A continuation of the famed professor's exploits on beds around the world.
DEDICATION
To LB and cohorts, for a glorious weekend for three . .
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction
Chapter One: Yarrow Revisited
Chapter Two: Ilsa of Iceland
Chapter Three: Fred's Folly
Chapter Four: Nakimisan
Chapter Five: The Long Trail
INTRODUCTION
The Further Adventures of THE OXFORD PROFESSOR came to me as a surprise, though indeed I knew of their existence. Three volumes of the good professor's stories exist, and when I had finished reading the first (only recently published by Pendulum Books) I knew the search for volume two and volume three must be made immediately. But though I was diligent, I was unsuccessful, though my efforts did bring to light a number of books with which I was not familiar. Among them were two slender, paperbound pamphlets bearing, respectively, the titles She Blows and Free Hump.
Imagine my delight when, upon opening them I found them to be more of the professor's stories, complete with the barber, the salesman and the druggist, all sitting around eagerly awaiting the tale of fucking the professor is going to tell that night. Now I freely admit that I do not know where these tales fit into the overall scheme of things, according to the original edition. I know for certain that some stories are not, in fact, included here some mentioned by the Kronhausens' are not in either of the volumes I've had but still there is no doubt in my mind that these were taken from the original edition.
Therefore, it is with pleasure that I add to available Pendulum books, The Further Adventures of THE OXFORD PROFESSOR. like its companion volume, it is eminently worthy of being preserved from the limbo of being thumbed out of existence, and with luck Professor L. Erectus Mentulus will long be with us.
Dale Koby, A.B., M.A. Atlanta, Georgia April, 1968
CHAPTER ONE: Yarrow Revisited
"Howdy, professor," greeted the proprietor of the Soft Drink Emporium, as Professor Martin entered the store, "Fine weather for ducks, huh?"
"Good evening, Dave," replied the professor, ignoring the hearty banality. "Are the others here yet?" he asked.
"All here, professor," said Dave, leading the way to the back room of the establishment. "Just now come in." And he stood over the darkened booth rubbing his hands briskly while the professor greeted his friends and hung his dripping trench coat on a hook.
"Dave says he's dug up something special for us," informed the druggist as the professor sat down in his accustomed place and reached for cigarettes.
"Real fine, professor," said their host. He stumbled over an unfamiliar name.
"Graves de Vavres," the professor gently corrected. "Well, Dave, if you say it's really of good vintage we'll try it."
He settled in his seat, tapping the straw tip of a Virginia cigarette on his thumbnail while the proprietor of the soda shop scurried away for the treasure.
"Poor Dave," he mused. "Fine weather for ducks."
"Yeah, it sure is mean," replied the salesman. "But like I said, it just goes to show the way the seasons are changing."
"It even has the dogs fooled," the barber put in. "Today there were two fucking right in the front of my shop. I had to chase them away with a broom. It looks bad to the customers, you know. But it made me laugh the way they thought it was spring already."
"Never rained in the middle of January when I was a kid," said the salesman. "Why, by this time of year the river would have had three feet of ice, and I'd be out there with the rest of the gang cracking the whip and playing Three Dog Shinny."
"Say, professor," said the druggist, with a significant glance at the other two, "what was this you were telling us the other night when you were a kid?"
"A mere nostalgic remembrance of my childhood," smiled the professor. "I had a little spotted mare that proved to be quite an asset in a strictly prigatory way, you understand."
"You mean you " the thought in his mind so shocked the salesman that he was unable to form the words. His voice trailed away.
"No, Fred," the professor replied mildly. "I assure you that my relationship with Trixie was purely platonic. She served me in another manner. It was Trixie who brought about my first experience in carnal love. The circumstance was called to mind by Henry the other evening when he touched on the topic of returning to the scene of one's youth."
"I remember, professor," said the barber. "It was something about going back to the old swimming hole, wasn't it?"
"Or returning to the arms of a woman you knew," the professor added. "I did both. Perhaps the telling might not prove too boring..."
"Go right ahead, professor," said the druggist while he worked at the cork of one of the three bottles which Dave set before them at that moment.
"Give us the lowdown," put in the salesman.
"Have a drink," urged the barber.
* * *
It was an inaccuracy, perhaps, to state that Trixie was the determining factor in my initial fuckatory experience, for by the time that I was eight or nine I had several times accomplished that which little boys desire of little girls. But, as Veirenvolker indicates in his Fucking Habits and Half-Measures, one cannot be said to have fucked until one has known the experience completely and realized to the fullest extent the physio-psychological adumbrations of the act, the final implication being, of course, that a cunt is not merely a hole, but that so regarding women a man may go through his whole life without once having actually been screwed. (The salesman raised his brows at this remark, but the professor continued without further amplification of the subject.) At any rate I do not consider that my own knowledge of cunt encompassed much more than the physiological factors up to the time that I laid Catherine.
I was about fifteen. Catherine could not have been many months younger than I, and as these things go I suppose that we should have come to know each other sooner than we did. But I was city bred, and moreover I was the son of a college professor under this double handicap my relations with the young people of my grandfather's farm were somewhat strained. They made fun of my clothes and I found them, at least superficially, ignorant clods. If it had not been for the young pony which my grandfather secured for me I imagine that my vacation that year would have been quite dull.
Trixie was no toy animal and pulled no goat cart; she was a pony in the western sense, wise beyond her years and seemingly indefatigable. On her back I spent several hours every day until the surrounding countryside had been scoured time and again for the solitary adventures I sought. And several times, while engaged in these excursions I had met Catherine, making, as I imagined, quite a dashing figure as I worried Trixie into a nervous caper and galloped away, leaving the girl standing by the roadside sneezing in a cloud of dust.
It was my habit to go each afternoon to a small pool formed by an unpredictable doubling back of the nearby creek and swin for an hour or so while the pony foraged on the bank unattended. So far as I knew no one else ever came to the place, and after the first few visits I gave no thought to the possibility of any one encroaching on what I had come to consider a sort of private haven.
One day, however, as I floated idylically in the cool green water I heard Trixie snort sharply as though startled, and a moment later heard her small hooves rapidly drumming across a meadow that lay several rods upstream. I dashed from the water and ran up the grassy banks of the creek just in time to see Trixie, with the unmistakable figure of Catherine perched on her back, clear a stout fence and disappear. Angered, I gave a shrill whistle with which I was accustomed to call the animal from pasture. Almost at once I heard the rhythm of Trixie's gallop break, and, repeating the signal, was gratified to hear the young mare returning even more quickly than she had left.
In a moment the pair reappeared, Catherine sawing the bit in an effort to turn the animal. The fence was cleared in a soaring bound, and the pony came to a halt at my very feet with a jolting bounce that sent Catherine flying awkwardly over Trixie's head. I caught a glimpse of gleaming white thighs and a pink, bare bottom while the girl clung acrobatically to the mare's neck. Then she was on her feet, with no harm having come to aught save her dignity.
I began a wild tirade against the girl; then, reminded by the direction of her gaze, realized that I was naked. My embarrassment was acute, for my consciousness of my privates had quite recently been accentuated by a fine, quick growth of hair at these parts, and I must have blushed furiously.
Catherine, however, merely laughed and with an ease that seemed to me the height of sophistication informed me that she was already acquainted with the peculiarities of the masculine anatomy.
"I come here almost every day and watch you," she confessed.
The idea of having been naked disporting myself while this fresh young sprite shamelessly watched all that I did burst upon me with intoxicating headiness. My eyes swept over the lithe little curves squeezing under the faded print dress and a thousand odd notions crowded my brain.
"But I never saw you do that before," Catherine added thoughtfully in the long silence.
Following the direction of her eyes I saw that my penis was erecting, standing up bleakly pink in the strong afternoon light. It twitched upward as I watched, and the tight foreskin pushed back slightly while the knob poked out. I caught Trixie's bridle and turned suddenly to go down the path to the pool.
But Catherine followed me. She hurried along by my side, rapidly explaining.
"I didn't really mean to spy on you," she said. "I used to swim here myself until you came. Then, when I found you were here I waited for you to go away. After a while, though, I came even when I didn't want to swim..." and she flashed a wicked sidelong glance at my prick, smiling impishly.
We had reached the pool then, and I turned Trixie loose again. Catherine eyed the mare wistfully as she picked her delicate way among the trees.
"I wish you city boys weren't so stingy," she said petulantly. "I'd do almost anything if I could ride that pony."
"There's nothing to keep you from swimming, you know," I broke in, abruptly changing the subject. "The pool isn't mine."
"It's so warm today. The water would feel good." Catherine continued to eye my body "Perhaps I shall go swimming."
I stretched out on the mossy bank, staring at the sky and pretending a vast indifference to any decision that the girl might make. But I could feel her eyes scanning my body, and a stream of unfamiliar sensations continually ran down my spine to my prick while my imagination inspired that organ to greater rigidity and length. Then I heard a rustling, and turning found Catherine pulling her dress over her head.
Aside from ankle socks and a pair of sneakers the girl wore nothing but this garment, so that once it was removed she was as naked as I. The mottled pattern of sunlight filtering through the leaves above us dusted her skin with warm tones of gold, and even one far more experienced than I must have duplicated my action as I cried out in sheer amazement at the girl's beauty.
Her legs were straight and slim, running at the back into delicate creases where they met her small, soft-looking bottom. Her waist was slim, so that the breadth of her shoulders gave a sort of wedge effect to her back where, under the tight skin, soft ripples of muscle seemed continually to move. As she turned at my cry, a pair of high-set breasts, beautifully developed for one so young, jiggled appealingly, their small tips dancing about like corks in a teapot tempest.
My eyes swept down to her taut belly. Nestling low, at the meeting point of her thighs, a perfect, though lightly defined triangle of black curls accentuated rather than concealed the pink slit it covered. And the girl stood unabashed and without shame as I devoured her with my glance. Then I could restrain myself no longer, and springing to my feet I swept her into my arms with all the fierce impetuosity of youth.
But as I clasped her soft body in my arms, crushing her lovely soft teats to my chest and cramming my prick fiercely against her satiny belly, Catherine shrank away and evinced an incongruous timidity. There was no hint of active resistance, but she tensed in my arms, and I sensed her unspoken protest. I tempered the fervor of my embrace with a series of kisses, covering her throat and naked warm shoulders.
"Catherine," I whispered, "Let me fuck you. Please let me fuck you!"
She followed willingly as I led her up a slight slope and to a natural bower of wild grape, and we dropped to the mossy turf together. But her slim legs were crossed tightly against invasion, and she even frowned when I put my arms about her once more and drew her to me.
I pushed my nose into her armpits, breathing deeply of their warm fragrance, and I stroked her lean sides with fingers that trembled and burned. A hot flush suffused my face; my temples were pounding, and I was actually panting with the exuberance of my desire. Yet Catherine, with a sort of instinctive female wisdom, remained calm and withdrawn.
"Why are you so mean about your pony?" she asked abruptly, incongruously.
I murmured something impatient, dismissing a subject removed from the urgent object of the moment. One hand was moving over and over the girl's flank, and my tongue was tentatively tasting the sweet flesh of her shoulder. My prick was painfully erect, of a size that was quite amazing to me, and I was piqued that Catherine should give it so little notice.
"Open your legs, Catherine," I pleaded. "Let me look at your cunt."
"You were mad when I took just one little ride," she mused absently.
"Oh, blast the damn pony!" I exploded. "You can have her if you want. But let me screw you, Catherine. Let me!"
"I can ride Trixie?" she asked doubtfully.
"Of course! Ride her to the moon!"
"Then, if you'll promise to let me ride her you can fuck me." And with that the girl nestled into my arms, rubbing her round bottom smoothly against my thigh.
My head swam. But now, with the object of my passion having yielded to my importunities, I was at a loss as to how to proceed. Not that the mechanics of the things were beyond either my knowledge or the scope of my imagination; I was merely overwhelmed with the immensity of the project I faced, like a sculptor who proposes to cut a head of Lincoln from the side of a mountain.
I touched the girl's navel, marveling at the wonder of it, and feeling a hot thrill of excitement when she laughed. I lay my palm flat against her belly and caressed her gently. My fingers slipped down into the fine, fuzzy down that ran between her thighs and followed the arrowhead of her hair to her twat.
Catherine started as my fingers touched on her tender little slit and closed her legs, imprisoning my hand between them. She caught my wrist and held it tightly with both hands. Then, as I forced her thighs apart with one knee, she began to move my hand back and forth, rubbing my fingers over the plump twat lips that freshened under the titillation and grew hotter and hotter to the touch.
But her eyes were on my cock. She watched as it pulsated and twitched, blinking curiously as by contracting and relaxing the muscles I alternately gorged the proud organ until the large knob puffed shining and stretched, then grew smaller and satiny. The tip was still partially covered by the gripping foreskin, and the girl was obviously burning with curiosity to know what it hid.
At last she gathered enough courage to reach out one finger and touch the thick rod. It quivered, rubber-like, as her fingertip met it and she jerked her hand quickly away. She nuzzled close in my arms again, rubbing her hands over my chest and investigating my nipples while I stroked her damp slit.
Pushing my hand deeper between Catherine's thighs, I twisted my finger up into the mouth of her vagina. The tight passage clasped over the tip of the burrowing intruder, and the girl's hips swayed thrillingly. Then, as I pushed further my finger struck the tightly stretched membrane of the girl's hymen. Catherine murmured into my ear a soft whimpering protest that turned to a love-bite as I contented myself with gently frigging the lower end of the channel. Then she lay back, arms out flung beside her while I bore her down and pressed my mouth to her boobies. Her breasts were soft and fragrant, and from the flecked pits of her arms came a sensual, female scent that was nothing short of intoxicating. I flung my lips to the small ring of dark, wrinkled skin that marked one young nipple and sucked the red tip between them. I nibbled it briefly, darting my tongue over the burning surface while I squeezed the firm globe in my free hand. Catherine playfully shook her shoulders so that her teats jiggled like jelly as they lay against my face.
The girl's hands were stroking down over my lower belly, timidly touching into the hairs with each downward stroke but not quite daring to handle the upstanding cock. My cock was by this time a deep burning red, and from the compressed tip a tacky flow of clear oil was oozing, running slowly down the under side of the shaft.
Suddenly I closed my hand over Catherine's and pushed it firmly down. Then I took her fingers and closed them one by one over my cock. She held the stiff organ limply at first, but then her interest quickened and she squeezed it gently. The knob swelled and the centered slit gave forth a dribbling drop of liquid which spilled onto the girl's fingers.
Had she continued thus to masturbate me, I would surely have spent in a very short time, but I was now at such a pitch that this no longer satisfied me. And neither were my fingerings sufficient to the urgencies of Catherine's passions, as her next words indicated.
"Your cock is too big for me," she said. "I know it's too big. But I want you to fuck me with it anyway."
She sprawled on her back with her legs widely spread. But, rather than rolling upon her as she expected and urged, I crept between her knees and stared into the open slit that spread between her thighs. The pink, palpitant parts, wet and juicy of their own liquors, gave forth a light musk odor that assailed my senses and quickened my blood. On a sudden impulse I thrust my head forward, burying my face between the plump, meaty thighs and knew my first taste of a cunt.
In his General Survey Of Cunt for The Year 1875-1895, Sir Smedley J. Tookey mentions at some length, and with some regret the disrepute into which cunt sucking fell during the latter half of the nineteenth century, expressing, however, a belief not entirely unfounded that this most pleasant bit of bedroom magic might suddenly experience a revival and complete regeneration. To the fact that Sir Smedley was correct we will all, I am certain, gladly attest, but at the time of which I speak the practise was just at the beginning of the upswing as regards society at large the true cuntsmen never, of course, having abandoned the pretty trick and Catherine had never heard mention of the practice.
She fell in with the idea quickly enough, and after the first moment or so of surprise when my lips closed over her fuzzy twat she pressed my head closer to her crotch while she lifted her young hips to offer me more. My tongue darted into the plump slit and I sucked up a mouthful of the juicy parts with such enthusiasm that she fairly squealed for sheer joy.
For the first time I felt her cunt twitching, the parts convulsing inward upon themselves in such a fashion that my tongue seemed to be sucked into the mysterious maze of tender surfaces. The flow from the sweetly fragrant twat wetted my lips and my face, spreading over my skin like some exotic unguent. I licked up the warm liquor, swallowing what seemed to me at the time like bucketsfull, but which I realize must have been but a light flow.
Engrossed as I was with my own mouthing the thought of having Catherine suck my prick did not occur to me, but her own imagination was less torpid, and so she pushed me away and curled down at my legs. Her blue-black curls rested on my thighs, scattered carelessly, and her pretty mouth was but a few inches from my rod.
She took my prick in both hands, pushing the foreskin fully back, and eyeing the tremendous length with some trepidation. Slowly she bent forward, slid her little red tongue between her lips and reached it to the tip of my cock. The flow from the rounded glans clung stickily to her tongue like a stretched silver thread and she tasted it puzzledly.
I pressed my prick importunately to her lips again, guiding it myself, for her own fingers were now gently mauling my bull shit. Her lips opened so that the tip pressed against them, closed over the huge head, and for a split second I felt her tongue running over the sensitized surface. Then she pulled her head back sharply.
"I can't do it," she pleaded. "Please don't be angry. Perhaps some other time."
The matter was pressed no further, for if she had taken my cock into her mouth again I should have undoubtedly experienced an orgasm, certainly a disastrous termination to our first fucking. So, as Catherine lay down again, I moved over her in the classic 'angelic' position and presented my dampened cock to the feverish juncture of her thighs.
Catherine lay with her eyes closed, her whole body still while I guided my tool to her twat I rubbed the knob along and between the fat little lips of the virgin slit; the shade of a smile passed over the girl's face, but she made no movement. I pressed deeper in the yielding groove, recognizing the flinty touch of the tiny clitoris while her fuzzy twat clasped my cock tightly.
A sudden movement of Trixie in the brush startled me, and I half pulled my prick away. But with gratifying haste Catherine caught my shoulders and pulled me back to her warm body.
"Don't stop," she gasped anxiously. "Put it in again."
I responded with no hesitation, and undoubtedly an excess of vigor, for my rod drove into the mouth of the girl's tight vagina quite forcibly, stopping short as it plunged at the membranous barrier that blocked the passage. Catherine cried reproach in a hurt, pain-filled voice, and I drew back, momentarily baffled.
"It always hurts the first time," Catherine explained-matter of which I was already aware. "Just do it more gently."
With more experience I should have undoubtedly at this point chosen a posture more advantageous to the circumstance, but fortunately Catherine's maidenhead was to offer no great resistance and we carried the situation quite neatly.
I pushed my cock into her once more until I could feel the little strip of skin stretching under the pressure. Then with her fingers Catherine manipulated my cock so that the tip was pressing at that opening provided by nature for the free passage of the menstrual flow. She whimpered softly when I probed the tender tissue, but at the same time insisted that I drive deeper.
My prick burrowed within her cringing parts quite forcibly. Catherine's fingers tore restlessly at the cool mass of our couch or dug fiercely into my shoulders when a particularly acute twinge shook her. But her eyes remained dry, and she even assayed a smile. Her thighs clasped mine in a tense grip, and she offered her mouth again and again, affectionately pleading for kisses.
Then, abruptly, the resistance no longer existed. I was aware of no tearing or breaking merely of a sudden easing of the pressure at my cock's tip. I pressed forward cautiously. In and out my cock slid, squeezed tightly in the hot clasp of the girl's vagina but encountering no actual obstacle.
The outer lips of Catherine's twat were now stretched to their capacity or so I in my newly asserted masculinity proudly assumed and her inner cunt was alive with movement. My balls slid over her thighs as my cock was shoved home, and Catherine, acutely aware of the strange caress, met my glance and blushingly dropped her eyes. But her cunt was more forward, and inquisitively nibbled at the stuffing tool the while it devoured more and more of the thick length.
By a sudden upward movement of her hips, Catherine thrust herself to me, and the final inch or so of her first cock was squeezed into her. The whole fiery organ was encompassed by her juicy cunt, searching blindly in the tender parts where it pulsated and throbbed in a most erratic fashion. Instinctively we began to roll and rock our hips, rotating the stiff pestle from side to side, discovering a most thrilling combination of contact. Then I started to frig Catherine, gently at first because neither of us were quite sure of the furrow we plowed, but shortly developed the vigor of my thrusts to a pitch that set my balls to swaying heartily against the girl's soft bottom.
And Catherine fucked with me. She lifted her buttocks free from the ground and to the imprisoning grasp of my eager hands writhing and twisting in a feverish anxiety of newly aroused passion. She squealed girlishly when my fingers clawed into the yielded body of her ass, in her voice a husky undertone of imploring desire. And, while I fucked faster and more surely with my every stroke I thrilled for the first time to the soft love moan of a woman in heat.
But something was happening in my prick. The organ itself was a swollen center of odd prickling and rippling sensations, while the tip was fairly burning with indescribable nibbling. My testicles were drawn close to my body, straining toward something which I sensed only vaguely. I felt myself sucked toward a vast whirlpool of senseless laughter, and fought off the hysteria with only the greatest effort. I knew what was approaching, but by name only, for I had never consciously experienced an orgasm.
Fortunately Catherine was aroused to as high a pitch as I fortunately, because it would have been impossible for me to stave off the impending climax to accommodate her timing. She shuddered ecstatically as I dropped my mouth to her teats and hungrily sucked them; her arms were about the small of my back, pulling me so close that the retreating strokes of my hips were partially retarded. Calling on me to fuck harder she drove her bottom ferociously against me until my prick was ramming into her with all the force of our combining efforts.
My hips shook, and every muscle in my body quivered in ecstasy. My nerves, which had seemed drawn out and out, like finely stretched wires, abruptly reached the breaking point and collapsed, relaxing all control, and a flood of semen scattered from my prick with startling suddenness. My balls jerked, feeding their gathered burden into my cock to the limit of their capacity. I was not quite certain, but I suspected that I was finally quite at death's door.
But withal, I was quite capable of appreciating in a detached manner all that went on about me. In fact, of some occurrences my sensibilities were acutely aware. Trixie was loudly making water on a pile of dried leaves, and a chipmunk was, from the promontory of a large rock, eyeing our activities with the amused air of a confirmed skeptic. Beneath me, Catherine writhed in the sudden frank throes of her own orgasm.
The girl's buttocks tightened in my hands, and she threw her belly high, arching back in such a fashion that the pressure of my spending prick was made even more acute. Her cunt twitched alarmingly, and her outburst of mingled obscenities and love cries must have been quite startling, had I not been matching them with some imaginative rhetoric of my own. In that instant the poetry of youth mingled briefly with the hot, earthy prose of carnality.
Our bellies rubbed sleekly together, and we clung to each other in that eternity of seconds as though each dragging instant was to be our very last. Then, as my cock pumped dryly at my emptied bull shit in a series of lessening throbs, Catherine suddenly fell back.
I thought that she had fainted, but when I touched her flushed face with my finger tips she smiled and turned to kiss them. The poignancy of that moment was too sharp to bear, and I hid my face in the girl's shoulders while tears filled my eyes. But nature has provided an anesthetic for these emergencies, and so, as we lay together, we both fell asleep there on the mossy ground.
Sometime later I felt, half-waking, half-dreaming, that Catherine had roused in my arms and was inquisitively handling my cock that she bent her head to kiss my privities.
But when I awoke she was gone, and Trixie with her. And beside me, as a mischievous farewell, she had left my clothes in a tangle of tightly drawn knots.
It would be pleasant to tell that on the next day, and on all the days following, we met and fucked. I should like it to be that we wandered together down all the charming by-paths of lubricity. But such was not the fact.
Catherine was, on the very next day, shipped off by her parents to spend the rest of the summer visiting an aunt at a town some fifty miles away infinity under the attendant circumstances I finally turned my erotic attentions to whatever other cunt was available.
* * *
"Say, professor," said the barber, always of practical mind, "she didn't keep the pony, did she?"
The professor smiled a negative reply.
"Those country kids," said the salesman with a doggish leer, "they're the hot ones. They can show you something about fucking. like preachers' daughters."
"But you haven't kept to the point of your story," the druggist reminded. "I thought it was to be about a girl you went back to."
"And so it was," said the professor. "But what I intended to be a brief sketch developed in relation to its true importance."
"Well, what was the rest of it?" the barber wanted to know.
"That," said the professor, "must be withheld until the occasion of our next meeting."
* * *
"That," said the professor as he handed the finished sketch across the table, "is the original source of the so-called 'French ticklers' of which you speak, Henry."
The salesman whistled.
"I've met women who like those rubbers with nipples on the end," he marveled, "and even one who carried her own supply of feathers on the end. But I never ran into anybody who could handle a gadget like that. You say that rod goes right through their pricks?"
"More specificially, through the upper part of the glans penis," the professor affirmed. "And as for finding a woman to whom the ampallang appeals, none of the women of the Woloff consider a man well-dressed who is without such an apparatus."
"And I thought I was going pretty far to screw that Olivey girl with a doll-hand stripper," laughed the druggist. "But what are those ends, professor?"
"Among the primitive peoples, such as the Dahoney or the Senegals the entire contraption is fashioned usually of bone or wood, although the end pieces may be tufted with feathers or burrs. Civilization has, of course, added mechanical improvements such as small cogged wheels to replace the original end pieces and screw-on attachments."
"What are those black dots, professor?" asked the barber interestedly.
They are supposed to indicate the spots where small pebbles have been set under the skin. The placement of these is purely arbitrary, some tribes favoring that they be placed in a series of lateral lines along the body of the penis. And here again modern mechanics have been brought into play, substituting tiny gold bells which tinkle quite seductively; and characteristically, these were at one time especially popular among the French gentry."
"Say, professor," joked the salesman, "with all these new improvements on the old model, why hasn't someone invented a shoehorn for tight cunts?"
"The Chinese did, although its application was intended for those who, because of the excesses of youth or some other reason, were incapable of complete erection. The instrument is known as the Annamite shoehorn."
"I think I'll stick to the old-fashioned fucking," the barber announced after studying the drawing for a few minutes longer. "I have an idea I'll last longer that way. Maybe my wife too. She's changed enough as it is." And the barber shook his head sadly at the thought of his Marie's rotundity which the years had brought.
"They change all right," agreed the druggist. "Fifteen years can make an awful difference. And I mean awful the way the word really means. like the Grand Canyon or something."
"You were going to tell us a story something about that," the salesman reminded the professor.
The professor lighted a cigarette and took up the thread of the story of Catherine where he had left off.
* * *
Seventeen years later, almost to the day, I happened to be passing through that same countryside while on a journey to New York City where I was to meet Dr. Henrik Kosciuzko Prcybyczewski, whose works I was interested in publishing in this country, and which I should recommend heartily to you gentlemen were it not for the fact that the strain of remembering the man's name has caused me to forget both the subjects and the titles of the books in which I was then interested.
I was in no great hurry, and as my train pulled into the little station which was hardly more than a water-stop I rose on sudden impulse, gathered my bags, and left the train. Then, after checking my luggage with the same station agent whom I remembered from the day on which I had first come here, I set off on foot to explore the countryside.
The years had brought to the landscape many changes, not all of which seemed to be improvements. A great white highway ran directly through what had been my grandfather's farm, and there were in sight several roadside stands, advertising everything from balsam pillows to razor blades as well as the inevitable gasoline, oil, and free water for ladies. I turned sadly away from this place and hunted out the little side road which ran close to the scene of my adventure with Catherine, reflecting that those who insist on disinterring the dead past deserve no better than the disillusionment it brings.
I cut across through the willows, walking softly as the ghost I suddenly felt myself to be. The path seemed familiar, but it was changed somehow. I paused at a turn where I had cut my name into a birch sapling, but all I found was a well-grown tree with an oddly healed slash on one side. Then I came upon the pool.
Perhaps not so large as I had remembered it, the body of water was still a lovely place. Nor was its beauty marred by the sight that immediately drew my attention that of a woman lazily swimming across it toward the near bank.
Her body was hidden in the swirl of green water, but I recognized the face at once. It was actually Catherine the Catherine of my memories and I could hardly restrain a cry of exultation. But, withheld by some angel of discretion, I stood absolutely still, scarcely breathing.
She reached shallow water, sought footing, and then stood up. And as she stepped onto the bank and came closer I recognized the fulfilled promise of the lithe, girl's body that I had known.
The woman stood a moment, water dripping from her shoulders, running down along her sides and following tiny paths over her plump thighs. She shook her curly head, and where two high-set little promises of breasts might once have quivered, two lush hemispheres shook wildly. Her hips had widened, the tight lines of her form that I had traced with my fingers were now delicately underscored. And, splitting low on her ripe belly, what I had known as a soft feathering of black fuzz, lay a heavy pelt of dripping hair.
Then, underfoot, a dry stick snapped loudly. The woman turned quickly and stared at me with the startled eyes of a doe. But she gave no sign of fear, and made no effort to hide her full charm from my sight.
"Hello, Catherine," I said as naturally as I could, taking a few steps forward.
She stood stock still, the only movement being that of her luscious teats rising and falling.
"How do you know my name?" she asked after a moment. "Who are you?"
"Don't you really know?" I said softly as I moved closer.
She looked at me blankly. Then she smiled quizzically and nodded her head.
"You're Lee," she said simply.
"Right here, a long time ago," I said, "you took my pony."
"And you took something of mine," she smiled.
"It was a fair bargain. You rode Trixie."
"And you rode me."
She came forward and took my hand.
With infinite wisdom she made no mention of the years that had passed, and I avoided the subject like the plague. For after all, we could have had nothing in common other than that one day.
By mutual, unspoken consent we turned toward the little arbor. Catherine pushed aside the twisted tendrils of the grape and sat down.
"You were so embarrassed that day when I saw you naked," she said. "And now I sit here without a thing on and neither of us feel a thing."
"Perhaps you don't," I answered, "but I am not quite so self-contained."
I nodded downward, and Catherine, seeing the manner in which the front of my trousers was pushed out, laughed prettily. She put her hand out and rubbed the lump, and I felt a prickling thrill startle the hairs on the back of my neck.
"You wanted me to suck that," she said, "and I couldn't quite bring myself to do it. It seemed so terribly big and red then."
Her fingers played in through my fly and clasped around my cock.
"But I could now," she whispered.
She pulled the whole front of my trousers and shorts open impatiently and dipped in both hands. Then, as she pushed the opening wider, her fingers cupped under my balls and lifted them, exposing not only my privities, but a good portion of my belly and thighs as well. She squeezed my bull shit and almost immediately had one finger wriggling back between my thighs to my ass.
"Let me take off my clothes first," I suggested, and so she stopped her play to assist me in removing them.
"I was afraid you might have become thin and bony," she confessed as, with tripping fingers, she unbuttoned my shirt.
I rolled toward her, enfolding her luscious body in my arms, thrilling at the soft contact of her warm flesh. Her boobs were mashed flat against my chest, and her well-fleshed thighs slipped smoothly over mine when she wrapped her legs about mine. Her damp pelt rubbed on my belly and my cock was pressed against her leg where it beat strongly. My hands slipped down her back to her bottom and I squeezed up a double handful of her generous buttocks.
Catherine's hand slipped between us and went down to my prick. She rubbed her palm flatly over my belly and my mat of tough hair, then grasped my rod and clenched her fingers fiercely around it.
"Lie on your back," she urged softly. "I want to show you that I can suck your cock now."
I turned back and she crouched over me, holding my penis in both hands. With the heels of her palms and her finger tips pressed flatly together she formed a mock-cunt and, sliding her hands to the base of my tool, unsheathed the glans which popped baldly out of the tight foreskin, wet and oily. She bent her head forward and kissed my thigh.
Catherine's soft cheek ran up over my loins, the dark ringlets of her hair tickling my privities as she pushed her lips over my belly, into the patch of hair at my groin, and finally deep in my crotch to my balls. Her lips played with the egg-shaped glands while her fingers dug, playfully fierce, into my cock and her face was streaked by the wetness that she squeezed from the eager organ. She lipped in a mouthful of loose, hair-flecked skin and then gulped in each heavy ballock by turn, rolling them from cheek to cheek and pressing them with her tongue.
She dropped my balls at last, slipping them reluctantly between her teeth, and her moist little tongue darted out to follow them. Over my balls, up the inner sides of my thighs and finally up the shaft of my cock her tongue laved. The swollen veins throbbed against her full lips while she licked with maddening slowness from the heavy base up to the hot tip. Never quite touching the huge knob itself she wetted the whole body of my cock. Her lips hung over my prick, slightly parted, and but a scant inch or two from the head.
I lifted my hips, and she teasingly drew back. But then her mouth touched the sticky slit and, moving down, closed over the knob. I felt her tongue lick searingly over the glans, pressing into the slit and running over the ridge at the base. I jerked my hips and the movement pushed my tool partly into Catherine's mouth. Then her moist lips were tightly moving down over the thick organ to the base.
She gulped my prick quite wholly into her mouth, and when her lips touched against the mass of hair that lay on my belly she moved her dark head slowly from side to side, grinding my balls under her chin. But the size of my cock was such that she could not hold it in this fashion for very long, and so she allowed some two thirds of the choking barrel to slip from her mouth, pinching it tightly between her teeth as she did so. The remaining portion of my cock she fell to sucking and chewing, munching the juicy mouthful with a hungry relish that soon had me anxious to spend.
Catherine's bottom wiggled prettily as she sucked me, partly as a result of the motions naturally attendant on this act, and partly from an excess of lubricity, and I reached to pat her jiggling buttocks. The yielding flesh was warm to the touch, and when I slid my fingers into the deep crevice the dimpled buttocks relaxed, and Catherine moved her hips to rub her pink ass hole against them.
I turned my body, bringing my face close to the lovely rear and spread the heavy buttocks with both hands. The inner sides of Catherine's butts were covered with dense black hair in the midst of which her puckered ass hole stood out nakedly. Below it her twat lay, indiscreetly open and heavily bearded, and from it came an odor which, as I scented it, brought to mind the circumstance wherein it had at first become familiar. I leaned further and kissed the parted lips of Catherine's twat.
The girl quivered at the contact. Then she quickly threw one leg over my head and straddled me, pushing me onto my back again by the simple expedient of crushing her crotch to my face. I licked through her damp slit while she pressed it to my lips, and reached to grasp one of her swaying teats in each hand. I squeezed them punishingly and pinched at the nipples which, though now the size of grapes, hardened as willingly as when I had first touched them.
My nose was pushed between Catherine's buttocks with the tip pressed squarely against her ass hole, and as she twisted her hips to squeeze my mouth closer to her twat I felt the hole moving and softening under the pressure. I sucked up the hair-covered lips of her groove, chewing them so enthusiastically that the girl, though she made no move to restrain me, cried out in mingled ecstasy and protest. Her clitoris bobbed stiffly under the insistent caress of my tongue.
Catherine had been joggling my bull shit in both palms, but now she thrust one hand between my thighs and pushed her finger at my bottom hole. In a moment she had it wriggling up my rear, moving it in and out in time to the up and down movements of her mouth along my prick. At the same time we rolled onto our sides.
The finger-fucking with which the girl was engaging my ass hole had me quite on the verge of spending, and from the vigor with which I frigged her mouth she soon sensed my condition. Against my protests she pulled her twat from my mouth and slid back to the original position.
"I won't spend yet anyway," she explained, "so you might as well really enjoy being sucked."
I had been enjoying myself immensely, but I had not the spirit to argue. I lay back to watch while Catherine returned to her chewings and lickings, but I could not for long remain passive, and soon I was shoving and probing with restless hips, stuffing my prick deeper and deeper into the girl's hungry mouth.
With one hand she continued to play with my ass hole, while with the other she alternately masturbated me or fingered my balls. My passion grew more and more intense all sensation seemed to be gathering to my prick and my tightening bull shit. I grasped the girl's head and held her close while I fed my bursting cock in and out of her mouth. Then I spent.
Catherine received the hot jet of semen well back in her throat, and as she swallowed the first spurt she rammed her face as near to me as she could. She could hardly have been expected to suck with the pouring knob thrust so far into her, but her tongue and teeth and lips were all working in unison to draw my sperm out. My prick throbbed and pounded under the exquisite manipulations, and my testicles had soon emptied themselves.
The girl swallowed the thick accumulation of sperm in a series of bird-like sips. I was probing her as deeply as I was able, but her desires were demanding a more forceful titillation, and as I introduced one more and then a third finger, Catherine's hips shook wildly, and she jammed herself upon the impalement with an enthusiasm that made my wrist ache.
In the meantime her own hands were not unoccupied. She was handling and dandling my privities so skilfully that my cock had begun to assume quite a presentable degree of erection. And, as the shaft filled out and the wasted tip swelled, Catherine proposed a divertissement upon which I had already been conjecturing.
"My teats are nicer than they used to be," she offered. "Would you like to fuck between them?"
She pressed them together with the fat nipples poking out between her fingers, and I kissed each ruby tip in turn. Then, as I straddled her, she caught my stiffening cock in her fingers and pushed it into the deep groove between the soft hemispheres. I rocked back and forth, sliding my cock far forward with each thrust, and Catherine bent her head in an effort to kiss the tip as it forced toward her face. When I pushed her hands away to hold her teatties in my own she fell to finger-fucking my bottom again, while my prick lengthened and grew harder until it was finally of such proportions that she was able to accomplish her desire to suckle the tip intermittently as I frigged back and forth.
"If you'd lie back," she said, while her finger twisted in my rear with a slow, corkscrew motion, "I could suck your ass a little bit."
I stretched out over her as she suggested, and she pulled my body up until my ass was in her face, my buttocks resting on her upper cheeks and shoulders. She parted my butts, and her tongue licked into the crevice and toward my ass hole. She kissed the puckered spot, and her lips bunched over the tightened ring of muscle. I felt the strange pressure of her sucking, and then the thrilling movement of her tongue as it scurried searchingly up my rear.
Catherine's lips smacked wetly while she sucked my ass, and she was evidently finding as much if a different type of enjoyment in the procedure as I. Her arms were about my waist, and she was pulling the skin of my cock, rapidly back and forth while my prick grew thicker and longer.
It occurred to me, however, that the poor girl must be almost beside herself with anxiety to be fucked, although the mental turmoil she must have felt was well disguised. I therefore disengaged myself and stretched out by her side, placing my rigid tool between her thighs. I slid it back and forth over the hairy lips until it was well dampened with the overflow of her twat and then, lifting up the girl's uppermost leg, prepared to shove my tool into her cunt. But Catherine stopped me.
"Could you just put it into my ass?" she pleaded.
"Just for a minute? I'd like you to do that before I come."
I slid my body lower, adopting a sort of imperfect T position, and presented the head of my cock to her bottom. Catherine opened her hole somewhat by pressing her fingers alongside it, and wriggled down until the hot tip was pushing into her. Holding my cock in one hand, I worked it around and around, forcing gently, until her sphincter relaxed. Then, combining our efforts, we suddenly popped the knob into the lax opening.
Catherine had evidently grown quite familiar with this method of screwing, and the size of my cock held no terrors for her. And so, though her rear was pinching quite strongly around the rod that probed it, she suddenly jarred her hips downward and sent my prick into her to its entire length. The most delicious inner convulsions assailed my cock, and I began to fuck in long, thrilling strokes that sent shudders of delight surging through both the girl and me.
Catherine wiggled her rear and bounced in an effort to hurry my frigging. But I knew that if I were too enthusiastic I might easily come to another orgasm before she had realized her first. I held off, screwing slowly but powerfully, dragging my cock back until only the tip was held in her rear, then shoving it up again with a skewering thrust that, to judge by the girl's reactions, must have produced a most thrilling effect. She dug her fingernails into my shoulders, writhed her torso in aimless patterns, and moaned softly.
But her cunt was empty, and even the most expert of fingering on my part could not make up for its vacancy. It hungered for the stuffing, soul-filling action of a prick, and soon even Catherine, with all her enthusiasm for ass-hole fucking, could no longer deny it. Abruptly she ceased the heavy rhythm of her hips, and reading her glance, I withdrew my cock and gave it to her hands.
Immediately she guided it to her cunt, and smacked her belly and hips to mine with a force that drove my cock slithering to the very root into her vagina's slippery embrace. For the moment I felt the danger of a premature effusion of semen, but it passed and we dropped into an easy movement that became more imperative as moments passed.
Somewhere in the course of the seventeen years that had passed since our last meeting Catherine had learned how to fuck and fuck properly, and that which she had then done by instinct was now brought to its fullest expression by the combination of a passionate zest for the game and a well-rounded experience. Her vagina sucked hotly at my prick, the humid inner surfaces playing in marvelous counterpoint to the imaginative manner in which she brought her hips no, her whole body into the score. She slipped and twisted expertly while I drove and plunged at her, savoring this belated union to its fullest. She fucked with a sort of hot pride, as though to show me with her body what the years had given her, expressing all that she could never have said in words.
Our actions grew wilder and more hurried, for now our passions drove us. My balls spanked against the girl's bottom each time that she swung her hips to receive my jarring upward thrust, and I felt the first involuntary jerks that forewarned the surge of orgasm. I checked the spasm temporarily, while I brought every talent to bear to the end that Catherine might spend with me. Then, up from my balls came the slow radiation of complete rapture. A boiling torrent of semen poured into the girl, and I felt her every fibre tense as it struck home. The sudden eruption of her orgasm caught her up and she cried out from the depths of her swirling bliss.
Catherine's body thrashed madly with mine; then she lay still as the physical manifestations passed and the secondary realizations seeped through her. She looked wonderingly into my face and suddenly pressed my lips with a kiss in which gratitude and the ebbing morsels of passion mingled.
"So long," she murmured. "So long to wait..."
She snuggled her warm cheek to my chest and, exhausted by her efforts, and in full flight from the brusque reality which she sensed must soon burst upon this idyll, sought refuge in sleep.
My own eyes felt heavy and drugged, but I fought away the desire to follow Catherine's example, lying quite still until I was quite certain of her slumber. Then I arose cautiously and put on my clothes. I walked down by the side of the pool and skipped a stone across it. I looked back at the arbor to see if the sharp sound had awakened the girl and, ascertaining that it had not, I performed a duty for which I felt an irresistible compulsion.
* * *
I walked back to the arbor and looked in on the sleeping figure. She was smiling gently, a picture of ripe, completely satisfied womanhood. She moved slightly, and I feared that she was about to awake, so I hurriedly left. On the road I hailed a passing car and arrived at the railroad station just three minutes before the next train.
While the professor talked, Dave's cat had climbed into his lap and had fallen asleep. Now, as the animal was gently brushed away it stretched lazily and stalked off in a dignified fashion. The proprietor of the sweet shop appeared with his eternal broom and began the perfunctory business of "cleaning up."
"You were lucky," said the salesman, lifting his feet while the imperturbable Dave swept under the booth as though his four customers were a kind of natural hazard such as the tiny iron coal stove. "If that had been me the girl would have turned into a fat old bitch with a zipper on her cunt."
"If it had been me she'd have run like hell," said the barber cheerfully as he patted what some day would develop into a comfortable paunch.
Dave gathered the bottles and glasses and wiped the table with gargantuan strokes of his all-purpose apron. He shuffled away again.
"Say, professor," said the barber when Dave had gone, "what was that duty you were talking about? I didn't quite catch that."
"That was just his way of saying that he took a piss. Don't you ever want to take a piss when you finish a fuck?"
"No," said the professor, "that wasn't exactly what
I meant. It was something else. Something I'd been wanting to do for a long time."
"I give up," said the druggist. "I'm no good at these guessing games."
"Come on, professor," put in the barber, "tell us what it was."
"I tied her clothes in knots," said the professor with a wry smile.
CHAPTER TWO: Ilsa of Iceland
"I don't read the papers much anymore," the barber remarked as he pulled the cork from the first bottle of Pommes de Veilard. "I can't understand this new Italy they talk about these days."
The druggist folded the tabloid with its seventy-six point scare-head on the inside and stuffed it into his pocket.
"Every time you pass a newsstand nowadays it looks as though the next extra might be a declaration of war. This business about Djibouti looks bad, mighty bad." And he wagged his head dolefully.
The professor, who up to this time had been silent while he listened sadly to his friends' discussion of nebulous values and incidents which they had been propagandized into believing were the causes of war, spoke sharply, even with irritation.
"That 'situation,' Henry," he said, "is an example of purely political legerdemain. Existing at first only as diplomatically conceived 'feelers' put forth to test the temper of the times, these things find their reality only after the world press has reported them. And these are the things by which men are eventually prodded into bearing arms against each other false ideologies and hastily concocted 'atrocities.' "
"But professor," the salesman protested. "Look at all the things that brought us into the last war. We just couldn't stay out. God knows I don't like war, but "
"Imagine, Fred, that the paper which Henry now has in his pocket carried some such headline as: 'ARCHDUKE FERDINAND STILL ALIVE-WORLD WAR FOUGHT IN VAIN.' The primary impact would be terrific. But the war was not fought for Sarajevo or anything like it. It was fought simply because the system of economic philosophy known as capitalism cannot exist without war."
"Oh come off, professor," chided the druggist. "Of course we don't believe any more that the Germans cut off the hands of Belgian babies. But you can't say that the reds are the only people who don't want war.
Nobody WANTS war. But we've always had it. Why at this very minute I'll bet there are half a dozen tribes in Africa fighting for each other's women."
"At least they know why they are fighting. And, regrettable as is any warfare, their battles are not the horribly cold, scientific murder that civilization has produced."
"I saw that stuff," said the salesman with a shudder. "Let's talk about something else."
"Well, don't the Reds have the biggest standing army in the world?" the druggist persisted.
"They have also a system of government which may someday get farther than anything we have yet seen surely farther than those nationalist systems which cannot survive except by cannibalistic measures. And should that system prevail and spread, warfare would of necessity be virtually abolished. Until then even the Russians must arm and prepare to massacre."
"Well, somebody has got to stop this Hitler," the barber offered. "He's turning Germany into a nut house."
"Yeah, we were going to get the Kaiser last time. Now I see pictures of him in the newsreels, chopping wood," scoffed the salesman. "We killed the wrong guys."
"In any war all the 'wrong guys' are killed," said the professor, "and I intend to have no part in the error."
"What'll you do, professor? Go to Russia?" the barber wanted to know.
"I am afraid that Russia today is hardly the place for me. Perhaps in three or four generations the country may make a decent place to live. But such strict surveillance as that under which a citizen of the Soviet Union now finds himself is not to my taste. No, not Russia."
"But you would go away?" asked the druggist. "Where?"
"To Iceland. More specifically, to the city of Reykjavik."
"But that's where the Esquimaux live," the barber protested in horror. "Why you'd freeze your balls off!"
"On the contrary," said the professor. "Reykjavik has six months of very mild, spring-like weather. Actually, Sweden extends further north than does Iceland."
"Sort of a backward place?" asked the druggist.
"Not at all. The city enjoys the most complete electrification in the world. A good university and a splendid library are located there the library, by the way, housing the well-known work of Count Manderstrohm, of whom you have undoubtedly heard."
"You seem to have done a lot of planning for the next war, professor," said the salesman.
"A fair amount," the professor admitted, "including a reconnoitering trip to Reykjavik when I saw what was happening at Versailles. My only anxiety is that the British may choose to use it as a fuel-stop or coaling station."
"Say, professor, how about telling us about the women there?" suggested the barber. "That is sort of important too, you know."
* * *
I had met Thorvaldsen in Warsaw and, drawn by common interests that bridged the gap in our ages, we had spent a great deal of time together in discussion and research. Many and many a time we argued all night over a table in the historic old Fuckier Tavern. (The salesman looked up startled at the name, but the professor continued in all seriousness.) It was but natural then, that when I arrived in Reykjavik I immediately made an effort to renew that pleasant acquaintance.
The old fellow received me cordially enough, although he had failed to recognize me immediately, and had stood peering myopically down his nose, beard blowing in the wind, until I felt like a man come to serve summons rather than an invited caller. Once he knew who I was his manner was the essence of hospitality, and he insisted that for the short time I planned to be in the city I must make his home my headquarters. The idea was quite agreeable to me, and when he called in his daughter a person of whose existence I had up to this time been completely unaware it became completely so.
Ilsa was nineteen or twenty, a blonde, and a remarkably beautiful creature. Even as her father introduced us I decided that before I left Reykjavik my acquaintance with this Nordic nymph must if my own efforts prevailed pass quite beyond the usual ameneties of polite conversation. But the opportunity came sooner than I expected, and in a manner that was, to say the least, a novelty-
The girl had accompanied us into the library where Thorvaldsen, after showing me his books including a magnificently illustrated volume of Oslaf Lief Mik-kelsen's Essays on The Importance of Ass Hole Fucking came to the subject of the opus on which he was then engaged. The book, the title of which, if freely translated, would be The Cunt You Do Not Know, was practically completed he having worked at it intermittently ever since his wife had divorced him some twelve years before and he was now faced with the task of providing a set of some two hundred posture illustrations to supplement the text. He showed me half a dozen angle studies, explaining that he could trust the photography of the subject to no one but himself, and pointing out various details in the plates to carry the point.
"Very interesting," I commented, handing back the pictures.
"Thank you," Ilsa said in a soft voice, too low for her father to hear. Mischief shone in her eyes, and for a moment I stared at her quite dumbly, for it had never occurred to me that she had been the model. But Thorvaldsen was leading us into another room a room fitted out with spots, drapes, and all the paraphernalia of clinical photography of this sort.
"I have everything but the models," he complained. "Everything else is ready, and the book could soon go to press. But everyone whom I approach about the matter of the pictures misunderstands. I tell you, it's disheartening really disheartening. Ilsa is the only one who understands, and I know she would assist me to the limit of her ability, but "
"Perhaps Mr. Martin knows of someone, Father. Or perhaps he himself might, in the interest of scientific advancement, help with the illustrations."
Mischief danced in the girl's merry blue eyes, and she looked at me so appraisingly that, like the heroine of a paper-covered novel, I had already been vicariously raped.
"Oh Ilsa, we couldn't we couldn't really impose upon our guest like that. Mr. Martin is here on a holiday," old Thorvaldsen protested mildly.
"You are right, Father," the girl replied dutifully. "I should not have mentioned it."
But there was a challenge in her tone, and I immediately took up the gauntlet she had cast down.
"There can be no question of imposition," I assured them. "Dr. Thorvaldsen's work intrigues me, and I should be happy to collaborate in any way possible. I am certain that I should find the association most profitable to me."
"It is we who would be grateful," Ilsa rejoined. "Oh Father, do accept! It would mean so much. The book, I mean."
I really believe that in the years of classifying and studying skeletal framework of sexual subjects Thorvaldsen had lost sight of the fact that fucking, as such, still existed and that buried somewhere in his archives lay the corpse of a human relationship. Perhaps that was why his wife left him. At any rate his weak objections were those which he might have made had Ilsa suggested that I be sent out to net butterflies for entomological dissection. The girl pressed the subject and I, with some discretion, followed her lead, and, in short, the old man was finally won over.
There was not reason why the work should not begin at once and so, while Thorvaldsen busied himself with setting up his camera and lights, Ilsa arranged the couch on which we were to pose. Then she undressed.
Frankly, I was somewhat disinclined to follow her example, for the entire undertaking seemed to be rather precariously balanced. But her father puttered happily among his apparatus, paying us no attention, not even when the girl, brushing close to me, reached to touch the front of my trousers.
"Are you quite certain that you're capable?" she asked tauntingly, while her fingers pinched my limp prick.
She walked across the room, pertly waggling her pink behind with the utmost sangfroid, as unconcerned with her father's presence as though she had been a harem beauty and he the court eunuch. Her buttocks jiggled enticingly with a rolling movement accentuated by the sway of her hips. Between her creased thighs the blonde line of her pubic hair alternately appeared and was hidden. I decided that it was now or never, and with a reluctance that would have done honor to the most chaste of saints I sat down and began pulling off my things.
I was in shorts, nothing else, when she returned. But she found me entirely overdressed, and, sitting on the couch beside me, began at once to remedy the condition. She unbuttoned the loose fly and pulled it open. For once my cock was in a condition to make urging necessary, and it moved only weakly as Ilsa moved her hand to stroke it. Her cool fingers slipped around it, down to the hairy base and slid under my balls. She lifted and prodded them from between my thighs and squeezed them as though to test their fullness. I began to forget Thorvaldsen.
One of Ilsa's full breasts lay heavily against my arm, and she brushed it slowly back and forth, rubbing the soft, jiggling mound on my skin until the pale orange tip grew darker and stiffened. She looked down at the plump nipple and shook her shoulders so that the luscious globes bounded boldly. Then she leaned toward me again, and I felt the hot pressure of the hard tip.
"Why doesn't your cock do that?" she asked petulantly, looking down at the limp tool.
I could have offered any number of scientifically acceptable reasons, but I have learned that women are not so easily satisfied as science, so rather than answering I tried to divert the girl by running my hand up her thigh and toward the full block of hair at their juncture.
"I'll make you get big," the girl declared, more to my prick than to me. "I'll suck you hard."
She dropped her face to my lap and gulped the rod into her mouth, sucking it far back into her throat, and at the same time she caught my balls between her palms and rolled them briskly. Her teeth pinched hard at the root of the awakened cock, and, by pressing it between her tongue and the roof of her mouth and then pushing forward, she brought the foreskin back over the tip.
A soft stirring made itself known in the flaccid organ then a distinct beat as the tip lifted. Throughout its whole length my cock began to swell and thicken as Ilsa sucked. Her tongue flashed over the knob and burrowed along the puffing sides while her lips nipped and she impatiently pulled to hasten the stiffening.
"Here! What's this?" Thorvaldsen interrupted sharply. Then: "That isn't the first position," he added. "That's in the secondary section B-35 of the variant order."
Ilsa reluctantly pulled her full lips along the length of my prick and raised her blonde head from my crotch.
"I'm producing an erection," she stated simply. That dispensed with, she sucked my cock back into her mouth.
"Oh of course, of course," Thorvaldsen agreed, going back to his putterings and preparations. "Just tell me when you're ready to shoot."
"He means to have the photography begun," Ilsa giggled in explanation. "He tries to affect photographer's slang."
By this time my rod had reached the point when it was in good working order. It had lengthened to such a degree that Ilsa was no longer able to hold all of it comfortably in her mouth, but she managed to put such enthusiasm into sucking the tip and the few inches more she held that I feared our experiment might be over before it had well begun. I pulled her gently away from my prick and indicated to Thorvaldsen that we were at his direction whenever he was ready.
"But I know all the positions by heart," Ilsa protested. "Let Father give his attention to the camera and I'll see that we're posed properly."
The first of their set, it developed was the conventional angelic, with Ilsa in the subordinate position. She lay on her back on the couch, spreading her legs wide, and I, with some misgivings, climbed over her. She took my prick in one hand, squeezing it and masturbating it, and guided me to her twat as I lowered my body.
The tip of my rod slipped over her gently irritating pubic hair and pushed between the fat lips it partially concealed. I did not force entry immediately, but waited while the girl rubbed the knob back and forth in the groove, dampening it with the liquors of her cunt and at the same time titillating her own tender parts. The inner lips twitched to receive my cock, and the clitoris snapped back and forth beneath the tip as though made of live rubber.
Ilsa's hips rocked from side to side as she pressed the end of my prick back to the entrance to her vagina. The clasping tissues mouthed over the burly rod seeming to suckle it, and as the girl arched her back her relaxing channel accepted the enlarged knob, drew a few inches of the meaty body into itself. Then, with a twisting up-thrust of her bottom, she engulfed my whole prick in her humid cunt.
At that instant, just as my tool was received wholly into her cunt and I was enthralled with all the attendant sensations of pleasure that action brings, Thorvaldsen poked his head from beneath the black cloth shading the camera.
"I can't see very well," he complained. "I can't tell when the position is right." He peered at us through his thick-lensed spectacles.
"We'll tell you when we have it right," Ilsa told him, jerking her hips in a most unscientific manner practically under his nose.
The old man ducked back under the cloth and Ilsa tossed her pink bottom upward with a jar that set my prick so far into her that her twat lips were mashed over my pelt. My balls were crushed into her crotch, between her fleshy buttocks and the girl, reaching one hand through her legs from the back, pressed and rolled the full testicles in the deep, fuzzy crevice of her bottom. Ilsa dropped her hips slowly, and then brought them back to mine with a lingering twist that enraptured my cock with the most deliciously thrilling prickles. I rolled my own behind and drove impatiently in order to be sucked completely into that deep grotto once again.
"How is it?" Thorvaldsen asked in a far away, muffled voice.
The camera snapped and the old man pulled the plate.
"Next position please," he requested, paying no attention to the fact that his subjects were performing beyond the bounds of the moment's necessity.
Ilsa showed me what it was to be. I lay on my back and she, resting with her hands behind her at my sides and her feet at about my knees, lowered her bottom, seating herself over my rigid tool. It searched into her and, when her cunt held it firmly, she stretched out, throwing one leg over mine and pulling both of us partially onto our sides. Wriggling sensuously she bumped her rear against my belly with a resounding thwack.
In this position she had the greater freedom, so I contented myself with merely rocking and rolling from side to side while she fucked herself more and more energetically. Her fingers continually handled my bal-locks or, not so engaged, plucked at the puffed lips of her twat to investigate the subject with which they were occupied. Ilsa bounced and writhed, moving the hard prick like a pestle in her clinging vagina.
"Wait! Wait!" cried Thorvaldsen as the girl, overcome with the natural result of her machinations, tried to roll on her belly and pull me atop her. "I didn't get that one yet!"
The shutter clicked and we fell into the position Ilsa urged. She raised her bottom and, with both hands digging sharply into her sweet butts, I promptly assailed her juicy cunt with the utmost vigor. Her cunt liquor filled and overflowed her pink, stretched groove, running down my cock and flecking her blonde twat hair. Her cunt was pinching and relaxing spasmodically; she was evidently close to spending, and I was not far behind.
"Is this anal?" Thorvaldsen wanted to know, craning his neck from behind the camera. "A-22 in the first section?"
"No, but it could be," Ilsa answered. She slid forward far enough to slip my prick free of her cunt, and then pressed her behind back with my prick's tip set against her ass hole.
Her bottom hole was quite right, but she lubricated it by dipping her fingers into her twat and smearing her juice over the puckered spot. I had her butts pressed fully apart, and by probing and teasing the contracted sphincter with both cock and fingers soon had the little ring soft and pliant. I squeezed the spongy knob of my rod partly into the round orifice and Ilsa winced.
"I've never done this," she murmured. "I'm not so sure that I'm going to like it, either."
But, as I gently rolled my cock from side to side, sending it into her with soft, unobtrusive jerks, she became quite amenable to this innovation. Her ass hole was small enough so that I hesitated to send all of my cock into it, and any sudden movement on my part brought about a protesting contraction of the sphincter, but once the huge glans was past the tight ring Ilsa seemed to find the utmost enjoyment in the sensation the fucking gave her. By being careful to keep some two thirds of my cock outside and skillfully applying the remainder to a delicate titillation of her lush, inner walls I had in no time brought the girl to such a condition that her very toes twitched with delight.
I was praying that the doorbell would ring or that Thorvaldsen would run out of plates and go off to rummage for more anything that would interrupt his hopping and eternal protestations while he fumbled furiously with his equipment in an effort to record our actions before we had assumed another posture, for my whole body was crying out to give Ilsa a proper fucking. But no such miracle came to pass, and I had to content myself with such actions as were not too obviously rapturous.
Ilsa, too, was feeling the constraint, but where I could only fume impatiently she had a practical solution. When her father had caught the next picture she rolled away from me and sat up.
"These positions are tiring me," she said. "Let's take the 69-A; B and C."
"Sixty-nine?" I asked in surprise.
"Eh a sort of academic joke fostered by my daughter," answered Thorvaldsen. "It was her suggestion that the textual matter should correspond to the plate number."
Ilsa had turned so that her face was at my crotch and her twat within my easy reach. We were on our sides, and as she reached for my cock she swung her uppermost leg away from the other, offering her twat.
A musky perfume seeped from the open slit, and as I watched a light trickle of cunt juice dribbled down her thigh. I pressed the hairy lips open, and Ilsa at once arched her body, hungering for the caress of my mouth. I pressed my lips over the hot, avid groove and searched for her clitoris with my tongue. That center of sensation was well developed, and in a trice I had seized it in my lips and was pulling voraciously at it with my lips and tongue, causing her to writhe ecstatically.
Ilsa was nibbling my foreskin with her little teeth, stretching and pulling it with her fingers around my testicles. Then her tongue moved smoothly down my bursting cock and back to the tip again. Her tongue curled around the end while she pushed the slippery skin away from the knob with her fingers. Her lips moved over the wet, velvet end and opened to take the rubbery part. She chewed the tip playfully.
Drawing my tongue slowly through her groove, and pressing hard against the soft parts I licked up Ilsa's excess of cunt juice. Playing boisterously with her clitoris I tantalized her vagina by curling just the very tip end of my tongue into the lush opening as I ended each stroke. Ilsa arched her back and twisted her body, silently anxious for me to give my whole tongue to her clasping channel and ground her hips fiercely to my face so that her little curled hairs rubbed crisply against my chin.
She pushed my head deeper between her soft thighs and tightened one leg around my neck in order to hold me in the soft, sweet-scented prison. Her fingers twisted in my hair, and she rubbed her twat demandingly over my mouth.
But if she demanded, she gave more than she asked. Her lips pouted over the huge prick they held, and pinched it tightly while they slid up and down over the wet barrel. She toyed with my balls, and with her fingers closed around the base she masturbated the excited organ. The sensitized knob was exquisitely burnt by the gently irritating action of the girl's tongue moving flatly over it again and again.
Vaguely I heard the click of the camera. Then Ilsa had slipped under me, and our bodies lay flatly, belly to chest. The girl's breasts were squeezing against my skin, jiggling as she wriggled her bottom upward to my tongued caress. I lapped her juice-streaming slit, and burrowed my whole face in the wet, hairy crotch. Ilsa, by pressing my hips up and down was urging me to frig, and as she continued to stroke and pat my buttocks and balls I commenced to slide my penis in and out of her mouth. She was sucking avidly by now, and while I churned deeply in her, she rolled the throbbing organ from cheek to cheek, chewing the shaft and glans with an eagerness that bespoke the pleasure my own mouthing were giving her.
"Spend when you can," she murmured as she paused for a moment. "It's cruel to keep you waiting like this."
Her words swept away the last doubt in my mind, and when she crammed my prick into her mouth again, I pistoned it back and forth with ever-increasing vigor. Without neglecting the girl's own pleasure I drove harder and wilder, fucking the thirsty lips abandonedly while I sought the final ecstasy of the orgasm I knew to be close at hand.
Ilsa sucked deeply and smoothly no novice at cock-sucking, she pulled and munched the hot shaft expertly, no matter how much of it I gave her to chew. Then, as she felt my balls tightening in her fingers and my fucking became more importunate, she interposed her tongue so that the tip of my prick was pressed against it with each downward stroke rather than driving in her throat, not, however, allowing this to interfere with the rest of her actions.
About to spend I warned her with a low word. Ilsa pressed her hands to my crotch so that, although my cock could not force too deeply and thus choke her, I was yet able to enjoy the sensation of driving my tool to its depths and feeling my belly press against a resistant body.
My semen gushed forth, and even as she swallowed the first full jet Ilsa dragged at my throbbing rod as though to exhaust it in one gulp. But my bull shit were too heavy with sperm to be so easily emptied, and burst after burst of the thick stuff poured through the surging rod. The girl accepted the libation delightedly, and as the hot ebb spilled onto her tongue she milked my prick between thumb and forefinger, squeezing out every heavy morsel.
My jerking balls gave generously of their precious store, and it was several seconds before the pearly liquid ceased to flow through the nardy shaft. But finally the most imperative contractions of my prick could pump up no more of the molten sperm, and Ilsa sucked dryly in vain.
She urged and twisted me onto my back, still holding my prick in her lips so that we were in virtually the same position but her body dominated. She lowered her bottom, holding my head tightly between her straddling legs and clamped her twat to my mouth.
"Eh? Oh yes 69-C," old Thorvaldsen cackled like a voice from the tomb. I cordially wished him in Hades at that instant.
I licked through the dripping groove, thrusting my tongue as deeply as I could into Ilsa's vagina. I tickled her clitoris with my lips, sucked determinedly at the sweet twat, and dug my mouth into the soft, inner parts until Ilsa's cunt juice had my whole face bathed in its soothing flow. The girl was panting now, and she writhed and frigged herself as best she could on the inadequate reamings of my tongue. My cock was softening in her mouth, but still she sucked it with an avidity that told how fierce was the inner turmoil of her passion.
Chewing and lapping, I prodded her on to her climax which, vicariously, I could enjoy almost as much as my own. I sucked in a mouthful of whatever parts my lips struck upon, feeling now her plump, outer lips as their hairy surfaces moved scratchingly over my tongue, now the delicate inner tissues rolling slipperily between my teeth. I swallowed the beading flow that welled from her cunt, impatiently nibbling her clitoris to heighten the flow. Then Ilsa's orgasm swept over her.
The girl rammed her twat at me with a force that flattened her buttocks on my cheeks, and I felt as though I were engulfed in a hot, hairy ocean of flesh. Her cunt seemed to be sucking my tongue in imitation of the action of my mouth, and the dripping surfaces moved with a fascinating will of their own. Her body tensed and quivered, while her hips shook uncontrollably.
I chewed her tender privities, punishing them cruelly, but Ilsa seemed to delight in the subdued brutality of my methods, and jammed her twat closer, offering the tender open parts without restraint to the fierceness of my love bites. like a drawn bow her body fairly sang with sensation, and I could guess at the sweep of passion that racked her. Then the crux of the arch was passed, and she pushed me away from her over-sensitized twat.
"I am sure that Dr. Martin must be tired," she said in a shaken voice. "Shall we say that we have accomplished enough for today?"
By this time Thorvaldsen had discovered some fault in his tripod anyway, and so by general consent and to my relief the project was postponed for the nonce. Ilsa and I pulled on our clothes and she, excusing herself, hurriedly left the room.
I did not see her again during the day as, after a short nap, I busied myself in walking about the city on a preliminary tour of inspection. Anxious to know what form of entertainment the city afforded, I ate my dinner at one of the smaller restaurants and went to see a show.
Returning to the house at a late hour I found Ilsa sitting in the library reading. Her father had evidently retired, for he was nowhere in evidence. Much as I liked the old man I gave a sigh of relief at finding the girl alone.
"I want to apologize," Ilsa said almost immediately as she rose to greet me, "for what happened this afternoon."
"It was no trouble," I assured her. "I find the project a most interesting diversion."
"I am apologizing for its inadequacy," the girl replied. "It couldn't have been much fun for you that way. I proposed it in a sense of mischief perhaps partly because I am really attracted to you. But I'm sorry now."
"There's no need for that," I said, surprised to find the girl indirectly voicing my own sentiments on the subject, and man-like, pleased to learn that she had found me attractive.
"It was nice in one way," Ilsa went on, "but it was not really fucking. It was hidden and unsatisfying, like masturbating in your seat at school when you were small."
I might have objected to her use of the second person as a general noun but, as I remembered, I had masturbated in my seat at school.
"So if you would like me, I will come to bed with you tonight."
In view of what had gone before a statement like that may seem at first glance anticlimactic. Yet, examined more closely it will become evident that, in light of the afternoon's incident, Ilsa was offering much more than many another might. She was, in effect, bringing me to a sort of psychological virginity, offering more than her body.
D. Karl Kitrosser von Eisenstaedt, in an historical lecture before the American Delegation to the Spanish Conference of the Society For The Salvation Of Screwing, went quite thoroughly into this matter of psychological virginity, and the pamphlet which had been prepared from his notes for that famous talk forms an informative, as well as interesting addition to the material already collected on the subject an addition, moreover, which should be on the bookshelf of every man or woman who endeavors to make a success of fucking. At that time Dr. Eisenstaedt was virtually unheard of, but I am certain that at that moment Ilsa could have formulated the theorem on which the good doctor's work is based. She did, in fact, and quite simply.
"We just haven't fucked," she said wryly.
She took my arm, fingers clinging tightly to my coat, and together we climbed the stairs to the room in which I was to sleep.
As the door closed behind us I pulled the girl into my arms. She pressed her body eagerly to mine, and when she kissed me her tongue slipped softly between my lips. Her fingers played in the buttons of my vest and shirt, and she laid her warm palm flatly against my chest.
Her hips weaved slightly as I unfastened the front of her waist and thrust my hands in to her breasts. The luscious teats felt like jelly, yet firm, in my grasp, and I massaged them tenderly, rotating them first in one direction and then the other. The nipples were taut and hard under my fingers and Ilsa laughed happily when I plucked at them.
Suddenly she slipped through my arms and knelt on the floor in front of me. She pulled open the front of my trousers and reached in for my stiffening rod. She brought it and my bull shit out together, feasting her eyes delightedly on the sight of the ruddy organ twitching and swelling to an erection.
I pulled open the girl's blouse and slipped it back over her shoulders. She shook her arms and dropped it to the floor so that her whole torso, from the waist up, was bare. I reached down and slid my fingers into the warm humidity of her silken armpits, then dropped my hands further to her naked, swaying breasts.
She was lifting my balls on her tongue, searching under them as well as she could since my clothing hampered her to the full ridge leading from my prick to my ass. She pulled the little hairs with her teeth, nibbled the slack, furrowed skin between her lips. Finally, with tantalizing slowness, she sucked my testicles into her mouth, holding them tenderly for a long moment before she popped them out. Then she blew her breath softly on the wet surfaces, smiling knowingly as the skin contracted and drew the egg-shaped glands tighter.
"Of course," she said, "you really don't need this now."
Just what she meant was made clear a second later when she took my now fully erect rod in both tiny hands and, pushing the skin back until the red knob jumped forth angrily, pressed a sticky kiss full on the oozing slit. I felt her tongue tip pushing into the deep slit, then move dartingly over the spongy tip and curl into the ridge at the base. She popped the head into her mouth, setting her teeth behind it, and shook my prick so fiercely that my balls recoiled from the shock.
Once again I felt her lips move smoothly down over the shaft, and felt the deep pressure as she commenced sucking. I rocked my hips back and forth a few times, fucking the curling groove Ilsa formed with her tongue. Then I pulled my cock from her mouth and dragged the girl to her feet.
"Take your clothes off," I urged in a whisper.
Her voice was even lower than mine: "No, I want you to do that," she answered huskily.
I lifted her body in my arms and, although Ilsa was a well-built, solidly developed woman, she seemed no heavier than the merest wisp of a girl as I carried her to the bed. I lay her across it, sprawled with arms out-stretched over her head so that her shoulder muscles pulled her breasts high, legs well apart. Then, on one knee, I bent before her and pulled off her slippers.
She wore silk stockings quite dark ones and these I did not immediately remove. Instead, I opened the snaps of her boucle skirt and slipped it down over her full, female hips. Beneath it she wore only a pair of silk panties so woven as to fit her like another skin, and of such color that it was of a tone hardly higher than that of her own translucent flesh. I slipped my hands up the outer sides of her thighs, caught the elastic band of the garment in my fingers and slowly peeled it off.
I pulled it to Ilsa's thighs and then leaned forward, pressing my lips on her belly. The girl shivered in ecstasy, and murmured something which I could not quite understand. I dropped my lips lower, pushing my mouth over the golden ball of curls which so enticingly caressed my cheek. As I kissed her, the deep fragrance of her sex wafted to my nostrils and I searched through the fuzzy pelt with my tongue until I felt the dainty groove of her twat and pushed into it. Only for an instant I allowed myself the luxury of tasting once again her spicy cunt juice, returning almost immediately to the pleasant task of stripping her.
Gathering her legs at the ankles into the crook of my elbow I lifted them high, dragged the absurd panties from them. I looked down the long expanse of the backs of Ilsa's thighs to her chubby bottom, now uplifted as though to receive a punishment or a caress.
My free hand moved down the silk-clad skin to the creasing buttocks. I touched the deep notched dimples that centered each butt and then slid my fingers through the upturned, hairy crevice to the deep pink slit.
Ilsa remained immobile, pliant to my every whim as I tickled her twat with my thumb, pressed between the moist outer lips and playfully frigged back and forth in the groove. Even as I wantonly thrust her legs apart, forcing her fully open to any attack, she did not protest. She had given her body into my keeping with the utmost confidence. She was touchingly trustful that I could do her no harm.
I pushed my thumb carefully into her, wriggling it as I slid it in to its fullest length in the clasping walls of her vagina. I finger-fucked her gently, tickling her clitoris and inner petals with my index finger. Then, with a protracted, twisting motion, I withdrew my thumb, glistening with her juice, and wiped it on the soft flesh of one meaty buttock.
Some of the strange perversities that strong emotional stress brings forth sometimes was working its subtle magic within the girl, and when I started to remove her stockings she caught my wrist to withhold me.
"Come to me now," she urged. "This way. Don't take off your clothes yet."
She spread-eagled herself before me, arching her back to rub her breasts against the rough tweed of my coat. Her nipples stood at stiff attention, like diminutive dragoons and her cunt, as I knew from my play with it, eagerly awaited the entrance of my prick.
I vaulted onto the bed beside the girl and grasped a jiggling teat in each hand. I shook the unresisting globes until the nipples danced like egg shells on a stormy sea. Then I straddled her at the waist, my legs pressed close to her sleek sides, and titillated the plump nipples with the tip of my cock. Shudders of sensual delight ran through the girl as I dangled my bull shit against her teaties. She twisted her head to caress my burning rod with her soft cheek.
I moved down to the hot couch of Ilsa's hips and pushed my hands under her heavy buttocks. Then, reaching in between her legs I patted her twat lips and guided my prick to the hairy opening. I pushed the knob past the oily entrance and into the lower part of the girl's vagina. With one surge I was in her to the balls, jarring upward with a thrust that made Ilsa gasp. Her quick-flowing juice squished in her hot cunt, and my tool felt as though it were held in her fist rather than in her cunt, so tightly did the clasping walls close around it.
My mouth closed over the girl's up-pointed breasts, and I seized first one and then the other of their luscious berries in my lips, tugging it as though to pluck them away. I had her behind clasped tightly in both hands, and as I kneaded the sweet flesh I worked my fingers between her butts, pressing one over the hard pucker of her ass hole. I rotated my finger, prodding the tight muscle until it relaxed.
I commenced to frig Ilsa quite slowly, pulling my prick out until her outer lips mouthed anxiously over the very tip, then settling it in again. Her hips twitched; then she began to lift them very slightly each time to meet my downward stroke. She brought her knees up, and the movements she made became more definite. By degrees she took up the rhythm with which I was stroking her, added a variation of her own by means of a side to side rocking action and shortly was fucking with a frankness that matched my own.
The harsh movements of my trousers on her tender, inner thighs and belly seemed to awaken some latent masochistic tendency, and Ilsa went out of her way to make the contact more irritating. She wrapped her legs around mine, pulling her ass about while she screwed until it must have fairly glowed with the brushing.
But if this form of self-chastisement gave her pleasure, it was not so satisfactory to my own desires. I wanted to lie naked with her, and I finally decided to put an end to the present situation. Disengaging her legs, I pulled my cock out of the girl and stood up to remove my clothes. As I hastily unbuttoned my garments, I noticed that Ilsa's bottom was pinkly splotched from rubbing against me, and her inner thighs were as well marked.
I bent to kiss the burnt spots, and paused to strip off her stockings. Then I was upon her again, driving my cock in and out while she too took up the course of activities where they had been dropped. She took my hand and led it back to her rear, placing my finger in position over her bottom hole and pressing it hard against the sunken spot. Her own arms went about me, and while with one hand she caught up my balls with the other she started an investigation of my ass.
We bounded and tossed until the bedsprings must have shown permanent strain, and Ilsa's magnificent teaties leaped wildly from side to side. It was now, I knew, a matter of only a few minutes before we should both come to our spending.
"Father's postures are silly," Ilsa whispered in my ear. "This is so perfect."
While I could not agree with her on her first statement, I must admit that I was in complete accord with the second, for many women, armed to the teeth, and I speak literally with a variety of novel mannerisms of fornication have failed utterly to give me so much actual pleasure as Ilsa did with her straight angelic fucking. Not that the girl was lacking in imagination. On the contrary, she brought a thousand delights with her twistings and turnings, her fascinating surprises and above all her complete abandonment to the moment's pleasure.
The girl had a highly developed ability of voluntary contraction, and the fashion in which she pressed and clasped my cock as it plunged in and out of her vagina was not the least of the pleasures I found in her. Moreover, while she thus excited my prick, she was keeping in perfect rhythm to the movements of my hips, lifting and dropping hers with indescribable shuntings of emphasis.
I had pushed my finger into her bottom hole by this time, and was frigging her rapidly with it. Ilsa, desiring, I suppose, to share the peculiar thrill, sent her own finger up my ass with slow jerks until with it fully engulfed. She crooked it and pressed smartly against my prostate.
My overwrought tool could be restrained no longer. I felt it jerk and thump, preparing to cast my sperm into the girl's lush cunt, and I drove with a fury to synchronize her own orgasm to mine. Ilsa, as excited as I, rammed back, smacking her belly loudly against mine.
I was spending then, and a veritable torrent of hot seed throbbed through my cock. My back arched, and as it did Ilsa arched with me, caught in the storm of her paroxysm, so that our bodies were fused as one. like a swelling chord of music the crescendo of sensation rose and burst through our beings, and while hot semen spilled into Ilsa's already dripping cunt we quivered together under the impact of the motion.
We lay panting then, side by side, but as our pulses slowed again and we breathed more easily Ilsa gave indication that this one bout was not to terminate our evening's pleasure. She slid her hand down my belly and fingered my wet penis.
"Today," she said, "when you put your cock in my ass it felt so strange. I did not think that I would like it. But now will you do that to me again?"
My prick had not yet completely subsided, and under her pinching grasp it commenced to fill out again. She frigged it in her palm until it was partially stiff, then put her head down to suckle it. Her finger went to my ass hole and twisted slowly in and out. She peered at the action while she chewed my cock.
"Such a pretty ass hole you have," she said, lifting her head. "Would you be angry if I kissed it?"
Rather than answering I rolled onto my belly, then drew my legs under me so that I was easily accessible to such a caress. The girl crawled between my legs and, pressing my butts apart, dropped her golden head forward to my rear. She thrust her face to it and kissed my hole warmly; and I felt her tongue burrow inquisitively at it. She licked the insides of my buttocks and then forced the tip of her tongue into my ass. She sucked hard for a moment, then licked forward between my thighs and gulped my balls into her mouth.
"Would you do that for me?" she asked. "Before you put your cock in me?"
I would indeed, and willingly, and to that end I vigorously applied myself. I rearranged my position and clamped my mouth to Ilsa's bottom, pinching her soft buttocks and squeezing their chubby bodies to my face. Skewering my tongue into her rear, I lipped the puffy ring of muscle animatedly until, seduced by the fresh odor of her twat, I transferred my tonguings to her slit.
Ilsa was quite content that I should shift to a method of titillation with which she was more familiar perhaps almost too content, for before I was aware of what was happening she was perilously close to another orgasm.
"I want to come," she moaned, "but I want your cock in my ass, too."
"You shall have both," I replied with more confidence than was perhaps justifiable. I drew my face from Ilsa's cunt and she slid to the edge of the bed, pushing her legs over the side.
The bed was of the high type favored in the country and, resting her torso on it, she was able to place her feet on the floor while her legs formed an angle somewhat wider than ninety degrees to the rest of her body. Also, as I presently found, I was able to stand in a perfectly upright position behind her and find my prick in good alignment with its target. I am inclined to believe that the designers of this bed had that object in mind, for the height is suspiciously accurate.
I put the tip of my rod against Ilsa's hole and shoved experimentally. The rubbery glans flattened and the puckering spot contracted against the attempted invasion. But as I rubbed and rolled the rigid tool against the sphincter the ring softened, and the acorn-shaped end squeezed into it. Ilsa shoved her bottom backward and upward, and the stretching mouth of her hole was forced to accept a generous portion of the big prick.
"Now fuck me," she said in a thrilled tone. "Fuck all of it into me."
I doubted that this was either advisable or feasible, but I had underestimated the girl's capacity, for as I sent my prick forward expecting at any minute that Ilsa would call a halt she threw her hips back until it was almost entirely engulfed in her tight, clinging tissues. I began to frig gently, but Ilsa was burning with passion, and her libido was inflamed to such an extent that she cried out for more vigorous measures.
Her bottom bounced wildly, as though ass fucking were an everyday occurrence to her, and under the stimulating influence of her passion I reacted by giving even better than I received. I rammed my prick heavily into her, frigging with all the skill at my command, feeling the uncertain prickles of an impending climax nibbling at my bull shit. I reached for Ilsa's twat and pinched her erect clitoris, shoved my thumb into her vagina. My balls jerked, and I sensed the quick rise of my semen from them.
"I'm going to ... I'm ... I'm..." the rest was lost in a soft moan as Ilsa buried her face in the counterpane, plucked at the cover with nerveless fingers.
She leaped once as my sperm bathed hotly into her bowels. Then she collapsed weakly, and I poured jet after jet of the burning seed into her inert body.
At last I ceased to spend, and pulled my cock from Ilsa. Her ass hole pinched close around the shaft, squeezing the last of the heavy draught from it. I climbed onto the bed, happy and exhausted.
* * *
"That old fellow Thor thingamabob would make a good father-in-law," mused the salesman. "Take that old son-of-a-bitch that I have for a father-in-law now."
"Yeah, he'd be swell, Fred," the druggist interrupted. "Some night when I came over to see your wife all I'd have to do would be say something about making pictures and I'd be set."
The salesman didn't see anything particularly hilarious about this joke, but he grinned dutifully to show that he was a good sport.
"Of course, like the professor here says, it wouldn't really be fucking her. So you wouldn't have a thing to worry about."
"Did you stay in Iceland very long, professor," asked the barber who, sensing storm warnings in the salesman's set smile, performed his usual tactful function of changing the subject.
"Long enough to finish the illustrations for Dr. Thorvaldsen's book," the professor replied as he tossed off the last of his wine. Taking out a cigarette, he absently tapped its straw tip on his fingernail.
"I'll bet that was some job," the druggist chided.
"It took some time," the professor admitted, "especially since the percentage of spoiled plates was quite high."
"Yeah, when you move that don't make good pictures," the barber remarked sagely.
"Take my father-in-law now-" began the salesman. But, as no one seemed to want his father-in-law, he subsided.
"I guess maybe I'll be going with you, professor, when the war comes," the druggist said. "Do you suppose that Ilsa would have a girl friend, maybe?"
"Then there's a book filled with pictures of you screwing this girl?" said the salesman, in another attempt to get back into the conversation. "Where can I buy a copy?"
"I'm afraid, Fred, that you will not find the volume in general circulation. Of course you might go to Reykjavik. But I am afraid that you would be disappointed, especially as the faces have been carefully shadowed out."
"But I thought this was going to be a story about Esquimeaux, professor," the barber said. "Of course, it was a swell story and all that, but I always think you're going to tell us about something else."
"Esquimaux," mused the professor. "Well, of course there was the time..."
"What was that?" asked the barber eagerly as the professor's voice trailed off.
"Another time." The professor rose briskly to his feet and reached for his hat. "I have to get home and help my wife hang curtains."
"Well, professor, there was that Japanese pearl diver, too," reminded the barber.
"Ah yes," said the professor. "An incident that fits most admirably into the trend of these stories. I must tell you of the girl sometime."
And he smiled in a most mysterious fashion.
CHAPTER THREE: Fred's Folly
The professor did not reply directly to the salesman's question. He produced a package of straw-tipped Virginia cigarettes, and the barber, bursting with eagerness to have the evening come to its crux, quickly lighted a match and held it ready.
"Once upon a time," began the professor when he had his cigarette properly burning, "there were two bulls an old bull and a young bull. And one day, as they walked along a ridge they saw down in the valley a herd of fat cows.
" 'Oh, look at that pretty little heifer," exclaimed the young bull impetuously! 'Let's run down and fuck her!' "
The professor looked quizzically at his companions and poured himself a glass of the sparkling Burgundy which was going around for the second time. He tasted it critically, and not until the barber prodded him verbally did he continue.
"But as I said," he went on, "the second bull was an old bull a wise old bull with curls on his forehead and many fucks to his credit. The old bull looked down into the valley for several minutes and then turned back to his hot-headed companion: 'Let's walk down,' he suggested, 'and fuck them all.' "
The druggist seemed to find the joke disproportionately amusing, for he roared and flailed his arms so heartily that the barber's enjoyment of the story was considerably curtailed by reason of having his wine spilled down his shirt front. The disturbance attracted Dave from his fountain out front, and he thrust his head briefly in the connecting doorway to reiterate his time-worn plea for "a little quiet, gents."
"I am nattered," said the professor when the druggist had to some measure regained his composure, "flattered and honored to find that my feeble attempts at humor are so well received. I had not anticipated such a devastating reaction, Henry. My thanks, sir, and my compliments. You constitute a perfect audience in yourself."
"Oh, it wasn't the joke, professor. Or rather as he became aware of the ineptness of the remark, " it was the joke all right, but it just seemed funnier to me than it would to most people. You see, Fred here has been talking to me on the QT oh, go ahead and tell them, Fred!" and he was assailed by another burst of laughter.
The salesman looked discomfited, and hurled glances as pointed as daggers at the druggist, but there was no avenue of retreat open for him.
"I guess I just need a little rest," he said vaguely. "You know, I been reading those 'men over forty' ads, and they had me sort of scared."
"He wanted to buy a prostrate massager," the druggist chortled in high glee. "One of those things that you shove one end in the wall plug and the other end up your ass."
"Such devices are widely sold, Henry," the professor suggested in mild protest to the druggist's rather cruel sport.
"But professor, imagine the four of us coming here and drinking and talking and everything and one of us is a man who massages his ass hole in the privacy of his own home!"
"Well, I haven't started yet, so you needn't worry for a little while longer," growled the salesman, whose patience was almost at an end.
"Anybody wants to do that, it's their own business, anyway, I guess," put in the barber, a natural pacifist. "Fred can put his massage machine where it will do the most good, and maybe the professor will tell us a story."
His efforts at peace making, however, were scarcely more successful than those of the diplomats of the democracies, and the salesman glowered in tight-lipped silence.
"I am sure," said the professor, also attempting tact, "that Fred understands that there is no malice intended in our remarks. After all, his is a rather glorious defeat ... and one that need not be permanent, for the prick is perennially defeated."
"It'll be all right then, professor?" the salesman asked with a reluctance that masked an almost pitiful eagerness. "I thought I got a rise out of it today when I gave old man Adam's widow a lift down street, but I couldn't be sure."
The professor assured him that rest, some slight change of diet, and a complete abstinence from patented nostrums and mechanical rejuvenators would undoubtedly restore his masculine prerogative very soon to its usual state of well-being, and the salesman's good humor was shortly restored in its entirety.
"I guess I've been going after it a little too hard, professor," he admitted. "The wife's been away, you understand, and these two twists being on the string, so to speak "
"Why don't you tell them about it, Fred?" the druggist suggested. "It's good enough so that I could stand hearing it again."
"I don't know whether I'll ever come to you for professional advice again," retorted the salesman, still somewhat piqued at the other's jibes. "I thought you fellows were supposed to have ethics of some kind."
But he settled back to tell his story.
* * *
I guess it's the old one about the mice playing when the cat's away. You know how it is the wife goes to the country and you wonder what you're going to do about it, and before you get a chance to decide, really, you find that you've done it.
When the wife told me she wanted to make a visit to her folks I didn't say anything. I don't like any of my in-laws, for reasons which I don't suppose you want to hear any more than I want to tell about them. I just wrote out the check and drove her down to the station and put her on the train. I wouldn't have gone with her for a thousand dollars, even if I wasn't tied up the way I am right now.
You know Dotty Squires and that Vicent girl the one with the headlights like a couple of observation balloons? The two of them always together? I think Jean Vincent is in one of your classes, professor. She's the girl with the southern accent. Comes from Georgia someplace. Well, they were down at the station there's one of the brakemen who comes through every couple of days and I guess they run over to Bickford City when he has a stop-over there and when I was driving back I stopped to give them a ride up the street.
We started kidding about me being a bachelor again and all that you know how that happens and Dotty, just kidding of course, said that if I was really going to be a bachelor she might be around to see me. I said that I wasn't going to be hard to see, and when I let them out in front of the Post Office I told them to call me up later.
I didn't expect them to do it, naturally. Anybody knows that's no way to try to get a lay, and nobody was more surprised than I was when about eight o'clock at night the phone rang and after I got off the toilet and went downstairs it turned out to be Dotty and Jean.
What is there to do with two girls in this town? You can't take them anyplace except the movies, and pretty crappy movies at that. So I didn't have any idea where to take them, but I said I'd drive down to the Jam Pot and meet them. I got dressed and put on some of that hair dressing Joe sold me so I'd have my hair until next fall anyway and went down there.
I felt sorta funny about going in that place, because even if you can't turn around in this town without stepping on some college freshman who looks like he ought to be in knee pants, when you go into one of the places down by the college they look at you as though you were something out of a zoo because you don't wear a flat hat with a shaving brush stuck in it. I don't see how you get by with the old top piece you carry, professor, meaning no offense to you, of course. But, as I was saying, I went into the Jam Pot and there were two girls smoking over a couple of empty coffee cups like all these kids do, and there wasn't anybody with them.
I don't know whether I was really glad about that or not. I was sort of relieved to know they weren't dragging some college punk maybe one of those jitterbugs they talk about around, but then, on the other hand, there were two of them, and that didn't seem any too good either. But I looked as happy as I could with the things the way they were and walked up and sat down with them. I had a cup of coffee too I suppose it looked cheap, but I'd had supper downtown and when we got around to it I sort of left it up to them about where they'd like to go.
Well, it seemed that there was a cock-fight scheduled out near Hannersville, and they wanted to see that. It seemed like a pretty tough sport for a couple of young kids like that, but they told me that everybody went, so I said it was O.K. with me. We drove out there I didn't have any idea where it was, but I just followed a car full of college kids and it turned out to be the right hunch and into an old farm that looked as if Stepin Fetchit must be working it, what with the fences mostly down and the buildings caving in and everything.
I had a pint in one of the car pockets, and we managed to get quite a few drinks under our belts before we arrived. Those kids I was following went like a bat out of hell, too, and I did things with the car that if I ever tried them with the wife along she'd probably get out and walk. Those girls weren't that way at all, though. I guess if anybody had to walk on any date they were on it would be the fellows if their knees were strong enough.
The cock fight was in the barn, and I guess it was a good one if you like that sort of thing. I don't. But everybody else seemed to think it was fine. There were quite a few girls there, and they seemed to enjoy it more than the men. Anyway they made more noise about it.
I think there were about eight fights, but I couldn't be sure because I lost track after about the third kill. I kept taking a pull at the bottle every few minutes to settle my stomach a little the blood was bothering me, even though they did sand the ring after every match and since the girls wanted a drink every time I had one and the pint didn't last very long. Then there wasn't anything much I could do about it except sit still and wait for the thing to be finished. I don't believe any of those roosters only you mustn't call them anything but cocks, so they tell me was any more miserable than I was.
When it was over I made a dash for the door without even waiting for the girls. I felt better in the air ,and I found out that I wasn't going to be sick after all. I stood by the door, taking in big gulps of air, and when the girls came out I felt pretty good again. Dotty had a pair of the steel spurs they fasten onto the cock's legs and she seemed to think they were a real prize.
We all wanted another drink by that time, so we got in the car and started back to town. Then I did sort of a damn fool thing. Instead of going back to one of the places down by the college, I took the girls up to the house, because I usually manage to have a little liquor hidden in some place where the wife won't know about it.
We went in the back way from the garage and I pulled the curtains down we've got some pretty inquisitive neighbors, you see and I dug up another pint.
"Whew," Jean said when she finished her drink. "You certainly keep it hot in here!"
She was wearing a heavy knitted sweater, and she sort of pulled it away from her body and gave her shoulders a twist that made those big boobs she carries shake like a bowl of porridge. Dotty was fooling with the radio, and she picked up some slow, draggy dance music. Jean went into a burlesque strip tease. I don't mean real burlesque, you understand, even if that's more or less what it turned into. I mean she was just kidding, see?
It's sort of hard to be seductive about pulling a sweater off over your head, and that part was really funny. But when she did get it off all fooling was finished as far as I was concerned, because there was nothing between those juicy teats and the big wide world but a little black brassiere maybe they call it a bandeau. Whatever they are, I'm one-hundred percent for it, because it's only half a brassiere, and all it does is lift them up from beneath so that the nipples stick out over the top.
I guess I looked pretty dopey just standing there while Jean jiggled her teats at me, because Dotty started to laugh. She went over to Jean and took one of her boobs and gave it a little friendly shake.
"Jean's practicing to be a milk cow," she said. "We're going to enter her in the Ayrshire group at the fair next year."
"My hips aren't right, dear," Jean said. "The bones don't stick out in the right places."
She lifted her skirt when she said that just pulled it right up to her belly, and me standing there all the time too dumb to even say anything, much less do anything. She had on panties to match her brassiere, and the dressmaker or whoever it was that made that set seemed to have a pretty good idea of how it ought to be done. The panties seemed to be just an elastic band that went around her waist, with a little strip of lace that went between her legs. It wasn't hard to see that Jean was right about her hips not being bony, and if you looked hard you could see practically everything else about her that you might be interested in.
Dotty turned Jean around, calling off her points just the way the auctioneer does at the fair every year when they're selling stock. I didn't listen to what she was saying though. I was going nuts looking at that behind. It was heavy and pink the kind that looks as though it wasn't made to be sat on, but to be fucked, and the girl was putting her weight first on one foot and then the other so that she was lifting her butts back and forth and wagging them at me. The insides of her thighs had little black curly hairs sprinkled on them, and on each side of that strip of lace there was a thick tuft around her cunt. Dotty took them in her fingers and pulled at them.
" ... best of all," Dotty said, "our Jean is cow-cunted. In fact she's the girl Bull Durham yearns for."
When she said that she started to pull Jean's panties down over her ass. I was getting a hard on as big as a bull myself (the professor looked a little skeptical at this, and the druggist, too, seemed perturbed) and I think if she had gotten them off I'd have jumped Jean right then. But Jean began to tussle with her, and in a minute the girls were on the floor, rolling around in a tangle that seemed to be mostly legs.
Jean lost her brassiere right away. Of course, there wasn't much to lose, but when the strap broke her boobs moved around a lot freer. She was a lot stronger than Dotty, though, and she seemed to be able to do anything she wanted to with her.
I sat down on the couch, keeping out of the way and hoping that none of the furniture would be broken up and just watched. And almost the first thing I learned was that Dotty wasn't wearing any panties. Every time Jean got a chance she'd pull Dotty's dress up and then there'd be a scramble while Dotty tried to cover her blonde cunt. She'd get her dress part way down and then Jean would goose her and up it would go again.
Then I saw that Jean was undressing Dotty. It took her a long time to get each piece off, but Dotty didn't have a chance. Off came her shoes and then her stockings, and Jean tossed them to me. Then she opened Dotty's blouse in the front so her teats were bare. And in a few minutes Dotty was squirming around in nothing but a little silver chain bracelet.
The liquor had me too by then, and everything seemed perfectly logical about what I did next. I took off my coat and tie and hung them on the bridge lamp and then I took out a cigar and bit off the end. I didn't light it, but I stuck it in my face and got ready to join the fray.
The two girls were in an awful tangle or maybe it just seemed worse because I'd been drinking. But I reached in and grabbed the nearest leg and yanked. I guess it was a mistake to have moved off my nice safe couch, because almost before I knew it I was lifted up about three feet and dropped on my back so hard that it was a long time before I had enough breath to more than whisper, and by then it wouldn't have done any good if I had shouted.
My vest was pulled off and then my shirt got away from me somehow. Next thing both of the girls had their hands in my pants and were feeling around my cock. Jean had slipped her wrist under my belt, and she grabbed my cock, and Dotty, who had opened my fly, had my nuts bunched up in her little fist. Dotty was squeezing and rolling my balls as though she might decide to pull them off at any minute.
"Open his belt, Jean. Let's see if he has a dingus to match these things," she said.
Jean pulled open my belt and they pushed my trousers down to my knees, and my shorts with them. Then they just bent over and looked at my prick and my balls.
As long as they were having so much fun out of all this I decided I might as well enjoy it too. I gave up trying to get away and I spit out what was left of my cigar. Then, when they found out I wasn't struggling any more they stopped holding my arms down. The nearest thing to me was Jean's ass, and I reached out and began to pat it. I slid my hand down over it and goosed her through the lace crotch piece. She didn't jump or squeal like most women will when you do that; she just leaned back toward me and waggled her bottom a little.
Dotty had started to play with my balls again, and in a few seconds she had a couple of fingers around my cock and was pulling the skin back. Then she leaned forward and pushed her teats up against me, rubbing the nipples into my hair and over my prick. Her boobs weren't like Jean's at all. Jean's were almost perfectly round, and when she bent over they swung. But Dotty's were high and small, wide apart, with little nipples the color of orange peel and they held close to her body all the time. I don't know which you might say were better, but I just couldn't keep my eyes from Jean's.
"Let me suck his cock," Jean said to Dotty. She half pushed Dotty away from me. "You jerk him off and I'll suck him."
Dotty pulled back the skin of my prick so that the knob was out.
"Go ahead," she offered. "I've always wanted to see you suck a prick."
She pushed Jean's head down to my crotch and lifted my nuts up to Jean's mouth. I felt a wet tongue licking over my balls and up my prick. Then Jean's lips were on the knob, kissing it. Her mouth opened and Dotty forced her down so that the end squeezed in and then she had practically all of my tool pushed in.
"That's not sucking," Dotty said. "Let's see you get a real honest-to-God taste of cock."
Jean's teeth clamped down on me then and she dragged at my prick until I began to wonder just how it was attached. At the same time Dotty commenced moving the skin back and forth so that it was slipping over Jean's lips and the knob was being covered and uncovered against her tongue.
"Move your head up and down," Dotty said to Jean. "Give him a little lip frigging."
I hadn't said a word up to now. There hadn't been any reason to, because things were going perfectly swell. With two bitches like that a man could be a deaf mute and still get along all right. But now, with Jean's tongue wrapping up and down my prick and
Dotty pumping the handful she had, I thought it was time to let them know how things stood.
"I'm ready to come off," I told them.
Jean sort of jerked her head away when I said that, but Dotty pushed her back. Dotty rubbed the wet head of my cock over Jean's lips and then crammed my prick back in her mouth again.
"Let him come in your mouth," she said. "You'll like it once you've tried it."
Jean didn't seem to think too much of the idea, but she did as Dotty told her. It looked funny to see that big girl doing everything the little blonde said she should, especially when she'd just yanked all the clothes off the little one. I didn't bother to try to figure it out, though. I lifted my ass and gave her all the cock she could handle, and maybe a little bit more.
When I shot, Dotty had her thumb and finger pinched around my prick so tightly that for a second she held back my jism. I don't think I've ever felt anything quite like the pressure when she did that. It was as though my balls were going to swell up and break like a balloon.
"Swallow it, Jean!" Dotty cried. "He has oceans of jism for you."
She let a little of my jism into Jean's mouth, and then, while the girl was swallowing it, she let all of it go. There must have been at least three ordinary shots in that first one I gave Jean, and when it squirted out into her mouth and spilled back over her tongue she choked. But she kept gulping the juice down until she was swallowing it almost as fast as my balls let it out. Dotty worked at my prick, making certain that Jean got all of the jism. My cock pumped as though it were never going to stop, and Jean gobbled over it even after she had sucked it dry. Finally, when my rod had started to soften, Dotty pulled Jean away.
"How was it?" she asked.
"Swell," said Jean.
She licked her lips and then bent over and kissed my balls.
"That was her first time," Dotty said to me.
I was playing with Jean's behind, and she wasn't blushing so that you could notice it.
"She doesn't act very virginal," I said to Dotty.
"Oh, she fucks, all right," she said. "She does lots of pretty things, don't you, dear?"
The two girls rolled to one side of me and Dotty spread her legs. She gave Jean a couple of smacks on that big, juicy looking ass that made it quiver and pulled Jean toward her.
"Show him what I mean, Jean," she said.
Jean let her boobs hang over Dotty's and then let them brush together. Both of the girl's nipples puffed up, especially Jean's hers looked as big as a pair of plums. Then Jean bent down and kissed Dotty's teats. She sucked the tips in and Dotty wiggled as though somebody was sticking a poker up her ass. She let Jean chew her teats for a minute and then she pushed her down further.
Jean knew what she was supposed to do all right. She slid her lips down over Dotty's belly and kissed her blonde cunt fuzz. Then her tongue came out and licked between Dotty's thighs and when Dotty lifted her ass she clamped her mouth over that pink slit and started sucking. She was stroking Dotty's belly and teats and making Dotty as hot as hell.
It was making me hot too, and even though my balls had just been dragged dry I felt my rod stiffening again. Dotty saw it too, and she grabbed my cock and began to massage it in both her hands. Jean looked up, her face soaked with quim liquor, but Dotty liked having her cunt lapped too much to let Jean stop. She wrapped her legs around Jean's head and squeezed her down to her cunt again. She pulled herself toward my prick and lifted her mouth for it.
"When that girl licks my cunt I could die," she said.
But she was pretty much alive. She gobbled my rod into her mouth it was about half up by then and went to work on it. That was fine, but I didn't have enough to do, and Jean was switching her ass around in a way that was more than a hint. So I twisted down and unfastened the snaps on her skirt she had it up around her belly and pulled it off. Then I took off her panties and slid one hand up between her legs.
She opened her thighs when I commenced to play with her quim, and I pushed my finger up into her. She rolled her ass when I shoved into her, and my finger rolled with a wet, squishy sound. Maybe she wasn't cow-cunted, as Dotty said, but there was plenty of room for a man-sized cock in there. Mine wasn't quite man-sized yet, so I just jazzed my finger in and out for a while. Jean moved her hips back and forth, but I could see that she wasn't going to be satisfied with this arrangement for very long.
"I'd like my cunt sucked too," she said when we'd been at this for a few minutes.
When a girl has already sucked you off and asks you something like that you can't very well refuse. So I turned under her and sort of held my breath, because I've found that a lot of those big slits don't taste quite so nice as a little pink one. But I had a surprise coming, because when Jean mashed her quim down on my mouth it tasted just as fresh and sweet as the best of them.
I let her rub it over my face for a minute and then I closed my mouth over one of her hairy lips and chewed it in. I slid my tongue up and down her groove and then stuck it into her as far as I could and wiggled it.
I sucked her for quite a long time, I guess. Anyway, long enough for Dotty to get my cock up to where it was a good sized mouthful and a cuntful for almost any woman I've ever seen certainly big enough for Jean. Then I pulled my prick away from Dotty she wasn't anxious to get rid of it either and stopped sucking Jean. I got behind Jean she was still crouching over Dotty's slot you see, and gave her every inch of my cock in one shove.
Her cunt was slippery from being sucked, and it felt hot as a volcano. There seemed to be all sorts of queer boilings and things going on inside it, too, and I almost came right then when I felt it working over my rod. But I started to fuck, giving the girl everything I had, and she rode right back at me too, smacking her bottom up to my belly until it sounded as though I were going over her with a hair brush.
Dotty was getting a big kick out of watching me fuck Jean, and she kept trying to catch hold of my balls. Finally she turned enough so that she could reach them, but once she had them she didn't want them any more. She was a lot more interested in my ass hole, and she kept goosing me until she finally had her thumb stuck in it.
Jean stopped frigging her ass up to me, and I saw that Dotty was coming. She moaned and rolled around, trying to get Jean's tongue further into her, and then, when it was over, she opened her legs and slid away. Jean turned onto her back then and held her cunt open with her fingers while I climbed onto her and sent my prick back in.
It was nice to lay on those soft teats and screw, but I didn't have long to enjoy it because I was almost ready to come again. Jean's lips were soaked with Dotty's quim juice, and I was so hungry for cunt that when I kissed her I shoved my tongue in her mouth to taste it.
I was holding tight to her butts, lifting her bottom every time that I rammed my cock into her, and she was twisting so much that my prick got away from her more than once. We didn't have any trouble getting it back in, though, because her slot was wide open, and when I shoved forward my rod slipped toward her hole as though it was a sort of funnel.
"If you'd goose me a little I'd come right now," Jean whispered.
I pushed one finger into her ass hole and worked it around until it slipped in. I gave her a couple of jabs, twisting my finger and jamming her full of cock at the same time, and then we both came.
Jean jumped when my jism came out in her, and I held my tool into her to the balls as long as I had anything to give her. Her nails dug into my ass, and I could feel her cunt chewing on my rod and her ass hole on my finger at the same time. Her belly was heaving and she was sort of laughing and crying together a little hysterical, I guess.
Well, after a time that never seems quite long enough it was all over, and I guess that I should have called it a night right then. But Jean's teats Jesus, those teats! I lay on top of her while my prick was squeezed out of her quim you know how a woman does sometimes and laid my head down on those two big babies. Then I started sucking her nipples, and in a minute I was straddling her with my cock laid between her boobies while she held them squeezed together. My rod wasn't quite soft yet, and it was good and wet so it slipped back and forth as easily as if it had been in her cunt.
"Give them a good fucking. They haven't been fucked in a long time," she said.
My prick didn't come up right away, and when it did get hard it wasn't quite as good as it had been before, but it was good enough for any ordinary fucking. Only ordinary fucking wasn't what these girls were after. They wanted imagine screwing with gold braid around the edges, and it was up to me to give it to them.
"If you think you're stiff enough we might try a little ass fucking," Jean suggested.
That was a challenge, and I've never backed down on a dare yet, worse luck. So I said I was in shape to fuck any ass in the house. Jean said I wasn't in shape to fuck my own but she'd like to see me in that shape some day when she wasn't so hot in her own pants. I got off her expecting her to turn her rear up, but she had another idea. She went over to Dotty.
"Here," she said, "you made me lick your twat while he watched. Now suppose we show him how you suck my ass when we're alone."
Dotty didn't want to do it but it was like ... well, like when Frankenstein's monster got tough and turned the tables, only Jean wasn't any monster by a long shot.
"You're going to suck my ass and his, too," she said.
She caught Dotty's arms and it was all over right then. She made Dotty push her nose in between her butts and go to work on her ass hole, and when she didn't think that Dotty was enthusiastic enough she picked up a slipper and paddled her rear with it. Dotty's bottom turned a bright pink, but finally she was smacking over Jean's hairy ass as though it were a dish of ice cream.
"Now suck Fred's," Jean said when she'd had all she wanted.
Dotty came over as meek as a kitten and licked into my ass. She pushed her tongue up my hole while she sucked, and my cock went up a few more notches.
"I want to suck his prick," she said when she had been at that long enough to satisfy Jean, if not me.
"Then you'll have to climb up my ass hole first," Jean said.
She pulled me toward her and got down on her hands and knees. I got behind her and pushed my rod in between her butts. She sort of peeked up at me from between her legs and reached her hand to guide my prick. Then she was rubbing the knob over the hole and pushing with me.
My prick went in without much trouble, and I began to frig her about as hard as I could and as deep. Jean squealed and wiggled every time I screwed into her ass and grabbed my nuts and rubbed them over her cunt until they were wet and slippery with her juice. Her ass was pretty big and easy to fuck, but it was tighter than her cunt and it kept pinching down on my cock until she had me just on the edge of coming.
I started to finger fuck her, but as soon as I shoved my finger into her cunt I knew that just one wasn't big enough, because she was big and open from the first frigging. It felt as though I could probably get my whole hand in her, but I put in three fingers and let it go at that. Jean was hot she wasn't any one-screw twist and she had the itch in her ass to come too.
What set me off was when Dotty got into the picture again. She had been just sitting there watching us, when all of a sudden she moaned and threw herself at us with her head close between our legs. She licked over my fingers where I had them in Jean's cunt and then back to her ass and up to my cock. She had her mouth partly over my rod and partly over Jean's ass when I shot.
It came out like water out of a fire hose and Jean acted as though a colony of ants were working up in her rear. She grabbed my wrist and shoved my hand in and out of her slot and then, just when the last of my jism was pouring into her, she came.
When it was over and I tried to pour myself a drink my hands were shaking so that I guess I spilled more than I got in the glass. I sat down on the couch because I couldn't trust myself to stand up, but I didn't get much rest there. Dotty crawled up between my knees and licked my thighs up on the inside.
"Now it's my turn to be laid," she said.
She sucked my prick in like spaghetti and chewed and played with it for a long time. It was not so anxious to come up again, but she gave it a going over that would have raised the cock on a Greek statue; and it stiffened enough so that it looked like a hard on even if I didn't feel as much interested as I had been the first time.
Her quim was a lot tighter than Jean's and my cock filled it out nicely even if it didn't put it to any great strain. She knew how to use it, too, and so I let her do most of the frigging while I just held myself up with my elbows. She wiggled and fucked herself around so much that I decided that maybe I wasn't through after all. My prick puffed out some more while Dotty rubbed her teats against my chest and squeezed her belly up to me, and then I found that I was going to come again.
She came before I did, squealing and jazzing up to me for all she was worth, and if I'd had any sense I would have gotten off her then. But instead I pounded away at her, jamming my cock up to the balls every time, and finally I managed to go off.
My balls felt as though they'd been gone over with a steam roller just about then, and I backed away when I saw Jean looking at my rod sort of hungrily.
"I'm tired. I've got to get some sleep."
That's what I told them, and it wasn't any lie, either. I was asleep almost as soon as I hit the couch.
Somebody must have turned off the lights because when I woke up in the night and found I was being sucked off again I didn't have any idea who it was. It seemed almost like a bad dream, but I knew I was not asleep, because when I shot it was real enough. Whoever it was dragged and dragged at me, and I sort of collapsed and went back to sleep.
I felt better in the morning, and the girls were as horny as ever. They decided to cut classes and I thought what the hell, you don't get a chance like this every day, so I didn't go to work either. We just wandered all around the house most of the day either sleeping or fucking whenever we happened to feel like it.
That night we got drunk again and when I finally fell asleep the girls were still going strong, fucking each other with candle sticks. Next day I didn't feel good at all, especially when I saw the tallow dripped all over the best rug where Dotty had shoved a candle up her ass and walked around with it lighted. I didn't feel like staying there with them, but I couldn't do any work either.
I thought they were going to chew each other's cunts to pieces that day, because I wasn't much good at screwing by then, and when it started to get dark and Dotty insisted on one up the ass, "just to start the evening," as she said, I decided to get out. I dressed and sneaked out and went over to Bickford City and got a room at a hotel.
I've been sleeping there for the past two nights, because for all I know the girls may still be up at the house and I'm afraid to go up and find out. And that isn't the worst of it: the wife's coming back in a couple of days and I've got to get the place cleaned up. And what's she going to say if when she comes home I'm not able to give it to her any more? And what if she catches on to the whole thing?
I tell you it's a mess. I'm fucked out, and by Jesus, I've had all the cunt I want for a long time.
* * *
The salesman finished his story by gulping down two glasses of wine and setting his glass down with a smartness that almost shattered it. A sympathetic smile played around the lips of the professor, but he waited to hear what the others had to say before voicing any comments. The barber was the first to speak.
"Oh my," he said disapprovingly, "that was bad. Bringing them right up to the house that way that wasn't nice."
"What's any worse about that than going up to their house?" the druggist demanded not so much defending the salesman as the mildly atheistic principles he affected.
"The house where your wife lives is different," the barber insisted, rather forcefully for him. "That place you shouldn't take a woman. It's like if you gave away something that belonged to her ... see?"
"I was drunk when I did that," defended the salesman, who, though he found some consolation in learning that there was a sympathetic viewpoint on the subject, felt that the barber was right.
"Just the same," the druggist persisted, "there's no real reason why you shouldn't take a woman to your house if you're going to fuck her. Fucking her is what your church says is a sin, Joe. It doesn't say anything about where you do it."
The barber shook his head, unconvinced, and turned to the professor with an air of an appeal. He knew that argument was no weapon for him, for his church produces logicians less frequently than saints, but he somehow hoped that the professor might be on his side just this once and annihilate the enemy with a well-turned epigram.
"The path of adultery hath many turnings," the professor said with an air of piety, and the barber turned a triumphant grin towards his companions, although he wasn't at all certain as to just what the statement might mean. No matter; the professor was quoting Holy Writ to back him up.
"It windeth here and there, and turning about among the stony way, and no man knoweth where in hell it may lead."
That didn't sound exactly scriptural to the barber, but he clung tenaciously to his air of triumph while he poured the last round of drinks.
"A man," the professor continued, "may be adulterous in many ways and a woman perhaps in even more. Physical intimacy is only one kind of adultery and certainly not the most important, although the stress laid upon it by popular opinion may make it seem so. In fact, in his one work on the subject, A Short Introduction To Adultery and the Charted Fields Attendant Thereon, Count Vladimir Bobrichipgendvltch Naltlsanbariatinsky, whose Capture of the Cunt had half of the Czarist court in stitches and the other half in chastity belts when it was first published, neglects to mention the factor of extra-marital fornication except as a footnote in the latter part of his least important chapter."
"I don't quite get that, professor," said the barber, frowning in puzzlement. "How can you fuck a woman if you don't?"
"You ought to read the Bible sometime, Joe," put in the druggist. "It tells you just how to fuck a woman without laying a finger on her. You just commit rape in your heart. It's swell."
"Some of these movie actresses must be almost fucked to death then," the salesman suggested, starting to laugh but stopping at once as he remembered his own immediate condition.
"I should venture to state," said the professor, "that practically all of us have committed various rapes at frequent intervals. Henry, for instance, violates my wife quite thoroughly every time we drop into his store."
"Aw now, professor," the druggist protested, blushing darkly.
"That, however," the professor continued without waiting for the druggist's denials, "is entirely beside the point of Joe's question because it does not constitute adultery. As a general thing, it may be said that adultery in one of its widely variant degrees is committed when there is present in the relationship of two people any infidelity of intimacies. In fact, one of the purest forms of adultery may be carried on under the very nose of the injured partner, and often without fear of reprisal. I mean merely the common enough gesture of laughter which excludes others."
"I still don't get it," said the barber. "Fucking's fucking and that's all there is to it, so far as I see."
"It grows late, gentlemen," remarked the professor, looking at his watch. "I suggest that we adjourn for tonight and return to our investigation of the cunt another time."
"Yeah," said the salesman, "I've got a drive ahead of me tonight."
CHAPTER FOUR: NAKIMISAN
The salesman was seated despondently alone in the back booth of the soda shop when the barber, the druggist and the professor entered together.
"Buck up," the druggist heartily greeted him, slapping him fraternally on the back. "Relief appropriations have been cut. Congress just gave Roosevelt a kick in the ass. There's going to be a revolution next Thursday. Everything's fine."
But the salesman merely looked up apathetically and shook his head. Dave came in at that moment and viewed the scene with bird-like interest.
"Hangover?" he asked sympathetically. "I got just the thing."
"His wife's coming home tonight," the druggist said seriously, as though no further explanation of such despondency could be necessary.
"Oh well ... in that case..." Dave wiped his fingers thoughtfully one by one on his dirty apron, " ... in that case maybe some good brandy?"
Dave's suggestion was acceptable for once and soon the glasses were clinking cheerfully as the amber liquid was poured into them.
"You got the place all cleaned up?" the barber asked as he sipped his drink in thoughtless imitation of the professor.
"Yeah, I got that done," said the salesman. "It's the other that bothers me."
"No luck, eh?" commiserated the druggist. He clucked his tongue over the brandy and winked at the barber who was, however, too much impressed by the tragedy of their friend's misfortune to be amused by it.
"You'll be O.K., " said the barber with more pity than conviction in his tone. "The professor's going to tell us a story about a Japanese girl and-"
"For Christ's sake, cut out the bedside manner," the salesman snapped irritably. "I'm not so bad off that I need somebody to bring me flowers and a bag of oranges."
The barber retreated hastily, not quite knowing how he had blundered, but too good-natured to object to the reproach.
"You promised, professor," he said placidly. "Tonight, for sure, you were going to tell us-"
"I know, Joe, I know," said the professor with a wave of his hand. "I just wanted to show you something first."
He took a small, finely carved cinnabar box from his pocket and handed it across the table. The barber opened it, disclosing a single large black pearl which rested on a white silk lining.
"Whew!" the druggist whistled. "That thing must be worth plenty if it's real!"
"It's real enough," the professor agreed, "although I never happened to consider its monetary value."
The pearl was taken from the box and passed curiously from hand to hand, even the salesman so far forgetting his misfortunes as to evince an active interest.
"Present?" the druggist asked.
"Present," the professor affirmed, "from Nakimisan."
* * *
Today, as everyone knows, many of the pearls which come from Japan are of the 'cultured' variety and the business of producing them is of the same general nature as keeping a chicken farm. But there are still a number of natural pearl stations where the wild oyster if that adjective can be applied to such an unadventurous animal is gathered. The method of harvest has hardly changed since its inception. Today the girls who do the diving are afforded the protection of goggles and ear plugs, so that pressure deafness and impaired vision are not quite such a hazard as they once were. They are miserably paid of course as who in Japan is not? but with that Oriental facility of faring quite well on what seems by our standards a starvation diet they manage as a class to stay marvelously healthy, and there are few prettier sights than a group of these graceful maidens coming in with their boats at evening.
I was at Tokisono doing some work at the world famous museum of erotica located there. Baron Keik-ich Ishimoto was working with me, and I found him not only an informed scholar but an excellent guide as well to that part of the neighborhood in which I was most interested. True, he had his faults mainly an overwhelming obsession that a cellophane condom on which he was working was going to revolutionize the fucking habits of the entire eastern hemisphere but he had an unfailing instinct for scenting out the bizarre, and while we were working together I knew hardly a dull evening. That the expense of our excursions invariably fell on me was only to be expected, and so, with this perfect understanding, we got along quite splendidly during my stay.
One afternoon as we were at work classifying a group of erotic woodcuts Ishimoto looked up from a signature with which he was having some difficulty and asked me if I had ever seen the divers at the Mikamawa station on the Ogashu Bay. Somewhat surprised to find myself suspected of such tourist diversions, I admitted that I had never had that privilege.
"Then you shall today," said Ishimoto, and he closed the portfolio and reached for his hat.
The Baron, it seemed to me, was being somewhat precipitous, especially as I had an idea that the gathering of oysters was something which a five-year-old child might care to watch for about three minutes. But I laid down my magnifying glass and prepared to follow wherever Ishimoto led.
The bay was not farther than two miles, and our rickshaw boys trotted the distance in an amazingly short time. As we drew up at the pier a rather dandified young Japanese came up to greet us. Ishimoto introduced him as his cousin every third person he met seemed to be some distant relative who managed the station and, after the usual Oriental amenities, sent him on his way.
"Let us walk down to the pier," the Baron suggested. "Perhaps we may find a free boat."
I noticed now as we walked down to the shore that about a dozen boats were scattered over the bay, each carrying two or three women. Of these, one woman was clothed and seemed to be taking care of the rowing or punting if the boat was working shallow water. But the diver was in every case naked save for loin cloth and rubber bathing cap. I stared at them with admiration as they calmly went about their work, and although they must have noticed us at the pier the girls made no effort to cover their bodies.
Baron Ishimoto found two boats tied to the dock, each carrying an inch or two of water in their flat bottoms. A little bailing sufficed to make them at least temporarily serviceable and we set out with Ishimoto at the oars. In a short time we had drawn alongside the nearest boat and the Baron began to explain to me just what the girls were doing.
The business itself was as dull as I had anticipated, but I was more than entertained by the gambolings of the diver. She flashed through the clear water like a porpoise, her golden bottom lifting for an instant as she dove from the surface and plummeted downward.
By leaning over the side of the boat and shading my eyes with my hand I could see her as she slithered through the sea-grass, clinging for eternities to the rocks while she gathered the mollusks.
Someone called from the pier. It was the Baron's cousin and it was evident from his actions that he wished to talk to Ishimoto.
"I'll get into the other boat and wait for you," I said. "I want to watch this a while."
The transfer was made while the diving girl was under the water, and when she came up to throw a few oysters over the side she found me in her boat.
"Hello," I greeted her. Then, straining my conversational knowledge of her language to its limit for at that time most of my Nipponese was that which I had picked up in the Yoshiwara, and of a rather narrow and definite scope: "Do you mind if I sit in your boat for a few minutes?"
The girl answered with a short negative and dove again. The woman who was rowing attended impassively to her work, hardly bothering or perhaps hardly daring to look at me. I believe she thought me to be the president of the company on a tour of inspection of the company property.
When the girl came up again she climbed in over the side and crouched, panting with the exertion of her labors. I sat watching her as her full breasts rose and fell, noting the deep sweep of the line from shoulder to bosom, the lithe thighs glistening with water. She was a beautiful creature, solidly built and brown with the sun, and as I watched her my cock began to stiffen desirously.
Because I had nothing else to do I picked up an oyster, crushed it on the gunwale and hooked my finger in to pull out the pale body. The girl gave a little scream of horror and looked at me as though she expected me to topple over dead. Evidently the idea of eating the creatures she gathered had never occurred to her.
"Good," I said reassuringly, and I rubbed my stomach in a pantomime of gastronomic glee. "Very, very good."
I ate another.
"Marvelous," I told the girl. She looked doubtful, but when I handed her one on the half-shell she picked it out and put it in her mouth. She swallowed it, but with a wry face, and politely but firmly refused another. I decided to eat no more myself lest someone suspect that I was swallowing all the finest pearls.
"What is your name?" I asked, apropos of nothing at all.
"Nakimisan."
We had drifted up to the mouth of a tiny cove, and on a sudden impulse I took the oars from the woman who was rowing and sent the box-like craft into it. I beached the boat and looked inquiringly at Nakimisan. By then she had discovered the protuberance at my trouser front, and I knew that my objective was well enough understood.
The girl hesitated only for an instant. Then, with a low word to the other woman who sat apathetically gazing at nothing, she stepped onto the bank with me. Apparently some large spring was the source of this odd cove, for the banks were not as sterile as they would naturally be from the action of the sea salt. They were dark and loamy, covered with a springy, tufted moss, and the giant hiiushi grew almost to the water's edge. Nakimisan and I stepped into the midst of the clump of the strange fern-tree, and I followed her for a few paces, feasting my eyes on her tapered back and chubby bottom, my cock rising in a perfect fury of eagerness.
The Japanese, as I believe I have mentioned, do not understand the kiss, and when 'Kimi paused and I took her in my arms I was somewhat surprised that she lifted her face to mine. I dropped my mouth to hers, but just as our lips were about to meet, the girl pursed her lips and blew softly into my face. Then she drew back.
For a moment I was dumbfounded. But then I realized that 'Kimi was merely imitating that which she had seen in an American movie somewhere for the matter of morality in her country had resulted in the deletion of the actual contact in all the movie scenes in which a kiss is shown.
Tactlessly I laughed, and instantly I saw an expression of bafflement and hurt come into the girl's face. She wrenched out of my arms and began to run back the way we had come. Cursing myself for a fool, I set after her, and soon caught her once more.
It took no end of labored explanation to persuade the girl to retrace her steps, but she finally smiled and relented.
" 'Kimi did it wrong," she said sadly. "You will teach me how?"
I pressed her body close to mine, feeling the warmth of her breasts and belly through my light clothing and thrilling at the willingness with which she yielded to me. My fingers crept down her finely-molded, naked back and over her plump buttocks. 'Kimi wriggled closer, rubbing her belly against my cock and stood on tip-toe to bring her crotch closer to the stiff rod.
I pulled off her swimming cap and goggles and tossed them to the ground. Then I dropped my lips to 'Kind's parted lips and kissed her. The girl accepted the gesture with interest but with no particular enthusiasm, until I slipped my tongue between her lips and into her mouth. But no sooner had our tongues touched than her body stiffened and her hands tightened strongly on my shoulder. She looked at me wonderingly and then suddenly slipped through my arms and sat down at my feet, apparently to ponder this new sensation.
Sitting beside her I waited for 'Kimi to make the next move. But I did not have to wait for long. She put her arms around my neck and pulled me to her. Our lips met and her little red tongue staged into my mouth. I sucked it gently while it searched about and again gave my own tongue to the girl.
'Kind's hand slipped down to the top of my shirt and slid warmly in over my chest. Her fingers touched my nipples, such inadequate counterparts of her own cinnabar tips, and she picked at them restlessly. Then her warm palm was moving over my belly, closing over the thick pelt around my privities. Her thumb slipped up my cock from base to tip, and she was sucking my tongue so strongly that it ached.
I ran my fingers under 'Kind's crotch piece to find the secret of its suspension, but before I could discover it the girl had loosed it for me. I disengaged the cotton print and pulled it from about her hips. The girl's hips were marked with a band of lighter skin where the garment had crossed her, and in the center of this light yellow line, her twat hair, black and silky as that of her head, stood out with the edge of her twat barely visible through it.
The girl relinquished my tongue and lay back, staring up through the fern-like trees at a patch of blue sky.
"Do all white men beat their women?" she asked in a halting mixture of Japanese, French, and garbled English.
I assured her that such was not the case, curious to know how she had arrived at such an extraordinary conclusion.
"I knew a girl of Japan who fucked men of your race sometimes," she said. "She told me it was so."
"And did you expect me to beat you then?"
"I did not know. But you have strange customs. How then does a man of your race treat his woman?"
"When she is as you, in this manner," I said in Japanese.
I bent over her and pressed my face against her warm thighs, nuzzling between them and reaching my lips to the black patch of twat hair and her ruby slit. 'Kimi moved slightly to allow this entry, and her puffing lips parted with a scarce-heard squishing. I took a mouthful of her steely, blue-black hair between my teeth and plucked her twat with my lips.
Her juice freshened on my tongue as I slid it slowly into the groove and delved into the soft pink tissues and 'Kimi spread her legs further. I wriggled my tongue back and forth in her slot, sucking her tender parts into my mouth and then letting them slip slowly back through my lips. Under the seeking tip of my tongue I felt the girl's clitoris hardened, large and smooth as a pea. Then I drove my tongue back into her tight vagina.
'Kimi's laughter was like the sound of water running over stones, and she caught my head close to her body, lifting her hips to let my tongue further into her. I was driving my tongue rapidly up and down the hot, lush walls of her cunt, and her cunt juice was pouring ever more abundantly as my mouthing grew more vi-brous, so I burrowed my face deep to the sticky wetness of her cunt until I was wet with the flow from cheek to cheek. I rubbed the tip of my nose into her groove and teased the twitching vagina by rolling my tongue circularly over the juicy walls.
'Kimi rubbed her hairy crotch eagerly over my face, brushing my chin and cheeks with the stiff fuzz. Her chubby ass was fairly quivering under my fingers, and she was playing thoughtlessly with her teats, plucking and squeezing the nipple until I could bear to watch no longer, but thrust her hands roughly away and closed my own palms fiercely over the sweet melons.
"The women of your country are very fortunate," 'Kimi said as she finally pushed me away. "For although our men do this thing too, few do it so well."
I wiped my sopping mouth over the soft mound of her sleek belly, pausing to run my tongue briefly into her deeply cut navel. Then I pulled myself upward and kissed the girl's teaties, chewing her nipples gently and shaking them in my teeth. 'Kimi, like many other women of her general type, seemed to like best to have her nipples licked, the pebbly surfacing of my tongue evidently heightening the sensation to the point of exquisiteness, and she offered them again and again.
'Kimi already had my shirt unbuttoned and partly off. Now, as I slipped out of it she began to undo my trousers. She pulled the fly open and thrust her fingers once more into my prick. Her palm curled warmly over the shaft and she brought it out. She bounced it gently up and down, squeezing and pressing it to test its hardness. Her fingers caressed it gently.
I unfastened my belt and 'Kimi, with some little assistance on my part, slipped off my trousers and shorts and then my shoes and stockings. Then, as I lay on my back she sat beside me and, leaning over my crotch, curiously eyed my privities. Her fingers slid up my thighs and she lifted my balls carefully.
"The women of your country must be supremely happy," she said with a little envious sigh, "when their men are so generous of nature and proportion. But tell me do your women show their appreciation in this way?"
She bent her head quickly and mouthed in my balls, holding them with a pulsating pressure of her tongue against the roof of her mouth while she gently sucked them. She let them drop slowly away and then clamped her lips around the base of my cock, sucking at both the shaft and my pelt. Then she ran her lips upward from the hairy mouthful, biting and nibbling the huge rod until she was almost to the head. Her teeth tightened then and she dragged the foreskin back from the swollen tip.
Her tongue flashed over the glans, leaving a wet, burning streak in place of the oozing juice which had spilled from the slot and then she rolled her head about and drove her lips down over the now monstrous, randy shaft. Her quick fingers were playfully squeezing my bull shit and running in between my bull shit to poke gingerly at my ass hole.
'Kimi chewed and sucked my cock with an adeptness that would have made her a favorite at any house of the geishas provided, of course, that she could have learned the restraint and mildness of manner required in those establishments. Her warm tongue spiraled up and down the thick rod, and she munched the spongy head with a zest that well bespoke her own enjoyment of the sport. Finally, because I was hungry for her cunt, I gently persuaded her to desist.
Since I had laughed at her imitation of the occidental kiss 'Kimi was quick to fear my ridicule, and she looked sharply into my face to see if her efforts had displeased me or aroused a derogatory amusement.
"Seldom do our women approach such adeptness," I assured her. "But there is one more thing which they do, and which the men return in kind."
I turned 'Kimi onto her side and drew her knees up. Then I curled around her from the back, my face at her dimpled bottom and my prick in the vicinity of her shoulders. I parted her buttocks and revealed her ass hole a delicate pink bud in the midst of a forest of hair. I licked her buttocks inward to this pretty spot while 'Kimi tensed in my arms in anticipation. Then my tongue slipped smoothly over the tight coil of muscle and twisted inward.
At first the sphincter was tight and resistant. But as my tongue tip probed and wriggled in it the hard ring relaxed and grew softer. Then my tongue was driven entirely in and I closed my lips over the outer surfaces and sucked. At the same time I fondled the girl's twat with my nose, inhaling as I did so a most deliciously tart scent of cunt juice.
'Kimi seemed thoroughly to enjoy the sensation which this manner of sucking evidently strange to her afforded, but once she understood how it was performed she was anxious to try her own skill at it. So, after a parting kiss on her wet twat, I turned to give the girl an opportunity to practice this newly-acquired caress.
The girl adapted my own previous position and imitated that which I had done, not, however, without adding a few imaginative frills of her own invention. She handled my cock and bull shit as she sucked my bottom hole, paused occasionally to nibble my balls or chew at the thick ridge she discovered running from the root of my cock back to my ass, and finally, as a sort of fuckatory tour de force, pushed her pretty little nose into my ass and snorted playfully.
It is needless to say that with all these sensational gymnastics conspiring to heighten my desire I was in a state where my prick was bursting and my balls were aching with the burden of their sperm. I ground my ass to 'Kimi's sucking mouth and then turned to stretch beside her. 'Kimi, seeing what I wanted, promptly turned her back to me in what might have seemed a brusque rebuff but which I correctly interpreted as subservient acceptance, for in her country one usually fucks in this posture. I preferred, however, to screw her in a face to face position and I gently turned her toward me.
'Kimi took my tool in both capable hands as she turned toward me and pressed it between her plump thighs while at the same time she raised her uppermost leg and wound it over my hips. Her tough young pelt scratched against the sensitized glans, and then I felt the hot clasp of her cunt as my prick sank into her. Needles of fire traced up the shaft as I pushed my rod through her fat twat lips and drove slowly into her vagina. The tight walls stretched before the firm onslaught, and my prick slid to its entire length in one smooth thrust.
The girl received my cock with a grateful glance, and shrugged her bottom to set it more deeply into her. I felt the wet surfaces of her cunt biting slipperily over the thick rod, and then 'Kimi threw her hips back and away from mine. Her cunt slipped over my tool until only the very end was still within her. Then, with an oblique thrust she rammed her hips to mine so that my balls bounced against her ass and our pelts were jammed so tightly together as to seem but one.
'Kimi was aching to spend, and I was no less excited than she, and so our fucking was perhaps more enthusiastic than artistic. We frigged each other with strong, bone-jarring thrusts, and with every passing second our passion rose higher and higher. I was kneading the yielding flesh of her butts as though it were so much putty, while 'Kind's fingers dug deeper into my arms. I slid one finger down the hot crevice of her rear and probed at her ass.
I did not pause to ask the girl if she were accustomed to having her ass hole manipulated. Stopping only long enough to dip my finger momentarily into her cunt and that without breaking our stroking I pressed it hard against the little hole. 'Kimi wriggled and made some mild gesture of protest, but as I persisted in my probing she accepted the situation for what it was worth and relaxed her tense butts to allow me full play.
In no time at all I had my finger well up her rear, and darting up and down in time to the rhythm my cock was beating in her cunt. After a moment or two of this, when she had decided that the experience was a pleasurable one, 'Kimi wetted her own finger in her mouth and worked it into my rear, matching my very movement.
The preliminary quivering of her climax spurred 'Kimi on to new heights, and with the maneuverings of her body she silently urged me to a more and more vigorous frigging. I bounced and pounded at her, hastening my own orgasm. Then the glorious moment burst simultaneously over us.
Although 'Kimi was literally crying for more violent means, I sank my cock with deliberate, tantalizing slowness into her vitals until my bull shit were squeezed tightly between us. My sperm burst forth then, spilling in a hot, forceful flood over her hungry tissues, and 'Kimi sobbed of sheer pleasure as the burning douche brought down her own dammed passion.
She twisted in an ecstasy, and her vagina sucked my prick hungrily while the thick seed pulsated through it. I pulled my finger out of her throbbing ass, twisting it slowly as I did so, and the odd thrill dragging her hyper-sensitized tissues sent a long shuddering quiver throughout her entire body. The apex of her orgasm passed, and she collapsed suddenly in my arms while my prick lowered and softened by degrees in a series of dry throbs.
As my senses slowly returned I became aware of a persistent, forced cough from the direction whence we had come. 'Kimi heard it too, and she hurriedly rose to her feet.
"They have missed the boat!" she exclaimed.
She picked up her loin cloth and hastily tied it in place about her hips. I started to follow her down the pathway but she stopped me.
"You will come again?" she asked with honest anxiousness.
"Of course," I replied, while I tried to put a shoe on with one hand and stuff my shirt into my trousers with the other.
'Kimi smiled at my rather ludicrous efforts. I must admit that at that moment her own abbreviated costume seemed by far the more sensible. She parted my prick through my trousers and then lifted her face to be kissed.
"I could come to you if you wished," she said suddenly.
In Japan the idea of a woman calling upon a man is an almost unheard of heresy, and I was no end pleased with her willingness to violate the national code of ethics in order to see me. Then too, I reflected, the Ogashu Bay is not all that might be desired in a trysting place.
I told 'Kimi my address and she left me with a promise to call upon me in three days. I watched her out of sight and then turned to walk back to the station.
Baron Ishimoto was waiting for me, pacing nervously back and forth along the shore and frequently consulting his American-made watch. It was obvious that he was well aware of the cause of my absence, and he grinned slyly at the somewhat disheveled appearance I made. But he was much too tactful to make mention of the incident and so, after a few remarks upon the business of harvesting pearls, we went back to Tokisono.
On the evening of 'Kind's scheduled appearance I sat alone in the furnished flat which I had rented in the 'foreign' quarter. I had no doubt but that the girl intended to come, but I was a little dubious that she could remember the address I had given her. At about eight o'clock in the evening, however, the bell rang and I hurried to the door to find 'Kimi.
The poor girl made hardly more than the barest pittance at her profession, and it was evident that the somewhat garbled version of American dress in which she had bedecked herself for this meeting was her finest. There was nothing to do but cry out with simulated admiration of her outfit; and the girl smiled proudly and happily as I ushered her in and noted meanwhile from the condition of the high heeled shoes on which she teetered that she had evidently walked a great distance to keep her appointment.
I led her to an easy chair and immediately knelt to take off the things which I knew must be causing her actual torture by this time.
"Your women do not remove their shoes in the house," the girl demurred.
"But this is your country," I protested.
"A foreign home," she replied simply, indicating the furnishings.
It required no little persuasion as well as tact, to effect the removal of the shoes, and with her precious feathered hat she simply would not part, until I struck upon the happy thought of bribing her with an American kiss. I must admit that 'Kimi, lovely as she was in her own setting, proved somewhat of a discouraging problem with her clothes on.
She was interested in everything in the house, and she followed me about on a grand tour of inspection which started at the electric refrigerator and ended in the bathroom, where she amused herself by flushing the toilet several times while I demonstrated its possibilities by throwing bits of crumbled tissue into the bowl. The American bed intrigued her too, and after we had discussed the plumbing for some time we went back into the bedroom.
'Kimi sat down on the bed the double purpose of which I had already gone to some lengths to explain and bounced up and down. It was so much unlike her own straw mat that I believe the idea of actually sleeping in such a contraption fascinated her almost as much as that of fucking on its springy surface. She lay back across it and closed her eyes.
"Would you like to sleep in my bed tonight?" I asked her.
"But I must be at the station very early tomorrow," she said regretfully.
I promised that she should be there on time and suggested that we go to bed at once. 'Kimi was amenable and we almost immediately commenced to undress.
Relieved of her western dress the girl was once more 'Kimi of the Mikimawa station, and I felt considerably more at ease when she finally dropped an ugly, bone-ribbed girdle to the floor and was completely naked. I hung my own clothes away, switched off all the lights but one small, shaded lamp and turned back the coverlet.
'Kimi climbed into the bed and snuggled down happily. I slipped in beside her, and her fingers at once found their way to my privities.
She squeezed her hand tightly around my prick and slipped the skin back and forth over the head several times. My cock had been slowly erecting for several seconds in fact, ever since 'Kimi had undressed and now, as she commenced to manipulate it, it sprang to stiff attention. It swelled hugely in her hand, and 'Kimi chortled with pleasure.
My own hands were at the girl's soft, full breasts, but now one slid down her smooth sides, over her belly and into the pad of her twat hair. The fat little lips her pelt attempted to conceal were hot, and already I pushed the sides of 'Kind's groove gently apart and slid one finger into the fresh slit. I moved my finger slowly back and forth along the oily slot and in a few seconds my finger was well soaked with the fragrant flow.
I pushed my finger in further, squeezing it through the tight inner parts which, for some reason I could not fathom, 'Kimi did not allow to relax. Then my finger struck on something large and smooth and round her clitoris, I thought. But then I pressed again, and knew that it could not be that.
Amazed, I looked into the girl's face. She laughed then, and with the action forced from her twat and into my palm, a large, dark pearl.
"For you," 'Kimi said.
How she had ever managed to carry such a gem away from the station with her I could not imagine, for I understood that the girls were very thoroughly searched before being allowed to pass out of the place, and that the punishment for any attempted pilfering of the gems was most severe. I rolled the pearl absently on my palm, not knowing what to do or say. And 'Kimi, sensing my hesitation, misunderstood.
"You do not like it," she said in a low, strained voice. "Then give it to me. It is ugly. I shall destroy it."
I clasped her to me to kiss away her fears, and in a trice she was smiling happily again, for her nature was as quick and positive as that of a child. 'Kimi's disposition knew only the poles of emotion. She was either completely depressed or marvelously elated, and when I gave evidence of my pleasure the balance swung at once to correspond to my mood.
'Kimi fell again to masturbating me, and took my hand in hers to press it back to her twat. I dug my finger into the hairy gash and soon was finger frigging her diligently while her own fingers played softly up and down my prick. But neither of us needed any manual stimulation to prepare for our fucking, for my cock was already burning and rigid, and the girl's twat was relaxed and open to my probing.
I was completely ready to again know 'Kimi's fuckatory charm, but remembering the gratitude with which she had responded to the sucking I had given her I bent my head to her cunt and rubbed the fat little lips playfully with my nose. Nor was the girl loath to accept the caress, but insisted that she should also mouth me. We threw back the coverlet and stretched out side by side, chewing hungrily at each other's privities.
'Kimi was running her sharp teeth up and down the barrel of my tool, gulping over the huge knob with a gusto that bespoke her own enjoyment of the procedure. She drew her mouth lingeringly away and pressed her fingers tightly up the shaft so that a large drop of liquid was milked up and stood heavily at the deep slot of the molded tip. Her tongue touched into the sticky liquor and she tasted it thoughtfully.
"Do the men of your country give that milk of their balls to the women who hunger for it?" she asked. And, assured that American men were quite happy to be sucked off: "Let 'Kimi then know the taste of your seed," she pleaded.
I plunged my cock into her pouting little mouth and rolled it from side to side. 'Kimi drew in as much of the swollen prick as she could and attacked it simultaneously with lips, teeth and tongue. At the same time I threw my own efforts in a concerted onslaught upon her cunt, sucking thirstily the musky liquor it dripped.
'Kimi's cunt was soon agitated by the most diverse twitching and inner convulsions as my lapping and chewing brought her passion to its height, and as my balls twitched anxiously under the investigating fingers her mouthing of my fevered tool redoubled in vigor. Our hips were weaving back and forth in heightening urgency as we each frigged closer to the other's sucking mouth.
'Kimi knew her orgasm before I was quite ready to spend, and as she lifted her hips eagerly to receive a last deep caress of my tongue a cry of ecstasy escaped her lips. I pulled my cock to signify that she might know the moment's pleasure to its fullest extent without being disturbed because I did not also spend. Then I licked forcefully through the fragrant slit and drove my tongue as deeply as I could into the hot, clinging vagina just as 'Kimi's orgasm assailed her.
The girl crushed my face to her twat, winding her legs about my neck in a smothering, deliciously randy embrace. I chewed the mashed outer lips almost cruelly while my tongue raced here and there, searching out new centers of sensitivity. 'Kimi arched her perfect body in sharp appreciation of the conclusive moment. Then, as it passed, she dropped away, and, without pausing to rest, gulped my cock between her lips.
Watching 'Kimi's pleasure had so heightened my own that hardly had her mouth closed over my cock before my climax was upon me. I warned the girl with a sound and then let my semen flow up and flush into her mouth.
Gulping down the hot discharge with a greedy, animal appetite, 'Kimi pressed my balls as though to force the semen they held. She suckled wetly, smacking her lips over every tid-bit of sperm until my orgasm had passed and my cock, no matter how urgently she prodded, would give up no more of the sweet banquet.
We huddled together tiredly, waiting for the delicious semi-stupor of completed orgasm to flow from us. And as strength and thought crept slowly back and the blood stirred once more in our veins, 'Kimi indicated that one such bout was not to be the last.
The girl dropped her mouth to my flaccid cock and licked the burning surface soothingly. Then, while the limp rod began its miraculous revival, her mouthing became more importunate, until she was once more chewing on the organ that was fully erect.
Knowing how much 'Kimi was amused by the spring action of the bed I decided to screw her in the angelic position to give her the fullest benefit of this convenience. When my prick was aroused to its fullest, therefore, I gave her to understand that she was to lie on her back while I mounted her. She readily complied, and shortly the spongy tip of my rod was knifing through her twat lips and into her vagina.
'Kimi rode quietly enough for the first few moments while I stroked her gently with slow jabs. Then she lifted her hips to meet my thrusts, and in no time at all she was bouncing enthusiastically, punctuating her exuberant movements with little exclamations of amusement and delight. like a child with a new toy she performed a thousand inventive experiments with the reacting motion of the bed, and I fully believe that if she had dared she would have stripped the bed in order to screw on the springs alone.
The unaccustomed boundings brought the girl quickly again to the brink of orgasm; as for me, I was following wherever she led, and contrived to time my own climax with hers. My cock twisted and thrust strongly in 'Kimi's vitals as the desirous instant came closer and closer, and our bodies fused in the burning moment.
The surging ecstasy found us together, and in the split-second between the first heavy convulsion of my balls and the impact of my semen in 'Kimi's vagina, the girl was tipped with me into a swirling sea of passion. Our bellies clung together, tingling with sensation, and our limbs entwined as we sought the sure fierceness of the moment. 'Kimi's spread twat pinched over the base of the hard prick that had forced them, and her vagina showered a conglomerate of fleeting, delicious caresses upon the inundated rod.
Regretfully at last I drew my spent penis from its warm prison and curled close to the girl while I drew the coverlet over her pretty shoulders. I dropped almost immediately to sleep.
* * *
"Did she get to work on time, professor?" asked the barber as it was evident that the story was completed. He had been waiting a long time to hear this tale, and he wanted to get all the details.
"I should imagine that she did," said the professor, "for she seemed to lie awake most of the night waiting for the slightest excuse to run to the bathroom and play with the plumbing. She disappeared while I was sleeping."
"So you didn't have to see the hat with the feather, anyway," put in the druggist.
"Jesus, you ought to see the hats MY wife wears," the salesman complained. But on reflection this criticism seemed rather out of place. He looked at his watch and sighed.
"Did you fuck her again, professor?" asked the barber, who was determined to milk the story quite dry.
The professor shook his head and picked up the little carved box. He examined the bottle of brandy and found it empty.
"Within a very few days she married a young man who worked as a miner in the coal fields near Fukuoka. The Baron mentioned it to me quite casually one day."
"Gosh, professor," said the druggist. "You'd think she'd have sold the pearl if she was going to get married. Why it would have made her practically rich the way they figure in Japan."
"There you go," complained the barber who could not bear to believe other than that all of the girls in the professor's stories lived happily ever after, "always spoiling a good story."
"Well," said the salesman, "I guess I'd better go down to meet the train."
He sounded depressed.
CHAPTER FIVE: The Long Trail
But as the professor stepped into the back room of Dave's Soft Drink Emporium on the occasion of the next conclave, the salesman's face was wreathed in smiles.
"Well," exclaimed the professor as he paused to remove his top coat, "you seem somewhat more cheerful this evening, my friend."
"Oh, the patient is doing fine," the druggist put in. "Not a care in the world any more."
"Well, not exactly that," objected the salesman. "But I've stopped worrying about my prick, anyway."
"He just got in bed with her and there it was just as good as ever," the barber declared enthusiastically.
The professor nodded eagerly and accepted a glass of Chablis which the druggist proffered.
"According to Seyyid Ziaed-Din, whose work exists only in manuscript form at the Great Library of-"
"Say, professor, isn't that Bible society of yours having a meeting tonight?" hinted the barber, attempting to avoid a scholarly discourse.
"So it is, so it is," the professor agreed. "And for that reason our story tonight must be quite short. Perhaps you have one in mind?"
The barber backtracked hastily, appalled at the prospect of having to tell a story without previous preparation and the professor went on without further ado to the evening's narration.
* * *
As a usual thing I do not indulge heavily in outdoor sports for, as you gentlemen know, I prefer to confine my athletic endeavors to the more familiar environs of a bed. It may surprise you, therefore, to know that one year I spent over a week hiking over the well-known Long Trail which runs practically the entire length of the state of Vermont.
I carried a light pack with only the barest essentials in the way of equipment, traveling slowly because I was out for enjoyment rather than a record hike. More frequently than not I slept at night by the side of the trail, rolled in a tarpaulin, although the way is dotted with infrequent shacks equipped with crude bunks and occasional other conveniences such as an iron stove and perhaps a chair or two.
As night gathered about me on this particular occasion, however, I noticed several indications which warned of an impending rainfall and, with my usual bourgeois concern for my personal comfort I hurried over the dimming outline of the trail in order to arrive at the next shanty before the downfall should commence. I was fortunate, for just as I came within sight of the place the first heavy drops of rain were beginning to whisper on the leaves of the trees.
I hastened to cut enough balsam boughs to line one of the box-like bunks, for by some mysterious alchemy those left by the previous occupant even if the orange rinds and potato peelings on the floor are still moist are invariably six weeks old, dry, and impossible to sleep on. Then, after eating a light supper, I undressed and lay down in my blankets to read Moliere by the dim light of a candle which leaped and sputtered as the wind came whistling through the chinks of the cabin.
I had been reading for perhaps twenty minutes when there was a rattling at the latch. Then the door opened and a dripping form stumbled in. The candle flame danced and almost died. Then, as the door banged shut and the flame leaped high, in its flare I saw that my guest was a girl, and quite a young and pretty girl in the bargain.
"It's-it's raining out," she stammered confusedly as she became aware of my presence.
"I had noticed that," I said, surveying her soaked clothing and surmising that the lopsided pack she carried must be equally as wet.
The girl went at once to the little black stove and dropped her pack beside it on the floor. She held her hands toward the warmth and rubbed them briskly together.
"There's more wood in the corner," I informed her, and as she thrust a few sticks into the red maw of the stove, I asked how she happened to be caught by the storm.
'I wasn't exactly caught," she explained, glancing at me somewhat self-consciously. "I built a lean-to. But it fell down on me just when I needed it most."
At my invitation she helped herself to a cup of warmed-over coffee and then rummaged in her pack for a soggy biscuit to eat with it. She sat cross-legged on the floor, spurning the single chair, perhaps because it held my clothes, and huddled shivering to the stove.
She hadn't, she told me, started out alone. But 'Freddy' had been exhausted at the end of two days on the trail an so she had left him on a road crossing to hitch-hike home and had continued alone. The girl was a small, dainty thing, a blonde, and I imagined that her solitary experience, especially in view of the fact that she was not a hiker, must have been rather discouraging.
I watched with mild curiosity while the girl pulled her sodden blankets from her pack and spread them over the dry balsam of the other bunk. She crawled doggedly into them after removing only her hiking shoes and pulled the clammy covers up to her neck. The branches snapped beneath her, and she twisted uncomfortably.
"You can't sleep in those clothes," I advised helpfully.
"Perhaps if you'd turn your back I'd have an opportunity to take them off," she said somewhat irritably.
I accommodatingly turned my back upon her and stared dutifully at the wall. I heard her pulling off her wet things and hanging them up to dry. Then she climbed back into bed.
"If you're ready to go to sleep now I'll blow out the candle," I offered.
She made no comment, so I snuffed out the flame and settled back in my bunk. For a few moments all was silence. But then I heard the girl tossing uncomfortably.
"Are you awake?" she called in a low voice. "Just dozing," I replied. "These branches are sticking into my back."
"I'm quite comfortable."
For an instant she said nothing, although I fancied that I heard her muttering under her breath.
"The roof is leaking just over my face," she complained bitterly.
"It's perfectly dry here," I answered, stifling an impulse to laugh.
"And these blankets are cold..."
"Very strange," I commented. "I assure you that I'm quite warm. Almost too warm, in fact."
This time I distinctly heard the girl swearing with a suppressed fluency that was a pleasure to my ears.
"If you were a gentleman " she began.
"Oh! But of course! How stupid of me! Madam," I offered politely, "would you care to share my bed...? "
"I don't WANT to share your bed," she wailed. "I want a bed of my own."
"A reactionary," I decided seriously, "befuddled and afraid when the old individualist credo turns against her. Do you not believe in accepting the bitter with the sweet, the dregs with the wine, the rags when the riches have evaporated?"
"All I'm asking is to be warm and dry again!" the girl shouted angrily.
"My bed awaits your pleasure no less eagerly than myself," I murmured calmly.
"Do you think I'm going to let to let you screw me just to get a night's sleep?" the girl demanded indignantly.
"I offered my bed," I said in shocked tones, "but nevah mah faih whayte bodeh."
The girl mulled over that for quite a little while before she came to a decision, but her present discomfort tipped the scale. I heard her step out of her bunk.
"That's a bargain," she said. "Just your bed nothing else?"
"Nothing else this side of Heaven," I solemnly promised, and the girl stepped across the rough floor and slipped into bed with me.
I lay straight as a ramrod while she slid her naked body carefully down beside mine. The girl was still shivering and her skin emanated a chill, but I made no move to warm her against me. In a little while she became warmer, however, and as the chill passed her disposition thawed with it.
"You don't have to lie so stiff and uncomfortable, you know," she said. "I'm really not going to bite."
Gratified to learn this, I relaxed and turned toward the girl. But the mere thought of fucking her had resulted in quite a respectable erection, and when I moved to her she of course felt my cock press hotly against her rear.
"I bargained for the bed only," she said as she quickly turned onto her back. "So you did," I agreed.
"But you can't sleep like that. You'll lie awake all night."
"I doubt it," I told her. "Such a belief exists only as a result of a cheap ruse on the part of men who offer the simple fact of erection as evidence of an overwhelming necessity to be fucked."
"It's that damn Freddy," the girl laughed. "He's gotten me to lay him several times that way."
"Good boy, Freddy," I mused. "He at least gets fucked. While I, it appears, am to be fucked only figuratively, as the old Dutch axiom has it."
The girl was in high spirits by this time, and she started to run the tips of her nails affectionately up and down my thigh. She ran closer and closer to my cock each time, and my entire body prickled from the titillation.
"When two people are lying together naked the outcome is rather obvious, isn't it?" she asked.
As she said that her warm fingers slipped up along the under side of my rigid prick, pressing it against my belly. Her thumbnail moved softly over my bull shit and she turned to face me.
"I'm Judy," she said.
In the most friendly manner imaginable she took my hand and pressed it to her breasts. The globes were firm and rather small, and I guessed that she must be even younger than the twenty years I attributed to her when she had first come into the shack. I closed my hands over the luscious teaties and rubbed my palms over the nipples which started and swelled at the touch.
"Let's light the candle," Judy suggested, voicing my own unspoken thought. "It's nicer in the light."
In the candlelight her skin was creamy gold and pink, and the shadows brought a softness of line that made her young lithe body seem oddly mature. No longer chilled, Judy threw back the covers so that I might feast my eyes wholly on her proud young charms.
"Will I be a good fuck?" she asked. "Will I?"
"The proof of the pudding "I quoted gaily while I rubbed my cock against her thigh.
"Is in the eating," the girl finished, with a meaningful inflection in her voice. She spread her thighs and smiled an invitation and a dare into my face as she spoke.
I looked at the powder-puff ball of twat fuzz at the V of her thighs and stroked her soft belly downward toward the precious spot. My lips flung kisses over her shoulders and breasts and then, as I slid my mouth toward the girl's twat, her fingers caught in my hair and she pushed my head firmly toward her crotch. Her pelt lay softly under my cheek, and my nostrils were assailed with the sweet, familiar odor of cunt. I licked the inner sides of her thighs and the tender pockets of her groin.
Judy quivered and pressed my face upward to her slit, rocking her hips to rub her hairy outer lips to my mouth. I dipped my tongue into the musky groove and slid it back through the lush, wet surfaces to her vagina. Then I drove my tongue into the deep channel, twisting and curling it in searching circles. My teeth nipped the delicate inner petals, and I sucked until Judy winced from the force of my tuggings.
"I've been trying for ages to get Freddy to do that," she said dreamily while I licked back through her warm butts and tickled her pink ass hole with the tip of my tongue.
Freddy's shortcomings, however, were soon forgotten as the flame of desire commenced to burn ever more strongly in the girl. She ground her twat fiercely to my face and pushed my hand to the oily lips, insisting that I finger her cunt while I sucked. I finger frigged to the best of my skill, and at the same time chewed her twat until I sensed that the girl was coming rather close to the point of orgasm.
"Let me suck you too," Judy requested as I pulled away from her crotch and slid up beside her.
Her small hands toyed prettily with my balls, and then moved up to the sturdy shaft of my cock, squeezing tightly around it. Dipping her head forward, she pressed a kiss to the covered glans. Her lips parted and she sucked in an inch or so of the hot barrel between them.
Her tongue burrowed at the loose foreskin, pushing it back until the rubbery knob popped out. Then she commenced to move her head forward and backward, at the same time indicating that she wanted me to assist in the motion with my hips. I started to frig, slowly at first, but with a rhythm that grew faster and more forcible proportionately as my passion grew more urgent.
A little more of Judy's experienced ministrations and I should surely have spent in her pretty mouth. But as I felt the final moment creeping closer, I made the fact known to the girl and, with a final twisting wrench that culminated in a loud pop as her mouth released my rod, she moved up to my side to receive the reward of a hungering kiss.
Sliding over the girl I pressed her flat on her back on the fragrant bed of balsam. I forced her knees with one of mine and slid my wet prick tantalizingly over her thighs and belly, pretending to drive for her twat and then checking the thrust at the last moment.
But two can play at that game, as Judy clearly demonstrated when I finally plunged at her in earnest. She writhed and rocked her hips, teasingly preventing entry by those very motions which are associated with fucking. At last I was forced to wrap my arms tightly around her chubby bottom and, thus subduing her struggles, enter her with the simulated effort of rape.
Judy squealed piercingly as my cock forced between her twat lips, and beat her heels against my ass in mock terror. But every movement she made merely succeeded in making the slow entry more delectable. The end of my prick pushed up to the entrance of her vagina and then crept steadily up the wet, burning channel. Her cunt was small and pinched close over my cock, resisting every inch of the way.
Once my prick was in her, however, Judy's animation sought better expression than the fraud of resistance. She shook her bottom, lifting her butts clear of the bunk, and my rod battered in her cunt like an imprisoned bell clapper. Her torso twisted to rub her small teats and her smooth belly against me, and she received each heavy plunge of my prick with an upsurging roll of her hips.
Fucking Judy was a delight, and I did my best to know its delight to its fullest. I drove and plunged savagely at her tight cunt until my bull shit bounced on her chubby, upturned bottom and her outer lips were gaping over the very root of my tool. Or I would stroke slowly, gently, sinking my cock into her hot vitals with that tenderness so much more exciting than any brutality. Almost before we realized it and certainly before we willed it we were both on the verge of our spending.
"I'll come when you do," Judy said, reaching to dandle my balls.
As her fingers closed over the egg-shaped objects, squeezing gently, the twin glands leaped spasmodically. My prick surged, and a cascade of burning sperm spat from the tip and scattered over the ready walls of the girl's vagina. She clutched me tightly, and, as she had prophesied, her own climax was at that instant achieved.
My prick was assailed and sucked by a hundred counter-motions within her cunt. At each fresh burst of semen, it pinched insistently over my organ. At the same time a series of tremors seemed to flow throughout the girl's fevered body. She dug her fingers into my butts, calling my name pleadingly.
The spasm passed, leaving us both momentarily sated. We lay side by side in the flickering half-light, neither of us speaking, for words were not enough. But as the minutes ticked slowly by Judy's fingers began a restless play up and down my belly.
In a moment I reached to take the girl in my arms. She curled warmly to me, and offered her young breasts to my mouth, rubbing the flinty nipples over my cheek and lips. I sucked in one of the orange-colored tips and mouthed up as much of her teat as I could. The girl's fingers slid down to my cock, and she wiped away its oily wetness with her thigh.
My own fingers were deep in the slit of the girl's warm bottom, probing her ass hole and, as one finger eventually wiggled its way through the muscled ring and twitched within her, Judy's hips commenced to rock sinuously.
"Would you be afraid to put your cock in there?" she asked, sliding her half-closed fingers back and forth along my lengthening organ.
I do not know why she used the term afraid unless perhaps she was over-compensating for some deep-rooted fear that she herself may have felt. Nor did I bother to ask. I motioned for the girl to roll onto her belly, and as she did so I knelt behind her.
My tool was not yet completely erect, but as Judy reached back, seized it in her tiny hand, and rubbed the knob against her ass hole it soon reached its fullest proportions. And, once it had acquired the requisite rigidity, I began to work the tip into the girl's waiting bottom without further delay.
The hot end pushed through the softening sphincter, stretching it until the ring of muscle accepted the glowing knob. I put my arms around Judy's waist, reaching upward to her teaties, and as I did so I pulled her gently toward me. She settled slowly back on my cock, forcing its skewering length to drive gradually up her rear. When she had as much of my cock up her ass as was comfortable for her, she waggled her hips and commenced to sway with a slow, fucking motion.
I frigged cautiously at first, for while I knew that this was not the first time Judy had felt the surge of a prick in her rear I could not know with any degree of certainty just how wide a range her experience covered, and I was somewhat fearful lest some excess exuberance on my part might spoil her pleasure. It soon became evident, however, that the girl knew what she was about. She had her limitations, understood them, and within their boundaries worked ably and even expertly to bring the greatest possible amount of sensation to both her and me.
Judy wanted me to spend while I frigged her ass and so I slipped two fingers into her cunt and titillated her in this fashion while I fucked in order to insure her of an orgasm as well. Faster and faster we rode until our improvised bed sagged from the strain to which it was being put.
"Spend in me!" Judy abruptly cried. "Oh, spend in me now!"
She writhed in the throes of her orgasm and jammed her ass back to my groin. Her sphincter convulsively pinched over my prick in sympathy to the throbbing of her cunt. She held her buttocks flatly to my belly and I could feel each chubby butt tensing and quivering. Then my own buttocks shook uncontrollably. My prick leaped wildly, and the fiery essence of my own climax spurted deep into Judy's bowels.
There was no more fucking that night. We drew the rough blankets around our shoulders and blew out the light. Clasped warmly in each other's arms we fell asleep almost immediately in the deep dreamless sleep of satiety.
* * *
The barber sighed wistfully as he saw the professor reach for his watch, and by the frown that crossed the professor's face they could tell that this evening of storytelling was over. But, to hold him for an instant longer, he hastily poured and offered the professor a glass of the pale Chablis.
"Did you fuck her in the morning, professor?" he asked. "My Marie hardly ever gives me a piece in the morning."
"We made the tactical error of sleeping much too late," the professor replied, "so that in the morning we were awakened by a loud stamping about the cabin which I at first attributed to some natural catastrophe such as an earthquake or the election of a Democrat to the state senate at Montpelier, but which turned out to be a group of Campfire Girls."
"And you fucked them all, professor?" asked the barber, wide-eyed.
"Hardly. There were perhaps twenty of the noisy little brats, none of them older than twelve. They stood staring at us until the counselor an asthmatic old harridan in tweeds came in to investigate. Then she led them up the trail, all marching together in perfect rhythm. It was a beautiful sight to behold."
"Were the girl's blankets dry in the morning, professor?" asked the barber desperately as Dr. Martin stood up, preparatory to leaving.
"Oddly enough those blankets absolutely refused to dry for three days," said the professor seriously. "But that was no great hardship, as we were both going in the same direction."
"Well," said the salesman, "I guess I'll be getting home to the little woman."
"I am pleased to find, Fred, that you have taken these little stories to heart," said the professor as the druggist helped him on with his coat. "And after your experience I am sure that you will agree with me when I say that there is more to a cunt than meets the eye."
"Yep," said the salesman, "I want to see if she's going to that card party tomorrow. If she is I've got a nice little number all lined up for a real lay."
The professor shook his head sadly as the quartet started for the door.
"By the way, Guiseppe," he asked, "did you ever read those books I listed for you?"
"Why, no, professor, I didn't. You see, they never heard of the guy at the library and "
"I'll bring you something on the subject on the occasion of our next meeting," the professor decided.
"Yeah well thanks, professor."
And with disconsolate air the barber followed the other three into the night.
