"The motorcycle is obviously a sexual symbol. It's what's called a phallic locomotor symbol. It's an extension of one's body, a power between one's legs." Dr. Bernard Diamond, University of California criminologist, said those words in 1965, when the Hell's Angels and other notoriously renegade motorcycle clubs were riding the crest of a wave of violence, pushed on by the tide of sensationalized reports of their demented behavior.
They were anti-social, proving this over and over again with their fighting, their raping, their use of drugs, their disregard for the welfare of anyone outside the circle of outlaw bikers and their women. Like children, they'd do anything on a dare. Their entire behavior was like that of bad little boys-the club, the uniform, the love of excitement, the need to flout authority. It has been suggested by Hunter S. Thompson, author of the most intimately authoritative book on the outlaw cyclists that they were indeed nothing more than men who'd somehow gotten stuck in puberty, and who banded together to share in their irresponsibility. They enjoyed every moment of their notoriety and they still enjoy a certain following of fascinated fans of their exploits, but now the renegades are getting old.
This is 1973, and the long-standing threats of breaking up the motorcycle gangs are coming true at last. Prison cells hold a large number of the outlaw bikers, and graves hold even more of them. Most of the originals who survive are working at dreary jobs, having kids, getting fat, content to talk about the past rather than live it again. Others of them are still hanging on to their scarred old reputations by dealing in narcotics and illegal guns, for that is all they are equipped to do.
This is the story of one of those old originals, his passions and his desperate deeds as he tries to hold onto a world that's left him behind. He is a boy in man's clothing, a thirty-plus pre-adolescent, full of brags and bluster and bluff, volatile and erratic, with the emotional trigger mechanisms of a boy and the lusty force of a man to be set off by those triggers. In Sexual Behavior in the Human Male, Dr. Alfred C. Kinsey said, "In pre-adolescent and early adolescent boys, erection and orgasm are easily induced. They are more easily induced than in older males. Erection may occur immediately after birth and ... it is practically a daily matter for all small boys, from earliest infancy and up in age ... Slight physical stimulation of the genitalia, general body tensions, and generalized emotional situations bring immediate erection, even when there is no specifically sexual situation involved ...." Typically, the motorcycle itself is Cotton Ronson's primary source of non-sexual stimulation. Add to that the tensions of his life-style, the emotional problems involved in facing an uncertain future, and it is most understandable that he, like so many other outlaw bikers, is almost constantly in a state of sexual excitement. In this state, a man can't think properly, but he can act. And act Cotton Ronson most certainly does.
And this is the story of the vapid little motorcycle groupies who followed the overgrown boys with their overgrown bikes, those sullen-faced little beauties who were last seen riding off on the back fender of a screaming Harley. What was their final destination at the end of those long, wild rides across the country, and what sort of imprint-sexual and otherwise-did their days and nights of speed and narcotics, sex and profanity, leave on them?
The wreckage of the big, bored-out Harleys has long since been melted down to produce the family economy Datsun sedan-the wreckage of the flesh-and-blood riders may still survive.
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
Gail came awake slowly, luxuriously, enveloped in the aura of her man. He was lying on his back, softly snoring, and each new rising of his chest lifted her lovely blonde head half an inch before settling it down again with his sigh.
Sleep-slack cheek on his pectoral, she could smell his wonderfully familiar scent, musky damp from another warm night they'd spent together in their nest, entirely clean and fresh. His curly tan chest hair tickled her nostrils and she twitched her nose as a doe rabbit might, then snuggled closer still to her mate. She yawned and licked the corners of her mouth, tasted a hint of his salty-sweet chest, and reached out with her tongue through the tendrils of his hair for more of his aphrodisiac flavor.
He made a small purr in his throat and he tightened the suntanned arm that was about her supple white waist. Glancing up through her long lashes, Gail confirmed that he was still sleeping, and she smiled, not yet ready to give up this time when she had him all to herself, this sunrise time when he couldn't give even a fleeting thought to his job, his career.
She smoothed her hand over his flat belly, soft in sleep, and teased the ball of her little finger about the little gapping mouth of his navel. Her hand descended toward the fur of his loins as her smoothly tapered thigh slid up his leg. Still he slumbered on, though now Gail was so fresh and alive that she could feel each of his little leg hairs, it seemed, as her knee was drawn on by the warmth that radiated from under the tousled sheet.
She was breathing more deeply and she had to swallow hard as hand and knee were drawn closer together. The warm thick wedge of his good sturdy body was pushed between her breasts. Her right breast, half atop his ribcage, glowed even whiter in contrast with his lightly tanned skin, and her erectile nipple showed its deep pink interest in another softly exciting morning in their new life together. That breast and nipple were lovely parts of Gail Harrigan's body, but she was easily able to look past herself to the erectile flesh of her man as she elbowed aside the percale.
"You're all mine," she murmured, stealthing her hand through the soft fur to gently encircle the base of his hard throbbing penis. "You're my man, Clancy Harrigan, and I'm your woman. I can hear your heart beating, saying, "Hel-lo ... Hel-lo ... Hel-lo,' and I can feel its pulse in my hand. I love you, Clancy Harrigan. I'm your woman, every bit of me, and that's just the way it's always going to be, even when I get wrinkled and old and you can't stand to even look at me."
"No chance of that, Gail," said he, voice all furry with sleep, hand tightening on the satin roundness of her buttock to draw her closer. "I'll be deaf and blind by the time you get wrinkled and old, so I won't have to look at you. I'll just have to touch you, and you'll always feel as fine and smooth as this special place on your fanny."
His fingertips were tracing the perimeter of a ragged oval on Gail's buttock. Inside the perimeter was woman-flesh that was so smooth it was shiny. Gail didn't like to look at that scarred spot on her body, didn't like to think of its origin, and only now after five months of marriage could she allow her husband to touch her there without its bringing back buried and decaying memories. The fine scar tissue was a very sensitive area of her body, and his touching it now could tactilely stimulate her. instead of hearkening her back to the shameful days of her youth. Only now was she beginning to unconsciously believe that she was existing in this incredibly good life that Clancy had brought to her, and that the old, wild, evil days were as wiped out as completely as the awful brand on her buttock had been. A skilled surgeon had transformed the obscene brand on her butt to artificially smooth flesh; Clancy's solidly beating love for her had been even more effective in covering over her obscene memories. She was grateful for the surgeon's skill and discretion; she loved Clancy with all her body and soul.
His fingers slid down through the cleavage between the twin plumpnesses of her luxuriantly rounded bottom, and Gail wriggled closer still to him. She squirmed her warm, soft, moistness against his thigh, and she slid her softly gripping hand up over his hardness. She turned her face up to his and their lips met, his other hand closed on her shoulder, and their thoughts smoothly merged. Luxuriously, slowly writhing together in their big bed, smiling through the kiss, tasting the fresh new excitement of yet another day in their sixth month together as husband and wife, as man and woman.
Brrr-r-r-r-rrrt!
The sharp buzz of the alarm ended their first kiss of the day, and Gail moved her breasts sensuously across his chest as she reached to turn it off. His warm breath nuzzled through her long golden hair, and his hands confirmed the feminine contours of her fine young body. She could touch his hard heat with her thigh now, very close to her loins, moistening them further and welling up the warm desire for him.
She clicked off the alarm and he yawned and said, "Shall we have another try for him this morning?"
"This doesn't feel like my day for making babies," she told him, ruffling his hair, kissing his brow. "It feels like a day for just being greedy in love with you. And you're not even all awake yet, honey," she said, teasing with her voice and with her hand.
"I'm as awake as I'll ever be down there," said he, pushing back at her hand, making it hard for her to go slowly with her sweet marital teasings.
"I want you all awake, and I want to get up for just a minute before we make love. It won't hurt you to wait for a minute." she said, and kissed his lips and rolled away from his trailing hands.
They slept naked together in their flowery yellow bedroom. They liked to feel each other's flesh even when they were sleeping. He liked to look at her splendid golden body, too, but now she picked up her green silk robe from the vanity chair and left the room with it, for she knew very well that he liked to be teased, too. He was like all men in this, but he was so special to her that she teased him as she'd never teased any other.
She liked to serve him, too, and to this end she hurried her bare feet over the orange shag hall carpet and onto the patterned coolness of the kitchen tile. She plugged in the two-cup coffee-maker and turned to look out the window of her snug little kitchen as she slipped her arms through the sleeves of the robe. Her eight-by-ten foot garden had survived another night and was greenly greeting the rising sun. Tomatoes and corn, carrots and radishes, a childish little plot of vegetables that Gail Harrigan took great pride in.
Tasha the cat brushed her long-furred side against Gail's ankle, and she stooped to scratch her snow white head. She followed along behind as the young lady of the house went into the bathroom, and she yawned and rubbed her head against that ankle as Gail sat down.
"I'll feed you pretty soon," Gail said, "but we humans do come first."
Gail rose and took a very swift shower. No soap, just a fast sluicing of fresh warm water over her body as she held her hair up off the pink nape of her neck. The cat was complaining as Gail quickly toweled herself dry, smiling brightly at herself in the mirror, working the sleep puff out of her pertly pretty face. Eyes clear and green, lips full and pink, teeth pearly white, roseate flush of pinkness emerged through the lovely smooth paleness of her cheeks. It was good to look at herself in the mirror, to see herself clean, fresh, happy, and above all free.
With fast, long strokes, she brushed out her flaxen hair, ends curling about her bare shoulders, hurrying for her man, for the one who'd made it all possible. Brush set aside, she lightly dusted herself with lemony-fragrant powder, then stood before the full-length mirror to trace the lines of her shape with her hands. Good, high bosom, soon perhaps to swell with the nourishment for the child they might conceive this very morning. Long, trim waist, still as lithe and supple as when she'd been 'dancing' for a living, and those good, good legs that had first attracted Clancy to notice her a year before when he'd come to her former place of employ to take the static out of her switchboard. Beautifully turned bottom, impertinently back-thrusting, so sweet and round that Gail even enjoyed touching it herself-except for that oval scar whose origin she might never forget.
The green silk of her robe covered the scar with six inches to spare. She sashed it loosely around her waist to allow a good view of the inch of chest between her breasts, and of the swelling curves of her proud, soft womanhood. The silk rustled nicely against her glowing skin as she returned to the kitchen and poured fresh coffee into the cups on the tray. Tasha was still rubbing against her leg. She followed Gail down the hall and stood meowing as Gail elbowed the door closed and turned to face her reclining husband's smile.
"Who said cats can't learn? Tasha knows enough to keep out of our bedroom in the mornings," Gail said as she brought the tray to the nightstand.
"You've trained her. She's a lady, just like you are ... except when she's in heat."
Gail arched an eyebrow at his near-lewd grin, and cocked a hip in his direction. "Are you implying, sir, that your tiny little bride isn't a perfect lady at all times? Are you inferring, Mr. Harrigan, that there are times when your demure spouse acts like a bitch in heat?"
"At five-six and a hundred and thirty pounds, you are neither tiny nor little, my dear. And you are not a perfect lady when the heat comes upon you, thank God, and that heat seems to come upon you every lovely morning at this time."
In mock anger, Gail swept back the folds of her robe and placed her fists on her hips. His gaze roved down over the soft pale roundness of her belly, the deep vertical indentation of her navel, to the smoothly furry triangle of plumpness between her legs, and she said, "You unfeeling brute. You wake me up with that perfectly monstrous thing sticking up, and then when I try to help you with your problem each morning, you suggest I'm not being ladylike in every way. Honestly, Clancy, it's enough to make a girl turn to Women's Lib and ... whoops!"
He caught her behind the knee and tumbled her down on the bed with him. He wrestled her around, tousling her freshly brushed hair, making her squeal, thrusting aside the flimsy green with the hardness of his muscles and his sex. He was always hard for her and she was always soft for him, even though she could use her woman's muscles to make the teasing tussle last a bit longer.
She tickled him in the ribs to prolong it, fighting too at her need to submit at once, to lie back and accept him openly. She managed to get on top of him, there to flatten her lush breasts warmly against his chest, and she managed to ignore the badly needed heat pushing up between her humid thighs. She was easily able to hold him down long enough for a kiss, long enough for the taste of him to reach down through the whole length of her to meet the feel of him reaching up from below. The joining was simply too much for her and she went limp. His thigh slipped between hers and she clasped it, then the world spun with lazy wonder as she was rolled onto her back, in the position to meet with her man all the way.
Soft wedging, slipping and sliding to deep, complete comfort. Good solid weight on her, as if she'd even think of trying to escape from this comfort of moving, living flesh and blood and bone. Rising to meet him, seeing in her mind's eye rippling fields of ripe wheat, undulating to meet the penetrating kiss of the rain. Soul rising now, hearing the words between them...."Love you, love you ... so good ... so beautiful ... so strong ... stay with me ... always ... now, please now ... yes, please YESSSS!"
It was all new again, just like the first time with him, just like their wedding night, just like yesterday morning, but so much better for it was now, now, NOW. Wondrous thing! How could this possibly happen again? How could he once again transform her into this totally giving but completely wild animal that she now was, frantic to please him, frantic to please herself, yet secure in the knowledge she was doing both? And he, driving down into her with hard, brute strength, yet entirely gentle and wholly loving, how could he do this with such easy naturality? Groanings, gasps, and gruntings, huffings, pantings, and snarls, like beasts of the fields, yet perfectly civilized in this sharing of their bodies. She could feel each of the joyful spasms that went ripping through him even as he felt the soarings of her heaving body, not just down below in their coupled genitals, but in their hearts, in their brains, in their souls.
Come to me, come to me! she cried out in her bursting brain, and he did, again and again, meeting her need with his until both terrible, wonderful needs were sated, and they sighed together and could talk once again.
"Some lady you are. The way you move your beautiful bod' just about blew my head off, just like always. You are one fine piece of tail, Mrs. Harrigan."
"Mmmm. Hush. Don't talk nasty to the lady."
"Nothing nasty about a good piece of tail, and nothing nasty about talking about it. You know, you're beautiful? Beautiful boobs, beautiful ass, beautiful pussy, plus all the rest of it."
"Hush, Clance. You know that kind of talk makes me uncomfortable."
He chuckled at her ear and said, "You look pretty damned comfortable, and feel even more so. Or is damn too strong a word for you too?"
"You never cursed in bed before we got married. And you used to say I had beautiful breasts, not beautiful boobs. Next thing it'll be ... I don't know what."
"Great set of jugs? Gorgeous big tits?"
The delicious languor was suddenly gone, and Gail pushed away at her husband and slipped off his slowly dwindling penis. He reached after her, telling her he was only kidding, and she said, "Well, pick another way. Drink your coffee before it gets cold, and I'll have your breakfast ready when you are."
He followed her about the room with placating words and touches which she ignored as she took her frayed old terrycloth robe from the closet and put it on. She was so seethingly angry she could have slapped him as she left the room, but she settled for slamming the door behind her. She picked up the waiting Tasha, cuddled the fluffy white cat to her chest, and found solace in words to this fellow female as she headed toward the kitchen.
"Yes, kitty, we're both ladies, aren't we? I'll just bet that when you were a silly little kitten and didn't know what it was all about, you got yourself laid by alley cats in trash cans and under greasy old cars. Now that you're a mature old lady of three or four years, the only time you like it is when we take you to the breeders and you fall in love with another white angora for a few days. Pedigreed cats are ever so much better than alley cats, now aren't they? Yes, and you have kittens in your tummy to prove it. It's better to be a good girl, isn't it?
"A raw egg for you this morning, and dry toast for that man of mine. Great set of jugs. Ugh. Almost as bad as...." She stopped, straightening up from the cat and her bowl. The pink flush of anger had gone from her face, and her hand had gone unconsciously to cover the broad oval scar under her robe. "No," she said, "nothing could be as bad as what he used to say, and do. Forget about that. Breakfast for my loving husband, and if he thinks I have gorgeous bit t-tits, I'll let him tell me."
"Sunny-side-up eggs, browned ham, fresh coffee, hot buttered toast-now, what in the world did I do to deserve a breakfast like this?" He peered at his plate over her shoulder as she stood at the stove.
"You threw me a good lay, mister," Gail answered, with a jaunty bounce of her hip. "Get your keester in the chair so I can serve you."
"Honey, I'm sorry if I speak to you a little crudely at times. It's all in fun, and surely you've heard that kind of talk before."
"Not that I can recall, but it's all right, dear. I know it's all in fun. I'm sorry I'm such a prude about language, but at least I'm not a prude about pleasing you in bed. Sit down, now."
He did as she told him. His continuing apology was in his eyes. "It's delicious. What's on your busy schedule today?"
"A little gardening. A lot of work on the garage apartment. I wish we had tenants in it already. I hope we can rent it to a newlywed couple."
"Well, I wish you wouldn't work so hard on it, and I sure do hope the building inspector doesn't look too closely at it."
"He won't. He'll be looking at me. Sometimes it pays to be pretty. And my work isn't all that bad anyway."
"Maybe, but it's not legal. That wallboard isn't the right thickness, I don't trust the way you plumbed in the gas to the water heater, and that extension phone sure isn't legal."
"I'm spackling the walls and painting today, so he won't notice the thickness of the wallboard. The plumbing a farm girl like me learns might not be pretty, but it won't leak. And the extension phone goes before old Staunton comes to inspect. It stays until then, just in case you decide to phone me when I'm working up there. I'll be so proud of it all when it's done."
"And I'm so proud of you already. I never even thought about getting a rental unit on this property. And we sure couldn't have built it as cheaply as we have so far without all the work you did."
"My work up there proves I'm not a lady after all. I'm just a twenty-three-year-old female jack-of-all-trades."
"Your work in bed proves you are a lady. I love you, Gail."
She glowed a smile at him over his plate, and he fed her tidbits from it until it was empty. She walked him to the door and straightened his tie, kissed him, and handed him his attache case/toolbox. They exchanged touches and words there that are entirely too trite to bear repeating, and she stood on the stoop reflecting the morning sun's rays with her smile as he disappeared through the gate in the head-high privet hedge. That was her man who had just left her to go to work, left her with his belly full and his seed still tingling on her loins. Gail closed her eyes and filled her lungs with summer air, opened them and gazed about at her little domain. Then she went inside to gird herself for improving it all. The little white house on the cul de sac street was all but perfect for them already. Still she could improve on it, just as the surgeon had improved on her near-perfect but evilly branded body.
CHAPTER TWO
The Harrigan house had belonged to Clancy's grandmother. She had lived in it for thirty years as a wife and for twenty years as a widow, and she'd left it to her only grandson when she passed away. It was a small house, built entirely of wood, painted white, with a green roof. It had one bathroom and two bedrooms, one of which would be converted to a nursery, the Harrigans hoped, within a year. Clancy referred to the furnishings Gail had picked out as Early Salvation Army, but in fact he liked the flouncy maple and the overstuffed couch and chair as much as she did. That sort of furnishings went with the house, and so did the garden that surrounded the house.
Ferns, fuschias, roses, hydrangeas, sweet peas, and a flowering acacia tree grew in the front yard behind the hedge which gave the house much of its privacy. Bird feeders kept the air alive with twitterings, and kept Tasha the cat looking hopefully heavenward much of the day. She would creep through the lush dichondra lawn looking like a miniature white tiger in a miniature Garden of Eden, and leap high in the air toward the bird feeders, all of which had been placed just out of her reach. Now and again she'd catch a bird, for which she'd receive a severe scolding.
The property was located on a short, dead-end street in a hilly section of town. The contour of the land was such that there were only two other widely spaced houses on the cul de sac, and this added to the seclusion that the young couple enjoyed. They could sun-bathe in the nude right in their own front yard. They could make love there too, if the mood struck them, and it often did, for they were both of a loving and sensuous nature, and still newly wedded. Only Tasha and the birds were there to see them as they rolled about in the warm leafy grass on the days that Clancy didn't go to work. Occasionally Clancy and Gail would moonbathe in the nude as well, and this pastime would inevitably lead to their coupling under the stars, completely free, alone in their little island of seclusion in the big, bustling city.
The seclusion would soon be intruded upon, however, for the Harrigans were a practical young couple as well as a loving one. There was a sturdy garage and workshop on the front property line, and they were now in the process of building a small, modern apartment on top of this. Carpenters and electricians and plumbers had done the bulk of the heavy work, and Gail and Clancy were doing the finish work themselves, partly to save money, partly because they were in no rush to have their privacy broken by having a tenant on the property. It would be nice to have the extra income, but not so nice to have to confine their outdoor nudism forays to the back yard.
Gail was doing most of the finish work on the garage apartment. She had some experience in building repairs, but it wasn't because she'd been raised on a farm, as she had told her husband. Gail was beautiful, loving, talented, hard-working, and devoted to her husband, but she didn't always tell him the truth, especially about her past. The origins of her experience in working on the house came from those secret days in her past when she lived in-a crumbling house in a decaying section of San Francisco. She'd been fourteen years old then, the youngest of a group of runaways who shared the house, the beds, the work, the money, and the narcotics. Gail had painted walls when she was high on LSD, had plastered and plumbed when she was stoned on grass, and had known crazily happy and tragically sad times in between. She'd been up on one kind of narcotic or another every day for over two years, had had V.D. several times, and had awakened one morning lying next to a dead girl friend, all before she was sixteen years old. She didn't like to talk about that period in her life, not even to herself, and she didn't like to think about some of the things she'd done to change herself from a Haight-Ashbury flower child to a happy and responsible young housewife. As far as Clancy knew, she'd lived on the farm in Wyoming until she was twenty-one years old, and had then come to the big city and worked as a switchboard operator until he had met and married her. With her parents dead, there was no one to refute the lies she had told him about herself, and she felt the lies were entirely constructive and not harmful in any way. She had lived a dissolute and usually unhappy youth, although it had seemed like great fun at the time. But now the happiness she knew with him was real, and it would be lasting, if she had anything to say about it.
With her husband gone off to his job as a switchboard repairman, Gail returned to the bathroom for her second shower of the new morning. She didn't want to wash away the lingering scent of her man and his love, but her newly developed personal hygiene habits were so strong that she could be expected to take half a dozen showers each day before climbing into bed at day's end. She tied back her long golden hair with a green ribbon and dressed in bra, panties, tennis shoes, and a paint-spattered denim coverall suit. She climbed the stairs on the side of the garage that led to the apartment and entered it, mixed up a batch of spackle and water in a pan on the sink, and smoothed it over the joints in the wallboard.
She worked happily, humming. All the soap and water in the world couldn't wash away the residual glow in her loins and in her heart that her Clancy's love had left her with. The cat played about in the small litter of construction materials on the floor of the tiny apartment. There wasn't much litter there, for Gail kept the place cleaned up after herself, but it was enough to keep Tasha occupied and out of the wet plaster. She'd mixed up three batches of it before she'd completed the joints in the kitchen, the living room, and the little bedroom and bathroom. She cleaned her pan and trowel and sat down on a paint can to look at her accomplishment, and as she did she unconsciously reached in her breast pocket for a cigarette.
She had to smile at that. There were no cigarettes there at all. She'd given those up along with a lot of other things, but the old habit showed its strength at odd times, and this was one of them.
Instead of the cigarette, she picked up the cat and strolled through the little apartment, inspecting her work.
The water was plumbed in, as well as the gas, but there was no electricity as yet. This would be hooked up after Harry Staunton, the building inspector, had signed off the rest of the work. She could start painting that afternoon, when the spackle was thoroughly dried, and in the next week or so she could lay the carpeting with Clancy and the apartment would be ready for its first tenants. They would do their best to get a nice, young couple in it, and they'd do more than their best to retain all they could of their privacy. Only one window looked down on their front yard, this the small one in the bathroom, and the rest looked out on a fine view of the city which should keep the tenants happy with a privacy of their own. All in all, the arrangement would work out well; the extra income would be welcome, and it felt very good to have this tangible proof of the Harrigans growth and substance. As they aged, they would see a whole succession of newlyweds occupy this little apartment, and someday its occupant might be their son and his bride.
Gail carried the cat downstairs and changed into shorts and halter before attacking the lawn. The shorts were very short, actually the bottoms of a faded bikini bathing suit, almost worn through in the seat. They were turquoise blue, and they rode high on. her shapely thighs, exposing much of the undersides of her perfectly round, perfectly white buttocks. A nice little bulge of tummy swelled over the top front of the tiny triangle of blue, and a few golden hairs could be seen straying out from the legs of that tightly packed triangle. The halter top was made from two red bandanas which went around her neck and back and were knotted in between her full, conical breasts. In this scanty attire, Gail went out in the front yard, got down on her hands and knees, and set to work with an old hunting knife to dig the oxalis out of the dichondra.
The cat wanted to play. She jumped at the dull old knife blade until Gail had pushed her away three times. She walked underneath Gail, rubbing her back and tail against Gail's bare, swayed stomach. She purred and rubbed herself against Gail's thigh, provoking a desire in the young housewife that it be Saturday morning, not Wednesday, and that her husband was at home to play with her instead of the family cat.
The sun was getting warm, and she was sweating lightly. A thin film of perspiration shone on her alabaster skin, and she could feel the sun's warmth deep inside her. Her breasts felt swollen and heavy as they hung within the damp red cotton, and the triangle of turquoise felt ever tighter about her loins. Still on hands and knees, the diminutive shorts had crept up ever farther between the upraised globes of her bottom. She had to hook a finger inside the triangle every now and then to tug it to a more comfortable position, and each time she did this she could detect the scent of her sex on her fingers. That made her wish even more that it was Saturday. It made her wish that she'd seduced Clancy into another coupling at the breakfast table. Baking in the sun, she allowed herself to dwell on just what might have happened if she'd, say, spilled a little coffee on the front of his suit pants. She'd have gotten on her knees beside him, apologizing all the way, and dabbed at it with a napkin. In seconds she'd have him aroused, all quite accidentally, of course, and he'd sit there grinning like a boy as she opened his fly and exposed his handsome genitalia. She might try oral sex on him. It would be the first time for that with them. So far in their married life he'd been prudish about her going down on him, and she'd been more than content with straight copulation. But one of these days soon she'd cleverly seduce him into letting her fellate him, and thus open new doors to the joys they had already found in bed together. She'd be clumsy at it to begin with, fooling him into thinking she'd never done it before. He was such fun to fool in things such as this, and it was all such constructive fooling.
The tread of shoe leather made Gail quickly get up on her knees and cover her bosom with her forearm. It could be lovesick little Tommy Simmons coming by to moon over her and tell her some unnecessary tale of how he'd be late, or early, with their newspaper that afternoon. It could be a rare door-to-door salesman, one who might give her trouble. It could be a hippy hobo, or even a rapist. Normally Gail had no fear of such things, for her time on the streets had taught her how to take care of herself, but the fearful thoughts swept through her that morning so swiftly and strongly that she felt like running inside the house. But then she smiled and relaxed as she saw a part of a blue uniform through the gateway in the hedge, and knew it was Mr. Olson putting mail in their box.
She stretched luxuriously, directly facing him, knowing full well he was so near-sighted he could discern her only as a vague white form. She conversed with him through the gate, asking why he was early, and for the second time that morning, she reached for a nonexistent cigarette. This time her hand went inside her halter top, and there she allowed her fingers to toy with her damp, erect nipple as she spoke with the white-haired old mailman. They talked about the weather while Gail hefted and squeezed the full weight of her left breast, palming its nipple, deliberately and quite wickedly teasing herself. Her loins felt very moist and warm now, and even as she talked with Mr. Olson, she was wishing her husband would unexpectedly appear. She waited until the mailman had left, however, before withdrawing her hand and slipping it down inside the triangle of blue, both teasing and assuaging the softly growing itch within her own warm pubic bush.
Haunches on her heels, knees a foot apart on the grass, Gail gazed vacantly through the gate at the heat waves on the empty street as she wondered at the source of her sudden fear, and as she rubbed at that itch. The sun was baking her brain, and she couldn't seem to get her thoughts together. She kept seeing Clancy coming through the gate, his loins on a level with her eyes, his grin broadening as he saw her invitingly open posture. And Tommy Simmons took Clancy's place in her thoughts now and then. The fifteen-year-old newsboy would never get over it if he saw her now, hand inside her shorts, knuckles working at the blue fabric, look of glazed desire on her lovely face. The way she felt, she might attack him. It was just a few days before her menstrual time, and she knew very well this was the reason for the deep sexual desire smoldering inside her. She also knew that she'd tease her husband out of his clothes before he'd finished his after-work beer that night. In the meantime, she'd best throw herself into her work, the better to keep her mind off her body, the better to keep her thoughts from straying into fantasized adultery.
She stabbed the ground with the dull knife, and twisted out the weeds. She was ashamed of herself for her thoughts, and she wished she could use that knife to wrench out the appetites she had which came from far too much experience in her youth. She was sweating freely now and panting slightly, from the heat, from the work, from the rage at herself which burned within her. The gardening was no longer fun, it was punishment, and she worked faster at it, soiling her hands and knees, forcing her senses to ignore the itch in her wet loins and the chafing of her hard nipples against clinging cloth. She willed Clancy to come to her, come to her, and banish her evil thoughts with his easy smile, and banish her yearning aches with his good, hard body.
Gail felt rather than heard the approaching sound. It thrummed in her belly and fibrillated nerve endings from afar. She knew very well what it was, and she tried to believe it wasn't coming closer. The sun was very hot now, and as she knelt there slowly shaking her head, she sincerely hoped she was suffering from sunstroke, or from too much thirst. Still it came slowly closer, searching her out with its rumbling, snarling beat of valves and pistons. Her fists balled and went to cover her ears, and her lovely face was twisted into a mask of paralyzed horror by the sound of it, right on her street, then right on the other side of her hedge. She squinted her eyes closed, squeezing out salt-stinging sweat, and willed with all her might for it to go away. Miraculously, the sound of the motor was cut off ... but when she opened her eyes, there was the front wheel of the dreaded thing visible through the gateway, gleaming spokes, glaring wheel rim, low-raked chrome forks and shocks.
Tears mingled with her sweat as she whispered, "No, it can't be Cotton. It just can't be him!"
The pinging of air-cooling metal could be heard, the scuff of boots, and then his unmistakable mock-laughing voice. "Come on, Rita Bonita, and let's see if this fucking dump is where Mrs. Clancy Harrigan is hiding her ass."
Come to me, Clancy, come to me! Gail's silent voice cried out, and the gate swung open to admit Cotton Ronson.
CHAPTER THREE
He had a woman with him of the kind Gail had seen countless times before. Fifteen or sixteen years old, lithe and trim, grass-heavy eyes, black hair in a gypsy cut, twisted grin on lipsticked lips, dangling earrings and jangling bracelets, deeply tanned, wearing sandals, filthy jeans, and a flimsy tank top with two little bumps of her breasts in it and a silk-screened marijuana leaf on it. Though her coloring was so dark she looked Mexican, the girl reminded Gail so much of herself at that age that she felt sick.
Looking at Cotton Ronson, Gail felt even sicker. Jail hadn't altered him a bit. He looked as lean and tough as ever, though now he'd be in his mid-thirties. Same scuffed cycle boots, same filthy Levi's hanging low around his waist, kept up with a chromed Harley chain. His chest was bare under the sleeveless Levi's jacket, showing the matted reddish hair against which Gail's cheek had nestled so many crazy, mindless nights. The jacket was even filthier than the pants, held together with dirt rather than thread, and she knew if he turned around that the embroidered patch on its back would still be there, proclaiming him a member of Lucifer's Imps. Same obscene tattoos on his arms, same leather cap on his head, same scraggle of red beard, same reflecting walleye sunglasses, same toothy grin as he came in through her gate and back into her life.
She picked up the dull hunting knife and pointed it at him unwaveringly. "You get out of here. Get on that machine and go, or I'll call the police."
He opened his arms expansively. "Is that any way to greet an old commde of the road? I went to a lot of trouble to find you, baby, and the least you can do is offer me a beer before we split. Rita, this is Pale Gail, the best Mamma I ever had. Gail, Rita Bonita."
"She doesn't look so hot," said the girl. "She's stacked better'n me, but she's gettin' fat."
He laughed and hugged her about the waist. He ran his hand up under her top and rubbed it over the little nubbins of her breasts, saying, "You should get some fat like Pale Gail's got."
"You should feed me once in a while," she said, grinning at the kneeling Gail while Cotton mauled her little bosoms. "Ouch!" she said, and tears brought life to her eyes.
She twisted in the grip of the wiry man, pulling at his hand, and he continued to smile as he said, "You complaining?"
"No! No, never, Cotton! I was only kidding! Lemme go. Jeezus, that hurts!"
He laughed and released her and she tucked up the little undershirt to inspect her right breast. It was little more than an overgrown nipple, but the little cone of pink was decidedly bigger and pinker than the twin at its left. Cotton patted it with his road-grimed hand and she stood there trembling, waiting for him to pinch it again if the whim struck him. No, Cotton hadn't changed a bit, and neither had his women. Gail shuddered and got to her feet, and gestured with the knife toward the gate.
"Put it down, Gail, you don't need it. I'm not about to cause you any fuss, we'll split in just a minute. God, you're lookin' good. I'm glad to see you. I wish I could have seen you when you were topless dancing at that Go-Gb bar a couple of years back. Silly Willy visited me up at the joint and told me how good you were at swinging your tits. I always told you, you could go places with them."
"Keep back," she said, and took a step backward herself.
He folded his bare arms and said, "Yeah, I'm glad to see you making it on the straight. You remember Grubby Michaels? He's straight too now. Climbs telephone poles for a living. It was him saw you working at that place you were at and told Silly Willy about it. As soon as I got out of the joint, the first thing I did was try to look you up there. Don't worry, I did it over the telephone. I wouldn't go in any place that might embarrass you, even if you don't work there no more. But pretty quick I'll be straight enough to go into any place at all."
"When?" she asked with a sneer. "As soon as you sell some more smack to some more narcs? The only place you'll be going back to is jail."
"Oh, no. I've got something strictly legitimate -lined up now. It'll break in a couple of days, and . ... "
"And you expected to hole up here. Not on your life, Cotton. Get out of here. Now."
"No, no, nothing like that. I just come by to show Rita that tattoo on your ass. She'd like to get one herself, but she's a little afraid. Show us your ass, Pale Gail, and we'll split."
"Putting your dirty mark on doped-up runaway girls, you haven't changed a bit, Cotton. Get out of here."
"Hey, what does your old man think of that tattoo? I'll bet you and old Clancy Harrigan have a lot of laughs over it. You know, he's the only Clancy Harrigan in the book? He must be an understanding guy to marry you with that tattoo on your ass."
"I told you to keep back, Cotton. I'll shank you, so help me," she promised.
His grin broadened and he reached for a cigarette. "Damn, it's good to hear you talk like that, Gail. You haven't changed all the way, either. Hey, why don't we stick around and meet your old man? You know, talk about old times over a couple of beers?"
"Cotton, my husband knows all about me. You can't frighten me into letting you stay by threatening to tell him what I used to be."
"I'm not trying nothing!" he said, all indignant righteousness. "Hell, I've changed too. Just look," he said, and let the cigarette dangle from his mouth as he shucked off his sleeveless jacket. "Just look," he said, holding it up between them, showing her the unfaded circle that once had declared he was a member of a motorcycle gang fully as terrorizing as the Hell's Angels.
"I've gone straight, or at least I'm trying to," he said, and snapped the denim jacket like a whip, cracking it against the hand that held the knife, giving him the instant he needed to lunge forward and shake it loose from Gail and lock his iron-hard arm about her soft throat.
"Stupid broad," he easily said, choking the very life out of her. "You should know better than to pull a knife on me. Come on, now, show us your pretty butt, Mrs. Harrigan. Show Rita how nice she'll look with 'Property of Lucifer's Imps' tattooed on her cute little ass."
Gail was almost unconscious and could put up only the feeblest of struggles as he turned her around, bent her double, and locked her head in his crooked arm. She was too late in grabbing for her bikini bottom as it was pulled down over her upturned rear, completely revealing her buttocks, and the shiny oval of scar tissue there.
"Goddamn, she had it cut off! That was a helluva fucking thing to do. But she did have it, Rita, and you will too, soon."
"No, man," said the girl. "I'm not about to have an ugly old scar like that if I ever decide to get it taken off."
"It may look ugly, but it sure feels good," said Cotton, roaming his hand over the struggling Gail's bare bottom, digging in with the fingers that had once been able to trigger her to the tallest heights of keen delight.
"It feels funny to me," said the girl, and now there were two hands fondling and caressing Gail's buttocks, defiling her privacy, making her feel more naked than ever she had when she'd been a topless dancer for beer-swilling oglers. She cried out and tried to bite Cotton's arm, she cursed and struggled and wept, and he and his new consort ignored all this and continued to put their dirty hands on her nude bottom as they conversed.
"Rita Bonita, if you had an ass like this, I'd marry you and wait for your tits to grow."
"It sure is white, and it sure is sweaty. Hey, her pussy's wet."
"So it is, so it is. All she had to do was look at me and she got hot. You wanna help me make her cum? When she gets off, she really gets off. C'mon and finger her with me. Lookit the way she's shaking that ass of hers. I do believe she's cumming already. Kitchy-koo? Get on down there and lick it, Rita. Get you a taste of pussy, and make her cum a real good one."
Gail was moving every bit as vigorously as she ever had during a sexual climax, but the fingers probing and delving at her vulva were not producing an orgasm. She hated their touch, and she resisted it with all of her will, hating herself as well for having had those errant thoughts which had produced the moistness of her puffy tissues. Fingers went on pushing and touching her private parts, violating her as badly as if she was being raped. She would go on resisting if Cotton had already depraved the girl to the point where she'd engage in cunnilingus. The stink of Cotton's body in her nostrils would help Gail in her resistance.
But the teenage girl said, "I don't want to eat any pussy, Cotton, what I want is a shower. Okay?"
"Sure, go on in, help yourself,, the house of anybody who used to ride with me is your house, baby. But first wheel my bike into Gail's garage, if there's room for it. We don't want the heat to come cruising by and pick up on the plate numbers. Go ahead, while me and Gail crack open a couple cans of beer."
Rita went skipping out through the gate. Cotton Ronson turned Gail around as easily as if she was a child, took her head under his other arm. and led her toward the house. She was still being choked, and her shorts were down around her knees. With one hand she hauled futilely at his arm, with the other she vainly tried to grasp her shorts. She tripped over them, fell and skinned one knee, and he didn't slow down. The vertebrae in her neck were being stretched apart, and at last her survival instincts took over and made her cling to his torso and kick off the shorts to keep up with him.
Up the steps, into the house he went, keeping up a good-natured chatter. "I s'pose you got some beer in the reefer for your old man. You wouldn't marry a teetotaler. What did you tell him about that scar on your ass? That you burned yourself there? I know good and goddamned well you didn't tell him you used to be a biker's Mamma. Where's the kitchen? Oh, yeah. What kind of beer do you two drink? Ahhh, Budweiser. You gonna have one with me, honey?"
He let her go and she straightened up, rubbing her neck, panting. "Fuck you," she managed to say, and he gave her a swift, short punch in the belly that doubled her up gasping on the floor. Then he calmly reached within the open refrigerator and took out a can of beer, popped its top, and poured the contents over her head as she lay there writhing and gasping like a beached fish.
He took out another can and flopped in a chair by the table to swill half of it down. She could see him through her hate-filled, tear-welling eyes as she fought against the pain for one deep breath of air. "Christ, it's hot," he said, and flipped open the metal buttons of his jeans to scratch in the red-brown fur there. "Why don't you get up and have a beer with me, kid? You know I don't like to drink alone, and it's a damned shame the way you went and spilled that first beer. Come on, live it up, enjoy the good life you and your old man work for."
Gail crawled over the sticky wet floor to him, holding her belly. She caught his pantleg and pulled herself up to gasp, "Please, Cotton. Just go away. I've got about forty dollars. Take it and go."
He grabbed her by the hair and brought her face close to his. He had no smile now as he said, "Forty bucks isn't enough to pay for four years in the joint. Twenty thou is, and I'm gonna get that in a couple of days, soon as a man comes to town who owes it to me. In the meantime, I stay here, with or without your old man's consent."
"Just don't hurt him," she said. "Please!"
He grinned, like a wolf. "I don't hurt my friends. And you and me used to be real good friends. Didn't we, baby?" he said, and pressed her head down in his red fur, patted and stroked her blonde tresses, while she sobbed against his hot, fetid loins.
Come to me, come to me! she cried out to her husband.
"We'll all get along just fine for a couple of days," he said. "One big happy family. Hey, what do you know, I'm gettin' a hard-on. How about a little blow-job before Rita gets out of the shower. Nobody cops a knob like you do. Come on, baby, suck me off. Your old man would never know. Suck my cock, Pale Gail, and then we'll talk about who's gonna sleep where."
Come to me, Clancy, come to me! she silently called, and now her telepathed message was answered. The telephone rang, and she knew very well it was her man.
Cotton gripped her hard by the hair and pulled her head back. "Nothing's wrong here when you answer that. Understand?"
She nodded, and he roughly led her to the ringing phone on the kitchen wall. It was indeed Clancy, and it cost Gail an enormous amount of effort to speak normally to him, to tell him everything was fine, while Cotton Ronson stood behind her and rubbed his stiff penis against her bare bottom, toyed inside her halter with his hand, and kept the fingers of his other hand resting on her fragile windpipe. Clancy had only a few seconds to talk, and in that time he didn't detect the near panic in his wife's coolly delivered words. When he hung up, she slumped back against the body behind her, not caring at all that the knotted cloth between her breasts was being untied.
"You did good, baby," the voice purred at her ear. "We'll keep out of sight when he gets here, and we'll be gone in a couple of days. If you tell him we're hiding in his garage, we tell him about what you used to be. Be good, be quiet, and in a couple of days you won't even know we've been here. Goddamn, you still got the tits, baby. I must have flogged my meat a thousand times thinking of this body of yours when I was in the joint. How about a little, hmm? You're all wet and hot for it, and your old man would never know. You know, I can just take it from you if I want to, but I'd rather you pitched in and helped. Remember how good it used to be? Up at the mountains, down at the beach, gettin' stoned and stayin' stoned, and fuckin' and suckin' like crazy. Lay down, baby. Let me taste you. Let me slip it to you."
It had to be the emotional exhaustion, but Gail felt her body responding to his touch and his words. How easy, how sweet it would be to just sink to the floor, and there surrender all her worries to the pleasures of the flesh. She hadn't smoked any grass in years, but she felt half stoned now, not caring what happened to her, feeling the touch of his hands and the response of her body greatly magnified.
She leaned her head back, mouth open, and felt the bristles of his beard in her throat as he kissed through her hair. His hands were remarkably adept in finding the most erogenous zones of her body, from her breasts to her belly to her thighs and loins. His erect penis fit with great exactitude in the shallow groove of her spine, and the soft sac below his, organ nestled beautifully in the groove between her buttocks. She felt somnolent and heavy. She felt that it was Clancy behind her, making all her fires glow before he took her off to their bed. But there was the smell of him to tell her it wasn't her husband, a goaty male gasoline smell that was working as a powerful aphrodisiac, drugging her, lulling her.
The hands on her breasts were incredibly gentle and smooth in comparison with those which had choked her and punched her. The words at her ear were smooth too, evoking a dreamily nostalgic smile as she swayed against his body, as she arched back against his cock and balls. Her soft sigh was anything but a protest now as a hand slipped down over her belly and slid its finger into the creamy wet slit of her sex. She was just turning her head to meet his mouth with hers when a disdainful voice sounded from the doorway.
"The minute my goddamned back is turned. Is all you care about is if a girl's got big tits? Well, mine are as big as hers now, and I bet I can move my ass a whole lot better than she can."
Startled and highly chagrined, Gail saw the dark-haired girl standing hip-cocked in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing only black satin panties and bra, and the bra was miraculously well-filled. She exuded the fragrance of Gail's perfume and dusting powder as she stood there with a cigarette dangling from her lips, and the pungent aroma of its smoke could be smelled through the artificial flowery-lemon scent.
Cotton went to her, took the cigarette from her lips, and dragged deeply on it. "Want a hit?" he croaked, and Gail shook her head and wrapped the halter around her bared breasts.
Rita wanted another drag on the marijuana cigarette, and he gave it to her while he investigated the solidly packed brassiere. Now Gail recognized it as her own, as Cotton pulled an edge of nylon stocking from a cup.
"You're cheating," he said, "but, goddamn, you look good. Let's fuck, baby. Let's break in our new crash pad with a nice, long fuck."
She wrinkled her nose. "You don't smell good. Whyn't you take a shower while I have me a beer. She said it was okay to stay here?"
"Sure she did. She's glad to have us. We just got to stay out of sight when her old man's here. You take a look at what it is they're building on top of the garage while I sluice myself off. We're gonna have a ball here. Gimme another hit."
CHAPTER FOUR
"What did you have to pay for a place like this? How long you been married? How long did you ride with the Imps? Is it okay to go outside dressed like this? Haven't you got any neighbors at all during the day? Who takes care of the yard? I had a helluva time getting the bike in the garage; what's all that building shit you got in there? Is this an apartment being built up here? Does this phone work?" The girl kept up a stream of questions as Gail obediently showed her domain. She didn't seem to hear Gail's muttered answers; she was content to chatter away between deep drags of her pungent cigarette as she padded after Gail in her bare feet, in Gail's black panty-bra outfit. Gail wondered if she herself had been so brainless and giddy at that age, and decided that she had been.
As they descended from the garage apartment, Cotton came out on the front porch of the house, trailing water, toweling himself off, still wearing his sunglasses. Rita jostled Gail aside and hurried to him.
"That's a far-out little pad up there over the garage. It's got a phone that works and it's got cold water. Get Scar-Butt Gail to bring us our food, and we could stay there for a month."
"Pale Gail is her name, and we're only gonna stay here a day or two. Got it? You're going to be a little lady and I'm going to be a little gentleman. Nobody's going to know we're here. Not her old man, not her neighbors, nobody. We'll make a couple of phone calls from up there, and when my bread comes through, we say bye-bye to Pale Gail and she'll never see us again. Understand? You're a good girl. Now you go through that side door of the garage and take our bedrolls upstairs. I'll be right with you."
He watched her scamper off to do his bidding, and he turned his smile on Gail when she'd disappeared into the garage. "You sure do look good. You've still got it, baby, and I know it's going to waste on old Clancy Harrigan. Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money. I could dump Rita Bonita and we could go on down to Mexico and live on a beach for a long time. You could go bare-ass all the time, just like you are now, but without that bandana hanging around your neck. It'd be a good life, Gail. That money would last us down in Mexico, and there's more where it came from."
"It's a dope deal, isn't it? Just out of prison, and you're back to selling smack."
"I swear on the graves of my dead road-brothers, I am not dealing heroin," he solemnly said. "But I am making money. You coming with me? Are you going to get out of this stupid vine-covered-cottage scam and live the really good life with me? Say the word and I'll get rid of Rita Bonita right now."
"You could bury her in the back yard. I've got a little garden back there that's already dug up."
The subject of their conversation came out of the garage then, arms laden with soiled sleeping bags. They both watched her go up the stairs before Cotton excitedly said, "I'll crack her neck and have her in the ground in an hour. You and me and the bread can be on the beach in Mexico in a week."
He put his hand on her shoulder and she pushed it off. "I wouldn't walk across the street with you," she said, and started past him toward the house.
He wheeled her about and said, low and even, "That's one I owe you, Pale Gail, and I always pay my debts, one way or another. Get out of my sight now. Rita's a better fuck than you are anyway."
He flung down the towel. Gail picked it up and went inside. Twenty minutes in the house, and the pair had made a mess of it that would take an hour to straighten up. Gail put on her coveralls and went to work, gathering calmness about her in the familiarity of her household chores. Mop the kitchen floor, clean up the bathroom, pick up the strewn clothing, pull together an inward calm to match her outward calm, and think of what to do.
Call the police and report them. But what had they done except invade her privacy? She could already hear Cotton's smooth, hurt explanation of how he'd dropped in on an old girl friend on his release from prison, how she'd gotten jealous of his new young thing and called the police out of spite. Calling the police would get them out of her house for a little while, but he'd be back, and when he returned, Clancy would know about her past, and their idyllic life together would be over.
Confess it all to Clancy, and then do as he said. But what could he suggest, and how could he stand the confession? God, she'd done some terrible things with that creature with the outlaw motorcycle, things that she could hardly bear to think of herself. No, Clancy must never know of her past. Running off with Cotton would be better than telling her story to Clancy.
She could run off with Cotton. Where would she be in a year? Dead, or selling her blonde body to the dark-skinned Mexicans that Cotton hustled for her. There might be some mindless, narcotic-induced joys before she snuffed, but her instincts for self-preservation just wouldn't let her go that route.
She could do nothing-nothing but hope for the best. Cotton did have a code of honor, and if she went along with him and let him and his teenybopper secretly stay there for a few days, the chances were fairly good that Clancy would never know, and that in a few days this nightmarish intrusion would be nothing but a bad memory. Gail would be walking a tight-rope. It would be risky, but the risks involved with more positive action were far greater. The more she cooperated, however, the less the risks would become. She knew Cotton's temper. It could flare up in an instant. As long as she treated him and his friend as welcome, though secret, guests, the better were her chances to come out of this with her tranquil, happy marriage intact-and with her husband in one piece. She didn't like to think of what might happen to Clancy if Cotton exploded.
Into the kitchen she went. Making up a plate of sandwiches was at least something to do. She took the sandwiches and two cans of beer out onto the porch, and almost dropped it all when she saw what her unwanted houseguests were doing.
One of the bedrolls had been spread out on the dichondra. Rita was lying on her back on it. The stocking stuffing had come out of one of her bra cups and hosiery was strewn across her chest. One of her legs was out of the panties, and the little black garment hung loosely around her other thigh. She was smoking another marijuana cigarette, but the beatific look on her face came from more than, that, for Cotton Ronson was lying on his stomach between her outspread legs, with his face buried in her crotch.
With shaking hands, Gail set the tray down on the porch and hurried to them, fighting her outrage. "You can't do that here! My God, what is somebody comes?"
"Somebody's gonna cum pretty quick," said the girl, undulating and writhing like a black-and-tan snake under Cotton's loud kisses. "Baby, baby, you really know how to eat pussy."
"Cotton, stop!" said Gail. "The mailman might come, or the paperboy, or ... or anybody!"
"It's private property, ain't it?" he said, raising his face from the slim, immature loins, licking his lips and grinning up at Gail. "Get out of that monkey suit and I'll lick your cunt in a few minutes. I've had a tongue-hard for pussy for the past four years. I'll make you cum like your old man doesn't."
"Cotton-n-n-n," the girl urgently said, and put her hand on the back of his head to return him to his task.
Gail turned on her heel and went back into the house, quite ready to call the police, for now Cotton was committing a crime. He was sexually using a girl who was obviously a minor. The poor dumb thing, she had so little hair on her pubis that she looked closer to twelve than sixteen. There was more of her vaginal lubrication and Cotton's saliva on her plump, tan pube than there was hair.
"Ohh-h-h-h. Oh, Jeee-e-e-zus, Cotton." Her moans and whimpers of marijuana-aided orgasm penetrated Gail's eardrums even when she covered her ears with her hands. Gail knew very well what an expert Cotton was at cunnilingus, and she had a very good idea of just how that teenaged girl was feeling at the moment. Between the marijuana and the nimble tongue and the sucking lips of Cotton Ronson, she was experiencing such huge joys of the flesh that she'd not even notice it when the police came, if the police came. They'd put the girl on probation, they'd put Cotton back in jail, and in another year or two, he'd be out, looking for Gail, looking for revenge. Let them do it, Gail decided. Cotton had enough sense to get out of the yard and into the apartment once he'd taken the first keen edge off his lust. "Cumming! Oh, again! Cotton, you're just wonderful! Baby, baby, make your Mamma cum just one more time, and then I'll ... Ooo-o-o-o. OH! Aa-a-a-a-ah-h-h-h...."
Gail stalked into the bathroom, stripped off her coveralls, and got into the shower. She was still grass-stained and sweaty, and she soaped herself vigorously, trying not to think of what was going on in her front yard. That was hard to do. There was a girl out there who was so young she hadn't yet grown a full set of breasts, hadn't more than a fringe of black on her crotch, and she was getting stoned and letting a man stick his tongue in her pussy. Gail was familiar with that tongue. It had been in her own pussy countless times, stabbing inside her vagina, whipping her clitoris to an ever higher degree of turgid excitement. By now the girl was probably sucking him off as well. Dear Heavens, what would she ever say to Clancy if he came home now to find a pair of strangers going sixty-nine in his front yard?
They're selling sleeping bags door-to-door, and demonstrating how a bedroll can be used for something other than sleeping.
I have no idea who they are, dear. But they do look as if they're enjoying themselves, so I've just been doing my gardening work around them.
What people? I don't see any girl with a big, hard cock down her throat, and I certainly don't see a man licking out her little pussy. Clancy, you're imagining things. Let's go inside.
Gail began to giggle in the shower. For a few giddy moments her troubles were too ridiculous to be real, but then she sobered so quickly that she was close to tears.
Her problems were only too real. She had to hold her temper, hold in her feelings, and indulge Cotton and Rita to the limit. She had to reason with them rather than rage at them. She had to treat Cotton as if he was a hair-triggered bomb, until such a time as she could ease him out of her house and out of her life.
She put on her coveralls and a smile and went outside again, taking their neatly folded clothes with her. They were lounging side by side on the sleeping bag, sharing another marijuana cigarette. Wetness glistened in the sun on the girl's pubis, and Cotton's penis was at least partially flaccid, curled over his thigh and pointing its single, sightless eye directly at Gail.
"If you two kids are through putting on a show for the police helicopter that comes by every afternoon, I've got sandwiches and beer over here on the porch," she said.
Cotton raised a middle finger toward the sky and said, "Fuck the flying cops. And hold the sandwiches, we're still working up an appetite. Get me hard, Rita Bonita, get it up for me. You can do it a whole lot better than she ever could."
The girl sat up and hitched up her padded bra, stuck her tongue out at Gail, and lowered her head over Cotton's bare loins. Cotton leaned back with his hands folded under his head, grinning broadly, as the girl took his penis in hand and began to lick it. "This is the life," he said. "Hey, Gail, you want to come over here and sit on my face?"
Gail laughed and gave him the finger, picked up a sandwich and took a bite from it. The girl named Rita was slurping her mouth loudly and vigorously over Cotton's rising penis, but Gail's mouth was so dry she could barely chew the sandwich. She felt her stomach rebelling, too, and she picked up a cold can of beer, flipped its top, and drank from it. She grinned and smacked her lips as if it was ambrosia, hoping to tempt Cotton away from his front-yard sex show before someone chanced by. Of, course it didn't work. How could a cold can of beer compete with a hot and hungry mouth like the one sliding up and down the long length of his rigid organ?
Gail continued to smile, continued to sip, just as if this sort of thing was quite commonplace to her. Her mouth was no longer dry. She was salivating freely, unable to stop from recalling just what it was like to have a hard penis sliding into her mouth, between her clasping lips, over her swirling tongue, and filling her constricting throat. It had been a long time since she'd watched people having sex together, and it was now making her nervous. She fidgetted her bottom on the top step of the porch, and hoped Cotton wasn't noticing her growing unease. She casually scratched at a little itch in her groin, then leaned back and gazed up at the acacia tree. Her hand struck Cotton's Levi's jacket. In its pocket were matches and a pack of cigarettes. She pulled them out and rummaged through the marijuana joints until she found a tobacco cigarette, lit it up and filled her lungs with smoke, knowing that the nicotine would calm her down.
It didn't. She'd quit the habit three years before, and now the smoke was affecting her as a joint would, making her feel dizzy, making her feel high, drying out her mouth. She had another swallow of beer and went on smoking, knowing that at any moment the nicotine would have the desired calming effect on her.
It tasted terrific, and it felt even better. She was exhilarated by it and at the same time she felt herself relaxing. With the return of her outward calm, she could watch the couple in her front yard with nonchalance, and she could smile and shake her head when Cotton beckoned to her with his tongue. She could even make a little joke with him by pointing at Rita and then turning down her thumb, as if to say the girl was a pretty poor cocksucker.
"Come on over and give her a lesson, Pale Gail," said Cotton from the depths of his enjoyment. Gail shook her head and took another drag on the cigarette.
"Come on and tell her how," Cotton persisted, "or we're liable to be here all afternoon. And bring me a beer."
The young blonde housewife finished her beer and stabbed out the cigarette on the porch step. She carried the other can over and knelt beside them to open it for the languidly reclining renegade motorcyclist. Rita was curled up at his side, arm thrown over his stomach, busily fellating him behind the thick black veil of her hair.
"Remember, honey," said Gail, "to suck as well as lick. It's not a lollipop."
Rita brushed back her hair and glared up at Gail with malevolent eyes, cheeks sunken in, hard flesh deep inside her lipstick-smeared mouth. Gail winked at her and started to rise, but Cotton closed his fist on a gathering of her coveralls and held her where she was.
"Stick around," he said. "You'll have a grandstand view of one of the greatest fuckers in the world at work.
She feigned a yawn and said, "It's time for my nap."
"Stick around," he repeated, and now it was a gathering of her flesh that he took in his fist.
She shrugged and settled back with her haunches on her heels. His hand relaxed and patted the pinched flesh of the underside of her bottom. He said, "Thatta girl. And just so you can be part of the show, I'm gonna let you put my prick in her for me. You remember how that's done?"
Matching his cool with hers wasn't easy, but she managed to laugh before she said, "I'm a married woman. We're taught to know something about insertions, and I think it's time your little friend learned it for herself."
"No!" said Rita, lifting her head and wiping her puffed red lips. "I want her to put it in me. I want her to see your prick go right up inside me. I want her to open me up for it, and I want her to see just how good it makes me feel to have you love me, Cotton."
"Go ahead, Gail," he said. "Do it. It'll show your heart's in the right place; it'll show us you're really gonna be our buddy for a couple of days-and we'll be your quiet buddies."
Gail threw back her head and laughed, and looked heavenward for help that wouldn't come before she carried out this odious task. She'd done it before at motorcycle gatherings, she'd imposed the job on other girls, but that was so long ago that she wasn't even the same person.
Cotton's penis was the same. Hard and long and slender, wet from a girl's kisses, Gail was able to delicately grasp its base between thumb and two fingers as the smirking Rita came forward with her knees astride Cotton's nude loins.
"Don't be afraid of a little cock, grab it," said Cotton, and closed Gail's hand around his well-prepared organ. It was hard and gristly, more like a piece of wood than a piece of flesh and blood, and Gail tried to think of it as an inanimate thing as with her other hand she reached to part the soft, lightly furred bulge of tan flesh that held the crack of Rita's sex.
She too was well-prepared. The pink within the tan was agleam with moisture, and the parts of her sex were quite reddened and engorged with the girl's heated blood. Man and girl kept badgering Gail as she brought the pinkest portions of their two bodies together. She was able to ignore the stoned-out chatter of the giggling girl, almost able to ignore Cotton's grosser comments, but it was impossible to ignore the hand that was roving her bottom and smoothing its fingers over the length of sensitive flesh that bulged under the crotch of her coveralls.
Her own slit was moist, and she couldn't help that. She could turn her brain off to the task she was doing, but the responses of her body were still functioning. She had a soft, warm vulva in one hand and a hard, hot penis in the other, and as she joined the two organs, primitive triggers were being set off in her body. Her nipples were hard and her vagina was getting wetter. Though her thighs were clenched together against the explorations of Cotton's roving hand, her crotch felt very open and inviting. Her vagina wanted that hard penis that she held in her hand, though her brain was completely repelled by the thought of it.
"Come on, Pale Gail, get it good and wet before you slip it in," Cotton was telling her.
"Yeah, but hurry," said the girl, squirming about on her knees, all spiteful teasing forgotten, her hand grasping convulsively at Gail's shoulder.
Gail pushed the thing in her left hand down, and she felt the quaking in the girl's body as it found its mark. The glans of Cotton's penis was right at the portals of Rita's vagina when Gail heard the thin, tell-tale squeal just on the other side of the hedge.
"It's the paperboy! Quick! Get out of sight!"
Rita let out a yawp and went scrambling, then running for the garage apartment stairs, with Cotton right behind her. Again Gail had the impulse to laugh as the panicked, raven-haired girl went flying up the stairs, bare-bottomed, streaming stockings out of her brassiere, with Cotton and his hard, bobbing manhood in close, fast pursuit. The apartment door slammed shut behind him, and Gail turned to face a newspaper boy in her gateway whose eyes were open nearly as wide as his mouth.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Who the heck was that?!?"
"Never mind, Tommy," Gail answered. "They're friends of ours. Nudists. Just toss me the paper and be on your way."
He shuffled forward as she rose. He was still gaping up at the apartment door, with the afternoon paper dangling from his hand.
"But the guy had a ... He was ... And the girl was wearing a brassiere, and nudists don't do that!"
"Just give me the paper and go, Tommy," said Gail, as sternly as she could.
He looked at her and grinned. He was tousle-haired and sweaty, bare-footed and wearing a T-shirt and cut-off jeans, freckle-faced and tanned. He looked like a modern day Huck Finn, but his grin was considerably more adult as he gazed boldly up and down the length of his customer's body. "Those people up there were doing it, weren't they," he said. "Right here in your front yard!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Gail, and snatched the paper from his hand and headed for her porch, with the coveralls binding in her crotch at every step. The one-piece garment's zipper tab had slipped down nearly to her waist, undoubtedly a major reason for Tommy Simmons' staring. She paused to yank at it and broke a fingernail, pulled at it again and it came off. Trembling with frustrated rage, she threw down the newspaper and snatched up Cotton's cigarette pack and promptly spilled its contents on the steps of her house. She was on her hands and knees, frantically gathering up the cigarettes and the joints, when Tommy's bare feet hove into view beside her.
He asked, "Is that pretty good stuff?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped. She reached for the cigarette and the two joints just behind his feet and said, "No. They're harmful to your health. It says so right on the package.'
"I sorta like 'em. You got a light?"
She looked up along his sun-tanned legs with their sun-bleached hair, past the bulge in his cut-offs, beyond his hairless chest, to his grinning face. A roach was jauntily stuck in that grin, the butt-end of a marijuana cigarette that still bore the lipstick mark of Rita Bonita. Looking down again, at that bulge in his shorts, Gail sighed and admitted to herself that her paperboy wasn't a boy at all.
He repeated his question just as insolently. Gail sat down on the first step of her porch, lit up one of Cotton's Winstons, and tossed Tommy the book of matches. Elbows on her knees, she inhaled deeply and stared at the ground between her feet. She sat there unmoving as she heard a great inhalation of air, a long pause, and a sighing exhalation.
"That's pretty good stuff. Did those nudist people bring it? Were they really screwing out there?" he asked, before another huge inhalation was heard.
Gail slowly shook her head, and the tears began to flow. Her shoulders barely quivered with her soft sobs, but tears flowed down her cheeks and she hung her head even lower to hide her despair behind her golden hair.
"You want a hit?" he croaked.
She shook her head harder. "N-no."
"Hey, what's the matter?" ,he said, and came around in front of her, and bent down. "Aw, you're crying. There's nothing to cry about. My Mom cried when she found out I smoke a little grass, but now she understands. It's nothing to worry about. Gee, Mrs. Harrigan, I hate to see you crying."
"It's all right," she blubbered. "Just go away."
"I can't leave you like this," he said, and sat down cross-legged on the walk in front of her. He patted her knee reassuringly. He took another hit on the tiny roach, threw it away, and pressed his cheek to her knee, patting her there, rocking back and forth with her sobs. She covered her face with her hands and all but broke down completely in her weeping, and he stayed right there with her, murmuring soothing sounds now. In due course, Gail's tears stopped. She was weakly drying her cheeks with her hands when he whipped out a handkerchief, leaned forward, and dabbed at her cheeks.
"You're a good boy, Tommy," she said, and hugged him hard around the neck. She sighed and said, "I suppose lots of boys your age smoke marijuana now and then, but it was such a shock to me. Let me go now, Tommy. Tommy, let me go. Now listen, dear," she said when he'd reluctantly sat down again. It was difficult to talk to him, not only because of her sudden flood of tears, but also because of the little edge of pink flesh now protruding over the buttoned fly of his faded, shortened jeans. " ... now listen, Tommy, those people are old friends of my husband's. They got here unexpectedly. I didn't know they were nudists or that they smoked grass. I'm going to ask them to leave right away. And I'm trusting you not to say a word about them or their marijuana to anyone at all. Okay?"
She smiled brightly, hopefully, and he squirmed about and rubbed hard at the long bulge in his shorts.
"Okay?" she asked again.
He shook his head, grinning devilishly, and his hand crept out to touch Gail's bare toes.
She snatched her foot away, and said, "What is it you want? Here. Take the rest of these joints. I don't want them around anyway. That should satisfy you; now go."
He took out a joint and lit it up, dragged deeply, and held it out to her. "No!" she said, and he held up one finger, pleading with his eyes for her to join him in just one hit.
She clucked and took a drag. She knew it wouldn't affect her when she was this upset. It tasted even better than the cigarette had, and she felt a sense of great relief as she exhaled and handed it back to him. They sat there passing it back and forth then until it was gone. The sun's warmth felt good now. Even the perspiration spreading out from under the armpits of-her coveralls and trickling down between her breasts felt good. It didn't feel so good to have the boy so obviously lusting for her with his gaze. It was flattering, but it made her uncomfortable enough to light up another Winston.
She shook out the match and said, "Better split now, Tom."
His face was very red. It got redder as he rapidly said, "Not till you show me your tits. Not till you let me feel of 'em, and ... and finger-fuck you, and screw you!"
He was ready to throw herself at him when she blew a thick cloud of tobacco smoke in his face. With admirable serenity, she looked down at the bare, sweaty valley between her breasts, down at the tightly covered bulge of her pussy, where the cloth was wet with something other than perspiration. She looked into his eagerly anguished eyes and snorted a derisive chuckle. She said, "I'll go along with your stupid little game, kid, at least a part of it. I show you my tits, you split. I give you a good long look at these gorgeous big jugs of mine and then you cut out, you get your ass off my property and don't come back unless you want me to take that hunting knife over there and cut your fucking balls off. Right?"
He looked very startled. He looked at the hunting knife lying in the flower bed, wiped the sweat off his brow, and turned back to look at Gail's bustline. He breathed deeply and said, "Okay. Show 'em to me and I'll go."
Pale Gail was feeling very good. Hundreds of men had paid a buck a glass for beer to look at her tits, and here was a little boy who was being threatened with castration and still wanted to see them, even though they were compressed almost flat by the tight old coverall suit. She slowly straightened up and began moving her spine in a snake-like fashion, toying with the zipper tab, giving the kid a real show. She found that the tab would go down, but not up, and as she teased it lower she again extracted the promise that the nearly dumb-struck boy would leave as soon as he saw her breasts.
She was feeling better all the time, almost hearing the bass-beating juke-box music of the beer joints she'd worked in as she peeled back the collar of the suit to expose and then sensuously caress one perfectly round white shoulder. She purred out a little false moan of pleasure as she reached within the widely splayed zipper and squeezed her left breast, then brushed the fingers of her right hand over her lips before hooking them inside her right collar. The boy was goggling more than when she'd first seen him at the gate that afternoon, and Pale Gail felt just terrific, in complete command of ft the situation.
Smiling with pursed lips, looking at him through her lashes, she swayed her torso from side to side as she daintily peeled down her costume. He wasn't looking at her smile, however; he was raptly gazing at her chest, at the first emergence of a pair of pink circles, at the standing nipples as they came into view, and at the full white globes of the undersides of Pale Gail's luscious big tits which so perfectly matched those creamy upper slopes.
"What a set of tits!" he murmured, awed, and she gave them a little shake for him, and she slipped her hands out of the sleeves of her costume and lifted the twin, pink-capped moons to mold them into even more erotic shapes for his hungry delectation. His hands were clutching spasmodically at his bare knees and the pink showing over his waistband was now quite wet. Pale Gail was just about to give him a real treat and lift one of the big globes to swirl her tongue around its nipple when the chopping drone of the police helicopter shattered the afternoon air.
Gail performed some sort of a backward somersault in getting under the protection of the porch, and Tommy Simmons was right on top of her when she landed. His ink-stained hands were clutching all over her bare breasts, making the most of things in Gail's momentary panic. She rolled about on the wood floor with ,him, panting and sweating and trying to lift her knee into his groin; he rolled with her, mauling her breasts, whining in his frenzy, and humping his hot little hardness against her thigh. He was everywhere at once on her, and so strong in his blind lust to rut that she couldn't physically fight him off.
"The phone!" she gasped. "The phone's ringing! Goddamn it, you little bastard, let go of me and let me answer the phone! It's probably the cops!"
He relaxed his hold on her and she scrambled to her feet, but he was right after her. As she stood panting at the wall phone, trying to catch her breath, he rubbed his bulging pantsfront against her buttocks, slobbered kisses on her bare back, and tried with some success to reach her breasts. She kept slapping at his hands and kicking back at his shins while the phone kept ringing. At last she hissed at him to keep still or she'd kill him, and then she very sweetly answered the telephone.
It was Clancy, her husband, but now she had little time for him because the boy was again pawing and kissing her and rubbing himself against her bottom. One hand was squeezing her breasts quite hard, the other was plunging down inside her opened coveralls, and not even a jab of her elbow in his stomach slowed him down.
"Yes, Clancy ... What?" she said, wishing now that she'd let the phone ring. "Everything's fine. I'm just a little out of breath. I was ... I was just coming down the stairs from painting the apartment when you called and I'm a little out of breath ... Good ... Working at the naval base tomorrow? Good ... Yes, I love you too ... I'll see you soon, dear. Good-bye ... What?"
The boy behind her was rubbing even harder against her, and hugging her so tightly she could hardly talk. The whimpering noises he was making turned to urgent moans, and Gail's hair stood on end when she felt the trembling spasms ripping through his body.
"Someone's at the door, dear. I'll see you when you get home. Good-bye."
She slammed down the phone and twisted about in the boy's slackening arms. His eyes were heavy now and his grin was vacuous, until she pushed him a step back from her and slapped him hard across the face.
"Get out of here and don't come back," she said in a voice that was dripping with venom. "Go! Leave! Now!"
He turned and went running, staggering out the front door. Gail stood with clenched fists and counted to one hundred before she put her arms through the sleeves of the coveralls and hauled it up into place. She stalked out and gathered up the sandwiches, the clothing, the cigarettes, the beer cans, and dumped them in the middle of the sleeping bag. She made a bundle of this and carried it up the stairs and into the apartment. Cotton and his little brunette were lying comfortably back against the wall of the living room, smoking dope, using the lid of a paint can for an ash tray.
Gail dumped the bundle at their feet and said, "As usual, Cotton Ronson, you've gotten me in trouble, this time with my goddamned newspaper boy!"
Rita giggled and said, "We know. We saw him through the bathroom window. He's cute."
Gail ignored her. "You can stay here till tomorrow afternoon, and then out you go. You can use the water, the crapper, and you can sleep on the goddamned floor. I'll bring you food when I think of it, but don't come down until you're ready to go tomorrow. And no lights up here tonight. Do you understand? I don't want any more trouble. I can't handle trouble anymore. I'm going to pretend you're not here. I'm going to pretend there's a stray coyote who comes to the top of the stairs for the food I leave there, and I don't want to see either of you again till you're on that damned hog down in the garage and riding the hell out of here!"
"Gee, what happened with the kid?" Cotton asked.
"He came on me, that's what happened! He ... he ... " Gail began to splutter, for she saw now that Cotton was giggling at her from behind his sunglasses, and Rita was doing so openly. "Out by tomorrow or I call the police and tell my husband!" she snapped, and went raging out and down the stairs.
A hot and cold shower failed to calm her down. She put on a housedress and went through the entire house looking for evidences of her unwanted visitors that she might have missed. She found no signs they'd left behind, but she did find a package of cigarettes and sat down with them and a can of beer at the kitchen table to gather herself together. It took four of the former and two of the latter before she was relaxing, before she was able to convince herself that she could successfully secrete her former lover and his current girl friend for another day. Tommy Simmons she could handle with further threats, but there were no threats dire enough to frighten Cotton Ronson away. If he had some speed with him, if he smoked the right amount of grass in the playfully wrong mood, he could come down the stairs at any time and make a shambles of her house, her marriage, and even her husband.
But, no. She mustn't think that way. Think positive, think confident, even pray a little, and she'd" get out of this all right. She'd been in worse scrapes before. Perhaps never in a jam where the stakes were so high, but in lots worse trouble. Be cool, trust in luck, don't think about it, and it would all pass.
Gail felt considerably better until Clancy got home. He looked marvelous to her-medium height, medium build, not handsome, not ugly, just a good solid ordinary man, and one who loved her very much. But the very first thing he said on entering was that he was hungry and wanted an early dinner, a chore to which Gail hadn't been able to give a single thought all day. The freezer had only peas and carrots in it, the refrigerator was nearly bare, and Gail said she'd go to the store. He said canned beans would be a gourmet meal, and he grumbled his way to his favorite chair, beer and paper in hand. Gail fixed him gourmet beans-right out of the can-and didn't eat a bite herself, inwardly fuming at his callous disregard for the unbelievably bad day she'd gone through.
Of course it wasn't his fault. She saw that when they were looking at television together, when they were laughing together at a line that was funny to no one but them. She snuggled close to them then and he put his arm about her and everything was fine. He took her in his arms and kissed her, until she stiffened at distinctly hearing Cotton Ronson's staccato laughter.
"What's the matter, honey? Something bite you?"
"No, I ... thought I heard a dog bark."
"They're allowed to do that. Have a hard day?"
"Just terrible, that's all. No, it was all right. I had a good day."
"You don't act like you did. Tell me about it. What happened?"
"Just an ordinary day. Oh, I had a little trouble with the newspaper boy. I think I'll cancel the paper for a while. It'll do me good to walk to the store for it every afternoon."
"Want to tell me about it?"
"No. Know what I want? I want to go to bed, with you, right now. Make a little love? Okay?"
"How about a lot of love?"
"Mmmm. That's just what I need."
They were undressing when he said, "I sure hope I don't have to stay over at the naval base tomorrow night."
It stopped Gail cold. "What? You think you might have to?"
"Good possibility. Like I told you on the phone. You didn't hear me then?"
"Well ... that was when I was having that trouble with To ... with the newspaper boy. There's a good chance you won't be home tomorrow night?"
He took her dress from her hand and tossed it onto a chair. He took her in his arms and said, "If you really want me here tomorrow night, I'll drive back no matter what. Honey, what's bothering you?"
"Nothing. It's just that time of the month," she said and laughed. "I'm just being silly. I can get along perfectly well without you for one night, Mr. Handsome Harrigan. I have before and I will again. I know how important a man's job is to him."
"You sure? You want to talk about it some more?"
"No. I want to go to bed where you can love me right."
He did love her right. He made every move she liked, he held her long enough and hard enough and tender enough. He built up toward a climax with great, natural grace, but while all of his moves were natural and easy, all of Gail's were forced and thought out. He reached a climax that was obviously very satisfying to him. It was helped along by Gail's equally obvious response, but for the first time in their married life, Gail's climax was entirely false. She gasped and moaned and moved with convincing skill, but there was no way she could reach an orgasm with the imprint of Tommy Simmons' semen still burning on her back, and with the stabbing laughter of Cotton Ronson ringing in her ears.
CHAPTER SIX
Gail hardly slept at all until it was close to dawn, and then her sleep was troubled. She dreamed of hellishly beautiful, psychedelic landscapes shooting past her as she lay strapped to an operating table with incredibly filthy doctors and nurses cackling over her as they prepared her for sterilization. When their leather-gloved hands finally touched her she broke the straps and pushed violently away, only to awake beside her indignant husband.
"What's the matter? Have I got leprosy?"
"I'm sorry, Clancy. I was having a bad dream."
"Bad is right. You were cursing like a stevedore. I never knew you knew such language. And then when I tried to comfort you, you went at me like you were a tiger, and not a very lady-like tiger at that. But the language. Wow! What kind of day-time TV serials do you look at to learn words like that?"
"I'm sorry," she said, groggily trying to snuggle up to him, to try to return to sleep in his arms. "Everybody knows those words. It's just that they came out while I was asleep."
"The way you were running them together sounded like you practice up using them during the day."
"I told you I was sorry! I can't help what I say in my sleep," she said, and rolled away from him, got out of bed and staggered toward the kitchen to start his coffee.
Tasha was rubbing against her foot, and she kicked the cat away and went into the bathroom. She almost fell asleep on the toilet, and a splashing of cold water from the sink didn't do much toward getting the sandpaper out of her puffy eyes. It did bring her wider awake. She was in for another bad day. If it was as bad as it could get, she wouldn't see the end of it. The possibilities were good that Cotton would leave her with the momentos of black eyes and a broken nose before he left that afternoon. The man she loved might never again see the pretty face he'd married, and she couldn't leave him that morning with anything but good memories.
Quickly, she took a shower, dried and powdered herself, and returned to their bedroom with a smile on her face. Clancy was already up, already half-dressed, and Gail went to him and slinked her arms about his neck, laced her fingers there, and softly pressed herself against him.
"Could I talk you into going back to bed, mister?"
He laughed and swatted her on the big roundness of her bottom. "How much will it cost me?"
"Oh, a nickel? But with a handsome John like you, I could be talked down."
He kissed her forehead. He grinned and said, "A stevedore when she's asleep, a hooker when she's awake-what the heck did I marry up with?"
"I'm sorry I cussed when I was asleep, I'm sorry you think of me as a whore. I was just wanting a little loving," she said as she turned away.
"Honey, I was just kidding you. I don't have time to go back to bed. It's a long drive to the base and from what I've been told it's a nasty little problem they've got up there. I won't even have time for breakfast, let alone a roll in the hay."
She was just turning back to apologize to him and make things as right as she could when the alarm went off and he turned from her to stop it. She said, "You woke up without the alarm? You're sure eager to get out of here this morning."
"I'm just eager to get back. Why don't you go back to bed and sleep till noon? You've been working too hard."
"Why don't you come back with me?" She sat down on the bed. He was still standing by the nightstand. She nuzzled her face against the front of his trousers and said, "Ten minutes? Can't you even spare me ten minutes?"
He gently took her hands from his hips. He pushed her down in bed, covered her up, kissed her, and said, "I'll see you tonight. I'll do everything I possibly can to be home on time, but don't count on it. Get some more sleep. I'll grab a donut on the way out of town. 'Bye, dear."
She watched him go. She turned on her side and settled into the warm hollow that his body had made. She felt enormously contrite for every bad thing she'd ever done in her life, but she was asleep before her first tear touched the pillow.
Gail's sleep was deep and dreamless. She came very slowly awake to a tickling about her nose and lips, but she was unable to move either of her hands to brush away the pesky, tittering fly that was buzzing there. Frowning, shaking her sleep-stuffed head, she opened her eyes to see a pair of pursed red feminine lips blowing at her nose from three inches away.
"Goddamn you!" she said, and raised her head sharply to give a satisfyingly hard bump with her forehead against the nose of Rita Bonita.
Gail struggled and twisted in her bed. Rita was on her left in the Harrigan marital bed, naked. Cotton was on her right, naked save for his reflective sunglasses. The bedclothes had been drawn down and there was a clothesline around Gail's right ankle that ran down over the mattress and disappeared over that corner of the bed. Another piece of her clothesline went from her left wrist to the headboard. These two ropes held Gail diagonally across the bed, and the weight of Cotton's body had her right arm pinned to the mattress. Only her left leg was free. The way Cotton was lying on her arm, she couldn't even claw at his bare back as she vigorously thrashed and writhed and cursed, while Rita gingerly felt of her bruised nose and while Cotton freely felt of Gail's nude body.
"You bastard! You motherfucker!" she cried. "You promised you'd leave me alone! Let me go, you sonofabitch! My husband's going to be coming back any minute!"
"Tut-tut-tut. Don't fib," said Cotton, moving his hand in lazy gropings over her churning body. "He hasn't even gotten up to the naval base yet."
That stopped Gail's thrashings for a moment, but they started up again when Cotton bent to place his pursed lips on her right nipple. "You listened in on the extension yesterday! You filthy, filthy bastard, isn't there anything you won't do?"
"Baby, I'm just tryin' to get along and have myself a good time while I'm doing it. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm gonna make you feel good."
His hand went down to her fur, fingers moving in slow circles on the curly bush. He was touching the hair, not the flesh, and Gail lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't get away from them, and she wouldn't give them the pleasure of seeing her impotently struggling. His fingers brushing her fur were only a tickle which she could easily stand. Harder to stand were her thoughts of what was yet to come.
"Now, that's a real pair of tits," said Cotton.
"Okay, so they're big," Rita sniffed. "I saw 'em yesterday when she was showin' herself off to that kid."
"Well, don't just look at 'em. Feel 'em."
Rita snorted her disgust, but then a malevolent light dawned in her eyes and she reached out with her little tan hand and closed its fingers over Gail's right breast-hard. Gail didn't flinch, but her body tensed and Cotton felt it. He knocked the girl's hand away and gave her a short, fast slap across the face.
"Didn't you hear me say we weren't going to hurt my old buddy? We're out for a good time, that's all. Now kiss her and make it well."
"On her tit? Me?"
He raised his hand as if to slap her again, and the girl leaned forward to primly place her lips against the nipple she'd pinched. She would have pulled back from the feather-light kiss at once, but Cotton held her head there and pressed her face harder against the cushiony softness under it. Gail went on staring at the ceiling, ignoring the workings of the unwilling mouth on her sensitive nipple. The dark-haired girl looked up at Cotton in question, and he smiled and patted her head. She went on kissing and sucking Gail's nipple when Cotton returned his hand to its roving at the helpless blonde's loins.
"We're not going to be able to get out of here today, Pale Gail," he said. "I talked to the man last night and he hasn't got all the bread up yet. You don't mind if we stay a little longer, do you? We'll show you a good time while we're here, though. We'll even turn you on to some pretty good stuff."
"I don't smoke grass anymore. Yesterday was just a fluke," she tonelessly told him, twisting her wrist against the rope, finding the knot secure.
"There's lots more things than grass. Right, Rita?"
"Mm-hmm!" said the girl, far too intimidated by him to stop her increasingly loud smackings over Gail's left breast.
"I don't use anything anymore," said Gail. "And I can't let you stay here any longer. Let me up, Cotton. Let's talk about this reasonably. Maybe we can work something out, but not this way."
"Your pussy's so nice and soft and warm. Sure like to give it a work-out, but I respect you being a married woman now."
"Respect. What do you know about respect? Cotton, have her stop that. It's making me sick to my stomach."
"She seems to be enjoying herself. Are you, Rita?"
The girl shrugged a thin shoulder and went on sucking. Gail knew she wouldn't stop until she got the command from her master, but she didn't know how much longer she could stand the increasingly sensuous feeling of the small, wet mouth working over her areola and nipple. That, coupled with the ever more intimate movements of Cotton's knowledgeable fingers, was making her feel warmly nervous, and she was finding it hard to talk with cool reason to the overaged juvenile delinquent at her side. The prodding of his hard, blunt penis against her thigh didn't help things at all.
"Why stay here, Cotton? There must be plenty of places where you'd be more welcome. My husband's liable to go up to look at the apartment any time. The only reason he didn't go up there last night was because he'd had a hard day at work. I know he'll go up there tonight, no matter how tired he is."
"If he comes home at all. I heard him say he probably wouldn't get back. Hey, you're gettin' a little juiced-up. That's nice."
"I'm not! Damn it, take your hands off me. And make her quit! I'm not a goddamn mother sow, even if she is a suckling pig!"
Rita nipped Gail's nipple with her teeth, and Cotton laughed and laughed as the leggy blonde tried furiously again to wrench herself free of the bonds of rope and flesh that held her. She stopped her futile efforts in moments and lay there panting through tightly clenched teeth, dredging up feelings of hatred to displace the feelings of heavy warmth that had been creeping in on her.
"So it'll be safe to stay here if he calls back and tells you he's got to stay over at that naval base. We'll wait for his call. We got plenty of time. And in the meantime, we'll have ourselves that good time. If he comes home unexpected-like, too bad for old Clancy. Rita Bonita, hand me the snuff-box and let's share with my friend Pale Gail."
The girl smacked her kiss-puffed lips up off of Gail's erect nipple and said, "O-kay!" She reached down to the floor and came up with a small silver box from which dangled a tiny spoon on a silver chain. With her immature breasts, with her fragile waist, with the look of great glee on her little face, she looked like a child opening a birthday surprise rather than a hardened street-girl going for her share of the day's cocaine.
"Whoops! Don't want to spill any," she said as she opened the box.
"We can afford to waste a little," said Cotton.
Rita giggled and said, "We don't want to disappoint any of your customers."
Gail turned to look at the man in her bed. "Rotten Cotton," she said, "still dealing dope, but now it's coke instead of smack. Rotten, rotten Cotton."
"You know I don't like people to call me that. Don't do it, Gail."
"Rotten Cotton," said Rita. "I think it's cute."
"If you didn't have three hundred bucks worth of our coke in your hand, I'd belt you clear across the room. Hand it to me."
"Cotton-n-n-n, I'm sorry," she said, but she promptly handed over the box.
"Sit on Pale Gail's leg," he said, "and open 'em up."
Rita did this. Gail fought against it, but in no more than a minute her legs were spread wide apart, the right leg held by the rope, the left by the smooth, hard legs of the excited girl.
Cotton dipped out a spoonful of the white powder and told Rita to hold out her hand. Again she obeyed him, and he sprinkled the spoonful of cocaine on her fingers. "Rub that in Pale Gail's twat," he said, "and if you do a good job of it, there's another spoonful for yours."
Gail renewed her struggles, at the same time trying to blow the powerful narcotic off the girl's fingers. Again she failed in her efforts, and her only recourse was to vent out a stream of invective at Cotton as the grinning girl softly and gently rubbed her coke-covered fingers over Gail's open cunt. Cotton easily ignored her as he dipped out another spoonful of the stuff and expertly sniffed it up his nostrils. He coughed and took off his sunglasses to wipe his eyes, then laid them aside to look with interest at where Rita's hand was moving up and down through Gail's opened legs.
"Does it itch, Pale Gail?" he asked.
"Goddamn right it does! You know it does, you motherfucker! I'll kill you when I get up, Rotten Cotton. I swear, I'll kill you!"
"She'll cum in a minute if I don't quit rubbing this in her nasty old pussy," said Rita. "Baby's pussy wants some too, Cotton."
"Help yourself. We got plenty. Rub it in good while we let it soak on Pale Gail."
The powder clung to Rita's fingers now, for they were wet from the touch of Gail's body. The girl's eagerness was disgusting as she squirmed about to open her legs while still holding Gail's leg a prisoner, and her broad grin was pathetic as she began to energetically push and rub her fingers all around in between her legs.
"Oo, baby, does that feel good," she said. "This is all I was thinking about when I was suckin' on her fat old tit. I'm all wet and I'm gettin' wetter. I'm gonna really get off. Did you get off, Cotton?"
"Bethcer sweet ass I did." His yellow eyes looked stranger than ever. In all the time she'd ridden with him, Gail hadn't often seen his eyes, and when she had, they'd frightened her. Today was no exception. Their animal glint scared her, but still she stared at them till Rita spoke again.
"Can I have a little more? If a little is this good, a little more is a lot better. Right, Cotton? Right?"
"That's right, baby. You can share another spoonful with Pale Gail."
"Awxxxx-w. Look at her. It's not doing her any good."
"I said to share it with her. Keep up your bitching and I'll dump it on Gail's twat and make you go after it with your twat-or your tongue."
"Okay, okay! I'll share it."
Her hand was shaking as she held it out for another measure of the cocaine. She was .very much sexually aroused. Gail knew the drug was not an aphrodisiac, but she also knew it was an irritant to mucous membranes-eyes, nostrils, mouth, vulvar area. And she knew that cokeheads frequently use their favorite narcotic to heighten sexual pleasures and orgasmic intensities. She wasn't a cokehead and never had been one, but the drug had those mucuous membranes of her vulva itching so that she was again pulling with her arms, not to get away so much as to scratch that itch. She was also trying to hold still as, right at her side, Rita purred luxurious little sounds while she rubbed one tainted finger up and down through her well-lubricated pink slit.
"Give the rest to her," said Cotton.
"No more. She can have it all," said Gail, trying now to dodge her sex away from the small, descending hand bearing more of the irritant.
"Goddamn you!" she said, when the little fingers curled into her slit. Their rubbing of the itch was absolutely delicious, but Gail knew very well that the relief would be only temporary.
"Ohh-h-h-h, God!" she cried, and her body arched involuntarily upward as the soothing fingers were taken from her slit. She felt strong enough now to wrestle her leg away from the legs of the girl so she could at least rub her thighs together, but the girl was stronger yet.
Cotton bent his leering face over Gail's, yellow eyes agleam as she twisted and panted and squirmed her buttocks back hard against the mattress. The girl beside her was frankly masturbating now, rubbing her little pussy hard and fast, with an expression of joyful anxiety on her face.
"What's the matter, Pale Gail?" he said in his oiliest voice. "You got an itch? You know, I got something to scratch it with."
Pale Gail's pussy was itching like fire. It didn't feel good; it just itched. Cotton's big, hot prick was pushing harder against her thigh now, but its heat didn't match that of her pussy. However, it could give her exactly the right kind of massage that would take her itch away and let her sink into welcome exhaustion.
"Where's that itch? Right here?" he asked, and roved his rough hand over her breasts, squeezing them and rubbing them, pulling out the nipples to harder peaks and letting them fall back again. She couldn't help but become more excited, now in a definitely sexual way, for as rough as the movements of his hands were, they were entirely erotic.
He kept playing with her breasts and Rita Bonita kept playing with herself. As she did, she said, "Baby, you don't want to fuck her. Sloppy old pussy. C'mon, baby. I'm all hot and ready for you. She's got a sloppy old pussy and mine's all tight and nice, just like you like it. Jesus Christ, this is good stuff. Baby, you don't want to fuck her ...."
"Where is that old itch?" said Cotton, and his hand crept in lowering circles over Gail's heaving belly, toward that seething, itching part of her body that was so badly in need of relief.
"That stuff might be working on her," Gail said, "but it's not on me. Cotton, just let me go now and you can stay as long as you want. I'll keep my old man out of the apartment for as long as you say. Just let me go. Please, Cotton? Cotton!"
"Now you're talking," he said. The heel of his hand was at her navel, the fingers of it fanning back and forth across Gail's pubis, rubbing through the golden curls just an inch from her throbbing clitoris. Her entire vulvar area was throbbing, pulsing, and she couldn't stop her hips from tilting up toward any sort of relief. Cotton Ronson remained calm as could be as he said, "How about throwing in a little fuck, just to make the contract binding? Your old man wouldn't have to know."
"No!" she cried, snapping her hips back, away from his nearing fingers. "I love him! Cotton, you can't ask that of me. Please!"
"You used to love me, and love don't die," he said, straddling her swollen clitoris with his fingers and rubbing slowly, much too slowly.
Gail shook her head back and forth, blonde tresses whipping across his face and flailing against her pillow. "I never loved you! How could anyone love you? Rotten Cotton, the dirty doper who turned in one of his own road brothers for a lousy five hundred dollars reward! Indian Archie, the nicest guy ever to ...."
A slap across Gail's face silenced her screaming diatribe, and gave her the shock and the pain she needed to escape from the hot fingers of lust that were creeping all over her body, inside and out.
Bringing up this absolutely forbidden subject had transformed Cotton Ronson in an instant from a confident seducer to a raging madman. He straddled her torso to slap her back and forth across the face. With one arm free now, Gail could fend off some of the blows and try to roll with them. Her head was rocked from side to side on the pillow. She was seeing stars, and still seeing the angry red head of his penis, jutting over her lolling breasts, swinging back and forth with his blows. Perhaps she'd provoked the cokehead too far, and he'd go right on until he beat her to death, but at least there was the hope she'd be unconscious by the time he attacked her with his penis.
It was Rita who saved Gail from more punishment. She was pulling at Cotton's shoulder, grasping at his penis, and saying, "What's wrong with you? Don't beat her up now. Fuck me, honey. Come on, I'm just dying for it! What the hell did she say?"
"You didn't hear her?" said Cotton, sweating and panting hard, fists balled and at the ready.
"Something about five dollars worth of Indians?"
"Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!" Laughter convulsed him and he held his belly and rolled sideways off Gail, onto Rita. The girl was laughing with him, near hysteria, and as they rolled and giggled on the bed, Gail was able to reach down and give herself the hard scratching she so badly needed. The relief she found was such that the bells stopped ringing and the stars stopped flaring in her head. With her left leg free, she squirmed her thighs together over her firmly massaging fingers, sighing and relaxing, not caring what happened now.
Rita's laughter had abruptly stopped. She was lying under Cotton's body, knees up and out, seeking with her crotch for the chuckling man's sex. "Cotton, help me. I can't reach it. Baby, I'm ready, I'm so goddamned ready and I can't reach you."
The pillow was snatched from under Gail's head. When Cotton raised his body, she could clearly see that neither his anger nor his laughter had diminished his hardness in any way. When Rita raised up to get the pillow under her girlish little buttocks, her arched and quivering posture was entirely womanly.
Gail saw the two of them join. She had a grandstand seat for this happening in her marital bed, and she somehow couldn't look away. She saw the dark-haired girl's diminutive body arched upward by the pillow, saw her twisted expression of animal lust, and saw her little hands spreading her slit wide for the approach of Cotton's penis. It looked huge. It looked at least ten inches long and as big around as the girl's wrist, upward-curving and fitted with that big red knob which had so often entered Gail's body, right where she was rubbing with her fingers.
"Stick it in, stick it right in, Cotton," the girl pleaded. "Fuck me. Love me."
"You'll get all you want, baby," he told her, as he held his stiff penis in his hand and rubbed its glistening wet head up and down the length of her open slit.
Rita looked very wet, but not as wet as Gail felt. Sloppy old pussy was indeed the correct term for the condition of Gail's vulva as she continued to work with her fingers on the assuagement of that widespread itching.
"Tight as a goddamned flea's ear," said Cotton, with his lean back undulating, with his penis beginning to disappear between the girl's outspread legs.
"Give it to me. Stick it all in me. Feels so fucking good!"
It didn't look as if it would fit. The girl was so tiny and Cotton's penis was so big that it just didn't seem possible she could accommodate him. Still, the entire head of his organ was within her reaching body now, and with the way she was holding her labia apart, it looked as if those lips were actively sucking him deeper inside her.
"Ahhh-h-h-h. Ahhhh. Oh, baby. So good. I just love your big old cock," she said, wriggling happily under him, and reaching around his neck with her arms now.
"Yeah-h-h-h," he said, and pushed it the rest of the way in, gloating down at his accomplishment until his red curls were nestled closely against her sparse, dark pubic hair. He turned his head to look at Gail, his yellow eyes smoldering, and said, "You're missing out on a good thing, Pale Gail, but I got a hunch you'll forget about that marital fidelity crap before we get out of here."
"Christ sake, Cotton! Move! Forget about her and fuck me!" said Rita.
He began an easy, loping stroke that had the girl clinging harder to him and gasping, "Oh, Jesus. Oh, that's good. Baby, you're the best fucker in the whole world!"
He had developed a little paunch on him since the last time Gail had seen him, but it fit very nicely against the hollow of Rita's stomach. She was so dainty and thin that her tummy was concave between the fragile ridges of her pelvis, and his hairy belly fit well against this smooth hollow. Her cheeks were hollow too as she laid there with her head thrown back and her mouth open, panting faster than the tempo of the slow strokes of the penis within her. Cotton was hunkered down against her now, with his hairy chest covering her right breast, but Gail could clearly see her left one. It was a tiny, teenaged breast, but the rhythmic hardenings and softenings of its nipple spoke volumes about the sexual maturity of the girl.
Cotton jerked the pillow out from under the undulating girl and threw it on the floor. "This is the way Pale Gail used to dig it the most," he said, and rolled them over on their sides.
The girl's back was to Gail. It was gleaming with a light film of perspiration, and its girlish muscles were convulsing under the movements of Cotton's scarred hands. Her olive-hued buttocks were as small as a boy's, as round as any girl's, and widely separated now with her legs being wrapped around the man who was coupling with her. Gail could see the brown puckered anus of the girl and the red hairy balls of the man, as well as each movement of the glistening wet penis going in and out of that very tight orifice of Rita's sex.
Again, she couldn't help but think of the many times that cock had been inside of her pussy. Perhaps the side position had been her favorite, but she couldn't recall any favorite just then. Looking back on her life with Cotton and the Imps, all the wild sex had been good. She'd been so much like the girl Cotton was now fucking, completely irresponsible, interested only in getting high, getting fucked, feeling loved. It had been a depraved, pointless life, but she'd been happy then. It had been a roller-coaster existence instead of the straight and narrow track she was now plodding along with her husband, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to go back to it. No household chores, no bills to pay, no more dull evenings in front of the television set. All it would take would be a smile from her and she'd be the one living on a sunny Mexican beach with Cotton and his ever-ready cock instead of the girl he was fucking. Pale Gail spread her legs to rub her pussy more directly while she dwelt on the joys she might know with Cotton. It was feeling terrific now, as if the cocaine had gotten into her bloodstream.
She planted her left foot solidly on the mattress, the better to push back at her moving fingers. She got one finger right on the quick of her clit and rotated it rapidly and firmly, puffing hard with the increasingly fast movements of the pair at her side. Rita was gasping and moaning and crying out in her joys so loudly that Gail was sure her own murmurs of contentment were going unnoticed, and she let herself go on toward an orgasm.
She hadn't masturbated for years, and now it felt so good that she wondered why she'd abstained. Her pussy and her fingers were sopping wet and excess juices were trickling down from her crack to lubricate her asshole. Her belly was palpitating and her tits were quivering with the movements of her hips and hand, as beside her, Rita exploded with the pounding of Cotton's hard cock.
"Cotton! Cotton, oh, Jesus! Cumming, really cumming GOOD! BABY, MAKE IT HAPPEN! CUM WITH ME! NOW, COTTON, NOW. AH! GAHHH-H-H-H! YESS-S-S-S! YES, YES, YESSS-S-S-s-s-s-s...."
Pale Gail orgasmed right along with her. Her pussy opened up like a flower, then began a series of convulsions and closings that she could feel throughout her body. Half helpless from the rope, using just one hand, she was orgasming as hard or harder than she ever had with her husband, or with any man for that matter, except perhaps Cotton Ronson. Only he could make her feel this way, and now she longed with all her heart and soul for the throbbing, pulsing, erupting cock that she was looking at to be plunging into her body instead of that of the girl. It was Gail who needed those thick fingers digging into her butt, those big balls slapping up between her sex-wet legs, that big, curving organ stabbing up into her cunt.
"I need it, I need it," she hotly murmured. "Fucking and sucking. Hell with everything else. Clancy's too good for me. Cotton. Rotten Cotton. Ahh-h-h-h. Nnn-n-n-ng. Oh, Cotton, Cotton ... Cotton...."
"Huh? Did somebody call?" he asked, peering over the shoulder of the wilting girl, grinning his wolf-grin.
"I didn't say a word," said Gail, returning her gaze to the ceiling, letting her hand go limp on her pube. "Now that you're through committing statutory rape again, will you please untie me?"
"I'm busy," he said, and the sound of his wet penis sliding out of that tight orifice sent a hot shiver through Gail's very warm body.
She continued to stare at the ceiling as new sounds assailed her ears. They were erotic sounds and familiar ones-the slurpings and smackings of Cotton Ronson's agile tongue, the oohs and aahs of a sexually sated girl who was being rearoused by a man with a lusty taste for a well-used vagina.
"Oh, Cotton, I just love it. Mmmm, you're doing me so good. Lick it, baby. Eat Mamma's cunt. Oh, shit, I'm gonna cum again for you. Yes! Oh, yes! YES, LICK IT, EAT IT, MAKE ME CUM! ONE MORE TIM-M-M-ME!"
Now the girl's outcries and the sex act being performed in the Harrigan bed didn't affect Gail at all. She felt as dirty and soiled as if it had been Cotton's penis inside her vagina instead of her sticky fingers. She was ashamed of herself for her masturbation, but even more ashamed for having even flirted with the notion of leaving Clancy for a man like Cotton Ronson. She'd go to a monastery for lifelong seclusion before she'd go with Cotton Ronson. She'd never leave Clancy, unless it was for his best interests. Her life had been sullied and dirtied forever by sins of the past which she could never obliterate, while Clancy was good and pure and innocent. She was entirely undeserving of him, and her lies of omission about her youth could never be atoned for. All she could do now was to protect Clancy's innocent goodness and his physical safety; her own welfare ran a very poor second to that of her husband.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cotton took his time about untying Gail and letting her up from the bed. He went out of his way to brush his used, wet penis over her as he released her ankle and wrist. As soon as she was released she briskly rose and left the bedroom, locked herself in the bathroom, and got into the shower. The hot water worked to loosen her cramped muscles while she massaged circulation back into her rope-burned limbs.
She was spitting a little blood from a cut inside her mouth, but an inspection in the mirror showed that Cotton's hands hadn't damaged her beyond giving her a slight black eye. Foundation make-up would hide the discoloration from a casual observer, but Clancy was sure to notice it. It meant lying to him, and Gail had had enough of that. Now she actively hoped that he would not come home that night. It was her mess, and even though he'd promised to protect her always, it was up to her to see things through on her own.
Gail wrapped a towel around herself, gathered up her new-found determination, and headed back to the bedroom. She'd survived Cotton's beating and his seduction attempt, and this gave her courage. Her vulva still itched from the application of the narcotic, but she felt that she could stand that now. Cotton was gone from the room, and Gail's relief at this was only temporary, for she immediately began worrying where he was at and what he was up to. Rita was under the sheet of Gail's bed again, sleeping soundly. Gail put on her most substantial old brassiere, an equally old pair of cotton panties, and her frumpiest housedress and went to look for Cotton. She found him in her kitchen, still naked, rummaging about in her open refrigerator.
"You can stay in the apartment for a few more days," she said, "but you can't make yourself at home in this house. Get some clothes on, sit down at the table, and I'll fix you and your little teenybopper some breakfast. Then get upstairs and stay there. But don't touch me again."
He turned and grinned. He was wearing his sunglasses again so she couldn't read his eyes as he smiled and said, "Yes, Mamma."
He sat at the table as bidden, and Gail ignored his nudity as she set about to prepare a meal. "You know," he said, "I'm really sorry about that time I turned in old Indian Archie. You know how it was, though. I was all strung out on reds and I didn't know what the hell I was doing half the time. I didn't think they'd hit him with five fucking years just for strong-arm robbery, and there was no way I could know he'd get snuffed while he was serving the time."
"Archie died in prison? I didn't know that."
"You didn't, eh? Goddamn you, you got a way of working information out of me. You're the only one in the world that knows I turned him in for that reward money. How do you worm these things out of me?"
"Cotton, I was only making conversation. Archie and you and the rest of it are completely out of my life now, or will be in another few days."
"I broke the code of honor and you know about it. I don't like that. It don't make me feel good."
"I couldn't care less what you did with your silly code of honor. I only brought it up to make you mad enough to leave me alone."
"Hey, I'm sorry I hit you. But you know, I'd kill somebody else who knew about what happened to Indian Archie. My code of honor means a lot to me. It's my life. I screwed it up one time, and I'll never do it again. You believe that, don't you? You know me better than anybody. You know how much my road brothers mean to me. For your sake, I hope you don't go spreading it around."
Gail broke eggs into a bowl and beat them. She poured them into a hot pan before she said, "Just who would I spread it around to? Lucifer's Imps are gone, Cotton. Indian Archie is dead, along with four or five of the others. Silly Willy was married and had two kids the last time I talked to him, and Grubby is climbing telephone poles instead of Harleys. God knows how many of the old Imps are in jail. Your gang is gone, Cotton. They're either dead or gone straight or in jail. The code of honor is dead too, and there's not a person in the world who gives a damn one way or the other about who got the reward money for a dead motorcycle thug. The Imps are gone, Cotton, and so is your little-boy code of honor. You've taken the emblem off your jacket, the next sensible thing to do would be to trade your cycle in on a VW bug and start selling insurance."
"I hate to hear you talk like that, Pale Gail. I really do. You never did understand the code of honor, did you?"
She slammed the frying pan down on the sink and said, "I understand that I used to be one of your road brothers. I understand that you're holding me a prisoner here, threatening my husband, screwing around with a minor child and working on a hard narcotics deal, all right in my house. My husband I could go to prison for what you're doing here. We could die there like Indian Archie did. If this is an example of your code of honor, I sure don't understand it!"
"Aw, this is different," he said, taking off his sunglasses to show her his sincerity. "This is a business deal."
"You're hopeless," she said, and slid the scrambled eggs onto a paper plate. "Just go right on living in the past. Get your little girl to sew your emblem back on and go out and be a one-man motorcycle gang till you're old and gray. Here. Take this food, that girl, and your clothes upstairs and out of my sight."
He rose and took her gently by the arm. His eyes were now glistening with his need to be believed, for certainly any tears had long since dried up in a body so depraved and debauched as Cotton Ronson's but his voice was husky with emotion as he said, "Gail, don't you think I know the gang is gone? It was great while it lasted, but it's all gone now. Fifteen years of riding with those fantastic bums, doing whatever the hell I wanted, telling the world to shove it, and now it's gone and I know it.
All's I got to show for it is a bunch of scars and a prison record, a pound of good coke, a dumb girl with a tight pussy, and my bike. Honey, I haven't got ten dollars in my pocket. I got to rip you off for a place to stay until my deal comes through. When it does, I'm gone to Mexico. With twenty grand, I can live on the beach for twenty years down there, hurtin' nobody, gettin' old, livin' on my memories of the good times, the wild times. If you tell me to leave right now, I'll leave. Me and Rita Bonita can get a hotel room for a couple of days. She can pay for it with her bod' until the man comes for the coke. Say the word and I'll split with her, right now. Or let us stay, and swear to God, you won't even know we're here."
She got two forks from a drawer and a quart of milk from the refrigerator. She sighed and handed them to him and said, "Get your dumb little girl and take her upstairs to eat this. I'll be up later for my silverware."
Gail Harrigan did her best to ignore the couple in her unfinished apartment, and she was not very successful at this. Doing her housework, she worried that Cotton and his girl friend would start sampling his wares again and turn the place into a shambles before coming down to harass her again. Doing her yard work, she could keep an eye on the place and see that it wasn't burning down, but each time she heard the slightest sound from up above, she gave a nervous start. She wanted them to be gone, so she could be up in the apartment, obliterating any trace of their presence. She was almost sorry she'd talked Clancy into building the apartment to begin with, for without it Cotton would have been content with terrorizing her, getting her to show the scar on her buttock, and departing for a more welcome place. She wanted to call his bluff and ask him to leave, but she knew if she'd done that, he wouldn't have left at all, and he wouldn't have donned his present facade as a knightly gentleman of honor. He would have stayed, and he would have made things as unpleasant for her as he possible could. She had to go on walking the tightrope, jumping at the slightest sound of laughter from the garage apartment, hoping for the best. It might take weeks after they were gone before she could forget about their presence.
Rita was reminding her of that presence at least every half hour. She was bored in the unfurnished, unpainted apartment, and coming to Gail in child-like fashion for diversion. Magazines, a checker game, Gail's set of hobby oil paints, all these and more were taken upstairs by the little gypsy-like girl, and none of them kept her content for long. Thirty minutes at the most, and down she'd come again to shyly ask for Gail's suggestions as to another amusement, and then she'd go skipping upstairs again with some new means of occupying herself. It was a bother, but Gail didn't mind it, even though the girl remained naked. Away from Cotton the girl was acting more her age. She was just a giddy little teenybopper, seeking excitement and diversions as a means of burning up her youthful energy. Gail didn't like to look ahead to the girl's future, but she couldn't help it.
If Cotton's plans went right, Rita Bonita wouldn't last long on a secluded Mexican beach. For days or for a few weeks, the shells and the water and the birds would amuse her, but those things and the dope Cotton would inevitably have would soon pall on her and she'd be begging him for a trip to the city. People meant trouble for Cotton, and he wouldn't last long in the city before he was in jail, and Rita with him. She could use her firm young body to eventually get out of jail, or at least to make her stay more comfortable, but it wouldn't be easy on her. If she survived at all, she'd be old before her time. That, however, was contingent upon Cotton's plans working out, but if they did, it would be for the first time in his planning life. Chances were that he wouldn't even get out of the city, twenty thousand dollars or no twenty thousand dollars. And with or without the money, he'd have little Rita turning kinky tricks with paying customers before she was old enough to vote. Though Gail had survived her stint as Cotton Ronson's Mamma, a lot of other girls hadn't, and Rita looked like she'd be included in his long list of losers in the game of life. But dumb as she was, Rita had chosen this route, and nothing Gail could do would change it. Gail wasn't in charge of Rita's life and Rita wasn't in charge of it; Cotton Ronson was pulling Rita's strings.
His silence from up above was ominous. Gail knew he was holding himself in check after the scolding she'd given him, and it wasn't his nature to hold himself back for long. The longer he contained himself, the bigger the explosion would be when his volatile personality came to the fore again, as it certainly would. Gail was walking a tightrope with a napalm bomb dangling over her blonde head, and she couldn't even look up at it. She just went on pulling weeds.
She hadn't realized how far out of hand the garden had gotten. A rank growth of weeds was sprouting behind the fuchsias, and Gail crawled in after them. Her head was deep within the flower bed and her knees were on the dichondra lawn as she yanked out the unwanted vegetation, and she didn't hear any footfalls from behind to announce the presence of the hand that slid up under her skirt to squeeze her upraised fanny.
"Goddamn it, Cotton, cut that out!" she snapped, backing out, and going cold with the thought that it might be her playful husband, home early from his work.
It was neither Cotton nor Clancy. The owner of that stealthy hand was Tommy Simmons. He stood on the lawn with his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his bare feet, grinning mischievously, with that bulge again present in his cut-offs.
Gail glared venomously at his wavering grin and said, "I thought I told you not to come back."
"But you didn't cancel your paper. I saved it for last today because I wanted to come by and say I was sorry for what I did yesterday.
"And you tried to do it again today. You sneaked right in here and put your hands on me when I wasn't looking."
"I couldn't help it. You're just too sexy, Mrs. Harrigan ... Gail. Anyway, I'm sorry for what I did yesterday. And today too. That's what I came by to tell you. I'll be good from now on."
"Are you sure you didn't come by to smoke another joint with me and see if you could talk me into going to bed with you?"
"Wow, that'd be far out! Let's go in and do it! I bought two whites for fifty cents today. We could really get high and you could show me how to do it! I mean, you know, how to screw!"
Gail shook her head ruefully. "You'll be good from now on, will you? Speed in your pocket and a hard-on for one of your customers in your pants. Get out of here, Tommy. My subscription is cancelled."
"Aw, Mrs. Harrigan," he pleaded, and was doing a good job of looking forlorn until Rita Bonita's voice chirped from the bottom of the stairs.
"Hi. What's going on? You canceling your newspaper, Pale Gail? How come? Don't you like what you read in it?"
She came sauntering across the lawn toward them, hands on hips, swinging her shoulders. She had a sweet smile and look of interest on her pretty face, but she was still completely naked. Tommy Simmons stood under the acacia tree and stared at her. He looked as if he'd been turned to stone, except that a fine flush of pink was spreading up out of the neck of his T-shirt. Even if she'd had on a long dress, Rita might have stunned him just as effectively. She looked terrifically pretty with her tiny, olive-skinned body all nude and natural, with her diminutive, brown-tipped breasts on display, and with only the thin veil of black covering her pubis, but her face alone would have been enough to stop Tommy's clock. It was her smile that was the focal point here. Her dark eyes were lilting and her thick, wavy hair framed it, and the smile sparkled dazzling white and pure, innocently happy and appealing. Even Gail was enthralled for a moment by the sight of this dark little nymphet mincing through the green, but it was only for a moment.
"Tommy, this is one of our nudist friends I was telling you about. Please excuse her. She's been running around without clothes since she was a little girl, and she doesn't realize it offends some people. You'd better run along now, Tommy."
"It doesn't offend me," he said, as his face and his grin came slowly to life.
"Well, it offends me," said Gail. "You're a little sex fiend and she's a little sex pot, and I'm not about to have you two rubbing sparks off each other on my property. Get on your bike and go, Tommy. And, Rita, get upstairs and don't come down until you've got some clothes on."
She said it sternly enough that Tommy swayed back in the direction of the gateway. He would have left, but for Rita's balling her fists on her hips and defiantly sticking out the tip of her pink tongue at Gail. "Make me," said the girl. "You just make me go upstairs and we'll see what Cotton does to you."
"What's going on here? What's the hassle?" It was Cotton coming down the stairs from the garage apartment, wearing his sunglasses and his crusty Levi's. He had that smooth, no-nonsense look about him, and for the first time since he'd arrived, Gail was glad to see him. With either a threat or cajolery, he'd have Tommy pedaling out of there in no time, for there was no way Cotton Ronson would jeopardize his dope deal. Unless, of course, Cotton had been dipping into that snuff box again, in which case there was no telling what he'd do.
But he seemed quite self-possessed as he strolled toward Tommy, causing the boy to shuffle back a few steps before Cotton stopped with his arm about Rita's waist.
Gail quickly cued him. "I was just telling Tommy that he'd better leave and not say anything about Clancy and I having you two nudists as our houseguests. We certainly don't want to have a flock of spectators on the other side of the hedge while you and Rita are sunbathing."
Cotton nodded and said, "Yeah, you better get out of here, kid." His lips hardly moved, and the sound came from out of his chest.
"Sure. I was just goin'," Tommy said, shuffling backward, looking longingly at Rita as she stood with her lower lip thrust mournfully out at him. Tommy was at the gate, almost out of there, when he tore his gaze from Rita to ask, "Is that your bike in the garage, sir?"
Cotton took a step forward and said, "What if it is? And what're you doing sneakin' looks in there?"
"Nothing! I didn't mean to. I just ... I just happened to look through the crack in the door and I saw the chrome. It sure looks good. What is it, one of thse big Hondas? A 750?"
"It's a Harley, man. You wouldn't catch me on one of those crummy little Jap bikes."
"Is it a chopper?"
"Your fuckin' A it's a chopper. It's an eighty-four bored out to ninety, and that's cubic inches, not cc's. Suicide clutch, ape hangers, full rake. It'll do a hundred and forty and still have some left."
"Wow! Could I see it? I mean, up close?"
"Sure. Why not? C'mon in this side door and have a look."
"Cotton, I think Tommy had better just go," said Gail.
"Let the kid see my iron. There's not many like it left on the road no more. C'mon, Tommy. Have yourself a look and then split."
Tommy was looking at Rita as Cotton opened the door, and Rita was inviting his look. She'd turned bashful coquette now, lacing her fingers before the plump triangle of her loins, pushing her little breasts closer together with her upper arms. Tommy sighed and rolled his eyes as he went past her. She and an anxious Gail followed him into the garage.
"Ouch!" said Cotton. "Look out for nails in your bare feet, Rita. Pale Gail's got this building shit spread out all over the place. Well, there she is, Tommy. Quite a machine, eh? I've been some places and done some things with this old hog that you wouldn't believe. I just got it out of storage and it's got a couple of rust spots on the chrome, but they'll polish out and it'll be cherry again. Lot of miles left on this here machine, a lot more good road to burn up with it."
"Boy, that's really something!" Tommy exclaimed, crouching down to look at it, with his back turned to Rita and Gail. "It's really big! And it'll do a hundred and forty?"
"Erasy. It'll do more than that. It'll take me anywhere I want to go, and once I get there, it'll help me find new friends and old. Feed it a little gas and oil, keep it tuned up and clean, and it'll never let me down. A man's bike is the one true friend he's got."
Tommy went around to the other side, oohing and aahing. He looked up through the chromed spokes at the coyly smiling Rita and said, "And you and your father go around to different nudist camps and things on this?"
Cotton laughed and laughed, and Rita joined him. He was doubled over with his mirth, and Rita was laughing along with him, arm hooked about his neck, giggling and tittering. Tommy was giggling too, and asking, "What's so funny?" Gail sat down on a nail keg and rested her head in her hands.
"You thinking she's my daughter, that's what's so funny, said Cotton. "She's my woman. She's my lamb. And I oughta kick your ass for thinkin' she's my kid. Show him you're not my daughter, baby. Slip me some tongue."
Rita leaned forward against him, bent back her head, and opened her mouth. Cotton rubbed his hairy chest against her bare breasts as he hovered over her, licking his lips. Her tongue came out to beckon him. He ran his hands down her arms to her slender hips, and as he cupped her small round buns in his hands, her hands slid up to lace behind his neck. The touched the tips of their tongues together and Cotton began a slow, humping movement with his hips that was met with a grinding, circular movement of hers. Their heads tilted, their tangling tongues drew them closer, and their mouths merged into deeply probing, heavily suctioning kiss.
"Wow," Tommy murmured, and turned his grin at Gail, who replied to it by gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb. Tommy returned to looking at the kissing couple.
Cotton ended the kiss, took Rita's hand in his, and guided it to the bulge in his jeans. She squeezed and massaged it as Cotton spoke to the boy. "Does your Pop kiss your sister like that?"
"Man, I never seen anybody kiss like that! Man oh man!"
Cotton chuckled and said, "Okay, show's over.
You better split, kid, and keep your mouth shut about what you seen here."
"Are you kidding?" said Tommy, rising. "I didn't see a thing. I didn't see zilch. Oh, and here," he said, reaching into his pocket, coming up with a crumpled marijuana cigarette. "It's something I picked up by Pale Gail's porch yesterday. I figured maybe it was yours. If you didn't drop it, keep it anyway. It's far-out. stuff, man; it's a good doobie."
Cotton put his hand on the back of the boy's neck and ruffled his long sandy hair. He pulled him closer, forming a tight, open triangle of bodies, with Rita's nudity at the apex of that triangle. "You're okay, Tommy. You're honest. What do you call 'em now? Doobies? Keep it, kid. And if there's anything else we can do for you, name it. I dig a kid who's not a thief."
Tommy looked down at the bare brown flesh he was being pulled against, at the black eyes smiling up at him. He gulped and sighed and said, "I sure would like to sit on your bike for a minute."
Cotton stepped away and opened the gas cock, leaving Tommy and Rita standing very close and communicating with calves' eyes. He kicked the starter-BOW-WHOOOM!-and both teenagers rocked backward and clung to each other more tightly. He had to shout above the thundering racket in the garage.
"BOTH OF YOU CLIMB ON IT. SHOW HIM HOW, RITA BONITA."
The heavily vibrating machine remained upright on its kickstand while Tommy climbed into the saddle, with Rita right behind him. The boy reached up and gingerly closed his hands around the grips, the girl slid her arms around his torso and wriggled her bottom down in the double seat, and Cotton came over to squat beside Gail. He put a hand on her knee, cupped the other near her ear, and said, "You remember how that feels?"
Gail remembered it very well, for she could distinctly feel the gutty vibrations of the big engine in the pit of her stomach, in the quiverings of her thighs and breasts. She knew that Rita could feel them even more, leaning back against the narrow chromed roll bar, with her bare sex pressed up against Tommy's thinly covered spine. As firm as her youthful flesh was, it could be seen quivering and vibrating with the heavy thrumming of the motor, and the slow smile on her face and the languid look in her eyes mutely spoke of how it was affecting her.
With her bare feet on the rests and her knees angled up like a grasshopper's, she was wriggling her little bottom on the leather seat, getting still closer to the source of the deepest vibrations. Her hands moved on Tommy's belly, shifting the thin cotton of his shirt around, then sliding it up to roam over his bare skin. His eyes were fixed straight ahead and there was a glazed smile on his face. He was moving the handlebars slowly, not so much to turn the front wheel, but to softly work his back against the two little breasts pressed up against him.
He held his legs wider apart and a look of joyful anguish came over his face as Rita's fingers brushed the rosy flesh which had appeared over the top of his shorts, and Rita snuggled closer still. Yes, Gail remembered very clearly how it felt to be riding behind Cotton Ronson on that bike, and she rose and moved away from him to cut the ignition and silence the din.
"Okay, Tommy, tine to go now," she said.
He completely ignored her, turning to Cotton and saying, "Are you a Hell's Angel?"
"Better'n that. Lucifer's Imps," the man announced as he stood up. "But the Angels are okay. They're my brothers."
"I knew you weren't a nudist. Your skin's too pale for that."
"So you're a smart kid. You smart enough to know what that little bike ride did to Rita Bonita? Climb off and I'll show you."
They both got off. Rita had a breathless look about her, as if they'd been going a hundred miles an hour. "Feel of her pussy, kid," said Cotton. "Go on, stick your fingers in her cunt."
"Cotton-n-n-n," Rita admonished, but she wasn't at all shy about opening her legs and tilting up her pelvis.
Tommy wiped his hand on his pants and looked to Cotton for confirmation of the license he'd been given. Cotton nodded, and the boy placed his hand on Rita's side. His fingers were shaking as they crept down through the shallow valley of her groin. She watched the progress of his hand, lower lip held in her white teeth, hands held under her breasts. Her buttocks clenched and wriggled as his middle finger touched the top of her prim little slit. His fingers stopped their shaking as he pushed them lower, two of them curling to follow the curve of her tenderly yawning groins, one sinking softly into her slit.
"She's all wet!" Tommy announced.
"Yeah," said Cotton. "The bike gets to 'em every time. How does it feel, kid?"
"Like cream! Like hot cream inside of warm marshmallows. Jeez!"
"Cotton-n-n-n, make him stop," said Rita, softly moving her hips to meet the slow probings of Tommy's fingers. "It's gettin' me all horny."
"Just shut up. You love it. See how hot a bike gets a chick, Tommy-boy? It does it every time. It makes a guy horny too. Shit, I got a hard-on half the time I'm on my iron. You got a hard-on, kid? Rita Bonita, check him out. See what he's got in his jeans."
"Jesus, Cotton, the things you ask me to do," said the girl.
Her face had a sulky look on it, but her hands were more than eager as she popped open the buttons of Tommy's cut-offs. He was wearing white Jockey shorts underneath, and as Rita petulantly pushed the ragged denim off his hips, his hips jerked back and he gasped for breath, but he didn't stop fingering Rita Bonita.
"Hold still so we can see what you've got in there," she said.
She stretched out the elastic waistband of his shorts, looked inside, and giggled. "He's sure got a stiffie," she announced, "but it's just a little old thing compared to yours, Cotton."
"Two-inch Tommy. Well, let's have a look at it. Pull his shorts down and let's see it. Pale Gail always liked to see a new cock."
Gail said, "Cotton, I think this has gone far enough. I...."
"Shut up!" he snapped, with sudden fierce authority. "Get your fat ass over there and take the kid's shorts down and show us his prick. Move, woman! Now!"
Although Rita glared hatefully at her, Gail did as she was told. Cotton was in no mood to be crossed; the napalm bomb was close to her, and it was warm.
Gail's newspaper boy was tensed and trembling as she eased his tight Jockeys down over his slim white hips. He smelled of youthful sweat and excitement. His stiff penis hung up on the elastic, making a tent of his shorts, until Rita obligingly reached inside to hold it while she plucked the waistband down over it. Tommy stood there gasping and twitching while the girl held his stiff white penis in his hand and the woman peeled his shorts down to his ankles.
"Well, you got more than two inches," said Cotton. "Maybe five. Pull back the skin on it. No, not you, Rita. Gail wants to do it."
Rita had already drawn back the boy's foreskin. Now she obediently pushed it back into its former snug position and reluctantly took her hand from him. Tommy was no longer feeling with his fingers in her slit. He was too excited for that. He had one of his shaking arms around the small of the naked girl's back, pulling her closer as she softly rubbed her loins against his hipbone. Gail saw this as she straightened up from the lowering of Tommy's shorts. She maintained an icy calm as she took his hard, hot flesh in her hand and quickly jerked back the skin. Cotton laughed as the boy gasped aloud and clutched convulsively at Gail's waist, sandwiching himself between the two females.
"Now you look like an Imp," said Cotton. "A beautiful chick on each side of you, and your crank sticking up like a pole. Welcome to the club, Two-Inch Tommy. Give him a kiss, girls, both of you, a nice big fat one."
Tommy's head was swiveled about by Rita's hand and in a moment he was clumsily imitating Cotton's open-mouthed kiss on the girl's widely parted lips, With the boy's throbbing penis in her hand, Gail said, "Let you stay, and I won't even know you're here. That's what you told me, Cotton, not two hours ago."
"Aw, hell. It's all in fun. And if we're good to the kid, he's not about to talk. Just kiss him and you can go back to your dirty dishes."
"Cotton, I don't want to kiss him."
The man's smile vanished and he said, "I made him a promise. Kiss him. Kiss him good. It won't kill you."
Gail turned her face from him. The youngsters were still kissing, but in a very adult fashion. Tommy was learning quickly, mouthing and sucking quite energetically on Rita's willing mouth, and groping his hand over her little breasts while she raked her fingernails up and around under his T-shirt. Cotton had to tell them to quit or they'd have gone on till dark. Rita drew back slowly, her red lips sticking to Tommy's pink ones, her tongue reaching for his. She gave him a slow wink as they closed their mouths and grinned, and he kept looking at her from the corner of his eye as he turned toward the mature blonde housewife.
"Get it while you can, Two-Inch Tommy," said Cotton, and the boy put his arm about Gail's shoulders and pulled her into a kiss. She could taste Rita's lipstick on him, and the high state of excitement in him as he stabbed and probed between her lips with his tongue. He drew his other arm from around Rita's waist and grabbed handfuls of Gail's firmly covered breasts, breathing hard through his nostrils and turning to face her more directly.
But then he stopped in his turning and was drawn back a bit. Instead of the hard penis she'd expected to kiss her skirted loins, Gail felt a soft but rapid movement between them. Through her slitted eyes, she saw Rita's face at the point of Tommy's shoulder, gently biting it while she reached around in front of him. The boy was clutching harder at Gail, making increasingly urgent noises in his throat, and all but bouncing up and down in his excitement.
"Go to it, Rita Bonita!" Cotton gleefully said, and then roared with laughter as Gail felt the boy's embrace tighten even more, felt his mouth mash harder against hers, and tasted a great rush of purely sexual flavor.
"Mmm! Mm mm! MMMM!" he moaned through the kiss, his body twitching and jerking, his movements all uncoordinated now.
Heedless of Cotton's orders, Gail wrenched away from the gasping boy and headed out the garage door. She was halfway across the little yard when he called after her, "You better do some laundry instead of those dishes. Throw that dress in the washer and bring out some of your old man's beer."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gail walked into her house, went straight to the telephone, and dialed the first three digits of the police station number before she hung up the receiver. She slumped with her head resting against the kitchen wall until Tasha's rubbings at her ankle made her stir.
"With all this fuss, you've been hiding out. I don't blame you. I wish I could hide out. Are you hungry? How about a nice raw egg?"
The cat mewed its agreement to this and Gail went to the refrigerator. She whipped up the egg and put the bowl next to the cat's dish of dried food. Tasha looked up in thanks and began to lap it up. Gail watched, smiling again, as she unzipped her dress. She slithered it over the swells of her hips and down her long legs, and took it to the trash basket, not the washing machine. At the kitchen sink, she washed her face and hands very thoroughly. She inspected her bare thighs and her cotton panties for any sign of wetness that might have come from her dress, found none, and decided to take a shower anyway. Then she would change into a sweat shirt and a pair of long, baggy pants. She was heading for the bathroom when the telephone rang.
It was Clancy, telling her of his problems at work, telling her he missed her and loved her. Gail was warmly telling him how she missed him when a finger running up her spine sent cold electricity jangling through her.
It had to be Cotton Ronson. He smirked in answer to her glare and strolled over and scooped up the furry white cat as Gail went on talking. He made a choking sign with his hand around his neck, then pointed at Gail, then closed his hand around the neck of the struggling cat.
She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and hissed, "Don't you hurt that cat! Put her down!"
"Hell, she's the one hurtin' me. Is that your old man? Play it smart with him or the cat snuffs."
"Yes, Clancy ... Oh, I've been busy all day. I'm going to sleep like a rock tonight ... No, I haven't started yet, but don't get your hopes up too high ... Don't worry about it, dear. Your work comes first, and it would be foolish to drive all the way back tonight and then have to go right back in the morning ... Yes, I'll be careful ... Yes, I love you too. Good-bye, dear."
She hooked the receiver and clung to it for a moment. Cotton let the cat slip from his arms, and she immediately returned to her egg. He approached Gail saying, "What was that about getting his hopes up? What didn't you start yet, Pale Gail?"
"My period. I might be pregnant."
"Oh, yeah? Sure doesn't feel like it," he said, slipping his hand around her waist and down inside her loose cotton panties. "You shoulda told me yesterday. I would have punched you harder. You want to have his kid? How come you never wanted to have mine?"
"Because Clancy's a man."
Strong, blunt fingers deepened into the softness of Gail's belly, and he said, "We'll see how much of a man he is when he shows up." His hand relaxed at once and began soothing over Gail's flesh, smoothing away the soreness as he leaned close against her back and spoke gently at her ear. "I'm sorry, Gail. I can't help gettin' mad when I think of you married to somebody else. You know you were the only one I really loved out of all of them, and there was a lot. You're worth twenty dumb little Ritas. I didn't bring her by to show her your tattoo; I came by to see you myself, just to look at you one more time. And that one time hooked me. Gail, we could make it again. It's not too late. No more wild ways for me. Say the word, I'll dump the coke down the toilet and go get me a job pumping gas. Corporation president, bank robber, movie star, I'd be anything you wanted me to be," he said, as he softly and sensuously moved his fingers through the blonde curls in Gail's panties. "What say, kid? What say?"
"Would you take your hand off my stomach, please? I don't want anyone like you that close to my husband's son."
He grabbed a handful of her hair and squeezed-hard. She hissed in pain, but she didn't cry out. He whipped out his hand, took a handful of the seat of her panties, and ripped it away from her. He swatted her hard on that bare spot with his palm and snarled, "Go get us that goddamned beer, you dumb twat. And serve it to us just like you are." He ripped the telephone off the wall, tugged and pulled and ripped off one of her bra straps, and went stalking off toward the front door of the house.
Gail wearily got out the tray and set three cans of beer on it. Her bra strap was dangling down in front of her and the warm summer air was kissing her bare buttocks through the wide hole in her panties as she went to serve her guests.
Cotton was just taking off his pants as Gail emerged from the house. Rita and Tommy were both lying on the grass, nude, a yard apart, on their sides, gazing and smiling at each other as they plucked at the leaves of the lawn.
"Bring it on over here. Hurry it up," Cotton called. "Here comes the suds, kids, and there's plenty more where that came from. See here? All you gotta do is pull this here strap and the life-size doll runs to fetch it. I'll show you."
He gave short little tugs to Gail's hanging bra strap until he'd succeeded in peeling the white cup down over her far whiter breast, baring the big pink areola and the embarrassingly erect nipple. Laughing, groping, he covered it up again and invited Tommy to test the impromptu bell-cord. The boy's interest in Rita quickly vanished as he got up on his knees to tug and tease down the cup once again.
"Push this big pink button and she does a dance. Turn around, Gail. You reach around in this here crack till you find the right spot, and she whistles Dixie."
Tommy and Cotton laughed uproariously and took turns probing in the depths between Gail's buttocks while she stood there and took it. Now she was sorry she'd so provoked Cotton in the kitchen, but she'd had to do it at the time, for his persistence and his expertly moving hands had come very close to breaking down her dwindling will to resist the temptations of the flesh. Even now those fingers moving so close to her sex were making her want to squirm her legs open to afford greater access to the fingers behind her. Her pussy was itching, without-the irritant of the cocaine.
"Christ' sake, gimme a beer," said Rita in a sullen voice.
"Gail, make us a table like that spade chick did at Sunset Beach. Move it."
Gail set down the tray and silently got on her hands and knees on the grass. Her back was deeply swayed, her breasts and her head hung down, her golden hair touching the green grass. Her flat palms were directly under her shoulders and her knees were a foot apart-until Cotton nudged them to twice that distance with his bare foot.
Cotton said, "Take a look, Two-Inch Tommy. Do you see where that button could be? Damned if I can, but we could poke around till we find it. You'll like the way she whistles."
They were laughing and getting closer to her between her bare, splayed legs when Rita said, "That's really a shitty thing to do to a chick. Why do you stand still for it, Pale Gail?"
"Because Cotton threatened me. He said he'd kill my cat, my husband, and me if I didn't play his stupid games."
"That's a goddamned lie!" Cotton exploded. "I wouldn't threaten a road brother that way! She wouldn't hold still for it if she didn't get a boot out of it. Right, Gail? Hell, we played shittier games than this when we were on the road, and old Pale Gail was always right in the middle of 'em. Right?"
Oh, God, she thought, he's right. Whatever happened to those poor dumb cycle groupies that I used to talk into humiliating themselves in worse ways than this? It's part of the initiation, Sandy or Cindy or Sally or Sue. You won't get hurt, and then you can rise with us. It's kicks, kid. I went through it myself to join the Imps, and I still do it now and then just for the turn-on of it.
Gail had never gone through any initiation rite other than climbing into Cotton Ronson's bedroll with him. To her those tales of orgiastic initiation ceremonies were all made up for the benefit of the sensational press, and for the kicks the guys could get with impressionable girls. She'd gotten a few kicks herself from watching some of the sexual abuse the girls had been put to, but those kicks and her entire fascination with the renegade cyclists had ended that morning on Sunset Beach with the black chick turned gray from an overdose of heroin, still breathing, but not feeling the cigarette burns that were sprinkled over her body like diseased leeches. Where was she now, and what had been her name? What kind of marks did the other girls still bear? How much worse were they than that smooth, shiny scar on her buttock? How had she managed to escape from that life so easily, and what else would she do to keep the napalm bomb behind her quietly smoldering instead of rampantly exploding?
A cold beer can set in the small of her back shocked her into an answer to Cotton's last query.
"Right. I was right in the middle of things."
"And you don't mind playing the game now, do you, Pale Gail? In fact, you'd get a big charge out of it. Right?"
She nodded her hanging head. "Right."
"Christ' sake, gimme a joint, Cotton," said Rita in disgust.
A match was struck, and Gail knew it was Tommy whose hands were probing about inside her seatless panties, clumsily exploring the delicate flesh in the long deep curving valley of her sex. With one hand resting on her left buttock, he was reaching up between her legs to the top of her pubic hair, pressing his wrist up against her vulva and perineum. Then he'd pull it down, seeking and delving for the imaginary button with his hot little fingers. She could feel his breath against her legs as he crouched to peer at her sex and she knew if she looked down between her breasts she could see his flushed and fascinated face framed between the whiteness of her tapered thighs. He was disgusting, he was clumsy, he was inept, but he was touching her in the places most vulnerable to her resistance, and her resistance was weakening.
With a double thump, Cotton dropped to his knees beside her. He held a smoldering marijuana cigarette under her face and said, "You want a hit, Pale Gail?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Maybe you'll change your mind. I'll just leave it here on the grass under your face so you can smell it. That'll leave me both hands free to push some big pink buttons. I'll just cut this other brassiere strap with my knife-so-and let 'em all hang out. No shit, Gail, you got the nicest tits I ever saw in my life. One of 'em fills both my hands, and they're still as nice and firm as when you were a teenager. How you doin' back there, Two-Inch? You think she's getting hot?"
"She's sure gettin' wet, man! And you can't call me Two-Inch any more. I ain't never had a hard-on like this!"
"Keep it up, she loves it. You can ring her bells up here pretty soon. Wow, them old nips are really up hard, eh, Gail? You're really diggin' this, and that's a fact. Right?"
She nodded her head. "Right," she croaked.
There was no use lying to herself or to him-she did dig it. The smoke from the smoldering joint was collecting under the curtain of her hair and filling her lungs with its pungent aroma, but that couldn't be blamed for how she was feeling. Her nipples were hard and tingling from Cotton's rough tweaking and fingering, and her slit was wet from end to end from Tommy's sliding hand. It didn't have to be Cotton and Tommy doing this to her. It could have been two total strangers, two mechanical robots caressing her most erogenous zones, and her response would have inevitably been the same.
Gail was quite helpless to quell the rising flood of desire in her healthy young body. Primitive response mechanisms were being aroused to pump passion-heated blood through her veins in preparation for the rutting act. Her limbs felt too heavy to move, and her belly sagged lower as the hands sought and found the keys to civilization's locks on lust. The butt under her face smoldered on, smelling like incense now, making her eyelids droop and her mouth go slack. Still the hands toyed with her sex, joined by lips and tongues now, and Gail's lips were slowly being drawn back into a grin by the warm luxury spread by those hands.
"Look at her," came Tommy's voice. "I don't even have to move my hand. She's just rockin' back and forth to move her cunt against it!"
Cotton whinnied and said, "Our little rocking horse. Tear open her pants some more so we can see her bare-back."
The wetness on Tommy's fingers was smeared across Gail's buttocks as he enlarged the hole in the seat of her panties until there was no seat at all in them. Her bottom was completely bare; nothing was left of her panties but" the elastics encircling her waist and thighs, and the ragged-edged front panel of the flimsy old garment. Her brassiere dangled limp and empty about her waist. Cotton squatted beside her, stiff penis searing her arm, and fondled and toyed with her heavy breasts. Tommy lay on the grass between her feet, cheek resting against her calf, as he moved his finger in and out of her vagina, reaching around her thigh with his other hand to play with her clitoris. The marijuana cigarette was close to going out. She reached over and picked it up, blew on its end to get the glow going, and took a very deep drag on it and held the smoke in her lungs.
"Pretty good shit, eh?" said Cotton.
She nodded. "Mm-hm."
"Suck it up, baby. It's balling grass. You about ready for some cock now?"
She sighed out a thin cloud of smoke and said, "You're gonna do it sooner or later. Might as well be now."
"You don't sound like you want it very much."
"You know how I feel about you."
"I know how you like to fuck, too. I know how you used to want my cock in you all the time, all the time, and how goddamned good it used to make you feel."
"Fuck me if you want to fuck somebody!" said Rita. "She doesn't want you!"
"Shut your mouth, punk," he said. "Shut up and go inside. Take Two-Inch Tommy with you, if he wants to go."
Tommy didn't want to go. He was far too fascinated with his explorations of the mature sex of the lovely blonde housewife so close before him to listen to Rita's whining pleas, and the girl flounced off by herself to the house. The boy had two fingers of one hand up her vagina now, and the thumb of the other probing at the puckered mouth of her anus. His hands seemed quite experienced by now. They were holding Gail at a plateau of sexual excitement that had her dizzy and panting and sweating, and that made her all the more vulnerable to Cotton Ronson's smooth voice.
"I know you want me to fuck you, Pale Gail. I know you want me to slide this big cock of mine right up inside your hot pussy."
"Then do it. Just do it and get it over with."
"I want to hear you say it, baby. I don't want to do something you don't really want. You know? I'd feel mean. It wouldn't be good. But, Jesus, it sure would feel good to slip this hard cock to you just one more time."
Just one more time, she murmured. "Do you want it?"
She nodded. It was her body speaking, not her brain.
"I couldn't hear ya, honey. You want what?"
"You know. Jesus, Cotton!"
"Well, don't get mad. This is no time to get mad at me. I just want to make you feel good, honey. You just tell me what you want, and I'll do it. Anything at all. Just for you."
"Put it in me."
"Hmm?"
"Fuck me, Cotton. Stick your hard cock in me. Goddamn, you got me so hot I can't think about anything else in the whole fucking world but cock!"
"Really hot, are you?"
"Fuckin' right, I'm hot. Twat juice runnin' down my legs. That little motherfucker sure did learn fast about how to finger-fuck. C'mon, Cotton. I'm really ready. Give it to me, baby. Slip that big fat cock of yours right up my cunt before I go outta my fuckin' head."
"That's the way I like to hear you talk. That's the Pale Gail I used to know. Shit. A couple of years don't change a person except a little bit on the outside. This reminds me of that party we had in...."
Gail quickly pushed herself up on her knees and swatted the boy's hands from her. She swept back her long blonde hair and snapped, "You motherfucker, what're you trying to do to me? Are you gonna fuck me or are you gonna talk? Did they turn you into a goddamned fairy in prison, or do you still like cunt?"
"I'll show you how much of a goddamned fairy I am!" he said, and pushed her back down again and went around behind her.
She smiled and closed her eyes as she felt him parting the plump wet pads of flesh at either side of her gaping cunt with his thumbs. She was on her knees and elbows now, resting her chin on her crossed forearms, snoxxhite ass high in the air, blood-pink nipples nestled in the grass. When she felt him fit the head of his hot cock against her hole, she moved to put her forehead on her arms, and her grin broadened as she watched the whole, curving length of cock disappear inside her hungering body until his big, hairy balls were dangling down between her smoothly shaven thighs.
He'd pushed it in fast and hard, exactly as she'd wanted him to do. Her remark about his becoming a fairy in prison had provoked his anger just to the proper point so that his hands were exactly rough enough as they dug deep into the softness of her buttocks. He was feeding it to her good and fast. The deep strokes of his big cock were stretching her clitoris down toward her hole, and BANG, she had that first badly needed orgasm before he'd been in her for ten seconds.
"You cum, didn't you?" he panted. "I could feel you tighten up. I made you cum, didn't I?"
"Just shut up and fuck me," she panted back, looking down past her wobbling white breasts as he took his turn at obeying her. Her juices were clearly visible now as they glistened down her inner thighs, and the movements of her triangular blonde pelt were altogether erotic as it was penetrated again and again by that long, hard cock. This wasn't the slow, luxurious coupling she'd grown used to in the past months, it was the wild, exciting fucking she'd known as a girl, and she wanted it to last forever.
"Raise up. Lemme feel your tits a little, Pale Gail."
She turned her head to see that the owner of the pleading voice and the burrowing hands was Two-Inch Tommy, and she grinned at him and pushed her torso up with her hands. It made her hotly frictioning cunt fit even tighter around the driving piston in it, and it allowed Tommy to get his cunt-smelling hands on her tits. At this point, that wasn't enough.
She pulled him down on the grass, got him to lie on his back with his face up under her, and shook her shoulders from side to side as she lowered her breasts on him.
BANG! She went off again. She was panting hard and fast against the shoulder of the boy who was sucking her tits, and feeling every hot inch of cock that was plunging in and out of her cunt.
BANG ... BANG ... BANG ... The orgasms were coming steadily now, one after the other in such rapid succession that they all blended into a continuously flowing state of ecstasy of the same kind she'd so often felt while speeding through a hot desert on the back of a blasting Harley, stoned out of her skull on acid and rubbing her twat against the hard spine of a rough, tough stud who knew no fear. Her body was quivering and shaking all over from the spasms as he rocked her back and forth on her knees to meet the deeply stabbing penetrations of his steely hot cock. The avid suckings of the kid at her tits were good for a bit of added titillation, but it was that big hot cock that was doing the real job on her.
Nothing mattered at all. She'd at last reached that dreamed-of state of perpetual pleasure, reaching on as endlessly as a smooth, fast highway reached toward the blazing afternoon sun. The cock in her was infinitely big, infinitely pleasing-and then she felt it grow bigger still with that first convulsive orgasmic swelling that sent her soaring up into the burning ball of the sun.
"Oh, baby! UNGH, UNGH, UNGH!"
"FUCK IT! FUCK IT, YOU HORNY BASTARD!"
The kid sucking her tits was nothing but a nuisance now. She got upright on her arms, popping a nipple out of his puckered mouth, humping her back. Not many more of the good hard strokes left, and she had to make the most of them.
His cock was slipping more easily in her now, lubricated with his semen, and she clamped down and squeezed on it with all her strength, tensing all her muscles to hold in the tremendous ripplings of joy that were coursing through her.
"FUCK! FUCK!" she chanted, and he picked up the flagging tempo, dug his fingers deeper into her hips, and hit bottom with the head of his tool, stretching her clit to the utmost, giving her that last push into the burning ball of the sun, and hauling her back and holding them together, as with the last of her strength she ground her soft ass against his hard thighs, holding in all the vast pleasure with the tightness of her quivering cunt.
CHAPTER NINE
Every muscle in Gail's body relaxed with the blossoming open of her cunt, and she slumped forward. The long, hard thing in her body was drawn sliding out of her and she collapsed on the cool lawn with a sigh. "Go 'way," she murmured, when hot little hands began running over her back and buttocks.
"I want to fuck her now, Cotton!" Tommy excitedly said. "Jeez, I never wanted anything so bad in my life! Can I, Cotton? Is it true you guys share your women?"
"Shit, yes. Roll her over, man, and sock it to her."
The eager hands got Gail up on her side, and she pushed herself over the rest of the way, sprawling on her back in the sunshine now, legs apart, arms out, lazy smile on her passion-flushed face.
"Come on, kid. Get it while it's hot," she said, and rotated her hips in animal invitation. That wasn't her young little paperboy kneeling naked beside her with a look of awed lust on his face, it was just another of the street-kids from San Francisco, eager to share his body with hers for a while and thus put the knock on the puritanical habits of the establishment. She was stoned on sunshine and sex, there was no tomorrow, and it was time for truckin' and fuckin'. She grinned as she looked through her lashes at the dazzling sun, until a shadow fell across her face.
It was the boy, standing up, with his back turned to her. Gail grabbed his ankle to turn him around, then looked where he was looking. What she saw caused her to sit up.
There was the dark-haired girl, slinking her way across the lawn toward them. She'd pinned her coal-black tresses up on top of her head and was wearing a pair of Gail's high-style heeled shoes, and from Gail's lowly angle, she looked about six feet tall. Large silver rings dangled from her ears, and her piquantly pretty face was heavily made up. Her eyebrows were arched and thickened with pencil and she had on a pair of Gail's sooty black eyelashes to further enhance the blue-shadowed sultriness of her dark eyes. Her lips were bright with thick red lipstick, and pink rouge tinged her cheeks. A black velvet choker was tight around her slender olive neck, and her slimly nubile body was scantily covered with the gauzy film of a red shortie nightgown, edged in black. Through this thin veil of nylon could be seen a crimson brassiere which was very well-filled, and its swaying hem was at the girl's little, nearly hairless pussy. The completion of the girl's abbreviated attire was the black shirred elastic garter around her thigh. It was all Gail's apparel, placed on the body of an adolescent, and somehow transforming her into a lewdly inviting parody of the loosest, most provocative type of woman.
She was inviting enough to turn the heads of both Cotton and Tommy. Although Cotton had just sated his loins, he was grinning like a fool at the hip-switching little creature in black and red, and Tommy's keen interest in Gail's welcoming body was forgotten now as he aped the older male.
"Didja fuck her?" she asked Cotton, waggling his limp, wet penis in her hand, "or is there any need for me to ask?"
"Well, yeah," he replied, slipping his hand around her thin shoulders, trying to draw her to his side. "But I'll be ready again pretty quick. Goddamn, you look pretty good. I haven't seen a chick decked out like that for a long time. You want a little tongue?"
"I want a little cock," she said, sinuously wriggling away from him and slinking her way over to the awe-struck boy.
She took him in her hand. While Gail watched from not two feet away, she dexterously fondled his balls and lightly stroked his stiff cock with her soft little hand. The boy stood there panting, afraid to risk Cotton's wrath by touching her, but quite unable to stop her from touching him.
"It's really hard," said the costumed girl. "It may not be as big as yours, Cotton, but it sure is a lot harder. D'you know how to use it, Tommy?"
"I guess so," he stammered. "I mean, I never have, but I bet I could. I was just gonna do it to her when you ... when you ... Boy, you are really something! Isn't she really something, Cotton?"
The man in the sunglasses swaggered over to the boy and swatted him on the butt, saying, "Yeah, she's really something, and so are you. I think you two oughta get together. I think we all oughta get together and have a party. Come on. It's party time, upstairs in the apartment where we can all cut loose. Gail, go get that case of beer I seen by your back door. Make it fast. These kids can't wait long. Move it, Pale Gail, it's party time!"
Parry time. How many times had those two words set Gail into motion? They did it again now, they helped her up off the grass and into the house as her three companions climbed the stairs laughing. As soiled as her body was, she didn't even think about taking a shower. She hardly saw the interior of the house as she hurried to get the beer. She didn't want to see it, didn't want to think about what she'd done to her marriage, only wanted to get some beer in her belly as a further excuse to forget herself in party time.
She jogged up the stairs to the apartment with the beer bouncing on her shoulder and her bare tits jouncing on her chest, hoping she wasn't too late for the onset of the sexual festivities. Cotton had considerately stayed the anxiousness of the two young people. They were sitting on a sleeping bag a yard apart, devouring each other with their eyes. Tommy's prick stood straight up from his loins as he gazed at Rita Bonita, while she sat there writhing and undulating her torso, caressing herself through the red nylon, trying to tempt him closer with the sultriest of looks at him. The boy didn't look away from her as Cotton popped open a warm can of beer, spraying foam in the direction of the sleeping bag.
"Those two are really ready," said Cotton.
"Well, let 'em get at it," said Pale Gail, "and give me one of those beers."
"Cotton-n-n-n, don't keep us apart," said Rita, turning her back to the boy, looking at him over her shoulder, and walking an inch closer to him on her cunning little buttocks.
"I think you oughta start him out with a little blow-job, Rita. What do you think, Gail?"
"Christ, let 'em go at it any way they want. It's all good."
"But it's best with you," he said, and spun her into his arms.
She'd wanted to see the kids making it, but feeling the contact of hairy male flesh against her naked femininity was better than seeing any show. She reached for the sink with her beer, dropped it on the floor, and used both hands on Cotton's long hair to pull him deeper into the kiss. Behind her, she could hear the sound of eager lips on turgid flesh, and that provoked her to new erotic heights with the workings of her lips on Cotton's lancing tongue.
He was getting hard again down below, not urgently so, but enough to start the juices flowing in her loins once again. She softly ground her belly against the hard length of him to keep it growing, and at the same time pushed her flattened breasts harder against his chest. His hands were digging deep into her buttocks, pulling her up to meet him, making her stand on tiptoe as she plunged her tongue into his hairy mouth. Through her slitted eyes she could see the reflection of her eyes in his glasses, distorted and broadened, but unmistakably lustful and hot. She could feel that hot lust spreading inside her body too, being pumped to all her extremities by the heart that pounded against that of the wiry man who had so lusted after her for so very long.
"Mmm-m-m-m," cooed Rita's voice behind Gail. "You taste nice, but I bet you'll feel even better than you taste. Two-Inch Tommy, what a phony name for you."
"It's good enough for me. Right, Cotton?" he asked, his voice all quavery with his excitement.
"Don't bother me, kid, I'm busy," said Cotton, and gnawed with his lips on Gail's ear while he dug under the jutting swells of her ass with his fingers, close to her sex, injecting her with the old need for him.
"Mexico, baby," he murmured in her ear. "Or I can get big in dope and buy you a place so goddamned big you could hide this little dump in it and never find it again. Clothes and jewels, Rolls Royces instead of Harleys, money in the bank, and more on the way from the next big dope deal. Excitement, baby, and plenty of it. I know the old times are dead, but there's lots of good new times to come. Money, baby, that's where it's at. You and me and a million fuckin' dollars. Say the word, that's all. Just say the word, Pale Gail."
Gail moaned and shook her head at his throat, while behind her Rita sharply said, "Put it in, Tommy! Can't you find the damned hole? Here. Give me it. It's right ... ahhh-h-h-h ... it's right there...."
"Ahhh-h-h-h ... Am I hurtin' you? Is it okay? Jeeze, am I in you?!?"
"Yes, fuck me! OH, FUCK ME! GIVE ME YOUR CHERRY, TWO-INCH TOMMY! GIVE ME YOUR CHERRY!"
"Goddamned kids really make a racket," said Cotton. "They're gettin' it on so loud I didn't even hear you say the word, kiddo. What do you say? You coming with me?"
"Not now, Cotton. Jesus, get off my back and let's party it up."
"Yeah, but we need some music!" he said, spinning her around in his arms, sweeping her feet off the floor, giving her a weird, kaleidoscope view of the energetically humping young couple in the corner of the bare room.
The boy's white buttocks were fairly flying, though not too rhythmically, but the steady up-beat tempo of the girl's hips was making up for that. His eyes were wide and his lipstick-smeared mouth was in a frightened grimace, as if he was making the beast with two backs with a flamboyantly dressed old prostitute instead of with a little girl his own age.
As Cotton spun Gail about in his arms, the scene in the corner changed as if it was all being illuminated by a slow strobe light. The couple would change positions as they continued to hump. There would be Tommy's frightened, straining face, then Rita's gaudily painted countenance reflecting keen delight in her coupling with the virginal boy. Tan and white and black and red, tumbling together on the khaki bedroll, there in the starkly bare corner of the room. They were knowing the delights that Gail had known in her youth, and that she was feeling once again as Cotton Ronson spun her crazily about the room.
"OH! OH, JEE-E-E-E-EEEZZZZZ!" the boy cried out.
"SOCK IT TO ME! GIVE IT TO ME! FUCK ME-E-E-E-E! CUM! CUM IN ME!" the girl shrieked back.
Come to me, Clancy! Gail's silent voice cried out. Come to me before it's too late!
"Hey, hey!" Cotton yelled, staggering and slipping, dumping himself and his flying blonde burden atop the orgasming flesh on the floor.
Gail was there in the midst of a jumble of bodies, a part of the orgasming flesh. She could smell the orgasms most distinctly, and feel the shuddering contractions of the firm young flesh under her and her panting partner. A knee cracking against her head had knocked away any thoughts of salvation, and she wildly laughed and burrowed deeper into the pile, grasping at whatever she could to join the four of them deeper in the climactic melee.
"Sorry," Cotton laughed. "Didn't mean to do that. Slipped on the fucking beer. Oh, my back."
"You're just getting old," Gail said, and found his ribs with her fingers to make him squirm in the pile.
He yowled and rolled her over, pinned her down across struggling legs. "I'll show you how old I'm getting!" he said, and she gasped at the sudden entry of her body with his.
It was only there for a moment, but that was long enough to bring Gail to a high, thrusting peak. BANG! She went off like a short-fused firecracker and he was gone from her, rolling away from her and laughing, leaving her hanging on the hook of lust with nothing left in her to trigger the rest of the string of firecrackers which would lead up to the really big bang she had to have.
She'd been this route before. It was the proper way to start a party. Get a little high on grass and beer, get a little hyped on sex, and then keep it all going, stretch it all out with anything goes fun while it all built and built to an explosively high orgy that left the revelers exhausted, dragging about for days, with no energy left for anything but fond reminiscenses of the last big blast before the next one.
"Beer here, beer here," Cotton chanted.
"Fetch, Rita Bonita," said Gail, with a loud swat on a damp butt.
"Get off me. I'm all tangled up."
"I'd get it but I'm too beat to move," said Two-Inch Tommy. "Jeez, that was really something! Thanks, Rita Bonita, and you too, Cotton!"
"Beer here, beer here! Goddamn it, let's get an ass in gear around here! What kind of a coming-out party is this? Crack open some brews, and let's party!"
Rita disentangled herself and staggered to her feet. She tossed cans of beer from the case by the door to Gail's hands, and Gail told her, "We need some music, Rita Bonita. There's a portable radio inside on the bookcase. Go get it and let's boogie."
Down the stairs she scampered, ever ready to please. Cotton sat up, cracked upen his beer, and guzzled it down. Beside Gail, Tommy tried to follow suit, but the warm beer foamed up toward his nose and he choked, coughed, and spewed suds down on the sleeping bag.
Coughing, eyes watering, he said, "Guess it went down the wrong throat. Sorry, Cotton."
"You got plenty of time to learn to drink beer. I'll teach you how to do that. Shit, I'll teach you all there is to know! Where's the grass? Get me a number. Who's got the doobies?"
He stood up, wincing, holding his back. Blaring rock music preceded Rita's re-entry to the room, and she stopped in the doorway, radio in hand, and said, "Rheumatism?"
"Shut your mouth and get me a doobie," he said.
CHAPTER TEN
The marijuana cigarettes were under a corner of the sleeping bag. Rita and Tommy got one, lit it up, and hurried to give it to Cotton. Two deep drags and a little flexing of his long lean torso and he was smiling again and embracing the young pair to his naked body.
"So you got yourself a cherry, did you?" he said to Rita. "And, Tommy, you had yourself a piece of tail. Rita, I told you there was no way you'd ever be always faithful to me. A cock is a cock and a pussy is a pussy. Right, Rita? Right, Two-Inch Tommy?"
"That's about the size of it now," said the boy, grinning as he pulled on his dwindled sex with his hand. "But it sure was terrific. I sure would like to do it again soon."
"Get it up, kid, 'cause you got all the pussy you'll ever want, right in this room."
"I'll be glad to help him," said Rita, slithering her body past Cotton's chest and nudging the boy's loins with the smoothness of her hip.
Young as she was, Rita was an expert temptress. She employed all of her willowy tan body in twisting and turning to give the slowly grinning boy an exciting view, and as she sinuously moved before him she trailed her fingers and the soft nylon of the shortie over his loins. Cotton held the cigarette to his lips and he automatically inhaled from it, coughed, almost wept, but continued to look at the erotically moving girl beside him. Beside Cotton, his body looked very vital and young and innocent, nearly hairless and quite smooth, with none of the scars and cement burns that marked the flesh of the man at his side. It seemed as if the boy should have a small pair of wings sprouting from his shoulder blades, while the man should have horns sprouting from his head and cloven hoofs instead of human feet. The boy's penis was a sweet, shy little cherub, while Cotton's big cock was a gnarled, thick old snake. The bearded man grinned down at the rapt boy, who in turn was staring fixedly at the slow twistings and turnings of the black-haired bird in the artificial feathers.
"Get it up," Rita purred, as she brushed her lips close to Tommy's. "Let's see it come up hard for me, honey."
"Give the kid time. We got all night," said Cotton. "Right, Tommy?"
"Yeah. Right, Cotton. Goddamn, she sure is sexy. Pale Gail is too. Goddamn, what a goddamn party! Goddamn!"
"Shit, this is nothing," Cotton boasted. "Wait till you see one where there's a hundred bikers and their Mammas swingin' out, more dope than you could use in a lifetime, and a dozen chicks dancin' nude, all for the big bad bikers. Gail, let's get it going. Get up here and show us how you used to swing 'em at that Go-Go joint."
She'd been sitting there sipping her warm beer and keeping the glow in her pussy alive with her hand. Her thoughts had drifted back with Cotton's words to the bacchanalias she'd been to with the bikers and beyond that to those psychedelic orgies she'd known when she was Rita's age. But now she was older, more experienced, and she put that experience to work for her as she got up and began to move to the music.
It was a fast, hard beat. Rita was doing her sinuous dance at half-time to the gutty beat, but Gail swung into it matching each drum-beat with thrusts of hips and shoulders that had her whole body in fast-motion. Still it was a most voluptuous dance she did, for everything about her from her long satin legs to her full velvet breasts was nothing at all if it wasn't voluptuous. She could shake her tits till her nipples were a pink blur, she could move that ass of hers so fast that her blonde pelt was in a frenzy of activity, and still she was all womanly voluptuousity. She felt it in her body, she saw it in the expressions of both Tommy and the dancing Rita, and she even saw it through the mirror-like spectacles of Cotton Ronson. Rita was doing a teasing, provocative dance that was sexy in the extreme for a girl her age, clad as she was, but it was still a teasing performance. Gail was doing a fucking dance, arms held out from her sides, tits bouncing, lascivious grin on her face, while her hips thrust and jammed against a whole series of imaginary penises, hard as poles, which came at her from every side.
"You've really got it, Pale Gail." said Cotton. "If I go bust, you can always make it for both of us as a topless dancer."
"Is she coming with us?" Rita indignantly asked.
"Don't worry about it now. It's party time now. Just keep dancing, Rita Bonita. Two-Inch Tommy isn't even up hard yet. I know what he needs. Where's the snuff-box?"
"I dunno," said Rita, sullen now as she undulated her little body, but nonetheless provocative in her movements. "Look around for it."
He gestured at the littered room and said, "In this mess? You can find it later. I'll bring up the stash. That's what old Tom-Tom needs. Keep goin', you two. I'll be right back."
Gail didn't care if he ever came back. She was cutting loose, doing what she wanted to do, naked and flaunting it, can of beer in her hand, swinging out with two excitingly young people who couldn't take their eyes off her. The door was wide open and the blaring, thumping music could be heard out in the street, and she didn't give a damn. Marijuana, cocaine, minors-she was breaking hell out of the laws, and it felt good. The girl envied her, the boy lusted for her, and the man thumping down the stairs two at a time could hardly wait to get back to her. Wildly gyrating, she was the center of the universe, and everything in the universe that was happening was now, right now.
BOW-WHOOM! The sound of the ninety cubes firing up below them reverberated the floor like a sounding board and sent its shock waves hurtling up through Gail's legs. It soared and faded, causing the youngsters to exchange a wondering look. It faded from below and soared from outside, and Pale Gail danced her way to the door, leaned out of it, and shouted down into the old-fashioned garden at the mod knight in his suit of tattooed skin who was revving up his iron steed at the bottom of the stairs:
"Bring it up! See if you can do it, old man!"
VA-VA-VAAA-ROO-O-O-OOOOMMMM!
The big bike and its determined rider came bumping up the narrow wooden stairs, motor roaring, wheel tilting side to side as banister and wall turned the ape-hanger bars. Rita Bonita peeked and shrieked and backed out of the doorway as the thundering steel monster came on, and even Pale Gail backed off as the chromed wheel appeared at the landing, cracked a two-by-four railing, and turned its tread into the doorway.
V A-V A-R O O O O O M ! POW! RROOOOO-O-O-O-OOOM!
Crashing and tilting, knocking the door jamb loose, spewing fire, the iron hog wedged powerfully through the narrow doorway, its grimacing rider trailing one leg and fighting the grips with bleeding hands. It caught traction on the hardwood floor and surged ahead, buried its nose to the forks in the plasterboard and stopped, sending its mount sliding up the tank, off the bar and onto the floor, laughing and groaning and rolling out of the way as the plasterboard ripped and the thousand pounds of blasting machine came crashing down on its side.
Tommy hurried to him. "Are you hurt? Are you okay, man?"
"Turn off the bike! Switch off the ignition!" Cotton yelled, as he tried to stagger to his feet. Knuckles on both hands were scraped to the bone, and a flap of skin hung from his elbow. His left knee was badly scraped, and there was another scrape over the cracked left lens of his sunglasses. He winced in pain as he made it erect. Tommy held him upright as Gail cut the switch that controlled the big motor. The rock music sounded thready and very artificial in the wake of the big roar.
"I can do it," said Cotton. "I can still do any fucking thing I set my goddamned mind to. Set my bike up, you fuckers, before all the gas runs out. Then lemme at that tank. That's where the good stuff is, that's where I got my stash."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The cocaine came out in sausages. He had it tied up in condoms, linked end to end, stuffed down inside the two-gallon gas tank and tied to the cap with a-string. Cotton wouldn't let the others help him. Bleeding, bruised, staggering, he pulled out the fat white pigs of dope with exacting care and laid them dripping with gasoline on the unfinished floor. "Don't nobody touch that till I get back," he said, and he got on his motorcycle and rode back down the stairs.
He wedged it back through the doorway and went bumpety-crashing down the stairs. Tommy Simmons stood on the landing, wincing with every crunch, until the motor's roar fell silent. Pure worship glowed in his eyes as Cotton Ronson's feet trod the stairs, and he stepped aside to take the arm of the battered cyclist as he re-entered the room. One lens of Cotton's glasses was gone, he was bleeding from half a dozen places, and in his hand he carried the hunting knife. With it he hacked off one of the sausages and carried it to the pan Gail used for her spackling. He emptied the white powder into the pan and took a liberal pinch of it between a bloody thumb and forefinger. With two big sniffs, the cocaine disappeared up his nose, and he turned to smile at his hovering companions.
"Ahhh-h-h-h, that's better. Help yourselves. There's my contribution to the party."
Rita flung her arms about his neck and said, "Poor baby, you're all banged up. God, what a fantastic thing to do! What a way to deliver the coke! I just love you, I just love you half to death!"
"Move away and let me breathe," he said, and gave her an elbow in the ribs.
She sat down hard on the floor, and Tommy said, "Jeez, Cotton, you really got yourself banged up. Maybe you ought to go to the emergency hospital or something."
Cotton laughed and ruffled the boy's hair, saying, "This is nothing. Shit, I didn't even break a fucking bone. A couple of scrapes don't mean nothing. I partied at the Lost Lake run for two days with a busted collar bone. Have some coke, kid. Live it up. Rita Bonita, help my friend turn on to the good stuff. Show him how to snort it. I'm gonna wash up a little and then we'll all swing together."
"Come on down to the house, Cotton," Gail said, and firmly took his arm. "A couple of those scrapes need a band-aid."
He protested, but he went with her. He looked back over his shoulder when they were on the splintered landing. Tommy was looking at him with concern mixed into his worship, and Rita was fingering through the pan of powder. He winked at Tommy and allowed Gail to help him down the stairs.
Gail couldn't get him to go into the house. He insisted on staying behind to inspect the damage to his bike, while she went inside and gathered up the merthiolate and all the bandages in the medicine cabinet. When she came out, he was sitting on the grass looking at his big machine, while blood dripped from dangling fingers between his legs.
She cracked the valve on the hose bib and poured a gentle stream of water from the hose over his cuts and bruises, and he didn't move. She painted the wounds with merthiolate and bound them up with bandages, and still he sat looking at his bike.
"That was an awfully dumb thing to do," she said.
He looked up at the doorway from whence came the thumping music and said, "It wasn't a bad show. The kids got a boot out of it. Man, I wish some of the boys had been here to see it. Old Rotten Cotton's still got some kicks in him."
"You had an audience. Isn't that all that matters? Tommy will never forget what you did today. You've got a new fan."
He chuckled. "Fat chance of that. He's a good kid. Reminds me a lot of old Cowboy Billy when he was young."
"And where's Cowboy Billy now?"
"Got snuffed in a fight about a year ago."
"Cotton, that was seven years ago. Cowboy Billy was killed in a fight before I even met you. You used to talk about him then, and he was just as dead."
"Was it that long ago? Shit, I sponsored him into the Imps."
"And you'd sponsor Tommy in now if there were any Imps left, and chances are he'd be dead in a couple of years too."
He took a deep breath and said, "You know, I think I might of got ripped off on that coke. I'm not gettin' off on it. I might have two dollars worth of milk sugar up there instead of twenty thou worth of happy dust. Well, easy come, easy go. We can party it up on grass and beer, and tomorrow I can go after that motherfucker that ripped me off."
"Who? You and Tough Tommy? That's a good way to get him killed in a hurry."
"Good way for him to prove he's got balls, too." He turned to look at her, one eye obscured behind the mirror, the other haggard and drawn, yellow and red. "You coming with me, Pale Gail? You come with me and the kid stays here. That's not a threat, it's a promise."
Gail looked around at the house, the garden, the silent bird-feeders, the little pile of weeds she'd left by the flower bed, as Cotton spoke fast and low at her side. He spoke of constant summer nights, no problems but plenty of excitement, hard work when the need for it arose, and good times when they could be afforded, and he spoke of freedom. "I'll do anything you want, be anything you want me to be. We can take Rita Bonita along for kicks if you say so or we can drop her off at Juvenile Hall. Come on, Gail. I'll paddle Tough Tommy's behind and send him home, and then you and me can split. It'd be a good life, Gail. I wouldn't ever let you regret it. What do you say, kid? Tell me now."
She sighed and slumped on the grass beside him, breasts and belly sagging. She looked up at the wrecked staircase, nodded wearily and said, "I'll go with you, I don't care where. But first get Tommy and Rita straightened up and safely out of here. I don't want them on my conscience too."
He lifted her head by the chin, looked past the tears in her eyes, and said, "If you're knocked up, you'll have to get an abortion. I can take another man's wife, but I can't take his kid."
The tears spilled out and Gail nodded again, shook off his hand and looked down at the green grass. She was plucking out handfuls of the dichondra when Rita's excited voice came down from above.
"He's got a nosebleed! I guess he snorted too much and it made his nose bleed. How can I stop it?"
"I'm okay! I'm okay!" said Tommy.
He was on the landing, holding his head back with a rag pressed against his face, jitterbugging in place to the sound of the music. He kept on rapidly moving his feet as Rita led him blindly down the stairs in response to Cotton's command. The biker had the boy lie down on his back on the grass, told him to keep cool, told him the bleeding would soon stop.
"A little blood don't hurt. Let's party!" said the boy. His penis was very erect, and his feet were still dancing even in the horizontal position. One hand held the rag to his nose, the other roamed and tickled around the diminutive body of the girl sitting beside him. One minute she was giggling and squirming and caressing him, the next she was proclaiming the marvelous potency of the cocaine.
"Christ, could we ever have a ball if you didn't sell that, Cotton. There's enough there for the four of us to party on for a year!" she said. "I'm so hot I can't sit still! Tickle me there, Two-Inch Tommy, ooo, I love it! I wish you'd stop bleedin' so we could ball."
"And I wish you'd shut your fucking mouth," said Tommy, and sat up. He dabbed at his nose, felt with his fingers at the staunched trickle of blood, and said to Cotton, "Hey, boss, that coke is far-out stuff. I could get to like that in a helluva hurry. Are you gonna sell it wholesale?" Cotton nodded, and he quickly went on. "If we sold it on the street, we could make even more. We could probably make twice as much selling it on the street, man! We could sell a little here, enough to maybe buy me an old Harley, and then the four of us could get on the two hogs and go to another big town, sell some more, buy some more from your dealer when we run out, and just go on and on! It'd be party time forever! You and me, the two chicks, lots of money and lots of dope, and two big hogs that'd never let us down. What do you say? Do you want to do it? I'd be with you all the way, Cotton. I'd do all the street selling 'cause you already took the risk when you bought it. Okay? Okay?"
Cotton chuckled and said, "You are the stupidest kid I ever seen in my life. You know what that is up there? That's milk sugar. I got ripped off. I was stupid. They gave me a sample of good coke and then they sold me a bag of milk sugar. Not too smart, eh? Forget about being a dope dealer and stick to delivering papers. That's about your speed, Tommy baby."
The boy looked at him dumbfounded, and Rita said, "Bullshit! I've had some coke, and that stuff up there is the best I ever had! Man, I'm so high I can't sit still! Let's ball, and then let's cut out of here and party all the way across the country!"
"You can't sit still, eh?" said Cotton. "Then get your ass up those stairs and flush the rest of that milk sugar down the toilet. It is not cocaine. I got ripped off. Party time is over with. Now."
She stared at his serenely brutal face just long enough for her smile to fade, then hurried up the stairs. Tommy looked from her to Cotton in disbelief, and he winced when the sound of the toilet flushing was heard. In a moment Rita reappeared at the doorway, licking her fingers with gusto, coming down the stairs to rejoin them. "You're crazy," she told Cotton, "but I love you and I did what you said. Can we party now?"
She snuggled down between Cotton and Tommy, reaching at once for both of their penises. Tommy pushed her away and earnestly said, "I don't know why you did that, Cotton. It might not have been coke, but it was good whatever it was. I guess you are crazy, but I'm still ready to go with you, man. I could steal a bike and we could take off for wherever you wanted. I'm not afraid. If Gail don't want to go off with us, just the three of us could do it. We could share Rita Bonita. She'd dig that."
"You just bet I would," said the girl, trying to worm her way in between them again.
Cotton put his hand in her face and pushed her aside. He leaned close to Tommy Simmons, put his hand on the boy's bare knee, and said with an oily smile, "Who needs her? Who needs any chick? I mean, chicks are nice, but I got turned on to things in the joint that you wouldn't believe. I got a mouth, Tough Tommy, and so do you. I got an asshole I know how to use in more than one way, and I could teach you to use yours so's you'd never even think about a chick except to make some money from. You don't need to steal a bike to join up with me, you cute little punk. You could sit right behind me on the bike with this hot little pecker hard all day, and at night I'd keep it hot for you. I'll show you what I mean right now, Tough Tommy. Gimme a little kiss, and then we'll ...."
The boy drew slowly back as Cotton's open, hairy mouth approached him. Four inches from his face was as far as it got before Tommy rolled away on the grass, got to his feet and stood there trembling. Without a word, he climbed quickly into his T-shirt and cut-offs. His red face turned crimson as Cotton beckoned to him with a bandaged finger, and he turned and went out the gate, jumped on his bicycle and went pedaling off up the street.
Cotton shook his head and grinned. "Dumb fucking kids, they'll believe anything you tell 'em nowadays. Rita Bonita, did you really flush that coke down the crapper?"
"Well, sure! You told me to, so I did. When you tell me to do something, Cotton, I do it. Why didn't you give me a sign if you didn't want me to? You know I always do what you say. Did I do wrong?"
He sighed and shook his head. "Go upstairs and pack. We're cutting out of here."
She looked at Gail and smirked, then flounced up the stairs, swishing the shortie nightie behind her. Gail sighed and said, "I suppose all three of us can ride on your bike."
"What the fuck makes you think you're goin' along with us?" he snapped at her. "I sure as shit don't need an old bag like you when I got a tight pussy like her to go with me. A tight pussy and no brains, that's what she's got. Shit, take you along and sure as shit you'd tell her what I did to Indian Archie, and there goes my bein' Rita Bonita's hero. No, you stay right here with your Clancy Stupid Harrigan. Have his goddamned kid, collect your goddamned mortgage payment books, look at your goddamned color TV. Me and Rita Bonita are goin' off together to live the good life."
Gail began to silently cry. She laid her hand on Cotton's arm and said, "I said I'd go with you, and I will if you still want me to."
"Me take you along? A blubberin' old bag like you? Sheeyit! Get outta my sight. Go in and put on a Tampax, you're bleedin'."
He rose and limped over to his bike to give it his full attention and Gail sat there, exhausted. Minutes passed, and Rita came skipping down the stairs, tight bedroll and miscellaneous clothes in her arms, wearing her Levi's and her tank top. Without a word, she dropped Gail's soiled red nightie on the blonde head of the weary housewife and went to tie the bedroll on the sissy bar of the bike as Cotton painfully got into his crusty old uniform of the road.
Rita Bonita perched high on the padded back fender of the bike and Cotton laboriously got into the saddle and kicked the starter, and again kicked it.
BOW-WHOOM! It roared to life, and Rita slid down and snuggled up against him, hands laced around his belly, and stuck out her pretty pink tongue at Gail. Cotton revved the bike and leaned back against her, squirmed his back, let the engine go to idle, and twisted around. He pushed the girl's hand away and reached down into the top of her little marijuana-leaf-emblazoned T-shirt to grope at the big twin mounds that were within it. Out came a fat white sausage.
He pushed it back inside and said, "You dumb goddamned broad. Wait till we get to where we're going, and I'll teach you to try to fool old Rotten Cotton!"
"Where are we going, honey?" she sweetly asked.
"Never mind. You're so dumb you'd forget if I told you. So long, fat-ass Mrs. Harrigan," he called to Pale Gail, and he winked broadly through the empty lens of his sunglasses, angrily wiped away the tear that had squirted out, and took off rooster-tailing dichondra, screeched through the gate, and went screaming up the street.
After a long time, Gail went inside the house. Very incongruously, it was as neat as a pin, without the smallest sign of the utter shambles that Cotton Ronson invariably left in his wake. She showered and used a sanitary device, put on panties and bra and a favorite old housedress. The telephone was ringing, but she didn't answer it as she went into the kitchen. It would be Clancy, announcing his completion of the job at the naval base, and she hadn't time for him just then. She did have time to whip up an egg for the complaining Tasha before she went outside to have another look at the damage to her yard and to the nearly finished garage apartment.
The steps were very rickety as she climbed them. It was a wonder they hadn't collapsed under the weight of Cotton and his machine in its descent. He and Rita had left nothing of their possessions behind, but his mark was irrevocably on the apartment in the form of the damaged wallboard, the skid marks, the litter of beer cans, the smell of gasoline. The transistor radio was still playing, issuing forth now with a news broadcast about the bombing in Cambodia. Gail picked it up and slipped it in the pocket of her dress, picked up a stillson wrench and loosened the gas connection to the hot water heater. She struck a match to the hiss and smiled in grim satisfaction as the flame licked out to reach a wall. She went back down the stairs to watch until the blaze was well lit, and then went inside and telephoned the fire department. Soon all the evidence of her visitor would be gone, and even the tracks from his hog would be obliterated under the trampling feet of the fireman. Clancy, her husband, would never have to know ....
CHAPTER TWELVE
"You're getting a pretty decent tan," said Clancy, as he smoothed the oil in over Gail's softly rounded abdomen. "Start a little earlier next year, and you might even be a little brown."
"I'm tired of being pale," she said, stretching her arms over her head as she basked in the bright sunlight, smiling through her lashes at him as his hand slipped up to smoothly move over her nicely flattened breasts. "Will you like me when I'm a brownie?"
"I'd like you in the dark. Matter of fact, I have, but this is better. You are so beautiful."
"You are too," she said, and took little handfuls of him from his knee to his bare buttock as they basked and smiled together on another of their Saturday mornings.
"Flatterer."
"This is sort of handsome too. Your cock, I mean," and she took the slowly stiffening length of it in her hand, just to make sure he knew what she was talking about.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"Famished," she replied, and rolled up on one elbow to further stiffen him. "Yummy," she purred, after a long, lovely minute, and settled back, but still held him in her hand.
"I've got a little appetite going too," he said, and she parted her long, graceful legs as he bent over her.
His appetite wasn't extremely urgent, but it was very nicely selective. Gail softly ruffled his hair and settled back more widely on the terry cloth, rhythmically tilting her hips for him, sensuously licking her lips for the residual taste of him and thoroughly enjoying this new warmth. The sun was fine, but there was nothing like a loving husband to really warm a girl.
This was real luxury, far better than any Mexican beach. By stretching out her right hand, Gail could touch the ice-packed cooler which held their beer, and by reaching out with her left she could dangle her fingers in the Jacuzzi section of their new swimming pool. Of course, she moved neither hand from her husband's body, and went on stroking his hard manhood and fingering his thick hair as he eased his appetite and simultaneously spoke of his love for her. Though his tongue was active, he didn't communicate with words.
The joys were spreading and growing in her. She wasn't orgasming, but she was doing the next best thing to it-feeling the love of her man and returning it confidently. An orgasm is a sudden release of sexual tension, and now Gail felt no tension at all, but just a lazy happiness that was growing and swelling steadily in her.
It ended, for the moment, with the tap of a key on their mailbox and the voice of old Mr. Olson. "I got a letter with some postage due on it. Is that you over there?"
"Yes, Mr. Olson," Gail called back. "Just a minute."
She rose to pick up Clancy's trousers and search in their pockets for change, and he whispered, "Are you sure he can't see us?"
"He can see us," she whispered back, "but he can't see we're both naked."
"Mmmm-m-m-m," said Clancy, and sat up to softly rub his cheeks over those smoothly protuberant cheeks of his wife as she stood beside him.
"How much is it, Mr. Olson?"
"It'll be six cents. I'll bring it over. Sure is a nice day. Is that a swimming pool you've got yourselves there? Wasn't there a garage there a while back?"
"Yes, but we had a fire a few weeks ago."
"I thought I smelled something about then. Is that you, Mr. Harrigan? Howdy."
"Hi, Mr. Olson," said Clancy, up on his knees now to nuzzle more lovingly still at the elegantly rounded hips and buttocks of his wife.
"So you had a swimming pool built with the fire insurance money, did you?" said the old man. "That's good."
"It sure is," said Gail. "We enjoy ourselves so much out here, except when the police helicopter comes over."
"Why?" Olson asked. "You don't do nothing wrong here, do you?"
"Nothing wrong at all," said Clancy, as he ran his hands up between Gail's parting legs, and followed them with his lips. "We just have our own little private pool parties."
Olson squinted and said, "Nice bathin' suit you got, Mrs. Harrigan. Here's your postcard. See you Monday."
"It's from Cotton Ronson," she announced as she looked at the card.
"From what you told me about him, I didn't think he could write. What does he say?"
"'Traded coke franchise for gas station. Next time you're in Chicago, come by and get gassed with me and Mrs. Ronson.' They got married. I'll be darned."
"I suppose you're wishing you ran off with him now."
"Another crack like that and I'll push you into the pool."
"I'll be good. And speaking of cracks, you've got the most beautiful pussy in the whole world. The most kissable, too."
"And the most fuckable?"
"Sit down here. I want to talk to you about that."
Gail sat down very carefully, smiling very broadly. Her legs were apart and her golden sex descended directly over Clancy's hard penis. As always, they fit together perfectly, and now they basked together in an even deeper warmth as they sat facing each other by their pool.
He massaged her buttocks and said, "You always feel better than the last time."
"I know exactly what you mean. But I thought you wanted to talk about fucking, and here you are doing it ... and doing it very well. Oh, Clancy, I love you so!"
Her arms went about his neck and she moved more passionately, squirming her fair hair against his darker pelt, working her eager vagina hard against his maddeningly stiff penis.
"Fuck me, oh, fuck me good and hard, Clancy. Goddamn, the happiest times in my life is when I have your big fat cock up deep inside my hot, hot cunt!"
"Gail, Gail, you know I can't hold back when you talk like that!" he said, sweating now as he hunched and humped up into her with delicious, deep haste.
"COME TO ME, YOU HORNY BASTARD! EMPTY YOUR BIG BAD BALLS IN MY FUCK-HOLE! JESUS, I LOVE IT!!! OH, GOD, YOU'RE SHOOTING IN ME LIKE A FUCKING ROCKET!!!"
"AAG-G-G-GH! CAN'T HOLD BACK! OHHH-H-H-H, GAIL!"
"MORE! FUCK ME MORE, YOU CUNT-HOUND! NNN-N-N-NG! CANT STAND IT, BUT I GOTTA HAVE MORE OF YOUR COCK, COCK, COCK IN MY CUNT, CUNT, CUN-N-N-N-NT!!! COME TO ME! COME IN ME! YES! YES!!! YES-S-S-S-s-s-s-s-s...."
Sighing and gasping, holding each other close and shuddering together, they subsided on the terrycloth still locked deeply together. Sighs turned to moans of contentment, moans turned to murmurs, then giggles.
"I think that did it," said Gail. "Jesus Christ, you shot such a big load of your wonderful cum in me that I feel pregnant already. You are some sort of fucker, mister!"
"Careful with that kind of talk or I'll get all horny again," he said, and they laughed and rocked in each other's arms. "I wonder if your old friend sold his motorcycle to get that gas station."
"I doubt it. The money he got from the cocaine was probably enough. I imagine he'll have his bike bronzed someday. I still can't get over how well you took it when I told you about his little visit here and my nasty old past."
Clancy shrugged. "We all have pasts. I still can't get over your telling me about it at all. After the fire, I'd never had known."
"Are you still glad I told you?"
"I certainly am. I'm glad you burned the garage apartment down too. The pool is much better than a tenant. Little Clancy's going to learn to swim in here next summer."
"Yes, I think he will. Did I ever tell you about the time I went swimming nude in the fountain of the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco? I'd been up on acid for about a week, and I ...."
He put his hand over her mouth and said, "Gail, I really think I've heard enough about your nasty old past for a while. Save something to shock me when we're old ang gray."
She nipped his hand with her teeth, and she was mock furious when he pulled it hastily away. "You motherfucker," she said. "Why don't you let me make an honest woman of myself and confess it all right now."
"It would take too long," he said, and gave her a sharp swat on the backside.
She jumped sharply, and he quickly said, "I'm sorry, honey. I forgot about your tattoo. Is it still sore?"
She thrust out her lower lip and rubbed her plump buttock. She took his hand in hers and rubbed that over the place he'd slapped. She looked back over her shoulder at the freshly tattooed words there that said, "Property of Clancy Harrigan, Hands Off," and she turned to him to say, "No, it's not sore, but that was a mean fucking thing to do. Just because you've got the biggest, hardest cock in the world doesn't mean you can beat me up."
"Now, Gail," he said.
"Just because you're so goddamned good at licking my sloppy old twat doesn't mean you can paddle my ass whenever you feel like it."
"Gail, watch your language or...."
"Or what? Or you'll make me suck you off? Is that it? Is that what you'll do?"
"Well, it's not a bad idea, but...."
"Or you'll fuck me again? Jesus Christ, you just gave me a cocking that'd make any woman in town leave her old man for, and now you want to fuck me again. You're not a man, you're a bull. All you think about is fucking and pussy and cock and eating it. You sonofabitch, you're getting a hard-on again!"
"Can't help it, baby," he said, starting to move again.
She moved with him, and she clucked and said, "You really are a bastard. I wanted to suck your beautiful big cock, and here you are jamming it in my twat again."
"Doesn't it feel good there?"
"Shit, yes, but I wanted to lick the cum off it first."
"Oh, Gail. God, honey, you feel better than before. You do!"
"Well, fuck me then. Didn't you hear me? I said, FUCK ME! JAM THAT BIG COCK IN ME AND MAKE ME CUM! OH! OH, GOD! YOU DID IT ALREADY. CUM-M-M-M-M! I LOVE TO CUM WITH YOU! AHHHH, STICK IT IN ME HARDER," she cried, rolling onto her back under his hard-thrusting weight, clasping him around the neck and throwing herself up at him till she was seeing stars at noon.
"You like it?" he panted. "Then tell me about it!"
"I love it. I LOVE TO FUCK! LOVE TO HAVE MY OLD MAN FUCK ME. OH!!!!Oh, AGAIN! CUMMING ALL THE TIME NOW! JESUS, YOU BASTARD, CUM IN ME, SQUIRT IN ME, SHOOT IN MEEEE-E-E-E! LOVE TO FUCK, LOVE TO HAVE YOU COME TO ME, LOVE TO FU-U-U-U-UCK!!!!"
