It was damp; a summer day, but damp. The ocean looked like metal, glistening, moody, with gulls dipping out where the kelp floated.
The camp was bustling, an electric-charged atmosphere. It was suddenly changed from a workaday to a holiday temper, except for the men who had no passes. They were easy to spot.
The busses waited by the main gate, lined up, smelly and drafty. Amiable drivers chatted, eyes on the gate, waiting. They knew exactly when the Marines would flood past the imperturbable guards and scatter to the winds, to cars, to hitch, to the busses.
"Here we go," said one of the drivers in mock consternation
"Jesus, won't this rattler go no faster?"
"Man, gonna get me a pussy with arms on it--'
"How come a guy sweats So, much? I mean why's he hafta. sweat? Shit, there oughta be 'nother way-"
"Where we headin' for?" Lance Corporal Otis Cushing asked.
"Dames--2'
"We gotta get a room, right?"
Bramwell nodded seriously. "Yeah, a roomditch our stuff."
"Listen, how 'bout the Empire? They got cheap
rooms, don't care if you shack up ' "
"That Empire's a shanty," Bramwell said,
"Jesus-!"
"So?" Sullivan shrugged, shucking out of his coat,
t6you wanna pay for rent or you wanna save it for broads?"
"'OK," Cusi-ang said, "we go to th' Empire. That's settled, right?"
It took two hours for the bus to reach town. Noon. Shore Patrol with beady eyes, grudging stares. Square the hat-button the fucking coatdon't screw up now.
"Shit, lookit that ass!" Sullivan said, whistling.
"You'd , hafta climb on a ladder to get to it, Shorty," Cushing sneered. He steered Sullivan through the mob in the station by grabbing the back of the runt's thick neck and turning his head this way and that. Bramwell ran along behind.
The Ditch was a welter of signs, neon, blinkers, homemade boards. It was a street of burlecues, arcades, dingy little stores where dusty merchandise sat year after year and the real business ignored it.
"Hey, Marine, shine?"
A man leaning on a door took the cigar out of his mouth as they passed: "I got a deal for you guys."'
"Broads?" Sullivan grinned.
"Wild," said the man, "come on."
Sullivan shook his head.
"He got a trained cunt in the back room," Cushing said. "Electric. You stick your jock in and whiz Zoooo!"
"How come you know so much?"
"Shit, I whizzed!"
Sullivan roared with laughter.
It was early. Cushing eyed the street; he'd been here before, several times. Saloon over there, the Red Duck-should be the Red Fuck. They had a line up of girls: "What was that dame's name?" he asked Sullivan.
Sullivan squinted at the Duck as they passed. He shook his head. "Which dame?"
"The one took us upstairs and stripped on the first landin'-"
Sullivan grinned, "Oh yea." He furrowed his brow. "What the fuck was 'er name?"
Cushing ducked his head trying to see into the darkness of the doorway as they passed Marty's. That was a swingin' joint. "How 'bout a beer?"
"Naw, let's go to the hotel first," Bramwell said.
"Yeh, a beer," Sullivan agreed.
Cushing steered them into the next joint, Rosalie's. There was a cute little redhead-he squinted in the sudden gloom, looking around the place. Brown walls with crap stuck up, pictures, posters, lights, streamers, but dingy underneath. A bar and booths. The Ditch was big on booths. You could get a dame in a booth and practically boot her, 'specially if she was small.
"Three beers," Sullivan said to, the guy.
No redhead. Three guys, long faces, gray, one with a crumpled hat, looking at them. They looked away when he stared back. A dame came out of the back, bright eyes. Cushing smiled. She was blonde, mini-skirt, man! Legs that wouldn't quit. Sullivan whistled.
Bramwell paid for the beers, "That's one you guys owe me"
Cushing smiled the girl over. She was short, big tits and a yellow dress with a gold neck chain. Looked to be eighteen. Nice, skin. "Hi," he said.
She smiled at them. "Hi, you guys." She sat on part of a stool and Sullivan went to the other side, looking down her neck.
"You want a beer, honey?"
"Naw," she shook her head. "You guys out on pass?"
"Yeh. What's your name?"
"Mary."
Sullivan whispered in her ear and she giggled.
Cushing cocked his. head, "Wha'd he say?"
"He wants t'make. it," she shrugged. "How 'bout ten bucks apiece, guys?"
"Wha-she's a whore!" Bramwell said.
Sullivan said, "Shhht, wha'd you think, stupid?"
Bramwell blinked at the girl.
"C'mon," she said, patting the inside of Cushing's thigh. "You're pretty cute, huh?"
Cushing felt the thing rise a little. Man, she was a piece of OK, yeh. Pretty fuckin' lush. Get your jock in that and hump.
"Grab 'is cock," Sullivan suggested.
Mary giggled and ran her hand up to the crotch. She bumped it and Cushing groaned. She nudged it right on the goddam end. Now he was hard.
Sullivan wrapped three fingers around her near tit. "Hey, let's take 'er up, huh?" The tit was firm and round. Sullivan's eyes rolled comically.
The girl kept nudging the hard-on, little taps with her - knuckles, smiling. Cushing knew his face was red. Hot. Man, it was hot. He turned toward the bar, but she followed. Nudge, nudge-Ohh, it felt good. "Jesus, knock it off," he hissed.
"How 'bout it?" she giggled.
"Les' fuck 'er," Sullivan said, squeezing the tit.
Bramwell set his glass on the bar hard. "Shore Patrol," he growled.
They froze. Cushing slid onto a stool and faced the bar. He sipped the, beer, looking in the mirror. Two guys moseyed in, standing by the door, picking teeth like cops. Looking them over. They liked to bust up a guy's pass.
"I was the runt of the family," Sullivan said loudly. "Eleven kids, all girls but me. We hadda baseball team an' I was the umpire."
"If you seen one flyin' saucer," Bramwell said, "you seen 'em all. There was a guy in my town usta make 'em-"
"Flyin' saucers?" Cushing looked I around. The cops were losing interest. They were actually talking to each other. Good sign.
"Yeh, took pictures of 'em and everything. Everbody knew it though-. Couldn't get 'em printed inna paper.
"How 'bout it, you gonna let it cool?" Mary asked.
Cushing smiled. "Yeh, maybe I will." He finished the beer, looking at her over the rim of the glass. She just stared back. She had lines, older than she looked. Not much, but older. He didn't want -a whore.
The cops sidled out.
"Shit, I got it for this broad!" Sullivan said.
"Go 'head," Cushing shrugged. "Get your gun off, cowboy. Meet you at the hotel." He slid off the stool.
She didn't say anything. He winked at her and she turned down the comer of her mouth and looked at the guy behind the bar. Sullivan followed him out, stiff grumping. Bramwell was staring at the girl's legs.
On the sidewalk, Sullivan was edgy. "Man, I coulda fucked 'er up one side an' down t'other. Whassa matter you?"
"Lissen, you gonna grab the first pussy comes lickin' around? Hell, she's old enough t'be your grandmother."
"Fuck 'at noise. She'd do.
"Come on, le's get on the town." Cushing headed for the Empire. "Ten bucks, Jesus! I ain't payin' no ten clams for a hunk o' whorebait."
"She had you goin'," Bramwell said, "Rubbin up your little dingus---2' He laughed. "You see it comin' up like the Statchoo, of Liberty, Shorty? Man!"
"Knock it off," Cushing said. He could feel a little dribble from his cock. Yeh' he had been hard all right. He could have put it up her and bam, bam, bam! No kidding around. Save it. Save it for tonight. They'd find some dolls and ball it. You had to be blind and one-legged not to find dames.
He was blond and husky, all of twenty-two, with a sure, confident air. Man, you been in the Corps a couple years, you know the score.
The desk man was mousy, with a cigar in one cheek and bifocals. "T'ree. in one room?"
"Yeh," Cushing said. "We get a rate that way." He winked at Sullivan. "Special Marine rate."
The desk guy looked at them and nodded. He shoved tan slips across the desk and they wrote their names.
"Serials too," the guy said. "You lookin' for girls?"
"You know some?" Bramwell asked.
"Yeh, nice clean girls. You want I should send a couple up?"
They went up to the room. Square, double bed, dresser, cloudy mirror, window with a view of a brick wall with a faded sign: Hardware. The bathroom smelled of disinfectant. Growler, shower in the bathtub, threadbare towels.
"Christ, this is a great place," Bramwell said. "I'll tell all my enemies."
Sullivan grinned. He flopped on the bed, shoes on, and lit a cigarette. "What's the plan, Gen'ral? We go out after it gets dark, find us some cunt, bring lem. up here an' screw 'em, that it?"
"Why wait?" Bramwell asked.
Cushing flipped through his book. He had names compiled from months back, some bought from guys at camp. Harriet, Doris, Maizie, Frances-nice name-Polly, Ruth, he sighed. "How you tell if a broad'll put out from her name?"
"Can you?" Bramwell asked.
Sullivan gave him a look. "Shit, gimme that book. Is Brandy in there?".
Cushing smiled. "Brandy-yeh, now you're talkin'." He flipped the pages. He and Shorty had met Brandy, a dame with wine-colored hair at a party, and she had taken them both, one at a time outside in some guy's car. Fucked like a fresh frog. He should have thought of Brandy.
"Yeh, here it is-"' He passed the book over. "Maybe she moved."
"She moves alright," Sullivan said, rolling his eyes. "Holy shit, wot she kin do with her ass!"
"Maybe she knows somebody," Bramwell said.
"You gonna phone 'er?" He went to the bathroom, "I'm gonna have a shit 'thout forty guys watchin7 me.
"You know her best," Cushing said, "you call er.
Sullivan raised his eyebrows. "I know 'er best?"
"You tole me she give you a blow job, she didn't give me none."
"Oh yeh." Sullivan grinned.
"B'sides, you got the best line of shit I ever heard. You'll have 'er little coozie crawling in a second."' Cushing moved his fingers. "Tell 'er there's three of us, hot-ass Marines lookin' for love."
"Yeh, love," Bramwell said from the bathroom.
"Him, he don't know what that is," Sullivan said, jerking his thumb toward the bath. "He, thinks love, is all in 'is hand."
"'Hey Bramwell," yelled Cushing, "stop jerkin! off !15
"I ain't," Bramwell growled.
Sullivan rolled his eyes upward.
A thin female voice said Brandy wasn't home.
"She, gonna be back?" Sullivan asked. "This is a old friend of hers."
"I think she'll be here about six."
"Hey, say you sound OK too," Sullivan smiled into the mouthpiece. "What's your name? I'm Sullivan."
"Clara."'
"Hi, Clara. Don't tell me-you're a brunette, five feet six, a hunnerd and ten pounds-r-look like Debbie, no, like Doris Day an'-" .
Clara giggled. "I'm five feet, two,."
"Jeez, I'm close, huh? Who you look like?"
"I look like me." -
"Well, sure, so do I, you know? I bet you look like Bardot, right on the button."
"I ain't got her well, you know. I'm thinner."
"So what's a little weight b'tween friends, huh? I can tell you're pretty, you sound pretty."
Clara giggled. "You're an old friend of Brandy's?"
"Oh, hell yeh. I know her a long time."
"Yer a sailor, huh?"
Sullivan shook his head. "Marine, baby, Marine."
"Oh yeh?"
"Sure. In town for a time. You know, a time. How 'bout you an' Brandy and me and a pal, huh? We'll roll aroun' an' flatten all the furniture."
She giggled in his ear. "Where are you?"
"At a hotel in town. How 'bout it, baby? You tell Brandy when she gets home and we'll be over and pull the cork. Don't fix nothing, we'll go out for grub. OK?"
She seemed to be considering it. "Brandy's got a guy, a regular guy--'
"D'you?"
"Well, sort of----"
"We're just here on a three-day pass, honey you know, scream a little an' off to Viet Nam. Bang, we're dead."
"Gee, you got to go there?"
"The outfit has been alerted. That's why they give us the passes. This is our last fling in the States. How 'bout givin' a couple lonely Marines a break, huh?"
"Gee, welt that's different." She paused. "What if Brandy won't go?"
"Look, we'll show up, huh? Then we'll talk 'er into it, OK?'
Clara giggled. "Sure, OK. About seven?"
"Six-thirty."
Giggle. "OK." She hung up.
Sullivan went back upstairs. He entered the room with a flourish. "Cocks up!"
"Hey, you make it, pal?"
"Wild cunt comin' up, pallies. Listen, they're pantin' for us. Free screwin' for everyone, only we got to buy 'em a feed first."
"Hell yes," Bramwell said. "How many of 'em?"'
Sullivan counted on his fingers. "One, two---"
"What's Harve gonna do?" Cushing said. "Two Pussies-he got to go back in the john an' jerk off."
"Come on--'
"Look, two's a start, huh? Brandy is living with a cute ass named Clara. You think them dolls don't know any more? Sure they do. We go over, feed 'em and they put out with the ass and the phone numbers. We got us a swingeroo 'fore you know it."
"Clara, huh? We see her b'fore?"
Sullivan shook his head. "I don't think so. We hit the beach at six-thirty. Get some shuteye." He flopped on the bed.
"Right," said Cushing. "Rest your cocks."
Chapter 2
It was an apartment house, white, with jazzy looking sparklers in the cement steps, ferns around a pool of white stones and, colored lights smearing the front of the white bricks. Out in front a sign said: Vacancy, Pool, see Mgr.
Cushing remembered it vaguely. They had brought Brandy home early in the morning, and he had hardly, been interested in houses. There was music playing somewhere and two girls in a Thunderbird were shrieking at them as the, car roared past.
"Cunt," said Sullivan, licking his lips.
Cushing pushed Sullivan ahead, "Number four," he said, "it says so on the doodad." He nodded at the brass mailbox. Brandy's name was Becker according to the little book and there was a Becker listed in Four. There was a jumble of music as they walked along the tile in front of the doors,. The pool
was just ahead, screened by shrubs and an ornamental fence.. He could hear splashing. Pool-girls. He craned his neck, unable to see through the greenery.
"Here it is." Sullivan pushed a button and eyed Bramwell. "Suck in 'at gut."
The door opened.
"I'm Sullivan." Shorty smiled and walked in. The girl giggled at them, stepping back. She was short and slender, wearing a mini, hair up on top of her head. She was pretty, with too much lipstick.
"'Gee, I thought you'd be",'
"Tall an' handsome, 'stead of short an' handsome?"' Sullivan took both her hands. "You're Clara, and I tole you you were pretty."
"Where's Brandy?" asked Bramwell.
"In th' pool," she said. "She'll be out inna minute. She always goes in."
Cushing put the bottle on the coffee table, looking around. It was a small. apartment, narrow, with dark furniture and dust in the comers. He could see twin beds in the single bedroom. The kitchen was off to the right. Clara was OK. Nice looking broad. Small, but the small ones were hot. Man, some of them invented it, hot.
He sat opposite her. "I'm Otis Cushing,"' he said. "Shorty ain't got any manners. That's Harve Bramwell."
"Yeah. You said two guys," she looked at Sullivan.
Sullivan shrugged. "We got to have a spare, you know. We'll stick Harve in the bathroom till we need
him."
"T'hell you will."
"Let's have a drink," Cushing said. "You got any ice, Clara?"
"Sure." she hopped up and went into the kitchen. "What you bring?"
"Gin," Cushing said. "For martinis. You like martinis, honey?"
"Yeah." Clara got the ice tray out and cracked the cubes into a saucepan. "We got some glasses here--' She reached up to a shelf and Cushing stepped back to look at her as the skirt rose. Nice legs, man, round!
"There's some vermouth too-" She put the glasses on the sink and fumbled in a cupboard. "Yeah, here it is."
It was dusty, but vermouth. Cushing smiled at her and winked. She giggled. He put the ice into a pitcher, added gin, "Here, you shake that, baby." He dropped a smidge of vermouth in. "You think that's too much?"
She giggled at him again and took the pitcher, shaking it vigorously. Cushing smiled to see her ass wriggle.
"Oh yeh," he said. He patted it and she giggled more.
She felt good, round and soft. He moved closer and patted her again. Sullivan came into the kitchen. Son of a bitch.
"Where's the f- martinis?"
Comin' up," Cushing jerked his head toward the other room but Sullivan didn't get the message. Taking the pitcher from Clara, Cushing poured four drinks; she put the olives in, they handed them around.
"To Casanova," Sullivan said, raising his glass. "The only guy who knew what he was doing."
Clara giggled and sipped. She sat on the couch between Bramwell and Cushing. Cushing lit her a cigarette.
"You live here with Brandy, huh?"
"Yeh, we share the rent."
Cushing remembered, Brandy was a secretary somewhere-for a lawyer? Something like, that. "You're a secretary too?"
Clara shook her head. "Huh uh, I'm goin' to school, going to be a nurse."
"'Gee, that'll come in handy," Bramwell said.
Sullivan rolled his, eyes up.
Clara ate her olive. "Brandy wasn't too hot about you guys comin' over. You sure she knows you?"
"Hell yeh," Sullivan said.
Clara looked at him and licked daintily around her lipstick. "She didn't know you-no Sullivan."
"She'll know us," Cushing said. A shadow moved past the window. The doorknob rattled and the door opened. Cushing stood, motioning Bramwell up.
Brandy came. in with another man. She looked around at them. "Jeez!"
She wore a bikini that was cut as skimpy as possible. Her full breasts bulged from the tiny triangles, her shapely thighs bulged, her navel moved sinuously as she, walked: she, was dark and very pretty. The man with her wore trunks, redheaded, muscular, not happy to see three Marines.
"Hi, Brandy," Cushing said. "Remember Sullivan?"
She looked at him quickly, intently, turned to Sullivan. "I don't know you guys."
"Come on, Brandy," Sullivan said. "Over at the Redneck's place, couple months ago? We went for a row on Echo Lake'
She blinked, looked from one to the other, flicked a glance at Bramwell. "Oh, yeh, now I remember." She nodded to the man. "Meet Johnny."
Johnny said, "Hi," not enthusiastically.
Cushing nodded. Sullivan shook the man's hand. Bramwell said, "Howdy."
"Make me 'nother martini," Clara said. She held out the glass.
Cushing jerked his thumb at Bramwell who got up and went into the kitchen with the glass. Cushing said, "How 'bout you, Brandy? We're drinkin' martinis."
"OK, make me, one." She went into the bedroom and the guy followed her. They talked in low tones.
"She knew you alright; I didn't think she would," Clara said.
"That's her regular guy?"
"Yeah." She grinned as Cushing sat beside her, close. "He's the jealous type."
'Man, that made my mouth water," Sullivan said. He moved, trying to see into the bedroom.
Clara asked, "What did?"
"'Her," said Sullivan. 'Gees, all that stuff! Man."
"Where's the fuckin' vermouth?" Bramwell called.
Clara giggled.
"Go show'im," Cushing said and Sullivan got up.
"You're pretty cute," Cushing told her. "Whats your last name?"
"Huebing. You cute too."
He leaned over and kissed her. Taste of lipstick. Very sweet. Her tongue had darted out. Christ, she was gonna be a hot one, he knew it. He wanted to grab those tits. Another quick kiss-again the darting tongue.
Brandy came out. "So where's the martini?"
"Bramwell!" called Cushing "Hurry up."
"Yeh, right away."
Brandy sat opposite the couch. Great legs! Cushing tried not to stare at them. Tits moved easily too, gave a guy a hard the way they wallowed around, Nipples hard so they raised little bumps, one on each side. Did that mean she was sexually excited? She was hot, he knew that already. Man! What they'd done that night!
Sullivan came back with the pitcher and a handful of glasses. He gave one to Brandy, one to Clara and very politely included Johnny. He poured the drinks with a flair. Bramwell came in with olives.
"Here's tricks," Cushing said, raising his glass, looking at Brandy. Man, she was pretty. Nice smooth, sort of animal face, eager. Yeh, eager, that was it. She looked at you like she was on her back. He couldn't help seeing her in the back of that car -Man!
Johnny whispered to Brandy and she nodded.
"Music," Sullivan said, switching on a radio. It came on soft, for once not a commercial first crack out of the box. Good sign, Cushing thought. He pushed Clara with his thigh.
"You dance, honey?"
"Yeh." Clara got up instantly and looked at him expectantly. "Waltz, huh, one of those old-fashioned ones-we haven't got running room-" She giggled and came into his arms.
Cushing whirled her around ' out of the middle of t1n room. Bramwell was drinking fast and looking at Brandy's legs. Sullivan was a little slicker, edging around where he could get an eyeful of tit without her seeing him. But Johnny was wise, and he didn't like it much. It was fun holding Clara close. She had shape, more than he had expected. Warm.
Sullivan was talking to Brandy now, telling her about the camp, and how they were going overseas any second. Johnny looked pleased at that, Cushing thought. He squeezed Clara. She looked up at him and he nuzzled her cheek, feeling her respond. She 'Pushed at him with her pussy.
"Make some more drinks," he told Bramwell.
He danced slower and slower, putting his back against the wall, holding her close. He could see the others over her shoulder. Brandy was laughing now, at Sullivan's wisecracks. Sullivan was good at that. He kissed Clara, and she said, "Oooo."
The music stopped and some guy started talking, but Cushing danced on just the same. Who needed music? This was some broad. He had a hard-on now, and he' knew she could feel it. She rubbed herself over it. Some broad. Man! He could stick it in this one!
Bramwell handed martinis around. Good man, Bramwell. Dumb as hell, but OK.
"You wanna drink?" he asked Clara.
She shook her head, pushed the pussy at him harder. The music was syruping now and it was, an excuse to writhe. "You gettin' hungry?"
"Huh. uh," she said. "You really going overseas, to Viet Nam?"
"Yeah, we're on orders." That wasn't a lie, they would probably go sometime soon. A few months~ maybe.
"I know a guy who's there
"Yeah?" He moved her adroitly into the kitchen Stiff pressing up close, writhing a little, pushing a little. Christ! it was hard. An iron spike.
"He writes me sometimes."
"'I'll write you too, baby.
"Will ya?" She giggled. She felt down his leg suddenly, rubbing it hard. "Promise?" She moved the hand smoothly between them and massaged his cock.
Cushing drew in his breath. "Oh, Jesus!"
There was a gust of laughter from the other room. Then Bramwell came in. "Hey, we need 'nother bottle, Cush."
"So, go get one." Clara had withdrawn her hand. She kept the cock warm by pushing her pussy against it. He reached in his pocket and got his wallet out. "Here, take a couple bucks" Bramwell took them, handed the wallet back.
He slipped out the back way. Cushing pulled her forward and glanced into the other room. Brandy and Johnny were dancing too. Well, the party was getting under way.
Clara's hand slipped down again. Grabbed hi Yeah.
He kissed her. Christ! No little peck this time. A big, hot kiss-the way the guys talked about kissing. Her tongue was a darting snake. He lashed it with his, ran his hands down her back and grabbed her butt with both hands. She giggled into his mouth as he kneaded her buttocks.
She unzipped him, got her hand inside on the naked meat. Shit! This one was wise. God! He wanted to, fuck her! She was. doing the up and down, moving the skin around. She wanted it!
The kitchen light went out.
"Hey," Cushing looked up. Sullivan was grinning at him in the sudden gloom.
Sullivan said, "What you two're doin' I thought I better douse it."
Clara giggled. She kept on with the hand. Some dame! Sullivan must have seen what she was doing. Must have.
"Where's Harve?"
"'He went after a bottle."
Sullivan went back into the other room.
"C'Mon, you got me hot," Cushing said softly, into her ear. Her butt was nice and firm, round and great. "Some place we can go?"
She licked his lips for a moment. Then she let go the prick and moved, taking his hand. He followed her, the cock sticking out. She went out the back door. It was dark here, shrubs, another building right up against them, but no windows. Like a dark little tunnel between two buildings. To the right was the street; to the left was a dim row of back doors, just like this one. He paused and she went for the pecker again, holding it tightly and kissing him.
"Not here"
"OK." He felt her tits. Oh, nice. Round, firm, no padding. She giggled as he squeezed them. Shit! what a nice hot broad! Lucky! She pulled him by the dong.
They went down the line of doors, two steps and a flat door, a number painted on the top. Some had trash cans next to them. She paused and looked around the' comer. He captured both tits and bounced them.
She put her finger over her lips and pulled again.
They went up an ornamental stairway, very narrow, cluttered with twigs and leaves. His shoes made, the leaves crackle. She turned: "Shhh."
It was a rooftop. In the darkness he could make out a few chairs and a lounge. Something the guests used for sun-bathing?. She pulled the cock and he went. She led across the roof where a clump of trees from below made a vast puddle of shadow. Man! was he hot!
She stopped and came into his arms, massaging the prong furiously. He had to. reach down and stop her or she would make him shoot. He looked around, no place to lay down. His hand went down over her butt and came up under her. She giggled and her legs parted for him. She turned slightly and he rubbed her hard, between the legs, grabbing a handful of it a handful of cunt.
She moaned and squirmed in his arms. She was whanging him again he pulled her to the nearest chair and sat, yanking her onto his lap. She straddled him with haste. She let go the cock and put both hands about his neck; she was panting expecting it.
Her panties were elastic. He thrust his hand in, pushing them'aside, going up one leg. Holding his cock-rubbing the head of it over her greasy slit! She was moaning gently, wriggling, undulating. He slicked a finger along the slit and she gasped.
"Yer teasin' me," she whispered, and sat down on it hard. It went into her. Deep, warm. God! All of it went in-all the way to the hair. She was tight! He grabbed her about the waist and humped it into her fast, hissing through his nose. She giggled.
They were fucking! Man! it felt good good. She was writhing, bucking, suppk as a wild eel., thrusting down and squirming crazy. She really loved it!
"Baby, you're wonderful!... he told her.
She kissed him again with the trained tongue. "Jeez, you are too-"
"How's it feel?"
Giggles. "Feels like it's gonna come out my mouth.,'
"It don't hurt?" His voice was instantly judicious.
"Huh uh, it feels beautiful." She sighed. "Do I feel good t'you?"
"Jeezus, are you kiddin', honey? You're the best --' he paused, "ah, the---' She giggled.
"I'm tight?"
"Yeah. Tight as hell-"
"That's what Les says-well, you know I got a boyfriend?"
"I know now." He fed it to her hard. "You and him screw a lot?"
She nodded and giggled. "Well, he's my boyfriend."
"You love him?"
"'Sure."
"You gonna marry him?"
She squirmed over it, riding the pussy up and down its length. "Yeah, I guess so when he gets a better job."
"Where is he now?"
"He goes to night school couple times a week. Do it fast-"
He battered her, thrusting up powerfully. She giggled in his ear, panting too and holding on. "-Now slower-"
He pulled her down on it, revolving the cock in her. Holding both her round cheeks, he yanked and'4 thrust, getting every bit of it in, then holding her' tight as she wrenched and twisted, panting harder and harder-"Oh, Jeez, I'm gonna do it-" She began to buck and jerk in his arms, moaning.
"Let it come, baby-" Man! she felt good, jerking like that. He was making her come. It always felt good, making a dame boot one. It made him homier. His cock was solid iron now, solid iron. It had hooks in it, like barbs. -She'd never get off it. Fuck her boyfriend!
"Oh, do it good, honey"
She was giggling now, and panting, rubbing her hands on him. "Jeez," she whispered, "I wanna do this all night."
"Not in this fuckin' chair--'
"I want you on top of me."
He couldn't talk; her mouth was on his, her tongue wild. He pumped the hard thing into her as much as he could. Reaching up under her blouse, he worked at her brassiere. Sonofabitch! How did women fasten these things?
She sat up and reached behind her, smiling down at him, face pale. She was beautiful. She had her blouse open, titties bare. He sucked in his breath and went -after them-God! soft tits! They were firm, rubbery even, and he kissed them, licked them, sucked the nipples. She giggled and squirmed at the treatment. What was better than humping a dame and sucking her tits at the same time? Nothing.
Jesus, gotta do this more often.
But you don't get nice young flesh like Clara every day. This time it had been luck. If it hadn't been school night for the guy, he'd be here, hosing her and licking her. Cushing got half of one breast in his mouth, thinking of the old gag: What's a surfeit? The titty you can't get in your mouth.
The constant friction was getting to him, too. It wouldn't be long now. He was so hot you could light a match on his balls.
She came again, suddenly. One moment she was writhing with him, the next she was gasping and jerking spasmodically. She just went up like a flame! He held her, thrusting the cock hard, mauling the clitoris. Man! She could boot it!
"That's two for you," he said when she,- subsided slightly. She was a lecherous little broad.
She giggled, kissing him, nuzzling him, rubbing the tits on him. "Don't you wanna come too?"
"Honey, I'm gonna blow sky high in a minute-'
She cooed. "How you wanna do it?"
"Whadda you mean?"
She cuddled him. "Like this--or-"
"Or what?"
She giggled and nibbled his lips. Whispered: "I'll blow you if you wanna-"
He took a deep breath. What a decision! The friction won out. He rubbed his hands up her round thighs, took a firmer grip with both hands on her bare ass . . . squirming and shapely. She was tight as any dame he had ever had.
He shook his head. It wasn't long now he could feel it beginning to well up. His voice was throaty: "I'm gonna fuck you-"
She squealed, her loins massaging his; her entire body squirmed and writhed. She rode up and down over the shaft. Impossible to stand that. He gasped grabbed her waist, hugged her-and spurted. For a minute he was wild. Did she boot another one at the same time? He was too far gone to tell; afterwards it seemed liked She had.
Man! What a cunt! Like a tight glove. It milked him, actually milked him. He could smell her, pungent. Bright lights, music, sweet words in his ear. What a fuck! Good as in a bed.
"Gawd, you really did it!" she giggled.
He felt pooped. The cock was still strong , sticking, up in her; he, needed air, he was out of breath. He got his mouth away from her darting tongue.. She wanted to do this all night? Could he stand it? Man, that had been a hump! She had teased him a long time with her massaging-and making her come. He was loaded for bear, and now she had it all, a wad of it up inside her. Enough for a platoon.
"You went some more?" she asked.
"Wait a sec." Jesus, what kind of a boyfriend did she have? A permanent hard-on? She was riding it again, up and down. You could smell the jism a mile. He thought about the party. What was Sullivan doing?. They didn't know about him and Clara sliding out.
"Maybe we better go back to th' party."
"Aw," she said.
"They don't know where: we went-"
"Don't you like me?"
"Sure I do, f'Crissake." He kissed her. She -was just as hot now as in the kitchen, hotter. The more she got the more she wanted. His cock had waned a little, now it grew stronger.
She had pulled off her blouse, and was naked except for her little skirt about her middle. She shook the titties at him, moving her white shoulders, giggling. The two dark nipples, like eye in the night, waggled and bounced.
"Don'cha wanna kiss 'em?"
He grabbed one and stuffed it into his mouth. She gurgled and her ass went into a spasm over his dong. He sucked the other one. Maybe he could screw her all night after all. "You like me, honey?"
For answer she kissed him madly. Thrusting herself onto his spike. "Silly-" she breathed.
"Much as your boyfriend?"
She, giggled. "That's diff'rent."
"Why is it?" What a crazy dame.
"It just is," She licked his lips. "You don't love me-I mean love me, you know."
"'How you know?"
"Well, we only knew each other a little while, huh? You got to go with a person. Know him good."
He pushed the cock up hard a few times. "We know each other pretty good, honey."
"Oh, that-" She giggled in his ear. "Sure, it feels good, but that ain't really love, you know."
"I' think I love you, a little anyhow." His voice was sincere. She was a cute broad.
"That's better 'n nothin'," she kissed him, teasing his tongue. "I liked you soon's I saw you."
"Me too. Love at first sight."
She giggled.
He felt all-powerful again. Mighty cock, wriggling
How she could wriggle! Man! She had offered
girl to blow him. Suddenly he wanted her mouth on it.
"You get me awful excited," she whispered.
"You gonna boot it again?"
She hugged him, delighted. "Yeah, in a sec-my Gawd, I could come ever' five minutes. I wish I was on my back."
He looked around, wasn't there a lounge on the roof? What was that-yeah, it was a sort of couch.
"Hang on," he said thickly, "let's go over there---"
She giggled as he rose, holding her ass in both hands, keeping her on the prong. She put her legs about him, pumping at the cock. Wild! A guy didn't find this kind of pussy just anywhere. He walked slowly to the lounge, feeling it move inside her, hard cock, Man!
He let her down on the couch. It was dusty. He laid on her, driving the whang deep, hearing her sighs. Her legs went up, enfolding his body. She puffed at him. Whispering: "Come, on, honey-fuck it in---"
He rammed her. Oh, yes, this was it! He thrust hard, attacking the coozie, whamming it, battering it. She cooed in his ear. Panting.
"You-like-that?" he gasped.
She giggled. Bit his ear. She was bucking now, shoving it up at him. "Gonna-come--"
It welled up and spit out, hot and smoky. He went berserk for a moment, pounding the stuff into her. He heard her voice, shrill, squealing-knew she was having one too.
Misty. Man, nothing like a wild screw-gorge on a cunt. She was trembling all over, making little animal noises. Squeezing his cock with her snatch. Milking it. How hot could a broad get?
His legs were wood. No feeling. He tried to keep from squashing her, arms tired. Lay on her, don't think. Feel her cooze squeeze it. God, she didn't want more!? She was licking his ear.
"Baby-I had it--"
"We can rest," she said softly, "for a while-"
"Balls. Let's go down an' see what they're doing."
Her legs tightened about him. "Don't get up yet.
He relaxed. Fucking machine. Drive a guy out of his noodle. Oh, he was limp now. Little wrinkled Charlie. Prick didn't know what it got into-meat chopper.
"You feel so good," she whispered.
"Yeah, you too, honey."'
"I think I love you some after all.."
"After all. that fuckin'T'
She giggled.
She got dressed, fooled with her hair. "God, it's a mess."
He had jism on his pants, dark spots. Shit. Zip up, brush the leaves off. Maybe nobody'll notice. He helped her with the bra, nice tits, man, -nice tits. They went down the steps. "Shhh," hell, the roof job was over.
But she was cute. He felt her up, kissed her again outside the back door. There was music from inside. He had to take her hand out of his pants. Man, all the time,?
Corps a great life," Bramwell was saying in the kitchen. "None o'that rat race you guys havta put up with" He saw Cushing and waved a glass. The kitchen was dark; light on in the living room, music. Johnny was here too.
Cushing looked at them closely. Both of them are loaded. Johnny was staggering drunk, eyes Eke split grapes. Gash along his cheek; torn shirt, he had shirt and pants on now.
"Wha' happened?" he asked Bramwell.
"Huh?" Bramwell looked around. Bleary as a coot.
Clara went into the living room. He heard her giggle.
Bramwell was slobbering, saying three things at once; none of them made sense. Something about Sullivan doing a tango. He went into the living room. Clara was standing at the door of the bedroom, staring. He looked over her shoulder.
Sullivan was on top of Brandy on one of the twin beds-thumping it in. Man! A wicked ass on that Shorty! Brandy's legs were up, feet pummeling his back, arms pulling at him. She was going for it.
He had to stop Clara from giggling out loud. Re pulled her away from the door and she grabbed for his dong.
"Cut it out, honey." He sat her down. "Ain't you hungry?
"Yeah, a little." She looked toward the bedroom.
"Get your mind off it-" She sighed at him and he patted her tits. "C'mon, we ought to eat something, huh?" Practical. A guy has -to be practical.
How the hell did Bramwell get so drunk? He told Clara to stay put, and went into the kitchen. He took the glass away from Bramwell. "Suck in th' gut kid. You tryin' to drink it all?"
Good ol' Cushin'," Bramwell slapped him. "Where the' fuck you go anyways?"
Cushing turned the light on. Bramwell was OK, but Johnny looked like hell.. Johnny blinked owlishly in the light; slack jaw. Man, he was in bad shape.
Opening the back door, he let air in. The kitchen was stuffy. "What happened?" he asked Bramwell again.
"Fi'-lil fight, Sullivan--"
"Shorty had a fight with Johnny?"
Next time," said Johnny. "Then I go 'roun'
"Shit, big," Bramwell grinned like an idiot. "Me'n Shorty cocked 'im. Stick t'getherl, yeh.
Sullivan and Bramwell had cold-cocked Johnny and now Shorty was in pronging the broad. That made; sense. "C'mon," Cushing said, "get unmussed, we're goin' out and grab some chow."
Bramwell hung his head, thinking it over. Then he made a few swipes at his uniform, grinning foolishly.
Cushing went back to the living room. Clara was at the door of the bedroom again, her tongue hanging out-almost.
"Hey, Shorty," Cushing yelled. "Chow time."
"Fuck d'chow," Sullivan's voice came, muffled.
"Come on, food, man. Bacon an' eggs. Good for the balls."
Clara giggled and unzipped him. Cushing let her handle it-give the dame a break.
Brandy said, "Beat it-" The bed was squeaking in a great rhythm.
Cushing sighed, reaching for Clara, but she had gone to her knees. She had the cock between her lips. Man! Trying to harden it-rising, swollen. He could smell it. Bramwell stumbled into the living room behind them, mumbling to himself. Harve always mumbled when he got stinko. Good old shit, Harve. Dumb as a plank, but a good shit.
He pulled Clara up; she protested, grabbed the prong and massaged it. Hot again. Cushing rubbed her round ass. She'd get fucked again if she kept that up.
But he was hungry; his stomach was growling, no food for hours. Disgust. No one was doing a damn thing. Clara panting for cock; Bramwell mumbling, fiddling around for his hat: "Can' fin' m'hat, Cushin'. can' fin' it-"
Johnny was out, walking, but out on his feet. "Wan' go home."
Man! What a crew. Sullivan pounding Brandy in the bedroom; he didn't want to eat, not food.
He got Bramwell in the bathroom and pushed his head under a faucet, cold water. Harve yelled, struggled, but the water felt good, he shut up.
"Sober up!" yelled Cushing. Goddammit, why they have to souse up so soon? Clara watched, eager for anything. He went back and yelled at Sullivan ,again, receiving only muffled answers. Then someone got up and slammed the bedroom door. More bedsprings. Count Sullivan out.
There was a little food in the kitchen, breakfast stuff, wrapped bundles in the icebox, nothing to eat right away. Not even coffee. Shit.
Clara was sitting on Bramwell's lap in the bathroom.
Cushing swore, yanking her off. Bramwell's hand was up her leg and she was giggling. That shook a little. Clara was pants-happy-anything with a dong. A blow to a guy's ego, like. Would she let Bramwell fuck her?
He took her into the living room. "Where's the nearest joint to get fed?"
She thought about it, looking at his crotch. "There's a drive-in-"
"Naw, a restaurant."
"Well, an Italian place a few blocks over."
"Yeh, that's good. Let's go." He yelled, "Harve!"
Bramwell came out of the kitchen, his hat on his head-"Can't without my hat, Cushing__.'
"Its on your dumb head."
Bramwell reached up with a wide-eyed look. Clara giggled.
"Go get Johnny, we'll put him on the couch."
Bramwell nodded and went back. They heard noises, then Bramwell reappeared, dragging a struggling Johnny. Johnny was on the floor, kicking. Cushing sighed, and went over to help. Together they got the man on the couch where he immediately fell asleep.
"Let's go," Cushing said.
It was late when they arrived at the Italian restaurant. They were the only customers except for a middle-aged couple enjoying coffee and cigarettes, at the far end of the room.
It was a squarish room, decorated with pictures of Italy, red-checked tablecloths, candles in bottles, all the trappings of the pizza palace. Cushing took a table in the middle of the room.
Bramwell was half sober now, slightly sleepy but amiable. "Where the hell is Sullivan?"
Clara giggled, feeling for Cushing's knee under the table. Cushing said, "Back at the joint. What you want, pizza?"
The waitress came over, plump and young, with big tits and a pair of dreamy eyes. Cushing looked at her and let his gaze wander over the lines and curves. She knew it and waited. Clara said, "Hi."
They studied the menus; Bramwell couldn't focus. He held his upside down. "The fuckin' thing's in Eytalian," he said.
"This guy is drunk," the waitress said, looking closely at Bramwell. She looked at Clara, "I know
you
"Listen, honey,", Cushing hissed, "We're going to 'Viet Nam in the morning, and this is, is his last fling, you know?"
"Oh yeh?"
"Yeh. A couple pizzas oughta do us."
"Well, I didn't know," she said.
OK Honey. ' Cushing watched her walk away, nice legs. Clara had hold of his dong, squeezing it, Jesus. He lit two cigarettes and gave her one. Bramwell was half asleep. He kissed Clara lightly. "Wanna fuck, honey?"
She giggled, "Yeah.-"'
"Gotta wait."
"What if I don' wanna?" She squeezed it till it hurt.
"Cut it out, dammit."
"Wha'?" Bramwell looked at them. "Jesus, where fuck are we?" He looked around bleerily.
"You're in a restaurant so shut up."
"Oh-yeh."
The waitress came back with the soup. Cushing saw Bramwell's hand reach out and rub the back of her leg. She made no sign. With surprise, Cushing saw the hand move up the leg, under the skirt
he saw her bite her lip suddenly.
He grinned at Bramwell.
The other couple moved to the cash register and paid; they went out and the waitress went over and locked the door. Then she came back to the table.
"You like the soup?"
Bramwell's hand went the same journey. He smiled at her: "What's your name?"
"Dessie."
"Hi, Dessie, I'm Harve.'
She was a lot closer to him now. Cushing was fascinated by Ol' Bramwell's boldness. He had never been like that-he was just drunk enough apparently. His arm was up under her skirt. He must have a finger a yard up her snatch. Dessie was doing her best not to show it.
Clara didn't notice. She was all wrapped up in him-feeling him. She had him unzipped now, thank God for the tablecloth. There was someone out back-the cook, probably-but no one could see her. The tablecloth hung down a yard. Man, was he hard! She had both hands on it, curling up close to him. He made her take one hand off-too goddam obvious.
Dessie had to go for the food, but she was reluctant.
"Lissen, she's great "' Bramwell said. He was awake now. His finger was wet.
"Go put a dime in the machine," Cushing said, indicating the juke box.
Bramwell got up, hard-on sticking out, and stumbled across to the wall.
"I wanna suck it," Clara whispered.
"Knock it off, honey wait'll we get back."' He petted her. Wow! What a doll! Bramwell got some coins in the slot and the music poured out, rock and roll. Dessie met him halfway back and they danced. Cushing caressed Clara's head, which was laying on his chest, as he watched them dance. Ol' Harve was pushing it at her, and she didn't mind. Not even in front of the windows. They snickered and wriggled like a couple of newlyweds, ol' Harve grabbing at her tits. Ought to get him loaded more often.
God, it felt good, Clara's hand feeling up the dong.
When the food came, Dessie wanted to stay, and Harve patted a chair. She sat beside him: "It isn't right, you guys going to Viet Nam. It ain't-"
Cushing interrupted her, "We don't wanna. talk about it, baby. We'll get there soon enough, you know?"
"Yeah, sure. But I got a special place in my heart for soldiers."
Bramwell looked confused, but Cushing smiled at her. Sure, they wore uniforms, they were soldiers. He didn't cafe. She was a good shit. Probably crazy for a uniform, some dames were. He could see the cook out there, scrubbing up, little wizened guy.
Clara still hung onto his pecker, eating with one hand. She was determined it wouldn't get away from her, he thought. Clara ate about half the pie and gave up.
"Guess, I'm not that hungry." She crowded up to him again. Cushing finished the pizza, ma-n-good. He needed it. Goes to make corpuscles, whatever they were.
Harve was hungry too;, now that he had awakened. He ate with one hand in Dessie's lap. She grinned at them, sipping red wine. "This's my cousin's place. I just work here now 'n then. I'm not a regular."
"We're goin' back t' Brandy's," Harve told her. "You wanna come too?"
"Sure," she said. She didn't ask who Brandy was.
Bramwell winked at Cushing; he had himself a dame. Not too bad, either. Cushing didn't miss her good points, 'nice tits. Bigger 'n hell. Bigger than Clara's. But Dessie was a big girl, almost as big as Harve. Pretty good shape on her, under the black and white uniform and apron.
She went to change while they had coffee. Cushing paid the little scrawny cook, and they met Dessie outside.
Cushing's eyes popped. Man! Dessie Wore a mini that hit her about the snatch, a thin little shirt and loads of beads. She had flowers in her hair, and looked nothing like the girl waitress.
Ol' Harve's eyes knocked out too. Cushing saw him gasp. Was that his doll? Bramwell galloped over and grabbed her. Legs!
They walked down the drag, looking for a cab. Nothing in sight. It was after midnight, not much traffic. Clara worked her hand down inside his waistband. He unbuttoned the top button and unzipped a little, held her close. They walked slowly. Bramwell and Dessie went ahead.
"'Jeez, I'm crazy about you, honey."
"Me too, " she said, pulling at the skin.
"I mean it, I really go for you-"
Clara giggled. "You're cute." She squeezed the cock and rubbed herself on him.
"You like me, huh?"
"U'huh."
"As much as that boyfriend?"
She giggled.
He halted in a shadowy place. They were between parked cars and clumps of shrubbery. There was a vacant lot stretching into blackness on the right, houses some distance in front. It seemed like they were miles from anyone. He moved off the sidewalk, pulling her along. He leaned against a car and she unzipped him instantly.
"You promised me," she said, kissing him with hot lips, massaging the pecker.
"Promised what?"
"Well" She licked his lips and giggled. She pushed the ol' whang down under her, parting her legs.
He knew. "Wha'd I promise, honey?"
She was panting now, trembling with excitement. Man, that was fun-getting 'em, hot like that. She was hot to the touch. She forced the dong down there, rubbing her cooze over it feverishly-doing a little dance. He held her hips, enjoying it. She wanted to get it in her.
"Wha'd I promise, huh?"
"To" her voice was husky, "to-fuck me-"
He reached down and took hold of the poker. In a second he had her panties shoved aside and the head of the dong in her slit. She gasped as he shoved. He lifted her and both legs went high. It was easy. He thrust and it skewered her. Man! Warm.
She squealed as he pumped it in.
He turned her about and laid her against the car. It was easier to boot her that way. It went into the hair, squishy as hell, tight. Christ!, what a light cunt! Lovely. He fucked her hard and steadily. She cooed over it.
A car roared along the street and he grabbed her, pulling her down low. She yelped "Don't lose it!"
The car didn't stop; probably the driver didn't even see them. He continued to ram her. There was grass under them so, he lowered himself, got to his knees and laid her carefully on her back. She held on like death. He kept up the stroking, laid on her smoothly and booted it in. She giggled. She loved it on her back.
She was just beginning to come when Bramwell and Dessie came running back along the walk.
Cushing ground his teeth. That stupid Harve! But he couldn't stop. Clara was panting and gaspng and bucking up like a mad thing. Then she broke out into a wild spasm, trembling and jerking. Coming like the dam busting.
He kept feeding it to her, bard and furious. Bramwell and Dessie skidded to a halt, staring at them. Dessie snickered.
Cushing motioned Harve away, and gulping, Bramwell grabbed Dessie and they went back. They retreated a dozen paces and stopped, whispering together.
Clara came out of it slowly, reluctantly. His knees hurt a little, uncomfortable on the ground. He slowed his screwing as she opened her eyes: "Oh, Gawd! that was the most, baby!"
"Jeez, you come like a waterfall!"
She giggled. "Yeh, I always do. But you're extra special-" she kissed him. "Better 'n anybody."
He looked down at her in the gloom. "You had a lot of guys, huh?"
She giggled again. "Maybe."
She was too fuckin' young to have, had a lot. She looked great pale face, smooth, young and pretty as hell. He kissed her. Darting tongue.
"How many guys?" he asked, stroking the cock hard.
"Why you wanna know?"
"I dunno, just curious. t had five girls." Manfive! Fifty, more like.
She giggled. "Aw, you had more'n that. You never learned all this with five, huh?"
"All what? Hell no, honey, I'm no woman chaser."
She seemed to consider, stroking his face with her fingers softly. Their bodies were in gentle rhythm. Cosy. She smiled. "You don't wanna know."
"Hell yes, I wanna know. Why you think I ask you?"
Giggles. "You won't tell?"
"Promise."
"You're the forty-third."
He was astonished. "Forty-three guys!"
She ducked her head into his neck. "I shouldn't of told you-"
Was it the truth? Man, a little squirt like her? Forty-two guys an' him? She'd been putting out since
"I don't mind, honey. Hell, why should I?"
She kissed him warmly. "Some of 'em weren't much, you know."
"Quick ones?"
Giggles. "Yeah. Like at a party."
"Tell me."
"Well, a guy wants to do it, you know so I just let him in quick and out. That's all."
Man! He didn't believe that! She would let 'em stick it in, but no out-man, no out. Not Clara. She was a fuckin' fool! He knew. Knew.
"Yeh, I done that too, honey." He gathered her up and fucked her steadily, hearing her contented sighs. A real fuckin' fool. Now he, doubted the forty-three. Probably a hunnerd and forty-three. But she was tight. Wouldn't her coozie loosen up with use like that? She must be putting out to that boyfriend like a mink. The guy was lucky to be going to school nights, otherwise she'd wear it down to a stub.
It took him a long time to spurt again. It felt marvelous just to boot her, nice and easy, hearing her voice in his ear now and then, whispering to him: "Oh, Gawd, darling, I love it-love you--"
She was hypnotized by his cock, he thought. Feed it to her and she'd do anything. He thought about ol' Sullivan. Was he getting his dong sandpapered? Yeah, Brandy would get the kinks out.
Thinking of Brandy, he got to his knees suddenly. Clara gasped, moaned, and clung to him. "Don't-'
He pulled the sopping prick out, pushing her hands aside. Moving up quickly, he dangled the wet thing into her face and instantly she took it between her lips, sucking it madly.
She couldn't move over it properly. He moved back, to his knees, to his feet, and she followed him dutifully, working over the long sucker. She knelt between his legs, head bobbing. Man! she was frigging him with the lips! Look Ma, no hands! He grinned. She didn't use her hands either.
He looked around carefully. No one in sight. The street was deserted; it had a cold, bare look. The shadows were inky. Where the hell were Harve and Dessie? Probably down the line, fucking like him and Clara. Jesus, maybe he could get into Dessie's pants. That might be juicy.
Ohhhh, now he could come! He patted her head and she looked up. "You gonna do it?"
"Yeah," he said in a strained voice.
She renewed milking the thing with her lipshard and fast. Man! What a cocksucker! Oh, that goddam boyfriend of hers! What he had!
It welled up and spewed out-making him double over, shuddering and bucking. She grabbed the dong and held on, milking it, squeezing the base of it with her finger-What a beautiful cocksucker! Get it all! Christ! You could smell it all the way to Brandy's joint. Musky. And Clara still bobbed over it, pullng at it I squishing it, gulping it-was she swallowing it?
Cushing stared at her. Damn if she wasn't!
What a cocksucker!
She eased off after several minutes, but she kept the cock in her mouth, warm, cozy, tonguing it, sucking it. Cushing sighed deeply. No one had ever blown him like that, not even the best whore he'd had. And he'd had a few hot ones.
His legs were weak, wobbly. She put her arms over them and held them close to her, holding the pecker and pulling gently at it. The tool was squirm. I getting limp now, he could feel it.
He rubbed her head, twining his fingers in her piled up hair.
She looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "Was 'at good?"
"Man!"' he said breathlessly, "honey, you're the ever-lovin' end. The fuckin' end."
She giggled. "The suckin' end?"
"Yeah."' He giggled back. Cute. He watched her mouth it for a few minutes. He lit two cigarettes, and saw the red mouth over the wet pink cock in the flame of the lighter.
She rose and leaned into his arms, puffing the fag. "Jeez, I love t' do that."
"You can have. me any time, baby."' He kissed her cheek., smelling the jism, on her breath. He ran his hand down her thigh and up under the skirt. "Want some?"
She giggled.
He worked a finger into her and found her little swollen clit. As he teased it she writhed in his arms and moaned. It only took a minute to toss her off . She was ripe and on the edge anyway. Fun, frigging a girl. Man, fun. She really bucked over it. Crazy for it. A cock-happy broad! No kidding.
They went along the walk slowly, arms about each other. A mist was rising, swirling whitely about the distant street lamp. It wasn't cold, a little chilly, but not cold. -Clara snuggled up into his arms, not holding his cock for once.
Christ, he was crazy for this cunt. Yeah, this was just the beginning. They'd get together every time he. had leave-fuck her silly.
They came upon Harve and Dessie on the front lawn of a house. He halted when he saw Dessie's white legs, one leg on either side of Harve's butt. Harve was pumping her. Clara giggled when he pointed the two out. She automatically reached for the cock then. So Dessie fucked. Yeh, he could get into her pants. If Harve could, he could.
They walked past and Cushing whistled. Looking back, he could see Harve raise his head and look around. Cushing waved.
Harve went back to pumping her.
Clara said, "Let's get it hard again-"
He slapped her butt. "Gimme a chance, baby. I ain't made outa solid iron." He gave her another cigarette to help take her mind off it.
No one answered the door at Brandy's, but Clara had a key. They rang the bell to let Sullivan know they had returned. But the house was empty. Lights on, but no one there.
She asked, "You want a drink or coffee?"
"Coffee, baby." He flopped on the couch, zipping up. What the hell time was it? Two A.M. No wonder he was sleepy. Where the hell was Johnny? Didn't they leave him here on the, couch?
He went in the bathroom, pissed and washed up.
He had stains on his pants, damn. Should'nt screw dames on the grass. He thought about Harve-he'd have stains too,. Man, the ol' pecker was getting a workout this trip. He scratched his balls, zipped up and went back to the couch.
Clara curled into his arms, kissing him. "Hey, you're cute, you know that?"
"Sure I am." He squeezed her tits and sat her up again, reaching for the coffee. The doorknob rattled.
"'It's them-" Clara jumped up and Dessie came In with Bramwell. They looked bright-eyed. Dessie giggled at them, shaking her hips as she walked.
Cushing couldn't keep his eyes off that ass.
"Naw, not coffee," Harve said to Clara. "Let's have a drink, huh?"
Ol Harve was waking up. Cushing watched him rub Dessie's fanny. It looked like it might be good to feel. Dessie and Clara went into the john and Harve came over to the couch.
Shit, she's a real houn', that Dessie!"
"Them wop gals, they got it," Cushing said. "She'll give you the rickets, you boot her too much."
"Yeh? You get rickets from that?!"
"Sure, ask anybody-"
"She ain't a wop gal, she's Roumanian or something. Man, she had it outa my pants like a short arm" Bramwell. was excited. He could hardly wait till, the girls got out of the crapper.
Cushing went into the bedroom and looked around. Could he stay here with. Clara" Man, he'd like to crawl into the sack with her wrapped around him. The others could go back to the hotel-that was their problem.
There was. a big racket outside, noises like running, some yells, and loud talking. The voices came straight for their door. Cushing went into the living room in time to see Brandy and Sullivan burst into .the room, with some others on their heels, a guy and a dame-all of them high. Jeez, Brandy was loaded!
Sullivan yelled: "Hey, the Marines have Ianded! That's us, pal, landed!" He was feeling no pain.
Brandy was kissing Bramwell against the wall making him flop like a mackerel. Cushing stared; she was half naked, skirt up, blouse off her shoulders. The other dame was a blonde, nice, tits flopping under the shirt. Red gash of a mouth, looking at him with big, round eyes. The guy wasn't much, skinny, sandy hair, beagle eyes.
"I'm Marie," the girl said, coming over to him. Her breath was, wicked, and her eyes didn't quite focus.
Sullivan was right behind her, slapping her fanny hard. "Fucks like it's goin' outa style," he hissed and she giggled loudly, grabbing at Cushing's, thigh.
"You wanna try me?"
"You shouldn't oughta say that to a Marine," Cushing said. Her hand had him by the cock now. She ding-donged it. "Where you been?"
"Took Johnny home," Sullivan said, "where's them other cunts? Where"s Clara?"
"In the can." Cushina was hard. He backed into the bedroom and Marie came with him, hanging on. He looked over her shoulder for the skinny guy, didn't see him. Sullivan was shouting for someone to put on the music, Brandy screamed with laughter at something, and Dessie and Clara came out of the john. Sullivan yelled "Clara!"
Marie had his cock out, naked in her hand. She was kissing him with everything she had-Man! Hold the goddam fort!
The joint was a madhouse in seconds.
The bedroom was dark. Cushing pulled Marie over and fell on the bed. She squealed. Man! be couldn't wait. Prong, all be could think of was prong! He flipped her skirt up, rolled on her and the legs spread and went around him. She was bucking up before be got it in her.
Warm! Man, she was warm, like a mouth around his cock. Ram it in, thrust it, Shit, she was crazy for it! The goddam bed squeaked like fury.
The fever got him. by the balls and made him crazy for long minutes-boot her! Roll her around, let her squeal, she loved it-fuck her snatch to the bone!
He eased up, voices. Laughter. He looked around. Brandy was coming into the room with someone. He couldn't see; they bad turned out the living room lights. She dropped onto the bed beside them, mostly naked. There was a glow from a nightlight somewhere.
She giggled, legs, up, pushing against them: "Hey," Marie said, "Get your own fuggin--"
Brandy said nothing, lips sealed in a fantastic kiss -it was the little skinny guy-the bed rocked as he rammed her. She was half on, half off the twin bed, and the guy was half kneeling, driving it into her, breath hoarse.
Cushing raised himself on his arms. There was no one on the other twin bed. They were too goddam drunk to know it. All four of them crowded together. Brandy was so close-he could see her naked titties, dark nippled. They were both panting, fucking like wild animals.
A girl giggled from the living room-Clara? Jesus, he'd forgot about Clara for the time being. Who the bell was getting into her? Probably Sullivan. Goddam that Sullivan.
The skinny guy was pushing them off the twin. He was ramming Brandy so hard, he was moving all of them. Brandy shrieked, her legs pistoned in the air, and she jerked madly, bouncing against them in a frantic spasm. Cushing swore, he was off balance then he grabbed Marie and his cock came out as he kept them from falling.
He got up and took off his coat. Too fuckin' hot for that kinda, work. He looked at her, mostly naked on her back, mouth open, breathing hard. The skinny guy was just easing it into Brandy again. Clara yelled again.
He went into the living room, moving slowlydark. The light was on in the john. Just a glow through the apartment. Panting, Man! Everybody was panting. Dessie on the floor, white legs up, a guy going like mad between them-it had to be Dessie because Clara was on the couch. He could hear her giggling.
Yeah, Sullivan was screwing her. Forty-four. Sullivan made forty-four. He bad his pants off too. There was a drink on the table beside them; Cushing picked it up and sipped it. Whisky. They must have brought a bottle. He watched Shorty prong her. Did he look like that on a dame? Must.
He felt his cock, half hard. Mali, the screwing, it'd had! Crazy. He -wanted to stick it in Dessie-yeah. He moved over and watched her wriggle. Ol' Harve's knees were sliding around as he pumped into her. A lot of woman. He finished the drink and put the glass back.
Marie was talking in the bedroom, mumbling. He turned and she came out, staggering slightly, holding on to the doorjamb. Cushing reached out and pulled her close, opening her blouse. No brassiere. Warm tits. She puffed the blouse off over her head and dropped it.
"Wanna be loved-"
"I jus' loved you baby.
She had his cock, playing with it. "Get me a drink, huh? Guess I need a Iil ol' drink."
"Sure, baby." He pulled her into the kitchen. Yeh, two bottles, one half gone. The light was better here. Hey, she had real round titties! Pink-wow! He got his mouth over one and she, squirmed, loving it. Handful of cunt. Finger in it.
She pulled her skirt off . She was stark naked.
His cock was hard, seeing her like that. She had a big, stupid smile, pretty girl, yeh, real pretty. He embraced her, her thighs went wide, she had hold of the cock, poking it at herself.
"Don't you want a drink, baby?"
"Fuck th' drink-!"
"Rather fuck you."
She giggled like Clara. "Yeah, le's o huh?" She turned in his arms suddenly, rubbing her bare bottom on the cock, reaching under herself to, pull the cock. He couldn't resist that. He pushed her forward and slipped down, pushing the prong up under her. Squish soft slit-in it goes! He thrust and she sucked in her breath, feeling it sink in. Oh, that's nice. Ram her good and hot!
He held her back tightly, reached around her and tickled the clit. She yelped, squirming wildly, pushing back. "Don' stop, don' stop, don' stop--"
Bramwell came into the kitchen. He snickered, seeing them attached. "Hey, gotta get Dessie a drink-"
Marie, seemed not to notice him. Harve had his shirt off, pants open to the knees. Dong hanging loosely. "Hurry up," growled Cushing.
"Jus' be a sec." Harve upended the bottle, poured a stiff one into a glass. "Hey," his whisper was hoarse, "Thass her husband, Ownie-"
"Ownie?"
"Yeh, the skinny guy-he's her husban'." He indicated Marie. Tottered out to the living room.
Cushing chuckled. So Marie was married. He fondled her titties, hearing her sigh. Yeh, married dames were the livin' end. Loved t' fuck. His dong slipped out of Marie. Terrible way to boot a dame. She groaned, grabbing under her for it.
Maybe, he, could trade her for Dessie-he moved over and looked into the living room. Whispers, panting. Marie was massaging it, embracing him, legs working, pussy working. He pulled her into the living room. Bramwell and Dessie were, sitting on the couch. No sign of Clara and Sullivan.
"Love me!" Marie was yelling, "Wanna lil love" She jerked on the cock, too hard. Cushing took it away from her, not the kind of thing to yank on, stupid dame. She swore at him.
Bramwell giggled, seeing that she was naked, and she bleared toward him, trying to make out who was on the couch. She went over and fell on them. Dessie pushed her off, onto Bramwell.
"Yer gonna spill m'goddam. drink-"
Marie homed in on Bramwell, arms about his neck, jumping on his lap, legs wide. "Jesis!" Bramwell said, feeling the bare flesh.
"Love.--me honey-love me-"
Cushing slipped his pants off and pushed them and his shoes into a, comer. A guy needed to strip down; the party was getting horny. He could see Marie wriggling on Bramwell's lap. Ol' Harve must have it up her a yard.
Cushing moved close to Dessie, took her arm. She stared at him, apparently surprised to see him. But her white knees parted as he knelt in front of her, and she giggled softly. She was drunker than he thought; she groped for him, fumbling the pecker in both hands.
"Golly, who're you-"
He pushed close, wet slit, the ol' whang went in like hot butter. Nice. Feels good in there. She sucked in her breath and slumped forward, -spreadMg wider. Yeah, he knew she'd feel good, not as tight as Clara, but cosy. He pumped her hard for a minute, pulling on her butt. She laughed a silly little laugh.
Marie was making a lot of strange sounds, bouncing over Harve. Cushing stared at them, so close, but the room was dim. Her naked form had a sort of glow to it, Bramwell's big hands around her butt. She was really humping over it.
Clara screamed.
Cushing knew it was Clara instantly. The scream came from the bedroom, and another sobbing scream followed the first. Sullivan was yelling tootelling her to quiet down, she wasn't hurt-come on, knock it off.
Cushing got up, Dessie yelped but he scrambled to his feet. Clara sounded like she'd been stabbed! He stumbled into the bedroom, a babble of voices. Clara was yelling, Sullivan trying to soothe her, and Brandy demanding to know what the fuck was goin' on?
"Clara" Cushing said.
Brandy fumbled at a bedlight, swearing at the goddam thing: "Can' find the goddam, switch-here it is"
Clara was doubled up on the other twin, naked as God made her, Sullivan also a jaybird, sitting beside her.
Brandy and the skinny guy, Ownie, were unscrambling on the other bed, staring at Clara with big eyes. Ownie had a hard-on like a phone pole, bobbing around.
"Whassa matter wi' her?"
"Wha'd you do?" Cushing demanded of Sullivan.
"Nothin', for Christ sake-nothin'." Sullivan was pretty well oiled. You could tell because he was slurring his words. Maybe he didn't even know what the hell he, was doing. Sullivan had been known to go through an evening so potted he couldn't tell an elephant from a phone booth, and yet seem halfway normal.
Cushing pushed him aside and took Clara in his arms. "S'all right, baby, s'all right---"
She cuddled up, knowing it was someone else; she didn't want Shorty. "Ged me outa here-"
Cushing picked her up and took her into the living room. Sullivan followed, naked and cock poking. "S'help me, all we's doin' was stickin' it--"
"Hurt me---" Clara whispered.
"Yeh? Where he hurt you, baby?"
"I didn't hurt the lil cocksucker-f'crissake all's we're doin' is sticking it---"
"Get lost," Cushing said, "go stick it inna keyhole." He cocked his fist, expecting Sullivan to charge him, but instead Sullivan stumbled into the kitchen. Yeh, he was pie-eyed alright. Couldn't see his finger in his eye.
"Feels better," Clara whimpered. "Shouldn't do 'at, I'm too small-"
"Wha'd he do, honey?"
She cuddled him, kissed him cosily. She felt good, nice, warm girl flesh. She squirmed, feeling the pecker against her thighs,. "Hurt me, shouldn't
Cushing grinned in the dark. "He stuck it up your ass, huh?"
Clara giggled. "Uh huh."
Jesus, was that all? Well she wasn't hurt bad, probably stretched a little, screamed and that was it. You had to grease a broad good to stick it up there. That dumb Sullivan!
He cuddled Clara close, working the ol' cock between her thighs. He sat on the edge of the couch with her sideways on his lap. Couldn't get it in that way. Had to get it in, man, this was the night to prong girls. Might never come again. Dessie was huddled up with Bramwell and Marie, the three of them snickering and whispering together, Ol' Harve still plugging Marie.
Pulling Clara around to face him, he made her straddle him and the pecker went in like it had eyes. She giggled and bucked herself at him, driving it in further. "Ohhh, yeah-"
She wasn't hurt. He sat down on the couch beside Dessie with Clara bouncing eagerly. She knew who he was now, too.- -She was biting his ear softly, running her wet tongue into it, making him writhe. Shit! This little doll was a pisser! She probably got Shorty so fired up he didn't know what the hell he was doing.
Somebody was pulling at his arm. Cushing looked up. Ownie was there, holding Brandy's arm.
"Yeah," Cushing said, holding Clara tightly. Brandy came to the couch, squealing, grabbing him about the Peck. Cushing's hand went under her by accident and closed over her pussy, wet and sloppy. Finger in it, two, three fingers in it. She squealed louder, undulating sinuously.
"Whereza girl?" Ownie asked. He pawed at Clara. Clara hung on tightly, still humping steadily. "Hey, come on, whereza girl?"
Cushing was almost buried under both writhing girls, Brandy was half wild, mauling him, kissing him, getting kicks with the finger-fucking.
Weight. Cushing pushed and pulled on Clara., trying to see. She was whimpering. Ownie was trying to mount her back, the cock rubbing up and down along her buttocks. He was so drunk he didn't know"Come on--"
Cushing pushed him away. He saw Ownie bump into the kitchen door, then make his way around it. Sullivan was leaning over the sink-was he sick? Serve him right. Ownie went to him, grabbed his naked rear end and was trying to hump it in.
Cushing laughed. Shit, what a party!
Clara got her gun off; she cried, tears glistened on her cheeks, jerking in spasms, her entire body shuddering as it hit her.
He almost lost it, she. got so goddam. violent. Brandy was cooing and squirming over the three fingers, holding him about the neck-he 'couldn't let her go down the drain.
Clara was really crying: "Feels so good-so, good-"
She was a pisser all right. Never saw a dame cry when she shot the wad. She was in a coma, breathing hard, wriggling, and he knew if he could see them, her eyes would be glazed.
Poor Brandy. Damn, he wanted to fuck her.
He lifted Clara off the whang, she squeaked and panted hard, but he got her off it and sat her on the floor by his feet. He pulled Brandy over. She seemed to get the idea quickly when he pulled one leg over him. It only took a second to get the, pecker UP her.
She. came into his arms and hung there, breathing hard. He worked the dingus in and she just took it, hardly wriggling. She'd just blown her stack once, he thought. Give her a chance to recover.
In the kitchen, Sullivan had been fighting Ownie, off, but now the two of them were locked together in a mad ballet. Cushing stared at them, he couldn't tell if Ownie was plugging Shorty or not. It sure looked like it. Ownie wouldn't let go and his ass was moving like gangbusters. Cushing snickered aloud. Sullivan didn't know what was going on.
Man! His eyes were heavy. What the hell time was it? Brandy was heavy, beginning to, writhe a little now, shoving tits in his face. The ol' whang wasn't up to snuff either. How many cunts had he stuffed it into? Man! what a leave time.
He closed his eyes for a second. Jesus! He. almost dropped off. Never went to sleep screwing a dame before. Tired.
"Yer gettin' soft," Brandy whispered hoarsely.
Cushing wanted to tell her to go fuck a rope, but didn't have the energy. He grunted. So, it was getting soft. Sue me..
His eyes were so, goddam heavy. He closed them and floated. Seemed to, float away. Opening them again was a jolt. So close them. He felt Brandy get off his cock suddenly. Cold. Screw her, let 'er go. He slept.
He woke, feeling someone at his whang. Jesus, uncomfortable. He moved, trying to get eased the someone was still pulling at his dong. He tried to look down, too dark. Someone was eating him. He wanted to laugh, too tired. Let'em have it. What the hell.
But now he was partially awake. The damn couch was lumpy, terrible. Uncomfortable, he'd rather sleep on the ground; had many times. Someone still mauling his cock. He felt down, lots of hair. A girl. That was good, rather be sucked by a girl anyway. He dropped off.
She bit him and he awoke again. Growling.
"Sorry," someone whispered.
He mumbled. Better get up and go in on one of the beds. Break his goddam back this way. Somebody was crowded up against him on the right. Dessie still there? He could hear occasional whispers. Someone yelled somewhere close. Cushing opened his yes, seeing dimness. The yelling stopped. Clara getting buggered again? He forced his eyes open. Gotta go to the bed.
He struggled upright. The girl stopped chewing it and looked at him. Was it Clara? He wasn't sure.
"Who're you, honey?"
She chuckled throatily. "Marie."
He pulled her to, him, embracing her head and shoulder in a bear hug. "Marie" Good ol' Marie. Who the fuck was Marie? Then he remembered. Ownie's wife. What happened to Ownie? Big long dick, Ownie.
On his right a girl said, "Don't do it again-" She groaned, "I'm sore--"
Cushing tried to stand. Man! dizzy! Wow. He sat again, holding Marie. She went for the dong, again. Some, dame.
He didn't feel drunk, a little woozy, but not drunk. He could tell who he was and where he was. Just damn good and sleepy. Tired as a pissant. F'crissake., Marie, stop chewing that dong!
He got to his feet, holding onto the end of the couch. That was better. Marie stopped, just held onto the handle. He patted her head. "Goin' to bed.
He moved toward the dark bedroom. It was chilly in the room, and he was naked. He heard Marie scrambling to her feet. There were other sounds in the room, damn dark, like moaning and sighsprobably some. guy humping something. He smiled. Probably Ownie. That guy would boot a wheel barrow.
He crawled onto the first bed he came to. It was unoccupied. He clawed down the covers and slipped inside. Man! Why hadn't he done that hours ago? Somewhere near a girl said: "Do it harder-"
Cushing dropped off to sleep.
When he woke it was early morning, an ugly glare, hardened the. room. The drapes were pulled, but the light came in anyway. He wriggled, feeling pressed in. A girl was in bed with him, pushing against his back, her arm over him, with a strangle hold on his dick. He could feel her tits on his back, hear her breathing.
He strained his neck, looking over his shoulder. The girl was Brandy. They were probably in her bed.
That was nice. He. smiled and closed his eyes. Her hand automatically squeezed the dong now and then. It was half hard. That was the way to wake up, with a dame playing with the ol' organ.
His eyes popped open. He remembered the party. Lifting his head, he looked at the other bed. Occupied. Two heads. One of them was Dessie. There was no one else in the room. Dessie. He had almost fucked her. Had it in, then took it out--oh yes', Sullivan had tried to ream Clara. He, looked at the living room door, couldn't see anyone. Well, relax, mac. He closed his eyes, smiling because of Brandy's hand. Nice.
He slept again
When he woke the second time it was impossible to tell what time it was. Something had awakened him-the bed was moving. Turning his head, he could see Brandy and a guy atop her, they were rubbing his body; they were fucking nice and steadily, all three of them packed into the twin bed. Every tiny movement was transmitted through his body. Cushing lay there and felt it. Brandy was sighing. There was a smile on her pretty face. Her golden hair was all tangled and blown about. Sexy. He got a fast hard just looking at her knowing what she was getting.
The guy turned his head. It was Ownie.
Cushing felt for Brandy's hand. She opened her eyes, looking at him with a curious expression-as though she couldn't place him. Cushing took her hand, pulled it down and wrapped the fingers around- his cock. She grinned at him then and squeezed it.
Ownie's face was all screwed up in concentration, eyes closed. He nuzzled it into Brandy's neck. Cushing was wide awake now. Brandy's lips were only inches away. He moved and kissed her lightly. She smiled. She massaged his cock, hard as iron and eager. He kissed her again, tongues twining.
"Otis?" she whispered.
"Yeah. Right, baby."
She nodded, placing him. Her lips pouted and he kissed her again, long and lingeringly. She was warm as toast, silky and throbbing with the swollen prodder up inside her. Sensuous. Cushing wanted her as he had never wanted a woman! Man! He had woke up horny!
He fucked the cock into her hand, slowly, warmly. He could slip his hand over one naked breast, by squeezing Ownie a little, it felt great, soft and yet firm with a bard little nipple. She seemed to squirm as he fiddled with it, but she was. squirming anyway at Ownie's hosing.
Man! He wanted to push Ownie off her and get on himself. Start a fight sure. Maybe. he could coldcock the guy and roll him onto the floor--- no, make a lot of trouble. Brandy might object. He ran his hand over her body, satin smooth. Yeah. Her legs were up around Ownie's body, and he was moving in a steady rhythm.
Cushing felt under them, her coozie was sopping wet-maybe Ownie had humped once already. She jerked as he poked at her anus, but her lips didn't move from his. He went back and rubbed the rosebud. She opened her eyes and grinned at him, closed them. He massaged the rosebud a little and knew that she squirmed from it. She liked it. He. rubbed her warm ass all over,. kept going back to the, rosebud. He could feel Ownie's hard balls against the back of his hand, but that was extra for him. He wormed a finger into the rosebud and she definitely wriggled and sucked in her breath-but didn't object.
Yeh, she liked that. Maybe Sullivan had buggered her and then tried to get into Clara thinking-yeh, that was probably it. Brandy liked ass fucking, no question. He got the finger into her up to the second knuckle.
He could feel Ownie's cock now, only a membrane away. Her kisses were hotter than the Devil's foreskin. Man, she, was getting it! Panting, writhing, going after the humping. He oozed the finger in, But she is not going to let it pass, not this chick. After a while she turns to me. and says, in a voice you could practically ice-skate on, "Emily told me and out of her in rhythm to. match Ownie's. She loved it!
He had to slow his own cock movements, didn't want to give her a handful of hot juice. But she was working the ol' joint over. Man! she was hot! On fire!
Ownie was giving it to her now, hard and heavy. He was battering the ol' slit. The bed was squeaking loud as hell. They could probably hear it out on the street.
Couldn't kiss her, she was panting too much. He rubbed her body with his, watched her get it. She had an animal quality alright. She was crazy for the orgasm. Her face mirrored the' eagerness, lips, tongue pink and darting, breath whistling-her body hot to the touch, undulating and surging. Oh, yeh, she was gonna come "any goddam second!
Someone giggled in the next bed. Cushing tried to turn his head, but -couldn't. Not easily. He could hear the second bed begin to squeak. Jeez, were they screwing too? Dessie and who else?
Brandy let go. She screamed into his ear, not loud, but a gentle little scream of pure pleasure. Her legs kicked spasmodically, her body twisted and jerked---"Oooooo, Jesus!"
Ownie was, off too. He had shot it like Big Bertha. The room smelled of sex. Cushing thought the bed would collapse. He hung on to Brandy, feeling Ownie's, body lashing and battering her. Her legs tightened about him. Cushing got the finger up her to the joint. He could go no farther. What the hell did it feel like with two prongs in you?
It took her a long time to subside. Ownie was over it pretty quick. He kept up the rhythm, slower now, but eased her off-he knew how to taper off a broad. He raised his head and looked at Cushing, half smiled.
He was a funny-looking guy in the light, Cushing thought. Kind of like a lizard-funny gray skin and beagle eyes-only hard as linoleum. Funny face, damn strange-wonder what Marie saw in him.
"She's great," Ownie said hoarsely. He kept up the. gentle prodding. Brandy was moaning softly, smiling at the ceiling, eyes tight shut.
Cushing nodded. Yeh, she was.
Ownie whispered. "Hey, you want 'er? I gotta go take a leak."
Cushing nodded again. He eased the finger out of her, she groaned, and as Ownie got off, he slipped on top of her.
"Whass-?' She opened her eyes, aware of the change.
"S'all right," Cushing whispered. Man! The old cock was a rock. She let go and he stabbed her with it, not even using a hand to guide it. It slid in like greased baloney. Her legs: went around him automatically and he thrust it - deep as, she sighed. She was warm, cosy as a squirming oyster, Man! Fuck 'er! She cooed in his ear, moving her ass, and winding her satiny arms about him.
Luxury, Man! Cushing pulled the blanket close about them and rode it in, nice and easy. She seemed to luxuriate in the delight of a new male prong. Her soft lips were seeking his, tongue frantic -oh Man! Thass all she wrote! The ever-lovin' end!
"God damn, stop it!" Dessie, said.
Cushing looked over at the other bed. Sullivan was grinning at him over her shoulder. "The fuggin' Marines 'ave landed," Shorty said, pushing at her.
Dessie's broad face broke into a smile, her dark hair flowed 'round shapely shoulders in a tangle as matted as Brandy's. "You know this, guy?" she asked Cushing.
Cushing sighed and sank into the soft flesh. Brandy's lips seemed to swallow him up. Soft, Man! Soft! His ol' whangeroo plowed up into her like a steam engine, revolving, prodding, greasing in and out, Christ! Gotta do this more often.
"It's daylight," Brandy said.
"Yeah."
"Jeez, where'd the party go
He poked it at her hard. "Were havin' it, baby."
She giggled and tightened her legs about him. "Who's, at in other bed?"
"Sullivan an' Dessie."
She seemed to consider it. "Dessie?"
"She came with you-y'know,- Dessie an' Ownie."
She giggled.. "Yeah, I remember." She snuggled into his neck, laughing in her throat. "That goddam Ownie-'
"Who's he anyhow?"
"We met him at a bar, me'n my boyfriend-"
"Johnny?"
"Yeah, you know 'im?
Cushing smiled. "I met him." She had probably. forgot the whole thing. "What's he do, Ownie?"
"This," she said, pushing up at him with her pussy. She giggled. "S'all he does, far as I know."
"Is 'e good?"
Giggles, just like Clara. "Yeah, man, you know it.
"What's, Marie do?"
"Dances."
"Yeah? Where?"
Brandy shrugged, licking his lips. "I dunno. Ownie said she works inna cafe, or something. Y'know, a topless joint."
In the next bed, Dessie howled. Brandy looked around. She frowned. "That ain't Dessie-"
"Sure it is." He remembered Dess all right, Bramwell had found her"Hey, we're talkin' about whats-'er-name-"
"That ain't her name," Brandy wrinkled her cute nose. "Dessie ain't 'er name. Who the hell is she?"
"Who?"
"Dessie."'
"You're mixin' me up. Let's just fuck."
Brandy giggled, holding him and bucking up hotly..They kissed, fusing and writhing in the bounty of melting flesh. Cushing came out of it; he could come any minute, he slowed his movements.
"Hey," Brandy whispered, she urged him, squeezing with her cunt. "Don' stop-"
"I don'wanna come too quick."
"Ohhh." Snuggles. She stopped suddenly. "Ownie an' Marie! His wife is Marie for crissake.. "
"OK." Cushing settled into a steady rhythm. Yeah, Marie. Now he remembered her-Marie, red mouth, blonde-liked to eat it-yeh. So she was a topless dancer? Great.
Some party, couldn't even remember who was who. A bunch of cunts, that was all. Clara. Where was Clara? Little giggles, the best goddam snatch of all. He sighed.
"Oh, Jesus!" Dessie said.
Cushing opened one eye. Dessie was almost on her face, holding onto the side of the, bed. Sullivan was be her, rocking the bed. Jeez, did he have it up her butt? It sure looked like it. Dessie had forgotten them in the next bed. Concentrating on what was happening to her. Biting her lip, sort of a funny look on her face-yeh, she was gettin' it.
That goddam Sullivan, he. had a new hobby. Booting dames in the ass.
He snuggled down with Brandy, make it last, Man, make it last. This was the cat's balls.
"Christ," she whispered, "I bet I come a million times las' night."
"Your pussy sore?"
She giggled softly. "Naw. Hey, you in the, Marines, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"There was another little guy-"
"Sullivan. He's in the next bed."
She turned her head. "Yeh, I remember him. Sullivan. Slippery little guy."
He kissed her fondly-it wouldn't be long nowhe could feel it wadding up, ready to go boom. "He boot you in the butt?"
Giggles. "Yeh, how'd you know. He tell you.
"Uh huh."
"The shithead."
"That fuckin' Sullivan ain't any good."
"Oh, I dunno" She chuckled. "He's a lotta fun." She writhed sensuously. "Let's come again, huh, baby?"
"Let's make it last."
"Naw," she puffed at him, ramming up to meet him. "I wanna little dream-come. Please, baby, huh?"
"You're talkin' my language."
"Whazzat, fuck talk?" She giggled into his . lips.
"I'm so goddam. hot-you got me humpin' for it, baby. Jeez, his cock was hard as solid steel and a yard long, thick as a two-by-four. He jabbed her hard, making her clit vibrate. Yeh, she was hot-just about the hottest broad he'd ever laid.
"Ask me for it, honey," he said, smiling down, jolting her with it.
She ran her hands up about his face, her mouth a pouting red cavern, tongue flicking out. She pulled his hair, drawing his face down to her. Breathing into his lips: "Goddam. you, fuck me-fuck me fuck, fuck, fuck-!" Her hips thrust at him wildly.
He sucked in his breath-he couldn't take that kind of treatment it was coming like an express train! "Oh, shit" He scooped her body into his arms, suddenly battering the ol' gash. Ramming, heaving, pumping like frantic. Oh, my God! Oh my God!
Brandy screamed again, he felt her nails on his shoulders. The bed bounced under them-dimly Cushing heard Sullivan shout, "Stay with 'er, Mac-! "
Nothing mattered,. fuck the thing! Ram it in and t'hell with the racket-Man! Brandy was a wild. woman! You'd think she'd taper off after all that poontang last night-but not her! Sparkling lights, guns crashing. Hold on, baby! Oh, My Gawd! The ol' firehose was a gusher this morning. Jeez, a riot!
"Man, that's my boy!" he heard Sullivan say, "That goddam Cushin' is a fucker-I tell you a real fucker!"
"Whyn't you do me like that?" Dessie asked.
Brandy sighed, at high wind in the trees; come back to earth, baby? She shuddered, her animalness, more evident, he thought. Jeez, what a piece! He rolled on his side, and she groaned, holding him, trying to pull him back. The dingus, came part way out and she tried to stuff it back, "Dammit-"
He was tired. Wow, a guy could boot jus' so long. Got to have chow, Man, hungry. He looked over at Sullivan. Ol' Shorty was in the saddle, working for his keep. Ass giving a mile a second-Dessie groaning like a heifer in heat., Sullivan winked at him, heaving it to her.
"You give her ideas,he said.
"You din't give her none?"
Sullivan cackled ;The blankets made tents where Dessie's knees held it up, between the. tents Shorty bounced it. Dessie smiled, her lipstick smeared. She sure had dreamy eyes.
Cushing stared at her, got to fuck that broad. Got to. Brandy was yawning now. She'd had her pussy stuffed, now, like a cat, she was purring, looking at him.
"Le's get a bite," Cushing said.
"OK."
He pulled it out, small and ineffectual, wet. Rolling out of the sack, he sat on the edge of the bed, and looked at the weenie. Wrinkled little beggar. He looked up as Ownie came in, cigarette in hand. He, wore a shirt and nothing else. The ol' whang hung down.. Ownie had a big banana alright. He. looked at Brandy and smiled. She started out of the hay but Ownie was there in a flash. Scooping up a handful of tits, he gave her the cigarette.
"Hey, baby, you're, lookin' real good.
Cushing scratched his head, twisting his neck. Brandy took a couple, of puffs on the butt and Ownie put it out in an ashtray beside the bed. He was massaging the tits pretty good, and she had plenty to work with. His pole was sticking up, ready for the flag.. Man, this guy ate cock food! What made it stay hard permanently?
Ownie swung his feet and rolled into bed with her. Brandy squealed: "Hey, I'm hungry-for crisSake!"
Ownie was on top of her-neat the way he swung into the saddle. Good as ol' Sullivan. The blankets were down, -Cushing could see Ownie putting it into her. Man, no fooling around! Brandy squeaked as it skewered her. Her knees, came up and Ownie pumped it, the blankets around his ass, shirt around his neck.
She looked at him, and Cushing blew her a kiss.
"Come on, Ownie," she said. "Get off-later, huh?"
Ownie had it buried. He held her, belaboring her with energy, pumping hard with little short strokes, mauling her clit. She bit her lip.
She pulled the blankets up around them and sighed.
Bramwell, Clara and Marie had been to a market.
They brought back eggs, milk, bread, soup, cigarettes and a bottle of -rye.
As Cushing came Out of the bathroom in his pants, and shirt, hair combed, they came trooping in the, back door. He looked at them, hardly recognizing Clara and Marie in the light. Clara looked much younger-God! Twelve years old! She couldn't be. Marie looked. like a hustler off the Ditch.
"Hey, you're Otis, huh?" Marie came over to him right off. She had eyes like mush blueberries and she poked him in the chest with her tits and gave him a peck. Cushing Put his arms about her waist and pulled her close. Instantly she bumped him with her pussy. "Hi, doll."
"You hungry, Cush?" ol' Harve asked.
"Yeah.
Marie was wfiggling it a little to suggestively, for before breakfast. He smiled. "Cool it, honey, yer motor's running."
"It allways is," she whispered.
He knew his face was slightly hot. Man! This broad laid it on the line, huh? He winked at Clara over her shoulder. Clara was staring at him with a funny expression. Did she remember all they'd done the night before? She hadn't been very plastered. Harvey was busy laying stuff out.
Cushing backed away and got out a cigarette. He lit it and Marie wandered into the living room. She couldn't help hearing the beds squeaking-Cushing could hear them from the kitchen. He watched her go to the bedroom door. He went over and stood behind her.
"The fun crowd," he said softly.
She smiled and reached back. She had a handful of weenie. Pulling on it.
Sullivan and Dessie were making it big now. Dessie was getting fired up-no kidding about that. But Ownie was just screwing Brandy nice and easy, laying on her, mouth to mouth, undulating cozy.
Marie turned around, she had his cock hard, She opened her thighs and rubbed it on herself. Hard. "That beats a finger inna bathroom," she whispered.
He leaned back against the wall. "They tell me you're a topless dancer."
"Yeh, you wanna see my tits?"
"I already seen em."
She laughed in her throat. "Lay me onna couch."
"Breakfast!" yelled Bramwell. "I'll t'row it out_"
"Man! I'm hungry," Cushing said. "Aren't you?"
Marie shrugged. "You're poopin out on me."
"A guy has to eat."
"You wanna eat me?" Too eager.
Cushing kissed her cheek and turned her about, putting his hard-on in the crack of her ass. His face was hot. Man, be, wanted this little slice of bell. She'd fuck a coyote! Was she always this way?
He pushed her into the kitchen, her reaching around for the handle.
Harve and Clara had stuff lined up on the sink. Prunes, breakfast cereal, eggs, toast. He sat down at the table and Clara slid a dish under his nose.
"Here, darling, you need your vitamins." She glanced at Marie.
They sat around the table; Ol' Harve looked a little drawn. A hard night. "Where's Sullivan.
Cushing indicated the bedroom with his head. "In the saddle, man.
Marie giggled obscenely. "My dead husban' is in the other one. What, Brandy?"
"Yeah."'
Harve looked curious. He got up and went into the bedroom and came back with a wry expression. "I didn't know Dessie was. still here."
"She ain't here, she's coming," Marie, cackled. She was a hard-looking broad, Cushing thought. Good features, but they added up to hard. She looked like she could masturbate with a crowbar. Maybe she could. Nice tits, though. And he could see plenty of them. Her neckline was down over her shoe tops almost. Her stock in trade, tits.
He finished the food and lit a cigarette. Still tired. Man, a good sleep sounded right. His face felt tight, needed a shave, eyes bloodshot. The women looked better than he. and Harve. Clara was fresh as a rose.
He went into the living room and slumped in a chair. The noises were dying down from the beds. Voices. Then Sullivan came to the door, stark naked. He grinned blearily. "When's, reveille, pal?"
"When you can't get it up no more."
Sullivan took his dong in his hand, looking at it sadly. It hung its head. "You poor ol' pusher-man, you sure lived!"
Marie came in, standing in the middle of the floor, staring I at it. She grinned, hands on hips. "'Anybody I know, dearie?"
Sullivan grinned at her and waggled it. "Come on, Pete, say hello, to the nice lady-"
"Don' call me no lady," Marie said. She swung her hips suddenly in the most obscene bump and grind routine.
Sullivan stared, mouth open. He, smiled. "Yeah, do dat again, baby!"
Marie obliged and Sullivan came close, pushing the half-hard dingus at her revolving, gyrating loins.
"Look out," Cushing said, "'She'll bum it off."
"Wot a way t'go," Sullivan said rolling his eyes.
Clara came and sat on the edge of his chair, looking down at him. "How long you got?"
"Another day an' a half." Cushing caressed her hand.
"Then Viet Nam, huh?"
He nodded. "Yeah. But that's a long way t'go. Maybe I'll fall. overboard."
"It's a shitty war."
C'Sure, but what you gonna do?"
"You have to go, huh?" Her pretty face was sad. "Nothin' you can do?"
"I didn't bum my draft card in time."
"Stop it. I'm being serious."
"Sorry, baby." He patted the soft hand. She was a damn cute chick. Damn cute. "How old're you, honey?"
She hesitated a split second. "Eighteen."
"You mean sixteen?"
"Does it matter?"
"Not to me." Jeez, was she, younger than that?
"I guess you know, I'm against the war
"Me too, baby.'
"No, I mean I really get out and do, something" She bit her lip. "You know, demonstrate."
She was damn cute. Fresh-not like that old cunt, Marie. He looked at her titties, nice and firm and round.
"You could go AWOL_"
He grinned at her. "Sure, honey, but would that stop them Cong?"
"Well, everybody has to do their part, huh If we all go, along with what they say, how'll that help?"
"I'm only one guy-" He moved the back of his hand up and brushed it across the. tips of her nipples. She didn't move away. Across the room Sullivan and Marie backed against the wall. Her thighs were white, one on each side of his naked butt-ramming body. Was he in her standing up? They were grappling like trained wrestlers.
Dessie came padding out of the bedroom, wearing little but a slip. Huge titties waggled under it, rosenipples inviting." She giggled, seeing the obscene dance against the wall.
Clara turned and smiled at Dessie. "Hungry, honey?'
"I could eat a bucket of snakes,"' Dessie said. She went into the kitchen.
Clara saw Sullivan and Marie then; she giggled.,
Cushing took hold of one tit and caressed it. She looked down and smiled, "You want me?"
"You're, awful cute stuff," Cushing said, remembering the sojourn on the roof.
She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. "You can have me if you want," she whispered.
Man! He could go for this one. She, was real A1, hundred percent. A right dame. He, pulled her onto. his lap and kissed her again.
"I'm pooped, honey," he said softly, speaking with his lips against hers. "Can I get some shut eye?"
"You mean first?" She giggled softly, licking his lips, tongue darting.
"Yeah, first." Man! She wanted to fuck.
"Come on in the bedroom-take your shoes off."
He followed her, sat on the edge of the bed. Ownie, was still fucking Brandy. They ignored the two. He shucked the shoes and his pants. She slipped his shirt off and he slid into the bed, relaxing. Man! He was ass weary.
Clara curled up beside him, on top of the blanket. She laid her golden head on his pillow, kissing him.
"Go to sleep."
He smiled and closed his eyes.
The bed was jiggling. Cushing woke slowly, feelMg drugged. He came back to the present slowly, remembering the room, where he was. He laid perfectly stiff-the bed was. jiggling, moving rhythmically.
He was on his back; he could feel someone lying beside him--Clara? He opened his eyes a slit. It was dim in the room, late afternoon. Yes, Clara. She was curled up, facing him, his arm was about her in fact. Her face was inches from his. He could see the beatific smile-on it-God! What a pretty doll! She seemed to be sleeping.
Why did the bed jiggle?
He opened his eyes wider, turned his head very slowly. Clara was breathing fast, but seemed asleep he knew she, was not. Her skirt was up over her hips.
Ownie was crowded up behind her, feeding her the ol' whang. Cushing could hear the sounds. Ownie had it stuffed up her slippery muff long and hard. Jesus! that Ownie was getting his gun off in everyone.
Cushing lay there, holding Clara, feeling Ownie's prong pumping in. A damn funny feeling. And Clara loved it. Look at her. She was a cat, sopping up the milk.
He was fully awake now. The apartment was silent, except for the squishy sounds as Ownie screwed her, and the jiggling of the bed. Where were the others?
It was dark out, or damn close to it. About six maybe, seven-he felt hungry again. Clara stirred and drew in her breath. She was smiling, a beautiful little cooze! Beautiful! She stretched like a cat, writhing her round hips. Oh, man! She loved it!
Ownie made her come. She didn't explode, but she booted one. Writhing and hissing, jerking uncontrollably. Ownie spurted too, evidently. In about ten minutes he pulled it out and slipped out of the bed. Cushing saw him pad out of the room, wet dong hanging. What a cocksman!
Clara snuggled up to him, cosily and warmly. Cushing embraced her, kissing her and she giggledsoftly, sated for the moment. Was Ownie number forty-five?
They lay there in each others arms for a long time. Cushing almost went to sleep again. Clara stirred and crawled under the blankets, naked. He felt her young flesh, getting hard in the process. She felt it, giggling, pulling at it.
"Whispering: "Don't you want me?"
He turned over, putting one knee between hers. She opened up like. a flower and he was atop her. Soft. She guided it and it was warm all of a sudden. Oh, Man! Dig it in and don't spare the horses! The ol' whangeroo deep inside, pulsating and throbbing, slippery as an oyster and tight. Man! she was tightsville. Like a fist around it. She must be nine years old-she looked it too. Breathing in his ear, quiet as. the eye of the cyclone, and man could she erupt!
Where the hell was everyone? He didn't care, just curious. Oh, fuck it, Otis. Wow, she was warm as Brandy. Naked and ardent, agitating him with her little upswinging thrusts; as he pumped it in, she pushed up to meet it. Sweet meat, man! You could get down and eat that pussy with a spoon. The ol' tongue. Tongeroo.
"Love it" She was whispering, "love you love you"
"Oh, I love you too, honey. Man, I really love you. Funny thing, he meant it too. You could love a dame who had just been scragged in your arms, couldn't you?
"Want you to write to me, darling-please?"
"Hell yes, I'll write you-"
"It'll make us close." She. kissed him, darting tongue, slippery, exciting him. "I want to think of you as close as this-" She pushed up hard. "You inside me-"
"Yeah, I sure will, honey." He thought about her boyfriend. What about this guy-whoever he was?
"You're special," she, whispered, "not like anybody else." Could she read his, mind? He gathered her up in his arms, not very big, not like Brandy, lush. But plenty round. Lots of girl to dig the ol' poker into. It went in nice and deep, and warm and cozy, no bones, scraping it.
"Whafs his name?"
"Who's name?" she asked.
"Your boyfriend's."
"You're, not jealous, are you?"
"Well, you're gettin' booted, right?"
She giggled. "You're doin'it."
"I mean your boyfriend gets his nooky, huh?"
She nibbled his lips for a moment. "Well, you want me to stop letting him have it?"
He smiled. "Yeah-yeah.
"Alright," she sighed. "OK, darling, nobody but you. Nobody, from now on."
"You're sure, honey?"
She nodded, giggling and kissing him. Man, she was cute! Warm as coal-heaver's balls. "I won't even see him anymore.
He kissed her, ramming it hotly. Yeah, in a pig's ass. He'd be back on the drill field , she'd be spreading to this guy wouldn't she? She was too fuckin' hot to stay off a bed. He liked to hear her say it. Did she think he didn't realize what a gas-hound she was? She liked her ol' forbidden fruit. Man, she was great.
He got the bounce up to a nice rhythm. Thrust it in and slide it out-yeah, squishy. Then Ownie came in, puffing a coffin nail. Cushing looked around at him. What the fuck did he want? Ownie, sat on the side of the bed next to them.
"Hey, she's great, huh?"
"Yeah," Cushing growled. Jesus, he hadn't stood over this bird.
"How 'bout if I crawl in and ease it up the other end?"
Clara giggled.
"'Hell no," Cushing said gruffly. "Look, ain't you got anything--"
"We're here alone.," Ownie said. "All them others beat it over to Dessie's joint."
"Where's that?"
"I dunno, couple blocks over I think. How 'bout it, Clara, honey? You want a lil double job?"
She shook her head. "It'll hurt."
"Naw it won't."
"Beat it," Cushing said.
"Aw, Jesus, I'll use plenty of vaseline, it won't hurt at all, it'll feel great!"
She looked at him. "Huh uh."
"Me'n Marie do it all the time. I stick it up her like eatin' peanuts." Ownie felt under the blanket and captured one, breast.
Cushing was annoyed. Hell, he was a easy-going guy, but dammit, he was screwing this broad. "Come on," he said. "Go jack-off, huh?"
Clara giggled. She didn't move his hand away.
Cushing rose on his arms. "Lissen, buddy, you hack on out, right?"
Ownie got the message. He slid along the bed. "You don't havta get sore" His lizard's face was all crumpled. Hurt. How could a dame refuse him? His prick was standing straight up again, at attention.
Cushing knew Clara could see it. He laid back down on her, took up the steady humping. He felt her hand creep down-and knew she was handling the prick.
She just couldn't help it.
He fed it to her in gobs, made her like it, love it, made her climb the wall, screaming for it. She flamed up in an orgasm that shook her and made her jerk crazily. She could really knock one offwild'! Cushing wondered if she could feel more than the ordinary guy. It seemed like it.
Ownie had cut out before she erupted. He turned the radio on in the other room and left them alone. Probably playing with himself Cushing thought. The guy had a permanent hard-on.
Clara got out of bed, bare-ass naked and pattered into the can. He lit a cigarette. Dessie's joint? Was there something there? Clara hadn't said a word, did she know? Maybe dames. Yeh, all he needed was more dames. The ol' zinger would be limp for a month. Squeezed-dry balls. Man, what a leave! Beautiful.
He finished the cigarette. What the hell was keeping Clara? Did she get dressed?
He got up and stretched. Scratched his ribs. Yeh, it was dark out. Second night. He. went into the kitchen in bare feet. Slight sounds. He glanced around for Ownie, the guy had disappeared. Sounds from the john? He went over to the door, listening. Squish, squish, muffled giggles.
Shit. Ownie and Clara were fucking in the john.
He sat in the living room and waited. They didn't come out for a half-hour. Then she was contriteshe hadn't meant to let him have it-she was sorry -she petted him. Ownie stood and grinned.
They were. all naked. Clara curled in Cushing's lap, kissing him. "I do love you, baby, I do, I do honest I do-"
Ownie grinning, cock hanging down a mile. Hung Eke a goddam horse. Smoking a cigarette and watching them. Waiting to get another crack at Clara.
"Get dressed," Cushing said. "Lets grab some chow. I'm starving."
She nodded and pattered into the bedroom dutifully
Ownie followed, but Cushng stopped the play. He stood between her and Ownie while she got into her clothes, giggling at them. Cushing put on pants and shirt.
"Jezis," Ownie said. "You own this here girl?"
"You got a wife, pal."
"An' you were humpin' her---"
"Shit, she was humpin' everybody. She'd hump a goddam camel."
"Jus' the same, you don't own Clara-why you got to be so fuckin' hard t' get along with?"
"Simmer down," Cushing said, "or I flatten you.
He, pushed past Ownie. and went into the kitchen where Clara was rattling dishes. He could flatten that skinny lizard puss in one poke. Ownie knew it too.
"Where's Dessie's place?"
"About a mile. You wanna go over there?"
"Have you been there?"
She nodded, "A couple of times. It's a pad, you know? A real hippy joint. Beads for decorations and a cast-off rug; nobody- knows who lives there and who doesn't."
"Sounds crazy."
"Yeah, I guess it is." Clara came over and kissed him on the way to the cupboard. She had a cute ass -damn cute.. Round and sinful. He squeezed her tits as she paused. She giggled and punched his cock lightly.
Ownie lounged in the doorway, shorts on now, and stared at her. It was like it was wrote on his forehead; I'm hungry for gash. Hot nuts. Ownie and his permanent all-brass pecker. Come an' get it, girls. It's a bird, it's a plane-it's a cock!
Cushing grinned at him and his hungry look. "Why don't you go over to Dessie's and stick it up your wife?"
"I dunno where it is."
Cushing looked at Clara. "What's the number, baby?
"I dunno. I'll just have to show you."
Ownie went into the living room and flopped on the couch. Had he stayed here just to screw Clara?
She put out some sandwiches and milk and they ate. Not much, but better than nothing. Cheese, crackers, a banana-it was filling. Ownie came in and ate some cheese, staring at Clara's tits. He put on pants and a shirt when they went out.
Cushing knew he was feeling Clara's ass in the dark.
it took them about fifteen minutes to walk the distance. Plenty dark out, about nine bells. It was an apartment house, gray stucco that looked diseased, even at night. The joint must be terrible. run-down. The neighborhood wasn't much either.
In the hallway it smelled like a dungeon-decayed food, pot, odors hard to identify. Man! the low rent district.
There was sound, plenty of sound. Music, shouting, talk lots of noise. A few kids squalling. A girl looked out into the hall, seeming to measure them. She smiled back at Cushing, winked. She closed the door when Ownie started toward her. Lizard face.
Dessie lived upstairs on the second floor. They walked over a moth-eaten carpet to one of the last doors, twenty-seven, and Clara knocked. Nobody answered. There was music coming from inside. "Somebody's home," she said.
Cushing turned the knob. It was unlocked. He looked inside. There was a kooky reddish light on, giving the whole joint an unreal glow, like somebody had poured blood over everything. The music was rock, blaring out in electronic glory.
A girl came out of another room. She was stark naked. She stood in the middle of the room, swaying to, the music, a dreamy smile on her face.
Cushing, heard Ownie swallow.
He opened the door wider and they went in, closing it behind them. "Ohh," Clara said. "Ain't this, great!"
There were posters on the walls, and a cow hide stretched over a window. There were mats on the floor,, cushions and pillows, a few candles burning, and a strong smell of incense. There was. a naked couple fucking on one of the mats.
Clara giggled.
The guy on the mat turned his head and stared at them. "Welcome, mortals," he said, and went back to humping the grinning girl.
Ownie had his hands all over the swaying girl. She seemed not to notice.
"C'mon," Cushing took Clara's hand and they moved past the screwers. It was a three room flat. There was a woman feeding a youngster in the kitchen. "We're looking for Dessie-"
"I think she's around," the girl said. She was fresh-faced, dark, with a band around her hair.
Cushing opened the bedroom door. More reddish glow. On a mat that took up most of the floor space were Marie, ol' Harve, Sullivan and Brandy-with a Negro girl.
Clara giggled and sucked in her breath.
The room smelled of pot. They were all naked and glowing with color and all going down on each other. Not even Sullivan looked up as the door opened.
Cushing was startled. Group sex-he'd heard about it, and the closest was Brandy and Clara's apartment. This scene, in front of him, was a pot party. Man! It was stuffy headachesville. He left the door open.
That goddam Sul-li-van trust him to get into the Middle of a sex-trip. Man, he was going after Brandy's gash!
Clara was all trembly with excitement. What would she do if he let her go? Dessie wasn't in the room though. Cushing left Clara and went back to the main room. Ownie and the girl had disappeared; he found them in the kitchen. She was sitting on Ownie's lap, straddling him, next to the. girl who was feeding the baby. The girl snickered as Ownie rooted in the cunt.
"No Dessie," he said.
Ownie asked, "Is Marie in there?"
Cushing nodded. "How many live here anyhow?"
The girl grinned. "It depends. Maybe Dessie is next door. She was pretty cute, he thought. The baby stared at him with huge eyes.
"They're all high on pot," he. said to Ownie.
The girl with the baby pointed to the sink. "There's some cigarettes there-"
Cushing shook his head. He went back to the bedroom. Man! That red glow was wild. He paused, watching the, two on the mat. They paid him no attention. The guy had a beard, and the girl was very young, younger than Clara, he thought. Her tits were small and pointy. She had crawled on top of the guy and was sitting on the spike. The screwing looked satanic in the crazy light. Her round ass was shapely, thin, but well made. Cushing licked his lips, seeing the big prong sliding into the dark gaping orifice. She let herself down on it and the thing impaled her. He felt himself getting hard. It was easy to see they were having fun.
He went into the bedroom arid leaned against the wall; he was right. Clara had not been able to resist. Her skirt was up about her neck, legs wide, and the Negro girl was gobbling her in frothy rhythm.
Man! His pulse was high! The ol' whangeroo was pushing the pants out. Sullivan was eating -Brandy who rolled and twisted in anguish bucking at the sucking mouth. Harve and Marie were locked in a sixty-nine. Harve was now a muff-diver. A card-carrying muff diver Ol' slippery deck Bramwell.
Cushing took his clothes off . Cock stiff and erect. Join the party, man. Get in the swing of things. Which ass to, tackle first?
When he tried to take Clara away from the Negro girl she screamed at him. "Shit-eater g'way!"
The dark girl embraced little Clara, protecting her, turning her back on Cushing. She was like an animal in her protective instinct high on pot, Cushing thought. Clara was giggling, wanting to be sucked. Clara was high on lust. That was her bag, lust.
Cushing went outside the room- to cool it. He was slightly angry. It would be simple to force Clara away from the girl, but it would take force. He might lose his temper and slug her. Maybe he ought to do it anyway. Damn Clara. She knew he wanted to boot her. But she was fascinated with the colored girl, apparently. Had they met before?
Damn, now he had this big tumescence and no place to put it. He glowered at the young girl and the guy on the mat having fun. They were really humping up a storm, She giggled over the stiff weenie, foaming in her gash. Marie! she was just a kid!
Cushing went over by them. God! What a wild glow! A slaughter-house red over everything. Even her eyes were red! And her tits. Little pointy tits. She looked up at him, bouncing happily over the prick. Her eyes were strange though. Cushing looked closer, bending down. She was glassy, like Clara in the middle Of a hot boot. The guy grinned up at him, white teeth in the middle of a tangle of beard.
"I am John," he. said in a tinny voice.
"Otis," Cushing said. "Hi ya."
The girl giggled happily and batted suddenly at the waggling hard-on. Cushing let her slap it as she jostled up and down. She liked the game all at once, slapping at it with. both hands, lightly. He wondered that she could see it at all. He moved around so she could fiddle more easily, standing above the guy on the deck, facing her. She laughed as the big dong waggled about; she knew what it was, he thought. Then she leaned forward and licked it. The guy chuckled.
Man! They were a weird pair. Cushing stared down at the beard; he was old enough to be her father, wasn't he? Well, fifteen years, older anyway.
"She enjoys, that," the guy said, "Don't you, Capri?"
She giggled and licked the whang again. Cushing moved a little closer. Capri put her pretty head on one side and formed an O with her lips. She eased the O over the head of the cock. Darting tongue, just like Clara's Hard suction, she put pressure on. Warm.
"Don't bite, Capri," the guy said, looking up under her chin.
Cushing asked, "You live here?"
"In the accepted sense," John said. "One lives in the world-life is all about us-"
"Yeah, I guess that's right."
"To be lived."
"Man, this is livin'," Cushing said, watching Capri go after the dong. She was not stinting; her serious little face was concentrated, as though she were about the most important task in the world. She turned it this way and that, head bobbing and moving, mouth stretched over the big end of the whang.
Cushing got to his knees and she followed, sucking avidly. He was now closer to John who regarded him with large, cow-like eyes. John was a thin sort, with wiry arms and wire-like hair tight-curled on head and beard.
"'I taught her myself," he said with a trace of pride, going at Capri.
"You a relative?"
He shook his head. "I don't know where she came from.." John stroked Capri's little titties. "Where was your home, precious?"
"Seattle," Capri said, the word muffled by the tumid head of her sucker.
"She ran away," John said. "From the darkness into light she's a beautiful thing, beautiful"
Cushing looked around as the same naked girl came from the kitchen and began to sway sinuously to the music in the middle of the floor. She did not appear to see them, wrapped in her own thoughts and reverie.
"Who's 'at?" Cushing asked.
John smiled. "Ah-a-friend. I don't know her name"
"She just come in to dance?"
The supine man nodded, the beard waggled.
"Many do, you know. We welcome a mortals. We love them all."
Capri pulled back from the cock, stretching her neck, smiling up at him and licking her lips. She laid along John's body, moving with his movements, her strange eyes were half closed. Cushing saw John's arms go about her, holding her warmly. She smiled at him, writhing in his embrace.
Cushing half-sat beside them, dong pointing at her head, watching them work at it in delicious stimulation. She had forgotten the cock for the moment apparently, stirred by Johns activity. She couldn't be as old as Clara, surely.
Cushing rose and looked about the room, squinting in the blood-glare. The girl still writhed alone, wrapped in her mysterious thoughts. He stepped to the kitchen and looked inside. Ownie had the girl with -the child over the sink, working at her from behind. She was petting the child as Ownie worked it in steadily.
He went back to Capri and John -as John climaxed in a bucking, writhing ferment. Capri kissed him wildly as he gasped and jerked in the, paroxysm. She looked at Cushing, smilling happily, receiving the 'jets of milky spend from the shuddering man. Cushing stroked her skin and her silky back. She was warm and alive-feeling.
"Ah, you've done it again, my little bird," John whispered to her, and kissed her. "You are a poem of life-life itself-"
She's a hot little cunt, Cushing thought. Funny the way they talk, these hip types. Was it a put-on? He sat down near them and appropriated a cigarette from a pack lying on the mat. Capri nuzzled John, moving over him, revolving and working her loins over the center of lust, kissing him. John lay, eyes closed, breathing deeply.
She looked at the cigarette and Cushing gave her a drag. She looked at his body, eyes wandering to his still erect organ, and he. moved to give her a better view. She continued to stare at it, nuzzling John.
Cushing waggled the cock. It seemed to hypnotize her; her eyes never left it for an instant, glittering as a snake's might.
John breathed deeply and seemed to sleep. Capri looked down at him then, smiled, and slowly raised herself from his body. The wet pecker slipped out and flopped and she sighed, feeling down for it and handling it briefly. She looked at Cushing and crawled off John and came into Cushing's arms, straddling him at once, stuffing the hard lance into herself with haste, panting in the task.
He laid back, letting her have her way, enjoy' it. She was in desperate haste, bouncing on him, burying the prong in herself. Cushing leaned on his arms and she bowed. her back, embracing his body, her lips on his cheek, fucking him wantonly.
Man! That was great! Not even Clara had booted him that way. She was tight as Clara too.
Thinking of Clara, he looked at the bedroom door. The door was open but he could not see inside the room. The same devilish glow bathed the walls. All the lamps in the house were red, except those in the kitchen.
The girl danced slowly about in the middle of the room, arms waving as a hula dancer's might, but more slowly.
Ownie came from the kitchen and stopped to stare at her. He was naked again, and his dong was only half-hard. Cushing eyed him with something like distaste. He didn't care much for Ownie. Not a good shit.
Ownie saw him and Capri, and his lizard's eyes measured the writhing girl, noting her butt and her small. tits. He had eyes only for the girl.
Then he walked slowly to the dancing girl, a slight smile on his thin face; the blood light heightened his resemblance to Satan. She paid him no attention. Cushing craned his head, watching Ownie move behind her and rub the pecker on her butt. He bent his knees and pushed the thing up and down against her crack.
John sighed deeply and Cushing turned back. John was sitting up, regarding Capri with his mild gaze. "Ah, what a beautiful thing, what a beautiful thing-"
"Yeh, she's a doll," Cushing agreed. Man, she was too. Tight and hot for it. That's the way a dame should be, tight and hot. Capri's eyes, were closed. She was working herself over the cock, loving it, swaying in a caressing rhythm. Hell, of a great lay, man!
The girl with the child came out of the kitchen and John beckoned her to him, smiling. "My wife, Helene, he said. She sat on the mat, batting her eyes at Cushing and the writhing girl; the child whimpered and John took it in his arms, comforting it girl or boy? Cushing could not tell. Helene had a band about her forehead, like an Indian band, with. designs on it. She smiled at him over Capri's back, and Cushing smiled back. What could he do?
She wore a short skirt and a blouse that was open to the navel, with bare titties inside, nice and round. Cushing licked his lips. They were even more interesting that way than Capri's bare ones---or the dancing girl's. He looked around for her; to see that Ownie had her on the floor, fucking her. Of course he would. That goddam Ownie would fuck a streetcar.
Helene opened the blouse wider and felt one breast, bringing it out and looking at it. "I don't have any more milk," she said.
John asked, "Is he hungry?"
"That's why he's crying," she said. She looked at the other breast. Cushing swallowed. Man! He'd like to get his mouth on those! Beauties!
John reached out and felt her breasts, squeezing them lightly. "Best find some milk then"
"I'll go next door," she said. John nodded and she rose, leaving the baby with him. Cushing looked at her legs. Great!
The music stopped then and the apartment was gripped in silence that was almost eerie. John smiled. "The tape ran out."
Cushing could see no tape recorder. But he could hear Ownie and the girl. She was gasping and moaning, rolling her head back,, and forth as he. pounded her. Ownie stared back--at him, lizard eyes, hooded and dead.
There were sounds from the bedroom too. He had almost fogotten them. Marie came to the door as he glanced that way. She was smiling widely, naked as a doorknob. Ignoring Ownie and the girl On the floor, she came over to Cushing.
"Who's got a cigarette?"
Cushing gave her one from the pack and lit it as she ogled the warm-writhing Capri.
"Who's the doll, honey?"
"Her name's Capri." Cushing introduced Capri It was a little. strange introducing naked people. Capri merely fluttered her eyes, John bowed as though they were in a ballroom, holding the baby proudly.
"Jeez," Marie said, smoking in quick puffs, C'everybody's hopped up, you know? I mean wacky.
I had one of them reefers and now I'm woozy too."
"It releases you," John said in his funny voice.
She looked at him, heavy-lidded. "Yeah, I been released a coupla times. Right in the socket. I mean released. Christ! I think I'm sober.''
"Thass a helluva note'," Cushing said, looking at her tits. Marie was made nice. Hard face, but nice lush flesh. She looked around as someone screamed from the bedroom.
"Go after it, man," she said.
"There's some wine in the kitchen," John said, "if you feel the need of it." He rocked the child in his arms, smoothing the hair from the tiny face. The child gurgled.
Marie asked, "Izzat your kid?"
"Yes. Mine and Helene's. Are you a mother?"
Marie laughed. "Hell no, that fuggin' Ownie would'n stand for it. Stop up his gash! Are you
crazy?"
"He don't know Ownie," Cushing said, petting
Capri and looking around Ownie and the girl were sitting, heads together, facing the opposite direction.
He nodded, "That's him."
Another scream from the bedroom, and giggles. It sounded like. Clara. What the bell were they doing?
Marie followed the look. "They're all blind. That goddarn. Sullivan is a nut, you know that?"
"Yeah," Cushing said. "I know it." He petted Capri, she seemed asleep, except for the gentle movement over his whang, and her tight squeezing.
She was squeezing his dong as she wriggled. He cuddled her, smiling at Marie. Man, it was nice to screw one dame and sit by another naked onesome party.
"Where's Dessie?" Marie asked.
John shook his head.
Marie put out the butt and stretched like a cat. She laid by Cushing, crossing her long, shapely legs and cradling her head in her arms, tits pointing east and west. "Man, I'm still floatin', you know that? I ain't had any grass for a helluva time. Is this fuggin' place still red? It sure looks crazy."
"The color of life," John said, eyeing the curves. "The color of energy "
"Man, I feel like I'm in the spotlight. I don't dare close m' eyes." She chuckled in her throat and moved her shoulders, making her tits waggle heavily. She saw John's look and licked her feline lips.
She was telling him to come and climb on, Cushing, thought. Man, she was ready. She'd put out, just like Ownie, always ready. Them two must be a sight when they started making it. Hell to pay, probably a new bed every week; they'd wear out the old one. Two hot shits. They oughta sell tickets. The thought made him smile. And John was getting ready, too. His dong had been wrinkled and stringy with use, but now it was beginning to, show interest. Marie had the kind of body a guy couldn't ignore. And Marie's heat-laden glances didn't help. Ol' John would weaken any second.
Capri was great. Warm, tight and loving. Cushing relaxed, cuddling her, kissing her neck, feeling his prong beautifully buried. A real honey fuck, sweet and hot but not furious. Just let it ride, deep and velvet, throbbing with the excitement of it, sort of floating like Marie. He reached out and dragged a hand over her thighs and down into her cleft.
She said, "Ooooo," as he touched the soft down. He dragged a finger through the wet, feeling it squish, hearing her intake of breath and seeing her hips writhe.
"Jesus," she said softly, "you'll bum that goddam fingernail off-"
Cushing laughed. John was licking his red lips.
"Do it again," Marie said in a whisper.
John leaned forward, putting the baby down beside her. Marie watched with so-bright eyes as John slithered over and between her thighs. She smiled, parting them. She bit her lower lip as he ducked his shaggy head into the pungent valley and a red tongue licked out.
"Oh, Jeez Christ!"
John suddenly glued his mouth to the slot and Marie gasped and fell back, twisting and jerking in a fit of spasm. She moaned and beat the mat with the flat of both hands, knees wide. Out of the corner of his eye, Cushing saw Ownie turn and stare at her.
The smell of sex was all about them. The baby lay, kicking tiny legs in the air, whimpering. John sucked passionately at the voluptuous moist cleft. Even Capri opened her eyes and stared at the act. Her face was hot and she was breathing fast;. he could feel her heart fluttering against his breast. He wanted to, tell her not to let go. He wanted to sit here forever with her on his lap, rocking gently over his cock, embracing him so warmly, kissing him.
But she was close to coming again. Her breath was pulsing, she trembled slightly and the rocking, jabbing was becoming more feverish. She was past thinking, she was all sensation, seeking release-his cock was long and steely. A woman in heat always did that to him. Her knees were trembling along the sides of his body. She was a cocoon of desire; he held her butt as tightly as he could, pressing it down. Her sighs were coming faster.
Beside him, Marie was becoming wild. Her eyes were glazing, red mouth gasping. Shit, John must be a sucking machine!
"Marie! goddammit!
Cushing swung his head in surprise. Ownie came over to them, cock waggling, face angry. His mouth was working, muscles pulling it jerkily. Was he. nuts?
"You promised me! " Ownie yelled, grabbing at her arm, pulling her. Marie screamed as John's mouth left her. She kicked and struggled:
"Lemme go, damn it, lemme go!" She. hissed and fought him, breaking his hold and scurrying back to John.
Cushing was astonished. Ownie! He pushed at the lizard-face, annoyed. Ownie hardly noticed. He dived at Marie, pulling her off the mat as she shrieked at him. John sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth, staring in equal surprise. He picked up the baby, cuddling it automatically.
That's her husband," Cushing said, comforting Capri who had been shaken from her reverie. He heard Ownie take a protesting Marie into the kitchen. Their angry voices came in a rumble of sound, no words but an occasional exclamation. Jeez, Ownie was a real weirdo.
The naked girl rose and began dancing again in the middle of the floor-with no music to accompany her. It was all in her Md.
Cushing kissed Capri, caressing her, helping to work the ol' pecker and she sighed and huddled close in his arms again. How did it feel to sit on a spike like that?
Marie shouted, then the. voices ceased. John looked concerned. "Will he hurt her?"'
"Hell, I dunno," Cushing said.
John got to his feet, holding the baby, and went to the kitchen door. He stood there as Cushing craned his neck. John was watching something, prong extended. Then he went into the kitchen.
"I'm so close," Capri whispered. He hugged her, humping up and she responded hotly. She was terribly excited now, fingers moving, fluttering, grasping. She kissed him, bit his neck, and bounced on the lance, rubbing herself on his body. Cushing helped her all he could-and felt her sudden climax.
She whimpered under the intense goad of it, jerking uncontrollably. Cushing held her butt down, rammed the cock at her and kissed her cheeks. She was a mad, wild thing for long moments, Shit! what a pussy!
He wanted to boot one, but could not. The ol' iron was there, but no spurt. Didn't he have his mind on it? Man! Hold her. She was twisting and pumping, trying to get more-delicious little dish. He'd lay in the sack and dream about this one Man!
Cooze, smooth cooze, like a mouth swallowing his dong. Love a gal like that. Gawd, tight! Silky skin and wriggles, like a frantic mink. Wish I had a picture of it. In color, man.
She was subsiding over it, dreamy-eyed and poohed out. Poontang on the half shell. Anyway the gal liked it; ol' Cushing would deliver, trust him. Yeh, pull up her skirts, gals and show us the golden notch. No pussy too tight, no pussy too big. First come, first fucked.
He kissed her and she sighed deeply, smiling foolishly, eyes fluttering. He lifted her off the tumid spear and she moaned, feeling it slip from the tender trap. He laid her down tenderly. Man, she was a little one, just a kid. Ran away from home for what? To get fucked in some hippy flat? Life. That's the way she is lived. Got to build memories for the old age, so they say. "Ma, I was screwed silly by a Marine in some lousy flea-bag-" That's livin', man.
When he stood up and looked down at her she seemed still smaller. Ten years old? She closed her eyes, and smiled; fresh fucked and happy.
He went over to the bedroom and looked inside. What the hell was going on? Sullivan snoring, on his back. Out cold. Ol' Harve curled up in a comer, ditto. Brandy and Clara making it, head to snatch, Jeez, don't they get tired? The Negro girl flipped out In another corner, snoring like Sullivan.
He stared at Clara, undulating, head buried in Brandy's shapely middle, going after the clit and the juice. Clara was a lush for spasms. Man! A gash hound.
He laughed at Sullivan. The bastard had got his fill finally. More pussy than he could handle. Or more pot. He went back for a cigarette, and when he returned to the bedroom, Clara was in the middle of a heaving boot. Orgasm coming out of her ears! He sat down and watched; some show, girl flesh all in an uproar.
She took a time about it, and Brandy didn't share the sensation. Brandy looked around after a bit, with Clara flopped on her back. She giggled on seeing Cushing. She was still high, he could see.
"Hey, Marine-"
"FE." Cushing said. "Howza cunt?"
Brandy giggled again, looking down at Clara's naked flesh spread under her chin. "So whatza big deal-?" Brandy sat up, stretching and looking at him sidelong. "You guys poop out, y'know?"
"Sure. No big deal." She grinned and waggled her bare breasts at him, wine-colored hair spilling off her round shoulders. "Got another one of them?"
Cushing Offered her the cigarette.
As she took it there was a blood-curdling scream from the living room.
They jumped. Cushing rolled and scrambled to his feet. Was someone being stabbed? He couldn't tell who had yelled---a girl though. Capri? He rushed out of the bedroom. Capri was sitting up, as startled as anyone.
Marie was screaming again and running across the room. Ownie came to the door of the kitchen, fists doubled, rage on his gray face. Cushing had a fast glimpse of Marie's face, a red smear of blood along her cheek-Ownie had slugged her already. "Come back!" Ownie Yelled, "Goddammit, come back 'ere! "
Marie ran into the door, fought the knob, got it open and flung herself out into the hall. Cushing stopped, looking from the open door to Ownie. He ought to go over and hack the bastard-just for luck.
He could hear Marie's footsteps along the hall, down the stairs. Marie was stark naked. "We gotta get 'er," he yelled. "Come on-" He grabbed his pants and ran out.
Confusion behind him. Ownie was yelling something but Brandy was shrieking at him, and someone opened a door on the hall. "Hey, wha's goin' on?"
Cushing didn't bother to answer. He paused to put on the pants., then down the. stairs. Leaning over the rail he could hear her down below, yanking and crying at the front door. She got it open and out into the night.
Christ, Marie was stark naked! Not one stitch!
She had panicked. She probably thought Ownie was after her to beat her. She probably thought he was Ownie, Cushing knew. Well, no help for it. Just have to catch her. He ran out to the street and looked both. ways. Too fuckin' dark. Must be near midnight.
To the left it was slightly downhill-she probably went that way, path of least resistance. He ran left. Why the hell should he chase her? Christ, let her go -she was nothing to him.
"Where is she?"
Cushing turned. It was Clara. So she had come out of it. Clara had a dress on, probably nothing underneath. She ran to him, clutching his, arm. Yeh, nothing on under it alright.
"God, he'll kill 'er, honey," Clara said excitedly. "He gets that way sometimes."
Brandy stumbled out of the door, pulling at a dress. Cushing took Clara's hand and they ran down the hill. There was a streetlight at the next intersection. He hadn't seen Marie in its light. She had turned then, before she reached it. He pulled up and Clara ran into his arms, giggling. Her hand found his dong in a hurry.
He ignored her rubbing, peering at the shrubbery and at likely hiding places. "Marie," he called. "Where are you?"
There were parked cars along both sides of the street. She might have crawled into one and might be cowering now behind the seat; she might be lying in the pools of shadow at the. sides of any one of the houses nearby. If she was, she'd know he was not Ownie. "Marie"
They came to an alley. It was a dark tunnel, with high fences and yawning mouths of garages. A thousand places to hide. A dozen yards down the alley, Cushing saw her, a white form, pale in the dusk, flickering along the edges of undetermined shadow, and then gone. He yanked Clara's hand: "There she is!"
Clara wore slippers, but the asphalt was murder on his bare feet. He could not run too fast-but then neither could Marie. He swore, sand and pebbles underfoot, he'd have bruises in the morning.
When they arrived at the place, no Marie. She might have gone left or right-or straight ahead. There was an open gate in the fence. On an impulse he pulled Clara through the gate. They were in a fenced yard with a dark house ahead. Trees, another low fence, damn, the ground was rough!
"That fuckin' dame-"
Clara giggled.
They found their way through the yard and went along the side of the house in the gassy drive. In another moment they came out on another street. No Mane.
Someone was yelling somewhere behind them. Clara said, "Sounds like Brandy--"
A car came along the street and Cushing pulled Clara down behind a clump of shrubbery. He was half naked; it might look funny if they were cops., funny enough for the hoosegow and an explanation in the AM. No thanks. Clara thought he was being amorous. She kissed him, trying to get his whang loose-Jesus, what a dame!
He got her up, arm around her, capturing one tit. It felt good. He pulled her along, still holding onto
"Don'cha wanna screw?"
"We gotta find Marie," he said. How much pot had she smoked-none?
There were more parked cars, tightly packed along the curbs. There were a few apartment houses, rows of fading duplexes. Which way would she have gone? He went out into the middle of the. street and looked each way. Nothing. "Marie!" No answer.
"Shit.!" "She's scared," Clara said.
He pulled her back into the shadow of a house. A group of people came from a house, chatting noisily, and got into several cars. Roaring engines, yells, and they pulled out. Clara had curled into his arms. She was warm and eager.
Marie must have been scared. She was no easily frightened kid. She, must be really afraid of Ownie. What a son of a bitch!
"Cut it out," he told Clara. She had unzipped him and gone inside to~ grab the tool.
"Nobody can see-"
"I can feel it, dammit."
She giggled. "Don't you like it?"
"Course I like it!"
She ducked, grabbed the head of it between her lips, pulling on it hotly. Cushing sucked in his breath. Damn! What a cunt! He reached for her, to pull her up-and hesitated. Man! That felt great!
Clara went to her knees in front of him, working over the sucker, teasing it, licking, squeezing it. Cushing took deep breaths, looking down at her bobbing head. Oh yeah-oh yeah-the sounds of oral combat were soothing.
Screw Marie. He leaned back against a building wall, breathing deeply and fondling her golden head. Oh yeah, baby.
Footsteps. Two guys came along the walk; he could hear them a hundred yards away. Clara looked up at him, never missing a beat. He pulled her into a deeper shadow and held her head. She tongued him provokingly. The two guys passed very near and when they had gone by, Clara giggled. She reached inside, his pants and gathered up his balls in her hands. Cushing gritted his teeth. She was gonna get the load in a minute-and she seemed to know it.
She had him at white heat, chest expanded, muscles taut and Marie appeared on the far side of the street.
Cushing watched her, his mouth open, eyes glazing. The volcano was about to erupt, and nothing could stop it. Nothing. Jesus, watch it baby-you're in the path of the lava! It's coming-it's comingMarie came along the far line of cars, tits bobbing. Pretty picture-it's coming-Jesus! Hang on!
Clara knew it. Feverish actions--oh Man! Couldn't Marie smell it? Ohhh-and convulsions! The stuff was spitting, spurting! Clara's breath was hissing; she was gulping, pulling, milking! Obbb, Jesus-get it all!
Cushing bent over, legs splayed, trembling. He held himself upright, watching the wonderful gyrations that Clara made; what a cocksucker! She gulped and gasped, but never missed the tempomost dames missed the tempo and fucked up the whole thing. Can't miss a single goddam, beatimportant. Cushing smiled down at her. Clara was a good shit. A real good shit.
Man! That puffed it out of a guy. Drained his fuggin' socks. Weak as a worm. But good,,.Man, it felt good. Good ol' Clara. What a mouth! Mouth like a cunt.
He looked up wearily. Marie. Hadn't he seen Marie?
A car came tooling along the street and Cushing hunched his shoulders, both hands on Clara's golden head. The guy couldn't see them. He looked up . again. The brakes went on; the car stopped -with a big rocking, and the guy stuck his head out the window, staring. Staring at the naked broad bareassing down the street.
Cushing laughed silently. Must be a blast; a guy don't expect to see a bare fanny in the street, not a nice round one like Marie's.
"What is. it?" Clara whispered.
"Nothin' " Cushing patted her, fondled her head. She went back to, the warm sucker.
The guy got out of the car and shagged ass over to the curb. Marie had ducked behind the parked boilers. Cushing watched the little. drama from his vantage point. Marie couldn't move fast, not as fast as the guy. He feinted and ducked around the car and caught her going the other way. Man! He must be a surprised slob.
Cushing heard Marie's yelp. Clara looked -up again. "What is it?",
Don't stop, honey," Cushing said. She went back to the long baloney. Half hard, but eager.
The guy had Marie against the car. She was putting up a fight, but not yelling anymore. Maybe he had her around the kisser. Cushing could no longer see the love match. They were on the parkway behind the cars. It would be grassy.
Clara got up, holding the weenie. She wiped hermouth, bright-eyed. "What was itMarie?"
"Yeah. A guy just grabbed her." Cushing pointed.
Clara giggled. "Let's go see, huh?"
"'Yeh." He took her hand and they went across the dark street as silently as possible. Cushing put his finger to his lips. Clara nodded, wanting to giggle. Cushing craned his neck around a cold, on the parkway parked Ford. There was movement some distance away; it looked like two wrestlers.
"Come on." He led her down the line of cars, fifteen, twenty yards, and paused. Now they could hear the struggles. It sounded like someone grunting, panting. Clara's eyes were huge in the night. Cushing grinned at her and stepped silently between two cars, half-carrying her.
Marie and the stranger were on the parkwayMarie on the bottom. The guy was between her raised thighs, plugging her slot like. a pile driver. Marie's head was free, no restraining gag. She was smiling at the sky, mouth open wide.
Cushing looked down at Clara; she had one hand pressed tightly over her mouth. The other hand went for his dong. The sight excited her. It would. He let her have it, play with it. He rubbed her round ass. Marie wasn't hurt. She was enjoying it.
He took Clara back across the street into a pool of shadow between two buildings. Let Marie have her fun, they'd wait. Clara didn't care, as long as she had her sucker. He sat on the grass, cuddling her.
"You really like me?" she asked.
Cushing blinked. "You kiddin'?'
"Well, you know maybe you just like what I do.
"Jeez, honey I think you're great! I'm nuts about you
She sighed. "You're not sore ?'
"About what?"
"Well-I said I wouldn't well, you know---"
Cushing smiled down at her. Man, what a cute little pussy. He hugged her, fondled her breasts and kissed her cheek. She smelled of jism. A guy would be crazy to turn away cunt like this.
He looked across the street toward the place where the guy was scragging Marie. They were still on the - ass. He kissed Clara's neck. "You hot, honey?"
She , giggled.
He said, "You wannt get your gun off?"
"Uh _huuhh " she sighed deeply, reaching down into his pants for the handle.
"That won't work yet."
She giggled. "It's still soft, sweetie-you want me to try to get it up?"
"Wait a sec." He slipped his hand between her soft, satiny thighs. She parted them instantly, cuddling into his arms-she knew what he was doing. Her intake of breath told him she wanted it. He slid his hand over the soft, furry nest. It was crawling under his fingers as though it was alive ... all by itself. She moved her loins, sucking in her breath, hugging him.
"Ohhh, golly, honey--'
"Tell me where it feels., best." His brazen fingers explored the quim, finding an upstanding little clit. When he touched, it she jumped.
"Oh right there!"
He tickled it and she, moaned, writhing against him. Man! She was hot as a forest fire in a broom closet. Ready to go up like a fuggin' rocket! He grinned at her, diddling cozily. She was a cute trick. Jeez, the way she moved those legs, and that ass! Crazy.
She had his dong in a grasp of steel, squeezing the life out of it. He had to reach down and take the poor fucker out of her hand. A guy could get strangled that way. She was too, excited to knowsquirming and moving her shoulders in pure heat. Man, in head It made the ol' pecker take notice.
Man, he wanted to take a picture of Clara back with him. He could look at it every day and get a hard-on. Just thinking about her and how she moaned in his ear when he frigged her. A sweet piece of meat!
Her arms snaked over him, messing in his hair, pulling his neck, she wanted to be kissed. She turned toward him, rubbing the titties on his chest, her tongue licking his face"Jeez, baby I want more then a finger"
Cushing grinned. "What you want, honey?"
"Oh, damn you-you know what I want" She was so hot she was trembling and jerking, panting in heat. Cushing had her to the edge; it wouldn't take much to push her off-God! How hot can a pussy get?
"Tell me," he whispered.
"Damn you I wanna get fucked!"
She was pulling at him, trying to fall backwards. She. wanted him on top. Cushing chuckled, enjoying it hugely. The ol' whang was standing up at attention again.
Suddenly he couldn't wait any longer. With a rush he almost slammed her down. She squealed and he scurried, knees between hers, grasping hand-cram it in! "Hurry-hurry-!"
She sighed and gasped, feeling the rampant prong enter her body and thrust mightily. She bucked, moaning as it pierced her and rioted. Crazy, mad thrusting; friction! He scooped up her frail body, holding it in both arms, ramming up into her as she gurgled happily. He felt her legs on his back, moving spasmodically and realized that he had caused her to orgasm again.
Yeah, man, she had been on fire!
He tapered her off, pumping into the throbbing orifice easily, greasily-Man! Even her fingernails were rattling. She shuddered like she was icy cold. She held him in a maddened grip, wearing off her nipples as she rubbed herself on his chest. She sighed so deeply he thought she was dying-man! It was like fucking a tornado!
He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. The penis throbbed inside her and she moaned in panting delirium. He almost forgot Marie.
When he looked across the street again, the stranger had pulled her to her feet and was pulling her along toward his car. Marie struggled against him, but he was the stronger. She wasn't putting up enough of a fight. Cushing frowned Shit.
He growled in his, throat. The guy slugged her. Marie slumped and the guy was trying to pick her up.
Cushing patted Clara's ass. She stirred, squeezing his cock and Cushing groaned. He lifted her off it and she yelped.
He saw the stranger look around suddenly. The guy stood perfectly stilt,, -searching the street with his eyes, holding Marie's drooping body. Cushing put his hand over Clara's mouth and slid around, getting to his knees. The guy would see him any second.
Clara knew what was going on now. He could tell that she saw the guy and Marie. Cushing took his hands from her mouth and she nodded at him, skirt about her waist. Man, she looked inviting! He licked his lips, warm pussy-anybody for warm pussy?
Shit.
He got to his feet and lunged from the shadows, making for the guy. The stranger saw him at once, Ad heard his feet. Without an instant's hesitation, the guy dropped Marie and ran.
Cushing let him go. He knelt over the supine girl, feeling her head . . . no blood. Look it them tits! He sat her up. She was out like a candle. Head lolling, mouth open. The guy had slugged her along the chin. He could see the welt.
He picked her up; a car could come along any second and bathe them in cold light . . . not good. He half carried, half dragged her to the nearest parkway, opposite side from where Clara waited. He laid her down, and her legs parted. Cushing looked at the slit a sparkle of wet winked at him. The ol' hard-on was nagging him. He'd pulled it out of Clara, and now it was out in the ice and snow.
He got on her and stuck it in. Deep. Yeah, nice.. He thrust it hard, deep, warm. Rammed it, fucked it. Oh yeah.
She opened her eyes, blinked. Her legs went up and rubbed against him.
"It's me, Otis," he said to her. "Remember me?"
She sighed. "Yeah-what the fuck we doin?"
He chuckled. "Screwing, baby."
"No kiddin' " She sucked in her breath and ne knew she. was remembering the other guy.
"He took off, honey. He couldn't stay."
"That son of abitch raped me!"
Cushing nodded. He looked over toward where Clara should be. He really shouldn't be poking this gash-but it felt so good. Clara was probably taking it easy after all the spasms.
"That's what you get," Cushing said, "if you run around the. street naked."
She moved her ass to accommodate him. "Ownie was gonna cut me-"
"Would he?"
"Hell yes, he would. He gets wild, don't know what he's doin'. He got a record, Ownie.'
"Oh yeah?"
"He cut a guy and spent a year in the cooler. But don't tell him I said so."
He rested on his elbows, thrusting it steadily. She wasn't quite as tight as Clara, but she moved real sexy. "How come you don't move out for crissake'
"I did once. He come after me."
"You scared of him, huh?"
"Hell yes, why you think I run out naked?"
"Is he cooled off now?"
She nodded, smiling up at him. "Yeah, probably. But don't go, honey. Le's talk a while, huh?"
He grinned. "We're, talkin' my language right now."
"That son of a bitch hurt me-" She rubbed her chin, wincing. "I'm gonna be a mess-"
Cushing turned his head; Clara was coming across the street toward them; she giggled. "You found 'er, I see." Clara sat down beside them and her hand strayed to Cushing's butt.
Marie looked at Clara, then pushed lightly at Cushing's chest. "The ground's awful hard, baby-"
He got up, withdrawing the wet thing, not wanting to. Clara giggled and batted it with her hand: 'Next-"
"Next nothin' Come on, let's go back and get Cutie into some clothes." Cushing rose and pulled Marie to her feet. He encircled her waist, looking at her. "You OK, honey?" The bare tits brushed his chest.
"Oh, this beautiful thing-" Clara said, seizing the rampant cock in both hands and licking the end. She was sitting, eager as ever. Cushing stood, wanting to let her play games with it, hugging Marie. to him. Marie was cold, shivering a little. He patted her bare ass, and she wriggled her pussy into his hip and cuddled up to him.
Cushing looked along the dark street. Nothing moved. Clara was busy over the cock, inciting it and loving it. Marie's hips moved suggestively against his hip. He knew he couldn't hold out with all that pussy so close and so warm. He kissed Marie and she responded warmly, her arms went about him.
Clara's mouth was "Compelling,tingling harassing and suddenly he knew he couldn't hold out. He began to stiffen.
Marie chuckled, kissing him more passionately. Clara increased her efforts, the sounds of her quest were plain to all ears. She had let go the weenie with her hands and was holding him by the leg and the balls.
"Let go," Marie whispered. "Let it come, baby--"
Cushing gasped, jerked, and the flood poured out.
Marie held him tightly, kissing him, rubbing her quim on him; he would have fallen to the grass without her arms and the prop of her hot body. Clara was frantic in her chase and her gobbling, hissing breath and bobbing head. He moaned, and they held him up.
Clara was wonderful; she made it last forever. He staggered but did not fall; his legs were heavy, he was tired. God, what a pass!
Marie licked in his ear, making him shudder and he felt up under her ass and made her jump. Marie .. was a good shit. He was suddenly glad he'd come looking for her. He'd even flatten Ownie for her. Maybe he'd do it anyhow. He didn't like Ownie much.
"Got enough, honey?" Marie said to Clara.
Clara giggled. "Sorry, none left for you."
Cushing pulled them along. He got Clara to her feet and they staggered back across the street. Man, he was dead tired.
They met Dessie when they approached the apartment. The big, dark girl ran to them, eyes huge. "God! We were worried about you, honey!" She. embraced Marie. "That fucking Ownie oughta be whipped-you poor kid!" -
Cushing asked, "Where's Ownie?"
"I dunno. He went looking-all of 'em did. I just found out about it a minute ago." Dessie pulled off a light coat and wrapped Marie in it. "You're cold, honey-"
Two bearded guys stood in a doorway and watched them pass and a naked girl crossed the hall in front of them, looking at them casually, disappearing into another room. The blood-red lights were out and a normal but dim light chased shadows in the apartment. The place was vacant; even the music was off. Dessie took Marie into the. bedroom.
Cushing flopped on the mat and motioned for a cigarette. Clara brought them and selected two. She put them both in her lips awkwardly and grinned at him, clicking a lighter. Clara was a good shit too. A damn good shit. Cuship-g smiled at her fondly.
She got the cigarettes lit and handed him one. "I don' want you t' go back."
"I gotta."
She shook her head. 'You don't really; I mean you can really do anything you want."
"I'm in the damn Marine Corps, baby."
"That's just an excuse." She puffed on the cigarette and looked at the glowing end. "I don't want to lose you. "
"You're cute. I don't wanna lose you either." He reached out and touched her face. "Maybe I'll take you with me."
"Could you?"
He shook his head.
"Then don't go."
"I have to go, baby."
She frowned and bit her lip. "But they'll kill you!" She moved closer, put one warm hand on his thigh. "I want you like this, not in some fucking grave in Viet Nam-1 want you to stay with me."
He smiled fondly. "Baby I only-we only know each other a few hours."
"Yes, but-well, that doesn't matter. Can't you go AWOL?'
"Sure, baby, but they'll come after me, you know?"
"You can-change your name, grow a beard anything. Please, honey-"
He yawned behind his hand. "Le's talk about it later. I'm dead." Man, his eyes were heavy. It must be three in the AM, maybe, later. He put the cigarette butt out and stretched out on the mat.
Clara cooed in her throat and came, caressing him instantly, kissing his cheek with her soft lips. He wound a hand about her supple body and drew her close. Yeh, she was a helluva, good shit. If he had more glop he'd fuck her again.
In another minute he was asleep.
Chapter 4
He woke again when the music started. Someone
had put the tape on; someone was dancing, people were talking. He was on the mat in the living room, but not alone.
I -only got couple years," Bramwell was saying. "Then I ged out. Stay out."
"We can live here," Dessie replied. "Couple years, Whassat?"
Cushing opened his eyes. 0l' Harve was plastered, so was Dessie. The two of them were sitting beside him, head to head, talking very seriously, looking into each other's eyes, very blearily.
"Have children, lots kids," Bramwell said. "You wan' have kids?"
"Love kids," Dessie agreed. "Big fucking mess of kids.
Cushing sighed. Jesus, they were talking about getting married. Come on, Harve You're drunk. He blinked. Man! that goddam music was loud. The blood-red lights were on again too. Only one lightthe rest of the room was murky.
"Love you" Dessie was saying. She was patting Bramwell's dumb face. "Love you so much---"
Cushing stretched his neck, Man! he was cramped. He rolled slightly, looking around. Where was everybody? Harve and Dessie, didn't seem to notice him at all.
Two shadows were dancing, he couldn't see who they were, not enough light to tie you shoes. He could hear a jumble of voices from the bedroom. He rolled and sat up. .
Dessie and Harve were kissing; it looked funny. They were sitting facing each other, funny. Dessie wore a kind of dress, like a shirt, legs bare. Beads. Damn nice legs..
Cushing went into the bedroom looking for a cigarette. More blood-red light. Sullivan was sitting in the center of the mat, smiling owlishly. He was stark naked 'and so was the girl lying in front of him. Cushing moved closer it was Clara.
"Sleep," Sullivan said sonorously, waving his hands over his head. "Sleep, sleep--"
Clara's eyes were closed but she was awake, Cushing could see. She was tying not to giggle. Sullivan was hypnotizing, her.
"Don't wanna sleep," Clara said.
"Shut up-you gotta sleep-sleep--" Sullivan flicked his fingers in her face. "Close your goddam, eyes. You're 'sleep."'
"No I'm not."
"Hey, put me to sleep," Cushing said.
Clara sat up instantly, smiling at him. Sullivan turned bloodshot eyes. "Jeez, the old hotshot is back. Where the fuck you been, hot stuff?"
"Sleepin' Gimme a cigarette."
Sullivan looked around blearily. "Where's m' pants?" He picked up his dong and talked to it. "Hey cock, where'd you put m' pants?"
Clara giggled. "It don't know."
"It knows everything," Sullivan said, rolling his eyes. "Man, its been places no mortal man has ever done."
Cushing prowled the room and found a pack, there were five left. In another comer was a book of matches.. Sitting down by Clara he lit up. Sullivan looked terrible. Clara looked fresh as a rose. She had to be seven years old; no older person could survive.
Clara came to him, looking up under dark lashes, hair piled high on her head. She was damn cute. Cushing curled an arm out and drew her in. She came, wriggling and warm.
"Goin' to, send this here cock to Tibet," Sullivan said, "To be a monk, or whatever them prayer-eatin' Joe's are. Be the smartest fuckin' monk in Tibet."
"You better go with it," Cushing said, "T' keep it company. Cocks gets lonesome in strange countries."
"How you know?"
"Well, shit," Cushing said, "don't it stand to reason?"
I'll send m' balls, along," Sullivan said seriously. He picked the dong up and let it lay in his hand. Hey, little pecker, stan' up."
Clara looked at him and giggled.
"Where's Brandy?" Cushing asked.
"Nex' door," Clara said, snuggling close.
Cushing dumped ashes from the cigarette. What the hell was next door? He'd been hearing about it since he came here. Probably nothing but another pad like this one. Whose idea was the goddam red lights? Jesus, Sullivan looked awful.
"Come on, baby, lets. go," he said. She rose obediently.
"Where the hell you going' Sullivan asked.
"I dunno," Cushing said. "But come on. And bring your pecker."
Sullivan talked to it. "Wanna go? He looked up. "It says yes."
Clara giggled. "It does not." She clung to Cushing.
A couple whom Cushing had not seen before were dancing, but entirely clothed, at the end of the living room. They paid no attention to anything but themselves. Dessie and ol' Harve still sat staring at each other and talking, interrupting the talk with kisses,.
Sullivan padded over to them and bent down to look but they ignored him. He shrugged and came back.
"The Marines 'ave landed-but they're. drunk."
Cushing was eyeing Clara. "Where's youf clothes, baby?"'
"I left em.
"Where?"
She considered, cocking her head. She giggled. "I dunno,"
She was a little more dazed that he had thought. Her eyes seemed to focus but her brain was shedding--or crammed with cotton. She moved like a mechanical doll. Damn cute. Cushing patted her bare fanny. "Le's go find your clothes."
Sullivan said: "Find mine too."
It was four in the morning. Cushing stared at his watch. Watch hadda be right, watches didn't lie. He took Clara into the bedroom and told her to lie on the mat. She was obedient, lying face up, expectant. Sullivan stood in the doorway and watched stupidly, like they were playing a game.
There were blankets wadded up against the walls, and Cushing covered her. She regarded him with huge eyes, solemn and quiet. He kissed her lightlydarting tongue.
Go to sleep." She closed her eyes.
Sullivan turned about and wandered out. "Harve where's my clothes?"
Bramwell tried to focus in this new direction, and made a poor job of it. He bleared, at Sullivan, frowning in terrible concentration, moving slightly back and forth.
"Who'zat?"
"It's me, Sulliban."
"Sulliban?"
Their heads were close together, peering at each other. Cushing glanced, back at Clara; she seemed to. be asleep. He went into the kitchen and found a drink. He needed something. Man, this constant partying would kill an ordinary guy. Good they were marines.
He downed half a glass and went back to watch the two knotheads. Sullivan had given up the clothes question and was fondling Dessie. She seemed quite happy with his arms and hands. Bramwell looked like a glass-eyed Buddha.
"Gon'make this w-woman my w-w-wife.."
Sullivan's wrinkled weenie was showing signs of life. He half-sat, half-knelt by Dessie, kissing her, feeling her and mooning over her. He was floating too., Cushing knew, but even in his stupefied state, Sullivan knew she was a female. All females, to Sullivan, were fair game. He had said so often enough.
"I----love you," Dessie said. She thought it was ol' Harve. Must. She, laid on her back when Sullivan pushed her down. Cushing snickered in his whiskey as Sullivan climbed on her. That goddam Sullivan. Out on his feet but still after cunt. Man! What a tale he'd have to tell when the leave was over.
"Dessie-?' said Bramwell. He peered at Sullivan's naked ass. "Dessie-where you?"
Sullivan was in the saddle. Dessie was spread and taking it like a laid lady. Cushing walked over and looked down at them. She was smiling, eyes closed. Bramwell was reaching out to touch Sullivan's ass. "Dessie.
Cushing dropped the glass and wandered to the door. Was the whole world red? He looked at his hands, red. Deep red. Opening the door, he looked into the hall. It was dark out there. Dark and quiet.
Behind him: "Dessie-"
He went into the hall. Where the hell was next door? Which door? There were lots of doors. He counted them, one, two, three-four- "Next door?" he said aloud. Was he drunk? He stopped and considered it. He was feeling no pain. Not drunk. Damn close to it, though. Better not drink no more. Maybe jus' one more. No, better not drink no more.
He looked at the first closed door. There was a paper pasted to it. "Heaven." "Heaven," he said out loud. He opened the door and went in.
It seemed to be an apartment exactly like the one he had just left. Living room, kitchen, bath and bedroom. Exactly - the same, except it was dim; the bathroom light was on. No music.
There were people in the room; he could hear them breathing; someone snored. People asleep. Of course they were asleep. It was for crissake the middle of the night. He took out the book of matches and scratched one. He held it up and peered around.
A baby cried. Cushing looked toward the sound, squinting in the yellow glow of the match. John and his, wife, Helene, were lying together on a mat, the baby between them. Helene gathered the child up, petting it. Beside them, Ownie lay atop Capri, fucking her slowly and devotedly. They both seemed half asleep.
Cushing looked around for Marie. There were two other couples, both nearly naked, lying on the mats, but no Marie or Brandy. That goddam Ownie.
He found Marie in the bedroom with a strange men-a man he'd never seen before. The guy had a full beard, reddish, and a mat of hair on his wide chest. He lay sprawled on the bed, with Marie between his widespread legs, her cheek on his limp whang.
Cushing patted her bare fanny; she mumbled and yawned. She was OK anyway. He looked at the rump, considered scragging her, then went back past the sprawled sleepers to the hall. He crawled in beside Clara and she groped for his dong, found it and cuddled close, making happy sounding noises. Good ol' Clara.
He went to sleep again.
He awoke to noise.
The room was light again; it was day-probably afternoon, he thought. He sat up; what the hell day was it? A guy lost all track of time. He tried to count on his fingers. One day, two days, three-no, it damn well couldn't be three days. They were due back in three days. He began to count again. When was it they had met Dessie in the cafe? Yesterday?
It must have been yesterday.
He heard Clara giggle. He looked around; he was all alone. in the bedroom.
His mouth tasted like a fried jockstrap. When had he washed his teeth last? He needed a shave.
Man, he was stiff . Crawling to the door, he looked into the living room. Jeez, they were noisy. His eyes went round.
Holy shit! They were having a party! No wonder it was noisy! Everyone was bare-assed naked and shaking. Music, singing, clapping, shaking the meat. Cushing stared: Little Clara was in the. middle of it all without a stitch. She was dancing opposite a skinny man with a mop of black hair and a long prong.
Cushing stood, leaning against the door. Christ! a guy had to get used to waking up to all that racket and the tits! Man! He stared at them. Five or six couples, all naked as hell!
His stomach growled. Hungry. He began making his way around the dancing, gyrating throng, sidling toward the, kitchen. Someone called to him; a girl suggested he remove the pants, and Brandy appeared in front of him, laughing.
"Darling, you aren't havin' fun!"
"Oh, yes I am," Cushing said. He took the drink she gave him and gulped it. Whiskey. He made a face, feeling it sting his lungs on the way down. That was better. She came very close, satiny and naked, tits waggling. Man! Brandy was built! He felt the ol' whang stir. All that girl flesh was getting to him.
"Hey, you wanna ball?" she said.
"Yeah." He slipped an arm about her and pulled her toward the kitchen. On the way he turned toward the bath, wash his face at least. By the time they reached the bath, Brandy had acquired a bottle. How'd she do that? He was surprised. But he took another gulp.
"It'll wake you up," she said. "You're still asleep."
"No'm not, just fuzzy." He. turned the water on in the basin. "Hey, what day is it?"
A man came to the door: "The sparrow is on the wing, m'lady-"
Brandy giggled and gave the bottle to Cushing. She took the newcomer's hands and slipped out, closing the door behind her. Cushing stood in the middle of the little, room, swaying slightly, listening to the crowd in the apartment. He felt alone. Sighing, he took another gulp from the bottle.
He took his time in the bathroom, washing thoroughly, methodically. A girl came in and sat on the john, staring at him.
"You're new here, huh?"
"Yeh, I'm Otis."
She smiled. "I'm Phyllis. Are you drunk?"
"Not much, jus' a little fuzzy." He smiled down at her. Damn strange, talking to a dame who was using the growler. Naked dame too. Pretty tits.
She said, "Whyncha take your clothes off? You sure. are new."
"Oh. Yeah, guess I should."
She gave him a dazzling smile, got up and flushed the thing. "Come on out, honey." She disappeared.
Cushing took another drink. Man! She was alright. His stomach growled. Yeh, hungry. He put the bottle in a closet on the top shelf. It took him five minutes to get out of his clothes. He put them on the shelf.
It was a square kitchen, same as the other apartment, sink, drainboard, shelves and a small table. There were garish posters all over the walls, however, and strings of beads or shiny stuff hanging from the ceiling lamp. Ownie was sitting on one of the three kitchen chairs with a girl on his lap. She was facing him, moving slightly, holding him about the shoulders.
Cushing grunted at them. That goddam Ownie. He'd forgotten him. Not a bad-looking chick he was hosing.
He prowled the shelves, finding bread and cereal and rice and cheese. He took the food to the table and sat down beside the screwing couple. Ownie glared at him but said nothing. The girl snickered. She said, "Hi."
Another couple came flinging into the kitchen, "Who's got the weed?"
"Not here," Ownie said.
The new girl came over to Cushing: "I love you," she said. She kissed his cheek and went back to the party. Cushing continued to eat., Crazy bastards.
The girl on Ownie's lap - snuggled up, holding Ownie firmly, head in the crook of his neck. She regarded Cushing with solemn eyes, watching him wolf the food down. She had a lovely, supple body. It made him horny.
He went into the living room, into a gale of laughter, music and singing. Now he wanted a girl. Where, the hell was Clara? Everyone was dancing, singing or talking. Sullivan came from the hall, walking as though he was pushed by a high wind; he listed badly and had to fight the door to. get through it. Cushing went to him:
"What the fuck day is it?"
Sullivan blinked at him. "Wha' day is what?"
"Lissen, you know what day it is."
"Then why're you askin'me?"
Cushing pushed the stocky man against the wall.
He wagged a finger in the other's face. "Where's ol Harve? He'll know."
"Th' Marines have landed," Sullivan said importantly. "Le's git us a dame."
"What the fuck day is it?"
Sullivan lifted his cock and looked at it. "Hey cock, wha' day zit?" He looked at Cushing. " 'At cock knows ever'thing."
"What's it say?"
"Pisssssss," Sullivan said. "Thass what it says.
Pisssss. "
"You're drunk.
Sullivan nodded. "So'm I' He lurched away.
Cushing went into the hall and turned right. The door to the other apartment was standing open and the red glow bathed it and part of the hall carpet with blood.
Dessie and Bramwell were in the bedroom screwIng.
Cushing leaned on the door and shouted at them: "Bramwell, for crissake-"
Harve looked up, wrinkling his brow. He could not locate the sound.
"Harve!" Cushing shouted. "Wha' day zit?"
"T'day," Bramwell said reasonably. He homed in on Cushing, peering up at him. "Go'way. I got my future---a girl here."
Cushing sat down on the mat. Dessie's white face screwed around toward him. She smiled as though she recognized him. She was naked as Bramwell, legs up, rocking with the motion.
"We got to, get back," Cushing said. "We got one more day or not?"
"Three days," Bramwell said. "We got three days. Three-day pass."
Cushing had a new idea. "When'd you meet Dessie?",
"Yesserday," Bramwell said.
"Pos'tive?"
"Oh yes, pos'tive."
"Where'd you meet her?"
"Inna resserant."
Cushing nodded. Jezis, that was right. Ol Harve knew what he was talking about. Not drunk then, Harve. He looked at Dessie. Sure a nice chunk of stuff. He looked at his dong. It was eager. Eager for girl. He pushed at Harve.
"Hey, we pals., huh?"
Bramwell had forgotten him; he frowned, looking around. Cushing took his chin and pulled it. He looked into Bramwell's murky eyes,, "We pals, huh?"
"Oh, yeah, sure."
"Gimme, some then."
"Gimme some what?" Bramwell was puzzled.
"Girl, what you think!.,'
Bramwell stopped fucking her. He seemed to consider it, letting it perk down into the depths. His face was blank.
"C'mon," Cushing said, "roll off it. Lemme at it."'
Dessie snickered.
Cushing pushed him and Bramwell rolled sideways. The wet,dong squished out and Dessie sighed. Bramwell disentangled himself slowly and ponderously and rolled onto his back breathing hard. Cushing crawled atop Dessie, feeling her warmth. envelop him. The ol' one-eyed snake poked into her without help. She was slippery in the cooze. She said "Oof, when he thrust it in.
Bramwell. felt for her hand and held it.
"Oh yeh," Cushing breathed. Girl flesh. That's what it felt like. Dessie was all girl, warm girl, lots of girl. Jeez, get it in deep; make her jump, and make her beg for it. He'd wanted to scrag Dessie ever since they found her. Was it yesterday?
She curled up around him too; warm thighs, squirmy belly, moaning a little. Maybe it was cooing a little, yeh, she cooed like a dove. It felt good.
Somebody came in and flopped beside. them. Cushing looked around. Capri. Yeh, he remembered her, Capri., From last night. She didn't even notice him. She was pulling at a guy who practically jumped on her, humped her. Man, lookit 'em. fuck! No wonder she didn't notice him, she was kissing the guy. Pretty frantic dame.
Ol Harve was singing to himself, mumbling. He always mumbled when he got potted. Flat on his back: prick stiff as a hammer handle.
"Jeez, Clara baby, you're the best," he said in her ear.
She snickered. "I'm Dessie. You're Otis."
He looked at her. Dessie alright. How come he's thifiking about Clara? He liked Clara, that's why. Sure liked her. "You're a damn good lay," he said.
"Allus, was."
"Sullivan get in your ass?"
She snickered. "Maybe. Where izzy?"
"I dunno. Talkin' to 'is cock somewheres.
Bramwell sat up. "Preacher," he said. "Thass what we need is a preacher."
"What's he talkin' about?" Cushing asked.
"We're gonna get married," Dessie said. "I love him, you know that?"
Cushing pumped it into her; there was something wrong with that statement but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Good ol' shit, Harve," he said loyally.
Bramwell got to his feet shakily. "Preacher." He stumbled to the, door.
"Hey, Harve!" yelled Cushing. But Harve didn't hear. He disappeared. Dessie looked after him, still rocking with the motion.
"I love him," Dessie said. "'Thall my heart. Mall my heart an' soul. Do it a lil faster."
Cushing, thrust hard and scooted his knees up and jabbed her a dozen times fast. Ohhhh, Jezis! That was nice. She responded, sucking in her breath and blinking at him. He felt a great affection for Dessie; sweetheart of his pal, Harve. Great affection.
The guy rolled off Capri, his dingus was shiny wet, He sat beside her and produced two cigarettes as if by magic. They lit up and another guy stumbled in. Cushing looked at them, luxuriating in Dessie's warmth, he felt removed from the scene; they were riot even on the same plane. The guy asked Capri for a ball, She wanted to finish the cigarette first, the second guy took it. from her and handed it to the first, Then he pushed Capri down and got on her. Cushing watched the guy prong tier-like stabbing her with a pink sword. They curled up together, bouncing with activity.
"Do it fast again," Dessie whispered.
He humped her with quick stabs, getting out of breath in the process. "You love ol' Harve?" he asked.
"Uh huh."
That. was funny. He giggled to himself. A dame in love with ol Harve. Dumb as hell, Harve. Dumbest shit inna platoon. Somebody was hollering in the next room.
It got quiet in a few minutes. Somebody was talking. Cushing strained his ears, but he couldn't hear-something, about God and the Almighty. A few voices were cheering. Somebody yelled for Dessie.
Dessie stopped undulating. "Whazzat?"
A piping voice took up the strain of: "Here comes the bride," and a half dozen voices yelled it out.
Cushing blinked as Bramwell and a group of naked males crowded into the room. It was very noisy for a minute; hands lifted him off her and shoved him aside. He protested, and Dessie screeched. Capri and the two men stared, then got up and yelled with the rest: "Dessie's gettin' married Dessie's gettin' married-"
They all shoved into the living room and Cushing followed, open-mouthed. What the hell was going on?
"Dessie's gettin' married" They sang it and shouted it, clapping hands in rhythm: "Dessie's gettin' married-" Cushing peered round the room, naked people prancing Bramwell grinning like a fool, and Dessie hugging him, jism running down her legs. Cushing lurched aside as Ownie and Clara pushed past him into the bedroom.
"Clara!" He grabbed at her, but Ownie hustled her to the mat. Cushing nearly fell; he wasn't coordinating too well. He grabbed the door and put his feet out to hold himself upright. The sonofabitch Ownie was on her, pronging her, humping her, thrusting, jabbing-and Clara was giggling.
"Dessie's gettin' married-"
Cushing, looked around. The big guy with the beard was waving his arms and taking charge. "Simmer down, sweethearts" He had a reddish beard, a big pot and a fleshy nose. His dong hung down a foot.
"We are gathered here today in the presence of pot and conscience-" The assembled lechers laughed. "-notwithstanding the power vested in me by our gracious leader, the God of Love, I ask you one and all to conform to the laws of the great State of Free Expression!
In the yells of approval, Cushing lurched into the. bedroom. Ownie was fucking her like there was no tomorrow. Didn't that sonofabitch ever stop? The goddam lizard face-the shithead-the- He dived at Ownie and pushed him. Clara squealed, kicking. Ownie yelled and jabbed with his elbow and Cushing kneed him. There was a quick flurry and Cushing found himself on his back, staring at the ceiling. He blinked. His head felt huge. A band around his forehead. Man! He was feeling the booze.
He looked sideways. Ownie was back on her screwing her sinuously. Clara's eyes were closed. She was smiling.
Jesus, he wanted her. Sitting up slowly, he felt his head. Nothing broken. Christ, Ownie had a flat ass. Naked flat ass. Big pair of balls too. He balled up his fist and looked at it. He'd cold-cock Ownie, Man! Knock his fuckin' teeth into the nex' county.
Sullivan said, "You're the bes' man."
Cushing looked around. Where the hell had he come from? "What?"
"Bes' man," Sullivan said. "Dessie an' Harve says you gotta be bes' man. Ged. up."
"Bes' for what?"
"They're gettin' married," Sullivan said. "Jeez, come on." He tried to lift Cushing by the arm.
He let himself be pulled up. Brandy was standing in the doorway yelling at him. The crowd in the next room was making a racket. Damn, it was noisy. Sullivan pulled him and the naked Brandy ran to grab the other arm. They stepped over Ownie's bobbing ass and staggered into the living room. A cheer went up.
Cushing tried to struggle. free of the grappling arms. He could walk, for crissake. Brandy pushed herself against him, soft tits. Jeez, that's what he wanted-girl. But they pointed him toward the center of the room and hustled him along. Sullivan was chortling. Everyone was cheering it seemed like. Cushing looked around at the assembled groupevery damn one of them stripped to the pores. Capri, John and Helene and the baby; Phyllis, snickering at him and Marie. Jeez, Marie was coming over to take his arm too. Man, he could ram it UP Marie!
The big guy with the reddish beard was in front of him. Cushing blinked-the guy was huge. Lookit that dong! The belly button in front of his bleary eyes was a foot across, wasn't it? Cushing shook his head. That didn't help. The fog remained.
Somebody told him to take his place. Marie huddled up close; where was Sullivan? He looked around, and saw ol' Harve. Hey, Harve and Dessie!
"-gathered here in the sigh of almighty pot--"
Cushing peered at the big guy. "Whozat?" he asked Marie.
"Brother David," she said in his ear. "Shaddup."
Brother David was marrying ol' Harve and Dessie. Yeh. Could you get married stark naked? Man! What a way to tell the bes' man. He giggled at his joke. He reached around Marie and got a handful of ass. She liked it; she reached for his drooping ding dong and squeezed it. Brother David talked on. He talked about peace and about love and about children in this hideous land. He mentioned the power of love and the equality of human beings, and Cushing's attention wandered. Brother David had a fine, sonorous voice, but the high-sounding words dripped off his skin. Cushing could not keep his mind on them.
He was startled to see Phyllis holding tight to a man's shoulder, her pretty face turned toward the speaker, and another man working his doodad into her from behind.
Then he noticed that most of the audience was somehow aroused by this naked wedding. Rampant cocks pronged out here and there, some. massaged, some tickled. Capri slid down on the floor and a man mounted her quickly. Brother David never wavered.
Ol' Harve had a great one, sticking out like a cannon. Sullivan was behind Dessie, petting her. From the look on Sullivan's face, he was fondling her with the rod also. Dessie kept giggling over her shoulder.
"-pronounce you man and wife."
They pushed Harve to Dessie and the two of them kissed. A roar went up and cheers of joy. Cushing found himself cheering like the rest. 01, Harve married! He couldn't believe it. He had to kiss the bride.
"Congratulations, congratulations!"
Harve was swamped with well-wishers, slapping his back and pumpina his hand. Brother David's bulk interposed between Harve and Dessie. "Ah, my dear-" Brother David swept her up, kissing her.
"Damn," Marie was, saying, "weddings allus make me horny-" She massaged his whang. Cushing pulled her close.
"Where's the fuckin' rice-?"
"In the pot."
The crowd was happy. Someone started the music. Cushing lifted Marie's leg, feeling her pushing his dong at her cleft. "Lay me down, lay me down-"
Brother David had Dessie on the mat. Man! What a huge blubber! Dessie's, legs, around him, the fat, bobbing ass ramming it. Jeez, Brother David could really boff a broad!
Bramwell was at the other side of the room, in a swirl of females. They giggled, screamed and rippled, one of them sitting on him., the others flocking close. Kiss the bride; kiss the groom, yeh!
Man! Everybody was, screwing! Cushing fell, dragging Marie with him. They scurried, tangling legs, pulling. Cushing got on her, leaning on his elbows, and let her guide it. Oh yeh, that's the. place.
Ownie came out of the bedroom. He stood at the door, his eyes widened at the sight. Cushing almost laughed. Ownie went from couple to couple, eyes bright. He slid behind one of the girls about Harve and fed it to her. She hardly seemed to notice.
It was all too frantic. Cushing pounded Marie, conscious of all the turmoil of sound about him. Girls squealed; guys were panting and grunting. A few guys were trading off, running here and there. Capri yelled that she didn't want it that way
Brother David eased back and sat down. Instantly a man took his place, kissing Dessie and pronging her. Kiss the bride.
Cushing laid with the tool in Marie and got his breath. Man! A guy could get carried away and kill himself on gash. She bucked up at him.
"C'mon, don't stop." He grunted, "Then you get on top."
"OK," she giggled at him. "Roll us over."
It was hard to do. A hell of a struggle. The prick came out of her and she yelled. Cushing flopped on his back, waiting for her to climb on. Nothing. He looked up. Brother -David had swept her into his bear-like arms. Marie chortled and her legs went around him as he stood. Brother David lifted her high and sat her down on the spike. It impaled her.
Cushing closed his, eyes. The world began to spin. He opened them. It slowly settled , down into an uneasy truce. He watched Ownie leave one girl and go to another. Close to him, Sullivan was curled around Brandy. She was kneeling and Sullivan was undulating, holding her with a death grip on one tit and her snatch. Brandy's, mouth was open in an V.
Was it yesterday that they had gone to the cafe and met Dessie? Sure it was.
Clara. He remembered screwing Clara on the roof. Man! He wanted to go back there and do it again. He sat up groggily. He was almost face to face with Brandy. Sullivan's dumb face peered at him over her shoulder, only Sullivan wasn't seeing anything; his eyes were glassy. He was working it into her. A guy came over and put his dong into Brandy's mouth; she began pulling at it automatically, not even looking up.
Cushing got to his knees and began to crawl toward the bedroom. Someone grabbed him, arms about his body. He felt a cock poking at him. He looked back. Ownie! He was startled. Ownie was humped over his back, trying to get the weenie into an orifice! Jesus! And Ownie's eyes were glazed; The guy was a robot. Cushing yelled.
Ownie had a wrestler's grip, both arms about Cushing's waist. Pronging, bucking, poking. Ownie cursed: "Goddam, go in-go in-"
Even in his foggy state, Cushing knew that Ownie had thought he was a female. He, felt Ownie's fingers, his sphincter gave off shocks and Cushing yelled again. Then the head of it rammed and oozed in.
Ownie was slick. With partial success, his grip was steely, the cock humped and rocked. Cushing swung one arm after the other; nothing worked. He was buggered. He fell sideways, legs kicking. But Ownie was like a second skin, clinging worse than a fever. His stroking, pumping whang bored deep and Cushing felt fire, pain and the huge invading bulk of it.
He lay still for a moment, trying to think. Ownie writhed busily. It didn't hurt all that bad, but it felt strange, the cock in him. Cushing panted, swearing and almost crying in his predicament.
Marie came toward him then; Brother David was finished with her. She dropped to her knees beside him and he realized suddenly that she was looking at Ownie. Cushing watched her kiss him. He sighed.
Sonofabitch, pronged by Ownie! And he. was too likkered up to do, anything but squirm. Jezis, that Ownie could make. it go! Long practise. The pain subsided-he was stretched; now he relaxed and it was easier, but the spear was huge, it felt huge. Cushing felt Eke he wanted to crap. But it didn't feel bad. Hey, not bad. Just lay still and let the shithead do the work.
Marie was, all over Ownie, kissing him, loving him. What the hell she see in that lizard-face? But Ownie pushed her off, concentrating on the screwing. Did Ownie really think he was a dame? Marie giggled and flopped on her back. John had crawled up over her. Cushing turned his head and watched John plug her. Helene sat with the, baby just behind him.
"Helene smiled as Brother David loomed up, big belly and throbbing dong. She put the child aside. "I wanna get pregnant again," she said to him.
"Ah, that can be arranged, my dear," David said, putting a knee between hers. Cushing sighed. He laid his cheek on the rug and relaxed. Ownie was working up to a sperm-shoot.
The baby cried, and Brother David petted it as he screwed Helene. "There, there., listen to the music-"
"He's wet," Helen said. "I better change 'im."
Cushing looked over his shoulder. Ownie was humping in convulsions. Had he shot it? Cushing couldn't feel anything. He waited. Ownie went into a spasm, then he jerked wildly and broke his rhythm, jabbing involuntarily. Ownie's grasping hands loosed, and Cushing pulled away. He felt the cock dribble out. He scrambled the few yards to the, bedroom.
Shit. Clara was on her back and someone had beat him to the meat. Cushing sat, feeling under him. Wet. Damn. Ownie bad left a wad alrigbt. He wiped it up with a cloth. Looking around, be could see Ownie heading for the kitchen.
Marie was still getting it, and so was Helene. Brother David was a huge bastard; his big blubbery ass assaulted her, but she seemed. to enjoy it. Another couple was screwing beyond them, and several were dancing. The music spilled out; it was getting dark outside and very dim in the room. The wedding was a big success alright.
He crawled over to Clara. She turned her bead and smiled at him. "Kiss me."
Cushing kissed her. The guy on top looked at him, then put his head back in her neck and went on with his chore. Clara smoothed the back of his head and batted her eyes at Cushing.
"You went an' left me."
"Did I? No I didn't."
She pouted her lips and be kissed them again, When they kissed he felt the movement, They guy on her was belaboring her smoothly.
"I 'member you. You're Otis."
He nodded. That was him. "I'm number fort - three."
She blinked. Then she giggled. Did she remember that? He couldn't tell-it was a million years ago. No, it was last night, This guy on her must be number fifty-three . . . at least.
He squirmed around, lying down beside her, bead on his hand. She was a cute trick, and young. It struck him again how young she seemed. Her hand crept along his thigh, reached his dingus and curled around it.
"Who is 'e?" Cushing whispered, indicating her partner.
She giggled. "I dunno."
The guy looked up again. "Come on, how can I get it off with you two chatterin"
Clara patted his face. "Don't get uptight, darling."
He snuggled into her neck once more, stroking her harder, muttering.
They were silent; Cushing kissed her, watching the guy's ass bobbing.
"Oh goodness," Clara said. "Whassmatter?"
She sucked in her breath. "I'm gonna do it!"
The guy looked at her and she pulled at his shoulders. "Come on, come on "
Cushing had to take her hand off his cock; she was mauling it in her eagerness, and she didn't want to let go.
The guy stared at her face, pumping her hard. She began to moan and stiffen. Her legs tightened and she panted, Cushing's prong was rock-like wanting her. Ever since that affair on the roof he'd wanted her. Maybe he and Clara should get married. No, she was too young, sure she was too young. Probably still in grammar school. No, she said she was going, to nursing school, going to be, a nurse.
She moaned loudly all at once and her body jerked uncontrollably. She was booting one. The guy pronged her steadily, watching her face for response. He was doing it good, Cushing thought, good shit, this guy. Taking care, of Clara.
She writhed and twisted, her pretty face working under the urging of the sensation. She loved it; you could see that.
Brother David came in, belly waggling, big nose sniffing. Brandy was with him, and John. They sat, watching Clara run her course. Brandy giggled at Cushing.
"The whole fuckin' thing is a sham," Brother David said. "We mus' take up arms against the forces of evil and repression. Gotta find our own way. It goes against the grain of nature." He pointed to the guy boffing Clara. "There is nature at work, loved ones. True love.."
Clara stared at him, eyes wide. Her shoulders jerked slightly, the guy eased her, tapered her off; and she sighed.
"It's a sham. They're. more than we are, you know that, children? Yes, more than we. We must fight therefore with the weapons we have. Truth. Truth and fucking. We'll out-fuck 'em." Brother David reached out and slapped Clara's partner on the bare. ass. The guy looked up, startled.
"Tell it like it is," someone said.
Cushing looked around. Helene and the child came in. She sat beside him, smiling. He smiled back and she leaned close.
"I'm trying to get pregnant again-will you help me?"
He blinked and nodded.
"We are the militant generation," Brother David said. "You've asked me to teach and I tell you this, Fuck! We must fight them-forget the stupid weapons of combat, the guns. and the knives, we must rule! We must urge, and insist on change, we must live change, we must change the whole goddam world!"
Brandy cheered and dived for Brother David's cock. She gobbled it up and he looked down benevolently, petting her bobbing head.
Cushing was open-mouthed. Brother David was serious. Clara was staring at him now, and the others listened, serious-faced. No one paid any attention to Brandy, sucking seriously. They sat in a semicircle about him, hands holding chins. They guy on Clara looked around-he seemed to be the focus as perhaps Brother David intended him to be. He stopped screwing her.
"We must organize and form communities," Brother David said. He smoothed Brandy's hair absently. "It is important to show the square world the new way. They will look, they will listen. A few will turn away, a few will betray us, but many will join!"
Cushing watched the guy roll off Clara. His dong was small and red. She looked at him, and Cushing drew her close. She curled into his arms, and the guy sat up, looking around the circle.
"Are you talking politics?" someone asked.
"NO!" thundered Brother David. "Politics aren't enough. We have to show the world our way, a total way, another new way. Socially and sexually, there is a new way."
Clara I stirred, in his arms and Cushing's prick jumped in her hand. She squeezed it and giggled.
"The whole fuckin world's got to come to our new way, ~~ said Brother David. "Therein lies our weakness, one of them-how to organize. We got to organize, against the Man. Really they got nothing to say but what they have said for a thousand years.
We know it by heart, yes?"
"Hell yes," said someone.
Brandy nodded her head-or was it nodding?
Cushing looked around at them. All eager faces, young, full of piss and vinegar. Capri over there, flat on her ass, with a guy ramming her. Young and eager.
"The power structure is, decadent. It is crumbling," Brother David said. "Fuck it down. Tear it brick by brick. Piss on it."
"It's strong," a girl's voice said.
Brother David ignored her. He petted Brandy. The prick she worked on was large now. Brother David was not concentrating with his usual vehemence. The mouth distracted him.
Clara pulled at him, and Cushing kissed her, half rolling on her.
"Brick by brick," Brother David said. His voice was vague. Cushing looked at him. His beard was flame red in the dim light, frizzled. Ownie came to the door and looked in. His beagle eyes peered round, lingering on Capri. He smiled, a lizard's smile, seeing Clara.
Cushing was surprised when Ownie came over, Close. He shouldered Cushing aside and slipped between Clara's legs. Clara said, "But--" And Ownie was in her.
Ownie's ass lunged and bucked. Clara gasped and stared at Cushing. Cushing took a long moment to recover. The nerve of the sonofabitch! His balled up fist slammed down on the back of Ownie's neck. Clara screamed and Ownie said: "Ooooof!"
Brother David's laugh boomed out in the room.
"Get 'im off me!" yelled Clara. She pushed and Cushing hit the threshing man again. Someone yanked at Ownie and he rolled over, the wet prong spraying Brandy's back. Ownie moaned, his lizard face screwed up in pain.
Cushing got to his knees and struck out again, but Brother David's huge hand interposed. "You've made your point, friend."
Cushing grunted. He picked up Clara, getting to his feet shakily, and tottered out of the room. The hell with them. He met Sullivan who was, about to enter. Sullvan looked glassy again.
"Where's Bradny?" Sullivan asked. "Lookin' for Brandy.
"She's taken," Cushing said. His eyes roved the room blearily. The crowd seemed to have thinned out. A few were dancing, and Helene was lying on the mat surrounded, by John, the child and several men. One man was screwing her slowly as John talked to him.
Clara giggled suddenly. Cushing looked back at her. She squirmed in his arms. He stared at Sullivan. The short man was crowded up under Clara, prodding her. Cushing roared. "Get outa her!" That fuggin' Sullivan was getting into her butt. He pulled her away and the wet dong flipped out.
"Goin' take you home," he said. "Fin' some clothes an' take you home."'
She sighed. "OK, baby."
He put her down and they went looking for clothes. Where had he put his pants and shirt? He found a shirt, and Clara found a white dress which she said was hers. She put it on; it was much too small, so she left it unfastened. Her titties hung out.
"S'dark out,"' she giggled.
Cushing remembered balling up his pants, and he found them in a comer of the bedroom. The crowd was *still there, but singing now, a group songfest. Brother David led them, with Brandy coiled in his lap. Ownie had taken someone else's place and was steadily writhing with Capri. He wanted to go over and slug the bastard again, but resisted the temptation. Fuck 'im.
He put the pants on and padded down the hallway with Clara. He knew he should have shoes on, but, perhaps they were at Clara's apartment. He would see when they got there.
The stairs were dark as pitch. He held her close and they felt their way down to the first floor, holding to the rail. At the bottom a door was open and the wonderful odor of stew came wafting into the hall.
"God! I'm hungry!" Clara said. "I never realized I was so hungry!"
Yeh, it did smell. good. Cushing felt his stomach rumble at the smell of it. He looked inside, seeing no one. Nobody home? "Hey!" he called.
A man came out of the kitchen, a spoon in hand. He looked at them-staring at Clara. "C'mon in, loves."
He was thin, with beads and a thin beard. He wore a silk shirt and sandals, nothing else. "I'm Neil," he said.
Cushing introduced himself and Clara. Neil said,
"You hungry? C'mon in." He kept looking at Clara's tits.
"Starving," Clara said. "Golly that smells good."
"This is a house of love," Neil said. "Help yourself, help yourself. I'm delighted to see you."
Sirens sounded in the street outside. "Holy smoke!" Clara said.
The sirens came nearer. "They're probably coming here," Neil said with a sigh. "Some square has complained about the party upstairs." He went over and shut the door. "Were you up there?"
Cushing nodded. He felt a little better, a little more clear-headed. Neil was right, the sirens did stop outside in the street. Did cops use sirens for an ordinary complaint?
"Siddown," Neil said, pointing to a couch. Cushing sat, listening to the sudden hubbub outside in the hall. Man, they got out of the apartment upstairs just in time. There were cigarettes on the table in front of him. He stole one and lit up. That's better. He put his head back and closed his eyes. The room swirled. He opened them. He was, still woozy.
Clara. He looked around. "Clara?" "Here," she said from the kitchen.
"OK." Cushing- relaxed. He smoked the cigarette, listening to the voices. Someone was yelling, others were talking loudly; a woman shrilled. The fuzz were telling them to shut up probably.
Where the hell was that stew? He finished the cigarette. Clara's voice came to him, gasping and hissing. He, stood, listening over the hall sounds. He went into the kitchen.
It was a small rectangular room, sink on one side, table on the other. Neil had Clara lying over the table, face down. Her naked ass was in his hands and he was feeding her a long rod from behind. She was in the clutch of an orgasm.
Cushing stared. Christ! Everyone got into poor Clara
"Take it easy, Neil said, seeing his face. I'm sober and you aren't."' He continued to fuck her.
Cushing lurched to. Clara. She was jerking and shuddering, but smiling. Her eyes were closed and she grasped the edge of the table in 'both hands, gritting her teeth. Cushing dropped into a chair by her head. He felt helpless. Neil was right. Neil could take him in a second.
"A beautiful ass," Neil said. "Help yourself to the stew. Cushing sighed. He looked at the stove. Three bowls were set out. He rose wearily and went over. It smelled heavenly alright. He dipped out stew into a bowl, found a spoon and went back to the table.
"She your wife?" Neil asked.
Cushing shook his head. He sipped the food, watching Clara's, face. Man, it was delicious. Neil had a big one, and he was getting it into Clara a yard and a half. He took bigger bites. Delicious.
"What's 'er name?"
"Clara," Cushing said.
Clara opened her eyes and looked at him. She smiled. She looked wonderful. Fresh and rosy, like screwing did something for her. Then she looked slightly abashed. She was realizing the situation. Neil was still sliding the pecker to her.
Cushing held the spoon up and she swallowed a gulp of stew. "Ohhh, darling, I'm starved!"
He fed her another spoonful-and another. Neil. fucked her steadily, a happy smile on his face.
Between them they finished the bowl. During the second bowlful, Neil cracked his wad. Cushing helped hold the table steady when Neil bucked it into her hard, and gushed. Clara giggled, feeling the spurting.
Then they had a third bowlful.
The noise outside had diminished. Neil went to the door and looked out. "They're still there," he reported, returning to the table. "There's an ambulance too. Did somebody get hurt upstairs?"
"Huh uh, not that I know of," Cushing said.
"I'll get my pants on," Neil said, "and find out what the hell. You better stay put, OK'
"OK," Clara said, watching him disappear into a bedroom. She sighed at Cushing. "I shouldn't of, but I couldn't stop him. He just did it 'fore I could stop him.
He kissed her. "You promised me you wouldn't."
She was suddenly on the verge of tears. She came into his arms, biting her lips. "I'm awful-"
"No you're not." He petted her.
Neil came out, zipping up, and went through the living room to. the front door. When he opened the door Cushing could hear the increased noise. People were standing around out there.
"Yes I am awful. I let him do it after I promised you-" She snuggled close to his chest. "I won't do it anymore-honest."
He kissed her again. "'Course you won't."' Man! did she mean that? Maybe she did.
"Don' want you t'go back-"
He sighed. "But I gotta, honey."
Her tear-stained face twisted and her lips found his., Her tongue darted. She whispered, lips on his: "Don't go-stay with me, darling-stay with me--"
He kissed her, warm little Clara. Loving little Clara. Yes, sure he loved her. Why not? She was a supple, loving package in his arms. Beautiful girl flesh, tits bare. Man! He loved her, sure.
Wan" you t'be safe," she said. "Safe w'me."
"Me too."
"Kiss me."
He kissed her, fondling the tits, rubbing her ass. Great girl flesh! Man! she felt good. She squirmed under the caressing. She sat on his lap, writhing her round bottom over his hardening prick. She could feel it. Her kisses were fiery.
"I love you, darlin'-"
"Love you too," he whispered. Sure he did. He was getting hot for her. Love her right up the ol' socket.
"Wan' you," she said, tongue on his. "You want me?"
'Course."
"Whyn't you take me then?"
He grinned. "Think I will."
"Ohhh." She wriggled over the prick.
Cushing looked around; could he take her into the bedroom? Neil wouldn't mind would he? He started to get up and Neil came back and shut the door firmly.
"Whad izzit?" Clara asked.
Neil came into the kitchen and sat facing them. "A fight upstairs. A girl got cut some. You know a girl named Phyllis?"
Clara said "Yeh-"
Cushing remembered her, the girl who had sat on the potty talking to him.
"Cut her shoulder open," Neil said. "They said she'll be OK-she got in the way. This guy was after someone else. You know somebody named Orry,
"Oh," Clara said. She bit her lip and looked at Cushing.
"Ownie," Cushing said. "You mean Ownie."
"Yeh, guess I do. Anyhow he did it and they're looking for him. He slipped out when the cops showed up. Man! You cats throwed a real party"
"Dessie got married," Clara said.
Cushing cudgeled his forehead. So Ownie had finally cut someone-and gotten away. Hell, he might be anywhere. Maybe he had a car. "Marie," he said.
Neil looked at him. "Was that his wife, this Ownie.
"Yeah."'
"Hard-faced doll, built great?"
Cushing nodded. That was her.
"They were talking to her when I was there. She was cryin' and carryin' on. Man! those cops were shook!"
Clara giggled.
"All that girl ass and they couldn't. have none."
Cushing rubbed his forehead. They had to get out of here. The fuzz might take it into their heads to search the building or something. It might be best to slip out and go to Clara's place. Then he'd get some sleep and go back on a late bus.
Clara was still squirming on his lap. Did she think he was gonna screw her? He patted her thighs. They better pullout first.
"You can stay here," Neil said. "Three in a bed's not bad." He leered at Clara.
"I gotta take 'er home," Cushing replied. Man, this guy talked like he was another Ownie in the pecker department.
"The cops aren't holding anyone," Neil said, looking at Clara. "There ain't any rush. Whyn't you stay here tonight?"
Clara giggled and kissed Cushing. Neil got out a bottle and poured three glasses. He passed them around and Cushing smelled good bourbon. Neil touched glasses with both of them: "Cheers."
They drank and Neil smacked his lips. "C'mon, Otis, take 'er in on the bed." He, pointed to the bedroom.
Clara giggled loudly and shook her hips over him.
Cushing knew she was eager. He held his glass out and Neil splashed more booze into it. Little private party, that it? Neil wanted to get himloaded and boff Clara. Probably. Well, he'd fool this guy. He was a Marine and could hold his likker. One drink never fazed him, or two. He drank and puffed out his cheeks. Man! that was strong!
Clara was whispering in his ear: "Take me in on the bed-"
"Yeh." Cushing blinked. The room danced a little. He could hold his likker alright; 'course he'd had a little- Neil was fiddling with Clara's tits. He pushed the guy's hands off her. "C'mon, lay off-_"
"She. likes it," Neil said.
"What number're you?" Cushing asked him. "Huh?"
"Number?"
"Yeh, wha' number're you? I'm for'y-three."
Neil shrugged. "You're drunk, pal." He ignored Cushing and opened Clara's dress wider; the naked titties poured out and she snickered, looking down at them.
"Oh, ain't they pretty," Neil said, petting them. He leaned down and kissed one. Clara squirmed.
Cushing was annoyed. This was Clara, his Clara.
He put out his hand and pushed at Neil, but the hand met empty air. "Don' let 'im--"
Clara hugged him. "S'all right, baby," she smoothed his face with her hand. "I won' let him. I won' let him."
Cushing subsided. Clara was a good shit. He closed his eyes and leaned his heavy head on hers for a moment. He could hear Neil whispering, but the words did not penetrate the cotton and fog that surrounded him. Man! Was he drunk? Couldn't be. Just tired. Man! Hed' been partying and screwing for two days. Got to go back in the morning. Got to.
Clara said: "Ohhhh," in his ear.
He opened his eyes. The room smeared and it took a while for it to settle down and come back into focus. Clara was still on his lap, but turned around a little and Neil was up close to her. What the hell was Neil doing on his knees? Clara wouldn't do it. She said so.
Clara wouldn't do it.
The chair was moving. Sort of a gentle, nice movement, like a car or a ship-yeh, remember that last sea trip.? Man! Like it on the water. Fresh, salt air- The chair was moving. He was sitting in a chair. Girl on his lap. He blinked at her. Clara. Clara. Yeh, Clara on his lap. And Neil, he remembered Neil alright. Good guy. Gave them some stew. Sure, it all came back, not so long ago. He wasn't very drunk, maybe a little, not very.
"Oh, Jesus-" Clara said, sucking in her breath.
Cushing nuzzled his cheek on her neck, the back of her neck. She was leaning against him, her back to him. He opened his eyes and waited till they gave him a picture. He was looking at Neil. The guy was smiling. They were all rocking a little, gentle rocking, make. a guy doze off.
Clara was writhing; her breath was coming fast. Cushing furrowed his forehead. What the fuck was goin' on? He tried to concentrate, think about it. Clara was bucking now, panting and squirming-it shook him up and kept him awake. She was, getting pretty damn active. Why didn' she let him sleep? Tired.
"Oh my God!" Clara gasped.
Cushing blinked at Neil. The guy was sure close and pushing at them. The chair rocked and Clara was humping-damn! That fuggin' Neil was humping Clara again!
"Don' do it, honey," he muttered.
Neil was panting too. They were in a terrible flurry, a paroxysm. Neil surged and jolted her and Cushing held her about the waist. "Don' do it---"
Clara giggled, panting and jerking, rolling her head back and forth. Cushing snuggled into her neck, dimly aware that Neil was lying on her titties, jabbing up into her. That goddam Neil
Then Neil was whispering, " into the bedroom"
Cushing felt her weight lifted off him. He nearly fell, but someone grabbed him and held him upright. Arms went about him and he rose to his feet without conscious effort. Hell, he wasn't passed out! But he couldn't walk. He tried to talk but the words jumbled.
"Put 'im. on the couch," Neil said.
Cushing grumbled. Not drunk, dammit. He felt himself dumped on something soft, his feet were swung up; he must be on a couch alright. Clara was kissing him; he could feel her lips.
"Go t'sleep," she said softly. "You're goin' be alright-go, t'sleep.
"Don' want---"
"Shhh, go t' sleep."
Neil said, "Come on, let's get into bed, huh?"
"Just a sec, " Clara said.
'I'm horny," Neil protested.
Clara giggled. Then she kissed Cushing again and petted him. He tried to find her hand; tried to turn toward her. She petted him.
"Man," Neil said, "Lookit, he's hard as a rock."
Clara snickered and squeezed his cock. Cushing moaned. "Clara---"
His dong was suddenly warm and squeezed. Cushing struggled, opening his eyes. Clara's head was in his lap. Her red lips surrounded it; her head moved up and down over it. He sighed. Man! Clara was the best goddam cocksucker in the world!
Something pushed his cheek. Cushing rolled his head away from it, lying back on a pillow. The something -pushed again, and moved to thrust at his lips Something warm. He looked up blearily. Neil seemed to tower over him. "G'wan, take it," Neil said softly. Neil's hand pulled his, head around and Cushing felt the thing pushing hard against his lips. He heard Clara giggle.
Then suddenly Clara's lips were on his cheek. She squirmed atop him, he -could feel her weight, feel her legs opening; she undulated. That was nice.
She was giggling steadily, a little girl sound, 'way back in her throat, as though she enjoyed something hugely. Cushing felt her kisses. He opened his mouth, feeling her tongue-and something else. It was as though there was something between his mouth and hers. He tried to open his eyes to see, but it was so goddam dark.
What the hell was so funny? Cushing grunted, pushing at Clara, trying to kiss her. He could hear Neil chuckling too. Damn rubbery thing in the way and Clara's lips always just beyond, reach; the thing in the way, slippery. Clara was kissing the thing, felt like a weenie----Jesiz! A weenie! It was Neil's goddam dong! And the two, of them were having fun because he was stupid drunk.
He got a mouthful of it and almost choked, reared away and Clara's mouth found his. She was hysterical with the game.
She had got his pecker in the right place too, Cushing felt it in the slit. He bucked upward and she wriggled happily. She was giggling, loudly, foolish as a giddy child.
Then she stopped; Cushing got one eye open enough to see, and he could hear her lips on the dong. Man! She could go after it! He smelled it, musky and pungent. The room smeared and its edges curled up. A wind blew, eerie and cold. Cushing knew he was sliding down a steep hill, a million miles an hour-and drifting off into dreamless space. The sounds diminished.
He did not sleep, nor did the sounds go entirely away. Cushing remained, in a sort of coma, half asleep and half awake. Hearing and feeling only slightly. He felt alone. Clara's weight was removed, and the immediate sounds disappeared to be replaced with distant ones, like the roar of waves on a beach heard from blocks away.
It took him years to focus on a single thought and worry it through. He was alone on a couch. He ought to get up and take Clara home. Oh Jesus, it felt good to lay still. Why was he' so. drunk?
He. had to get Clara home. Ownie was trying to cut her. He had to get Clara home where it was safe.
Sonofabitch Ownie. He should have cold-cocked him a long time ago, when he first met him. Never liked him. Weird sonofabitch, Ownie. He had a dream, and he knew it was a dream, about Ownie. The guy was hovering over the couch, with the big permanent dick waving. Hung over the couch like a shadow, slowly changing colors, and slowly changing form. Man! He was, polluted!
Cushing groaned and opened his eyes. The shadow went away. When he closed his eyes it came back. Hell of a game.. Open-close eyes. Better keep 'em open. Hate that goddam shadow. Hate Ownie.
He forced himself up on the. pillow. Now he could see his feet. Socks on, no shoes. Where the hell were his shoes? Ownie had 'em. Probably. Got to get Ownie before Ownie got him. Or Clara.
Clara! Where the hell was Clara? Cushing shook his head, trying to settle his grains. The goddam fog was back, messing him up. Clara. He'd been with Clara tonight, hadn't he? Had a ball with Clara and went somewhere. He blinked at the apartment. It didn't look familiar. He'd gone somewhere with Clara and had dinner. They went to a cafe and met Dessie.
No they hadn't. They met Dessie yesterday. Today they went back to the cafe, and met Neil. Cushing smiled, yes, Neil. Neil had served them stew. Then Neil had boffed Clara.
Cushing moved upright and peered at the darkened room. Hell, he'd met Neil in this damn apartment. Neil had been hot for Clara. That was it. Neil was hot for Clara. There was a doorway, lighted that led into another room. The light was coming from there. Cushing fumbled his feet to the floor, it wasn't easy. Damn feet didn't work as well as they should.
He wanted to stand. He looked at the floor and at the couch. It was going to be difficult to stand up. He wanted to giggle. Shit, couldn't even stand up.
Sure he could stand up. He set himself and pushed. Nothing happened. He wasn't doing it right.
He set himself again and did it all right. He rose shakily and had to reach down to grab the arm of the couch. But he stayed on his feet. Damn good, Marine.
He stood there and thought about it. Now where? He was on his feet, now where? To that room. He looked at the doorway. Every second he stood here he felt better. Hell, he could mak6 a ten-mile hike. He put his foot out and veered sideways, grabbing himself just in time. How had he got so fuggin' drunk?
Clara. Had to find Clara. Was she in that room? Had to go see. He took another step, and another. He walked shakily to the door, leaning against it and squinting inside. The room was lighted. It was a bedroom; and had a dresser, a chair and a bed. The bed was moving-no, the people on the bed were moving. Two people, lots of legs. They were screwing. Cushing smiled. Man! He knew about screwing.
He leaned against the door and peered at them. They were going at it a h,ump a second. The girl had pretty legs. Hey, save some for me. Want t'hump that girl m'self. She sure liked it. Look it the way she jumped up after it. Clara had liked it. Clara lived with Brandy, a couple of crazy cunts. Man! A guy could lose his pecker in that joint-get it wore down to a nub. Clara took guys on the roof. Had a place up there. Man! I took this little broad up on 'at roof and I fucked 'er till. she squealed for it! Couldn't get enough.
Where the hell was Clara?
Cushing looked at the girl on the bed. It sure looked like Clara-same hair, same nice smooth legs.
The guy on the bed turned his head and looked at the door. Damn! It was Neil. Sure it was. Neil, the guy with the stew.
Neil said: "Hey, you like to watch?"
Cushing gurgled. "Fuck off, Charley." It came out mumbled. He swallowed and cleared his throat. Jesus, couldn't talk straight. He saw the girl looking at him. The girl was Clara. Damn, it was Clara!
He heard Clara giggle.
Shit, it was her alright. Hadn't she promised not to screw no one else? Cushing was disgusted. "Fuck off, Charley-" He turned and braced himself, then walked back toward the couch. Voices from the bedroom. Cushing veered from the couch and went into the kitchen. He stood against the sink and peered around slowly, licking his lips. Fuck off, Charley.
There was stew on the stove. He took a spoon and ate some. It tasted good. He ate more. It tasted damn good. He dripped it on the sink and on the floor, but it was good, damn good. He ate it all.
Hell, he was as, good as ever. Cigarette. He looked around for a 6g'arette and discovered a pack on a shelf. He lit up and thought about Clara. Had to take her home. Ownie was trying to cut her.
Jesus, Ownie! Yeah. Somebody had told him that Ownie was after him and Clara. Ownie had already cut her.
What the hell. was Clara doing, fucking some guy on the bed? He frowned at the bedroom, smoking and knocking ashes on the floor. That had been Clara alright. He tossed the butt in the sink and headed for the bedroom.
This time he could make it OK. There were Voices. He stopped at the door and looked in. Clara was getting dressed. Neil sat on the bed, smoking; his thin face looked pale.
Clara was putting on a white dress, but it stretched over her titties, much too small a dress. Looking up, she saw him and smiled.
"Hi, honey, you alright now?" She came over to him and Cushing encircled her slim waist and pulled her close.
"Yeh, think so."
She kissed his cheek. "You slept a couple a hours. That's good f'you."
"Snored like a pig," Neil said
Cushing looked at the guy. "Fuck you, Charley."
Neil shrugged and Clara giggled.
"I godda. take you home," Cushing said. She had slippers on, but he had no shoes. Must have, left his shoes upstairs. He pulled her out of the room; she Waved at Neil and the guy padded after them.
"C'mon, you don't have t'go-"
Cushing got the hall door open and he shut it behind them in Neil's face. The guy opened.it and glared at them.
"Godda get shoes," Cushing said. His coat oughta be somewhere too. They went up the steps in the dark. The house was quiet. If there had been cops they were gone now. The whole house was quiet.
Clara said: "I'm sleepy. Aren't you?"
"No. Godda take you home." Why did be have to take, her home? All he cold think of was taking her home for crissake.
Which room was it? There was a light on in the hall, so they could see. Not very bright. "Dessie's place," he said. Clara pulled him along to a door. She opened it and looked in. The room was dark.
She turned on the. light; the joint was empty, and it smelled awful. Cushing turned up his nose. It smelled like pot and tobacco and booze and just plain stink. Probably no one had opened a window in days. There was no one in the living room.
Clara went into the kitchen; he went into the bedroom. No one home. The place was vacant. But there were shoes, and clothes. The closet was even smellier, but there were shoes all over the closet floor. He found a pair that fit. He couldn't tell if they were his or not.
Clara came into the bedroom and flopped on the mat. "Gee, I could pass out."
His coat wasn't in the closet. Must be at Clara's. Wonder where Sullivan and Bramwell had got to. He looked at her on the mat. Girl flesh. Her eyes were closed; she was stretched out, long pretty legsdamn dress was too small for her. He pawed in the closet and found another dress.
"Here, baby, put this on."
She opened her eyes and looked at him fondly. Her hand came up and touched his cheek. "Don' want you to go to get killed 2'
"OK, honey, I won't-not t'night. Here, put this on. '
She giggled. "You put it on me."
He grinned at her and sat down. Pulling her close, he pushed the white dress off her shoulders. Lovely, creamy girl flesh. She seemed to coo as he cupped her naked breasts. Man! This was something else! His ol' whangeroo began to stir and flutter. He pushed the dress down over her belly so it wadded up around her hips. She looked at him, a look of wanting, a look that said all manner of passionate things-and Cushing sighed.
He got to his knees and yanked the dress off her. She raised her rump for him' and he flung the dress away. She was naked. Still looking at him under the lashes. A kind of sleepy look . . . heavy-lidded.
Twisting, he looked down at her. Her coral lips were slightly parted; she stared up at him without expression, waiting. He lowered his head and lightly kissed her. She said, "Yes "
Her legs slowly parted and Cushing forgot to breathe. His dong was hurting. Reaching down, he unzipped and the thing thrust out and touched her thigh. Both her hands went up, moving along his cheeks, then pulling his head down to her lips. As they kissed he rolled onto her. Her legs went wide. He reached down and guided the blind worm. Clara sighed deeply as it oozed into her; her legs went up, he could feel them rubbing his hips. The. cock was warm inside her, and he thrust it slowly, firmly. Her lips were on his again. Her hips were writhing.
God! Clara! This was a fuck of love! He was crazy about this, dame! Geez, there was no one like, Clara. He scragged her hot and heavy for long moments, then slowly taped off to a steady rhythm. She was holding him, her head nestled close under his, chin, smiling. No one like Clara.
"Don't go 'way," she said. "I won't, baby-"
She sighed, eyes closed. Man! This was rape, wasn't it? Clara was, just a kid. Even if she wanted it, loved it, that was rape. What the hell was he thinking that for? Just get the ol' digger in there, real nice and warm and keep it going. Make 'er squeal for it. Yeh, man.
He heard the door open. The hall door; somebody came in. There were voices. Shit. Cushing swore under his breath. Why the hell weren't they asleep.?
He looked around ' over his shoulder. They were, laying in the middle. of the, mat, the closet light was
on. Whoever had come in would look in and see them.
Jesus! Maybe it's Ownie!
Cushing frowned. What if it was? What the. hell. did he care? Fuck Ownie. Then he remembered the buggering. Her ass felt a little sore, didn't it? Nagging him slightly, and he hadn't really noticed it. Ownie, the shithead. Got to cold-cock that bastard.
Clara stiffed; she had heard the voices too. She looked at him and he pecked her cheek.
One of the voices was Sullivan-damn sure. Cushing raised his head, twisting toward the doorway. Sullivan came in, staggering a little. The short man stopped in the doorway and stared. Then he whooped.
"Cushin' you old fart!"
He was wearing pants and shirt, socks and one shoe.
"Get outa here," Cushing growled. He didn't stop pronging Clara for a second.
Sullivan ran to the mat and sat down beside them. "Cush, you ol' ba stard, we're over! We awol, the three o'us. Me, you an' Harve-where the hell is Harve?"
Cushing frowned. "Awol?"
"Hell yeh, we a day over. Me, an'Harve!"
"No. We gotta go back in the mornin'."
"Yesserday mornin'," Sullivan said, holding up four fingers. "We a day over-Shit man, we up the creek."
Cushing frowned. Could that be right?
"Hi, Clara," Sullivan said, gallantly. He patted her knee. "Shit, man, we awol. A-w-o-l," he spelled it out. "A-fuckin' -wol."
"We been awol b'fore," Cushing growled. That was true. Everyone goes awol a day or so, don't they. Now and then, but you're not s'posed to get caught at it. No way they couldn't get caught up now. No way.
"Company punishment," Sullivan said. "How come you stay over, Cush?"
"Go fin' Harve," Cushing said.
"I god drunk. You ged drink, Cushing
"You're still drunk, you sonof abitch. "
"Yes siam, , Sullivan leered at Clara. "How you like it down dere, baby?" he rolled his eyes.
Clara giggled.
Sullivan got down close to her, heads together. "Hey, how 'bout me'n you- I show you my ol' Chinese sideways bone?"
Clara giggled and Cushing pushed him away. "Go fin' Harve. "
Sullivan came back, still whispering to Clara. "Likee Chinee, baby? Me gottum sideways poontang--"
"Ged the fuck outa here!"
"She wan's it."
Clara snickered and watched as Sullivan yanked his dong out and waved it. A girl came to the doorway and stared at them. She was fully dressed, in blouse and bell-bottoms; her stringy hair hung to her shoulders and her round face was interested.
"I don' give a shit," Cushing growled. "Ged outa here. Go d'hell an' fin' Harve."
"Harve got married."
Cushing blinked. Yes, that was right. Ol' Harve had got married. He'd forgotten all about that. The girl at the door moved and he glanced up. Never saw her before. She grinned at him-still moving his ass, up and down-shit, what was he? A goddam sideshow?
"Whozzat?" he said.
Sullivan looked around. He had forgotten her and looked surprised. "Oh. Yes. Hey, whass Your name, baby?"
"Amber."
"Oh yeh, Amber." Sullivan made a flourish. "Thish here's Amber. Amber meet m'fuckin' pal, Cushin', and t hish here's Clara."
Clara giggled and hid her head under Cushing's shoulder. Cushing said, "Hi."
"I ain't got inner pants," Sullivan confided to them in a stage whisper. He knelt and dragged his cock out, laying it in his hand. He talked to it: "Hey weenie, you wanna get inner pants?."
Amber giggled at him. She. was pretty, Cushing decided, in a kind of kooky way. Her stringy hair was terrible and she wore a funny bunched-up flowered blouse so you couldn't tell if she had any tits at all. But her pants were nice and tight. Good legs, yeh. That crotch was tighter'n a bee sting.
"Take 'er in the other room," Cushing said.
"Hey, baby-" Sullivan waggled the dong at her. "You wanna tear off a piece?"
Amber snickered, then nodded. "OK."
Sullivan got up shakily and made for her. "Take 'em. britches off-"
They disappeared into the other room.
Cushing prodded steadily and Clara's eyes were closed. Receiving it and building up a head of steam, she was writhing hotly. Man! Awol! How the hell could that be right? Sullivan was drink, how could he count? Where was his pass? That would show it. Where was his coat? Jesus, they'd been blotto alright. Plastered.
Got to get back to Clara's place and get his coat. Had to look on the pass. He stared down at her. She was a cute one alright. Worth going over the hill for. She. was about ready to snap her cookies. Man! She really got worked up!
He couldn't come now. Too much awol talk, probably. But give her a good one. He rammed her hard and steadily. Her lips parted and she was breathing hotly, holding him in -a grip of steel. Christ! It was nice to watch a dame making it. Got 'em all frizzy and crinkled, wild for the ol' peter.
Now she was panting and moaning. Her body writhed and surged under his even fornication; she was hot to the touch, satiny and delicious.
She gasped, bucked once and screamed low and throbbing. She squirmed and twisted, and he. battered her cleft with short, frigging jabs. She was smiling though her face was strained with the tremendous, sensation that sent paroxysms through her. Man! She loved it! He wished he could gush, but no soap.
Feed it to her, steady, keep her flame goingkeep her humping-yehl
She shuddered and nuzzled him, squeezing him as tightly as she could, sighing deeply.
"Hey Cush!" yelled Sullivan from the, next room, "I'm fuckin' 'er-"
That goddam. Sullivan! Cushing saw that Clara was out of it; she grinned and sighed deeply. She oughta be sleepy now.
"Godda take you home," he said. "Take you home an' put you t'bed.
"Wi' me."
"Yeah, baby." He had to put her to bed and get the hell out. Find ol' Harve and get Sullivan and the three of 'em. haul ass back to camp. You never know, maybe they'd get away with it, con some guy -got to try.
He started to get off her but she held him.
"Stay here--don't want you t'get up." She writhed, against him, feeling the ol' dong still hard. Maybe she thought she'd get another chunk.
He rolled them both over on their sides, and gradually eased it out. She sure didn't want it to leave. She closed her eyes and seemed asleep. He shook her.
"C'mon, baby, gab your socks, you gotta travel."
"Lemme stay here."
"Naw, gotta take you home."
She relaxed. Damn cute stuff, Clara. Look it them pretty, silky legs! Hard-on kind of stuff. Cushing got to his feet and put the weapon away. She was a picture alright, legs spread, a smile on her face, full of contentment over a nice chunk of meat.
He went to the door and looked into the living room. Sullivan and the girl Amber, were on the mat and they were screwing alright. She had the bell-bottoms off and her white fanny looked just as cute as Clara's. Sullivan was pouring on the coal. He looked as hot as it was Ownie.
Clara was asleep. Sound asleep. Cushing shook her but she just wobbled, opened her eyes a crack, smiled and dropped off again. Shit. He sat her up, but it didn't help. She was limp as a soggy dumpling. That last hump had put her over the rainbow. Out like a light. Man, you're some fucker; you put em. down for the count with nothin' but your pecker. Oughta go on the goddam. stage.
It took him a helluva time to get her dressed, with her not cooperating a damn bit. Got him hard too, feeling all that nice soft girl.
He picked her up and carried her into the living room. They stared at him.
"Whadja do t'her?" Sullivan asked.
"Nothin' for crissake. She's asleep. C'mon, we gotta get her home and take off . Where the hell is Harve?"
"How the fuck I know?"
"You gotta go wi' him?" Amber asked.'
Sullivan looked down at her and grinned. "He's my scoutmaster, honey. We godda go on a nature hike t'morra."
Cushing went to the door. "C'mon, for crissake." He went down the hall. Amber said something he didn't hear. He half expected Sullivan to stay there and prong her. To hell with Sullivan. When he got to the front door he heard them on the stairs.
Outside it was misty and dark, not a star in the sky. No moon either. It must be damn early in the AM; nothing moved and there was hardly a sound anywhere. The door slammed behind him; he turned, and Sullivan was pulling. Amber along. She had her bell-bottoms draped over one arm, and was naked from the waist down. Cute little black patch there-Cushing licked his lips. Might get into that
"You goin' carry her all the goddam. way?."
Cushing shrugged. "Why not?" She wasn't heavy, .just a wisp of a -girl. Tits. an' cunt, that's all. Who needs the rest? He giggled and saw Sullivan stare at him.
"Where's this place?" Amber asked.
Sullivan chucked, "Hell, I dunno. You r'member, Scoutmaster?"
"Yeh." Down this street and one over. His head was clearing pretty good now, in the air. He always could hold his likker. Never did get down very long, snapped back. Sullivan seemed a little less boiled too. How the hell had they overstayed? Some party alright. Hell of an excuse though. They'd have to say they had a car that broke down in the sticks, no one to fix it-something like that. Have to think of a good story. Where the hell was Bramwell? Have to find him and teach him the story. He'd fuck 'em all up, dumb bastard, Harve.
Shit, she was heavier than he thought. He halted and put her down for a second on a low brick wall. She moaned and clung to him, smacking her lips. He cuddled her, and smiled. Clara was the best. Man! The fuckin' best.
Sullivan and Amber stopped beside him. Amber asked, "This the place?.
"Hell no," Sullivan said. He pulled her onto his lap and sat on the brick wall. She giggled and wriggled over him; his hands were busy.
"Wha'd you say your name was?"
"John Pulford," Sullivan said. "You can just call me pully.
Cushing laughed. "Yes, that's right." John Pulford was their company commander.
"Wha's funny?" Amber asked. "Ain't that his name?"
"Hell Yes."
"Sure it is, baby," Sullivan said, both hands at her crotch. He pulled her legs apart, her back to him.
Cushing patted his pockets for a cigarette. None. Shit. He watched Sullivan's busy hands. The little bastard was getting into. her. Her legs were wide and his, dong was poking out under her and she was giggling and bouncing. Jesus, it made him hard.
Clara was real sound asleep, even snoring slightly like a cat. A sort of purr. She was out! He cupped her soft breasts and watched Sullivan ease it up into Amber. She was a real cat for it, pushing her ass out and grinning.
He waited till Sullivan got it in, then he stood up. "C'mon, time t'go."
"Hey," Sullivan growled. "I ain't ready-" He was bucking it at her, squish, squish
"There's a law 'gainst bootin' dames on the street," Cushing said. He picked up Clara.
"It don't feel that way anyhow, honey," Amber said.
"You can't feel that?" Sullivan demanded, ramming her with it.
"Sure, I feel it, but it better in front, huh?"
"Turn aroun' then."
"C'mon," Cushing said. He moved off down the street. Damn that Sullivan; worse than Owniewhere was Ownie? The cops were looking for Ownie.
Amber was snickering. He looked around to see Sullivan walking with her, -. -holding her about the waist, still plugging her in the cooze from behind. It was a funny thing to see. That goddam Sullivan!
But the whang came out. He let her go and she took his hand, "We'll do it later-"
"Famous las' words," Sullivan grumbled.
They got to the apartment house, pale in the gloom, with the sparkly stuff in the cement winking dully underfoot. Jees, it seemed like a week since they'd been here. Cushing went around the ferns. "Number four," he said.
The door was locked.
"Clara's got a key," Sullivan said.
"No she ain't. She ain't got nothing on under the dress and the dress ain't hers."
"Let's screw 'er then," Sullivan said, patting her fanny.
"Lissen, go around the back an' try the back door."
"Oh." Sullivan shrugged. "OK." He lurched away.
"She your wife?" Amber asked.
"Naw."
Amber was very close, looking at him through the stringy hair. "You wanna make it wi' me, huh?"
"Yeh, I shure do."
"He says," she indicated the disappearing Sullivan, "that you're singers, you'n him."
"Singers?"
"Yeh, he says you got a group, you 'n him, you make records."
"Cushing blinked. "Ah-yeh. He ain't sposed to tell you that, though. We. don' want guys to find it out."
"Jeez, that's groovy-"
"Ah-he say what our group was called?"
Amber shook her head. She was very close now, and her hand crept up his leg. "What you play?"
"Madolin," he said. Her hand reached his crotch and slowly cupped his tool. She pressed it and held it warmly. And him with Clara in his arms.
"Jeez, I knew a couple guitar players. Whyn't you put 'er down?"
Cushing looked around. No place to lay her but on the cement. He couldn't stick this broad anyway, not right out in the hall with the light on and all. They could practically see from the. street. She was unzipping him very efficiently-hand inside, capturing the stiff wick. Ohhh, Jezis! Where the hell did Sullivan find this stuff?
He leaned his back against the wall, holding Clara tightly; Amber drew the cock out and massaged it, her thighs pressing him. Her smooth, young face was close to his. Stringy hair in the way, red lips parted in a smile: "Hi-"
"Hi," he said weakly. Man! Don't work it that way-you'll. get a squirt! She rubbed it on her leg.
He could hear noises inside the apartment. Voices. Sullivan must have got them up, if anybody was home.. Maybe Brandy was there.
"Shove it back in m'pants," he hissed. "They'll be out in a sec."
She sniffed, but she put it back and rubbed it.
"Zip me up, dammit." He had both hands full, holding Clara.
She shook her head. "It feels good."
Brandy opened the door and looked out at them with round eyes. She pulled at.Cushing. "C'mon in, hurry up."
They slipped inside and Brandy slammed the door and locked it. Marie was there, standing in the bedroom doorway, eyes as large as Brandy's. Naked.
"Whassamatter?" Cushing asked. He put Clara on the couch. Sullivan came from the kitchen after locking the door.
"Ownie," Brandy said, looking at Amber. "That sonofabitch is after Marie again. You hear he cut Phyllis?"
"Who's Phyllis?" Sullivan asked.
"Yeh, I heard," Cushing said. It was dark 'in the apartment. He sat beside Clara, so his cock wouldn't poke out. Brandy had a thin, knee-length robe on and Marie went back to the bed and came out with a blanket around her. She looked white around the gills. Scared to death probably.
"Hey, 'at Ownie comes aroun' here we'll cold cock 'im. me'n Cush," Sullivan said. "You honeys don't have to worry. We'll take 'im.
"That Ownie is a hat fulla piss," Brandy said.
"This here's Amber," Sullivan said, slipping an arm about her. "Say 'hello,' Amber."
"Hello.
"He could get in a window, anything," Brandy snapped. "I don't want my throat slashed, you know?" She looked at Clara, snoring lightly. "What happen t'her? She OK"
Brandy shrugged. "With Brother David. Whozzat?" She pointed to Amber.
"Amber," said Sullivan.
"Where's Brother David?"
"Who the hell knows." Brandy waves her hands. "I ain't worryin' about him, I'm worryin' about Ownie. Cushing found a cigarette and lit a match. They had to round up ol' Harve and head for town. "Where"s this here Brother David hang out?"
"Any place," Marie said. "You're gonna stay here, aren't you?"
Sullivan patted Amber's rump. "Can me'n Amber borrow a bed?"
Cushing looked at, them, realizing that Amber still carried. her pants over her arm. She wasn't fazed by Sullivan's, request. Brandy shrugged and nodded toward the bedroom. Sullivan rolled his eyes and pulled her to the door.
"Send a rescue party if I ain't out in a hour," he said. Amber giggled and batted her eyes.
"Hour nothin'," Brandy said. Sullivan closed the door. "Where'd he get her?"
"I dunno," Cushing said. "She just showed up." He frowned at the cigarette. "We got to find Harve. We're awol right now."
"G'wan to Canada," Marie said. "I know some
guys went there. They can't touch you, you go t'Canada."
"I d'wanna go to Canada," Cushing said patiently."Jeez, awol," said Brandy. "Thass a crock." She lit up and flopped in a chair, crossing her legs. She looked naked underneath. Marie padded into the kitchen and rattled some pans.
"Anybody want coffee?"
"Yeh," Cushing said, "good idea." He studied Brandy's legs. "Brother David don't have any regular pad, huh?"
She shook her head. "That Ownie goes wild, you know? I seen 'im, go wild a dozen times, you never know when it's gonna hit him."
"Otherwise he's, great," Marie said. "He's a lotta fun, but he shouldn't drink. He starts sipping and he's liable to kink out."
"Lotta fun," Brandy said knowingly. "Flat on your back he's a lotta fun."
"You don't haveta be on your back," Marie simPered. "He'll do it any ol' way."
Cushing said nothing, remembering Ownie and the slippery, thrusting dick. Had anyone seen that? Marie went back to the, kitchen, for the coffee. Maybe he'd best just cut out and go back to town. It might be a battle getting Sullivan out from between Amber's legs.
Sullivan would never forgive him though, if he left him behind. Sullivan had pulled him out of a couple hairy ones, him and Bramwell. No, he had to take Sullivan back, and try to find or Harve.
There was a scream of pain and anger from the bedroom. Brandy jumped and dropped her cigarette.
"What the hell wassat!"
Cushing sat up straight. The noise continued. Amber was shouting at Sullivan, and his voice rose, telling her to knock it off . Amber yelled that it hurt.
Sullivan was up to his old tricks,. Cushing shook his head at Brandy. The door opened and Amber ran into the room.
"The bastard was tryin' to, ream me!"
She was stark naked and didn't care. Cushing stared at lovely long legs and small titties; she must be as young as, Clara.
"Oh, for crissake," yelled Sullivan, "I ain't hurtin' her any." He stood in the doorway, his pecker pointing at them. He motioned to Brandy, "Come on, baby, let's us have some fun."
Brandy frowned at him, "I ain't in the mood."
Amber came across and sat by Cushing, glowering at'Sullivan. He ignored her, but went across and whispered in Marie's ear. She smiled and went into the room with him and closed the door.
"Christ," Brandy said, "First Ownie and now him.
"Who's Ownie?" Amber said.
"Never mind," Brandy told her, "you wouldn't like him. He'd stick it in your ear."
Amber snickered, not,in the slightest aware of her nudity. She looked at Cushing and he reached out, running his hand through her stringy hair.
Brandy got up and went into the kitchen. "I need a drink. I'm jumpy as a whore in a asparagus patch."
Amber looked around. "Hey, you said we'd make it
"Yeh," Cushing said, "I did, didn't I'
Brandy brought a bottle from the kitchen and poured whisky into her coffee. She simpered at them: "It's fattening but it's good for, the nerves."
"Who's Ownie?" Amber asked again.
"Marie's husband," Cushing said. He held his hands apart. "He's got a di-figdong this long and hard as concrete."
Brandy snickered and poured more whisky. "Always hard, dearie. Always. He got a bone in it, a real bone. God made a mistake with Ownie."
Amber giggled, sounding just like Clara.
"What'll they give you for awol?" Brandy asked. "The hoosegow?"
"Yeh, maybe a year." If she didn't know he'd make it sound good.
Amber looked at him, "What's awol?"
"Thass a new group, honey," Cushing winked at Brandy. "Awol means jail, they usta be called the Jailbirds."
Brandy choked on her coffee.
Amber looked at her suspiciously, and back to Cushing. "Yeh?"
"Sure. What else?" She sure looked satiny sitting there in her birthday suit, tits sticking out with the red nipples twitching. Little curling hairs peeked from the curve of her belly, where it disappeared into the crease. Cushing could hardly keep his eyes off the curves.
'Brandy asked, "How old're you anyways?"
Amber swung her head and brushed the stringy hair out of her innocent looking eyes. She hesitated: "Seventeen."
Man!. That meant she was probably fifteen. Brandy thought so too, from the look on her face. She tipped up the bottle again and offered it to Cushing. He refused. He had soi much lik er in him now that he might be drunk again with one drink.
"I'll, take some," Amber said. She rose and went over with a cup. When she bent down, Cushing could see home plate. Man! There it was, Eke on a platter. Maybe she did it on purpose. She looked back at him while she sipped the coffee and smiled mysteriously.
He sighed. "You Brother David might show up here?"
Brandy opened her mouth to reply and Amber chuckled. "Brother David?"
"Yeh, you know 'im?" Cushing was surprised.
"'Course. I'm one of his-well, his--"
Brandy had a nasty laugh.
"You know where he lives?" Cushing asked.
"Course." She looked at him curiously. "What you want him for?". - -
"My buddy's with him, or Harve." Cushing rose
and stood face to face with her. "Can you take me to his joint."
"Right, now?"
"Yeh, right now."
Amber licked her lips over the fluid and put the CUP down. She shrugged, "I guess so. You got a car,
"I got a car," Brandy said. "How far is it?
Amber shrugged again, "Not far, couple miles maybe."
Brandy struggled to her feet and Cushing went to the bedroom door. He rapped sharply, then opened it a crack. Sullivan and Marie were in the dark. He could see Sullivan's bare ass pumping in the saddle.
"Hey, Shorty-Amber knows where Brother David's joint is. We're goin' over to get Harve. You stay here, huh?"
"Yeh, yeh, yeh," Sullivan growled.
Cushing slammed the door. Amber was getting into her clothes without enthusiasm.
Sullivan opened the door and yelled at them: "Wha'd you say? You're going somewheres?"
"To Brother David's pad."
Marie looked over her shoulder. "We don't wanna stay here alone-"
"Come on then," Cushing said. He looked at Brandy. "What kind of a car you got?"
"Late model Chevy," Giggles. "Late model five years ago.
Sullivan and Marie disappeared and Cushing watched Amber button up her, blouse. She looked disappointed. Brandy was ready: "C'mon, the heap's out back in the garage."
It was a heap. A four-door, not in the best of condition; even in the dim light it looked poor. Cushing hoped they wouldn't have to push it. They piled in, Amber beside him, Brandy next to, the window and Sullivan and Marie in back. He got it started, pooping and coughing, with a funny noise clicking and squeezing from under the hood.
"Sounds great," Brandy said.
"Jeez Christ," Sullivan snorted. "I heard better motors on baby carriages."
"Fuck off, Charley," Brandy said. "This. here is MY baby---" Cushing backed it out and chugged it around the alley to the street. The car went reluctantly. They had woke it out of a sound sleep, Cushing thought. Worst car he'd ever driven.
Amber's hand snaked across his lap and captured the bulge in his pants. He looked into her bland face. She squeezed the dong and pushed close to, him. In a minute she had it hard as a tusk.
"'Which way?"
Amber directed him and he, glanced into the rearview mirror to see Sullivan twisting Marie down on the seat. Marie's leg went up into the air.
Both of Amber's hands came into, his lap and Cushing felt himself unzipped. The night air was cold on his cock, then she warmed it. He looked at her and she blinked.
Brandy said, "Golly, I'm woozy. The damn air 'is. too much." She had the window rolled up, her head back on the seat.
Amber ducked her head and Cushing felt the mouth on his prong. Her lips were warm. He pushed back in the seat. She devoured him and he took a deep, breath, glancing at Brandy. Brandy's eyes were closed. Amber bobbed her head over it, tongue Eke an electric eel. Man! She had a yen! Cushing let up on the gas, hard to concentrate on the goddam road.
Sullivan was scragging Marie in the back seat. He was, bouncing her; Cuhing could hear them panting, Marie's voice throaty. Marie was a helluva lay alright. He didn't blame Shorty.
He ran his, hand down Amber's, back, squeezing her round buttocks, she felt silky and luscious. He roved the hand, coming around in front under her arm to fondle a dangling tit-moving down her belly to reach for the coozie. Shit! A lot of sweet girl flesh
The streets were dark and deserted, lined with parked cars, misty and shining with dew. How far did he go in this direction? He hated to ask her she'd stop laving it. He drove. slower and slower.
Brandy stirred and looked out the window. "Where the hell are we-?' She saw Amber and giggled, recognizing the act instantly. Amber didn't pause.
"Thass some playmate," Brandy said, fishing for a cigarette. "How's it taste, honey?"
Amber mumbled something, never missing a beat.
Cushing rubbed Amber's cheek. "How far we go, baby?"
She looked up, licking her lips. The air was cold on the whang. "Marsh Street," she said, "think it's Marsh-maybe March."
"Then what?"
"Turn right." Amber went back down on the prick.
Cushing grinned at Brandy. Man! That felt good. She knew it did. He rubbed Amber's back, watching for the street signs. He turned the car in the direction of the next one. Moss Street.
"Moss Street," he said, "that it?"
Amber lifted her head an inch, "Yeh, Moss, I forgot."
Cushing turned right. "How far now?"
Amber sighed. "A block." She licked the whang for a block and raised her head, looking around. "The brown apartment with the curliques." She lowered her mouth on it again.
Cushing stopped the car in front of the joint, a dismal looking apartment house with white iron curliques over the entrance. Somebody had bolted the decoration in place; it looked incongruous and too heavy for the doorway.
With the engine off, the sounds of her mouth and the squeaking of the springs in back were loud in the car.
"Jeez," Brandy said, "I feel like I'm a goddam whorehouse on Sattidy night. And I ain't gettin any.
Amber raised her head: "Sex is beautiful; you should'nt, talk that way."
Brandy made a face over her back and Cushing grinned. Amber was a weirdo, alright. But man, she could blow!
"Sex is crazy!" Sullivan said from the back.
'Specially with a gallopin' cunt like this here-"
"Gallopin'!" said Cushing. "You in the saddle, ain't you?"
Amber sat up and patted the dick. "Le's go in, huh?"
"You giving-up, baby?"
She smiled at him, brushing the blonde hair aside. "I wanna go inside."
He shrugged, looking at Brandy. He was still hard as a brass crowbar. Brandy opened the door and slid out with Amber. Marie was combing her hair, Sullivan putting his shirt into place: "Jeez Christ, I'm sober, you know that? Brandy, you bring 'at bottle?"
"No." Brandy went. up the steps with Amber. Cushing stuffed the, whang back and followed them, watching Brandy's trim ass end. She wore, a tight skirt. Cute.
The place smelled like old socks and musty bread. It was dark in the hallway and the floor creaked. When Marie laughed, it echoed. Amber led the way down the long well of the,, halt, past piss smells, past. the steps where a long yellow bulb dangled bleakly.
"Shit," Sullivan said, "murder's legal in this here joint."
"How 'bout rape?" Marie asked.
"Hell, you can't be raped," he gurgled.
The door wasn't locked. Amber turned a knob and went in. There was a light burning, an orange glow from the floor. Pot smells hung on the air. Body odors fought for supremacy. "Stinks," Sullivan grunted.
It was, the same kind of apartment. All crappy apartments are the same, Cushing thought, looking around. Living room, bedroom, kitchen, bath-what else? But this room was worse than Dessie's place. The walls were colorful with paintings and posters, scratchings, hangings, crap and corruption, even old wallpaper.
Some primitive artist had painted a huge male copulating with an equally huge female on one wall. All the anatomical details were rendered with loving care, down to the smallest hair. Not rendered well, but graphically. Both Marie and Brandy gasped on seeing it. Over the art work was lettered the word "Love" in red, dripping paint.
A man had awakened, yawned and turned about to stare at them. He was naked, with a blanket partly draped about him. Cushing had a feeling he'd seen the guy before-at Dessie's joint probably. There was a sleeping girl beside him, and when the guy raised up it lifted the blanket off her. She had lovely big tits.
"Hi, Kenny," Amber said. She went into the bedroom.
Kenny yawned again, paid no attention to the throng., but slipped between the girl's. knees and gently got it into her. When Cushing went past, he was cozily fucking her, eyes, closed.
There were two guys in sleeping bags on the floor, both fast asleep.
Brother David was in the bedroom.. There were three in the bed, Brother David, steadily screwing Dessie, and ol' Harve. Harve was on his back, mouth open, out cold.
Some honeymoon.
Marie giggled and Brother David looked around. He smiled on seeing them. "Come, come, come inyou comin' to bed?" He saw Amber then and rolled off Dessie in a hurry. Dessie sat up, startled.
"Darlin'," yelled David. He grabbed up Amber and hugged her, his wet cock flapping. She seemed like a tiny thing in his burly arms; his big belly pushed her ass out. "Where the devil you been? We searched the fucking town for you, darling!"
Amber snickered. "A guy took me someplace--"
"I missed you!" David kissed her, forgetting the rest. "You're my sweetheart my own baby" He fell onto the bed, rolling her over and flinging himself with amazing dexterity between her legs. She flung them open, receiving him eagerly, reaching down for the plunger and cramming it up the sweet slit. Brother David bucked like a huge bear, humpIng it into her, thrusting and stabbing rapidly. "F'crissake!" Dessie said. She was naked and wide-eyed, not recognizing them for a moment. The bed shook with Brother David's energy. Amber was giggling and holding on for dear life.
"Shut ma mouf," Sullivan said, surprised nearly silent.
Brandy turned away from the erotic scene. 'Makes me edgy," she said to Cushing. "Jeez, lookit him. go!"
"'You did'n bring Ownie, huh?" Dessie asked.
"Naw. He's in th'next county by now."
"That sonofabitch scares me." Dessie sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for a cigarette. Cushing went around and lit it for her. She was completely nude, and looked great. Brother David's bouncing made her big tits waggle. He had a yen for her.
Sullivan was panting, the big man's boffing had probably set him off again. Cushing saw him grab Marie and haul her into the next room.
There was room on the bed beside Brother David; "Lie down," he said to her. She, knew what he meant instantly.
She smiled and lay back, opening her legs. She gave: him the cigarette and he put it in a tray beside the bed and pulled his whang out. He climbed on her, panting heatedly. There was a lot of woman here-she was expectant, tense. He fed her the dong, feeling it enter, and she gasped, hissing her breath and holding him, pulling on him. It dug in deep with his first thrust. She was all greasy and hot; he hit bottom with the rod and jabbed her hard. She giggled in his ear. "Yeah-"
Her legs went around him, held him tight. Man! She felt good. All the woman a guy needed.
Ol' Harve fell off the bed on the other side. They heard him hit the floor and "Oof!" He groaned and mumbled.
Dessie whispered. "He's too drunk t'hurt himself."
Cushing didn't care about Harve. Man! This was what he'd been needing. He fucked her hotly, deeply, ramming and bouncing-making her coo and ahhhh. After Brother David she'd need a good ram - - . to know she was, being screwed. Brother David had a whang like a horse. He hoped little Amber was'nt being split. She didn't sound a bit as though she was hurt.
There was noise from the living room too. He could hear Sullivan yelling something, and Marie shouting-and another voice joining in.
Dessie was not at all like Clara. She seemed twice Clara's size, not petite, and very enthusiastic. Strong, too, Cushing thought. Man, you boff a dizzy like Dess and she does half the work.
Amber was suddenly gasping and moaning, her head threshing back and forth. Her stringy blonde hair was like a handful of macaroni. Cushing watched her, so close beside him. She was oblivious of everything but Brother David and the whang. David was feeding it to her in great gobs, thrusting like a swordsman. She. must be reamed out a mile the way he was driving ahead.
Cushing could see the tiny blonde hairs, of her temples, glinting in the dim light. Her mouth opened and closed and she grimaced, her face worked. Perspiration popped on her forehead-she was close, he knew. Man! Brother -David was really driving it in! The whole bed, bounced to the, rhythm of his big lunging body. How could she take that thing? But of course she'd had it many times before-the way Brother David had scooped her up and pronged her he knew what she could take.
Then Amber seemed to come apart. She shuddered and lolled helplessly, her loins bucking and writhing. Brother David grinned evilly and stabbed her with a steady pace, gradually slackening, slowly, slowly-very slick, Brother David. Amber's orgasm lasted, as, the smile on her sweet face indicated, and lasted, and lasted. Slick, Brother David, very slick.
Dessie gasped then, and Cushing came, back to reality, from the fascination of watching Amber. Dessie was on the verge herself. Cushing began to wham it in, breathing easily from his labors, listening for the signs from her. He saw Bramwell come groggily off the floor, grasp the edge of the bed and pull himself up. Ol' Harve looked pale as milk. Shouldn't drink.
Dessie moaned loudly and threshed wildly. She erupted and Cushing scragged her body, hammering the clit and teasing it. She panted and gasped, raking her nails across his. shoulders.
He wanted to lose his load and could not. Too soon.
Next door Brother David and Amber were quiet now, kissing and murmuring, barely wriggling hips.
Dessie made strange little sounds, happy sounds, subsiding slowly, squeezing the prong, revolving her hips. She stretched like a cat under him, hands far above her head, smiling.
"Ohh, you're a darlin', honey--"
Cushing kissed her, seeing Harve struggle to the edge of the bed and sit on it. Looking stupid. Man, he looked even stupider than he was.
Dessie smelled of whisky and cigarettes. Her legs still surrounded his body, tightening as she realized he was still hard in her. "You didn't do it?"
He shook his head. "Next time."
She giggled and kissed him.
The bed was quiet; and suddenly they could all hear the noises from the other - room. Cushing looked around as someone ran in a man he'd never seen before. The guy was tall, dark and naked, with a lance sticking up to point the way. A second man followed him.
Cushing yelled as they both grabbed him and puffed him off Dess. She screamed, and Brother David reared up, roaring. It happened so quickly that he found himself on the floor, cold on his ass, before he quite realized what was taking place. One of the guys had jumped on Dessie.
"I'll beat your goddam brains out!" he heard David roar. Scrambling up, Cushing saw David's huge arms slapping at the second man. Amber cowered back, eyes bright.
Sullivan was at the door, naked now, grabbing at Brandy. The joint was suddenly going wild!
The guy on Dessie was pronging her frantically, fanny bobbing like a machine.
Brother David flung himself off the bed and charged into the other room. Sullivan and Brandy came to the bed, and Brandy rolled onto it, legs wide. Amber scurried out the far side and Cushing followed her into the living room. Everyone was frantic-as though somehow the urge had descended on all at once. The guy on the mat was humping Marie, and the girl who had been in his bed was under one of the men who'd been in the sleeping bags.
He had heard about sex explosions taking place, but had never seen one. Something happened, and everyone went berserk. He could hear Brother David's booming voice from the kitchen, but Amber ran at him and puffed him, wanting bim on the floor.
Cushing grabbed her arms and yanked her to the mat. There, was plenty of room for two couples. She fell to the. mat quickly, pulling him, and he mounted her hastily. She reached for the cock and guided it; he thrust it and felt it go into warm Jello. What a furious thing! He beat it into her and she gasped at every thrust.
The couple beside them was panting and heaving. Marie clung to the man, an expression of intense concentration on her face.
Amber could take a cock alright. Bigger than his. Cushing rammed her and she gurgled, loving it. He'd been wanting to prong this little chunk-she was delicious. As good as Clara-poor Clara, home asleep on the couch. She was missing a great fucking.
"It's beautiful," Amber said in his ear. "Jus' beautiful-"
Cushing fucked her hotly, but all he could think of was being awol. Hell of a thing to think of while on a broad like Amber.
The guy got off Marie then and Cushing was astonished when he pushed at him: "Cmon, change, man, change-"
"Huh?"
"Get off, we gotta change"
Cushing heard Amber's chuckle. She didn't mind and Marie was grinning at him. The guy tugged at his arm, cock sticking out wet and shiny.
"I don't wanna-"
"C'mon, darlin'," Amber said in his, ear, "change--"
Cushing got up, dragging the whang out of her. The guy pushed him aside and was into Amber before he moved over to Marie. Amber giggled and sucked in her breath, then legs went around him and they were at it frantically,
"Jus' kids," Marie said.
She opened her legs and he laid on her, letting her position the spike. He eased it in her satiny recess. "T' them," she said, "fuckin' is like eatin' peanuts."
He giggled at her. Marie was a kick in the ass alright. She snuggled her blonde head up under his chin and they writhed together intimately and warmly. Marie was no slouch as a lay.
Cushing was, surprised to see another guy come from the bedroom and push at the man on top of Amber. The man got off her and the other took his place. Amber merely sighed, continuing the screw. The ex-partner disappeared into the bedroom. Change-off time.
Dawn was beginning to tinge the windows with a pale, cold light. Cushing looked up, conscious that he was able to see across the room. "It's morning, he whispered to Marie.
"Don't stop just because of that," she said.
The frantic screw-time was over. Even Brother David had calmed down and was talking in the kitchen with someone. They were discussing the world situation, a helluva note, Cushing thought, in the dismal light of morning.
They had to get back to camp. He sighed and Marie kissed him, petting his face. He had to get ol' Harve and Sullivan organized. Maybe Brandy would drive them to the. bus station.
Marie wanted to kiss, her lips were warm, her darting tongue teased him. She made him harder too, by feeling his balls. He mauled her clit, and she responded hotly. He could see Amber clearly now, still being soundly fucked. Didn't she ever let up? She seemed just as avid as when Brother David had pronged her-hours ago. Amber was so close that the two couples brushed together constantly.
Marie erupted suddenly, bucking violently and gasping. Even Amber turned her head, smiling. Cushing winked at her and she put out her pink tongue slowly and moved it-the act made him even hornier, remembering her mouth on him in the car.
He let Marie have all she wanted, feeding it to her in solid doses and-tapering her off to sighs. She lolled in his arms, kissing and squeezing the cock with her snatch muscles. Some gal, Marie.
"You need a shave," she said softly.
He got off her, and she grabbed at, the hard cock instantly. "Hey, I wan' some more-" ' "
Maybe he'd had too much party, couldn't seem to knock off a wad. He went to the bathroom; Marie tagged after him. She came in with him and snapped on the light. Yeh, he looked awful. She looked in the medicine, chest: "Hey, there's, a razor, honey."
He had to piss, and put up the seat. Marie giggled and crowded up behind him. Her hand stole around and she wanted to hold it. He let her handle the dong while he pissed into, the growler. She chuckled and sprayed it and squeezed it, cutting off the stream. She loved to fiddle with it. He let her do what she wanted. He rubbed her ass. and fingered her which made her giggle and writhe.
A damn playful dame.
Then he shaved. He ran hot water, used a can of lather and scraped his beard. Marie sat on the edge of the tub and fondled his dong, watching him. Why did dames like, to watch a guy shave?
He liked it when she sucked on it.
It was light when he finished. The sun was well up, must be six o'clock. Got to get back before the charges piled too high. How long before they call it desertion? He had to puff it away from her. Damn, he'd like to let her make it squirt. Might take some time though.
In daylight the apartment was a helluva mess.
Worse than he'd thought. Night was good for louseridden hip pads. The crummy furniture and lousy artwork looked good in a terrible light, the darker the better.
Brother David was snoring, flat on his back in the middle of the living -room, Amber curled up in the crook of his arm. They were draped with several bankets and an empty bottle. The stink of whisky was, everywhere. Two guys were half in, half out of sleeping bags'.
Cushing went into, the bedroom. Dessie, Harve and Sullivan were in bed, all asleep.
"Where's Brandy?" Marie asked.
They went into the kitchen. Cushing sighed. Brandy and a guy were on the floor, the, same guy who had jumped on Amber. More empty bottles. Brandy would have a hell, of a head.
Cushing pulled at her, "C'mon, Brandy, time to shake it." She moaned.
"You're gonna have to pour water on 'em," Marie. said.
"Wake her up," Cushing said. "It's her car. We need it." He went back to the bedroom. He shook the bed, rocked it, shouted. Sullivan opened one eye and looked at him blearily.
"G'way."
"Get the hell. up!" Cushing yelled. "Up, up, up!"
"Fuck you, Charley."
Cushing grabbed an arm and pulled Sullivan out of bed. He hit the floor and yowled. "I'll cut your balls off, you sonofabitch!"
"Get the hell. outa. the sack--"
Dessie opened her eyes: "Whassmatter?"
'We're, awol, pal," Cushing said in Sullivan's face. "Awol. We gotta make tracks. Get your goddam clothes on." Sullivan was stark naked as usual. Cushing pulled the blankets off; so were Dessie and Harve.
Harve had the granddaddy of all hardons. He stiffed, felt for Dessie and climbed on her. She giggled and spread for bim. Cushing yelled, but he was in her and pumping.
Marie came in, pulling on' a blouse,, straightening her skirt. She stared at Harve's bouncing ass. "Hell, they been don' that all night?"
Sullivan growled and sat on the bed, scratching himself. "Shit. What's one day? We're over now, so what's one day?"
"'Brandy's awake," Marie said. "But she's not fit to talk to."
"Give 'er a drink," Sullivan said, "and me one too. The Marines have landed, cold sober."
"The Marines got to get the hell outa here," Cushing said. "Where's your clothes?,
"Shit, I dunno."
Brandy was in a foul mood alright. Sullivan found a bottle and poured her a drink-then tried to. push his ever-hard hunk into her and she snarled at him. Her wine-colored hair was tangled and matted; she looked drawn and tired.
"I gotta sleep a week straight," she, said. "Let's get the hell home. Where's Clara?"
Cushing said, "We left her on the couch."
"Oh yeh." Brandy straightened her dress and went looking for a comb.
Cushing had a cigarette and sat on a chair waiting for them to get organized. He was hungry as hell and there was nothing but rice and some foul-smelling stew in the kitchen. Brother David woke and looked around the room, rolling his eyes and yawning. He looked terrible in the light too. He belched and farted, then seemed to notice Amber, huddled up to him. He. smiled. Then he rolled her over and got on her.
Dessie and ol' Harve came out of the bedroom, both stark naked, and headed for the bathroom. She was leading him. Harve didn't seem to know where he was. Dumb shit, Harve. Sullivan had found shoes, pants and shirt.
"Where's m'coat?"
"Maybe at Brandy's." Cushing went to the hall door. The stink in the room was awful. Sullivan was staring at the big bobbing ass of Brother David.
"Perpetual motion," he said with a sigh. He followed Cushing down the hall.
It took an hour to get them all in Brandy's car, and Cushing headed for the nearest cafe, a counter joint that smelled of syrup and steam. They lined up along the counter, a dismal hangdog crew.
Bramwell was still foggy. Sullivan ordered eggs for him, and black coffee. There. were two other customers, two guys chattering head to head at a table. The guy behind the counter was young, blonde and sharp-eyed. He had eyes for Brandy and Dess, Cushing thought. Dessie's low neck showed a hell of a lot of tit. Marie looked bleary.
Life flowed back into them with a little solid food and hot coffee. Even Brandy perked up. But Harve remained in the fog. What the hell had he been taking? Dessie seemed pretty sober.
"Did I get married?" Harve asked, looking down the line with dumb animal eyes.
"Jeez," Marie said. "After all that..
"You got hitched, pal," Sullivan assured him. "'Big, goddam ceremony. Phony preacher and the works."
"I thought so," Harve said sagely. "R'member something-party. Who'd I marry?"
"Me, darlin'," Dessie said.
Ol' Harve stared at her, blinking. He seemed t6 be making up his mind about something. "Yeh? Who's, I in bed with?"
"Me darling' Dessie said.
"Me, darlin," Sullivan mocked, "N' Sam an' Harry an' Cush and . . .
"Fuck off, Charley," Dessie snarled.
The counter guy smiled crookedly at them. "Party, huh?"
"Lets get goin'," Cushing said.
He herded them out to the car.
"I don' feel married," Harve mumbled. They pushed him inside and Dessie sat on his lap, pushing her titties into his face. By the time they got to Brandy's, he was nibbling on them. He got out of the card with a hard-on-which made Marie giggle.
They were all waking up. Cushing's head had cleared and he felt almost- normal. Sullivan was chipper now, patting Brandy on the ass . . . she didn't mind. They trooped into the apartment as Brandy unlocked the door.
Marie screamed.
Ownie was screwing Clara on the couch-going after it Eke gangbusters with a rocket up the butt. He paused and stared at them with the opaque lizard eyes.
"Hi, where you guys been?"
Marie dropped into a chair, shaking with the relieved tension. Ownie was calm and friendly.
Clara looked around, twisting her neck, giggling at them.
"Jees God," Brandy said. "Now I need a drink." She went into the kitchen with Sullivan. Ownie went back to the humping They couldn't sober up Bramwell. Nothing worked.
"He got to sleep it off,". Sullivan said. "Look, an hour're two won't hurt. We can't leave 'im here."
Cushing had to, agree; they couldn't leave ol' Harve. They spread him out on one of the. twin beds and let him snore. Brandy crawled into the other and promptly went off to sleep.
"Gee, he was doin' it when I woke up," Clara said to Cushing, looking up at him from under the lashes. "I tole him to get off, but he. would'n."
"Yeh? He was there all night?"
She bit her lip. "Well-"
Cushing looked at the guy; Ownie and Marie were whispering together on the couch. Ownie must have showed up at the apartment soon after they had left to find Brother David. That meant he had probably been scragging little Clara most of the night.
The funny thing was that Ownie didn't know the cops wanted him. He didn't remember nothing about cutting Phyllis, and he said he was real sorry. Marie was trying to impress him with the. gravity of the situation. Ownie couldn't seem to get it through his head that it was serious.
"I didn't go to do anything like that."
By noon, Cushing could hardly stay awake. His eyes were heavy as land mines, and his tongue was thick. Fatigue catching up, he thought. Clara brought him a blanket and he. curled up on the floor out of the way. Clara cuddled up with him and whispered to him and kissed him till he dropped off.
It seemed he, dropped over the edge into ink.
When he woke he was not conscious, of having dreamed. Time had passed and that was all; it was dark out, and he was hungry again. He was also stiff as hell from the, hard floor. He got up stretching and grunting, rubbing tight muscles.
There was a light on in the kitchen and a murmur of voices. Cushing went in and leaned on the door. Brandy and ol' Harve' were sitting at the table, both of them nodding with the sogginess of booze. Harve was as drunk as he had ever been. Cushing sighed, listening to their talk. They were both talking at once, very seriously, neither listening to the other.
He went back to the living room, peering at the couch and chairs-no one.
Ownie, and Dessie were naked in the bedroom. He was rooting in her, grunting and puffing with the effort, and Dessie was threshing in the throes of desperate sensation. Cushing entered the dimly lit room and made, sure there was no one on the other twin. The two struggling humpers were wrapped in each other, breaths hissing and bed squeaking. Enough to give a guy a bone.
Where, the fuck was Sullivan?
He watched them for long moments. Man! Ownie could ram it! What made a guy so goddam horny, Every time he saw a dame he had to have it, seemed like. Where were Marie. and Clara?
Dessie was a good shit too. She was panting for it and getting it. Did dames really get a bigger charge out of screwing than a guy did? He felt his dong, not soft, man. Not soft. For two cents he's knock Ownie off and climb on.
He thought about Brandy. There was an ass. He went back to the kitchen. Brandy was standing at the sink, trying to pour a drink. Harve was nodding.
"Lemme help you," Cushing said. He pushed up behind her, rubbing himself on her round, soft ass. Man! That felt good. She chuckled and wriggled it against him, pushing back. She wore a brown blouse, and a mini. Cushing ran his hands up her flanks and lifted the mini-skirt up as high as it would go. Most of her butt was bare. Her briefs were thin as an honest alibi.
"What're you doing?" she asked in a girlish, cute giggle.
Cushing unzipped and pulled out the ol' dong. "Jus' sayin' hello," he, said soffly. He rubbed it up the crack, pulling the briefs aside. Her ass wriggled harder. Brandy knew his intentions, drunk as she was.
It was warm in there, under her, where the hair was. The ol' cock slipped along the greasy groove. Man! That was great! It seemed like a year since he'd grooved a broad. His prong was like tool steel again. Little food and a good sleep and a guy could punch holes in cast iron with the dingus.
He looked around at Bramwell. Nodding, snoring, mumbling. Drunk as a goddam hoot owl in a ginberry patch.
He took Brandy's ass in both hands and raised it. She sucked in her breath-and the cock squished in, warm and bold. He reached around her and pushed up with his fingers and it sank in deeper. He scrunched down and bucked it up, all the way to the hair.
Brandy said, "Oh, my goodness---" In the funny little-girl voice. Where the hell had she picked that up? He was, in her as far as any guy would ever get. She was impaled. Pronged.
She wriggled the ass and cooed over it. Positively cooed. Brandy always had been a good fuck. He reached around and fondled her titties. No brassiere. That was nice. Warm tits-nothing like full warm tits. He unfastened the blouse and got them out naked in his hands. Brandy cooed cooed ... like a goddam dove.
A helluva. lot of woman.
He thought of Clara as he pumped it in. That fuggin' Sullivan had probably took her somewhere. But where would they go? Hard to tell with Sullivan. You'd have to know if he was drunk or sober first.
Cushing got up close to her, as. close as he could press himself, humping it up warmly, caressing the tits. She relaxed against him, lolling her honeycolored head. She was a great piece. A guy could console himself for a long time with that kind of memory, remembering the ol' whang up her pussy. A great piece of ass.
She was too drunk to stand upright. He had to hold her, and she slid sideways, giggling and clawing at the sink.
Cushing looked around-in time to see ol' Harve slip off the chair and slide into a heap on the floor. Goddam drunk! Harve flopped for a minute like a mackerel out of water, then was still, hissing through his nose and mumbling. Man! He'd never seen Harve as drunk as that.
God! Brandy was delicious-warm meat grinder. Her cooze was like a hot little glove. Cushing held her with both hands humping it up smoothly, making the tits jiggle. He, laid his head in the nape of her neck and sighed.
Then Ownie entered the room, almost silently. Cushing was startled to feel other hands on Brandy. He jerked his head up, hearing Brandy's funny simpering voice.
"Oh, hello-"
Ownie was grinning, like an iguana in heat. He turned Brandy and crowded up close to her before Cushing could push him away.
"C'mon," Cushing growled, "Where's Dessie?"
Ownie chucked, not answering. He had his arms about Brandy, embracing her, and Cushing felt the guy's hand down under her. Brandy giggled drunkenly.
"You wan' it double, baby?" Ownie whispered to her.
Ownie had a finger up the slit beside his dong. Cushing reached up and caught Ownie under the chin, pushing. "I'll break your fuckin' arm
"Whassmatter you?" Ownie whined, "I ain't gonna hurt nothin'-"
"Beat it."
"Aw come on, Cush, wot the hell-don't get sore."
Brandy wriggled and twisted suddenly. She sucked in her breath, and yelled. Ownie must have pinched her. She swung around--Cushing felt his pecker come out-and flung her arms about his neck.
Cushing was jammed up against the sink. Her legs went wide and he grabbed the dong and thrust it back in her as she gasped and bucked with him. He was in her at least a foot and a half-and Ownie was pressed up behind her.
He had never been in a threesome like thisCushing held her writhing body, conscious that Ownie was getting into, her rear end.
Brandy yelped, but she clung to him. Cushing could feel the pressure of Ownie's dong. There was nothing he could do. That fuggin' Ownie was Eke a barnacle. He clung despite anything. Clung and thrust; Cushing could feel him pumping, pushing it, buggering it. Brandy squealed and her eyes bulged out.
Man! What a tight one! Ownie's big pecker made it tighter'n hell. Brandy must be splitting! Cushing worked his cock steadily and Ownie matched the rhythm. When Cushing went in, Ownie came out. That was kinda fun. He wondered how it felt to Brandy.
She didn't complain, after that first yelp. Her squeals were of delight. Maybe she'd never had it at both ends at once.
Cushing could see Ownie's gray face bobbing. The guy was a goddam electric fucking machine.
Brandy blew sky high. She went off with a roar; screaming and humping, clawing him so that Cushiiig had to grab one of her hands. She shuddered and moaned-man! That was the way to get it! He heard Ownie chuckle.
It was difficult to keep the dong in her, she writhed so hotly. But thats all he could think of, keep the dong in where it was warm. Her firm, round thighs caressed him, her jelly-laden breasts moved lusciously -beneath his chin. Woman! Man! Brandy was a lot of woman-why hadn't he been after her more?
That fuggin' Ownie, was goosing her with the greasy pole-that spoiled it a little for him. He didn't like Ownie worth a damn. Should have coldcocked him long ago. Ownie's thighs, were pressing him tool; keeping his, mind off the boffing.
That made him think of Clara. He sure wanted to see Clara again before he took off for camp.
Jesus! Now Ownie was taking off-blasting off! The guy had shifted into high gear and was ramming her so that she lifted her ass, and began to gurgle. Cushing had to hold her down. Sonofabitch! That goddam Ownie could go!
It got violent for a minute. Brandy was cooing and gurgling, as though it was the most wonderful thing in the world.. Ownie was humping more and more spasmodically
ramming and groaning; what a gash-hound! Worse than that goddam Sullivan.
Then he had Brandy's full weight. Ownie had slipped out. She writhed like she had a worm in her, goading her. Her kisses were, sloppy. Drunk. Cushing saw Ownie slink out of the room into the, darkness of the living room. There was a couch in there; he began to move Brandy toward the door; she thought he was trying to dance with her.
The front door opened and Sullivan charged "Gonna screw alla red haired wimmin-!"
Clara followed him, giggling, holding a sack both arms.
"Jezis!" Sullivan said, halting in the middle of the room. They screwin' standin' up.
Brandy brushed the hair from her eyes, and looked blearily at him. "We dancin'-"
"Fertility dance," Sullivan agreed. "I seen them kind of dances, b'fore.. Only mostly lying down on a bed." He patted Brandy's. fanny and talked to, Clara. "Put the booze, in the kitchen, honey."
Clara went past with a giggle at Cushing. The bottles clinked on the sink. Cushing pushed Brandy down on the couch and caught his dong in a handkerchief. He zipped it up and went back to the kitchen. Clara sure looked good.
Sullivan had already had a few. He ogled ol' Harve on the floor, and opened a bottle. "Under the goddam. table already-?"
"You ought put him on a bed," Clara said. She bent down and rolled his head, to look intently at his face. "He's sure gone."
"Looks a little green," Sullivan said, pouring three straight ones. "Harve can't drink good. Ever' damn time he gets drunk. One boddle of booze an' zingo, he's, down f' the count." Sullivan rolled his eyes. "'Turrible thing 'turrible."
Cushing had Harve's shoulders, He dragged the lush out from under the table. Harve was, heavy as Satan's soul. "C'mon help," he growled at Sullivan. Sullivan was patting Clara's ass.
They got him into the living room, bumping his butt on the rug. Dessie was cackling in the bedroom. Helluva. wife, screwing around with Ownie. Cushing grunted to himself. They weren't married, her and ol' Harve. Brother David couldn't marry nobody. The Church of Love, he' said. Shit-the Church of Fuck more like.
Dessie and Ownie, were sitting on the bed smoking. Cushing was surprised. For once the guy wasn't plugging a slot. Amazing. They heaved Harve. up on the other bed and Dessie scooted around to see "Harve!"
"Happy honeymoon," Sullivan said, slapping her rear end.
"God, they fed him pot," Dessie said. "Maybe somebody give him acid-" She hugged Harve and crooned over him. Cushing looked around to see Ownie heading into the kitchen. He followed quickly Clara was in there.
But Ownie was drinking the booze Sullivan had poured out. He smacked his thin lips, over it and Sullivan upended the bottle again, handing Cushing a drink. Clara came over and put her arm about him.
Cushing smiled. She. sure looked good. They had to get the hell out, but she sure looked good. Maybe one more time-she giggled, pressing close. Did she know what he was thinking?
The whisky fired him. He pulled her closer, feeling the ardent warmth of her. Her thighs -seemed to caress his. The ol' whang was interested, and she could feel it. She looked up at him, wide-eyed yet knowing. The tip of her red tongue licked out at him. His cock took a leap upward and she pressed closer, rubbing her belly over it.
Cushing looked up. Ownie had seen what was happening. His lizard's eyes were opaque and steady on Clara's fanny. Sullivan hadn't noticed. Sullivan had had a couple; his face was flushed and he was slightly unsteady.
He wanted to tell Sullivan to. get ready, that they had to go. But he paused-Clara felt so good. She, was rubbing over the cock ever so slightly, pushing inward, subtle yet definite ... Man! He wanted her.
Sullivan poured another drink; he and Ownie tilted glasses solemnly, making a toast to something or other. Cushing slipped both arms' about Clara, kissing her gently, feeling her darting tongue tickling his. He thought of the roof. Yeh, take her up on the roof again-slip it to her! Time was passing, but fuck the time. What could they do to him for one more hour?
He nibbled her lips. "Wanna go up on the roof?" he whispered.
She nodded, giggling.
He pushed the hard cock at her, feeling her respond. Sullivan and Ownie were snickering and talking, heads together. Hadn't someone said something about Ownie shouldn't drink! Well he was OK now.
He edged Clara toward the back door. Ownie went into the dark living room and Sullivan followed. He. heard Sullivan make a crack about Brandy on the couch. He opened the back door and pulled Clara outside.
Her hand was down, ripping at his pants; she was hot for it, panting and rubbing herself on him. Cushing looked both ways; they were on the little narrow walk that ran behind the apartment, dark and cosy. She had it now, hard and naked in her hand, massaging it, pulling it.
"Take it easy-" he said. He didn't want to spurt too fast. The way she was going it would gush.
"I'm crazy for you," she whispered, coming into his, arms, still holding the dick. She had it up under her belly, rubbing the head of it on herself. Man! Did they make 'em any hotter than little Clara? She'd drive a guy up the fuggin' wall. Brandy yelled from inside the apartment. The two of them, Ownie and Sullivan were working her over.
He pulled Clara along toward the stairway to, the roof. She went a little way, then she wanted to kiss. He practically had to pick her up and carry her along. That made her giggle.
At the stairway she went up first, leaning back on him. He swept her mini up and she was naked underneath. Somewhere along the line she had doffed her panties. He worked the dong up her butt crack and she sighed and pushed back hard. He stood there and worked it in.
Jeziz! It seemed he was powerless, to move. It was tight and warm and she wriggled the butt, loving it. But it was awkward. He couldn't get it all . . He, took a clumsy step and she groaned. She wanted to stand there.
God! Clara! What a beautiful, warm little thing she was! He loved her. Sure, loved her. No one else had ever thrilled him. any more than she had. From that first time here on this very roof.
That's what he wanted more of that first time.
He pushed her up the stairs, thrusting forward to keep the thing in her. That was fun, fucking her up the goddam stairs. She giggled, reaching back with both hands to hold his hips, bending forward. It must be a cute picture alright.
At the top of the stairs she stopped and held on to the railing. He, leaned over her back and the hot fluid of passion flooded his brain. His tumid organ foamed in her, thrusting and battering-she sighed aloud. Suddenly nothing mattered. He was convulsed, on fire. Holding her frail body with both hands, he grappled wildly, skewering her. He could hear her sensuous sighs and knew he was giving her pleasure-and the lecherous welling up filled his being. Suddenly it was there, long before he desired it-he had no control, the voracious organ took over. it surged up, spurted and he was merely the tool of the cock! He held her, nostrils dilated, fucked her.
And in the middle of it heard a woman's scream.
It was near, yet even as it penetrated his mushy consciousness he refused to hear it. It yammered on his brain, a series of wailing shrieks-and yet the master, the cock still ordered him.
Clara was shuddering too, writhing and panting even as he. She turned her head and he knew she heard the screams. But for a time he was helplesshelpless.
God! He loved Clara. Loved her.
Clasping her thin body to him, he jabbed it with all his failing strength. She nearly fell and they both staggered, holding on-the cock came dripping out. Christ! He hadn't wanted it that way.
"That sounds like. Brandy__"
Cushing got his breath back, breathing hard. It had sounded like Brandy. The yells continued, and they heard doors slamming. Other voices joined and suddenly there was a babble of sound below them in the court. Cushing looked at Clara.
"Something's happened-" Why did he think of Ownie?
"Yeah, we'd better go back."
Clara looked at him and he put the cock away and zipped himself. She kissed him once, quickly then ran down the stairs. He followed, listening to the growing babble. Men were shouting now.
He followed Clara back to the apartment. She went in the door and came out again quickly, hands to her face, trembling. Dessie was yelling, "Brandy's hurt-"
Cushing cuddled Clara. 'Wait here, honey." He went inside. The front door of the apartment was standing open and people were looking in, curious, wide-eyed Dessie was wringing her hands in the middle of the floor-she seemed hysterical. "Brandy's hurt--"
Cushing shook her. "What happened for crissake?"
"-Ownie-Brandy's hurt-don't let him-"
He slapped her sharply. A woman outside the door said: "Don't let him do that!"
"What happened?" Cushing demanded.
Dessie looked at him and her eyes. focused. "Hey leggo my arm, it hurts."
"Sorry."
"Ownie god, drunk-the sonofabitch-an' he took out after Brandy-"
"Did he use a-knife?"
Dessie bit her lip. She nodded. "He had it in his hand-I think she saw it--"
"I called the cops," the woman outside said in a firm voice. A few others muttered. Cushing went over and closed the door. "Where's Sullivan?"
"He took out after Ownie."
Cushing pointed at the back door. "Clara's out there; you get her, huh? I'll go look for Ownie." He opened the door again and went out. There were a half dozen people standing around. They looked at him with blank faces. Someone asked: "What happened-was that a scream?"
Cushing went out to the front. A knot of shirt sleeved men stood on the walk. They stared at him as he approached. One asked, "You havin' a party in there?"
"Not me, pal," Cushing said. "We were, just talk
He walked past them up the dark street. If Brandy had run out she was probably hiding how, scared sober.
"Sullivan." he yelled. No telling which way Brandy had gone. Sullivan was drunk too, probably. No answer. "Shorty!" he yelled.
He went to the end of the block, looking in all the likely hiding places. Nothing. Shit. She had probably gone the other way. Anyhow she knew the neighborhood better than he. Maybe she knew someone and had gone there.
He went back-and saw the cop car arrive. Red lights flashing. He didn't want to see those guys. but one of the shirt-sleeved men pointed him out. A cop shone a flashlight on him.
There were two cops; one was talking to Dessie, getting the facts. A short man with glasses came up, out of breath: "There's a guy down the street, looks like he's bleeding-"
"That may be Sullivan!" yelled Cushing. "C'mon -" He took off with the cop close behind. The short guy followed, puffing.
It was Sullivan, on his knees on the sidewalk. He was bleeding from a cut in the forehead; he was holding it with his hand, the blood seeping out from between his fingers.
"I cold cocked 'im," he yelled, seeing Cushing. "The sonofabitch was after Brandy-had that goddam knife-" He pointed behind him into the darkness. The cop shone the flash, nothing.
It was, a bad cut, not deep but a good slash. The cop wadded up a handkerchief and told Sullivan to hold it tight. Sullivan was not sober, but he was far from drunk.
"The sombitch tried t' cut me, I flung dirt at an' gave 'im a left-"
"Where is he?" the cop asked.
"Who?"
"Ownie!" shouted Cushing, "you dumb mick!"
"Oh. I dunno. He run that way." He pointed across the street.
"Then where's Brandy?"
"What's Brandy?" the cop wanted to know.
"A girl. Where is she.
"I put 'er in a parked car," Sullivan said. "Look in them parked cars."
A second cop car arrived, and an ambulance. The crowd in the street gathered, chattering, curious. The cops found Brandy and brought her back, scared to death., trembling, but unharmed.
A doctor treated Sullivan.
The cops didn't like it that Ownie had suddenly gotten violent enough to cut someone. They didn't like the explanation, it was obvious. Cushing began to realize they didn't believe the story. And no one knew where Ownie lived.
Sullivan had a slash, but there was no Ownie, and no, knife. "It's true," Dessie swore. "He, does that, just goes wild--"
"You mean he's done it before?" a cop asked.
"Yeh."
"But you don't know him well enough to know where he lives?"
"Well-"
Cushing looked at Sullivan, who wore a white bandage and looked like a war veteran fresn fro I the front. They had taken Brandy away in the ambulance. She was completely unwound and hysterical. She had been alright for a few moments, then suddenly had gone to pieces. The doctor had bundled her up and ordered the ambulance out.
"His wife works at a club some'eres," Sullivan said. "She left, hadda go to work-"
Cushing nodded, hadn't someone told him that Marie worked at a club?
"What's the name?" the cop inquired.
"Of the, club? I dunno," Sullivan said. "Her name 's Marie. She does a topless thing-sompin."
"We'll find 'er," the cop said. "What're you guys Marines?"
"Uh, yeh," Cushing said. He didn't like the look on the cop's face. He went back into the apartment, with Sullivan and Dessie. Clara was in the bedroom looking after Harve. The cops came along, one of them writing in a kind of notebook. He wanted to know who lived here.
"Me," Clara said. She looked at Cushing. "You won't get into any trouble, huh?"
"About bein' awol?" Dessie asked-then she bit her lip.
The cop said, "You guys awol?"
Cushing frowned at Dess. "A day, that's all. We're headin' back now."
"We'll give you a lift," the second cop said.
Sullivan sighed. "Some party."
It was humid; a light rain fell while they drove, through town and feeble lightning shattered the sky miles off to the south. Ol' Harve was coming out of it a little; the police doc had given him something. He half sat, half sprawled on the rear seat, looking stupider than usual. Sullivan's good spirits were shot. He drooped on the seat, feeling the head bandage now and again. Cushing felt down, a slight headache behind the eyes.
At the bus station a couple of white helmets took over and pointed them toward the busses.
"Lookit that," a woman said, nudging a friend with her purse. "Ain't it disgraceful. Them boys been fighting-some saloon prob'ly."
The bus driver spat in the street, seeing them approach. He knew the white helmets. "Whatcha got, awols?"
"Yeah, toss 'em in the back."
Cushing and Sullivan half carried Harve to the seats. They flopped and looked out dully at the wet town. Dirty damn town; glad to get back, damn glad.
The bus driver stepped down to the pavement again, lighting a cigar. "One drunk, one cut an' one wobbly," he said.
"Par in this here, town," said one of the whities.
"Bet you them three been in some fuckin' saloon the whole time, never had theirselves a piece a' asswhich they come for-an' are goin' back broke."
"I wouldn't take, that there bet, friend."
"Well, I see you next time, Bill," the bus driver said. He climbed back into the cab and fired up the engine.
--
END
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TC-204 The Double Bellied Companion-Akbar del Piombo
TC-205 The Sexual Life of Robinson Crusoe -Humphrey Richardson
TC-206 A Bedside Odyssey-Homer and Associates
TC-207 What Frank Harris Did Not Say -Frank Harris & Alex Trocchi
TC-208 The Ordeal of the Rod-B. Bernard Burns
TC-209 Who Pushed Paula?-Akbar del Piombo
TC-210 Sin For Breakfast-Mason Hoffenberg
TC-211 Whores, Queers and Others, Vol. 11-Philip Barrows
TC-212 Whores, Queers and Others, Vol. 11-Philip Barrows
TC-213 An Adult's Story-Robert Desmond
TC-214 My Mother Taught Me-Tor Kung
TC-310 The Watcher and the Watched-Thomas Teachum $1.75
TC-320 The Gaudy Image-William Talsman $1.75
If you enjoyed this book, examine the following list for further pleasures -
the latest exciting releases from Ophelia Press.
OPH-128 Up Tight-Carl Ross
OPH-127 Twin Satyrs-Salambo Forest
OPH-126 Three For All-Marcus Van Heller
OPH-125 Sweets-J. J. Savage
OPH-124 Maid of Delight-Florent d'Asherville
OPH-123 World Where Sex Was Born-Peter Kanto
OPH-122 Fire Child-Salambo Forest
OPH-121 The Babysitter- Norman Singer $2.25
OPH-120 In Hot Blood-J. J. Savage
OPH-119 Forever Ecstasy-Tor Kung
OPH-118 Naked Lady-Mullin Garr
OPH-117 Some Have Too Much-Marcus Van Heller
OPH-116 Love and Lust-Ann Taylor
OPH-115 Only Skin Deep-George Kimball
OPH-114 My Sister My Sin-T. Fitz-Bancroft
OPH-113 Lightning Rod-Mullin Garr
OPH-112 The Ring-Marcus Van Heller
OPH-111 The Gang Way-Marcus Van Heller
OPH-110 The Pornographer-Norman Singer
OPH-109 Big Woman-Mullin Garr
OPH-108 Che Cherry Girl-Marcus Van Heller
OPH-107 Spreadeagle-Marcus Van Heller
OPH-106 Jailbirds in the Back Seat-Marcus Van Heller
OPH-105 Columbus Dancer-Barry Riedel
OPH-104 Rape of the Statue-Marjorie Cartwright
OPH-103 Chateau Venus-Jim Dobbs
OPH-102 The Ginger Man-J. P. Donleavy
OPH-101 Bondage Trash-Jon Horn
