her plump ass. And he sank it into her deep belly button, too. She seemed as delighted with his prick as with a new toy. She ran her fingers up and down, until he began to writhe with joy. He took two handfuls of her ripe and heavy tits and massaged them. He threw his legs around her ample hips and they rolled around together, just hugging and kissing.
But his sense of excitement never left him. It kept on growing. He found himself lying flat on top of her while she stroked his arms and his back and his ass till delighted tremors shook him. She had a full, warm, red mouth. They sucked each other's lips, ran their tongues into each other's mouths, around and around each other's ears. And then the other bed began to jump up and down off the floor, with the bang-bang-bang of big Bill banging little Annie. His deep grunts and the abrupt gasps of delight were heard against a musical background supplied by the bedsprings.
"They're enjoying it," he said, passing his hand around the left cheek of Sandra's ass, and then between her legs. He got one fingertip into her cunt. "I'm enjoying it, too," he muttered. Then they were glued mouth to mouth, and he raised himself on his arms as though he were about to do push-ups. The swollen and throbbing head of his cock was pressed against the cleft of her cunt. She cleared away the hairs for him, and began to caress his hairy balls. He thrust his prick against her pussy, and it yielded a little. He thrust again, and it yielded some more. Another gentle push, and the lips parted with a gentle smack. Once more he thrust, and this time he got the head in.
Nothing in his life had ever felt so good. There was no foreskin to ride up and diminish the full sensation. He swayed there, hanging on his rigid arms, just letting the lips of her cunt massage the curved rim of his cock. Then it parted more, and he slid in more. He didn't try to control the trembling of his body. It provided just the right motion to let the head of his cock rub back and forth against the silken-slick membranes of her love-clutch.
And in this way, while Annie was being fucked in the most forceful way imaginable, and enjoying every second of it, Sandra was being screwed in the gentlest way imaginable: and loving it, too. By the time he slowly let himself sink all the way into her, she was moaning uncontrollably. He came out as slowly as he had gone in, inch by soft inch. It was the most intense sensation he had ever experienced.
When he was almost entirely pulled out of her again, he hung there for the longest minute in the world. And then his elbows splayed out, and he sank into her again. She threw back her head and let out a small, soft scream of almost unendurable pleasure. Now they began to rock back and forth, to and fro. It was like her cunt sealed shut each time he pulled his prick out of it. As though he had to open it up again. She was being slowly sliced open by a thick and red-hot knife, the slow and deep slashes of which brought ecstasy instead of pain. Again and again, with long and firm, decisive strokes of his meat-knife, he cut open her cunt. And, oh, how she wanted it to be cut again.
With distended nostrils snorting her incredibly intense passion she breathed against his face. Gradually his movements slowed down. The dark-pink dong shaft slid slowly down her slippery slot. Randal seemed to be suspended in midair, reflecting and reveling in his joy. Slowly, Sandra's legs crept around his, locking themselves around his own. Then she burst into his slow-motion passion with a passion of her own. She had him held fast, too, by her arms around his torso. She pressed him down on to her and before this motion was completed, she had heaved her hips up to meet his. His eyes flew open. He gave a low, prolonged moan. And then they were flying high together. She no longer had a mouth, or a face, or a head, or feet or ears, to him. She was all cunt, only cunt, cunt he must go into and impress his stamp upon. Delightful passage between the legs of the female body: cunt which maketh strong the cocks of man.
Ripples of sensation spread through him, in which all the senses were mingled and changing places so rapidly he was not able to know where one started and the others left off. He could see with his cock. He tasted on his tongue the sweet sounds that her twat was making.
And Annie, arms and legs flying convulsively, head darting from side trying to escape the rapture she could no longer bear. Annie's finger's dug into Bill's arm-muscles, and she screamed. And she came. And he kept on humping and pounding her. She came, and she screamed, and she arched her back. He shoved his tree-trunk prick back and thrust it up again and flattened her again. To her the world was now a solid tide which roared inside of her like a thick fire of joy. The world was Bill Frazer, and Bill Frazer was a cock like a man's arm with a fist on the end of it. This fist hit her so good that each time it rammed the end of her cunt, it was a blow which released a thick cloud of joy. She felt the wiry hairs of his chest and belly scrape her yielding body. A hundredth of a second later the fiery staff turned her cunt into a column of fire. The fist which was the end of his cock rammed her again. Her belly exploded. And another thick cloud of joy swept her up and away.
With glazing eyes she saw something on the other bed, and she blinked. It was Randal, wrapped in Sandra's arms and Sandra's legs. Their faces were turned towards hers and they were looking at her while Bill was fucking her and she was looking at Sandra while Bandal was fucking Sandra and she was looking at Bandal while he was fucking Sandra. She felt a high, fine humming noise, and she knew that it was the bedsprings which now sang their splendid song without a pause. It was as though she looked into a mirror and she saw Bandy's rosy-red cock ramming and reaming in and out of the other woman's cunt. She could see their two bodies sliding back and forth. She could even feel her husband's prick inside of her now, it was big, big, huge, it was Bill's prick, it couldn't be bigger.
And then it did get bigger, and she knew he was going to come. She saw by the torture and the love on the other two faces that they were coming, too. She knew what it must feel like to have Randal come inside of a cunt. She felt that; and now she simultaneously felt the contractions and expansions of Bill's mast-like cock and then the thick, scalding-hot sperm shot against the end of her cunt-canal. Each drop was another skyrocket. Again and again he shot his white-hot load. Long before he had finished shooting, she had gone into orgasmic convulsions. Randy was Bill and Bill was Randy and she was Sandra being fucked as well as Annie. And she was fire, fire, fire. She was fire.
* * *
Well, it was a couple of years ago that Jeremy Tomlins' father had picked up, secondhand, a small print of a sailing ship. Jer had taken to it, instantly. "Get it framed, it's yours, then," said his dad. He showed it to Jackie and her mother, and Mrs. Anderson said she thought she had just the right frame and glass for it in her gift shop. She'd taken the color print down in the morning. That same afternoon was the afternoon that Creampuff, the Tomlins' angora cat, had attacked Helga, the Anderson great Dane. Or maybe the other way around. Anyway, things had been hot and heavy and Creampuff ran away and never came back. For a long time the four adults didn't speak to each other. And the ship's picture hadn't been mentioned.
So Jeremy was at a loss for words when he answered the door and saw Mrs. Anderson there, bright and smiling. "Why, Jeremy, see what I found just now," she said. It was that same lithograph of the clipper ship, and it was neatly and trimly framed in gilded wood. Mae had framed it in five minutes. She had never really forgotten having it.
"Oh, gee, Mrs. Anderson," he said.
"Will your parents be back soon?"
"Uh-no . . . Maybe not till Monday morning ..."
She pursed her mouth in a friendly way, and thought a minute. Then she smiled again. She was really in a good mood this afternoon, and he smiled back. He had always known that she was a good-looking woman, if only she wouldn't walk around as though she had an ice cube stuck up her ass. But now it seemed to have melted. Wonder why.
"I tell you what, then, Jeremy. You were going to hang this in your room, weren't you? Well, then. Let's do it now. It will be a nice surprise for your parents when they return."
He was taken aback at her implicit suggestion that they hang it together. His room was a mess. What the hell. So he got a hammer and nails, and they went up to his room. Not having eyes in the back of his head, Jer was not aware of her looking less at how high the picture went and how it looked there, and more at the play of muscles in his arms and back as he held it up and moved it.
Mae, not being telepathic, was not aware that Jer had been so struck by the presence in his room of a female not his mother that he was now thinking, Should he take a chance on his folks staying away tonight and try to invite a girl over?
He was still thinking about this after he'd hammered in the nail and gotten down off the chair. Then he saw that Mae was sitting on the edge of his bed. Both chairs were cluttered with clothes and under one pile was his jockstrap. It didn't seem polite to let her see this article, and maybe if he kept on standing she might think he was pissed at where she was sitting. So he sat down on the edge of the bed, too, just a few feet away from her. Just as well that he was sitting down, because, after a little light talk about gardening, Mae Anderson said something entirely different.
"Jeremy, I think you should know that I am aware of your having sexual intercourse with my daughter," she said.
* * *
Hank Anderson and Jaqueline sat side by side, watching the scenery stream by. After a while the girl said, "Do you suppose that Mom is going through the change of life?"
Startled, he said, "What?"
"The menopause . . . Oh, maybe I shouldn't have-" "Said that?" He snorted. "Why not. I think that we've been pretending for too long that you are still a little girl. Or, your mother has, and I've gone along with it. Presumably I wasn't supposed to notice when the box of junior grade Kotex appeared in the bathroom back when. -But to answer your question. I wish to God she would go through some kind of a change. But I've been wishing that since the night we were married."
She gave a little cry of sympathy, then turned to him. "Oh, you poor, poor people! Has it been going on that long?"
He nodded. She shook her head. "I knew that something was wrong. I've been feeling it more and more. But I didn't realize that it was sexual repression." And to herself she said, remembering her words to Bart Swift, The mask is coming off. . .
And so it was. Hank began to talk, and at first he didn't look at her, and his voice was flat and strained. But by and by he began to feel a relief in getting it off his chest. And then the words poured out of him. She sighed.
"Maybe going to a marriage counselor would help. Or maybe not," she said. "Or maybe she wouldn't go. And, knowing Mom . . ."
". . .you don't think she'd go? Bight? And neither do I." He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, privately surprised at how easy it was to say it, "But your generation is making a better start at things than ours. Or so we hear and read all the time. Eh?" "Well . . ."
"Frankly," he said, "I would be rather surprised if by this time you didn't have a, well, a lover. Or lovers . . . ?"
Foster was right, then, she thought. They don't just suspect. They Know. Aloud, she said, carefully, "Well, you needn't be surprised."
Hank let his breath out. He felt relieved, somehow. "I am glad, then. But I suppose that he . . . or they . . . about the same age as you, yourself?"
"About. Yes."
Girl at the ladies' can was right then, thought Hank. He said, "The only thing is . . . Young boys ... Heedless. Impetuous. Inexperienced. Selfish . . . The French used to say, I believe, that a young woman's character remained unformed, until she had an affair with an older man. One old enough to be her father."
She wasn't shocked. To his surprise, though, she laughed. "Well, nobody supposes we'd be zapped by lightning if we did! But no methods of prevention are infallible, and it wouldn't be very groovy if you gave me a two-headed baby, you know!"
Hank was even more astonished than when he'd heard his wife say, "Horseshit" only that morning. How could she suppose that this was what he meant? Or . . . was she correct . . . and was this what he'd meant. Maybe it was.
"There might be some danger of that," he said, "if two-headed babies ran in my family, and if I were your biological father. You may remember that I am not.".
Her lovely little mouth dropped open and a look of almost ludicrous amazement came upon her face. "Oh, my God, Hank! That's right!" she exclaimed. "I mean, of course I've always known that, just as I've always known that I was a girl, for goodness sake! But-that's right! It wouldn't even be incest. Stop the car, right this minute."
He drew it to the side of the road, saying, feebly, in part amazed, in part terror-stricken, in part confused by joy; saying, feebly, "What. . . ."
She put her arms around him and drew him towards her. She kissed him on the mouth, as she hadn't done since she was a child. She had called him "Hank" and not "Daddy." She-She said, gravely, "Would you like to have an affair with me, Hank?" "Do you mean it?"
She nodded. "Yes, I do mean it. What man do I know better, or have more reason to love? But where can we go? It's got to be somewhere that M-that Mae won't find out. Come on now, Hank. Remember that sign in your office: THINK."
He ran his fingers through his black hair. Thinking straight was probably the last thing on earth he was capable of right now. THINK. Who put that sign up. Charley Calvin was who. And Charley Calvin-She said, "You've got it. I can tell by the look in your bright blue eyes. Tell Honey where it is. Because, now that I've thought of the idea, I can hardly wait . . ."
* * *
Luck was with them. Charley Calvin, that randy old bastard of a randy bachelor was home to answer Hank's phone call. Yes, he still had that cabin in the woods. Sure, he remembered the offer he'd made if Hank ever needed it.
So up they drove, stopping once for supplies. Hank had taken a step or two towards a drugstore, after the grocery, hesitated. She said to him, "You were wondering of Charley's condoms would be too old to use? If it were a matter of that, I'd have gotten Saran Wrap." He felt his face burn, discussing this matter of biology so matter-of-factly with his nonbiological daughter. And the hot images of who knew how many horny young men and boys wrapping their huge and healthy young cocks with Saran Wrap as though they were so many sandwiches . . . And then what? Did they grease it up with salad oil?
She said, "Now that the mask is off-and, oh, you just don't know how glad I am that it's off-" "I'm glad, too-" "-you needn't worry about that. Dr. Foster and I decided against pills or a diaphragm or applicator and jelly, because somebody might find those things.
And besides, you might forget. And besides, they're a drag, don't you think? So he put in an IU device and its still up there inside of me."
His voice was husky. "I want to ... to get up there inside of you, too ..."
She took his elbow and moved him off back to the car. "Well, I want you there, too. Up there inside of me. So let's go."
They kept just barely within the speed limit, all the way.
The keys were there, the windows were so dirty it was impossible to see through them, but the light, though dimmed, was light enough. They let the door slam, heard the locks click, he ran the bolt safe-And then they fell hungrily into each other's arms, mouth devouring mouth.
"Oh, Hank," she breathed, "I've always loved you as my father, but now I know I love you as a man, too!"
His voice trembled as he said, "Oh, Jackie, I've always loved you as a daughter, but now I know I love you as a woman, too . . . Let's get undressed ..."
The bed was rumpled, and a couple of tree-stump-shaped stains showed that Charley had used it for more than slumber, and left his signatures on it, too. But they couldn't have cared less. They kicked their shoes off, and fell onto it and into an embrace. He was hungrily sucking her sweet lips and then her little tongue darted into his mouth, touching his own, then creeping up between his upper inner lip and gums. Mae had never done that. He felt on fire. His prick was on fire, and thrumming as though a thousand volts of electricity were coursing through it. His coat and her jacket flew through the air. He pushed up what there was of her miniskirt, and tugged at her tights. She was holding her hands on his shoulders and she lifted her hips to help him.
The tights came down so slick and smoothly off her lithe legs, so slick and smooth. A whispy gauzy thing covered her crotch and it was already damp as he fumbled it off. Ah, oh God, that lovely little triangle thatched with golden hair! She had ripped his shirttail out, and her hands were on his naked skin, caressing his back, then thrust up in front and on his belly. Then he felt his belt buckle go and then his fly went zip! and she opened his shorts and his heart gave a leap and then went thud-thud-thud as her hand went into the tangle of his pubic hair and she felt his cock. She gasped and closed her hand around it.
Now his own hands darted to pull away the cloth from her bosom. He wonderingly held beneath the brassiere two protuberances so different from his wife's full breasts, and then he got the snap open and unveiled those rare and curious boobies which arched up and outwards, little pink tips responding instantly to the touch of his eager hands.
Their lips met again, he squeezed her tits with a loving pressure, somehow his pants were pulled down to his knees. Then he felt her guiding his cock, gently but firmly, heard her breath come faster and faster. He felt his cock-head brushing past the crisp curls between her soft thighs, felt it touch something hot and moist. Without any hesitation he thrust himself forward and into her. She groaned. But not with pain. This was no tight fit requiring lubrication and heavy efforts. Neither was it a nosebag so wide and loose that a horse could fit its muzzle into it. His heavy cock surged for a thousand miles, it seemed, up and up into an endless cave of tight mucous membrane damp with its own juice and just tight enough to press with joyful pressure on the swollen head of his stiff prick.
There was no time, this time, for preliminaries. No moment for lingering. His cock went plunging in, pushed and pressed to bring a moan from her red mouth, slid back out and was met with an ecstatic soft-fleshy pressure all the way, then plunged in again. This was neither a half-hopeful tumble nor a super-sophisticated we've-got-all-night dillying and dallying. It was nature, long obscured, now claiming its own. His hips moved in and out like a jackhammer, driving home that golden spike into her golden snatch, and her golden voice moaned into his ear and her golden hips moved with their own rhythm as far as his encircling thighs would let.
He was fucking her hard and heavy, and hot and sweet, he was fucking his daughter whose secret slash had been denied him, he was humping her and she wasn't his daughter but a woman of infinite desire. Somehow her hands played like darts and flashes of lightning around his ass and then held on to the thrusting cheeks of it as his master-father-lover fuck-cock went in and out and up, up, up, up there inside of her.
Her voice broke loose of her mouth as her mouth broke loose of his. "Oh, Hank! Hank!' Hank!" she cried, each repetition of his name, marking each shove of his big cock into her hot, slippery little snatch. Then it was as though she was floating somewhere on a cloud, her head so far back that he could see the pulse beating in her throat and he bent to put his lips against that pulse, felt it respond to the pulse-push of his prick against that resisting-yielding cunt flesh. And she, with a little smile, moaned continuously, "Oh, Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy, oh it feels so good, oh it feels so good, oh my God oh Daddy Daddy Daddy, fuck me sweet and soft and hard and good ..."
He tried to answer, but his breath came in snorts and grunts to match the snorting and grunting of his big, hard cockle-muscle as it regularly jammed its swift way up deep inside of her jam-sweet snatch.
Jackie had quite forgotten that she had never come when a man was inside of her. She forgot everything now but the exquisite feeling which had lasted forever and would last forevermore. With Jeremy, with Barton, Foster, and all of the others, this feeling had been purely physical. But this time it was different, because the shaft which plunged up and down into and out of her sweet red-hot cylinder now was Hank's cock-shaft, it was ... it was exciting in a way that no cock-shaft had ever been . . . and although she was lost on an ecstatic voyage into a strange world, she knew that it was exciting and strange and so much lovelier because the rod that was ramming her out of her mind was . . . it was ... it was Daddy's prick . . . it was Daddy's prick . . . which she had still never before seen, even now hadn't yet seen, but she was feeling it now. She was feeling it, Daddy's prick, as nothing had ever felt before.
She forgot everything else, forgot her mother's sharp, quick, shaming words, which had punctuated her childhood: Cover that! Cover that up! Don't you dare put your finger up there! Don't put anything up there! Don't ever let anyone put anything up there!-This was all forgotten, everything was forgotten in the delirium of the joy and excitement of having Daddy's dong doing this wonderful/forbidden/bad/good thing to her. And then the wonderful feeling began to change, the way the colors of a sunrise begin to change. The feeling grew intense and deep and spread all over her, second by second and it was the intensity of terror converted into joy.
Jackie threw back her head even farther, and her lips parted and swelled, and her eyes flew open and she screamed-once! twice! three times!-she screamed and she flung herself up against the hard, male, hairy male, happy-making male body which was doing this to her. And the hot and heavy body of the Daddy-male kept forcing her back and the world blew up in a shower of red and purple and gold, and she screamed.
* * *
In the dim light he murmured as he caressed her, "When I heard you scream, it pulled me back from a thousand miles away. I thought I was hurting you. But I couldn't stop ..."
She pressed herself against him, and he rubbed his arm along her back, the touch and the hairy warmth of it on her skin was so good that she sighed with sheer contentment. "Oh, it wasn't that at all, dear Hank. I always wondered what an orgasm was like. And now I know, now I know." He had sheltered her and loved her and seen her grow. And now she was a woman and she lay her soft, sweet woman's body in his arms, and she had loved him as a woman loves her man.
"I knew that Mae was all wrong on sex," he said, slowly. "All wrong on the way sex was between her and me. I don't know why I didn't take a stand-" She laughed softly. "You took a stand all right-!" and her fingers played with his prick.
He snorted. "But you know what I mean. Obvious, her bad view on sex, even though thank God you didn't take it all on, enough of it got to you. And that's why you never had an orgasm. Poor Jackie," he said, soberly.
"But I'll have them again," she said. "I'm sure of it. Because you took me there . . ."
His fingers stroked her boobies, as high and proud and firm as a young woman's tits are supposed to be, but aren't always. She gave another deep sigh of happiness and contentment and slowly moved her hands up and down his back, from shoulders to thighs. "I like that," he murmured. "That's nice, nice. That's so nice." Gradually her fingers crept between his legs and ran along the delicate skin there, up to his balls, the precious jewels in the skin pouch with the hair still on it. "And that's even nicer," he whispered.
Slowly and skillfully her fingers moved further in, and she slipped down to make that easier. This brought his face level with her big banana-shaped tits, and he slipped the tip of one of them into his mouth. He began to suck the nipple. He switched his attentions to the other sweet little stud, and tweaked the first one between his fingers.
"Mmmmm, good," she breathed. One of her hands was now stroking and tickling the hundred thousand sensitive little nerve cells located from the top of the crack of his ass all along to the root of his cock. And the other hand was working on the cock itself.
Mae, on the few and rare occasions when she could be brought to touch Hank's cock at all, had seemed to regard it as though it were a wood-carving, and hadn't known what to do with it. But Jackie knew what to do with it, and she performed the ritual of the then thousand strokes all up and down its length. And its length grew longer and longer and its width grew thicker and thicker as she worked on it. Hank's sighs came more and more, and told of his gathering excitement.
"It feels so nice," she said. "I want to see it. Do you mind if I see it? I never have, yet, you know."
Charley Calvin, that wise and raunchy old sinner, knew that some silly women will only screw in the dark. And he also knew that there would be times when no man wanted to get out of the sack with a good hard-on swinging and have to trot over to turn off a light and then stumble back in the dark. A cord hung over the headboard, threaded through a hook-and-eye screw. Hank reached up and gave it a tug. Light dispelled the thick shadows of gathering dusk. Jackie gasped.
"Oh, it's beautiful! Is it for me?" she exclaimed. They had untangled from their rather complex position, and now lay face to face, propped up on pillows and elbows. His cock had sprung to life again under her skilled and loving finger-and-hand strokes. It was no mere half hard-on. Neither was it a quickie, sprung to attention by a flashing stimulus, prepared to slip immediately-into the-at-ease position. This was a good old-fashioned stiff dick, pulsing and swollen with good, rich blood, from where the root thrust up out of the thicket of crisp, black pubic curls, along its considerable and curving length to the head. The head itself was no characterless cherry tomato, either, but its thick-ridged rim was an oval at an angle, and the rest of it resembled some well-fleshed hothouse strawberry. It had a fine and shiny glaze where both his come and her cunt-juice had dried on it. And between the lips where this glaze had cracked into fine tiny lines, an anticipatory ooze had begun.
Jackie said, "It makes me so hot and horny just to look at it. I want to look at it a while. That's the war-horse that really gave me a charge . . . Pretty soon I want it to ride on. I want it to make me ride high . . . -Yes, oh, yes, Hank! Do that . . . Can you find it?"
His fingers slipped through the yellow tangle on her bulging twat, and into the shallow groove at the top, then slid down between the plump halves of her love-box to where the groove sank deeper. Here, nothing had dried. The track was still wet. It took only a few seconds of exploration before he found everything. The fingers of his hands settled down as though they had lived there forever. Thumb and forefinger bent over the little love-button that turns the sexcurrents on so strongly, worked it between them. Jackie began to gasp her pleasure. And the index finger slid down the hatch and into her eager little cunt.
After only a few minutes of this, his cock began to bob and twitch, and she was snorting eagerly. But as he moved to seize and take her, she slid her arm between them. "Do you know the number of a tune I'd like to play a while?" she asked.
He stared for a second, his blue eyes for the moment blank. Then a grin parted his mouth. "Number sixty-nine?" he asked. She gave a long, slow nod. And then they swiveled so smoothly that it might have been rehearsed. She pursed her lips and thrust them forward and raised her tongue, so that as his cock-head slipped in, it seemed to enter some new and exciting sort of cunt. Very, very gently, she let her teeth touch his shaft just beyond the rim, and put a gentle pressure on it. He wanted to call out, Bite it, baby! Bite down and make it feel even better! But only a gurgle came out of his throat. His mouth was already full of cunt.
His mouth was clamped onto her pussy. His tongue tasted the slightly salty, slightly acidic flavor of his own come. His tongue recognized the musky taste of her own secretions, so slippery and helpful to all male organs entering the happy halls of pleasure. His tongue slid down to where the hole of her cunt, sometimes puckered tightly, now began more and more to open softly and sweetly to anything he might slide into it. He pushed his tongue, but it was too soft. He rolled it up and stiffened it and thrust it forward, and it slipped in as far as he could go, even though he pressed his face in until his nose flattened. She made a helpless, shuddering sound. It was as if his tongue were a successfully substitute prick. It was as if he could taste with his cock. It was good, it was great. But after a while of fucking her with his rolled-up tongue, it grew tired.
Luckily, there was another little love-game they could play with less strain. His tongue slid up and down until it recognized the teeny-tiny button mushroom that grew between the lips, up above the hole. And it began to stroke this up and down, up and down, over and under, till her thighs twitched and her legs trembled. After a while he realized that she got a charge when he was tonguing the underside of the clitoris, and he concentrated on doing that.
In her mind she cried out her pleasure. But only odd, shuddering, choked noises escaped her mouth. Only that, and a little runnel of spit. She had the head of his cock in her mouth, and she worked on it like an artist, now tenderly nibbling on it with her teeth, now rubbing her tongue up and down the underside of the head while moving her head just enough so that the top was pressed against the ridges of the top of her mouth. Sometimes she worked only with her lips. She could taste him, his sweat and his sperm, and she could taste herself on his cock, too.
Then, as that magic tongue down there between her legs began to work its magic touch, as she looked through his own widespread legs and saw sweat springing up beneath his hairy skin, she took more of his cock-shaft into her mouth. By and by she was really sucking it. She felt it swelling bigger and bigger, she wanted to keep on until it reared back like a heavy artillery piece roaring as its shells came flashing out, then surging forward again. She wanted to feel those thick, heavy, juicy wads spurting out onto her tongue- "Not this time," she said, panting. She swallowed and wiped her mouth. It was as though she'd actually swallowed his come. "There'll be other times . . ."
His face, also wet around the mouth as she swung up and around to face him, was astonished. Now anger and incredulous outrage was on it. "Other times . . . ! Jesus Mother-fucking Christ, Jackie, I don't want to wait for other times for another grind, I want it now, Jackie! Don't be like Mae- What? Oh-Oh. Oh! Ahhh . . ."
He had rolled on his back, she moved his feet just enough so that they were pressed flat-up against the footboard of the bed. She moved his knees together, she swiftly shoved all the pillows under his head and shoulders so that he was half-sitting. And then, without a wasted word, she straddled him so that her back rested against his upraised thighs, took his glistening and huge cock in her hands and pointed it with both hands into the dead center of her hot and wet cunt, and let her weight sink. She sank down upon the shaft of his rough-and-ready cock, taking her hands away as the guidance was no longer needed. It was by now so toned-up, so finely stropped and honed, that each tiny movement was the sharpest of pleasures.
"Ah-hah-oh-ho-HO-ooohhh," his shout ended in a long drawn-out moan of acute pleasure, as she rode down the sweetest steed a woman can mount, and her lovely little ass came down on him with a slap. For a moment their eyes met. He lifted his arms towards her and she took his hands. One she placed on her right tit and gave it a squeeze to instruct it, the other she replaced where it had been-on her twat.
"Let's try to do this one soft and slow and sweet," she said. Her head, cocked to one side, smiled at him with infinite love. He let go her tit, patted her face softly and quickly, then took hold of the tit again. Her body had an almost silvery sheen to it. She braced her feet and slid up an inch or two. He could feel her slim, soft back rubbing against the hairy skin of his thighs. His hand slid along her tit, and he squeezed enough for her to feel it as it slid. He felt his pressing fingers slide over the love bump nestled in the little mound. A little moan ripped from her throat, was matched by one from his own as his cock snuggled into her cunt, hugged by the close-fitting and slimy, tender-soft walls, pressed against it.
They did it just as she asked. It was what he'd wanted all these years from Mae, and had never gotten: a nice and easy fuck after a prolonged playtime following the first and fierce fuck. Oh, God, how he'd wanted that, needed that, waited so long, so long for it.
It was marvelous, the deftness with which his adoptive daughter rose and sank, rose and sank, her head and shoulders bobbing forward a little with each motion. Now and then he took his hand off her tit to watch how they bobbed with it, the pink nipples now big and juicy. And now and then she moved forward and down so he could take one of the pink fruits between teeth and tongue and lips and give it a little lick and a nibble.
The silvery sheen of her flesh grew brighter as a silvery sweat broke out upon it. Up and back and then just a tiny twist of her hips to emphasize the pleasure and intensify it. And then down and forwards and then another tiny twist as her ass touched him, feeling that sweet little cleft ass-flesh against his thighs, upon his balls. He was sweating now, too, and the smaller and softer black hairs which grew from the black wiry curls of his pubis up over his belly and then from his chest were slicked down flat in a crisscross thatch. Unspeakable joy rode up and down his cock-staff. Now and then the sensation shifted with equal joy as she leaned forward and now and then she licked his nipples.
It seemed to go on forever, "sweet and slow and soft." He was in such bliss that it was with a start that he realized that she was riding closer to him, so close that she was on top of him. He could see over her shoulders that she was holding herself up on her elbows, and he could look into the sweating hollow of her back, and he could see her little ass pumping up and down. He could hear her little moans. It sprang into his mind, This is something of how it must look to a woman. And then he thought he'd increase the resemblance and find out more about that. He knees were down and forward now and he pushed against them and she understood. With his help, she got her legs out from under and straight back, and she never stopped pumping.
It was the sweetest heat he had ever felt. He felt his throat growling with his uncontrollable lust. And then he wrapped his legs and his arms around her, and he shuddered into her ears, "Don't stop . . . Oh, God, don't stop . . . don't . . . stop . . ."
His cock inside of her was now at an angle he'd never felt before, and each time she rose and fell onto him it was like a stroke of heat lightning. Their sweat-slicked bodies created a suction each time they smacked together, and tore apart with a sucking sound. His cock felt so ripe and rich that he thought he'd shoot a stream of money when he came. But he didn't come until her yellow hair swarmed over her shoulders. She began to utter low, deep and shuddering moans. Her face was like nothing he'd ever seen before, eyes rolled up, muscles taut, mouth open as though she was being tortured. The deep, broken moans became loud and prolonged cries. From deep, deep inside of his loins something in him responded to those arousing cries. Something broke inside of him. She flung herself up and down upon his prick. And he shot deep inside of her, ripe and rich and hot and sweet and thick, and she turned and twisted as if she wanted to break loose. But with his hard, male arms and hard, male thighs and legs, he held her soft woman-body triumphantly to him. And he felt her spasms matching his own. And their teeth sank into each other and they held on, held on tight, as though they were holding on for dear life.
"Oh, Daddy, Daddy, isn't it wonderful?" she whispered.
"It is," he said. And added, "My darling daughter . . ."
* * *
Sandra and Randy had found a fine, fierce pleasure in their own and each other's bodies. They climaxed and then lay together, watching and listening to Big Bill and Annie in the other bed, as Bill with thumps and thuds and bangs and blows of his body against Annie. It was doubtful if Mr. Boss, up front behind his uncrowded bar, escaped hearing and understanding. But he had been in business there long enough to know that few people patronized Elmo Lodge for its amenities or clean sheets.
-or, for that matter, anything at all, except for fucking. And fucking. And then for more fucking.
Sandra gave Annie a chance to catch her breath and to inform her that she had been fucked by only one Frazer and not by all his horny clansmen, too. Then she called over to her, in a friendly tone, "Well, honey, did you like that?"
Annie, still holding in one limp hand Big Bill Frazer's far from limp and yet still big tool, sighed and focused her eyes. She let out a giggle, which ended in a grunt of contentment. "Why, honey," she said, "you bet your ass I liked it. Hi, Bandy. Did you like it? I mean, her ass? You did, didn't you? Damn right you did. I heard you whooping and hollering and ramming your big dick into her. Well, good. I'm glad. And I know that you liked it, too, Sandra-" Sandra said, "Oh, I loved it-" Bill chuckled, gave a cheerful wave of his hand to Bandy, who cheerfully waved back. Annie went on, "-because, besides the Hallelujah Chorus you were joining in, you have on your face the expression of a well-fucked woman. Bight? Bight. So then tell me, honey . . . You and your husband set this whole deal up, didn't you?"
Sandra, still cheerful, sang out, "Why of course. We do it all the time. Every single weekend, except national holidays, when the traffic out of town is too bad. But on regular ordinary weekends-" Bill had inched himself right behind Annie and now he put his arms around her and rested his hands on her pussy. She gave another contented little sigh. Bill said, "On ordinary weekends like this we go out in the country for a change of scenery, and we look around for likely prospects. Now, we sized you two up way down the road this afternoon. Well, knowing what route you were taking, we kept our eyes peeled for your car."
And Annie said, thoughtfully, "And there we were . . ."
Randy had slipped out of the sack for a cigarette. He lit it, then lay down with his head on Sandra's snatch. He began blowing smoke rings. She giggled and leaned over and dropped her heavy boobs in his face. He jabbed at them with his cigarette and she gave a delighted scream and jerked away, big breasts bouncing. He couldn't have looked more at ease if he'd been married to her.
Annie started to say something, calmly, then half-sat up and half-shouted, "God damn it, Tomlins! You know that I've never been fucked by any other man since we got married! So how can you lie there so calmly, after what you just saw and heard, and me here with another man's hands on my twat?"
He blew another smoke ring. Then he shrugged. Said, "I tell you how, Annie. Off and on, off and on, I knew you were unhappy. But I just wasn't sharp enough to know why. Fucking-well, I guess you know-fucking is just sort of a sideline with me.
I don't usually concentrate on it. But tonight it just all of a sudden hit me. Like what you said about how Jer is probably still a virgin because he has a kind of sour look some of the times. It hit me, you know . . . well, so do you. But now you don't. What," he gestured to Bill; "What our friend just finished giving you, isn't that what you've been needing? Sure it was. Well, now you got it. Well, you can get it again. Again and again. I guess the Frazers will help us, take us around, till we know the ropes."
Bill nodded, his bristly chin rasping against Annie's shoulders. "Sure," he said. "Be glad to. The more the merrier."
Annie's smile was a little tremulous. Then she began to cry. "But it's not because I'm unhappy," she said. "It's because I'm happy . . . and one reason why I am, Bandy, is because you're being so good about it . . ."
He moved his hands. His hazy eyes were very clear. Sandra nestled her fingers into the sandy hair of his crotch. "I'm slow to catch on," he said. "I'm just sorry it took me so long. I never intentionally wanted to monopolize you. I just never thought about it, that's all. There must be one hell of a lot of people who just never thought about it and who'd be better off if they did. Gee, it's a shame we can't take a big ad in the papers!"
And he leaned back against Sandra, putting his hands around onto her ass. He didn't look at all like a man whose horizons had been limited by bric-a-brac collection, a son whom he more-or-less took for granted, a once-a-week fuck with his wife, and the blueprints department at Hornbuckle and Gullytwiste. Sandra gave him a smacking kiss on one cheek. And took his cigarette for a puff, then put it back in his mouth. Her fingers began to play with the jack-in-the box which lived among the sandy hair of his crotch, she said, "You see, Anne, I used to be just like you . . .
"I was a good woman too. When I'd hear about some housewife who got caught with the iceman or the butcher boy, I'd think, 'Oh, what a bum she must be! Imagine! One man not enough for her! Oh, tsk!' And by and by and meanwhile it got to be, without my thinking about that: one man was getting to be too much for me. Sure! Poor old Bill here would get nice and horny and climb into bed for a nice healthy fuck and I'd wiggle my shoulders and rustle my bust and say, 'Oh, for crying out loud, don't you ever think of something else? Why don't you go and read and book and enlarge your mind, God damn it, your prick is big enough' . . . !"
Oddly enough, it was the husband of one such woman who began the whole thing of their new style of living. His wife got a bun on and threw it all in his face: "You don't give me a good fuck so I found another man who does."
The husband-let's call him Julian-Julian didn't blow up. He told her, maybe calmly, maybe not, "Okay, bring him home and fuck him in front of me, and I'll give you a fuck such as you've never had before . . ."
"Which she did," said Sandra. "And they did-her and my Bill. And then he did. Her husband. Gave her a humping like she'd never had before. What's the explanation? Can be summed up in two words: Number one. Change. Number Two. Excitement."
Annie frowned, concentrating. "Then you mean-" "This is what I mean. Hardly anyone in the world who wouldn't appreciate a little change, sexually. Why not together?
"And this is probably the more important of the two. Because nobody in the world doesn't get excited seeing and hearing somebody else getting fucked! And if it's your own husband or your own wife, then the excitement is even greater! You get a thrill out of seeing and hearing Bandy fucking me, which means you get an even bigger thrill out of Bill fucking you than you would otherwise. I get a thrill in seeing Bill shoving it into you-which multiplies the thrill I get out of being fucked by Bandy. Randy fucks me while you are watching him do it and while he is watching Bill doing it to you, and this is what makes him enjoy it even more-" Annie said, "Oh, this is making me dizzy. Horny, too. Of course I always do get horny a while after being screwed and I want seconds, and-" A deep voice behind her said, "Seconds coming up." She felt Bill's hairy body moving against hers, and he applied the heel of one hand to massaging her pussy. He began to work on her tits. She sighed. "Oh, that is nice. Oh, this is what I've always wanted-a good second round!"
Sandra's dark eyes twinkled and sparkled. "Well," she said, "we'll see which one of us girls come first and more often ..."
Annie felt a fine warm glow starting in her from the two areas Bill was working on. Yes ... it would be more fun with Randal Tomlins, her lawful husband, watching . . . listening . . . But . . .
"Gee, Sandra, I wish you luck," she said. "But usually a nookie a night is Randal's limit."
Randal made a slight movement, and Sandra leaped as if she'd been goosed by a Great Trumpeting Swan. "Annie, are you kidding?" she cried. "Our friend over here's had his cock up my cunt for the past ten minutes!"
Annie felt astonishment, envy, resentment-then all were swept away. She and Sandra were both going to get a hosing, weren't they? As Bill turned her over on her stomach and spread her legs, she turned her head. Randy was looking her right in the eye, he still had his hands on Sandra's big-nip-pled tits, and Annie could see the shaft of his cock moving in and out of the big black bush of shiny, glossy pubic hair between Sandra's legs. And Sandra was grunting with each thrust. Was she looking straight into Bill's face? Annie thought, Prob- ably . . .
To her, Randy's expression said, Watch me now. See how other people like what I've got. You watch me and I'll be watching you. And we'll both- Bill parted her legs, felt the dampness and heat on her, shoved in the first installment of his prick- -a smile curved Sandra's mouth. "Oh, it's so big!"- -Annie gasped- -won't we?-uh?-Uh?- -Uh!- -UH- Four bodies and four faces and two cocks and two cunts and all were thrusting and yielding and the fires began to be stoked and there was only one cock and one cunt and only one face and only one fire which raged and roared and leaped higher and higher as one cock rammed and jammed up and up and up into one cunt and one cunt tightened and clasped its love-juicy sides so hotly and sweetly against the huge one cock with its red-hot head that went in and out and in and out-Four bodies and four faces and four voices and it was like being fucked in a room walled and floored and ceilinged with mirrors. Reflection thrown from one to another. Image magnified and image multiplied, for these were magic mirrors and it was magic how those man-cocks were as big as ladies' arms and now Bandy's was as big as Bill's and Bill's was as lovingly familiar as Bandy's. It was magic how Bill, lying on top of Annie, was able to be thrusting hard and hot and good into Annie at the same time as he was shoving his slippery-hot third arm into Sandra. It was magical how the new magic of Sandra's cunt contained the old magic of Annie's snatch as well. It was wonderfully magic how Sandra could feel Randy's hand on her titties and Randy's new and magically new bushy-hair heaving against her ass and at the same time she was enjoying every thrust and slide of it she was feeling Bill inside of her as well.
And Annie, seeing the expression on Sandra's face, was helped to feel how good the good big cock was inside of her. And Randy, watching Bill's half-open mouth and half-closed eyes as Bill's big shaft rammed in and out of the cunt that Randy knew so well, Randy felt his own cock swell and swell and grow with this new and marvelous inspiration. Felt it riding high and sweet and hot into and out of Sandra and out of and into Annie. And it was about that time, if anyone was keeping track of time, that the music of the bedsprings began to change from two musics into one music. Bill found his cock swinging in time with Randy's. Randy found he was pumping his big dick in the same rhythm as Big Bill.
It is a fine and glorious thing when two come at the same time. But when two couples make it at the same moment, when both cocks go off together, when both cunts explode at the same time, then the earth really moves, brothers and sisters. It really (hot spurt) really (hot spurt) really (hot spurt)- -really (star burst) really (star burst) really (star burst- -does-Oh!- -comes-Ah! -is! is!-Uh!--Uh!- UH! and UH! And UH! UH! UH!
Unnj oooooj oooooj oooooj AHHHhMhhh....
* * *
Jerry still sat on the edge of his own bed in his own room looking at Mae Anderson. He didn't move. He could not really believe that he had heard rightly. He'd heard her perfectly. His lower lip went numb, his mouth went awry, his jaw splayed out, a hot blush spread over his face and down his neck and all over his naked chest and back and arms. I am aware of your having sexual intercourse with my daughter. Oh boy. Oh boy. oh oh. oh.
"I have not yet made up my mind what I should do. I suppose, certainly, that her father and your own parents must be informed. One of you should leave, and perhaps both you and Jacqueline should go away to different places-" He began to shake his head. Don't tell Mr. Anderson. He would certainly, being an old square square Square, try to throw a punch at Jer. And then what of Jer and his own folks? His own Dad surely wouldn't ordinarily care probably if his son was screwing an entire girl's volleyball team or daisy chain: But: the girl next door? Sweet and ruffled and starched Miss Prettypuss? Oh shit.
And then two more reasons why Mae should keep her mothering mouth shut. Reason number one, then Jackie might not get that yellow Honda she'd been hoping and waiting for, not if her old man got pissed at learning that she'd Lost It after all his care and that sonofabitching Great Dane out there to keep off rapists. Reason number two, Jer's own mother was clearly at least for the moment definitely wigflippy. Change of life? Or whatever. To do with sex, certainly. My own dear boy whose peter pecker I never saw since long before it grew whiskers, what? WHAT?/WHAT? Oh shit.
And a long, long, hard, hard swallow down Jer's throat. Trying to open a mouth drier than it ever was before. And to his terror, absolute sheer terror, the woman grabbed hold of him. A violent assault by a fear-crazed mother.
"Oh, Jeremy, Jeremy, my poor dear boy ..."
Huh? Didn't sound like any fear-crazed mother. And she wasn't punching him or ripping at his eyes with her fingernails. She had her arms around him and she was rubbing her hands up and down his back and sort of moaning in his ear.
"You poor, poor boy, don't you think I understand? Don't you think that I realize that you are a man and that you are made out of flesh and blood and when all these young girls go thrusting their fresh young bodies before your eyes constantly, my own daughter no better than the others, why, your own young and virile male flesh must react, must seek an outlet-Why, of course I understand!"
Being hugged and smoothed and pressed against an ample and interesting bosom, his own young and virile male flesh began to react.
"But, dearest Jeremy, it isn't fair. Not to her, not to you. There are too many risks. You must realize this. But I'm not made of stone. Oh, Jeremy, don't you think I understand that you are young and virile and healthy and passionate and lustful and that you must have relief? I do understand all this!" Here she took her hand and took his hand and pressed it against her left breast. And, Jesus Montgomery Christ, if he wouldn't bet his ass she had no brassiere on! "I do understand and in order to save you both from making a terrible mistake which you will come to regret so terribly, I am prepared to sacrifice myself. " The usual summing-up, among Jer's friends, was that he was a nice guy. In this situation, however, he leap-frogged over Mae's tortured prose in a split second, to the point.
"You mean," he said, "that if I fuck you, you won't let on to your old man or to my folks?"
Mae pushed him away from her. She stared at his face, hiding her chagrin. Had she not presented him with a beautiful formula for saving her face? And he had the effrontery to suggest-to suggest- A beautiful face. A beautiful body. And an enormous whang. Lasts forever.
"I mean," she said, the same expression on her face of noble sacrifice and high dignity, "that if you fuck me, I won't let on to my old man or to your folks."
"Then I'll fuck you," he said, very simply. And he took hold of her blouse and pulled it up out of her skirt. And he unbuttoned it, flick, flick, flick. And out they poured. With wonder written all over his face, he took her boobies up in his hands. Not bad at all. So they sagged somewhat. What the hell. He'd screwed girls with saggier boobies than these. And once they were flat on their ass, you know, why they hardly sagged at all.
"Let's get you flat on your ass," he said.
But Mae was not yet quite ready to be gotten flat on her ass. "Let's get your whang out," she almost said, your enormous whang. And her fingers went to his belt-buckle. Jer was again surprised. Whang! Well, it was probably more ladylike than cock or prick, but he would have expected her to have said something like "your sex organ" or "your penis." But his attention to this minor detail of vocabulary was passing quickly. It only goes to show you how you could live next door to someone for years on end and never know what was going on inside their minds.
The most respectable-looking and ladylike women, and when you come right down to it, they all have hot pants.
He sat there, sort of bouncing her boobies in his cupped hands, while she unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the top of his trousers, and zipped down his fly. She felt disappointment, like a slap in the face, when all that met her eyes was another expanse of cloth. She plucked at the elastic bellyband of his underpants, as though hoping that they would dissolve or turn to dust. And, as she sat there, baffled by a simple thing like that-for she had after all never in her life before attempted to undress any member of the male sex, man or boy or baby-She became aware of what Jer was doing. He was bouncing, her breasts, as though he was juggling them! Was she really on the bed with a boy young enough to be her son who was bouncing and juggling her breasts? Was it all a dream? And she became terrified that she might wake up.
At that moment Jer more or less woke up from a sort of daydream of his own, and slipped her blouse off her shoulders, moving her hands from his drawers so as to get her garment off entirely. Then he put his arms around her and lifted her up. She felt weak, her legs trembled, she shivered, as he deftly unsnapped and unzipped and did this and that. Her skirt fell around her ankles, then her petti- coat, then she felt his hands flat against her skin as he slid them in under her panties and they glided down her hips. She didn't move, even to help them fall. Her heart was beating heavily. A decent woman, a married woman, what was making her do a thing like this?
And then his hand passed between her legs and then she knew. He was bent over and she leaned against his shoulder and back and her breasts rubbed his body and she felt his hand touching her down there and she began to jerk and to moan. Jerry had only been trying to get her pants off, but the sight and touch of her hairy crotch-and its smell, for that matter-began to interest him. It was dark blonde and grew higher up on her belly than he had ever seen before, it grew thicker, too. Very different from Jackie's little fuzzy triangle. As Mae seemed to be sliding down as he moved down his hand pulling her pants down, he shoved in his other hand and pressed up. He felt her body jerking, heard her beginning to moan.
This began to increase his own interest. He put his foot on her pants, which incidentally and accidentally shoved his knee into her crotch, and she jumped and grunted and half-fell over his shoulder. He rose, got her feet out of everything-panties, petticoat, skirt-and, holding her in a sort of fireman's carry, with one hand firmly on her ass, climbed onto the bed, and bent so that she slid off and down. With a little inadvertent help from her he had finally gotten her flat on her ass.
Mae herself was almost losing touch with reality altogether. It was too real to be a dream, nor did she think she was going out of her mind. Perhaps somehow she had been transported into a different world. And in this world Jeremy Tomlins had taken her body and disrobed it and slung it over his shoulder and then laid it on his bed. What was he going to do with it now? She knew, of course, but, scarcely believing, she watched through half-closed eyes.
Jer knelt near the foot of the bed and surveyed the woman on it. The mere fact that there had never been a naked woman on it before helped fill him with a growing excitement. And an older woman . . . someone different . . . hence, someone exciting. Someone who was also the mother of his best female friend. Well, she was pretty female herself, too, and, despite all variations, there was one basic thing about females: you fucked them. He considered placing a pillow under her hips so as to raise her cunt to a convenient height. But he saw this wouldn't be necessary, for her well-developed ass was adequate for that.
He lifted himself a little bit off his knees and swiftly skinned out of his shorts. Mae saw his small ruff of crisp, brown pubic hair. She saw the gleam of his sleek brown cap of hair as he bent his head and the play of muscles in his strong white arms. She saw the brief gleam of his white teeth as he tossed the shorts away. She saw the small ruff of crisp brown pubic hair. But most of all she saw what that ruff surrounded. She saw, at last, after a thousand years of waiting, she saw his whang. And it was, it was, it was enormous. She panted. She wanted it so much she could hardly breathe.
In some ways it was like a finger, only thicker and longer. In some ways it was like an enormous mushroom. It was now growing even while she watched. First it would give a little jerk. Then it would seem to leap forward, perhaps half an inch. Forward-and upward. Then it would drop down a little bit-not smaller, just lower. Another jerk- and another leap about half an inch forward and half an inch upward. Then it dropped down a bit, but only about a quarter of an inch back down. And all the time it was growing thicker, too, as it grew longer and taller, though longer and thicker faster than taller. He dropped to his hands and knees and was looking at her, oh my God he was looking at her down there, and his ... his .. . thing, his . . . his whang, it was resting on the bed and then, unbelievable as anything and everything else, but right there before her eyes, it began to walk across the bed toward her.
Jer satisfied himself that she did indeed have a slit in her snatch. He was afraid it might perhaps have sealed itself up during all these years since Jackie was born. And her big boobies didn't sag so much after all, now she was flat on her ass. He saw where her eyes were, and mistook her look for fear.
"Take it in your hands," he ordered. "It won't bite you. You can bite it, though, by and by, if you want to," he added. And he lifted her hands and guided it to this still growing cock and felt her hands close around it, one on the swelling head and one on the shaft. "Oh, that feels good," he said. "Doesn't it feel good to you, too?"
"Oh, it ... it does feel good," she breathed.
He straddled her and began to feel her up, and down. His hands deftly touched all the sensitive places, her nipples and the skin between her cunt and her asshole, the insides of her thighs, her ears and lips. First he just touched. Then he began to caress. His lingering strokes were so different from her husband's half-angry and half-indifferent habitual touches.
And she felt herself trembling, twitching hands both receiving further excitement from and communicating excitement to the wonderful, wonderful thing she was holding. Her touch on it began to grow more certain, firmer. She began doing to it the things that he was doing to her . . . touching . . . caressing . . . stroking . . . He squeezed her breasts, and she gave the head of his cock the same sort of squeeze. They both uttered little gasps of pleasure.
Up till now Jerry had thought only in terms of fucking her, not of making love to her. But he looked at her mouth as he ran the tips of two fingers along her lips, and, almost before he realized it, he bent down and ran the tip of his tongue along her lips and then he pressed his own lips to hers. He liked it, he really did like it. It was somehow different from kissing a girl's mouth. He felt her hands let go of his cock and go around his neck and press his mouth to hers. And this seemed to make his cock surge forward and upward in sudden heat and hunger.
It surged and pressed against the lips of her cunt, and they both felt these lips down below responding to the same pressures and feelings as the lips up above, growing softer and wetter and more sensual and tender. Jer began to breathe more heavily, just as Mae was beginning to do. He was deeply affected by her kisses. He thought for an instant of either putting his prick into her right now or of asking her to do so. But instead, his hands slipped under her and his arms went around her just as hers were around him.
And then, to the slow, incredulous joy of both of them, something wonderful began to happen. The head of his cock was pressed right and tight against the lips of her cunt. As they lay in each other's arms, they felt the outer lips slowly, slowly opening, like some dark flower unfolding its petals. And with an effortless motion, the head of his cock slid right past the moist outer lips of the cunt as they yielded and opened. Their mouths moved softly, mouth against mouth. The great head of his cock began to slide partway out of his foreskin as it reached its full length. It oozed warm, slippery drops which were deposited on the puckered hole of her inner cunt.
Now this seemed to slowly yield to his pressing tool, and it let flow its own secretion, better than any vaseline for helping eager cocks to slide down the deep dark tunnel which leads into the secret place of joy between a woman's legs. The tiny puckered hole began to unpucker, became less tiny, and it opened and as it opened, in ... in ... in . . . and up . . . up . . . up, went the swollen head of his quivering cock. And then it stopped.
Jeremy moved. Not his hands, but his hips. His mouth remained on Mae's mouth, but he moved his ass forward. He slowly thrust his pelvis towards hers, and, of course, in doing so he was thrusting his cock up inside of her. She began to moan.
Mae, half-dead with delight, had felt his cock-head nuzzling and butting gently at the gates of love. Partly, she wanted to take it in both hands and shove it up inside of her until the head of it came up into her mouth, where she could munch on it at her leisure. After all, it was in order to see and feel and take inside her body his enormous whang that she was here in bed with him and committing adultery with him. She certainly hadn't gotten in bed with a young man half her age in order to kiss him. But she was enjoying his kisses. Perhaps it was because they were experienced kisses, but had he really kissed more girls than Hank had, previous to her marriage?
It must be because whenever she was in bed with Hank, her lawful husband, the only man whom law and convention and society said could put his thing inside her, there was this terrible tenseness between them. The very first night she had been afraid-and with good reason! How it had hurt her, how she had bled. For a long time that fear lasted. Then even afterwards, she was afraid he would take too long. And for years after that, after The Night of Wednesday the twenty-sixth of October, she had been afraid that he wouldn't take long enough- and she'd been right about that, too! But there was no tenseness between her and Jeremy, none. Big and huge and long and thick as his thing was, somehow, she wasn't afraid of it.
And now she didn't want to take her hands off his muscular back to start that thing on its long journey up inside her. Instead, she simply willed herself to open to it! And it worked. First, the head of it slipped in, and she thrilled to its ponderous entering until she could feel her lips tingle. And then, gradually, feeling his hips moving, she felt it sliding up inside of her, like some enormous and armless lizard. She groaned her pleasure as it thrust in ... in ... in ... .
Jer was waiting for her to show some signs of pain, at which he would stop, although this was always hard for him, until she had expanded enough for him to shove his cock in another inch. That was the way he always had to when he was rucking Jackie. Or, sometimes, it was he who felt the pain, if a girl was clamped so tight, was so small, or afraid. In either case he had to stop and wait. But he gave a shove and his ass moved forward and his cock went slithering up and he heard her moan and it wasn't pain. And he gave another shove, and, Oh God, how good it felt, as the naked cockhead slid further up, its hood skinned back, pressed back by her cunt. And he pressed his ass forward and his cock continued up and up, inch by delicious inch, and still he felt no pain, only an intense pleasure. And still she didn't cry out for him to stop, only her breath moaned from her nostrils.
And then, he dug in his hands and feet and he rammed forward and their mouths broke loose from each other and they sounded their mutual ecstasy into each other's ears. And he shoved his huge cock in forever, for a thousand miles, and it never stopped, and then his hips touched hers and her blonde snatch-forest was rubbing against his smooth, strong belly. And he was in her all the way, all the way, she'd taken it all, every fucking inch of it; and it was good all the way in.
It was good all the way out, too. Because although she was big, she wasn't loose. That was the marvel of it. His mouth returned to hers and his teeth lightly took hold of her lower lip and he sucked it. It tasted good and sweet and full of juices. Her moans of enjoyment now began to turn into a con- tinuous babbling, as he swung back and forth in a long and lovely arc. It was like a piston plunging in and out of a cylinder. Then she began to talk, loud bursts of words, interrupted by groans and moans. "Oh, I love it, is it really true, oh it's so long, oh, oh, oh it never ends, oh that's good, oh my, oh my, oh your whang, your whang!"
He said, panting, "My what? My what?" And he jammed it up her cunt, so she'd know for sure what he meant. "Your whang!"
He had his hands dug into the bed for leverage, but he smacked the sides of his arms against her flanks, good. "No," he grunted. "Not my whang. My what?" And he whopped her again.
She liked it, she flopped around, she gasped. He gave it to her again. "My what? Say it. Say it!"
She said, breathlessly, lingering on the words, "Your cock . . ."
Whop! "Say it again!" Wham, jam, he bashed it home to her again. "Say-" "Your cock! Oh, my God-Your cock, your cock, Your-Cock!"
It was like having a long, thick, curved and white-hot bar of pig-iron being plunged in and out of her; but oh! oh! Oh! Oh how good it was! Her hands released his back, slipped down to his ass. It wasn't shaggy as Hank's was, each round cheek was smaller, smoother, but she could feel the muscles move with each smooth movement of his body into hers. She took hold of the cheeks of his ass with her hands, she pushed him into her, she pulled him out.
He felt himself beginning to sweat. That luscious, lovely, slippery-sweet cunt-flesh which received him so well and inflamed him on to more and more and more . . . The bed began to bang under him, and the harder he banged her, the more the bed banged. And the harder the bed banged, the harder he banged her. He said, grunting as he dug deep grooves into the soft sweet smooth cunt-flesh, "My . . . cock . . . yeah . . . my . . . cock . . . and what . . . am . . . I . . . uh! . . . oh! . . . what . . . am I doing to . . . you . . . Bang! Bang! Bang!! . . . with ... my cock . . . ?"
She cupped the cheeks of his hard young ass, and panted, "Oh, you're doing it so good! You're . . . you're ..." She realized she was groping for a "nice" word, and then, realizing where she was and what she was doing and what was being done to her and by whom, she flung the search for "nice" words forever into oblivion. Her voice rose high and clear above the animal sound of his passionate grunting and the noise of the bed banging on the floor and against the wall. "You're fucking me, Jeremy! Oh! You-are-fucking me-fuck-ing-me!"
"I'm fucking you with my big, big cock!"
"You're fucking me with your big, big cock! Go on! Oh, like that! Oh, don't stop, never stop. Never, never, never . . ."
And he didn't stop. It grew better and better and better. She was riding up his big, thick, strong cock-shaft now, riding up to meet him as he plunged riding down. That tide she had felt beginning to rise inside of her only once before in her life now began to rise inside of her again. She wanted to tell him, tell him how beautiful, beg him to bang and bang and never stop but all that came out was one long and never-ending moan. The tide came surging up, then, and it swept her up on golden waves and battered her against a golden cliff. Again and again she was flung and battered against that golden cliff.
And the tide rushed in through the breach in her walls and she felt herself rising with it, felt the bed falling away beneath her, felt the realization of an enormous truth. Enormous . . . enormous . . . enormous . . . lasts forever . . . And her voice babbled and gibbered, screaming softly in his ear.
He felt her rising and arching against him and he fell upon her, again and again and again. But he could not force her all the way down. Her. Mae. Who was Mae? Who? Mae was mother. Mother . . . his rod fled down her red-hot dungeon. Mother . . . his cock was swelling all with red-hot blood. His cock went riding into mother, mother, mother . . . He threw back his head, crying, "Mother! Mother! Mother!" Something which had tied him down forever was cut apart, and he was free of it for ever, for mother, and then something contracted, deep deep inside his ass; something opened, freely, and, with triumph and with joy, he came.
His come was as hot as red-hot blood and it spouted inside of her. It was thick, because it carried away in it all his impotence and shame. It was sweet because he loved it, because he loved what was happening. And it was wet because, even while he still shot and shot and came inside of her, his tears of joy fell happily onto her deep, soft breasts.
THE FUCKERS AND THE SUCKERS
It was the middle of Sunday afternoon. Traffic which, late Friday afternoon and Saturday and Saturday afternoon, had flowed away from the City, was now flowing back to it.
"We could have it annulled," said Hank Anderson, suddenly, at the wheel of the Valiant.
Jackie, who had been leaning dreamily against him, asked, "We could have what annulled?"
He said: "We could have your adoption annulled."
"Oh, we could? I didn't know that. I thought only marriages . . ." She began to giggle.
He glanced at her. "What's so funny?"
"Sure we could have it annulled. On the grounds that I was underage at the time!" He began to laugh, too. But then she stopped. "Why would we want to have it annulled?" she inquired, curiously.
"So that we could get married," he said. She was silent, and he added, "I mean, you and I."
"I know that's who you meant. But . . . Well . . . It's kind of awfully early to think of marriage. It's kind of like in a way we've just met. And-she'd have to know."
He was silent a while. "Well, whether she does or not . . . The way I feel is, that it's all over between us, anyway. I mean, between Mae and me.
Jackie sighed. Then said, "Please, Hank, one big decision per weekend is enough, don't you agree? And the one you and I made yesterday was it."
"Mmm. Maybe you're right. It was not only the biggest decision I ever made in my life-it was the best, too."
She shifted around and leaned up and kissed his ear. "Oh, Hank, you're sweet! Oh, I do love you, Hank! Why are things so complicated? Why couldn't I be the Tomlins' daughter?-I know why," she said, after a moment. "Because then I'd never have grown up loving you. Well." She sat up very straight. "No more big decisions for this weekend. Maybe next weekend. Maybe then we can decide about finding a place where the two of us can very circumspectly get together by ourselves . . .
"Hey, Hank-oops. I better get used to calling you 'Daddy' again. Yikh. Hey, uh, uh, how did she sound when you called her last night to tell her that Mr. Calvin had asked us to stay overnight at his place?"
Hank had a lot on his mind, and showed it. After a while her question got past the switchboard and he thought about it. "How did she sound? Hmmm. Oh . . . Pre-occupied ..."
* * *
Actually, Mae had not been pre-occupied at all. At the moment when she automatically took the phone off the hook she was in her own bed, imprudently but enjoyably being occupied by Jeremy. And, after a moment's indecision and confusion, had not only approved the overnight stay but had urged-ordered- them to not come back till Sunday night. And now it was only Sunday afternoon . . . and Jeremy was once again in occupation.
* * *
The Frazers and the Tomlins had between them registered and paid for two cabins and only used one. After returning from a leisurely Sunday brunch, they had automatically opened the door of that one. It was a mess, and, also- "It still stinks in here," said Sandra, cheerfully.
So, gathering up the towels and a change of clothes, they all trooped into the other cabin for a joint shower. Although it was fun, and a few rounds of drop-the-soap and of slap-and-tickle were played, there really wasn't enough room for mass calisthenics. So they flopped out onto the unrumpled beds and drank canned beer and leafed through the Sunday newspapers and bitched about the price of beef, and, in short, behaved as though they had spent Saturday night watching television and had gone to church on Sunday morning.
They had partnered off as before, Bill Frazer and Ann Tomlins on one bed, Sandra Frazer and Randal on the other. Randy and Sandra were reading the funny papers as intently as children, and she had her hand in his pubic hair. She usually did have her hand in his pubic hair-when he didn't have his prick in hers-running her fingers through it, and pausing now and then to give his genitals a stroke or a pat. His tool had sort of raised its head expectantly.
Bill was methodically turning the pages of the entertainment section, en route to the real estate and financial section. A photograph caught his eye and held it for a moment. "How do you like the pair on that babe," he commented, declaring rather than inquiring. Annie, who hadn't been doing much of anything, sat up, with her hands on her hips.
"How do you like the pair on this babe?" she demanded.
Bill gave her and her pair a quick glance and a brief smile. "Not bad," he said. He turned another page. Annie remained as she was, pretending impatience and annoyance. Bill put his finger in his mouth, wet it, turned a page, put it in his mouth again, put it into Annie's twat, and began to read about real estate. For a few minutes she looked at him expectantly. Then her eyebrows went up. She was still playing along. But the finger stayed inert. Her mood could have turned in a second. However, maybe there was something here she wasn't picking up. She turned her head and caught the other woman's eyes. Who gave her a quick comprehending nod, and then a watch-how-I-do-it look. Who then bent her head over Randal's sandy-haired crotch, and took his dick into her mouth.
So Annie, moving slowly and not dislodging the big but quiet finger in her snatch, bent her head, and put Big Bill's even bigger one in her mouth. The head of it lay on her tongue, warm and friendly. Her face was buried in the black thicket there, and it smelled clean and had the natural aroma of freshly washed male flesh. She rolled the big, soft head of his cock around on her tongue, feeling the foreskin sliding smoothly over the tender membranes it covered. Gradually it began to move on her tongue by its own power, as his cock started to get bigger.
About this time Annie felt the finger in her cunt moving with a pressure which wasn't purely passionate. She followed its guidance and it guided her onto her hands and her knees, which was a more comfortable position, anyway. And the finger pulled out of her pussy with a popping noise, and slid up into her cleft. It soon found the little clit-button and gently began to play with it. Now and then it went away for a minute or two, then back it came.
And between his growing, growing cock-stand and her delightful flashes between her legs, she barely noticed that the bed had sagged. And then the next flash she got was so much more intense that it woke her up enough for her to realize that what was on her clitoris now was no mere finger, but an educated tongue. Randy-No. Randy's tongue was not that educated. She rolled her eyes as far as she could, being limited by her mouthful of cock. Her husband was still on the other bed. It was Sandra whose tongue was up her crack, all right.
It was double fun, all right. Yet she had no doubt that it, too, had been all arranged. The Frazers, him and her, had quite a knack for arranging things, all right.
But it was fun.
* * *
Hank and Jackie Anderson were sitting in their car in front when the Tomlins got back. Jackie waved and smiled briefly. In 224, no sign of Jeremy. "He didn't even have breakfast here," Annie observed. "Well, that's good."
Hank snorted. "Why 'good?' I mean, sure he's got a big appetite, but it won't break us."
Annie shook her head. "No, dumbo, not that. If he didn't have breakfast here, then he didn't sleep here. And he's long past the age where it's a thrill to sleep in another boy's house. So he probably slept-" "-with some girl? Maybe. Gee, Mrs. Sherlock Holmes. And still worrying about his cherry. I better take him out and get him bred." They laughed and went upstairs and, going by his room, peeped in the open door. A very rumpled bed, but no signs of Jeremy in it. That is, not till Annie, with a muttered mention of giving the bed "just a quick shak-ing-up," went in to do that thing. And found signs of Jeremy in it.
Three of them, in fact.
"Maybe he had a wet dream," Randal scratched his head.
"Well, you'd know better than me. Three wet dreams since clean linen went on fresh, yesterday morning? And if he jerked off, well, he used to use kleenex. Or an old sock . . ."
But they didn't feel right, sort of spying on him like that, and out they went. They decided he probably had screwed a girl there (or maybe three girls!) and had taken her (or them!) out for breakfast. They reached their own room with grunts and signs of contentment and stretched and were about to unpack when they heard something which snapped their heads back, then brought smiles to their faces.
"Somebody is sure screwing somebody next door, ha ha ha." There was no 1812 Overture booming and blasting away now. "Ah yes, old Hank must really be pounding it into Mae, listen to her, ha ha." The bedsprings were sounding their usual music, and clearly through the walls against this romantic background they heard Mae groaning in the throes of love.-And then the same sudden thought smacked them both between the eyes, and they did a quick tiptoe-trot to the window. Sure enough: Old Hank was still there in his car, talking to Jacky.
Randy whispered, "Holy Cow, she must have the garbageman in there with her!"
"Oh, never on Sunday," Jackie whispered back, emphatically, before she realized he was using a figure of speech. A man's voice was raised, next, his furious gruntings accompanying Mae's moans to the music of the bedsprings. And Hank said, "Well, maybe that's who Jer's been screwing," and they chuckled. And then they heard Mae's voice raised, high and higher, and it broke into words.
Now how flabbergasted the father and the mother of Ohjeremy, and how with twin horror they glanced out the window again, and Oh-Oh! Oh Jeremy and Oh Mae and Oh Boy Oh Boy, for Old Hank is even now getting out of his car and he's heading up the path to his house- Hank had his hand on the doorknob, when the Tomlins suddenly materialized around him and Jackie, and began to babble brightly of nothing at all. And then to invite him and Jackie over next door, now and immediately; the first invitation he'd had in years.
He was confused, but courteous. Also, firm. "Well, that's very kind of you," he said, turning his key. "Tell you what: instead of that, you folks come in and have that coffee here with us." In simple fact: Jackie had to take a piss. And he pushed the door open and in he went, with Randal one short step behind him in case he took a sudden notion to go tearing up the stairs with an open penknife in his hand to terminate the young life of Jeremy Tomlins.
Which was not quite what happened.
They were all sort of gathered at the foot of the stairs when the bed broke loose again in a perfect concert of humming springs and banging boards. And out of the midst of all this came a woman's voice moaning fiercely and thickly; all in short giving out one clear message: woman being fucked.
Randal was tensed to grab Hank, Annie to throw herself upon him and holler loud and long enough for their son to make his escape, perhaps by sliding down the bedsheets. But to their absolute astonishment, when Jeremy gave voice once more, Hank and Jackie simply fell into each other's arms in an absolute proxysm of silent laughter. Randal and Annie didn't know what this was all about, but they knew that in effect the All Clear had been blown. They could have hugged each other as Hank and Jackie were doing. But before that happened, all four of them, somehow, and by mutual consent, had decided on another course of action.
Hank swept his neighbors with a newly awakened eye. And seemed satisfied at what he saw. In a low voice he asked, "Are you game?" They caught on immediately, nodded eagerly. Hank's hands went first to unbutton his collar. But nobody was far behind. And the Strip Derby finished at a dead heat.
Hand in hand and bare-ass naked, they swept silently up the stairs together, and in through the wide open bedroom door. The rhythm of the bed broke off in a confused jangle. It gave one more muted rattle and twang, then was still.
Jerry hung there as though frozen, his jack-ass cock half into Mae. Mae slowly swung her head around. Her mouth, half-open, stayed that way. And her hands never relinquished the death-grip which they held on the cheeks of his ass. The two of them looked, unbelievably, at the four newcomers. A lesser man might have gone limp, but Jer lost neither his head nor his hard-on. In fact, while no word was yet spoken, he unfroze, and slowly and silently sank all the rest of the way into Mae. She gave one more intense gasp. And then, in a very quiet and very ladylike tone of voice, she asked, "Why are you all naked?"
"The better to fuck you with, my dear," said Hank.
He stepped forward and pointed his finger. "You've let another man screw you, and you have to pay the penalty." He moved the finger. "You have screwed my wife, and you have to pay the penalty."
There was a moment's silence. Then Jer said, "Uh . . . What is the penalty?" His tone was wary, and he looked at Hank's rapidly rising cock with considerable misgivings, as though he feared that Mae's clasping hands might be asked to make way for some less welcome intruder in his rectal regions.
"You don't get to finish this fuck," said Hank, crisply. "That's the first part. Come on, come on! Out of it!"
And out of it, it came, long and thick and all shiny from her slippery cunt-juice. And still hard. Suddenly he noticed Annie looking at it, and automatically his hands spread out to cover his shame. And futilely. She laughed. "Oh, come on, now," she said, "I've seen it a million times . . . not in recent years, though, I admit. It seems to be in fine enough shape . . . except for a slight cold in the nose." Sure enough, a drop trickled from the end of it.
"And now," said Hank, "for the rest of the penalty. You, Mae, having had the son, must now Lake on the father. And we-will watch."
Randal stepped forward. Mae covered her face with her hands. "Oh, no, please," she murmured faintly. "Oh, please don't watch," she murmured, pleadingly.
Hank took her hands away, firmly but gently. "Everybody is going to get into the act," he said. "And everybody is going to watch. -See?" He had taken the mirror away from her dressing table and propped it onto a low chest of drawers. It reflected the bed, full length. "Mae, you've only just begun to taste the pleasure in store for you-pleasures, rather-and, believe me, watching is one of them. And now, Sir Randal: if you please."
Randy gave Mae, too astonished by now to say a word, a pleasant smile. His cock was probably longer, higher, harder, hotter, than it had ever been. He watched in the mirror as Mae and everybody watched as he let it nestle in the cleft of her half-opened cunt. He paused, expectantly, and was not disappointed. Annie climbed aboard, facing away from him, her ass on top of his. She lay back on his back, spreading her legs to receive Hank, who slipped in the head of his own jackstaff-but no more. And Jackie next assumed the same position as Annie, only using Hank for her supporter. And Jerry, whose eyes had grown wider and wider, suddenly seemed to go Click. His huge cuntjammer gave a visible jerk and throb.
"Oh boy. Wow!" he said. And, as he hoisted his hanger in both hands and set the head of it, like a huge oddball mushroom, against the red slit parting her pretty blonde pubis; he said, "Jackie, I can promise you an additional surprise this time."
She swung her legs over his shoulders and clutched him around the hips with her hands. "And the same to you, Sir Mortimer and his quivering lance. And the sooner, the-" But Jeremy, excited by an angle he'd never been offered before, and suddenly speechless as he looked into the mirror and saw his mother- and father, and at angles he had never thought to see them before, either-Jeremy flung back his head and his teeth gleamed and his huge harpoon went surging into Jackie. She screamed her joy as her ass went caroming into Hank's, who thrust happily into Annie, whose own ass shoved Bandy's cock smoothly up and into Mae.
Sighs, little cries of satisfaction, loud grunts of pleasure, and the combined noises of three cocks smacksucking in and out of three cunts filled the air, to the merry jingle-jangle of the fortunately well-fastened bedsprings. Which now began to sound deep notes like an organ as Jeremy began butting into Jackie like a jackhammer, making waves which ran like rainbow-colored ripples through all the rest of them-and getting it back as Bandy, pulling partly out, shoved Hank into an ecstatic trip partway out of Annie, sliding Jackie forward onto Jer's retreating Rod. Everybody had the benefits of everybody else's body, and all saw their joy reflected in the mirror.
Somebody said, gasping, "Six-dimensional sex!"
And somebody said, "This is the first day of the rest of my life!"
Six faces saw six mouths moving, but nobody was sure who had said what. Six faces watched and felt six bodies moving in liberated rhythms. And, after all, it didn't really matter at all- -did it?
