Laura Evans was blonde and eighteen and already more than a little curious about the facts of life. It wasn't surprising, considering that she had already had a good many dates with high-school boys and had already had her share of kissing and necking.
However, Laura's mother and father, both in their early fifties, were strict and even prudish where sexual matters were concerned, and both of them had vigilantly supervised Laura's dates, just as they had done with her year-older sister Winnie.
Matthew and Clara Evans had married late in life, comparatively speaking. Clara Jonas had been twenty-eight when she had met the soft-spoken, tall and reticent bookkeeper quite by accident at a church social to which her sister had brought her simply because Clara was lonely and well on her way to spinsterhood. Matthew had noticed her prim, attractive demeanor and told himself that here at last was a "decent" woman who might well relieve his loneliness in a proper and legal way. He saw to it that the deacon of the church introduced them, so she would have no suspicion he had had ulterior motives in wanting to meet her, and very carefully and with the utmost propriety, took her to sermons and concerts until, blushingly, she agreed to marry him. The courtship by then had lasted six months.
Matthew was then thirty-two and had an excellent job in Detroit with an established hardware chain-store headquarters, where he was the principal accountant, and he had always been very frugal with money and saved instead of squandering on wine, women and song.
It was not, however, until six years later that Winnie was born to them, by which time Clara had just about given up hope of ever having a family. Then, the next year Laura arrived, and Matthew and Clara Evans felt their prayers had been answered and sought no more offspring. As a matter-of-fact, the procedure of engendering both her daughter had proved rather embarrassing and distasteful to the prim, brown-haired Clara; and although to be sure, Matthew Evans secretly would have enjoyed more of a sexual life than his wife permitted (and that solely for conception), his own puritanical nature made it possible for him to adapt to continence after Laura's birth.
With such a background, it was no wonder that both girls felt themselves very tightly reined when it came to experimentation with the opposite sex. Yet, though Laura was a year younger, she was already more mature so far as amorous potential was concerned. Winnie, coppery-haired and slim and sensitive, leaned more to her mother's attitude and believed that nature did not intend for girls to experience sex until a ring had been put upon their finger and a nice cozy house picked out by their ordained mate.
Matthew's brother, Alva Evans, was quite a different personality, and in some ways considered the black sheep of the family. He had married when he was twenty-eight, been passionately in love with his wife Mae, and deeply regretted her passing six years ago. Now fifty-one, he ran a tourist resort and farm near Marshfield, Wisconsin. There were about twenty cabins, a main cabin constructed in old-fashioned log-cabin style (such as one sees in the Dells in the heart of Wisconsin's vacationland,) which had an excellent restaurant, lounge, recreation rooms and even a swimming pool, tennis courts, and gymnasium. His prices weren't high and his service good, and his wife, Mae, had always had a knack for lending just that feminine touch and personalized service which made his steady customers return year after year.
Even though Alva had been a kind of heller in his youth, he had remained reasonably faithful to Mae in the years of their marriage. With her death, however, being still virile and considering himself to be in his prime (even now that he had passed the half-century mark!), he began to arrange discreet affairs to satisfy his animal passions. Mae's death had made him realize how thoroughly she had been able to satisfy him, for she had been extremely inventive and enthusiastic herself on the subject of fucking. Where prim Clara Evans would rather have been shot at the execution wall than surrender herself in such a manner, Mae had gigglingly urged him many a night, "Honey, let's try it dog-fashion this time. It feels so good when you put it in from behind, and it seems to rub my itchy little slit a different kind of way than when you scm on top of me."
Both Matthew and Clara Evans looked askance at Alva, and now that he was a widower, Clara particularly would remark very tartly on the subject of her brother-in-low's low morality. "You mark my words, Matthew," she would say when Laura and Winnie were safely out of hearing, "now that his wife is dead, you may be certain that your brother is going to give way to his wicked and lecherous impulses. I shudder to think of any innocent farm girls in his range, because he's going to debauch them."
In loyal defense of his brother, Matthew Evans would chide her for such unseemly comments, but secretly he too was beginning to wonder if his ascetic life which had begun the day after Clara had come home from the hospital with the tiny bundle of Laura in her arms, was really as worthwhile as his brother's. Still, it was too late for him to make any overtures at establishing sexual rapport with Clara, and of course the idea of having an affair was absolutely unthinkable. All poor Matthew Evans could do was lie awake at night, with his sleeping wife beside him, and try to envision his brother in the midst of a virtual harem.
Of course, it wasn't that way at all. For all his passionate and robust sensuality, Alva Evans was the soul of discretion. He had made a good living with his tourist farm-resort (just adjacent to the cabins and the main central building was a kind of model farm with several barns, a little house, and about five acres of land on which he raised pigs and cows and had a few horses which, in a pinch, could be rented to the guests of the resort when the few saddle horses were in use); and he had no intention whatsoever of terminating a very prosperous and pleasant business by some sort of scandal. At the same time, because he lived in a rural area, his own views on sex were far more earthy than a city dweller's could possibly be.
CHAPTER TWO
It was the middle of May, and Alva Evans was preparing for a hectic summer season. Most of his cabins were rented in advance to steady patrons, but he had two or three left for those who impulsively, after reading his ads in some of the metropolitan papers like Chicago, Detroit, St. Louis and Indianapolis, decided to give this Wisconsin resort a trial. The farm was under the care of his very capable hired hand, Judd, a broad, towheaded bachelor of twenty-nine who himself was a farm boy from Minnesota and who, if the truth be known, had run away from home when he was fifteen because he had committed the tactical blunder of raping his own pretty sixteen-year-old cousin Julia. Tearfully she had sworn she was going to tell his folks on him, so Judd hadn't believed he could get away with a counter-story and had simply taken off and never gone home again. From time to time he would write his folks noncommittal letters saying that he was doing fine, and he would send them in care of a general delivery post office box, from some town miles away from some town where he worked, and finally, when he was twenty, his letters were returned to him, indicating that both his mother and father had died. By that time he had met Alva Evans and accepted a job which had led to his virtually running the model farm.
Judd was even earthier than his employer, which was natural because of his youth and strength. But knowing his own ebullient vitality, and aware that in a rural community people know even when you spit against the wind, Judd had pretty well minded his P's and Q's. This was hardly to say that he gave up pussy altogether; that would be unthinkable. But his employer, being an understanding man and knowing the younger man's needs as well as he knew his own, saw to it that Judd didn't lack for feminine distraction. At periodic intervals, he could tell that the strapping young farmer needed to blow off steam and ease his thick, hairy balls from an overload of spunk.
Alva Evans had concluded that the best way to avert the danger of scandal from his business would be to hire maids who wouldn't be averse to having their wages increased periodically with the understanding that, just as periodically, they would be available for bed. This didn't mean that he was looking for sluts or whores; far from it. Both Judd and his employer had a horror of a professional prostitute because it was much too mechanical and contrived. As Alva himself pithily expressed it when discussing the subject with his new hand, "Paying to have a piece, Judd boy, is the craziest thing I ever heard of. Why, a man's better off if he takes a piece of liver and works himself off with it, if he's that hard up, gets behind a cow. At least it's spontaneous and natural. And you don't risk the danger of getting a dose. So I think what I've got to do, boy, since you and I have both got to have our ashes hauled every once in a while, is to hire me some girls who aren't exactly pure but aren't tramps either. And we've got to make 'em sort of like us before they'll spread their legs and let us stick our cocks into their furry little nests."
CHAPTER THREE
Alva Evans had solved his problem quite capably. The tourist season at the resort ran from the week before Memorial Day through the end of September. Occasionally he had visitors in the spring and late in the fall who enjoyed spending a day or two on the model farm, but he couldn't count on that sort of business too steadily. During the off-tourist season, he ran a gas and auto service station located about a mile and a half northeast of his resort and farm property, and there Judd helped him too, because the towheaded farm hand was a pretty fair sort of car mechanic.
So there was steady employment for about four and a half months of the year, and the twenty cabins needed about ten maids, since these had to take care of the main lodge as well. He had a compact staff of a cook and one capable assistant in the kitchen, a few bell boys and two desk managers, who doubled in spades by acting as program directors and recreation counselors during the height of the summer season.
The first year Judd had worked for him, there had been only one maid who indicated she wasn't averse to taking on both the farmhand and her boss in return for a little increase in the pay envelope at the end of the week. Her name was Peggy Bruns, and she was then nineteen, with light brown hair in a thick bun at the back of her head and a magnificently buxom figure, considering her youth, and a very pale white skin. Peggy Bruns had been an illegitimate child, lived in an orphanage and not had too happy a time, because the superintendent of this private institution had observed her ripening charms at the age of fourteen, and had one night brought her to his office to lecture her for some imaginary wrongdoing, taken her across his lap and pulled down her panties then spanked her so hard that she had begged him to stop and naively promised to do anything if he would only do so. He had taken her literally at her word, and so at the age of fourteen, pretty Peggy Bruns had found herself despoiled of her cherry, forced to mount astride facing her stern executioner, and lower herself rapidly up and down on his stiff and bulging prong. She had become his mistress for the next year, until she ran away, for he was forcing her to somewhat more complicated rituals, such as kneeling down and sucking him off. And this Peggy had rebelled at doing. It had cost her a couple of good whalings with his strap, but she had adamantly refused to French him just the same, so the superintendent had contented himself with fucking her. And then, one night, while she lay weeping and rubbing her blazing bottom after a particularly harsh thrashing, he had flung himself atop her, forced open the plump, quivering cheeks of her bottom, and taken the maidenhead of her ass-hole. She ran away that very night, after he had gone to sleep.
Unfortunately, she was caught and brought back a week later, and to make an example of her, he had her taken to the assembly hall and strapped her down on the stage over a gymnasium horse, wrists and ankles fettered by buckling straps, with her panties removed before she ascended the whipping apparatus. Then he had had one of the matrons apply twenty stripes with a thin leather belt, after which he took a peeled hickory switch and announced that she was about to receive thirty. But Peggy Bruns, in her anguish during the second part of the lashing, had shrieked out, "You dirty brute, you're just doing this to me 'cause I won't suck your cock, you filthy bastard, you!" As luck would have it, there had been a visitor to the orphanage that afternoon, who found his way into the assembly hall, quite unbeknownst to the superintendent (who had asked him to wait in his office while he attended to an urgent matter-the urgent matter, of course, being Peggy's thrashing). Horrified by what he saw and heard, the visitor reported the matter to the county sheriff, and the superintendent had gone to jail, together with two of his matrons.
Peggy was then sent to a foster home, but there the lecherous husband had decided she was just his dish of pussy because his wife was a bit different, and also occupied with a rather exhaustive social life. So Peggy ran away again, and made her way to Marshfield, where she worked for a year in a creamery, lying about her age. One of her co-workers told her about the resort-farm, and she had an interview with Alva Evans, and took the job. He had made her tell him something of her past history, and Peggy had been quite frank about it, and in detail. Her plump appetizing beauty, and her matter-of fact use of some of the vulgar words in describing what had been done to her gave Alva such a hard-on that he said hoarsely, then and there, "Peggy, I'll level with you. I've got a job here for you as a maid. It pays thirty dollars and week and keep, but I'll make it fifty if you'll be nice to me once a week. And mind you, if you say no right now, don't go off in a huff, because the job's still yours. The fact is, I'm a widower, and I've been getting it regular and I don't want to do without it, but I don't want to get some nice, innocent girl into trouble."
Peggy smiled at this. He really didn't look his age. He was suntanned, big and husky, with a nice, jovial smile and twinkling blue eyes, and he was a welcome relief after the sly, lecherous superintendent and the unfaithful husband who had given her so many problems in her adolescence. She said, "Sure, I understand, Mr. Evans. That sounds like a fair shake to me. I'll try it for a little while and see if we like each other."
She went to bed with him that very night, and a new world opened before her wide, soft brown eyes. Alva Evans was not only a superb cocksmith with the equipment necessary to keep a girl quiveringly excited while he was fucking her, but in spite of his earthiness and directness when it came to sex, he was also far more considerate than the two men who had previously forced her to yield her voluptuous young body. She had never had an orgasm with either the superintendent or the husband; but she did at the very first encounter between the sheets with Alva Evans.
First of all, he had turned her on her side to face him, one arm under her shoulders, and stroked her quivering young body gently for a long time while they chatted in the friendliest of ways, till all her innate apprehension and vigilance were soothed. Then he began to cup and mold her titties, his tongue and lips flicking and sucking the soft coral bud till it stiffened and darkened and made her moan softly. His right hand glided down her belly to thickly furred cunt and tickled the silky thicket of pussy-hair. She felt herself nearly fainting with the delicious torment of his byplay, and she forsook all her earlier misgivings to fling her arms around him and snuggle close, panting, "Oh, Mr. Evans, you've got me so hot I can't stand it any more! Please poke me good-I want it so!"
Peggy Bruns was still one of the maids at the Evans Resort. Now twenty-five, she was even more delicious, for she had learned how to use make-up and to do her hair in a sophisticated way, and to entice both her employer and his apprentice, Judd.
A year or two later, Alva managed to hire another maid who had no scruples when it came to extracurricular duties in the boss's bed. She was Verna Thomas, then twenty-three, auburn-haired, haughty-faced, with tawny skin and upstanding, tightly spaced oval bottom-cheeks, deliciously small titties set closely together, and the most fascinating little black mole set two inches below and to the left of her navel.
And last summer Alva had hired two more maids who didn't mind earning a little more money each week by catering to his own fucking needs as well as those of his co-worker, Judd.
CHAPTER FOUR
"My gracious, Mr. Evans," Coralou Murphy giggled, as she luxuriously stretched her voluptuous young body on the bed and glanced over at her boss, "you're sure a man who's got lots of self-control. I'll bet you can't finish writing that letter before you want to have me take care of you."
Coralou was one of the two newest maids Alva had hired for his unique resort-farm, and by all odds she was one of the most passionate and sexiest bed partners Matthew Evans' brother had ever fucked. She was just twenty-three, and her face wasn't so pretty, being a mite peaked with a sort of lean jaw, but she had beautiful big brown eyes, a dainty nose, and a small but ripe mouth. Alva Evans wasn't really concerned with the fact that her face could stand more filling-out at the cheekbones and the jaw. She wasn't that ungainly to look at face to face when he was peering down at her while humping his cock back and forth inside her tight, hot little sheath. But her soft pink skin, fresh and smooth as a baby's, her big, firm, round, closely-set titties, the delicious way her round belly cradled his when they were entwined together, and her long firm thighs to hold him till that tight cunt had drained every last drop of juice he had stored up inside of him, were what made her so particularly appetizing.
She was right, though, about it being a real trial of his self-control. He was in his shorts, his sturdy chest matted with hair, and the fly of his shorts was almost tearing open from the way his big, stiff, hard cock was prodding against it. Every once in a while, while he was writing the letter, he would glance over and see Coralou on his bed in the model farmhouse (he rarely slept at the resort itself unless he wanted to be real close to the staff when there were a whole lot of cantankerous tourists demanding special attention). All she had on were her charcoal-brown nylons and a white satin-elastic garter belt, and the rest was all Carolou Murphy. Her jet black hair was done with frizzy little spitcurls all along the top of her forehead and a coquettish upsweep at the back of her head. With that hairdo, she reminded him of some of the old Folies Bergere magazines he used to read longer years ago than he cared to remember.
But the only French about Caralou Murphy was the language her small, red, soft, warm, moist lips talked to his aching cock. She was one of the best blowjob artists he had ever encountered, besides being a first-class piece of prickmeat, and a girl who had a tight hot cunt and a warm avid pumping mouth and dainty furling little tongue would have a job for life with him. In fact, when they got through tonight, he was proposing to ask Coralou if she'd like to stay on at the resort all year round on a special salary basis. He had a hunch she'd say yes, because she'd been married at sixteen and her parents had annulled it, to a young sailor, and she'd been so mad she'd up and left her home in Medford, Oregon and worked for a year as a carhop at various drive-ins, till she finally got to Wisconsin. Then she'd taken up with a traveling salesman who worked the Wisconsin and Minnesota territory, because she thought he was going to marry her, but he hadn't. Then followed a couple of years as a receptionist in a Madison, Wisconsin, beauty salon, where the big-tittied, hard-faced, brazzy blonde owner had made Coralou girl fuck with her if she wanted to keep her job.
And, as luck would have it, late last fall, Coralou and her butch boss had come down here and rented a cabin and the butch had got nasty and slapped and spanked Coralou and she'd run out of her cabin, crying, straight into Alva Evan's arms. He'd consoled her, and when the butch came charging out of the cabin, after she'd put some clothes on, and demanded what the hell he thought he was doing, he coldly told her to get off the premises or he'd call the sheriff and have her manhandled a little until she got locked up in a cell. And like most dykes, the beauty salon owner hadn't wanted any part of that whatsoever. She'd given Coralou a look that ought to have shriveled her down to a crisp and snarled, "All right, honey, but if you ever come back to Madison, I'll pull your hair out by the roots and finish the lesson I started to give you, you nasty little bitch!"
Alva Evans was so disgusted with her bold, mannish tactics towards a delicious piece of cunt like Coralou, that he'd gone up to her, taken her by the scruff of the neck, turned her around and given her a good hard kick in the ass that sent her flying through the door, sprawling in the most undignified way on all fours. Coralou giggled so hard she almost got hysterical.
And that night, in her gratitude, she stole back to the farmhouse where he was sleeping (he'd put her up for the night in the cabin her former boss and lover had vacated) and crawled into bed with him, wearing just her slip and coat, the latter being discarded as she entered the room. She crept into bed beside him, whispering, "You're so manly and so masterful, the way you drove Madge off made me all hot and bothered inside. I know it's awfully wicked of me, but I need a good screwing to take the taste of Madge out of my system. Do you mind awfully much, Mr. Evans?"
As he sat there now, writing his letter to his brother Matthew, Alva Evans chuckled aloud, remembering.
"Honey, what's the joke? Let little Coralou in on it," his naked mistress-maid teased.
"Sure. But only when I finish writing this letter, or I'll lose my bet that I can't finish it before I get over there and give you what's coming to you, you little devil," he chuckled again. "I know you're getting squirmy, but don't you think I'm twice as horny now, knowing that? It'll be all the nicer when we do get our things together, as the bishop said to the actress."
"You slay me, Alva honey. You're just wonderful!" Coralou giggled. She lifted one knee and swung it far to one side, to tempt him with the sight of her mossy slit. The jet black ringlets parted and he could see the pink, moist, quivering lips of her cunny. His prick gave a leap inside his shorts, and it took all his resolve to hold off until he was good and ready. Impatient though he was, Alva Evans had learned that anticipation is almost half the pleasure. That was one secret reason for his great success as a cocksmith!
CHAPTER FIVE
Alva had been writing a letter to his brother and sister-in-law, inviting them down to his place. He hadn't seen his young nieces in about seven years, and he was anxious to learn how they turned out. From the guarded colorless way Matthew wrote, a man couldn't learn anything about his own nieces. Alva shook his head as he finished the letter. like as not, that Matthew and his dried-up Clara would turn those sweet gals into old maids before their time. What they needed was to get down here on the good earth and see how the other half lived.
City life was unthinkable for Alva Evans. With all that air pollution and carbon monoxide and chemically treated water and the junk they sold at the grocery store, give him the countryside any time. He glanced over at the bed again and winked at Coralou, who winked back. Of course, when the family came down here, he'd have to be much more careful and be mighty sure that Coralou kept her lip buttoned and behaved the way a well-trained, obedient maid should. But then, he guessed he could hold out for two weeks when they were here.
He owed that much to his brother, anyway. Poor old Matthew, working like a dog over figures all his life. The wrong kind of figures. Matthew had probably never seen a figure like Coralou's, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't know what to do with it.
The thought made him chuckle again with a zest for living, and a gratitude for his own happy state, as he folded the sheets, tucked them into the envelope, licked it and then pressed the flaps down till they stuck as they were meant to do. Turning it over, he affixed a stamp. Coralou watched him with growing respect in her lovely brown eyes. The sight of his prick sticking out like a semaphore against his cotton shorts was enough to make any girl view him with awe, and if she were a virgin, with no little alarm. Coralou wasn't worried about the size of his cock, although she had been the very first time it had slipped into her tight warm cleft. Now she looked forward to it eagerly, for she knew what it could do to her nervous system. She had felt nervous and itchy all day long, just thinking about tonight, because this morning when she'd served the boss his breakfast, she'd bent down her cheek to brush his and whispered, "Could we get together tonight, maybe, hmmm, boss?" She always called him either "Boss" or "Mr. Evans" when there was nobody else around.
He nodded, and she felt herself churn inside.
"There! I told you I could hold out, Coralou," Alva Evans said as he unbuttoned his shorts and tugged them off. Her eyes grew round with admiration.
"You're some man, Alva honey. You don't mind if I call you by your first name when we're in bed, do you, honey? Sometimes I feel sort of disrespectful, if you know what I mean."
"Lord love you, honey, not one least little bit when we're alone like this. You can call me anything your little heart desires. Even a no-good son-of-a-bitch, if I don't treat you right," he genially told her as he got into bed beside her.
He forced himself to lie about an inch away, before their skins would touch, so he could really get worked up for her. His eyes devoured her. He hadn't turned on the electric light-just a desk light, and from where it was it shed a soft, indirect glow which gave her pink skin a wonderful sheen. He thought it was a wonderful combination, that jet-black hair and those thick, crisp pussy curls against that soft pink skin. There were times when he liked pink skin more than Peggy Bruns' almost sickly-white tint, but then, Peggy didn't like to go out in the sun much, and she did have a delicate skin, and she didn't dare suntan because she'd only burn. That was almost a pun with her name, wasn't it?
He chuckled again, delighted with the world. He was looking forward to meeting Winnie and Laura again, and seeing what had happened to them in all these years. He wondered whether their parents let them go on dates-they'd certainly be of an age by now for fucking, Laura at eighteen, Winnie at nineteen ... but he was pretty certain they were both cherry. Living with Matthew and Clara would practically guarantee that, a hundred times out of a hundred.
"Who were you writing to, Alva honey? And I wouldn't ever call you that awful thing you just said, either," she retorted, flouncing herself this way and that so he could see her big, firm titties jiggle like mounds of jello, She had soft, small, brownish coral aureole and dainty little nipples, which were very tender and which she loved to have him suck or tickle with his fingertip.
"Well, the fact is, I was just finishing a letter to my brother in Detroit, baby. You know, they often say about brothers being as like as two peas in a pod, but I'll tell you mine would be better standing up in some pulpit giving a sermon, and if he were to see me doing what I'm about to do now, young lady, he'd consign me to the flames of eternal damnation, and you can bet your sweet little pussy on that."
"My pussy's on fire already, just waiting for you to get over here and take care of it, Alva," she murmured huskily, as she took one of his hands and brought it against one of her soft inner thighs, drawing his palm against the thick, crisp curls of her cunt. "Can't you feel how hot I am? Ooooh, Alva, don't keep me waiting too long!"
"You're really a sweetheart, baby. I ought to send that Madge back in Madison a diamond necklace as a thanksgiving present for bringing you here to my attention," he told her just as huskily as he leaned over her. He slipped his arm under her shoulders and kept his palm over her cunt while his mouth plucked at one of her instantly stiffening nipples.
"Oooh, that's so good!" She whispered, darting her tongue-tip into his ear.
His right forefinger prodded through the thick ringlets of her slit and found the moist, waiting lips. He began to rim them with a delicate, frigging touch. Coralou moaned again and arched herself up, lifting both knees slightly and spreading them as far as she could to give him total access. He found the dainty nodule of her clitoris and began to brush it back and forth. Hoarse sobbing little gasps told him that she was more than usually steamed up for tonight's union. That suited him fine, for he was in formidable shape himself. He had been so busy ordering supplies in town and arranging to hire a five-piece combo so there could be dancing for the romantically inclined guests, he hadn't had his mind on pussy for a week, and by the way his cock was aching right now, he knew he was going to keep Coralou busy in a horizontal position for a good part of the night.
"Oh, that's just heaven, Alva," Coralou breathed, when she felt his forefinger press down into the little cowl of pink pussy flesh which guarded it. She cupped his cheeks with her soft little hands and gave, him a long, stinging kiss on the mouth to make him leave off fingering her and start fucking her instead.
Now one of her hands slipped down to his loins and took hold of his big, stiff prong. The plum head was huge and set off from the gnarled shaft with a wide circumcisional groove. The moment her thumb and forefinger began to make a ring and circle his tool just at that separation-point, he felt his organ throb and ache more savagely than ever.
"You know, baby, I've got a little proposition in mind. I don't know if you'd like it. That is, I don't know how you'd feel about staying here the year round. Now I got you a job taking orders on the phone in that dairy in Marshfield this spring, and I know you did sneak over a couple of times for some fun and games like now, but what would you think of staying here all year round?"
"You aren't proposing, are you?"
"Well, not exactly," he stammered, a little red in the face, for he hadn't really had marriage in mind.
"What I mean is, baby, first of all I'm too old for you-"
"Now you're being silly. There wouldn't be a boy in all this whole countryside who could give me what I need like you do."
"Don't tell me you've been trying to find out?" he joked.
She made a face at him, bit him gently on the neck, and her fingers squeezed the tip of his cock. "Well, nosey, if you have to know, I did have a time with some of the local yokels. But they couldn't come anywhere near your performance, even though they could give you thirty years or so. You're my guy, Alva, and until you kick me out, I'm going to keep coming back for more of what I've got my hand on right now."
"Well, no matter how I say it now, it's going to sound a little insulting, and I don't mean to do that. I mean, my wife and I had a wonderful fife together, and I don't feel that I ought ever to marry again. I just want to keep that part of my memory sacred, if you know what I mean."
"Sure, I understand honey. And I'm not insulted. You've treated me wonderfully. Gosh, I sometimes think I'd even work for nothing here during the season, just to get paid off this way." She gave his cock a loving squeeze that made him grit his teeth to hold back the urge to shoot his wad right then and there. "But what did you have in mind, honey?"
"Well, you know, I do run that service station with Judd, in the off season. I could always use a girl to do the books and maybe write letters or take phone calls or stuff like that. I'd pay you the same fifty bucks a week and keep that I do now, and of course, we could have some fun when we weren't too busy."
"The answer is yes right now, honey. You gonna make Mama go off in a flood if you don't stop tickling me with your finger. Oh my goodness, you'd better get inside of me right now, before I die," Coralou squealed, as her bottom began to bounce and twist and buck on the rumpled sheets, answering the imperious summons of his finger, which was ringing her love-bell in the most exacerbating way.
He turned to her and slipped between her easily adapting and yawning thighs, which at once locked over him, as her calves crossed tightly to enlace him to her. Their mouths met, their lips opening, their tongues exchanging rapier thrusts. Coralou Murphy moaned and dug her fingernails into his sturdy back as she felt his big, hard, stiff cock dig down to the very depths of her matrix. She nibbled at his earlobe and whispered passionately, "Make it last all you can, honey. Oh my God, fuck me good! I'm so itchy tonight, I could scream. Ahhhh, that's good! Oh darling, yes, put your finger in my bummy-hole too. It drives me crazy. Oh, Alva daddy, give it to me good and hard. Ooohhh!! "
The letter lay forgotten, stamped and ready to be mailed, on the desk beyond this bed of bliss. Alva Evans had no way of knowing it was going to begin a new, exciting, incredible life for his two nieces and for himself as well!
CHAPTER SIX
The letter which Alva Evans had written to his brother Matthew and to Clara as well-because Alva knew very well he had to butter up his sister-in-law in order to get anyone at all and even then he wasn't sure-offered the invitation of a month at his place for the two of them and their daughters, Laura and Winnie, starting late in June as soon as school was out. School in this case meant business school for the two Evans girls, because neither of them had particularly wanted to go to college, and their parents had agreed that a good business course would help them get jobs as secretaries and give them a better chance to earn their own livelihood faster than if they went on to college and spent four years.
Actually, neither Laura or Winnie was very much of the scholastic type, and Matthew Evans was also thinking about the little matter of college tuition and fine new clothes so there was practical economics to his side of the argument in favor of their taking business school instead. They had both done very well their first year, and so when Matthew got the letter, he felt they had earned a vacation. So had he, for that matter. Secretly, what he would really like to do was to go on down to see his brother and Alva and leave Clara behind in Detroit. But he knew he couldn't get away with that. He knew perfectly well that Alva was having a high old time at this farm-resort with all those cute maids and, now being a widower, there wasn't any reason why Alva shouldn't enjoy himself. Matthew Evans wished he could just once have a fling with some woman who wasn't nagging at him and always making him feel that sex was something that the animals did out in the bam yard that nobody ever talked about. So that evening at supper, he guardedly proposed, "Say, Clara, I get my vacation starting the last week of June and on up to the 19th of July this year. Alva just invited us all down to his place. Now the girls will be finished with their business school by the time my vacation comes due, so why don't we have a good time and a real vacation all together?"
"Well, I don't know," Clara frowned. "I was really hoping we might go to New York, Matthew. I've never been there, and it would be wonderful for the girls. Such beautiful shops and Radio City Music Hall and Grant's Tomb and the Hudson River."
"New York gets awfully muggy in summer, worse than Detroit," Matthew countered. He was really entering this debate with optimism, because the more he thought about Alva and those cute maids, the more he was thinking that maybe if he was really clever and discreet, Alva might let him in on a little extra-curricular piece of pussy. Though, to be strictly accurate, the word "pussy" was not in Matthew Evans' vocabulary; constrained as he had been by prudish Clara all these years, when he thought of going to bed and making love, the term he most usually referred to it by was "using my third leg." Clara simply wouldn't stand for any vulgarity, and she had once heard him use even that euphemistic expression and had given him the very dickens.
So he tried not to look too eager, but inside he was quivering with anticipation. Besides, he'd always liked the country, and he certainly envied the freedom his brother had all the year around, with nobody to boss him and all those maids to pick from when he got lonely. He wished he'd had a little money so he could put some up and be a partner with Alva. But it was too late now.
"Oh, I'd love to see the country in summer, Daddy!" charming Winnie exclaimed. "And we haven't seen Uncle Alva for just ages."
Her mother gave her a sour look. "No great loss," she muttered to herself. But her husband turned such an imploring look on her that she relented a little. After all, he had been working very hard and there had been a good substantial raise only two months ago, and as long as all of them went down there, Alva Evans couldn't very well try any shenanigans. "Oh, I suppose it would be all right," she grudgingly gave in. "You can write him if you like. We'll drive down there, I suppose?"
"Sure. It's a nice scenic trip, Clara," Matthew Evans excitedly volunteered. "It'll be a wonderful summer for us all. And being out in the sun and the good air, away from all this smog and humidity in Detroit, would be good for the girls, too."
It wasn't only the sun and the air that were going to be good for Laura and Winnie Evans. And it was just as well that their mother hadn't the faintest inkling of what this summer was going to bring, or this story would never have been written....
It was Saturday evening, and Winnie, the shy, gentle redhead, had gone by herself to see a movie. Laura, with her mother's permission, had gone out to dinner and then a movie with Brad Murray, who had more or less been her steady boy friend the past four or five months.
Brad Murray was twenty-four, with curly brown hair, pleasant features, a thin if rather angular jaw, and he earned a good living as an apprentice butcher in his father's meat market on Coumeyer Street. Clara Evans highly approved of Brad Murray. But then, she was rather inclined to judge him by his job and wages and the fact that he would one day take over his father's store than from actual knowledge. The fact was, Brad was no Sir Galahad when it came to pussy. Even Laura didn't know that he was something of a chaser. The only reason he hadn't made a pass at Laura yet was because he had been biding his time and because she had made such a hit with him that he intended to go as far as he could with her but with her own consent. Brad had no intention of getting married, which Clara Evans didn't know at all. For that matter, Laura didn't either. What she liked about Brad was that he had money to spend on a good time, was a neat dresser, and said nice things to her. He was also very courteous, walking on the curb side of the street, and helping her into a cab, of course he was playing a role and putting his best foot forward to impress her.
Tonight, Brad Murray figured that it was time to see just how much of an impression he had made on the delicious blonde. At eighteen, Laura was really delicious. She was five feet six inches tall, with a rather willowy figure dramatically and excitingly set off by a stunningly ripe pair of full round closely spaced titties. Her waist was extremely slim, and it flared into svelte, lithe hips. She had a tightly compact oval-cheeked bottom, and long, supple, nervously chiseled thighs. Her hair was very light brown, and she wore it in a high-piled do with the long strands brushed across her forehead. She had lovely dark brown eyes, a daintily snub nose and a full, most expressive and ripe mouth with adorable dimples at the corner. Her skin was a blend of pink and white, that delicious tint known as carnation, and she had another attribute which made Brad Murray's mouth water, figuratively speaking: it was a soft, husky contralto voice which made him certain that she was a sexy piece of pussy. The truth about it was that Laura, far more than her older sister, was quite definitely attracted to the opposite sex and feeling the first trembling urges of that attraction.
Brad's mother had died about three years ago, and he and his father lived in a bungalow off Cregier Road about a mile and a half from his dad's butcher shop. If Brad had made a special effort to make this date exceptionally exciting for Laura, the real reason was that his father had decided to visit an old friend who had just come up to Windsor and would be on his way to the West coast in a few days. Brad had told his dad to go on ahead, that he would make out just fine over the weekend. And by making out just fine, he had delicious blonde big-bubbied Laura Evans particularly in mind.
Accordingly, he had treated her to the best steak dinner in all Detroit, and tossed tips around with such a grandiose gesture that Laura couldn't help but be impressed. Her father and mother were always harping on a penny saved is a penny earned, and what Brad had spent on her just for dinner was practically enough to feed her entire family for a week. At the movie, he'd bought expensive loge seats, and dutifully went out at intermission to bring her back some cool orangeade. He was also wearing his best Sunday suit, and she had to admit to herself that he was really good-looking. It flattered her to have this handsome young man so attentive to her, so considerate to her every whim. And there were times when his dark-blue eyes met hers and she couldn't help blushing when she perceived the intensity in his look. She didn't know it, but it was his "Wait until I get into your pussy" look, and he had never meant it more in all his relatively short cock-career.
The show over, Laura demurely expected Brad to take her home, and when he whistled for a cab, instead of taking the bus, she was still more impressed. However, when the driver turned down Legler Avenue instead of Bradshaw Street, she frowned a little. "Did you give him the right address, Brad honey?" she worriedly asked.
"Sure I did, Laura. Just you lean back and enjoy the ride. I've got some terrific jazz records I want to play for you. Picked up an old Count Basie they remade on L.P., and it sounds just as if it was made yesterday. You'll love it."
"You mean-you mean you're taking me to your place, Brad?"
"Sure, honey. Don't worry, I won't keep you out too long. Your folks know I'll take good care of you." Mentally, he added to himself, I'll really take good care of you tonight, baby.
"Well, I don't know," Laura said hesitantly.
"Mother generally wants me in not any later than one in the morning."
"So it's only midnight, and we've still got a whole hour, haven't we?"
His logic was irrefutable, and so Laura hesitantly nodded. She had to admit to herself that it was fun being out with Brad Murray, and she immediately asked herself if he was going to try and kiss her. He'd done it just once, at the end of their second date, just before letting her out of the cab in which he had taken her home that time. It had thrilled her, because here was a young man whom her parents for once hadn't put their foot down against and who had a good job and lots of money showing her all this interest. She'd heard that he'd been out with other girls a lot, so it was particularly thrilling to her growing ego.
He paid the driver with a handsome tip and took her arm and led her up the stairs to the modest little bungalow, took out his keys and opened the door and ushered her in neatly as you please. And he flicked on the living room light switch and told her to sit down on the couch while he got the album. "Want some coffee? Dad made a fresh pot just before he left for Windsor."
Laura frowned again. "You mean your dad isn't here?" she naively asked.
"No, he won't be back until late Sunday night. He's got to be ready to open up the shop Monday and cut all the meat, you know. Now, how about some coffee?"
"I really don't want any, Brad. I-er-I don't think maybe I ought to have come here."
"Why not, for heaven's sake?"
"Because." She looked down at her lap, folded her hands primly, but she couldn't help blushing.
She knew he knew what she was thinking about. She would be all alone with him and he would have every opportunity to make a pass at her, and the trouble was she didn't exactly know what she was going to do about it. Because tonight he had a certain magnetic, devil-may-care attitude to him which made him awfully appealing.
"But that's no reason, honey. Don't tell me you're scared of me," he chuckled. "Look, I'll go get two cups, and if you don't want it, okay. And I'll put the record on and we'll chat and then I'll take you home. Fair enough?"
"I-I guess so, Brad. But really, I don't want any coffee. That dinner was just wonderful, and then the orangeade and everything. Please, no coffee."
"In that case, I won't have any either. After all, I just had one glass of wine and so did you. But I want to keep clearheaded. Trouble is," now he came over to the couch and sat down beside her and smiled at her as he reached for one of her hands, "just being with you is intoxicating enough without any wine or liquor, believe me."
She knew she was blushing and she felt embarrassed by it, and he was holding her right hand in both of his and playing with her fingers. She wanted to pull it away, but at the same time she was all of eighteen and old enough to know her own mind and she did like him, and holding hands wasn't really being fresh.
"I'm crazy about you, Laura. I guess you know that, don't you?"
"I-I guess so, B-Brad."
"I used to go out with a lot of girls, you know, but not anymore. Not since we've been dating. You know why?"
She shook her head, not daring to meet his gaze.
But she was conscious just the same that he was sitting very close to her so that their thighs met, and an electrifying shiver rippled through her flesh at this contact.
"I'll tell you why, then. You're just gorgeous. You're the sort of girl a man could lose his head over. And I feel that way about you, Laura." Now, while his right hand engaged both of hers, his left arm crept around her waist, and the next thing she knew, he was kissing her on the mouth. She tried to pull away and she gasped, but he was an expert at kissing and it wasn't forced or brutal, but gentle and sweet and prolonged. She closed her eyes and let him kiss her.
"You're wonderful," he breathed, his voice growing husky with the tension of his mounting desire. He could feel his prick throbbing inside his fly, and he wondered just how much experience this delicious blonde with those big firm bubbies of hers really had. He knew one thing: He was going to feel what those bubbies were like before much longer.
"Don't you like me a little, Laura?" he pursued.
"You-you know I do, Brad."
"Well, then, show me. Give us a nice sweet kiss. I want to feel your arms around me, honey," he murmured.
He released his hands and he put his right hand to her shoulder, drawing her closer to him. Slowly Laura acquiesced, her arms going around him as she lifted up her face to be kissed but this time it was a different kind of kiss. His lips were hot and demanding, and they seemed to suck hers as they engaged them, and his left arm tightened around her waist like a vise, and then suddenly she felt his right hand slip down from her shoulder and cup the side of her swelling breast.
"Mmmmmm-please-d-don't, Brad dear," she falteringly remonstrated.
"But, Laura baby, you're so beautiful, I've just got to get my hands on you. Don't you feel the least bit excited about me?" He was carrying out his campaign exactly as he had planned it. And before Laura Evans could speak, his mouth came down on hers again, and this time just the tip of his tongue protruded between her lips, and his right hand now boldly cupped her bubbie and began to fondle and squeeze it gently. Gasping, she tried to twist away, as she put both hands to his offending hand and tried to drag it away from her bosom, but he was much too strong for her. And before she knew it, as he pressed forward, he reversed her onto her back on the couch, and his left arm was under her shoulders and now his right hand had plunged up her blue rayon skirt and even under her thin nylon slip and was gliding along her stockinged thigh until it rested on the bare carnation-satiny skin just above the garter tab, for she was wearing sus-pants. Laura moaned and tried to wriggle out from under him, but he was much too strong for her. "Don't-oh let me up-Brad, please, I don't want you to-please, no!"
"I want to love you, baby. Ever since I first saw you, I knew I had to. It's all right. I'll be engaged to you. You're my steady girl now anyway. It'll be wonderful, you'll see. Let me, darling," he argued his case most eloquently. Laura tried to disengage herself, but all she did was to shift her body so that his probing hand reached her white nylon suspants and his forefinger prodded against the plump mound of her pussy.
"Stop that:-I don't want you to-please-oh, Brad, no fair, you knew all the time you were going to try to do this, and you didn't tell me your dad was out of town-no, I want to go home right now-I won't ever go out with you again if you don't stop, I mean it-oohhh-oh Brad-please-oh, what are you doing-ohhh!! "
He realized that he had been just a bit too brash in trying to conquer her and that undoubtedly she was a virgin-which she very definitely was. So, artfully, he had begun to tickle her pussy with his forefinger through the thin sheath of the suspants, and gradually under that repeated tickling, the soft petulant lips of her virgin quim had opened and the stimulus and the friction had begun to draw the sweet secretive moisture of her emotions. For Laura Evans, whether she would admit it or not, and scandalized though she might seem to be, was secretly moved to lustful sensations; for the first time in her young life, a man was frigging her.
Her head fell back, and her face was crimson, as she tried to push away his shoulders, tried to squirm off the couch. But he pinned her with his weight, and his left arm was tight under her, his fingers griping her by the side, as his right forefinger relentlessly pursued the up and down, side to side, reiterative movement which sent the pad of his finger rubbing back and forth over the now quivering and twitching lips of her virgin cunt.
"Brad-ho-you mustn't-it's wicked-please don't-stop-I want you to stop-aahh-oh, I'll scream if you don't-please don't-stop it-take your hand away from me there-you're awful to treat me like this, to bring me here and then do this to me-ooh-it tickles so-oh stop-please-aahh!! ! "
And suddenly, she ceased struggling; suddenly, a violent spasm seemed to tear her under, and she could hardly hear her own voice sobbingly calling out to appeal to her handsome young would-be ravisher. What she was experiencing was her first true orgasm. And Brad Murray felt his finger suddenly stickied by the copious flow of Laura Evans' passionate love cream which saturated the snug crotch of her suspants.
A little alarmed at her sudden moaning cry and the sprawling lassitude of her body which had followed that violent shuddering of climax, Brad Murray staggered to his feet and ran his hand nervously through his curly hair as he stared down at her. Those magnificent big round bubbles of hers were rising and falling like a tidal wave, and her face was turned to one side, and her eyes were closed but the lids were fluttering, and her cheeks were scarlet. He was a little afraid now that maybe he had gone too far.
"I-gee I'm sorry, Laura honey. I swear I didn't mean to make you mad-I just got carried away-you're so gorgeous, you don't know what you do to a guy. Say you forgive me. Here, I'll help you up, and I'll take you home in a cab."
But Laura Evans was now recovering from her near-swoon, and she straightened herself, smoothing down her rumpled skirt, not daring to meet his row really anxious eyes, as she rose to her feet, tottering a little. "No, that won't be necessary. Just cd? me a cab, I'll go home by myself."
"You-you aren't mad at me? We-we'll go out again on a date if I promise to behave?" He had a worried look now and she didn't mind one least fit-tie bit. He deserved to feel contrite, after what he had tried to do.
"We'll see," she said with as much cool dignity as she could muster. "Just call me a cab, please."
He escorted her out to the cab when the driver honked his horn outside about ten minutes later. Laura very coldly thanked him for a pleasant evening, and ignored his last fervent plea to forget all bout it and make up and let him call her maybe omorrow. She just nodded silently and then told the driver where to take her.
But on the way sack, she closed her eyes and leaned back, and she surreptitiously put her hand under her skirt and slip up against her pussy. And she blushed furious, y when she found how wet her suspants had become. She would make him suffer for a little while. After all, he had made her suffer, too. But then at the end-it had been just glorious. And she knew that she'd been very naughty. She'd have to have time to think over whether she really ranted to go out with him again, after what he'd done. But it had been just marvelous there at the end. and she thought she was going to faint dead t way....
CHAPTER SEVEN
Just two days before Matthew and Clara Evans were about to take off to visit Alva's farm-resort, Clara came down with a virus attack and was confined to her bed. Winnie and Laura were both woebegone, figuring that now their long-awaited reunion with their uncle would be definitely off. But much to their surprise-and even more to Matthew's-their mother herself proved to be their strongest ally. "I won't hear of your not going," she stoutly protested, while Dr. Besmer, a tall bony man in his sixties with a circle of white hair around the top Of his bald cranium, scowled in his best professional manner as he held her pulse and checked it. "Dr. Besmer says all I need is rest and I won't have to go to the hospital. And actually, to have you girls and your father away for the summer and knowing that you'll have fun and plenty of outdoor exercise and plenty of outdoor fresh air and sunshine, will make it a vacation for me too. I've been thinking about things the last few months, and I've come to the conclusion that maybe your father and I ought to have had an occasional vacation away from each other. And as you know, I never did approve of his brother Alva, so maybe it's just as well that I don't go. But I'm not going to be selfish and spoil your fun."
They kissed her effusively, and they made the usual filial protestations that they really couldn't have a good time without her. But secretly Winnie and Laura were delighted, because Clara Evans had always been something of a spoilsport. As for Matthew Evans himself, he inwardly blessed whatever happy whim of fate had brought Clara down with her virus. Because now, if all went well, he could take Alva aside and intimate that he'd like to have just one glorious, uninhibited session with one of those sexy maids who worked at the resort. Just one glorious memory to carry in his mind the rest of his life because Clara was never going to change her outlook about sex; and besides at her age, even if she did, Clara wouldn't really stir him to desire.
And so, on the afternoon of the day originally scheduled to depart from Detroit, Matthew Evans whistled a happy tune as he sat at the wheel of the family Buick with Laura and Winnie in the back, the two girls blissfully absorbed in making plans for the happiest summer of their lives. It was going to be precisely that. And Matthew Evans was going to get not only one glorious memory-but several....
"Easy with that fighting cock, Judd boy," Alva Evans scowled as he squatted beside his towheaded sturdy helper in the barn. Judd was gently crooning to a black rooster, blindfolded and wearing tiny steel spurs. This corner of the barn had been converted into a miniature ring, and Judd had been training the gaunt bird for two weeks now to get it ready for the big fight.
Alva Evans had, late in life, become an amateur of this sport just out of an accident and his own fierce pride. He had long since paid off a loan which Bud Ames, vice-president of the Marshfield Second Savings & Loan, had extended to him to develop his model farm. The two men occasionally met at The Steak House, at the edge of town and specializing in those succulent corn-fed beefsteaks which the name of the restaurant implied. And a couple weeks ago Bud had goaded Alva by the remark, "Well, I guess it's all right for an old guy like you to raise cows and chickens and horses and pigs, but it takes a young man to breed and raise and train a fighting cock. They've got fights like that still down in Havana, and in various places right here in the States, for people with sporting blood in their veins."
And Alva had angrily countered, "What do you mean, an old man like me? Hell, I can outwork, outdrink, and outscrew you any day in the week and twice on Sundays, Bud Ames."
So Bud Ames, who was a plump, nearly bald widower in his mid-fifties, had taken Alva out to his own handsome ranch-type house on the northern edge of town, and after they had had a few more drinks, Bud had shown him his own model bam and silo with a couple acres of com and wheat extending almost out to the state highway. And inside of the bam, in a cage, there was a big white rooster with a fiery comb and a mean-looking beak which had been sharpened down, and Bud explained the intricacies of cock-fighting to the bemused uncle of Winnie and Laura. And then he had revealed to Alva that about once a month he would have a little shindig at his place and some real sports from downstate would come in with their birds, and there would be cock fights between their birds and his at which large sums of money would change hands-mostly in his favor.
"I'll just bet you that El Dorado can whip any other cock in this state, Alva," he had said and Alva had instantly flared up, "Well, I've never seen a cock-fight in all my life, but I'll just bet you I could get a bird that could beat the hell out of yours." And so Bud had chuckled in that nasty way he had and hooked his thumbs into his vest and drawled, "Well, as I always say at the bank, put your money where your mouth is, Alva boy."
So what had happened was that Alva had sent Judd out to pick up a scrappy rooster, and Judd had taken the Chevie truck and driven down to Lindale, about forty-two miles southeast of Marsh-field, to talk to an old vet he had met a few years ago and who had once remarked that his hobby was breeding and training fighting cocks. Sure enough, old Doc Cartwright was still around, and sure enough, he had a couple of birds that were ready to be sold. Judd had taken one look at that black demon and at once christened him "Diablo." It was Spanish for "devil," of course, and the reason for that was that Bud Ames's bird had a Spanish name too.
And so, for the past couple of weeks, Judd had been spending at least two or three hours every day after his chores were done going out to the barn and working with Diablo to get him ready for the big fight. He had to teach the bird to respond to signals, when to rush in and when to back up, and so far things were going fine. Judd had always had a way with animals and birds and pets of all kinds even when he was a kid.
And as matters stood today, Alva Evans had put up twenty-five thousand dollars on deposit in Bud
Ames's bank as his stake that Diablo could beat El Dorado hands down. And Bud's similar amount was also on deposit there, and the bank's middle-aged cashier Pierce Lott was holding the stakes till the fight.
Judd had found a couple of fierce roosters among his own flock at the model farm to test on Diablo. They had, alas, not proved to be too much of a test. A few furious pecks, a slash of those razor-sharp claws, and the proudest rooster in the barnyard lay crumpled and dead before Diablo's savage charge. The bird had begun to respond to Judd, watching Judd's hand and facial signals, and now it was showing definite signs of smart aggressiveness ... the kind that was, Alva Evans sincerely hoped, going to win him twenty-five thousand dollars the week after his lovely young nieces had arrived, and his good old faithful brother Matthew with them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Judd was in the driveway of the resort when Matthew Evans and his two daughters drove in, in the old but still serviceable Buick, and, having been forewarned by Alva that they would be arriving, he hurried to the car and welcomed his boss's brother, "Good to see you, Mr. Evans! We've been expecting you. Let me give you a hand with your luggage."
"Thanks very much," Matthew Evans smiled. It was a bright beautiful day and he was already feeling like a new man. Just being away from Detroit's hot summer and especially from nagging, shrewish Clara had made him feel ten years younger already. He was really glad that she hadn't come, because he knew her feelings for his brother and he had been a little afraid that if she had come she would harp about Alva's loose morals and then there would be a row and everybody would go away mad. Of course, he had to be a little careful just the same; Laura and Winnie were big girls now and they had their eyes open and a good head on their shoulders and if they caught him playing around, they might just tell Clara and that would be disastrous. No, he'd have to talk to Alva about it and see if something couldn't be worked out. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to get between a woman's thighs and feel himself deep inside of her, held in her embrace and with their lips meeting and their tongues furling. It had been so cut and dried even when Clara did let him go to bed with her so that they could have the girls. But with all the magazines and the books on the stands and the films and the easygoing outlook towards sex which young people had these days, it was just a darned shame if a man his age couldn't have one last fling before he turned in his chips.
"I'm warning you we brought quite a lot of suitcases along," he said pleasantly as he got out of the car. "Let's see, your name is Judd, isn't it?"
"That's right. It's Judd Mason, but everybody just calls me Judd, and I'd be obliged if you would too."
The towheaded handyman wasn't exactly accurate; he had adopted the name of Mason after he had run away from home just so that he couldn't be found and brought back. And it had been a convenient name, except that Alva never used it and none of the patrons of the resort did either, so he was used to being called just Judd.
"That's fine. My, my brother's sure got a beautiful spot here. Haven't been out this way in a long time, and it's certainly sprung up since then," Matthew declared as he looked around. Just then coming down the stairway from the main building an attractive young matron, clinging to her husband's arm, made her way out to the tennis courts over towards the back of the building. There was a Hght breeze and it fluttered her skirt as she and her husband turned along the walk that led to the courts, and Matthew Evans uttered a sigh of admiration. She was a brunette and she had bare legs, full round firm calves that had the delicious habit of undulating and shifting with each step she took. And she didn't have any stockings on, and the breeze had just lifted her skirt so that he could appreciatively view two or three inches of creamy thigh. Yes, this was going to be a glorious summer.
They had brought four suitcases in all, because Clara had insisted that both girls take their best dresses along with their casual clothes just in case there were dances or social affairs at the resort. And she had, sick though she was, warned her husband to be especially vigilant with them. "They're at an age where their heads could be turned by the first glib young man that comes along, as you well know, Matthew Evans," she had tartly remarked. "They're at an age when they should be thinking about marriage, true enough, but I don't want them falling for the first young lout who gives them a rush, if you know what I mean. Summer romances don't last very long. So see that they have plenty of fun, but you be on hand to chaperon them. " And then she hadn't been able to resist one final dig at his brother: "And I do hope for my sake, Matthew, that just because you're with your brother, who we both know is inclined to lead a most bohemian life, you won't forget you're a respectably married man and the father of two grown daughters."
He had rolled his eyes, taken a deep breath and nodded and said, "Yes, of course, Clara dear. You know perfectly well I always behave myself." And that had been true enough for Clara Evans to accept with a nod and a sigh of self-pitying annoyance at her own illness and the final rejoinder-for she always managed to have the last word in their household disputes-"Yes, I know, dear, but this is the first time you've ever been away from me for so long at any one time in our marriage. And I hope you'll set a good example to Laura and Winnie."
Decidedly Matthew Evans felt like a man who has been freed of his shackles, and it had taken just that one glimpse of a young bride's creamy bare thighs to give him that exhilarating feeling.
Judd managed the two heaviest suitcases and turned to Matthew Evans: "Mr. Alva's putting you up in the main lodge. I think you'll like it. There's a separate room with bath for you, and one for the girls with twin beds. And he'd like to have you and the girls have lunch with him. He's waited for you to get here-it's about one now. The chef's got some dandy lake trout, and he also makes the best fried chicken I ever put a fork to."
"Sounds great, Judd," Matthew Evans grinned. His face felt a little stiff, because he wasn't used to grinning, not at home with Clara hounding his footsteps. But everything seemed to come so easygoing and natural out here. The prospect of a whole month was just heaven-sent. "Lead the way!"
In a few minutes Judd had the two girls comfortably installed in their room, which was across the hall from their father's, and Matthew Evans told him to tell Alva that they'd freshen up and be in the restaurant inside of ten minutes or so.
Matthew Evans was the first to finish, and stepped out into the hall. He was about to knock on the door to call Winnie and Laura to see if they were ready for lunch when a soft, husky "Excuse me, Sir," made him turn and then start with delighted surprise. It was a young woman in a black cotton dress with a white apron and a similar matching maid's cap atop her short-bobbed light brown hair. She had been hired along with Coralou Murphy last summer by Alva Evans, and, like Coralou, she didn't mind increasing the size of her paycheck every week by providing a little extra-special service for the guests. Her name was Darla Johnston, she was twenty-six, with a willowy figure, and she had twice been jilted by supposedly well-meaning boy friends who had promised her a trip to the altar, only to find that what they really meant was a trip to bed. A waitress in Sumners, which was about eighty miles to the south of Marshfield, she had visited a second cousin in that latter city at about the time Alva Evans was looking for more hired help. He had met her and offered her a job at once.
"Oh, excuse me, Miss," Matthew Evans stammered. "I didn't see you."
"That's quite all right, sir. Oh are you Mr. Alva's brother by any chance?" Darla Johnston asked.
"Why, yes I am, Miss."
"Then you're in this room and I suppose your daughters are across the way, is that right? Mr. Alva said I was to take special care of all of you."
"Why, that's mighty nice of both him and you, Miss-Miss-"
"It's Darla," the pretty blonde replied with a pleasant little smile that let Matthew Evans notice that she had two adorable dimples near the corners of her soft mouth. She had hazel eyes with very thick lashes, and thin high arching brows. Her skin was tawny, very smooth and satiny. She was five feet seven inches in height, and she had a stunning figure which the black cotton dress eloquently advertised. He felt his face flushing because he was staring at her, and he thought to himself suddenly that if Clara were there he would really be in the doghouse. "Well, that's fine," he blurted, "We'll try not to make too much of a mess for you to clean up in the rooms, Darla. My girls are grownup and I guess as an old married man I'm pretty domesticated anyhow."
"Oh, I wouldn't say you're old, Mr. Evans." Darla said with a coy little smile and a quick glance that seemed to take him in from head to toe, "Well, nice meeting you, Mr. Evans. I'll probably be seeing you from time to time." She gave him a friendly little nod, turned and walked down the hall. Matthew Evans tried hard not to stare after her, just in case she would suddenly look back and catch him in the act; he would have felt like a foolish, brash schoolboy. But she didn't turn back. She disappeared to the left and he drew a deep breath. Because she had the most exciting figure he had noticed in a long time. Long slim legs, with high-set sinuous calves that seemed to ripple and flex as she walked. Delightfully graceful and long thighs merging into a most provocative backside whose two upstanding firm oval-contoured cheeks shifted and squirmed in the most fascinating way. And the glimpse he'd caught of her bubbies pushing hard against the bodice of her simple dress had given him a quivering eagerness to see a great deal more of Darla Johnston. They were perky and bold, not too big, but widely spaced and they looked to be delicious handfuls. Of course, he told himself, it was too much to hope that a dish like this would ever notice a fellow his age. Still, she'd said he wasn't old and she'd given him such a nice smile, and told him she'd been told to take special care of him. He knew exactly the sort of care he wished it could be.
To distract himself from this preoccupying state of mind, he rapped again on the door: "Are you ready, girls?" he called.
"Coming, Dad," he heard Laura exclaim. He cleared his throat, straightened his suit coat lapels, and tried to look dignified as befitted a father of two grown daughters. Just the same, until Laura and Winnie finally opened the door and emerged, he sent several wistful glances down the hall as if hoping that Darla Johnston would come back that way.
CHAPTER NINE
Dinner at the farm-resort had really been delightful, and Matthew Evans patted his stomach with a sigh of repletion. He had gorged himself on fried chicken and salad and strawberry shortcake with thick gobs of rich, clotted cream, and finished it off with three cups of black coffee and a cigar. Clara never let him smoke a cigar at home because she complained that the smell lingered and was nauseating. He felt like a new man this evening, and he looked contentedly around. There were quite a few guests in the cabins, and most of them were dining at about the same time. At least half of the couples were young, and he thought a few of them might even be on their honeymoon, judging from the way they were mooning about and staring at each other for long moments of happy silence. He sighed with a kind of nostalgia. He wished he could go back about thirty years and start all over again with a young, spirited filly, maybe like that Darla he had met in the hall this afternoon. What he wouldn't give to have a piece like that in bed with him, not scolding and nagging and picking faults-he knew he had a lot of them, but no man liked to be reminded of them constantly-just warm and affectionate and cuddlesome. It was just that Clara had never been interested in the physical side of marriage, apart from having "done her duty" in providing him with Winnie and Laura.
As for those two, they were quite relaxed and happy, and it was obvious that they too felt the contrast in not having Clara around to sermonize them. They were really lovely girls, Matthew Evans thought, and they deserved fine, upstanding young men who would appreciate them.
Alva Evans entered the dining room and came straight to their table. "Well, how is everything, Laura, Winnie?" he genially asked. "How about you, Matthew? Did our chef fix you up properly?"
"I'll say he did. That was the best fried chicken I've had in years. And I was almost greedy enough to want to try some of that lake trout the girls were having," Matthew Evans smilingly declared.
"I'll tell him. Well, we've had quite a few guests in today, and it looks like a full-up summer season 'way through Labor Day, so I might not be able to be with you all the time. But after all, this is your vacation, so I just want you to relax and enjoy yourselves. If there's anything you want, just ask for it. Judd-you've met him already-will take care of things when I'm not around."
"Thanks, Alva. You don't know what a vacation like this means to me. I really appreciate it."
"I know what you mean, Matthew." Alva Evans clapped his brother on the back and smiled sympathetically. "And just between the two of us, it's probably just as well Clara didn't come along. Is she still as hot on the subject of my turning out to be a bad penny as always?"
Matthew Evans flushed uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "Well," he began.
Alva chuckled and clapped him on the back again. "You're a good, loyal husband, Matthew. You don't have to tell me; I can guess. Well, then, it's just as well Clara stayed back in Detroit, isn't it? Now, my two favorite nieces, what's on your schedule tomorrow? Horseback riding, or would you like to go fishing or boating? Just leave word at the desk before you retire this evening, and I'll see to it that Judd sets everything up for you."
"You're very kind, Uncle Alva," Winnie said with a sweet smile.
"I'm selfish, that's what I am," Alva Evans laughed. "Remember, I haven't seen you girls in quite a few years, and now, just having you here brightens up the whole resort. I really ought to pay you for being on hand. Well, see you in the morning, then. Have a good night's sleep."
"Isn't he nice, Daddy?" Winnie leaned across the table to ask her father.
"Very nice. Er-I do hope, though, Winnie, and you too, Laura, that you won't repeat anything back to your mother. You know, about what your Uncle Alva just said."
"Of course, Daddy," Laura laughed softly. "You poor old dear, you've had a dickens of a time. I know how Mother harps about Uncle Alva. I'm even surprised we got to go."
"So am I, to be honest with you," Matthew Evans sheepishly confessed. They all laughed, and got up and went back to their rooms.
Matthew Evans couldn't get to sleep right away. The unaccustomed freedom he had out in this lovely sylvan spot, free from Clara's lectures and faultfinding, had made him feel almost coltish. He decided to take a walk around the grounds. It was a warm, pleasant evening, and the moon was full.
As he walked, his admiration for his brother grew. How he envied Alva, off here in a beautiful place like this, making money, enjoying life to the fullest degree, without anyone around to nag at him or preach at him or urge him to mend his ways. Not only that, but to have his pick of those luscious maids, like that Darla. What he wouldn't give to be in Alva's place, just for a week!
There was a full moon, and the air was balmy. Matthew Evans walked around to the swimming pool and treated himself to a second cigar, a rarity for him. There were three couples in the pool, and he recognized two of them as being possible honey-mooners. Judging from the way they were kissing and fondling one another in the water, and the whispering and giggling, he was sure his diagnosis was absolutely correct. He felt guilty watching them, because he was such an intruder, from a different generation-but just the same, he was lonesome. Finally he tore himself away and went back to his room. It was about eleven o'clock, and there wasn't a sound from the room across the way. Laura and Winnie had undoubtedly gone promptly to sleep. They were wonderful girls; he never had to worry about them. He was certain he wouldn't have to chaperone them too closely out here, in spite of what Clara had said; they were sensible, levelheaded, and when the right time came they would pick the right sort of fellows.
He slowly undressed, put on his pajamas, and going to the window, pulled up the shade and stared out, almost wistfully, into the night. Then he sighed again and turned back to the bed. As he did so, there was a soft knock at the door. Matthew
Evans started with surprise. Could that be the girls? Was something wrong?
"Just a minute!" he called, as he hurriedly snatched his bathrobe out of the closet and tugged it on.
He had left only the little night lamp on beside the bed, and it cast a soft, muted glow. When he opened the door, he gulped with astonished surprise. It was Darla Johnston, and she wasn't wearing a maid's costume, either. Instead, she had on what looked to be a red satin housecoat and dainty, high-heeled sandals. She was smiling at him in a most provocative way.
"Good evening, D-darla. I-er-I didn't ring for a maid-there must be some mistake, I guess."
"No, Mr. Evans, I know you didn't ring for a maid. Mr. Alva told me to come up and see how you were getting along. May I come in?"
"Why-er-why-yes, of course, D-Darla," he stammered, his face reddening. Instinctively he glanced down to make certain he had tied the belt of his bathrobe, and seeing that he hadn't, hastily rectified the omission as he moved back to let the lovely, provocative blonde enter. She quietly closed the door and then looked around, her lips pursed. Then she said, "Is everything satisfactory, Mr. Evans? Do you have enough soap and towels?"
"Oh, yes. Everything's fine!" He gulped again as he eyed her. The red satin set off her tawny skin in the most exciting way. Not only that, it was snug over her breasts and hips and long, delightfully contoured thighs. And there was a little golden zipper up at the top which, he perceived, went all the way down to her tummy. He felt beads of sweat break out on his forehead and he was aware that he was trembling.
Darla nonchalantly moved over towards the bed. It was a double bed, and she bent to it, experimentally testing it with the flat of her hand, weighing down on it here and there. Then she looked up: "Is the bed comfortable, Mr. Evans?"
"I-I'm sure it will be. I-I haven't tried it yet. I-I-er-was just about to go to sleep-"
"I'm ever so sorry if I disturbed you, Mr. Evans," her lovely hazel eyes went very wide with almost ingenuous appeal, and her attitude was one of a little girl who had somehow unwittingly offended her elders. There was something very piquant about the short bob she wore, and her light brown hair, even by the glow of that small lamp, had a lustrous sheen to it. She looked very pert and saucy, and his face was reddening more and more. Now he fumbled in the pocket of his bathrobe and hastily mopped his sweating forehead.
"I'm terribly sorry if I disturbed you," she repeated in a husky, soft voice, as she advanced towards him. "But it's my job to be sure you're comfortable here, Mr. Evans. Mr. Alva said I was to do everything you wanted. To make you happy, that is. Wouldn't you like to kiss me?"
If the floor had suddenly opened up under Matthew Evans, he would have been no more consternated than to hear this candid question, posed in the most intimate of tones, accompanied by a slow and langorous smile on Darla Johnston's lovely red lips.
"You-you-" he couldn't speak, his eyes wide and incredulous.
"Mr. Alva said you'd be awfully shy, and I was to make you feel right at home, Mr. Evans. Would you Like me to call you Matthew? It would make things a Little cozier, don't you think? After all, you are already calling me by my name." She came forward even closer, tall she was only inches away from Matthew Evans. The provocative jut of her titties against the red satin housecoat compellingly drew his gaze, and all of a sudden he felt Darla's slim arms around his neck, and then her soft, warm red mouth was pressed very gently on his as she fitted her supple, lithe body against his own.
"Oh! Darla-you-you-you-" he hoarsely stammered.
"Aren't you going to put your arms around me Matthew? Or maybe you'd prefer one of the other girls? Everybody has different tastes, you know. Maybe I'm too blonde for you."
"Oh, no! You're fine-that is-oh, my goodness!" Matthew Evans blurted, absolutely overwhelmed by the siege which Darla Johnston was laying upon all his male senses. As she tightened her arms around his neck, he could feel the pressure of those sweet titties straining through the red housecoat, and now her pelvic basin insinuatingly welded against his loins. There was a sweet perfume to her skin and hair, and he couldn't define it, because after all, Matthew Evans had been a stodgy henpecked husband for far too long. Prudish though he had become under his dour wife's aegis, he had not yet lost all the qualities of sexual perception, and the troubling, enervating nearness of the lovely blonde maid reacted violently on his ascetdcally frustrated flesh: to his own horrified embarrassment, he felt his cock begin to stiffen, and as Darla continued to encircle his neck with her slim, lovely arms and press herself against him, his mouth gaped as he felt his organ actually prod against his robe and pa jama trousers, and advance to meet the sly and persuasively squirming summons of Darla Johnston's soft young cunt. She was wearing absolutely nothing under the housecoat.
"My gracious, am I that repulsive?" she giggled softly. Then, taking matters into her own expert hands, she arched on tiptoe to press her lips against his mouth. He felt the warm moist nectared suction of her red lips, and his heart began to beat so erratically that he was certain it was loud enough to waken his daughters in the next room. He felt giddy, unsteady on his legs, and at the same time fearfully embarrassed because certainly by now Darla must feel his erection, and that was a dreadfully obscene thing to show a nice, sweet girl like her. She must think he was a dirty old man, behaving like this.
"Well?" she saucily whispered as she ended the kiss, looking at him with twinkling eyes, her lips wreathed in a suggestive, arch little smile. "Is that so bad, then? You know, I want to keep my job here, because Mr. Alva treats us girls so nice and pays us so well ... and if I don't please you, maybe he'll get mad and fire me. You don't want that to happen, do you, Matthew?"
"N-no, I wouldn't," he croaked.
"Then it's all right? You don't mind if I stay with you tonight? You poor darling, you look absolutely scared! I never had that effect on a fellow before. I'm not sure I like it. Are you sure I'm pretty enough for you, Matthew?"
He thought he was going to faint, because there was a roaring in his ears and a pounding in his ears; his heart was pounding as if he was going to have a cardiac attack. He put his hands out and found her slender hips, and he clung to them more for support than to make any kind of sexual advance.
"That's much better," she purred, "because I don't want to scare you. I want to be nice to you Matthew. Mr. Alva's told me so much about you, and what a hard working man you are and how you never have any fun and how your wife picks you to pieces for the least thing. That's awful, Matthew. If I loved a man-or even liked him-I wouldn't do that. And I do like you. You're not fresh and grab-by like a lot of men who see me and want to go to bed with me right away. I'd much rather be with you than anybody else at this place tonight, and that's for sure. Now-won't you kiss me, just once?"
Matthew Evans could hardly believe his ears. But his other senses were violently awake by now, and they told him this wasn't a dream nor an illusion nor a fantasy; no, this delectable young woman was actually offering to go to bed with him and let him love her up! He could feel the points of her nipples now as she merged her body against his, and her hips began a slow and deliberate weaving from side to side as she rubbed her loins against the bulging protuberance of his now agonizedly turgid cock.
Hesitantly, he kissed her, a shy, naive kiss, almost fearful that she would take umbrage and censure him for his audacity. But Darla Johnston only giggled, crinkled her dainty nose at him, and then murmured huskily, "I see I'm going to have to teach you a lot of things, Matthew, dear. It's going to be fun. It's sort of as if you'd never had a girl before, and I know just how you must feel. You aren't mad at me, that I didn't let you go to bed and to sleep, are you? I wouldn't want you to be mad at me. Neither would Mr. Alva."
"Oh, no, I'm not mad at you, D-Darla," he quavered. m
"That's nice. Then why don't you just relax and let little Darla take charge of things, honey?" she intimated. "First, let's get this heavy bathrobe off now, 'cause it's a warm night and you certainly don't need it. Now-that's better."
Her slim fingers had found the knot and were tugging at it, now she had loosened it, and now she was tugging the robe off his body. Obediently, dazed and ecstatic at this unbelievable good fortune, Matthew Evans lowered his arms and let the robe slip down to the floor. Then sheepishly he glanced down at himself and uttered a gasp; his cock was formidably rigid and it stuck out like a tent pole, forcing the thin material of his white pajama trousers out as if it would burst the fabric. Darla observed his embarrassment, and as his eyes followed hers, she giggled.
"My gracious, I guess you don't want me to go now, do you? My, you're big and strong! I'm the one that's beginning to be a little scared, to be truthful, Matthew!"
There was a lump in his throat and almost tears in his eyes as Matthew Evans found himself, in the twilight of his life, becoming the object of the affection of this luscious young nymph, whose saucy and provocative ways and lovely body represented a prize he had been certain life meant to deny him. His fingers were still trembling from the feel of her resilient hips, young, springy flesh that vibrated with energy and passion and youth, suggesting the most incredible delights, the most thrilling realization of the fantasies he had hidden away for so long.
"And now, you might as well take of your jammies, too, honey," Darla coaxed with an impish little wink. She began to unbutton the tops, and Matthew stared at her like one hypnotized, letting the incidence of this wild, impossible dream occur as it would, not believing even as it happened that such an adventure could be happening to him-of all people!
Lovely Darla Johnston was sensitive to this mature, ascetic man's almost pathetic hesitance and doubt. It stirred her own generously ardent temperament; in fact, Matthew Evans could not have tried a better tack of appealing to her zestfully enthusiastic erotic collaboration than by the humble and disbelieving attitude he evinced.
The pajama tops joined the discarded bathrobe on the floor, and now Darla knelt down and began to unbutton his pajama trousers. He uttered a strangled cry, still frantically embarrassed at exposing himself to such a delicious creature, but it was already too late. Before his hands could intercept Darla's, she had drawn out his commendably enlarged cock and was cupping it between her soft palms, regarding the puckering lips of the meatus, whose telltale contractions spoke more eloquently than Matthew Evans could have done himself as to his delirious sensual excitement over her presence.
"My gracious, what a big boy he is, so strong and hard," she crooned. "Don't tell me you were ashamed to show little Darla what you have to take care of her with. Why, I declare, you've got me shaking in my boots and wondering if I can satisfy a big strong fellow like you!"
Matthew Evans felt positively giddy. Here he was, standing naked to the waist, his pajama trousers' fly open, his cock being fondled by this delicious blonde who was down on her knees, and she was praising his virility so unabashedly. It just wasn't possible, it wasn't happening, and if Clara ever found out-oh, gracious, she would divorce him for sure and take him to court as an immoral old lecher.
"I'll bet," Darla purred after a moment, "you're just a devil with the girls, Matthew Evans. I'll bet back in Detroit you have to drive them away with a ten-foot pole-because you've certainly got a pole big enough to thrill any girl, that's what!"
Her ribald pun made him gulp and blush all the more. But the sensation of her soft, warm palms straining against his cock was indescribably tantalizing, and he felt the cords of his thighs flex and spasm with the sudden urgency of lust, the kind of sensation he hadn't known for so many years he had almost forgotten what fucking really was and could be.
"Oh, no-I've never had any-I mean, there's just my wife-" Matthew Evans sounded incoherent and was, understandably so. But Darla seemed to understand him, for she settled herself back on her heels while her palms glided back towards the roots of his straining, bulging cock, and she lifted humid, teasing eyes to him in the most suggestive way.
"Honest? You wouldn't fool a girl? You mean you don't go out chasing with equipment like this, Matthew? My goodness, it's so big, and I can feel it just dying to get inside my little slit. Now you just take it easy, because we've got all night, and Mr. Alva gave me strict orders not to leave the room until you'd had all the service you wanted, see?"
He nodded. His throat was too choked to speak. His hands were clenched at his sides and a fit of trembling came over him. If she kept up that fondling of his cock much longer, he was going to explode. But then, before he could warn her of this hugely embarrassing problem, the amazingly complaisant blonde leaned forward and, as her hands continued to vise his rigid prong, her soft red mouth opened and then closed over his meatus. He felt the pressures of her warm, moist lips slowly tightening over his circumcisional groove. He uttered a hoarse cry of intense excitement to feel himself a Tantalus to her seductive Lillith.
"Oh my God, Darla-oh, Darla-what-what are you doing to me?"
"Why, you silly darling, I'm Frenching you, that's what," was her pert retort, and she sank back on her heels to stare up at him, cocking her head with a saucy look on her pretty face. "You mean to tell me you never had this done to you before?"
"Oh Lord no, never-oh, Darla, Darla!" he breathed.
For Darla Johnston had turned back the clock on Matthew Evans, and in this brief moment she had taken him back along that arid, dusty, dreary road of a marriage without passion, to the haunting memories of his adolescence when he first became troubled with seductive visions of naked virgins and houris crowding into his youthful dreams, assaulting the proper and the "decent" credo which he had been taught as a boy by his own strict parents.
"My gracious," Darla murmured. "I can see I'm going to be busy teaching you a lot of things tonight, Matthew baby. Well, all right. Now here's your first lesson. This is Frenching, honey, and you're not to do a thing except let little Darla go ahead and make you happy. Understand."
"Oh yes! Oh, Darla, you-you sweet angel."
"No, I'm not. I'm a naughty little devil. But I'm glad you like me, anyway. You know what? I was scared you wouldn't like blondes like her, and then I'd have to tell Mr. Alva, and he'd have one of the other girls come up and show you a good time. You know, Matthew, it's sort of like going to a doctor, this is. I mean, here you are all nervous and tense and ever so lonesome, even though you are a nice respectable married man, but you're all scared and pentup about having sex. And you shouldn't be. It's natural and it's fun and it's lovely when both people are fond of each other, and I'm awfully fond of you, Matthew. Because it's almost as if you were finding out about me and I about you for the very first time, because you've had so little fun this way all your life. Isn't that right?"
He was trembling violently as he nodded. Mingled emotions swelled up in him, gratitude to this enchantress whose seductive powers were taking him back to the days of his wasted youth, a certain guilty fear that Clara would somehow find out about his infidelity, a stupefied delight, almost child-like, that a lovely young girl would do a thing like this to him-all these conflicting feelings took possession of Matthew Evans and began to channel him away out of the prosaic and monotonously boring regimen of his all-too-well-regulated fife.
CHAPTER TEN
Matthew Evans's fifty-three years had suddenly been lifted from his stooped shoulders, and consciously he began to suck in his noticeable paunch, now that delicious Darla Johnston was kneeling before him, scrutinizing his manhood. His heart was beating feverishly, rapidly, and he felt clammy with sweat. But more than this, he felt the terrible burning pangs of ejaculatory impulse as Darla still pressed his rigid shaft between her two soft, warm, moist palms and now again attacked the taut arrowhead of his organ with her warm, seductive red lips. He heard a soft, slushing-sucking sound, unique to him (for the excellent reason that Clara Evans would have been shot at sunrise rather than perform fellatio on her mate), and then the pangs of her intoxicatingly exciting oscillations grew so overwhelming that he dug his nails into his palms and, tilting up his head until the cords of his neck stood out in bold relief, ground his teeth together to hold back the frenzied urge to explode the pent-up outburst of his male essence.
"Oh God-oh, Darla, Darla-" he whimpered, as she now paused to yank down his pajama trousers and coaxingly made him lift each foot to step out of them. He was naked.
His face was round and pleasant, though the years had harassed him with deep furrows in his forehead, the kind of wary expression around the corners of his mouth. His chin was threatening to become puffy and weak, because, like so other men denied sexual fulfillment in the marriage bed and, even beyond that, in extra-marital fulfillment, he had sublimated by eating more than was necessary for daily sustenance. He had a visible paunch, and his thighs were somewhat short and plump and hairy. Though he had never before been discontent with his appearance, he was now. His face was red, and he glanced down nervously at Darla, who crouched before him like a priestess offering tribute before the high priest of the cult. He wished he could be strong and young and manly for her, because he had no way of knowing that many a sympathetically inclined female confronting a man who has been starved of affection and who obviously shows that need, is kindled not only in her maternal spirit but experiences a challenge to her sexuality. It was thus with Darla Johnston.
There was more than this: the difference in their ages evoked for her a kind of subconscious knowledge of the incestuous overtones of this relationship, however compassionate and solicitous it was meant to be. Alva Evans had, of course, called Darla into his room and edified her on the subject of his brother and of the latter's disconcerting home life, and he really hadn't ordered Darla, because that wasn't his way. He'd just said, "I'd look on it as a personal favor, honey, if you'd make Matthew happy. The poor guy might not even know what do do with you, but you'll just have to take that chance. That wife of his has browbeaten him so that he probably thinks it's dirty to put on a pair of jockey shorts."
And because Darla Johnston was beholden to Alva, like all the other maids on his payroll, she had eagerly agreed to try to make Matthew Evans' vacation memorable. And she was doing precisely that right now!
"There now, honey, isn't that more comfy?" Darla huskily murmured, looking up at him with a wicked glint in her beautiful hazel eyes. "My goodness, I think a week or two of swimming and rowing and fishing, and maybe a little tennis, but in moderation, of course, ought to make you a new man. You'd really be good-looking, Matthew, if you'd just try. I'll bet you've been downgrading yourself for a long time, haven't you?"
"Darla, why-why are you doing all this for me? I'm a stranger and-" His voice broke with emotion.
Darla was strangely moved herself at the sight of his almost humble gratitude. It made her the more fiercely resolved that she wasn't going to leave there tonight until Matthew Evans had proved to his own satisfaction that he was still very much of a man and still deserved a woman who wanted a capable cocksmith plowing her furrow.
"Because I want to," she said simply. "Of course, if I'm offending you, just tell me."
"Oh no-oh, please, Darla, you don't know what this is doing to me-I mean, you're so beautiful and I can't believe yet that you could have the least interest in me-a fat old fool like me!"
"Now I will get angry with you, Matthew Evans, if you keep talking like that," she declared, and putting her right forefinger's tip against the pad of her thumb, she filliped the head of his cock lightly and playfully. "That's to punish you for being such a naughty boy. You're not a fat old guy, you just need taking in hand, and little Darla is the girl who's going to do it. Now let's have no more of that kind of talk, you hear?"
He nodded, his face glowing with a newly-found excitement and awestricken joy.
"Good!" Darla said matter-of-factly. "Now just relax and let me get back to work." And with this, sliding her slim fingers down the backs of his thighs, she leaned forward and once again her lips engaged the tip of his bulging cock and began to nibble on it with myriad little pressures of her soft, warm lips, like infinitesimal love-bites. Her playful fillip had stung a little, and she had done that purposely to hold back his frenzied urge to expel his seed, but this new assault quickly restored him to that former crescendo of carnal yearning. This she realized as she saw his hairy balls contract and shift with convulsive spasms, indicating he was rapidly approaching the danger-point when he could no longer retain the stored-up load of lust-lava which bubbled up along the urethral canal and made the lips of his cock head twitch and pucker incessantly now.
Suddenly he almost shouted in his bliss-torment, for Darla had flicked out the pert pink tip of her nimble tongue and rubbed it back and forth over that sensitized and enervated urethral orifice, while her fingers had slid off his thighs to graze the gnarled, crinkly sacks of his testicles, titillating them with the most delicate nuances of tactual friction. He had never realized how exquisitely, almost painfully sensitive this region was; his education was being raptly advanced with each new heart-stopping moment of Darla's delicious dalliance. Now her forefinger found the root of his scrotum, and began very delicately to press it, then to tickle it to and fro, up and down, with a lingeringly persistent movement of her slim finger. At the same time, the tip of her tongue scraped the sides of his cockhead, which she still retained in her fingers, and at the same time he felt her sharp little white teeth score his swollen pricktip with just their edges, as if pretending to bite.
A raucous groan escaped his heaving chest. Suddenly, instinctively, he could no longer be passive. Darla Johnston's lovely, womanly wiles had finally broken through the puritanical barrier with which he had guardedly surrounded himself all these years. His hands groped out, his somewhat stubby fingers plunging into the short, bobbed curls of her light brown hair, in a gesture which from time immemorial the avid, lusting male has made to compel his sweetly insidious mate to continue the aphrodisiacal torment of her oral and lingual blandishments upon the emblem of his virility.
Realizing that her inexperienced "pupil" could certainly not much longer withstand her skillful Frenching, Darla decided upon an audacious course to give him back his lost confidence, and, from her own admittedly and understandably selfish viewpoint, to procure her own fulfillment at the same time. Momentarily ceasing the goading of her tongue, the nibbling of her teeth and the teasing of her tongue against his member, she looked up and murmured, "Would you like to have me finish you off this way, honey? I mean, would you like to come in Darla's mouth just this once, to see what it's like?"
Her question roused in this feverishly excited, pathetically sex-starved father of two grown and delectably virginal daughters a virtual new realm of lubricious fancies; astounding though it may seem, Matthew Evans could still hold his own when it came to intricate business ledgers and financial statements with any accountant half his age, but when it came to sexual lore, he was still a babe in the woods. The thought of having orgasm in the mouth of an acquiescent female was unthinkable and unbelievable. So, for a moment, not quite comprehending, he gaped at her, his eyes glazed, his chest heaving, unable to speak.
"Honey, never mind," Darla said after a single glance at him had confirmed her suspicion that he had the naivete of a Galahad or a Parsifal. "Just let me go on, and you do what comes naturally, hmmm?"
Once again, her fingertips tickling his balls, her soft lips opened and closed around the entire head of his prong, and Darla Johnston began to suck and to lick at the sides and then the tip of his cock with a maddeningly accelerated maneuver. Matthew Evans clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back the shout of agonized ecstasy which clogged and strained his throat; his other hand again lunged for that charmingly bowed, bobbed head and his fingers entwined in the short, light-brown curls. Darla arched forward to him still more closely, so the tips of her surging titties almost brushed his shaking knees. Now the slushing, sucking noises grew moister, louder, more salaciously suggestive as she worked on him, exerting all her skill and compassionate understanding of his plight, as an uninformed pilgrim along the route of Cythera.
Matthew was drawn to the most nerve-shattering of tensions, until his entire body vibrated with a maddening, erotic frenzy. He groaned, his chest heaved rapidly and convulsively as he felt himself drawn up from the very roots, the marrow, the very essence of his being toward that inescapable, inevitable, exquisitely goading magnet which was Darla Johnston's soft, warm, wet mouth. Again her tongue swiped over the angrily darkened velvety flesh of the meatus; again her lips drew suckingly over his febrile tip, and Matthew Evans suddenly felt himself hurtled over the precipice of passion into the miasmic void beyond, engulfed and swallowed up, while the shattering and explosive tumult of his loins spattered Darla's palate with a copious drench of vital spunk. As in a dream, faintly and vaguely, he heard the salaciously gurgling sounds of her swallowing that balsam which was tribute to her prick-persuading powers, and then he nearly tottered in the aftermath of wonderfully emptying relief.
When he finally blinked his eyes and once again could adjust his vision, he made out her bewitchingly saucy face, and he stared at her as a drowning man might stare at a suddenly appearing spar on the tossing ocean.
"My, my, Matthew honey," she purred, "you really needed that. But now you've had your fun. It's only fair play to give little Darla some, don't you think? Come along to the biffy and we'll clean you up and then we'll go back to bed where we can be more cozy, just the two of us."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Darla took Matthew Evans by the hand and led him into the bathroom, where she flicked on the light switch. He caught sight of his face in the mirror; it was sheepish, flushed, but happy. It was an expression that would have horrified prim Clara, and caused what he usually referred to as "Clara's conniption fit." Darla put her dimpled chin on his shoulder and peered into the mirror herself.
"We make a nice couple, Matthew, don't we?" she quipped.
"I'll say!" he fervently declared. "I still can't get over your taking time for a fat old duffer like me."
"I told you to quit downgrading yourself, honey," she replied, and gave his bottom a pinch that made him start and gasp. "A man who can come up with a gorgeous hard-on like you just did doesn't have to apologize. You know something, Matthew? I'd rather spend tonight with you than with any of the young punks that come into Marsh-field and ogle girls around the drugstore and make nasty remarks about the wonderful screwing they could give the poor girl if they only got the chance.
Huh! For my money, you can service me any time and make me happy, and you're going to do that just in a jiffy. Here, let's clean you up nicely and get that big boy of yours thinking of Darla's little pussy for a change. I'm just itching to feel you inside of me, lover."
Matthew Evans had to put both hands against the washbasin and hold on tight, because this sort of flattering attention was the kind he never expected to hear in all his life. To see this delicious girl, naked except for hose and garter belt, standing beside him, teasing him and flirting with him while he stood there naked, was the realization of the wildest erotic imagine he had ever had and then some!
But she had more surprises in store for him this evening. Darla calmly turned on the water taps, adjusted the temperature to a mild warmth. Then, taking hold of the dwindled head of his cock with left thumb and forefinger, she drew it out tautly, while with her right hand she scooped a little lather onto her fingers by rubbing a cake of soap back and forth in the bowl. Then, as she continued to hold him rigidly outstretched until it was almost painful, she proceeded to soap and wash his cock all the way down to his balls, which she fondled with a delicate caressing touch that made him experience a dull, throbbing ache in the roots of his organ. After rinsing off the soap, she took a little hand towel and, using both hands, patted his organ dry. Then, playfully, she took a can of talcum powder from the medicine cabinet and sprinkled a profuse dusting of the white talc all over his ramrod and balls.
"There now, all sweet and clean! Now all I have to do is get him ready for the job," she murmured. She flicked her tongue tip into his ear and her hands stroked his inner thighs, while with the tips of her fingers she drew upwards lingeringly till she reached his groin, hovering near his cock and balls but not yet touching them. This exquisitely enervating attouchement made Matthew Evans gasp as he felt a resurgence of his carnal desires. He could feel his balls contracting and tensioning, and slowly the head of his cock lifted as his organ began to rigidity once more.
"There, you see, lover? You really are a man, so don't ever let me hear you talking yourself down again," Darla cooed.
Matthew Evans nodded, a fatuous smile on his lips, and because he had been thus encouraged, he was emboldened to reach over and cup both of Dar-la's lovely titties in his hands to gently knead them, his thumb pads rasping her pert nipples back and forth. She giggled softly: "Now you're getting naughty, and that's nice."
"I-I don't want to do anything to make you-well, you know," he blurted awkwardly, his face reddening again.
"Now will you stop that once and for all? Otherwise, I'm going to be mad at you and there won't be any pussy tonight. Do you want me to get dressed and leave, and not take care of this nice big boy here?" Darla countered.
Matthew shook his head. The last thing in the world he wanted was for this houri to vanish and leave him with memories of what might have been.
"Then behave! Whatever you want to do, I want you to do-except maybe beat the hell out of me, because I don't go that route. But I don't think you're that kind, anyway. I think you're a nice, gentle person who hasn't had much affection or a fuss made over him, and that's just what you need. Now I'm going to make him real hard so he can get into me, 'cause I'm just dying to feel what you're going to be like inside my little pussy, darling," Darla told him. Then she knelt down and, stroking his calves with the palms of her soft hands, took his cocktip between her lips and blew on it with a quick series of little gusts of breath. He gasped, startled at the electrifying sensation which that procured; he felt his cock pulsate and throb and saw it swell into full tumescence.
"Now I think you can take care of little Darla, don't you, honey?" she winked at him as she rose, and putting her arms around him, arched herself so that her furry cleft rubbed against the protruding, tingling head of his reinvigorated weapon. He began to shiver as the taut, naked, sensitive meatus rasped against the silky pussy-hairs, feeling the dainty petal of her quim just beneath.
"Let's go to bed, darling," she breathed into his ear.
Again, watching her advance ahead of him, he couldn't believe his good fortune. His eyes feasted on the undulating movements of her naked bottom-cheeks, the lovely flexions which ran up and down her thighs and calves, accentuated in voluptuous stimulus by the gauzy nylons which clung to her beautifully chiseled limbs like a second skin. There was an adorable little oval birthmark to the left of her chink bone. He suddenly caught up with her, seized her around the waist and, bowing his head, applied a smacking kiss on that exquisite little mark. Darla squealed in mock alarm and reached back to feel for his stiff, throbbing cock.
"I like that," she vouchsafed in a husky voice that thrilled him. Then she moved to the bed, clambered into it and placed herself on her back, her knees up in the air and widely parted, her arms reaching out to him.
"Hurry, darling, I'm ready for you now. And oh, do I ever want that big boy stuffed into my pussy as far as you can get it!"
Matthew Evans who, despite having his own share of erotic fancies which of course he had had to suppress under Clara's regime, had always been a little embarrassed by the hearty, bawdy vocabulary of lovemaking. He knew very well that if he had ever referred to Clara's sexual parts as her "pussy" or "cunt" or "snatch" or "quim," she probably would have brought suit for divorce, after she had recovered from fainting dead away. And he himself had always been a little embarrassed by hearing such words spoken aloud or scribbled on the walls of washrooms or on fences. Yet now, curiously enough, Darla's own sweet and tantalizing usage of these words altered his viewpoint inexplicably; he felt himself trembling with ungovernable lust to hear her soft, husky voice pronounce these evocative, lustfully graphic words.
Awkwardly he clambered onto the bed, kneeling to one side of her, his eyes devouring the spectacular jut of her beautiful titties as they rose and fell with that wonderful rhythmic breathing. That wonderful belly with its smooth curve, marked by such a kissable, provocative niche ... and then, lower, the first sparse sprigs of her private hair, thickening as they descended the evasive basin of the abdomen, down to the peak between her thighs, where their dark brown curls almost completely covered the pink, crinkly lips of her soft cunt. He had never been allowed so much overt detailing of a woman's body; needless to say, Clara would never let him look at her with the lights on in bed. But the miracle and the wonder of this beautiful young body abandoned to him in that salaciously offered pose of upraised, straddled knees, made his prick throb with ferocious urgency. He forgot his timidity, forgot his age, thinking only of the imposing challenge which naked Darla Johnston proffered to his manhood, and his only concern was that he be equal to that challenge.
"Did you like my kissing your cock, Matthew?" she suddenly, amazingly, asked.
His face turned scarlet and he lowered his eyes, not trusting himself to speak. Darla Johnston had firm control of the situation now, and she didn't propose to let this nice, refreshingly unselfish mature male retrogress back to his sterile, frustrating and dully unrewarding state of mind which all these years with righteous Clara Evans had formulated.
"Then would you do me a great big favor, darling?" she pursued.
"Sure-anything, Darla darling," Matthew Evans stammered. The lovely, light-brown-haired maid naughtily arched up her loins while at the same time yawning her knees to maximum straddle, until he could see the pink surfaces of her soft cunt-lips peeping out through the love-foliage which shielded her mount.
"Kiss my little pussy, lover. Do me with your tongue a little, too, the way I did your big, hard cock, Matthew. Will you, lover?" she huskily intoned.
Matthew Evans gulped and stared fascinatedly at the delicious crevice which so invitingly offered itself. His cock was rigid with pent-up desire. In all his wildest erotic dreams, however, he had never conjured up such an act; like most adolescents of his generation at the time, he had learned only a sketchy, half-fearful lore of loving lust, and while theoretically he had known something of Frenching, the act of gamahuching was absolutely unknown to his lexicon. Nevertheless, awed and grateful as he was for Darla's sweet, lubricious complaisance, he could not very well refuse her request. Rather clumsily and warily, his face burning with embarrassment, he climbed between her straddled knees and groped out his hands to place them palms downward on either side of her waist, as he bowed his head to her sexual shrine. Hesitantly, tentatively, his eyes closing, shivering, Matthew Evans applied a furtive kiss on the furry nest. The subtle perfume of her cunt rose to his quivering nostrils, acting upon him like a cantheride.
"Ohoooh! That's so nice, darling," Darla murmured seductively. "Go on just like that, slow and nice and easy. I'll be ever so nice to you, you'll see. A girl loves that, Matthew, it's so tender and sweet and thrilling. And a girl is grateful when a fellow thinks of her that way. Do go on, lover."
Her husky voice was a sensual music in his ears, wakening senses that had been not only dormant but nonexistent until now. Transfigured and tantalized by her cajoling and felicitous seductive powers, he complied. His lips again brushed the ringlets of Darla Johnston's pubic mane, and then again, and as he grew bolder from his own daring, again. He felt her arch and squirm under him, rubbing her cunt against his mouth, heard her muffled sighs and little whimpering moans as her fingers dug into the sheets and her face tilted up, eyes closed, a beatific smile on her red, moist lips. Her nipples had darkened and stiffened now, and her body vibrated with her rising tides.
"Ooooh-ahhh! Oh, Matthew, honey, oh, you don't know how good that is for me, don't hurry, don't stop, and please-put your tongue in, all the way in and rub it around my little spot," Darla huskily implored.
His pose was awkward, so he shifted the positioning of his hands, grasping the edges of her satiny, warm, lithe, warmly vibrant hips. She gasped with delight at this male aggressiveness, arching herself up even more wantonly. His mouth pressed down passionately into the wet oasis of her moistening and twitching cunt and then, furtively, he attempted the most intimate caress of all: his tongue furrowed down through the hairs, past the portals of the outer labia and, brushing the soft inner lips which led to her amorous sheath, he felt his tongue-tip probe between these gates to the sanctum of her sex.
Darla Johnston shuddered violently, and her hips began a slow and meaningful gyration, as her breath quickened and her titties began to rise and fall with excited turbulence. His breath was hoarse and quickened too, as the taste and the perfume of her love-crevice compellingly aroused his deepest carnal senses. The knowledge that he was at such oneness with the very source of life within a woman's body and that this lovely naked houri was being gratified by his own endeavors vaunted Matthew Evans's long-thwarted ego. A kind of jubilation overtook him, a brash, almost boyish courage to reciprocate and to delight this charming partner who had so generously brought him unexpected bliss.
"Oh, that's wonderful! Darling, darling, go on just like that-Oh, Matthew, Matthew, go on-it's wonderful-oh, lover! Now move your tongue a little-can you feel that little hard spot right next to the slit?" Darla breathlessly enjoined.
"Yes, yes," he panted, his tongue having encountered the stiffening nodule of her clitoris.
"Oh, that's the most sensitive place of all in a girl, lover. Rub it, rub and lick it good, Oh, Math-hew, I'm just going to eat you up when you get into me after this-oh, you darling, you dear man!" she nearly sobbed with the fury of her rising, churning rapture. Her thighs jerked and flexed convulsively, her hips twisted and squirmed restlessly as his tongue now explored the secretive lodestone which is the key to the deepest, innermost lust-love emotions in a woman.
Her face was a tortured mask of bliss-torment now, her eyes glazed and staring, her titties heaving with wild abandon, their points dark coral flints of passion. With her hands she groped for his head, entwining her fingers in his rumpled hair, forcing him down against her mount as she arched herself to him, mashing herself and giving total access to the work of tongue and lips which so requited her ardent needs. Her knees clenched together, then swung wildly apart as long spasms shiveringly ascended the smooth satiny columns of her thighs. And the scent of flesh-perfume and the subtle distillations from her mount of love blended into a lust-whetting aphrodisiac for this mature man who had remained so untutored in the tourney of the flesh.
Suddenly, with a raucous groan, Darla pushed his head away and panted, "Oh, now, now, give it to me, Matthew, stick your cock into my pussy, oh my God, fuck me, darling, fuck me hard as you can oh hurry, give it to me good!"
Slowly he knelt up, panting, trembling violently, seeing her flushed, contorted face turn restlessly from side to side. He crawled forward, his throat dry and constricted, his heart pounding wildly. With a little whimpering sob, Darla reached for his cock, grasped it in her hand by the meatus and with her other, yawned apart the moist, twitching lips of her eager cunt. And thus she guided him into her bower, as she nodded, unable to speak out of the furious, agitating yearnings that besieged her. He sank down over her, feeling his stiff, aching ramrod probe down that warm, tight channel. He uttered a cry of delirious ecstasy as he felt himself cram into her up to his balls, till their hairs merged and frictioned in that exacerbating and exciting unison of fucking.
Nimbly, her stockinged legs clenched over his thighs and her arms locked over his shoulders as, her nostrils flaring and shrinking, Darla Johnston hissed, "Now, darling, give it to me! Don't spare me-give it to me hard as you can, dig in to me and give it to me, all you've got!" And then, passionately, giving in as to the youngest and most romantic of swains, the lovely light-haired maid glued her mouth to his and foraged her nimble tongue deep between his lips.
Matthew Evans was oblivious to the world and to time itself; it became for him only this cushioning, naked, satiny body of the lovely, eager, wanton girl who had brought him to such an exalted and awakened state of manhood. He felt the walls of her cunt clamp and nip against his embedded tool, and as he drew slowly out, trembling for fear he might jerkily withdraw and destroy the ecstatic harmony building up between them, Darla moaned in almost suffering as she arched to follow him, reluctant to have his prick quit her citadel for even an instant.
Then with a groan he dug himself into her, hearing his chest flatten the surging turrets of her bubbies, his belly clash against hers with that sweet smack of nakedness to nakedness which proclaimed their unison, the vise-like clutch of her arms and legs around him pinioning him to her burning, quivering body with intangible bonds. And now, abandoning every thought save the lascivious and exquisitely triumphant demands of his physical being, Matthew Evans began to fuck the naked girl with long, deep, driving thrusts, as consummately as if he had long been her chosen lover.
He felt the torrent of burning lava bubble up inside of him; he felt his senses cry out for appeasement as the sweet frictional torture of fucking heightened with each new dig, with each new retreat within her channel, all his life forces and essence. His tongue felt hers gouging and rubbing his, and answered in kind, and his hands now moved under her bottom, to grip the cheeks possessively and exultantly as, arching high, then digging back, he learned the glorious art of fucking and gave as much as he received from this generously wanton houri.
"Oh, Darla-oh, my God-I can't hold back much longer-I've got to-Oh, you sweet devil-you lovely pet, oh, Darla!" he groaned.
"Oh, yes, now, give it to me, all you've got, oh, harder, put it into me, shoot it off inside of me oh, Matthew, oh, lover, ohhhh!"
Her shriek of ecstasy thundered upon his ears as he felt his last powers give way before the agonizing, kissing, clamping, straining clutch of her moist, hot vaginal walls. And then he felt himself explode inside of her, dying to be reborn, with the sweet death that is life, with the renascence of primal ecstasy and the glorification of all that maleness must imply when abetted by so wise and compassionate and ardent a female as Darla Johnston.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Laura Evans had decided to take a swim right after breakfast, but her older sister, Winnie, had scheduled a visit to the model farm and barn. Their father, surprisingly enough, was a late sleeper this morning. He hadn't even come down for breakfast by the time they had dressed and come downstairs, and it was nine o'clock then. Laura had wanted to knock on the door and see if he was all right, but Winnie had dissuaded her.
"This is his vacation, Laura dear, and you know how hard poor Daddy works at that job of his and how early he has to get up in all kinds of weather," the coppery-haired Winnie insisted. "Let's let him get all the rest he can."
"Okay, have it your way," Laura good-naturedly smiled. "He has been working pretty hard, at that, and I guess we're big enough to take care of ourselves. Sure you don't want to come along and have a swim, Winnie?"
"Maybe this afternoon. You oughtn't to go in so soon after eating either."
"Oh, pooh! For all the breakfast I had-just toast and coffee and orange juice from that. See you at lunch! Oh, and if you do see Daddy, tell him I just love it here and I'm ever so glad I came."
Laura went back upstairs to change into her bathing suit and robe and go back to the pool, while Winnie, after having a second cup of coffee, leisurely walked out towards the farm. It was a warm day and she had put on just a pair of light linen shorts and matching short-sleeved shirt, with bra and panties underneath, and thong sandals. About the distance of a long city block from the main central building of the resort, the little farmhouse stood, and beyond that the largest of the barns. As Winnie set out along the pathway leading to the farmhouse, she was oblivious to the fact that even some of the honeymooning bridegrooms breakfasting at nearby tables turned to look covetously at her magnificent body, for the attire of play shorts and blouse set off her voluptuous figure to its best advantage.
Although nineteen and a year older than Laura, Winnie Evans had been no more exposed to the male sex than her sister. And by exposure was meant not the delightfully scanty costume which she was wearing this beautiful sunny morning, but intimate association with a boy like Brad Murray. In fact, Laura hadn't even told Winnie about Brad, and still less about the way he'd almost made her just before they came on this vacation trip to Uncle Alva's. Winnie wasn't prudish, but she was still extremely naive and idealistic. Her interest in business school was to get a good job and then, ultimately, without hurrying matters, to find Mr. Right and go through a nice long courtship and finally get married and have a family. She really hadn't been tempted, and, singularly enough, she had done very little self-experimentation to relieve the naturally urgent longings which a girl of her advanced age experienced. True enough, once or twice she had accidentally touched herself down there with her finger, and finding the sensation exquisite, continued until the sweet liqueur of her pussyjuice was evoked. But she had never necked, still less French-kissed, and although she had had a few very proper dates with a personable college junior by the name of Larry Shaw, she was still ignorant of the lure of passion.
A few of the male guests strolling out around the grounds perceived her strolling down the path to the farmhouse and stopped to enjoy the delectable sight as a treat to the eyes. Winnie was decidedly that.
Winnie was about five feet six and a half inches in height, slim and delectably formed. Her coppery-red hair was styled in a demure upsweep and gathered at the back of her head in a large round bun. It was an old-fashioned coiffure, even suggesting the classic Gibson Girl at the turn of the century. But there was nothing old-fashioned about Winnie's voluptuous physique. She had a pale white skin, typical of redheads, wonderfully satiny and soft, and the sun gleamed upon it with a lubricious caress as she walked along the pathway. Her calves were sinuous, high-set, and as she walked one could observe the marvelous, mobile play of their lithe muscles. Her thighs were long and at their tops broadened into delicious feminine curves as they merged with the impudently high-placed broad ovals of her bottom. From the slim waist that narrowed above her hips, there was further contrast in her boldly jutting titties, shaped like juicy, overripe pears and set closely together high on her chest. Her eyes were an intense dark blue, fringed with natural thick coppery lashes, and her brows were very thin and delicate, most expressive and eloquent when she frowned or quizically regarded her interlocutor. She had an aquiline nose whose thin and widely flaring wings indicated a sensuous and sensitive temperament. Her face was somewhat oval, with firm, daintily dimpled chin, and her mouth was full and generous, the lower hp slightly riper than its kissable mate.
Winnie's voice was melodious and sweet, at about the range of a mezzo-soprano, and her mother, who was wont to boast about her beautiful daughters, often bored her neighbors to tears by insisting that if Winnie had only been given the chance to have a musical education, she might be a very fine singer today.
There was no one in the farmhouse, but of course the door was open and Winnie made a thorough inspection. It was quaint and quite typical of a Wisconsin farmhouse, with chintz curtains, spacious kitchen with plenty of conveniences, and many a comfortable rocking chair which she herself tested. It would be nice, she thought, to marry a nice fellow and live in a place like this, far from the foggy, noisy city.
She left the farmhouse and made her way to the largest barn, directly behind it and just past the fenced-in garden. The barn door was open and she walked inside. Then she stopped and blushed. Standing with his back to her, Judd was busy pitching hay. He was naked to the waist, and wore a pair of tight blue jeans. His muscular back, his strong shoulders and arms, and the tufts of private hair growing in his armpits were all sights that virginal Winnie beheld for the first time. At least, in such intimate proximity, for of course she had seen boys in just trunks at the public beach. The jeans fit him tightly, shaping out the sinewy, compact cheeks of his bottom and his strong, vigorous thighs. And her blushes deepened as she watched the flexions of his bottom while he stooped, gathered up the hay with the long pitchfork and tossed it into a stall.
Finally he put down the pitchfork, rubbed his forearm over his sweating forehead with a loud "Whew!" Then he turned and saw Winnie.
Her dark blue eyes widened, and the lovely crimson suffusion in her cheeks intensified. The crotch of the jeans was extremely tight and Brad was, to use a vulgar phrase, exceptionally well hung. Even in dormant repose, the size of his penis, especially when shaped out by the tight-fitting blue jeans, was enough to make a female in the know aware of his prodigious virility. But for virginal Winnie it was a highly embarrassing revelation, and she felt extremely guilty at being caught looking at him there, so she stammered as she tried to compose herself and greet him demurely with a "Good m-morning, Judd."
"And good morning to you, Winnie; my gosh, your uncle told me how you and your sister hadn't been here for a good many years, but you're sure grown up now. Wow!" he zestfully replied.
There was nothing offensive in this last expletive, but only the natural ebullience of a vigorous and hearty young male animal who found himself immediately attracted to the voluptuous and scantily clad charms of a most entrancing redhead. And in turn, his eyes admiringly fixed on the swelling columns of her pale milky thighs, following them with more than casual interest as the rather short legs of her play shorts made them disappear into regions that were even more delicious because of his own frequent experience with the opposite sex.
Judd couldn't take his eyes off Winnie's titties as they surged out against the tight blouse, making it seem that she didn't even have a bra beneath, though of course she did. But the pale, milky flesh of her delightfully contoured thighs produced an immediate reaction on the virile towheaded hired hand. The vigorous work he had been doing pitching hay, the invigorating effect of the outdoors and his own prodigiously healthy constitution made him suddenly experience the start of an erection, and he hastily turned and picked up the pitchfork and planted it right in front of him, leaning on the handle in an attempt to dissemble the turgifying condition of his prick.
"It-it's a beautiful morning, Judd," Winnie stammered, for she too was fascinated by the sturdy musculature of Alva Evans' assistant. She couldn't take her eyes off his paps and the tufts of dark blonde body hair circling them, nor the fine mane which flourished on his vigorous chest.
"It sure is, Winnie," he smiled. "Anything I can do for you?"
"I-I just finished breakfast and I thought I'd like to see the farm. I already went through the house-it's lovely. Do you do the work of keeping it up?"
He nodded. "I really can't take all the credit, because we've got a lot of good maids here, but it's up to me to supervise."
"I suppose. My, this is a big barn. Does Uncle Alva have many crops?"
"We have a few and it brings us in a few dollars. Though you might say it's really for show to the tourists. Fact is, your uncle has been thinking of building a couple of cabins out here and renting them just as he does the cabins at the resort."
"That would be lovely. And I suppose you have all sorts of animals-cows and horses and things."
"Sure. Most of them are over in the other barn. like to see them?"
"Oh, yes I would, very much, Judd."
"Fine. I'll be right with you. I just want to stack up the rest of this hay. It'll only take a minute."
"Oh, sure."
She watched with interest as he lifted the pitchfork and turned back to the diminishing pile of hay which he was stacking neatly in the stall just to her left. He bent, and she saw the muscles in his back and shoulders flex and stretch. She shivered, not exactly knowing why. It was cool inside the barn, cooler than outside by far, and the softly wafting feel of the cool air on her bare thighs and arms was an exquisite sensation. Somehow she felt strangely rested and at peace, away from the hot, dirty city and the constant squabbles between her mother and father. It would be wonderful to live in a place like this all year round; even in the winter, if you were snowbound, you could stay in one of those lovely little cabins or in this farmhouse and just be cozy and-
Her thoughts were interrupted as Judd now put away the pitchfork and turned to her with a pleasant smile. "All set? Come on, then." He reached out and took her by the elbow and at the touch of his fingers on her bare arm Winnie trembled; then, her eyes meeting his, she became embarrassedly conscious of the vivid blush that suffused her pale, milky cheeks.
The other barn was only about a hundred yards away, and as they entered it she saw at once it was even larger. There were stalls for horses and, further back, stalls for milking cows as well.
"We've got a few pigs out in a pen beyond the silo," he explained, "and the usual amount of hens and chickens and roosters. Of course, the roosters are kept separately, and I've got one that's a real beauty, Diablo."
"What an odd name!"
"It means devil, and that's just what he is," Judd laughingly replied as he and Winnie walked down the rows of stalls, Winnie pausing to admire the mares and stallions and to pet some of them. As she reached out to do so, her beautiful firm titties thrust boldly against her blouse and Judd's eyes were drawn to those luscious turrets as steel is drawn to a magnet. His eyes flicked downward, taking in the elegant slimness of her waist, the flare of her hips, the lovely sculptured columns of her bare thighs. His erection, which had momentarily subsided, now began to ache, and the insistence made him bite his lips and glance down at himself. Those damn jeans of his were too tight. But then, this gorgeous redhead probably didn't know her effect on a guy, wearing a scanty outfit like that. He didn't think she was a teaser; she didn't look to be or talk like the type.
"Would you like to see Diablo?" he added.
"Very much, Judd! Do you keep him with the other roosters to-well, to be with the hens?" She blushed again at this euphemistic phrase.
"Good Lord no! He's a fighting cock, Winnie. Your uncle is going to have him fight a champion cock that belongs to a man who-likes to brag a lot and bet a lot of money. But I don't think it would be a good idea for you to watch. Cock fights are bloody, and I don't think they're for girls."
"But I would like to see him, just the same. I hope Diablo wins."
"He'd better," Judd chuckled ironically, "there's a lot of money riding on his tail feathers. I keep him in a cage way over in the end of the barn, Winnie, if you want to see him. He's a beauty, but don't poke your finger in through the bars. He'd probably take a bite out of it. Those roosters will peck just because of their species, and Diablo isn't the friendly type to start with."
"Oh goodness! He's a beauty!" Winnie squatted down to stare into the cage in which the black rooster was kept. Its beady eyes fixed on her malevolently, and she saw the tapering claws and bright red comb and the vicious beak. Judd squatted down beside her, but he wasn't looking at Diablo. In this position the milky columns of Winnie's thighs were tight-quivering with the muscular exertion of her pose, and the firm rondures of her bubbies threatened to burst through the blouse. Her eyes were wide with admiration, and she didn't see Judd's avid look. Yet she was strangely aware of his presence, almost subconsciously; the pungent smell of his sweat, the hay, and the animals in the barn merged into a potent aura which made her nostrils dilate and shrink a little more quickly now.
"He's just beautiful, I don't think any other rooster could ever beat him," she avowed as she turned to Judd. In his eyes was the same fierce glitter as in Diablo's.
"Let's hope you're right, Winnie. Because I don't think your uncle would like to lose twenty-five thousand dollars."
"Good gracious! You mean-he's going to bet that much on Diablo towin?"
"That's it. We're supposed to hear from Bud Ames this afternoon to set the date for the fight."
"Then I've got to watch it, because I want to be a good luck mascot for Diablo. But twenty-five thousand dollars-why, that's a fortune."
"I'll let you in on a little secret, Winnie, if you won't breathe a word of it to your uncle. He's a great man, and I wouldn't work for anybody else, and that's for sure, but he's obstinate, and he's got a blind spot when it comes to anybody he doesn't like. He doesn't like Bud Ames, and Bud Ames got under his skin, so that's why he made a bet like this. No, he couldn't really afford to lose it. I don't think he will, though, really. I've been working with Diablo and I think he's ready for a fight. Bud's bird doesn't look to have the staying power. I just hope I'm right."
"So do I," she uttered a nervous little laugh. Then she rose slowly, but the tension of her muscles all this while remaining in that squatting pose made her totter a little, and Judd, who had nimbly straightened, caught her by the shoulders to steady her.
"Oh!" she gasped, flushing hotly. Now she could see in his eyes the same glow and fixed intensity she had seen in Diablo's.
"You're quite a girl, Winnie, do you know that?" his voice was husky and he kept hold of her shoulders. "I'll bet back in Detroit you've got boys lined up outside the door waiting for dates."
"Oh no, Judd, not really. Mother doesn't let Laura or me go out too much. We-we've been going to business school and we're going to get jobs and there's time enough to get married and-" She didn't finish and couldn't, for Judd drew her to him and before she could divine his intent, his firm mouth came down ardently on hers. Winnie stiffened with an instinctive rebellion, but the passionate warmth of his kiss overcame her understandable reaction. Her eyes went very wide and she stood passively till at last he took his mouth from hers.
"I'm sorry, Winnie. I just couldn't help it. You're such a lovely girl."
Winnie looked down and blushed, twisting her fingers together nervously.
"You're not mad?" he anxiously demanded. She shook her head.
"No," she said very faintly, "I'm not mad."
Then, after a troubling pause, she suddenly asked, "Do-do you have a girl here, Judd?"
"Nope. I'm as free as the wind, Winnie. No ties, except to your uncle. He treats me more like a partner than an employee, and that's why I'm sold on staying here."
"I know. Uncle Alva's a wonderful person. Do-do you really think Diablo is going to win?"
"I know your uncle well enough to talk plain facts to him, Winnie. If I didn't think Diablo had a good chance, I'd have told him to forget all about the bet. He can use that money if he wins, and it will give Bud Ames a much-needed lesson in keeping his big mouth shut. Also, since he happens to work for a bank that your uncle does business with, it will give him some help there, like getting loans and stuff like that."
"I understand. You-you do like him a lot, don't you, Judd?"
"Very much. This is as much of a home as I've had since I was a kid. But you know something, Winnie?"
She shook her head, looking down at the ground again.
"I think I like you a lot, too, Winnie. Now, don't get mad. My saying it doesn't put any obligation on you, none at all. I just wanted you to know. I think you're really beautiful."
"Thank you, Judd." Now her cheeks were fiery with blushes, and her fingers were twisting more nervously than ever. Judd could feel his cock swelling violently now and aching as if it had to have appeasement. He put his hands back on Winnie's lovely shoulders, then leaned forward gently and kissed her eyes, each in turn, and then the tip of her nose. She stared up at him, making no move to escape, her eyes wide, her lips parted and questioning. Winnie Evans was beginning to feel the bittersweet titillation of physical attraction, for the first time, with a member of the opposite sex. His hands slid down her beautiful bare arms, reveling in the warm feel of the vibrant flesh, and then he took her mouth again. She moaned a little and put up a hand against his chest to fend him off; the feel of his naked chest made her shiver, and Judd, comprehending that this was new and perhaps troublesome for her, at last released her and said jauntily, "We'd better go on and see the silo. I didn't mean to get so fresh."
"You-you weren't fresh, Judd."
"I didn't mean to be. What I said about your being gorgeous, I meant it. A girl like you-well, a fellow thinks that one day he'll meet the right girl and she'll be everything for him. That's the way you affect me. But like I said, don't worry about it. It doesn't put any obligation on you. I want you and your sister to have a wonderful time here, because it'll make your uncle happy. But I just wanted you to know how I felt about you, that's all."
"I-I understand. It's just that-well, I haven't been out with fellows at all, really. I think Laura's had a lot more than I have, so I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do, you know. A girl has to behave the way she's brought up."
"I know that. Well, they brought you up real great, Winnie. You're a lady. But I'll tell you one thing-"
"What's that?" she turned to look at him questioningly.
"I'm glad you haven't got a regular guy back in Detroit, that's what I am. Let's go now."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Laura Evans, after enjoying her swim in the pool, decided to do some sightseeing for herself. Daddy had finally come down for brunch around noon, and he'd really looked rested and happy. She hadn't seen him that way in a long time. Gosh, it was good to be out here without a care in the world and not have to worry about Mother's nagging at her not to get involved with any fellow or have dates on her mind more than she had her business school. It was a good thing Mother didn't know about Brad Murray, Laura thought to herself as she changed into her play shorts and blouse. Winnie had come back looking very thoughtful and serious, and Laura had teased her a little.
"I suppose you watched the barnyard animals having fun, Sis!" and Winnie had just blushed and laughed and shaken her head, and Laura had changed the subject.
Laura thought it was very funny that Winnie didn't seem to have any yen for boys at all, and here she was a whole year older. Well, it was too bad Brad couldn't be down here, and maybe off with her in one of those cabins with nobody to chaperone them at all. She shivered deliciously at the naughty thought. Winnie decided to take a nap after lunch, but Laura was restless, and Daddy had gone back to his room to take a nap too. My goodness, why did people come to vacation resorts just to sleep, when they could do it at home all the time?
Her footsteps took her towards the farmhouse, which she inspected without much interest. Laura was more a city girl than Winnie in many ways, and she was beginning to think that maybe a whole month down here could get rather boring after a while. Maybe Uncle Alva would come up with some dances or parties, for there were a lot of young people at the resort. Of course, they were mostly honeymooners or married or something. Just the same, there was one real sleek-looking guy she'd seen eating lunch, and he'd been all by himself. She was going to find out who he was. It would be fun to make Brad a little jealous. She could write him that she'd found a summer love. Then when she got back to Detroit, it would be fun to make up with him. She could still remember how excited she'd been when Brad caressed her so naughtily. She didn't want to get into any trouble, but she was sure Brad knew what to do to keep a girl out of it, and it was high time she found out what it was really like.
Leaving the house, she moved towards the first barn, where Winnie had found Judd, and as she entered she found him again, wearing only his jeans, shoes and socks, resinning his chore of pitching hay.
Gosh, he was really strong. He had wonderfully big shoulders and muscular arms. Come to think of it, he was every bit as good-looking as Brad. He hadn't noticed her come in, so she stood looking at him for a moment, then came forward slowly. "Hi, Judd," she called.
He turned around and stopped his work, leaning on the handle of the pitchfork, and his eyes widened. She was wearing the same kind of outfit her sister had that morning, but he could already tell the difference between the two girls. That bold, teasing look in Laura's face meant that she was hep to a lot more than Winnie ever was, you could be sure.
"Hi yourself, Laura. Come out to see how the other half fives?"
"Something like that. Aren't you supposed to be in charge of programs and stuff like that to keep us guests happy and busy?"
"Sure. But most of our guests arrived a day or two ago, and a lot of them are honeymooners. You don't have to plan any activities for them."
Laura giggled. "I shouldn't imagine you would. But I'm not a honeymooner, and I'd like something to do. Can you suggest anything?"
She came forward slowly, a mocking little smile on her red lips. Yes, she was a great deal different from Winnie, and she knew it, too, he told himself. That full ripe mouth of hers with the dimples that came and went in the corners as she talked, and those intense dark brown eyes. The way she walked, arching herself from the waist to set off those big, round, closely set titties of hers; that was a sure sign she wasn't playing hard to get.
"I can suggest a lot of things, if you have the time," he suggested lightly. He felt his prick stiffen again, but with Laura it was a little different than with Winnie. He had the impulse not only to fuck Winnie, but in a curious way to protect her. It wasn't the same way with Laura at all. There was a certain fierce animal magnetism between the two of them, and he was certain she felt it just as he did.
"Like what, for instance?" she drawled in that soft, husky contralto voice of hers which she always accentuated when she was trying to flirt. In some ways Laura was a born prick teaser.
"Well, I suppose you've gone swimming."
"Sure. Right after breakfast. What else is new?" she bantered.
"Let's see now, We've got tennis, and there's some fishing in a creek not far from here, and you could always go on a hike."
"Big deal. What about dances and parties?"
"We'll have a dance next Friday night. I know a couple of fellows back in Marshfield who've got a pretty good combo and they don't charge very much for a night. Your uncle told me to give them a ring this afternoon and get them out here. We'll have a buffet supper before the dance and plenty of nice fruit punch."
"Well, that's for Friday. What's for now?" She was only inches away from him now, an appraising, mocking little smile on her red lips.
"You want a personally conducted tour of the animals and of the fighting cock we've got?"
Now, Laura knew the word "cock" from stealthy after-school gossip and chats with her girl friends, and she knew what he meant. Her face crimsoned as she retorted, "A fighting cock? What do you mean by that, Judd?"
"Exactly what I said, Laura. Your uncle's having me train a rooster to go up against somebody else's rooster about a week from now, with my money on the line for the winner, that's what. We've got a bird called Diablo. He's a real devil. Want to see him?"
"Sure. It sounds exciting."
He led the way to the rooster's cage and Laura, as Winnie had done, squatted down and peered interestedly into the cage. Diablo cackled and pecked at the bar as if trying to get at Laura, who drew back with a little squeal.
"Oh, he's ferocious, he is. I'm not going to get too close."
"You're not supposed to. Only the trainer and handler. Well, that's Diablo."
"You mean, people put two roosters like this together and have them fight? And bet money?"
"To the tune of twenty-five thousand dollars, they do, Laura. That's what your uncle's got on Diablo, so it's up to me to make sure he wins."
"Why, that's a fortune. How did he ever get to bet so much? Has he ever done it before?"
"Nope. There's a banker in town who's been giving your uncle fits, and he just got too mouthy for his own good and started talking about the cock he had and how he would back him against anything in the state, so your uncle got the bug and had me find him a good fighting bird, and so we've got Diablo. Now you know."
"But so much money!" Laura breathed incredulously. "But how can you be sure he'll win?"
"You can't be sure about anything, Laura, but he's got a pretty good chance. I've worked with him long enough now to think he can outlast that fellow's bird."
"He looks so-so savage," she murmured, leaning forward again to the door of the cage. Diablo cackled angrily and again darted his beak against the bar. Laura drew back with a little gasp.
"Why, I really think he'd bite me!"
"You can bet your sweet young life he would if you got too close to that cage, Laura. Well, let's see what else we can find to amuse you."
"Yes, I'd like to know that myself." She giggled as she slowly rose. Judd faced her now, but Laura didn't draw back. Her eyes glanced down his naked chest and thence to his crotch. Her eyes widened, because he was in a state of savage erection, and he had made no effort to quell his excitement as he had done with Winnie.
"I'll bet," she murmured, "you can handle just about anything."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Whatever you want it to," she teased.
She was enjoying her power over this handsome man, and there was a kind of spicy thrill in seeing him half-naked and being alone with him here in this big barn. She was thinking of Brad Murray and what she'd write to him about how a farmhand had got the hots for her. Laura could be earthy in her expressions, especially with her best girlfriends, although she had always played the demure lady even with Brad Murray.
"You're quite a dish, Laura, and you know you are. You wanted a little excitement? Suppose I try to stir you up some?" he told her. He drew her to him and kissed her hard, stingingly.
Laura sighed ecstatically and curled her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. She could feel his hard cock pressing fiercely against the fly of his jeans against her crotch. After all, he was a grown man, not a boy like Brad Murray, and he wanted her, she knew he did. It was going to be fun just to lead him on, see how far she could go. She felt a tingling down between her legs at the very notion, and she told herself that it had been so exciting with Brad that she wanted to feel those sensations all over again, only this time with a real man.
His hands moved from her waist down over the tops of her bottom-cheeks as he kissed her again, and this time his tongue boldly drove between her lips as his fingers clutched the saucy rounds of her behind. Laura shivered voluptuously, closing her eyes, abandoning herself, but only to a point. The quivering intensity of the feeling that now began to seethe in her crotch were even fiercer than they had been with Brad Murray.
"Gosh, you don't waste any time, do you, Judd," she laughed a little nervously as he released her mouth, but his fingers still clung over the cheeks of her bottom, pulling her to him so she unmistakably felt the prodding jabs of his weapon through her clothing.
"Look, Laura, when you live in a place like this, everything is natural and simple and direct and honest. Either you do or you don't, but you don't play at doing something. I'm not about to give you your kicks just by teasing you, and I'm not about to go any farther, first because you're my boss's daughter, and second, probably you've never had a man and I'm not about to spoil you."
Her face flamed violently, and she grabbed at his hands and pulled them off her bottom as she said indignantly, her eyes flashing. "That's very complimentary, I must say! You give yourself a lot of importance, don't you, Judd? What makes you think I wanted to have you do anything to me?"
"Because that's the way you are, honey. I sized you up the minute you walked in here. You like to parade yourself, and you've got a lot to parade, no two ways about it. You're one of those girls that goes so far and no farther-you like to make a man sweat and suffer. No, thanks. I've got girls around here who like to screw and don't make you wonder up to the last minute whether they're going to faint away or cry for help because they're scared."
"Why, you insulting-" she swung her hand at his head, but he deftly caught her wrist and pulled her to him. With his right hand he gave her a vigorous smack on her bottom, then he kissed her hard and savagely, bruising her with the contemptuous lust of that kiss. Laura tried to break her right hand free, but he held her wrist as in a vise. She felt the protuberance of his stiff ramrod rubbing against the thin material of her shorts and panties, tickling her pussy, rekindling in her the lascivious urge which Brad Murray's frigging had evoked that memorable afternoon.
"I hate you!" she panted, twisting and trying to get loose.
"No, you don't. You're really wondering just how far I will go, aren't you? I can feel you squirming against me, and you know damn well you want it, baby. Only you're afraid I'll think you cheap, or maybe you're scared of getting a big belly. Well, just to answer that one question-you won't. I know how to take care of a girl, but I know you'll never give me the chance to prove it."
"You're awful! I-I'll have to tell my uncle."
"Go ahead. I've nothing to hide. And when I tell him how you came in here flaunting yourself, he'll most likely have your dad give that big wriggly ass of yours a good swatting."
"Nobody talks to me like that! You beast-you animal!" Laura panted as she tried to break her wrist loose from his hold.
"All right! You want it, you're going to get it," he snarled. He flung her down in a pile of hay and mounted over her. Laura's eyes were luminous, huge with excitement and fear. Even in her attempted revolt, his words rang in her ears about not getting her into trouble. That was what she had been afraid of with Brad, if the truth be known. Her body was quivering and palpitating now, and her pussy was getting moist and tickling her, and she knew she wasn't going to fight, at least not too much. Oh God, it was tickling her now, and his hand was rubbing her right there between the legs and his other hand was on her b-bubbie ...
She moaned as his mouth came down on hers, savagely and demandingly. Now he shifted himself so his crotch was pressed against hers, and he used both hands to unbutton her blouse and drag it off her arms. Almost unknowingly Laura moved her arms to facilitate his work. His fingers reached under her back to loosen the hooks and eyes of the nylon bra ... she felt the cool air of the barn on her naked breasts, and then his big, hard hands cupping them and squeezing them, his palms rasping against the tautening buds of her nipples. Her eyes closed and he moaned again as his mouth covered hers. Her thighs twisted and wrenched, trying to push him off in the instinctive and virginal defense which every female since time began utilizes against the male to proclaim her coy virginity. The tickling in her crotch was maddening now and the feel of her straining, aching nipples was a sweet, delirious torment to the passionate blonde.
"Lift your ass a little so I can get your shorts off and your panties, Laura," he muttered huskily, and she obeyed as in a dream, groaning as she felt the shorts tug down her legs as he moved now away from her and husked them off, then inserted his finger into the elastic waistband of the final gauzy veil over her virgin cunt.
Now she was naked except for her sandals, her pink and white flesh quivering, her bottom prickled by the straw beneath it, the cool air laving her shuddering body as, with half-closed eyes she watched him open the fly of his jeans and draw out his massive, darkened prick.
"Ohhh!" she gasped, putting her palms down on either side of her and tightening her thighs together in spontaneous reaction to his massive weapon. But now his hands were on her titties again, squeezing them, his mouth over hers once more, and she felt his knee part her thighs-and felt for the first time in her life the hot primitive jab of his stiff cock nuzzling against the furry nest of her quim, probing the ringlets of cunny-hair to pry apart the outer labia and then to enter the secret channel-way to bliss.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Laura Evans felt the rude chafing of Judd's blue-jeans against her tender inner thighs as she strove with all her might to evade the supreme disaster. She didn't think of screaming, but she fought him with a silent hostility as she dug her fingernails into his shoulder, his chest, his sides, seeking to twist out from under him. She was too well pinioned and once again she felt the taut smooth head of his rutting prick rub against the foliage of her maiden cunthole. She smelled his acrid body sweat and that indefinable odor which every male exudes when tumescently roused to fucking. Judd's hands now seized her wrists and spread them out on either side of her as she squirmed restlessly, her eyes blazing with hatred and contempt, and yet it was but a small transitional step from hate to love. The cool air of the bam, the prickling of the hay against her bottom and the backs of her thighs caused a lasciviously titillating sensation which recalled to her young, ardent flesh, those impassioned moments with Brad Murray. Thus she had already been conditioned to be fucked, and it remained but for Judd to subjugate her to his will!
With an agile twist of his loins, he followed her every maneuver, and now she could feel the tip of his cock prodding through her cunny ringlets, through even the inner lips themselves, but this time adamantly and with a determination that would not be shaken by compassion for her maiden suffering. She knew with a sickening but exquisitely eager knowledge that the moment had come for her sacrifice into fulfilled womanhood. She bared her teeth at him in a rictus, and she clawed at his shoulders as he came down on her, his mouth now muffling any outcry she would make. His lips were hard and hot and demanding, and she tried a last frantic wriggle of her bottom to avert the disaster. His cock followed her channel and now he thrust himself boldly up against the barrier to bliss. He heard her cry muffled in his mouth as his lips opened to clamp over hers as a gag and as a symbol, too, of his ruthless mastery of her.
Then Laura Evans's body arched as she felt the stabbing, searing twinge of laceration as his rigid prick mercilessly burst through her hymeneal seal and foraged on to the very hilt inside her young, tight matrix. Her eyes bulged with the awareness of this torment which spelled her virgin doom, and now her knees rose up and flung aside, then clenched over his wiry, sturdy body. But Judd immediately withdrew, his penis stickied with the blood of the sacrifice, and then, pinning her with his left palm down on her belly, kneeling up, he plunged his right hand into the pocket of his jeans, drew out a handkerchief and mopped his cock and then her quim, then cast the handkerchief to one side and once more delved his hand into his pocket. This time he brought out a prophylactic and now, finding it necessary to release her for the moment, swiftly elongated it and widened it and capped his taut, throbbing cockhead with the rubber sheath. Seeing herself free for a moment, Laura Evans rolled over onto her side apd, putting her palms to the ground, totteringly rose to her feet, panting and groaning. The straw had left a picturesque pattern of tiny pink crisscrossing lines and, here and there, brighter marks all over her bottom and the backs of her thighs.
He completed the preparation and swiftly rose to his feet, catching her as she began to run, his right arm flinging across her heaving titties, drawing her back to him. His left hand grasped her by the scruff of the neck, his mouth came down hard on hers, and he drew her to him so that she felt the full maleness of him rutting between her trembling thighs, nuzzling her already deflorated mount.
"Let me go, damn you, let me go, Judd!" she gasped. She tried to knee him in the groin, but swiftly he twisted to one side and, stooping, put his right arm under that knee, his left arm around her waist, and bore her back to their bed of straw which was their nuptial couch.
She could not help staring down at him, and now the obscene, singular, almost grotesque scepter of his white-sheathed weapon loomed as a ferocious sword as he crouched down on her. Once again she tried to fend him off, this time with her fists, tightening her body against him, feeling already the twinge of pain from her laceration. Then again he knead her thighs apart and she felt the different sensation of his readied blade with its thin, adhesive coating that was like a second skin, following every virile conformation of his rigid phallus.
She wanted to cry out, but his mouth was clamping down on hers, and again she felt the prickling of the straw against her back and thighs. She groaned under his stifling mouth, for again his meatus had found its way, pressing beyond the rent membrane which had protected her chastity and would no more. Again there was an exquisite stab of pain a he penetrated her, and then, with a thrust, he was in her to his balls. Laura Evan's eyes opened wide, questioning, and hers was not the look of torment now but rather of almost clinical wonder. He stretched himself upon her, dominating her, his naked chest mashing down her swelling titties, and his hands clutched her at the armpits, the balls of his thumbs digging into that soft, lightly downed, now sweat-moistened niche. She felt as if he intended to taste her every secret, to know her every part, to posses her fully. And in her loin there rose the wakening of passion, to which Brad Murray's youthful, tentative dalliance had initiated her.
Now that he was fully inside her, feeling the tight walls of her young cunt clutch spasmodically around his embedded organ, Judd was content to he there weighing her down, feeling the glorious exultation of this cohesion, quivering with lust at the feeling of her stiffened young nipples prodding against his heaving chest. He would have preferred to be all naked to her nakedness, but he could sense how the rough rasp of his jeans forced upon this lovely blonde the knowledge of his dominance.
He lifted his mouth from hers, his eyes staring at her contorted, tearstained face, and once again Laura Evans felt it incumbent upon her to offer token resistance to prove to him she was not a wanton, that she would fight him bitterly until his needs must conquer her by brutal force. Thus subconsciously with the age-old precept of the female, she sought to rationalize this sexual wakening, for now it was wakening, the stirring, quivering, palpitating sensation deep within her loins responding to the force and the skill and the maleness of the towheaded farmhand. And he could feel the convulsive tensions of the walls of her young womb all about his prick, even through the thin sheath which he had donned so there would be no calamitous burden for the girl.
Her nostrils had begun to dilate and to shrink with a quickening that told her ravisher she was cognizant of each nuance of his purpose now. Then slowly he withdrew himself to the very brink of her cleft, and Laura Evans groaned and arched herself, feeling the tingling, still exquisitely painful waves of physical awareness that came upon this maneuver, further tutoring Laura in the progression of this her first fuck.
Her armpits quivered as his thumbs continued to press deep into their moist and sensitive nooks; her eyes were very wide and humid now, and as she saw him lower his face to kiss her again, she quickly turned her face to one side and closed her eyes. Pushing with the palms of her hands, she tried once more to dislodge him, but it was useless. Once more his prick drew back, tantalizing, and again a wave of sensation followed this withdrawal, making her shudder to her very marrow. The fierce little pain of the laceration had subsided, and there were only extra-sensitive twinges when his organ passed over the terrain which had fallen to his cock-conquest. Then again he drove into her up to his balls, and she could not stifle the low, shuddering groan of "Aahhh!" that welled in her throat.
And then Judd began to fuck Laura Evans with a slow and inexorably regularized cadence, drawing his organ back to the brink of her pulsating vulva, hesitating for a heart-stopping instant, then cramming back into the depths of her vaginal volutes. Her bottom jerked spasmodically each time she felt him hilt himself inside her, and her thighs were shaken with convulsive tremors. Now her hand gripped his shoulders, digging in her fingernails with all her might, to punish, to excoriate, to avenge herself. It was as if, knowing herself defeated, she had vowed there would be at least this token retaliation to prove she was not complaisant to her own undoing. Again his mouth found the hollow of her throat, moved to her dimpled chin, then swiftly and stealthily crushed her lips. Now his tongue tip furled between her own lips and she gasped at the sweet, agonizing titillation of that lingual contact. His hands left her armpits now, sliding under her back, adjusting to clamp the edges of her lithe, naked, carnation-satiny hips, as he steered himself thru, constricting her as he drew back only to plunge once more into the very depths of her channel. She felt stifled, suffocated, congested, fettered, but the reiterative friction of his tautly sheathed, monstrously rigid cock began to concentrate all her awareness, all her life, all the pulsations of her young, shivering, naked body into that narrow groove by which he fitted himself to her woman-flesh.
She groaned again as she felt his cock withdraw along that secret pathway of her palpitating pussy, grazing her clitoris on its way out, halting an indefinable, timeless moment, then almost instinctively she caught her breath and raised her hips to welcome him back into her cunt. Hostility gave way to grudging acceptance, and from this she would be brought to the brink of passion, to be plunged into that dark, languorous abyss which was her destiny.
There was no need for words between them now. Judd knew he had met a worthy adversary to his blade, but once this greedy triumph was won, he urged all his virility to the task of teaching Laura Evans there could be pleasure as well as pain in fucking.
He had never felt so tight a vaginal sheath to welcome his manhood; it took all his self-control to keep from taking the easy way of bursting relief, knowing there would be no danger for either of them. But, setting his teeth, digging his fingers deep into her jouncy bottom-cheeks, he closed his eyes and continued his inexorable gait, in and out, in and out, within her tightening, quivering, now subtly moistening cunt.
Laura Evans's eyes opened again, staring unseeing at the rugged, contorted face of her assailant. Suddenly, with a moaning sob which his lips stifled and which he heard within his being, she circled his neck with his arms in a strangle-hold, hugging him to her, glorying in the primitive, primal feeling of her panting titties crushed by his naked, panting, sweating hairy chest, feeling her nipples rubbed and flattened by the male flesh and the hairy mane imparting a lascivious embrace to those stiffening, darkening buds which now began to burgeon in the carnal tumescence which marked definitively her transition into acquiescent womanhood.
Judd seemed to understand what was happening in Laura's nervous system as well as in her psyche. Now his lips were soft and warm and loving as they fused to her, no longer overbearing or cruel and crushing and annihilating. It was as if he wooed her for the first time, consoling her, yet revering her for the pleasure she had given him, promising her too a pleasure all her own and for the very first time.
His right hand left her bottom to move between their bodies and Laura Evans uttered a strident cry as she felt Judd's forefinger prod her clitoris, while at the same moment he thrust himself in to the balls in her churning cunt. "Ohhh-ohh-oh God, Oh Judd, Judd!" That cry betokened the final stage of her conversion and her wakening. Now her legs, tensing and flexing, carnationy-sheened columns of quivering, palpitating yearning, swung over his jeans-clad thighs and locked him to her to complete the task he had so ably begun. Now her mouth answered his, her tongue fiercely sought entry into his mouth, to meet his own tongue in a duel of rapiering, amorous membranes which emulated the cohesion of his prick to her ardent and responding cunt.
Sensing her nearness and knowing his own was ferociously imminent, Judd began to accelerate the rubbing of his finger against her stiffening lode-stone, at the same time drew himself out and plunged back in, speeding the movement and accentuating the lascivious friction that sensitized the soft, twitching walls of Laura Evans' soft, churning cunt. Her eye bulged, glassy, unseeing, her nostrils flared and shrank with the tumult of her senses. Her naked titties rose and fell, heedless of the male force of his chest that flattened their insolently proud rondures. Her nipples were dark and swollen with desire, and a feverish wave of passion that was undeniable, intolerable. For her the moment was at hand, as it was for her skillful initiator-for he was this and not a rapist in the solicitude he bestowed upon her in this lesson of lust which is so akin to love. Her mouth glued to his and her tongue wildly foraged for his. Her fingernails dug into his back; her thighs shifted restlessly, only to lock even more tightly than before, as she arched herself to each digging stroke. Finally she could bear no more, and wrenching her mouth from his, she emitted a piercing shriek: "Aaaah! Oh, Judd, now-Oh, Judd, now-Oh God-Oh, Judd, Oh, Judd."
Her body lifted and jerked and he felt himself explode inside her. In her threshing fury, she managed to roll over him and top him as if she, not he, had been the conqueror. And it was done.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Slowly Judd rose from Laura's naked, quivering body, his chest heaving and his face strangely compassionate. Slowly she looked up at him, recognition dawning in her humid, dilated eyes. She blushed, for she saw herself sprawled and naked on the straw in the barn, and the smell of the barn, of his maleness, of their sweat, their commingled sexual liqueurs wafted to her twitching nostrils.
"Well," he said coldly, "if you want, you can tell your uncle and have me kicked to hell off this place-or maybe even put in jail."
"Do-do you want me to do that, Judd?" She didn't recognize her own voice; it was trembling and hoarser with passion, and the languorous waves of fulfillment still seethed within her loins, and the warm glow of gratification made the cool air exquisite contrast to her naked flesh.
"That's up to you, Laura. I'd have it coming, whatever you did. All I can say is that you won't get pregnant."
"I know that. I'm not a dummy, even if you think so."
"I didn't say that either. Of course you're not. But you're a damned sexy teaser. And I wanted you and it was good, even if you don't think so."
"You're so silly for a man, Judd honey," she murmured as a faint smile crept over her bruised and swollen mouth. She could feel and taste his savage kisses and then, at the end, the almost benevolent sweetness of his embrace.
"I won't tell Uncle Alva," she murmured, "and of course I don't intend to tell Daddy or Winnie, either. It was good for me, too. So now I suppose you'll go strutting around the bam like one of those fighting cocks, like Diablo, and boast all around about it."
"You need your butt tanned for you, to say a thing like that! I'm a man, not a schoolboy. Maybe back in Detroit, when you necked around with a kid who didn't know any better, you might expect to have all his pals find out you were a hot piece, Laura, but I don't operate that way. What happened between us was between a man and a woman, and you're old enough and woman enough to know how to act. I only hope I didn't hurt you too much."
"You hurt me good," she breathed, holding out her arms to him. He started, his own eyes widening with surprise, and sank down on his knees, put his hands on her swelling titties and bent to kiss the navel, then down to the pouting, inflamed lips of her cunt. Laura uttered a cry and drew her knees back almost to her bubbies, clutching her Knees with her trembling hands.
"Oh, God, yes, yes, oh, that's so marvelous, Oh, Judd-you're going to kill me-oh, darling, oh, Judd!"
He began to gamahuch her, deliberately and slowly. His mouth pressed soft, lingering kisses all over the rims of her vulva, and at last his tongue began to flick at the sensitized petals of her slit. Laura's bottom twisted and jerked on the straw, cheeks upturned, her anus puckering with the waves of intolerable, indescribably exquisite sensation, as he gloried in this lingual and labial homage. She felt his tongue drive between the lips of her cunt and find the clitoris, and she screamed again, twisting her body to the side and digging her fingers into the straw, her toes clutching the air and clawing at it in the exorbitant rapture that was torment.
His tongue went on and on, deeper and deeper, then returned to her clitoris. She felt all her juices drawn from their deepest recesses, her body vibrating and shuddering, and then she felt herself explode again even more passionately and savagely before she sank back, sprawled in a drowsy lassitude of delight. He rose, thrust his prick back into his fly and was again poised and impersonal.
"I'll get on with my work," he said. "Take your time dressing. Maybe now you've found out there's more to a man and a woman than just the man's pleasure."
"Oh, my God, yes-oh, darling, yes," Laura moaned. She rose to her feet, slowly and totteringly, and began to retrieve her discarded clothing.
When she was dressed again, her face very pale, her bosom swelling violently, she came to him and putting her arms around him, kissed him hard on his bare chest. Her lips and tongue tasted the salty sweat of him, the male effluvium, and she sighed, "I'm not mad at you at all, and I want to help you with Diablo. I want to bring you good luck. I want him to win for Uncle Alva and for you, Judd. Goodbye for now. I've got to think all about this. I don't know if we ever should again, but right now I couldn't stop you if you wanted me, I know I couldn't. Goodbye, darling."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
For the next week Alva Evans and Judd Mason spent most of their time in the barn where Diablo was being trained for the oncoming fight with Bud Ame's fighting bird. By now the towheaded farmhand had accustomed the black cock to wearing the hood, which is customarily put over a rooster's head and removed only when the two adversaries face each other in the dueling ring. Bud Ames had sent back word that he wanted the fight to take place in the barn behind the house of Tilden Mudgridge, a farmer whose mortgage he held and who was beholden to him for other favors. Tilden Mudgridge was a coarse, lecherous widower in his mid-fifties, with a circle of sparse gray hair around the top of his gleaming skull, a broad Roman nose and thick, sensual lips. He had outlived two wives, both young girls when he married them. He had had a son from his first marriage, and no offspring from the second. The son was twenty, a hulking black-haired lout named Dave, and the latter's reputation with the farm girls was as flamboyantly lustful as his father's.
Matthew Evans already looked ten years younger and felt twenty. Darla Johnston had come back for a return engagement three nights later, after the memorable rendezvous already described, and she had done this of her own volition. The humble, almost worshipful gratitude of Alva's brother had touched her and she had discovered a latent excitement at the thought of making this reserved, almost painfully shy man lose his inhibitions in her arms ... and in the warm, tight, vital confines of her eager young cunt.
Winnie Evans and her younger sister Laura enjoyed the recreational facihties to the fullest, swimming, playing tennis, hiking, and even going horseback riding, something that Winnie at first was deathly scared of. A few days before the cockfight, however, Judd had a horse saddled for her and himself and rode along beside the lovely coppery-haired girl to show her just what fun it could be, and Winnie got all over being scared of horses. There was one moment when they stopped to rest the horses about two miles from the resort, when Winnie began to dismount before Judd could get over to help her, and he had caught her in his arms as she lost her balance and uttered a cry of fright. His left arm was under her back and his left hand clamped firmly against the outer side of her left tittie, while his right arm was under her firm, quivering thighs. She was wearing play shorts and blouse, so he felt all the sweet resilience of her satiny skin. For a long moment he stared into her eyes, his heart beating faster than usual, and Winnie turned a fiery red and closed her eyes.
When he let her down and kept his arms about her a moment to steady her, Judd had the insensate impulse to squeeze that luscious bottom of hers and smother that lovely mouth with kisses until she surrendered her cherry to him. He reproached himself for the thought as already he felt a secret loyalty to the delightful Laura who, though a year younger, had already shown herself a woman and eager to meet his challenge as a demanding male.
Now it was the day before the fight, and Winnie and Laura were out in the barn watching Diablo as Judd lifted the fighting cock out of the cage and put it down into the simulated ring, which was actually a dug-out space, about five feet square, because at the Mudgridge farm that was to be the actual area for the duel on which $25,000 was to be riding.
Alva Evans had taken the meanest of the barnyard roosters to serve as proxy for El Dorado. It, too, like Bud Ames's bird, was white. Winnie and Laura stood to one side, about a foot apart, watching fascinatedly as Judd set Diablo down into the pit while their uncle posed the white rooster at the other end of the pit. Alva Evans looked up and nodded, and Judd whisked the hood off Diablo. The bird preened itself, its head jerkily moving this way and that as it considered the white rooster, and its comb was like a sign of the blood that would soon be shed. Then, with a screech, Diablo attacked. His beak dug into the white rooster's neck. Mad with terror, the white rooster sought to escape, flapping its useless wings and twisting to evade the deadly pecks, administering some desultory swipes of its own beak in futile retaliation. It was over in a moment, and the white rooster lay on its back lifeless while Diablo crowed his triumph.
Shivering with a kind of morbid fascination, the sisters moved almost unconsciously closer to one another, and Winnie breathed, "It's so terrible, so cruel! And yet that black rooster is so magnificent-I can't help watching, even though I can't stand the sight of blood!"
Her face was flushed and her eyes were glowing, and her titties rose and fell erratically under her snug blouse and bra. Judd looked up as he leaned out to pull the hood over Diablo's head, and his eyes met Laura's. She bit her lips and flushed hotly, then averted her gaze.
"Well, girls," Alva Evans heartily boomed, "I guess Diablo's as ready as he'll ever be. But you two look a little shaken-maybe you oughtn't to be at the fight tomorrow."
"Oh, no, Uncle Alva," Winnie reassured him. "We'll be fine, really we will. And we do want you to win so much, don't we, Laura?"
"Oh, yes, Uncle Alva. Diablo has to win."
"That's true enough," Alva Evans chuckled as he straightened. "Business is fine, but nobody wants to lose that much money. Besides, if I do, Bud Ames will have a hold on me I don't want him to. He's a skinflint when it comes to mortgages and foreclosing. First thing you know he'll be looking around my property to see if any part of it is delinquent in back taxes or anything like that, and he'll find a way to do me out of it if he can legally. Isn't that right, Judd?"
"It sure is, Alva. But I think this bird of ours is going to make Mr. Ames a little less boastful after tomorrow."
"If I win, Judd, I'm going to give you five thousand dollars of the winnings. I'll use the rest to build guest cabins around the farm, so that next summer I can double my business."
"That's a terrific idea, Alva. But then you'll have to do a little advertising back in towns like Chicago and St. Louis and Detroit to get the people to come out here."
"I know. Well, you can help me with that. We can always hire some advertising man in Chicago or Milwaukee and it won't cost too much. Well, girls, how about some lunch?"
"Fine, Uncle Alva," Laura responded as she went up to him and took his arm. "I just want to thank you for letting me be here. It's really lovely and I've enjoyed every minute of it."
"My pleasure, honey. Say, Winnie, you're pretty quiet. Hey, Judd, maybe we ought to find some fellow for this girl to spark with? Aren't we going to have a dance Saturday night?"
"We sure are, Alva."
"I-I really don't want any fellow," Winnie stammered, miserably conscious of her burning cheeks. Judd Mason glanced at her, and again Laura's eyes met his, this time naughtily she winked at him and surreptitiously blew him a kiss. He hastened to add: "Sounds as if you're trying to be a matchmaker, Alva. Nowadays girls find their own fellows, and it doesn't have to be leap year for them to do it, either."
"That's right, Uncle Alva," Laura chimed in with a sly, teasing glance at Judd, "and anyway, you know Mother'd never hear of our going around with boys."
"Well, in a couple of years you girls will be of age and then you can do what you want," their uncle chuckled. "But you're both of an age already to know your own minds, and you're sensible and lovely, and I don't think you need a chaperon any more. Right, Judd?"
"That's for sure," the towheaded farmhand nodded as again he met Laura's gaze...
It was ten o'clock that evening, and Alva Evans was relaxing in the combination office-living quarters on the second floor of the main building of the resort. He was in his bathrobe and pajamas and slippers, nursing a tall, cool glass of gin and tonic and Verna Thomas was sitting on his lap, her right arm around his shoulders, taking an occasional sip from his glass when he offered it to her. His left hand was gently caressing her tightly spaced oval bottom-cheeks, savoring the smooth, soft, tawny-sheened feel of her naked flesh. For the auburn-haired, haughty-faced, sensual maid was naked as Eve, and her small red lips were moist and quivering with desire. Alva had discovered that Verna's supercilious look was really a defense mechanism. Her stepfather tried to rape her when she was thirteen, and she tried to run away from home and wound up working in a small creamery near Dela-van, where she lied about her age till about six months later when the foreman decided to collect his fringe benefits for having hired her in the first place, and invited her to have supper at his house. There he sneaked a little Spanish fly into her coffee and Verna had passionately given him her cherry under its influence. However, she hadn't regretted it, as he hadn't given her too much of the drug and she was fully aware of her own furious response to his skillful lovemaking. She worked there for another year, until he was transferred to another creamery in Minnesota, and she decided to stay in the area. Then she found herself a job as a combination waitress-maid in a little hotel which had its own restaurant in Baraboo.
Then she married a handsome, burly fellow in his late twenties who stopped at the hotel for a month prior to taking a job in Chicago as assistant manager in a fashionable South Side motel. He'd been quite a lover, too, and Verna learned all the tricks that her creamery boss either hadn't known or had forgotten to teach her. The marriage lasted two years and ended abruptly when Verna telephoned her husband at the motel from their bungalow on 87th Street and Yates Avenue to find out when he was coming home, and by mistake the girl who had been in bed with Verna's husband picked up the phone and said "hello" before he had angrily snatched it out of her hand. Verna put two and two together and they'd come out five, so when her burly husband finally came home in the wee hours of the morning, she was waiting for him to have a showdown. The showdown she'd gotten was a broken jaw and a black eye, and a profane lecture on the wisdom of keeping her nose out of his business because he could fuck girls like her any day in the week and he was getting tired of her brand of pussy anyway. Verna filed a charge of assault and had the satisfaction of seeing him sentenced to six months in jail. She waited in Chicago till she got her divorce and then went back to Wisconsin, because she wasn't particularly fond of living in a dirty, crowded, noisy metropolis. She spent a few months working in Ripon, and then drifted to Marshfield, and that was where Alva Evans met her and offered her a good job.
After a couple of weeks, sexy, brown-haired Peggy Bruns came to her room and, like a friendly kitten, amiably wanted to know how she liked the job and how she liked Alva Evans. Then Peggy volunteered, with considerable enthusiasm, what a terrific lover Alva Evans was, and Verna said to herself, "Oh-oh, it'll be just one of those things. He'll want to break me in next and expect me to say 'Thank you for the job' in bed." But Peggy insisted that Alva was a perfect gentleman and he never took advantage of a girl, and somehow a girl always wound up wanting to be had by a nice guy like him. Then, a week later, Verna had occasion to bring a late supper tray to Alva's quarters, and he had her sit down, share the meal with him, and chatted with her pleasantly to find out how she liked the new job. And before she knew what she was doing, she found herself kissing him, and the way his hand caressed her titties and her bottom made her almost faint away with desire, for she was innately passionate and she hadn't had a good piece in longer than he could remember.
There was, in Alva Evans's "harem"-if it might facetiously be called that-a camaraderie which was extremely unusual of its kind. Not one of the maids who went to bed with her employer had the slightest jealousy of any of her rivals, for Alva Evans was equally attentive and affectionate to each one, and managed to satisfy his love partner in a most convincing way.
Of course, Verna knew all about the cock fight tomorrow. She had come to Alva's room, she explained "to bring you luck, boss man. I wish I could watch, but I guess I've got work to do."
"I guess you have, Verna baby, and besides, it's sort of bloodthirsty and you wouldn't like it. Just wishing me luck is good enough. Besides, if Diablo wins, there'll be money enough to build some cabins in that section off to the side of the farm, and next summer we'll all be busy and making more money than we ever have before. All the maids are going to get a nice substantial raise if that happens, you can count on that, Verna girl."
"You know, boss man, I'm awfully glad you found me in Marshfield."
"So am I. You've got a gorgeous figure, Verna, and when I'm with you, that saucy face keeps making me think you're just daring me to break through your cool and find out what makes you tick."
"Well, I guess by now you have, haven't you, boss man?" she archly demanded, as she wriggled her bottom enticingly and slowly in his lap. "I can tell what's happening-want to go to bed right now?"
"I was ready a long time ago, Verna, just waiting to get you in the mood." His right hand slipped down her thigh and into the nest of her furry cunt, the forefinger delicately frigging her. Verna moaned and spread her thighs, moving a little to give him full access to her private parts. His finger moved in and found the nodule of her clitoris and began to press and to rub it very gently. Verna flung her arms around him and kissed him hard on the cheek, her nostrils flaring.
He stopped frigging her and cupped her titties, then bent his head to nuzzle each of her nipples, then to suck hungeringly at each while Verna's hands rumpled his hair, until she finally pressed her hot, quivering mouth against his, her tongue driving between his lips as she exhorted him to take her ...
Verna Thomas liked it this way. She'd had enough of marriage to that hulking brute who'd beaten her up because she found out about his fucking another girl. She was making good money and getting all the fucking she wanted. She had made eyes at Judd a couple of times, and the thought occurred to her that if Alva tired of her charms, she'd just as soon open her legs to the rugged, towheaded assistant manager. For one thing, he was lots younger and lots more vigorous. He'd had her once or twice, just enough to tease her into wanting a great deal more, but he'd been with Coralou and Peggy most of the time when he decided to unbend and unwind. Judd Mason felt a deep obligation to his new employer, who'd taken him in with no questions asked. He did the work of about five men around the place, and he felt he was constantly on trial, so he didn't avail himself too readily of the opportunities offered around the place. Alva Evans thought more of him as a younger son than as an employee, but Judd didn't want to take that for granted.
At the moment Verna Thomas was quite content to rub her curvaceous bare bottom over her boss's lap and feel with a womanly delight his growing tribute to her naked charms, because it was getting harder by the moment and pushing against the fly of his pajama trousers in a way that left no doubt that she was going to get everything she'd bargained for and possibly a great deal more.
"You've got the darlingest nieces, boss man," she vouchsafed, her voice a little husky from the gradual rise of passion that was beginning to tingle her soft quim and to make the tips of her bubbies darker and stiffer with longing. "Have they got boyfriends?"
"Not so you could notice it, Verna honey," he chuckled, shaking his head. "That mother of theirs back in Detroit keeps a tight rein on them all the time. I'll bet even when they reach twenty-one and are legally able to wheel and deal for themselves, she'll still nag at them and make them toe a straight and narrow mark. Trouble is, Verna, when a person has had a life of privation and sort of narrowed outlook, that person never wants to let their kids have it any easier than they did. I guess maybe it's a certain masochism-or sadism, depending on your viewpoint. Me, if I had kids, I'd teach them right off the bat that sex is a fine, good, wholesome thing, and the only warning I'd give them would be not to get any girls into trouble-or themselves either, of course-but to pick and choose till they were sure of the person they wanted to stay with and then to be hundred-percent loyal."
"You've got a real head on your shoulders, boss, as well as the real head that's rubbing my poor little bottom," Verna quipped as she whispered into his ear and then bit his earlobe gently. "Do you want to get me into trouble right now? I'm getting awfully sexy, as if you didn't know. All this talk about cock fights sounds naughty to me, and you know what I mean."
"You're quite a girl, Verna. I hope some day you find the right guy."
"I have already. Who wants to get married again? I'm still young enough, and I think I've still got my looks."
"Now you're fishing, and that's silly. My own cock is ready for a good hard fight in your little pit. Are you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be, boss-man," she breathed, her breath sibilant between her teeth. She pressed her mouth to his and slipped in her tongue. His forefinger returned to frig her pussy, which was moistening now, and then delicately tickled her turgifying clitoris. Verna Thomas moaned and dug her tongue in feverishly as she strained to him. He slipped his right arm under her knee, his left arm around her shoulders, and with a grunt of exertion, slowly stood up, holding his naked and beautiful auburn-haired burden in his arms.
"Gosh, you're just as strong as Judd is," she whispered, flicking her tongue in his ear. "You're all man, you are. Oh, hurry, Alva honey, I need it badly in my little pit. I want to feel that great big cock of yours fighting inside of me and making me say uncle."
"I'll try to oblige, because never let it be said that Alva Evans didn't satisfy a sexy piece like you," he grinned as he strode to the bed. Slipping off his bathrobe and pajamas, he stood naked before her, while Verna admiringly stared at the bulging ramrod standing out boldly from the patch of pubic hair, a semaphoric emblem of superb vitality and manhood. She forgot all about Judd Mason, because what she saw promised the most burning assuagement for her growing need. And a cock in the bush is always worth two buttoned behind their flies, was Verna Thomas's philosophy of passion.
He turned on his side to her, slipping his left arm under her shoulders, his right hand gently and slowly caressing her from calf to tittie, as she squirmed eagerly against him. She reached over and daintily pinched his meatus, watching with fascinated delight the convulsive puckering spasms of the urethral lips from which would flow his virile drench. He bent his head and mouthed her nipple, flicking his tongue tip at the burgeoning bud, while Verna closed her eyes and rumpled his hair with her left hand, the fingers of her other hand trailing limply and just grazing the throbbing shaft of his surging prick. She tickled his balls artfully and slowly, moving to the scrotum, which she rubbed with the lightest of pressures and an insistent caress until she felt him shudder and heard him groan with the promise of furious cohesion to be hers within the moment.
Now his right forefinger returned to her moistening, pouting cunt, rimming the petals of the outer lips through the covering of dark auburn fleece of her love hair. Verna moaned softly and spread her thighs, squirming he bottom back and forth as if commanding that finger to turn into the hard, driving piston of his rigid cock. Her nostrils flared and shrank repeatedly, and her bubbies swelled in a quickening tumult of desire. He bent his head and kissed her bellybutton, rubbing his tongue around the soft niche of soft, delicately perfumed flesh, and Verna arched and wriggled.
"That-that tickles, boss-man," she gasped in a husky voice. As she arched herself, his finger thrust in between the inner lips of her slit, penetrating to the very hilt as a cock would, and she groaned aloud in her delight and torment which were commingled in her psyche now: "Ahhh-oh, darling, do it, do it, I want to feel every inch of you-oh, darling, do it, do it! Oh, put your cock in my pit, for mercy's sake!"
He knelt up now and Verna eagerly spread her thighs to maximum to receive him. Planting his palms on either side of her squirming hips, Alva Evans aimed the taut, bulging spear point of his weapon towards the gaping grotto, then slowiy advanced till he felt the sweet grazing, moist, warm caress of her cunny-petals. Then with a single mighty dig he planted himself up to his balls inside her quivering channel. Verna Thomas uttered a shriek of ecstasy and, reaching up with her eager arms, pulled him down upon her flattening, shuddering titties as her mouth grew to his and her legs wound around his sinewy calves. Thus locked, thus merged, her tongue darting to and fro in his mouth and his own requiring her in kind, each waited for the other's exhortation to commence this joust in the lists of love. Alva Evans could feel the quaking and the fluttering of the walls of Verna's tight canal, and she in turn savored the repletion, the cramming of her burning cunt, the throbbing and pulsations of the massive blade that was sheathed in her sexual scabbard.
"Ohh, oh, my Lord, it's good. Your cock is really going to fight in my pit tonight," she whispered. He drew back, plunged in again to the hilt, and Verna tightened the clutch of her arms and legs as she arched herself up to draw him back within her chalcrous confines. And then they began the age-old rhythmic cadencing which is eternally new and rewarding, with its sweetness, its pain, its torment, it's fiery expression of their manifold desires...
Matthew Evans was smoking a cigar, something which Clara never permitted at home. He had spent the afternoon at the swimming pool and actually cavorted like a boy in the water. Then he ate a hearty dinner, followed by a blissful, dreamless nap. Singularly, his mirror told him, despite his showing much more appetite at the resort than he had ever shown for Clara's rather tasteless and unimaginative meals at home, he seemed to have lost a lev pound of his paunch, and he looked younger and heartier than he had in many a year. He wished somehow lie could prolong this vacation; even a month wasn't time enough. There would be only two very short weeks left, and then back to Detroit and the heat and the job and Clara's nagging-and no more nookie for how long only Heaven knew. He pufled at his cigar contemplatively and sighed with a kind of nostalgia. He wished he could be about thirty years younger, just starting out in life, and just finding an eager, loving piece like that Darla. God, what she'd done for him words couldn't express. He wanted to give her money or something to express his appreciation, but he knew that money would be too crass, too much like paying her for services rendered, as if she were a prostitute, and she wasn't that at all. Wouldn't it be wonderful if he could have a maid like Darla in his own house and visit her at night without Clara's knowing. Of course that was a wild and impossible fantasy.
And Winnie and Laura seemed to be serenely happy, though the redhead was rather more quiet and reserved than he'd expected out here. Laura had certainly adapted herself to the outdoors, going riding and swimming all the time. What a beauty she was; what vigor and energy, and she wasn't the spoiled, supercilious brat she'd been so often back home. He wondered if Winnie had found a boyfriend. But of course, Winnie was the quiet type and wouldn't let on. He would expect it more of Laura, though even she didn't seem to have taken to any of the young fellows around the resort. It would be nice if the girls could find the right husbands and maybe have a happier life than he had had with Clara. It wasn't really poor Clara's fault. God knows she was loyal enough and devoted to him, it was just that she'd never herself been given a chance to blossom out into a woman like Darla. It was a matter of early training, he guessed, but it was too late now to undertake any rehabilitation of Clara Evans, and he ought to be grateful and not complain and bewail his fate, because after all he had just about written finis to his sex life before coming out here, and now look what happened. The most passionate, the most wonderful, the most thrilling bed-adventures any man could dream of, and they had been his, and they couldn't be taken away from his memory ever. How Darla's naked titties and thighs had felt under him, how that warm, sweet, tight cleft of hers had gobbled his manhood and clenched and held it lovingly while he had proved himself a real man. At least he'd never have to wonder what things might have been if he hadn't married Clara; he knew this much, that he could satisfy a girl and she could bring him a bounteous reward of passion in return, and that was all the meaning of life and love, and so few men had a chance at it.
Two short weeks, and then it would all be over. He drew on his cigar again and watched the blue ring slowly ascend to the ceiling. He was sitting there in the dark, enjoying the stillness. No blaring radio or TV set, no automobile horns outside; it was really paradise out here. He had some capital, more than Clara knew but he'd never wanted to invest it in stocks or bonds or anything like that. He'd held it in a separate bank account under his own name in the Mercantile National, but he and Clara did all their business at the First Federal Bank and Savings in Detroit, so she didn't know about the Mercantile. He had about nine thousand dollars there. It was going to be for Winnie and for Laura when they got married, but if he were to invest it, he'd offer it to Alva and see if he couldn't buy a part interest in this place. Then he'd have an excuse to come back here once in a while, to protect his investment as it were, and to see Darla again.
He started with surprise as he heard a soft knock at his door. "Come in," he called, and felt himself quivering like a boy discovered masturbating. Could it be Darla? No, he knew it was her day off. Maybe she was in town with some nice guy and a young fellow who could take better care of her than he could. Still, he'd done his best and he'd known what it was like-
"My gracious, what in the world are you doing sitting by yourself in the dark, Mr. Evans?"
He turned with a start and half-rose from his chair. It was Peggy Bruns, and she wore a green hostess robe and sandals. Her light brown hair was fixed in a thick oval bun at the back of her head, and her wide, soft brown eyes were twinkling at him as she came to stand beside his chair.
"Oh-h-hello. You're Peggy, aren't you?" he stammered.
"All of me, Mr. Evans. My, aren't you lonesome like this."
"Sure I am."
"I know Darla's off, and she's told me what a sweet man you are. I don't think she'd mind if I came to keep you company this evening. I finished my work and I'm sort of restless. I thought maybe you'd know a good cure for that," she murmured, with a teasing little smile as she plumped herself down on the arm of his chair.
"She-she's told you-" he echoed, his face reddening.
Peggy nodded with an arch little smile. "Uh-huh, she sure has. You're quite a lover, Mr. Evans. She was telling me you're sort of terrific, but I guess it's because still waters always run deep."
"She-she's very kind to say that, but I-I don't know what to say," he blurted.
"Then don't say anything, honey," Peggy Bruns giggled. She shifted herself with a sinuous movement right down into his lap and circled his neck with an arm. "Mmmmmm! I just love a good cigar. It's so manly. And Darla says you are too. Do you like me any?"
Matthew Evans had observed Peggy Bruns in the hall several times in her maid's outfit, going in to make up the rooms. She had a superbly buxom figure, he had remarked at the time, but this nearness and the feel of her brought him into quivering awareness of her delicious proportions. The hostess robe was all she was wearing, and her plump, round buttocks squirmed enticingly in his lap, while his eyes were fixed right at the level of her boldly round, widely spaced cantaloupe-like titties.
"There," she announced triumphantly. "Now why don't we get better acquainted? Unless you don't like my type, Mr. Evans?"
"Oh, no. I mean-you're ever so attractive, P-Peggy," he hoarsely stammered.
"Then why don't you show you like me a little, hmmm?"
He made a helpless gesture with the cigar in his right hand, and Peggy Bruns giggled again, pulled it away from him, walked over to the ashtray and crushed it out. Then she returned to him and reseated herself in his lap. She put her right arm around his neck and with her left hand took one of his hands and drew it towards the little zipper at the top of the hostess robe.
"Isn't it awfully warm in here?" she ingenuously queried. "Won't you help me get this off so I can be comfy?"
Perhaps a year ago Matthew Evans would have blushed and wished himself invisible so he wouldn't be embarrassed, but these two weeks had made a new man of him. Now that he had readjusted to the miracle of Peggy Bruns's proximity and availability-for nothing could be more diaphanous than the costume in which she was offering herself-he reacted as any red-blooded male would have done: he seized the zipper and pulled it down to her waist. As he did so, his eyes widened at the vision of her pale, milky skin, the lovely valley between her round, swelling titties, the wide, shallow dimple of her navel. Peggy sighed with delight, and then took his hand and put it on one of her naked love-globes. The nipple was full and crinkly, and he could feel it palpitating against his quivering palm. His left arm went round her waist and he leaned forward and kissed her hard on the mouth. Instantly Peggy Bruns parted her lips and slid out her pink tongue to probe between his. Matthew Evans shuddered with the electrifying titillation of that agile, knowing membrane.
At the same time, his cock began to throb and ache as it hardened, and Peggy slyly squirmed her bottom back and forth over his lap, staring at him with humid, affectionate eyes.
"My goodness, Darla was so right, Mr. Evans."
"Call me Matthew, Peggy honey," he gasped. He tightened his grasp on her naked breast, and Peggy sighed and nodded as she closed her eyes and gave him her mouth again. Once more her soft pink tongue probed between his lips in unctuous invitation. He felt his cock stiffen savagely, and he knew that for tonight, at any rate, he wouldn't be left to his disconsolate thoughts about going back to Detroit and the dreary bed-less nights ahead with Clara.
Bolder now, his right hand roved from her swelling tittie down her bare belly and then lower still, while Peggy arched up to give him access.
"Oooh, I can see you're a man who knows his way around, honey," she murmured as she kissed him hard on the cheek and then began to rumple his hair while, tightening his left arm around her supple waist, Matthew Evans foraged his right forefinger down into the thick, silky, dark brown curls of her love-bush. Her cunt lips were plump and already poutingly open, and the proof of her tumescence was at once discernible; he felt the sweet dew-distillation of her lovejuices which told him she had come prepared for passion. His cock jerked and ached and throbbed with furious delight at this knowledge.
"Let's go to bed, hmmm, Matthew honey? I want it to be a nice long fucking, 'cause Darla says you're quite a man and you can hold out till a girl gets her kicks too. Come on and give it to me, Matthew honey," she cozened him, nibbling again at his ear.
Matthew was trembling, but not with fear or guilt. Those demons had been banished from his psyche and his sight. Now he trembled with boyish anticipation, as one might have on the threshold of paradise.
"I don't think I can carry you to bed, Peggy sweetie," he muttered hoarsely, his forefinger now finding the dainty button of her clitoris.
"Oooh, honey, if you keep doing that to Mama, she won't have any strength left to get up at all. You'd better wait till we get to bed. But I want you to do that, 'cause it feels-oh, so good!" She rose and with both hands husked down the hostess robe till it festooned her ankles and she stood Eve-naked, the magnificent gourds of her bubbies rising and falling, her thighs shivering with anticipation.
His eyes fixed on the dark garden of her Venus, and he could see the pink, twitching lips, moist and quivering for him in readiness. He rose, fumbling at his bathrobe, and shrugged it off. But it was Peggy herself who unbuttoned his pajama tops and whisked them off, then assiduously began to unbutton his pajama trousers and let them fall to the floor, and he was naked as she was. Her soft hands cupped his cock, holding it out and pointing it directly at her belly as she smilingly enjoined, "I can see and feel that Darla was ever so right, Matthew darling! Boy, is she going to be jealous when I tell her what fun we two are going to have, just us two, right now! Huh, Matthew honey?"
"Yes, yes, you sweet piece, oh yes!" he breathed. And then they went on the bed, and Peggy was stroking his cheeks and kissing his nose and mouth and eyes, playfully as a young girl, as she whispered, "Wouldn't you like to undo my hair and let it down my back? I feel ever so much sexier when my hair's loose, Matthew."
She knelt over him now, bowing her head to him like a slave of love. He reached up with both hands and tremblingly undid the knot, drew out the fight brown cascade and saw it caress the mild contours of her neck and shoulders. Then he heard a cry of ecstasy, for Peggy Bruns had crawled backwards and then bowed her head, and he felt the maddening brush of her warm, moist lips just brushing the tip of his bulging cock.
"Let me do it this way first, honey," she petitioned.
He was powerless to stop her, and he wouldn't have, even if he could. She mounted over him, and with her own left hand gaped open the sweet, pouting lips of her cunny, and then taking hold of his throbbing cock at its very roots, guided his shaft toward her den of delight. Slowly she sank down on him, impaling herself, and simultaneously they exuded groans of bliss, proclaiming the glorious carnal cohesion between them. His fingers roamed over her plump, round, milky bottom-cheeks, squeezing and pinching them luxuriously, while Peggy Bruns arched and sank upon him, her big, firm, round, naked titties flattening their darkened, turgified crests against his chest.
It was the night before the cock fight ... and for Matthew Evans it was a night of unutterable rapture.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Neither Laura nor Winnie Evans told their father about the actual date of the famous cockfight between Diablo and El Dorado. For one thing, the girls agreed that Matthew Evans might prevent their attending such a gory spectacle, which was usually limited to male spectators who were more callous to such savage sport. Laura, needless to say, kept her secret well of that memorable afternoon in the barn, but it determined her to watch the cockfight at any cost, for she felt herself irresistibly drawn to virile, rugged Judd. Where young Brad Murray had titillated her growing sensual passions as a female to the extent of vaunting her own powers as a kind of mocking challenge to the male, it remained for Judd Mason to indoctrinate her to her proper place in the scheme of things. The intrusion of his virile cock in her soft pussy had turned Laura Evans from a demivierge into a passionate, eager young woman virtually overnight.
So, on the day of the cockfight, Laura Evans went to the farmhouse in search of Judd to learn the exact hour of the event. She found him in conference with Peggy Bruns and Verna Thomas, who were both engaged in sweeping the floor and dusting the woodwork. Both lovely maids glanced at her a little curiously, then discreetly withdrew to leave her alone with their boss and occasional lover.
"Judd," she murmured as she moved to him and put her arms around his shoulder, "I've missed you so. You've avoided me since the other afternoon."
"No, I haven't. Not really. I figured you wanted time to think things over. Are you going to tell your father that I'm an out and out dog who ought to be sent to jail for what I did?"
"Of course not!" Laura crinkled her dainty nose at him. "I'm mad about you, if you want to know the truth. I'd do anything for you. And I want you to do something for me."
"And what's that?"
"Winnie and I want to see the fight tonight-I assume it is tonight?"
"Now wait a minute, Laura," he expostulated. "Things like that aren't a fit sight for your pretty eyes, nor Winnie's, either. Diablo's going to peck El Dorado to death, and it won't be a pretty sight to watch. Besides, I don't think the fellows would care to have girls around. They might look upon it as a jinx."
"Oh, please, Judd, please!" Laura pleaded. "We're pulling for you and Uncle Alva, and we just want to watch. We won't be any trouble, I promise we won't. We'll just look, and we won't say a word. Please!"
She arched herself toward him, her rosy mouth fixing on his in a long, lingering kiss. Judd stood motionless for a moment, then with a sigh of resignation, put his palms against Laura's quivering, resilient bottom-cheeks as he returned her kiss with vigorous interest.
"All right," he finally agreed, "but I happen to know just the way some of these old farmers around here think and act. You're going to have to dress up like boys, and I'll just say you're two new farm hands I just hired, and that I promised you could watch. You tell Winnie that if she wants to go with you, you've both got to dress in pants or jeans and shirts, and do something about your hair so it won't be a dead giveaway. Otherwise, I won't be responsible. Tempers flare, especially when there's all this money bet on the outcome."
"We won't be any problem, silly," Laura rubbed noses with him and gave him a pouting, little-girl look. "We won't wear any makeup, and I'll get some jeans in town, and you can pass us off as boys. Only I want you to remember that I'm not a boy at all, and that you liked finding that out the other afternoon." Again she pressed her full, surging titties against his chest and felt them flatten to the vigorous adamance of his sturdy body. She shivered with delight. Again his lips came down on hers, this time harshly, almost contemptuously, as if he was too intent on hiding his feeling for her.
"All right, I get the message," he said slowly. "It'll be at nine o'clock over in Tilden Mudgridge's barn. That's about two and a half miles north of here."
"That's no problem," Laura cheerfully retorted, as she reluctantly withdrew her arms and stepped back. "We'll ride our horses there."
"Come to think of it, that might not be such a bad idea," he reluctantly agreed. "If the fellows see you on horseback and you're wearing jeans and caps like I told you to, they'll take you for farmhands for sure. All right, but don't you dare open your mouths, you or Winnie. I don't want any trouble. There'll be enough bad feeling as it is, unless I'm much mistaken. I'm beginning to be sorry the boss went overboard on Diablo. He had a good chance to win, but just in case he shouldn't, I'd hate to see your uncle lose that much money. Most of all, Bud Ames would never let him forget it the rest of his life. He's just the sort of nasty guy to rub a thing like that in for the rest of his life."
"Diablo's going to win, you'll see," Laura murmured. "Say you like me just a little now, Judd. I know you thought I was a terribly spoiled brat before-well, before you-know-what. But it was nice, wasn't it?"
"Look, honey, you've got me all wrong," he said humorously, his hands on his hips. "You still have the outlook of a girl in grade school. I suppose you want somebody to go around and put a gold star on your report card just because you got yourself properly fucked for the first time. Well, honey, it takes more than one fucking to make a woman. Oh, sure, you were terrific, and I'd be a liar if I said I didn't get a bang out of it. But don't think you can rest on your laurels for the rest of your life just because for once you gave up acting like a spoiled brat and showed that you could service a man."
She stared at him, gasping at the insolent candor of his words, and then the color flamed in her cheeks as she turned and left the farmhouse.
Peggy Bruns returned, broom in hand. Verna Thomas had gone back to the main building of the resort for some extra cleaning clothes.
"You know something, Judd honey?" she giggled. "That sexy girl has got a crush on you if ever I saw one, and she's very cute."
"Thanks for telling me, Peggy. Right now we've got work to do, so let's get at it. I want to have a couple of hours for a nap this afternoon, because I'm going to be up late tonight"
"Oh-oh, that sounds groovy!" Peggy murmured huskily as she moved toward him. "Any chance of my getting in on the fun?"
"None at all, so don't start coaxing me. This is strictly a men-only affair, and they'd probably ride you out of town on a rail if you barged in uninvited."
"Is it that cock fight like I think it is?" Peggy hazarded.
Judd Mason nodded. "It sure is. I'm just as anxious to see it as you are to find out about it, Peggy, if you want the truth. But it's out of bounds for all you girls, just remember that. If there's good news, you'll hear it from me in the morning. Okay?"
"Whatever you say, boss-man, Peggy giggled. "Only if you've got nothing else on your mind, why don't you come see me in my room? I sort of miss you, Judd."
"You go have some more fun with Matthew Evans, if you really want to be useful and make the big boss happy," he told her. "Alva thinks a lot of his brother and he'd be mighty obliged if you'd make Matthew's stay with us something he won't forget."
"I might just do that," Peggy pouted, thrusting out her lower lip. "You haven't even got time to notice whether I'm alive or not, Judd Mason. All right for you!"
And so it was that Matthew Evans, even if he had had inclinations toward attending the cockfight, wouldn't have had a Chinese chance, because his schedule was already being formulated, even if he didn't know about it.
Laura and Winnie had ridden into town that afternoon, very proud of themselves and their ability as equestriennes, and had gone to a small department store where they purchased jeans and blue work shirts, boys' caps and work shoes. They tried on their new outfits in the little dressing room at the back of the second-floor women's clothing section, and eyed themselves appreciatively in the mirror.
"We'll have to do something about our hair," said Laura. "Maybe we ought to have it cut. Hey there's an idea."
"I don't know," Winnie said doubtfully, for she was very proud of her coppery-red curls.
"Oh, silly, they'll grow back by the time we have to go back home," Laura urged. "Come on, Winnie, be a sport. You do want to see Diablo win, don't you?"
"Sure I do. You know that. And I want to see it for Judd's sake, too," Winnie stoutly declared.
Charming blonde Laura stared at her sister, frowning: "What's Judd to you, Winnie?" she wanted to know suspiciously.
"I Like him a lot. He's honest and aboveboard and hardworking and nice. And Uncle Alva thinks a lot of him. Why shouldn't I like him?"
Laura's taut features relaxed and she gave a smiling Little shrug of her winsome shoulders.
"Oh, nothing. Of course you should like him. So do I. Now let's see if there's some sort of women's barbershop around here to cut our hairs into the sort of dos that won't give us away tonight."
About two blocks down the main street was a barbershop where the bespectacled, angular-faced proprietor, after a little persuasion, agreed to "give you girls a sort of military cut, though for the life of me I can't tell why you want to get rid of such beautiful hair."
"It's a sorority stunt, that's what," Laura explained, so as not to reveal any secrets that shouldn't be told.
And, about an hour later, both girls emerged, almost unrecognizable in the transformation that had been made. Laura looked especially pert and provocative, while her older sister seemed even more sophisticated, simply by the alteration of her hairdo. Both had been closely cropped, and they looked at each other whimsically and simultaneously nodded.
"Once we get our new clothes on, Laura," Winnie said gaily, "not even Judd will know we're girls."
"Don't be so sure about that, Sis," Laura murmured in an almost inaudible voice, and then most vividly blushed . ...
When Laura and Winnie dismounted and led their horses over to Tilden Mudgridge's barn, they found they were arriving rather late instead of in advance, for there were almost a dozen horses tethered to the hitching post. Both girls had pulled their caps down over one side of their faces, taken pains to remove any telltale makeup, and in the dark as they approached the partly open door of the big red bam they easily passed as boys. Fortunately for them, Judd was standing just inside, waiting for them, his face anxiously taut, because it was just about time for the cockfight.
"Get right in," he whispered, "and stay over to the back. You'll be able to see plenty, and remember, don't open your mouths, whatever you do!"
"We won't, Judd dear," Laura whispered.
He clapped a hand to his forehead. "Watch it, Laura, and you, too, Winnie! A fellow doesn't call another man 'dear', and don't forget it. Get inside!"
There were already about thirty men inside the big barn, and three or four lanterns hanging from hooks in the sides of the walls and an equal number swinging from the beams cast sufficient light for the eager audience. In the center of the barn, a shallow pit had been dug, about eighteen inches deep, twenty feet long, and ten feet wide. Alva Evans was standing over at one end of the pit, with Diablo's cage on the ground before him, as Judd hurried back to his boss to get things ready. At the opposite end of the pit, the banker Bud Ames stood talking to Dave Mudgridge, who was going to handle his El Dorado. A wizened little man in a bowler hat and a gravy-stained vest was moving around the chattering spectators, taking bets from all and sundry. Everybody knew it was a grudge fight between Bud Ames and Alva Evans, but that didn't prevent their trying to make a couple of honest dollars on this fight. It was strictly against the law, and the only publicity had been word of mouth, via Bud Ames. As a result, just about all of the men in the barn now were cronies of the swaggering banker and the burly young man who was squatting by El Dorado's cage, crooning to the bird.
Laura and Winnie moved over to the side of the pit where Alva and Judd stood earnestly discussing their plans for the fight. There weren't any chairs in the bam, so they knelt behind Diablo's cage, and they looked into it for that bright red comb and the black plumage and the fierce, beady little eyes.
"Don't look now, Alva, but you've got your nieces here, over there behind Diablo's cage," Judd murmured.
"That wasn't such a smart idea of you, Judd," Alva Evans worriedly said. "A cockfight's no place for females."
"I know it, boss, but they just had to see it. Anyhow, I don't think anybody's going to take them for girls. When you get a chance, look 'em over slowly. They even had their hair cut so they wouldn't look like girls. They're pulling for you, you know."
"Well," Alva Evans said in a mollified tone, "I guess there's no harm if they don't say anything. There's a couple of Bud Ames's friends here who could get real nasty if they get crossed. We're sure outnumbered if any trouble starts."
"Don't go talking that way, boss, there isn't going to be any trouble. We're going to win fair and square, and that'll be the end of it. I'd sure like to buy you a couple of celebration drinks out of that twenty-five grand you're going to win," Judd Mason chuckled softly.
Bud Ames had now taken the limelight as he advanced toward the center of the cockpit. He held up his hands for silence, and then announced that the match between the two best fighting cocks in the whole state of Wisconsin was about to get under way.
"If you boys have all made your bets with Bennie here, we're just about ready to start. How about you, Alva and Judd?"
"Diablo's ready whenever your lily-livered rooster is," Alva said with a chuckle.
Bud Ames's florid face grew almost purple with apoplectic anger at this jibe. "We'll just see about that," he growled. "Okay, Dave, get your bird out of the cage and put him in the pit. You, too, Judd. I suppose you're handling things for my friend Alva."
"I'm handling things," Judd said grimly as he stooped down to the cage. He unlocked it, reached in, and grasped the black rooster.
Both birds had hoods over their heads, and they were crowing with excitement and fluttering their wings. An excited murmur ran through the bam, and as the men crowded around, taking their best vantage points, they were ready for the action.
"Now you know the rules, Judd," Bud Ames intoned. "This fight goes on until my bird or Diablo says uncle. If I or Alva throw in a white towel, it means the fight's over and the other bird wins.-likewise, if one of the birds gets pecked so badly he can't get back up on his feet, the other bird wins hands down."
"Say, I once saw a cockfight in Havana," a tall, elderly, white-haired farmer piped up, "and there's one thing I want to ask."
"Ask away, Benson," Bud Ames genially waved his arm.
"I don't go much for watching animals or birds get killed. But suppose one of those cocks is just about helpless and being pecked to death. Can we stop it?"
"If the loser's handler throws in the towel, sure," Bud Ames agreed. "But if the handler tries to reach in and pull his bird away without giving a signal, he's automatically disqualified. That all right by you, Alva?"
"Let's just get started and have a fight," Alva Evans grumbled. "Nobody's going to do any cheating."
"Suits me fine, Alva. I can almost feel your twenty-five thousand in my wallet right now. I'm going to enjoy that trip to Europe you're paying for."
"And me, I'm going to enjoy using that money to improve my farm," Alva Evans countered.
The two cocks were now lowered into the pit, the hoods still on their heads, their handlers holding them back, stroking their necks and murmuring to them final words of encouragement. The witnesses craned forward, eyes glowing with excitement and anticipation.
"You call the time, Judd," Bud Ames exclaimed.
"Give us thirty seconds to get Diablo used to the feel of the pit, and we'll let him go," Judd retorted for his employer.
"All right with me. Only let's not dawdle it out too long. The boys here are hot to see some fireworks," the banker laughingly countered.
Judd glanced down at his wristwatch, while across at the opposite end of the pit the sullen-faced burly Dave looked up with a sneer on his face. Bud Ames had taken out his own expensive gold Swiss watch and was staring at it fixedly. As the second hand neared the center of the dial, he called out, "Five seconds to get ready!"
"I mark that too that way," Judd called back. Slowly he drew the hood off Diablo's head, then stroked the bird's beak and murmured something nobody else could hear as he bent over the fighting cock.
"Go!" Bud Ames called excitedly.
The white rooster was already strutting towards the middle of the pit, cocking his head, staring at his advancing black foe. Diablo suddenly darted forward and lunged with his beak, but El Dorado nimbly swerved to one side to avoid the lethal peck, and administered a savage one of his own to the tail feathers of the black cock amid a roar of bawdy laughter.
"Hey, maybe they're Greeks, eh, Alva? Whatcha gonna do if they get lovey on ya?"
Now the birds turned, so it looked as if Diablo were coming from Dave's corner of the pit and El Dorado from Alva's. They were wary, inspecting each other in a grudging way, each waiting for an opening. Again Diablo struck right at the neck of the white rooster. Instantly El Dorado lunged at him, his long beak digging into the black rooster's throat.
"Get him, El Dorado!" Bud Ames irritatedly called out. "Slash his gizzard!"
Diablo crowed lustily, and then whirled to strike at the white rooster. His beak grazed the throat of El Dorado, and a spot of blood showed on the white plumage. A howl of joy went up from Alva Evans.
"That's it, Diablo! A couple more just like that, and you'll do it sure."
But El Dorado didn't seem daunted by the stabbing pain. He darted back to his adversary and struck twice. Diablo's cackle rang out as the beak of the white rooster dug savagely into his black breast. Winnie and Laura, holding hands, here pale and trembling, their eyes very wide. Thus far it looked as if El Dorado was out-maneuvering Diablo.
"Ohh!" Laura gasped as she saw the white rooster lunge again for Diablo's throat. The intently watching spectators were calling out exhortations to their favorites: "Come on, El Dorado! Rip that black rooster into shreds! Diablo, get him-get him good!"
Diablo was stalking El Dorado now, and the white rooster was moving to the side. Suddenly the black rooster struck again, but El Dorado slipped aside and countered with a vicious flurry of beak-thrusts against the unguarded side of the black rooster. A shout ran out as Diablo toppled onto his back and lay kicking, El Dorado standing over him, looking for that fatal opening of the neck or the eyes.
Laura jerked her hand away from Winnie's. Her hand brushed over the sandy floor, and suddenly she stared down at it, her eyes widening. Surreptitiously she dug her fingers into the sand and filled her fist. Then, moving slowly forward on her knees, inch by inch, she neared the edge of the pit where the two birds fought. Diablo had now regained his feet and was twisting away from El Dorado's angry beak-daggerings. Now the birds circled each other, and Diablo's black plumage was stained with blood. At this moment, Laura, unable to contain herself, tossed her handful of sand right into the eyes of the white rooster, momentarily blinding him. With a triumphant crowing cry, Diablo leaped upon El Dorado and hammered his adversary onto his back, then began to administer the coup de grace.
"Hey, what the hell was that?" Bud Ames angrily cried. "Who the hell threw that sand? That's a foul, Alva Evans, that's a foul and you goddamn well know it. Stop the fight!"
It was already too late. With a dying croak, El Dorado's body stiffened and lay inert. Diablo raised his bloody beak from the gashed throat of his fallen foe and with a flap of his wings uttered an exultant cry of victory.
The fight was over-yet it had just begun.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Angry shouts rose from the men who had bet on El Dorado as the white fighting cock lay bloody and dead in the middle of the pit. They were so intent on the duel between these two birds, and they believed El Dorado was on the point of administering the coup de grace that they actually hadn't seen Laura stealthily fling out her handful of sand.
"Goddamn it, that's a foul if ever I saw one," Bud Ames was purple with fury. He took off his hat, flung it on the ground and stamped on it. "I saw that sand fly out of your corner, Judd, you dirty, lowdown trickster, you! I suppose good old Alva put you up to that because you knew you had a lost fight there."
"That's a he!" Judd rose from his place by the pit, his eyes dark with anger. "I may have done many things in my life, but I'm not a cheat."
"No?" Bud Ames pursued. "You were squatting down there and I didn't see your hands, and it would have been damned easy for you to pitch that handful of sand right into El Dorado's eyes. Well, I'm keeping the twenty-five thousand, because by rights El Dorado had that fight won, and you goddamn well know it, both of you, Alva and Judd!"
"Now wait a minute," Alva Evans angrily exclaimed. "I give you my word Judd didn't throw that sand and neither did I. If you like, we can call the fight off and declare it null and void. But only the winner gets to keep the money, and you didn't win. I'm willing to take my loss all right, but I'm not willing to lose the money on your say so."
Winnie Evans, terrified at the turn of events, and having surreptitiously noticed Laura's stealthy and sudden gesture, put two and two together. She knew it was Laura who had caused the death of Bud Ames' fighting cock, and in the hubbub that began, she quickly moved towards the back of the barn and, glancing back, seeing that she was not being observed, slipped out of the open door. Noiselessly she went for her horse. She would ride back to the farm-resort and get help.
But the hulking young son of Tilden Mudgridge had noticed Winnie's movement and took after her with a cry: "There's the one that threw the sand, I'll bet. Get that kid, you guys!"
Two young men in their mid-twenties, sons of neighboring farmers who had come to watch the cockfight and whose fathers had bet heavily on El Dorado, followed him. Winnie uttered a scream as Dave dragged her down from the horse.
"Not so fast, kid," he sniggered. "You've got some tall explaining to do. What's your name and who do you work for, anyway? Never saw you 'round these parts before."
The other two young men hurried up and now seized Winnie by the arms. Dave pulled off Winnie's cap and gaped with surprise at the sight of the closely-cropped coppery-red hair. But when his gaze lowered to Winnie's blouse, the jut of her superb bubbies was more than enough to confirm his suspicion.
"Hey, Dan, Joe, lookit what we got here-it's a girl!" he exclaimed, and he put his hand to Winnie's blouse and ripped it down to her waist. Winnie Evans uttered a shriek and tried to twist away from her captors, but it was no use. They had too tight a grip on her wrists. In the moonlight, by the side of the barn, her pale, milky, naked skin glistened with a sensual sheen and the white nylon brassiere which snugged against her panting bubbies was the final proof the burly young farmer needed.
"Jeez, willya lookit that," he panted hoarsely, licking his lips. "Whatta pair of knockers! Whattya doin' in this getup anyhow, honey?"
"Let me go! You haven't any right to treat me this way," Winnie Evans hysterically exclaimed as she tugged again at her wrists. In her violent maneuver her magnificent titties jiggled within the confines of her gauzy bra. Dave licked his lips again and sniggered, "I haven't? Let's see if they're real, you guys!"
With this, he reached out his hand and gripped the bra, ripping it down with a strong pull. She was naked to the waist, standing there in her jeans.
"Boy oh boy!" Dan Tolliver gasped as he stared at the magnificent milky turrets marked at their centers with dark coral, saucy buds. "Whatta dish! Now, who you workin' for? Who threw that sand at El Dorado? Talk up, and maybe we'll let you off-"
"And maybe we won't anyway," Dave broke in with a lecherous chuckle. "What I want to see is if the rest of what she's got is just as nice as those titties. Let's peel those jeans off, you guys, and spread-eagle her."
"Oh, no! Help me-oh for God's sake-Uncle Alva-Judd-help me!" Winnie shrieked.
Inside the barn, the other men had clustered around Judd and Alva, menacing them and angrily threatening a lynching or at least a tar-and-feathering. In fact, Bud Ames had already seized Alva Evans by the collar of his coat, when suddenly Laura spoke up in a quavering voice.
"No, no, you're making a terrible mistake. I was the one that threw the sand-I-I didn't want to see Diablo lose-I didn't want to see my uncle lose all that money! Let him go-punish me if you have to punish somebody!"
"Well, now-" Bud Ames took a cigar out of his vest pocket, struck a match on the side of his boot and lit it. "Looks like this puts a different complexion on the matter, eh, boys?"
A chorus of angry affirmatives burst from the men who were holding Judd and Alva Evans. "Sure does! We oughta ride 'em all on a rail and tar and feather 'em. You said it, breaking up our fun like this! No, didn't you hear that kid? He's the one that threw the sand-let's tar and feather him!"
"Tie those two fellows up," Bud Ames directed, "and then we'll take care of this kid our own way."
He strode over to the trembling Laura and grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her roughly.
"Why, you little punk, I ought to beat the daylights out of you!"
"Please, let them go-they didn't do it, I did. I'm sorry-I didn't mean to, but I just couldn't let my uncle lose! I-I'm a girl-"
"Yeah?" Bud Ames snarled, "and I'm the Queen of the May."
Four men had set upon Alva Evans and Judd Mason, seizing lengths of rope they found at the side of the barn, and the two men were now bound with their wrists behind their backs, a single cord circling their waists, rendering them helpless. Bud Ames tugged off Laura's cap and perceived the light brown, closely cropped hair. And as with Winnie, the blouse was a giveaway as it shaped out the magnificent globes of her swelling titties. His florid, lecherous face twisted in a cruel rictus.
"Well, well, well, so you are, honey! That sort of alters things. What do you think, boys? Do you think just because she's a girl she ought to get off scot free?"
"Hell no!" came the answer. "Pin her down and whip the shit out of her! Yeah, give her a good licking so she won't interfere with affairs that don't concern her!" rose the cry.
"Don't touch that girl," Alva Evans said, his voice trembling with fury. "Because if you do, Bud Ames, I'll have a warrant out for you. I told you I was willing to call the fight off and all bets nullified. That ought to satisfy you."
"But it doesn't, friend Alva," the banker sneered, stepping up to the bound man and slapping him in the face. "I've wanted to get you out of this town for a damn long time, and now's my chance. Do you know what you're going to do, Alva Evans? Unless you want to see this cute little girl manhandled some and given a good sound whipping, you're going to sell out your property to me. Yes, you heard me right. I've wanted it for a long time. I know why you've wanted that twenty-five thousand; you're planning to build cabins along that farm property of yours so you can bring in more tourists and hog all the money. And take away business from my bank. Well, you're not going to do it. Either she gets it or you sell-that's the way it's going to be."
One of the angry farmers had seized Laura Evans by the wrists and pulled them behind her back. But now she cried out: "No, don't sell, Uncle Alva! I'll take my punishment-I deserve it. I didn't have any right to stop that fight, and I know I didn't. Mr. Ames, you're just a crook and a swindler and a mean, nasty fool if you think my uncle's going to sell out just to save me a licking. I'll take anything you can give me, but you aren't going to force him into giving everything up that he's worked for all these years."
Judd Mason craned his neck to look at the lovely blonde and there was a smile on his face that belied his secret anxiety for Laura's welfare. His cheek and chin were bruised from blows he had sustained while trying to fight off the men who had bound him and Alva.
"Let my niece alone, Bud Ames, or I'll come gunning for you," Alva angrily promised. The banker chuckled as he stared at Laura's defiant, flushed face.
"You know," he said slowly, "this might be almost as much fun as foreclosing on my friend Alva. Yep, I think I'll call it a fair bargain. All right, girl, whatever your name is, are you the one that threw that sand that killed my bird?"
"I am. What are you going to do about it, you coward?" Laura Evans hawked and spat full in the banker's flushed face. He uttered a violent oath and backhanded her across the face, rocking her head from side to side.
"All right," he snarled. "Hank, Davis, get a rope and tie her wrists and throw it over that beam.
We'll give this uppity little bitch a lesson in manners to her betters, we will!"
"I swear, Bud Ames, if you hurt that niece of mine, just one lick, you'll answer to me for it," Alva Evans panted. "You are a coward, just the way Laura says."
Bud Ames ignored him. He was supervising the preparations for Laura's punishment. Two sturdy farmers had found a long coil of rope and one of them tied one end tightly several times around Laura's wrists while the other man took the free end and, dragging up a ladder, climbed it and passed the rope over a beam near the ceiling of the barn. Laura was drawn up to stand on tiptoes and she closed her eyes and set her teeth, grimly determined to endure what she must to save her uncle ... and Judd. Judd even more, because her heart had been in her mouth when they had been talking about lynching him or tar-and-feathering him.
The rope was made fast now and Laura's lovely body dangled, stretched to extreme, her toes just touching the ground. Bud Ames moved up to her, ripped off her blouse and then her bra. A gasp of lustful admiration rose from the eager spectators as they crowded around the half-naked blonde. She kept her eyes closed and her lips compressed in her stoic determination to give them no satisfaction.
"Brave little bitch, isn't she?" Bud Ames chuckled thickly. "Let's see how brave she really is."
Squatting down, he began to unbutton Laura's jeans. With a strident cry, the lovely blonde twisted and tried to kick, but one of the farmers came up to aid the banker, and in a thrice, poor Laura found herself peeled down to her white nylon panties, the coarse socks and work shoes which had been part of her disguise. But nothing now could disguise her satiny female nakedness, the blob of thick, dark-brown pussy hair at the apex of her long, quivering thighs, the jouncy hillocks of her bottom, the beautifully hollowed, smooth-skinned back, and the panting, surging glories that were her titties.
* * *
Winnie Evans was flung down on the ground, with Dan Tolliver kneeling behind her and dragging out her arms as far as they would go, while Joe Dahlgren, a dark-haired, pimply-faced, fat lout of twenty-four, had hold of her ankles. By now her jeans, shoes and socks had been tugged off, and she was naked as the day of her birth, spread-eagled and straddled on the ground outside the barn, the moonlight shining own on the shadowy curls of her virgin cunthole. Dave Mudgridge was opening the fly of his jeans and taking out his huge, obscenely throbbing cock.
"So this little bitch tried to stop a cockfight, did she?" he drawled as he knelt down between Winnie's outstretched, naked legs. Holding his weapon in his right hand, he stretched out his left and tweaked, then tugged the sprigs of her virgin love-hair till she gasped and squirmed, twisting her face to one side, no longer crying out-she realized the futility and hopelessness of any appeal for mercy.
"Well, you cute redheaded little bitch, my cock is going to fight your cunt, and you know something? I bet I know who's going to win. Hold her tight, you guys, if you want to get a piece after I'm through. Now then, baby, kiss your pussy goodbye."
With a hoarse laugh, Dave flung himself down atop the naked redhead. She uttered a shriek of repugnant horror and tried to twist her hips away. He laughed coarsely as he followed her desperate gyrations, his prickhead rubbing against her inner thigh and groin, in no hurry to commence her martyrdom, his appetites being whetted by her struggles and by her naked beauty. But the excitement of this conquest made him dispense at last with the nuance of prolongation and with a grunt, he arched himself upon her, his cockhead digging against the soft petals of her virgin slit.
Winnie raised her head, a look of horror congealed on her face, then she uttered a strangled scream of pain as she felt him shatter her hymeneal seal and tear through it to cram himself to the very hilt inside her martyred love canal.
"Well, whaddya know, you guys? She was cherry!" Dave panted. "God, is she ever tight! Her cunt's got a stranglehold on my cock. All right, baby, I'm going to break you in right-I'm going to show you what a cock can really do, haw-haw-haw!"
Then, ruthlessly, he began to fuck Winnie Evans, who restlessly turned her face from side to side, biting her lips almost to the blood at the pain of the lacerating thrusts of his turgid ramrod inside her tender, deflorated sheath.
Her initiation, however, wasn't prolonged. Dave lost his self-control after a few moments, and with an angry shout, jerked and stiffened as his bubbling jism flooded Winnie Evans' virgin matrix. Then he drew himself out, his organ stained with her hymeneal blood. He panted, "Okay, she's yours, Dan and Joe. Give it to her good till I get my second wind."
Winnie didn't try to take advantage of the momentary respite she got when Dan Tolliver released her wrists and rose, declaring himself next in the order of things while Dave took his place. Her body ached and quivered, and she felt the hot, sullying drench of her ravisher's essence deep inside her womb. All she could think about was what was happening to her uncle and to Judd and to poor Laura. She wouldn't let three brutes get the least satisfaction from her, she wouldn't she wouldn't!
Nonetheless she gasped as Dan Tolliver, kneeling between her shaking, straddled thighs, liberated his leaner organ and prodded it in between the chafed and twitching lips of her vulva, then with a long dig sent himself into her to his balls, then flung himself over her, mashing her naked titties and seeking to crush his mouth on hers. This she fought valiantly, twisting her face away, clenching her teeth, till at last with a profane oath of disgust, he slipped his hands under her buttocks and began to gouge them pitilessly with his long, sinewy fingers as he fucked her with furious long digs that shook and rocked her naked, trembling body on the ground.
And then Joe Dahlgren took his place, pinching her inner thighs and belly, teasing and defaming her with his salacious byplay until, whetted to the point of furious lust, he lowered himself over her and thrust his throbbing organ into her dripping sheath. He had more stamina than his cronies, and he fucked her more slowly and with long-spun-out prodding inside her tortured frame till finally he vented his essence and withdrew himself.
Dave Mudgridge came forward now, his prick again reinvigorated, a gloating smile on his surly face.
"Now then, baby, I know you're eager to have seconds, and I'm really primed," he told the moaning, naked girl who lay abandoned on the ground.
Dan Tolliver was holding her wrists again, but Joe Dahlgren was just squatting to one side, not bothering to hold her legs apart. At this point Winnie wanted only to have this nightmare end. The dull aching pangs in her quim had given her little pleasure. The only hope to which she could desperately cling was that her sacrifice had somehow aided Judd and Laura and Alva.
She didn't know that, a few hundred yards away, a twelve-year-old boy was crouching near a broken-down stretch of wooden fencing and was staring aghast at the scene. He had witnessed Winnie's virginal loss to Dave Mudgridge, and when he saw Dan Tolliver replace him, he turned and ran back to the house as fast as he could.
A few moments later his widower father was on the phone to the sheriff....
Thuck! The rope's end smacked against the small of Laura Evans's bare back with sickening impact, and with a strangled cry, the naked blonde arched forward, her head thrown back, her eyes upturned to the beam along which the rope which tractioned her slim wrists was fixed. An angry, mottled red streak marred the perfection of her satiny skin. Bud Ames was wielding the rope's end, and he moved closer now to gloat over his handiwork at the first stroke. His left hand gripped the scruff of Laura's neck as he snarled, "Maybe now you're beginning to wish you hadn't come to watch the cockfight, you blonde bitch! You know what I'm going to do after I peel your hide off? My friends and I are going to have a little fun. It's the least you can give us for what you've cost me tonight. I had the fight won till you played that Goddamn trick of yours with the sand. Well, let's see how much sand you've got in your craw. How did you like that first cut? I'm going to leave a pattern from your neck down to your heels, you little bitch, and when I've used up the skin of your back, I'll go around in front and use up the skin on your titties and your belly!"
He gave her head a shove and, stepping back, grinding his teeth in fury, slashed the rope's end across the top of her jouncy, bare bottom-cheeks. Laura jerked under the blow, with difficulty suppressing all but a strangled gasp as she lunged forward, glancing fearfully back over her shoulder at her executioner.
The men who had bound Alva and Judd were gathered around the tractioned, naked girl to gloat over her exposed charms and to watch the whipping. Judd and Alva stood neglected at one side of the barn.
"Alva, if you'll suck in your gut, maybe I can manage to work this circling rope down a little, and then we can go to work on our hands," Judd whispered. Alva nodded to show that he understood.
Judd took a deep breath, as did his employer, then Judd twisted himself so that his hands just grazed the circling rope around their waists and began to push it down. It yielded grudgingly, then a little more, then finally dropped over their feet.
"Good," whispered Judd. "Keep working, and I will too, and damn those bastards for what they're doing to Laura."
"Shut up and work," Alva muttered, and again the sickening Thwack! came to their ears, and this time a sobbing "Ohh God!" from the blonde sufferer as Bud Ames directed the rope's end across the lower curves of her naked bottom-cheeks . ...
Dave Mudgridge was beginning to fuck Winnie Evans for the second time. He had learned his lesson, and was going about it more slowly, more luxuriously, savoring the tight, quivering confines of her moist cunthole as his hand clutched her titties and his mouth buried itself in her pulsing throat.
Suddenly the faint sound of a siren came to his ears. He stopped, lifted his head, his eyes widening with alarm.
"What the hell's that?" he gasped.
Dan Tolliver took a few steps toward the road. "Hey, it's the sheriff's car and it's got the blue lights on! We'd better get out of here, Joe!"
"You yellow dogs," Dave Mudgridge raged as he unsteadily rose from Winnie's prone, sprawled naked body, his cock still stiff and glistening from the juices that had been poured into her matrix. "Wait for me!" Then, cramming his penis back into his fly, he turned to follow in the direction his cronies had taken.
The sheriff's car drew to a squealing stop and four men in uniforms, their guns drawn, hurried out of the car and rushed towards the barn. One of them knelt down and gently put an arm under Winnie's shoulders and lifted her up. "Are you all right, Miss?" he asked in kindly tones.
"Y-yes. Oh, please, in the barn-they-they're hurting my uncle and my sister and J-Judd-I know they are-help them-" Winnie moaned faintly.
"It'll be all right now, Miss, I promise you. Here, I'll give you my coat. Do you think you can stand up?"
* * *
The three officers broke into the barn just as Bud Ames had taken a jack knife and slashed the ropes which bound Laura Evan's wrists, and caught her inert, bleeding, naked body in his arms and was lowering her body to the ground. He was tugging down his zipper as he did so, to release his turgid cock.
"All right-hands up, everybody," one of the officers angrily called.
Bud Ames whirled. The look on his face was one of utter stupefaction.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Ames, the distinguished banker," the officer who had given the order drawled as he came forward. "What's all this about? Oh, Mr. Evans, it's you? Maybe you can tell us what this crazy business is!"
Alva Evans could and did. A few minutes later, Bud Ames, his wrists handcuffed behind him and the others who had been about to fuck the severely whipped, naked Laura, were herded into the sheriff's car.
The cock fight was over ... but its aftermath hadn't yet begun.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"You crazy, mixed-up little sweetheart," Judd Mason smiled and shook his head as he stood beside Laura Evan's hospital bed. "What in tarnation possessed you to do a crazy stunt like that? Didn't you have any confidence in Diablo and in me?"
"I-I got so scared when I saw that white rooster draw blood from Diablo, Judd dear. And-and I didn't want Uncle Alva to lose all that money. I guess I just lost my head. And I was thinking about you, too."
It was the day after the cockfight. Laura Evans's whipping, though painful, wouldn't leave any permanent marks, the doctor had said. She needed plenty of rest and loving care. Having seen the anxious look on Judd Mason's face, the old doctor chuckled and smilingly repeated, "Especially plenty of loving care, Mr. Mason. You can have half an hour with her, but I wouldn't overdo it. She needs to get her strength back."
"Well, I'll say this for you, Laura," Judd said as he sat down on the side of the bed and took Laura's hand in both of his, "you've got plenty of guts. At least you weren't thinking just about yourself when you did that. It was a terrible thing to do-you know that, don't you?"
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his, her face pale and anxious, for she was waiting for a verdict too, and it mattered a good deal to her just what it was going to be from the man she loved. She knew it now, just as in a barnyard the young hen shows herself off and flaunts herself to impress the other hens with her unattainability, yet secretly yearns for the master cock that will see through her bluff and bravado and make her his mate. So Laura Evans knew at last that all her pretenses and affectations had been preparation for this final honesty when she found a man who could tame her and yet satisfy her in the age-old way that a woman wants to be satisfied.
"Well, from what the Sheriff tells me, Laura, Bud Ames is going to go out of circulation for a little while, and so will some of his crooked friends. Yes, we found out some things about our respectable banker-friend. It seems he's been playing favorites in the mortgage field and being a little too generous with the bank's credit. The stockholders don't like it, and when Mr. Ames gets out of jail, he's going to find himself without a job. And there won't be any danger of forcing your uncle off his place, none at all. It's just too bad we couldn't pick up an easy twenty-five thousand dollars. You see, your uncle promised me five thousand as a bonus, and do you know how I was going to spend that money if I got it?"
Laura shook her head, her eyes still fixed intently on his.
"I was going to spend it part on our honeymoon, and the rest as down payment on a little cottage all our own, right on the farm, but of course that isn't possible now, because when you threw that sand, you threw away our winnings."
"Judd?"
"Yes?"
"I-I'd just love a honeymoon right here at Uncle Alva's place-that is, if he'd give you time off and maybe put us up in one of the cabins. That is, if you still want to marry me."
"Are you serious?"
Laura nodded eagerly. "So awfully much. And you know, I think that whipping did me a lot of good. I think it took some of the silliness out of me. Judd, when we're married, if I'm ever naughty, I want you to give me a good whipping ... and then love me good. Just the way you loved me in the barn."
He chuckled, shook his head. "You're quite a girl, Laura Evans. Now you just rest and get well as soon as you can. Because I'm a very selfish man when it comes to making love to a very pretty girl. I don't like to see her back ah marked up. I want to run my fingers over every lovely inch, and my tongue and lips, too. So you promise me you'll heal that lovely skin of yours as quickly as you can."
"Oh, Judd, oh yes, yes, yes, darling!" she breathed.
He bent down and kissed her on the mouth, and her tongue darted between his lips as she locked her arms around him. His hands stole beneath the cover and found their way to her nightie, then beneath it. Laura squealed and arched-then gasped with the pain of her sudden movement. Then she closed her eyes and moaned softly in pleasure. He wasn't touching any of her whip-wounds; he was touching the very source of all her passion. From the lovely feeling she was getting, she told herself, she was going to ask the doctor to give her a special healing salve to make her skin heal up faster than the ten days he had promised her. She didn't think she could wait ten whole days to be fucked again the way Judd had in the barn....
Winnie Evans lay in another room in the same hospital. She was recovering quickly, and she was taking stock of herself. Uncle Alva had told her how brave Laura had been, and that set her to thinking. She knew that Laura was in love with Judd. Well, she herself had been a little, but she knew that wasn't possible. Secretly, to herself, she had to admit, because she had a candid sort of honesty that characterized her, that even when those horrid hulking brutes had stripped her down and flung her on the ground and had her, she had pretended it was Judd and there had almost been a sort of pleasure in the pain. She denied her own instincts, while Laura, who was younger by a year, had gone out and found herself her man. Something was going to have to be done about that, so far as she herself was concerned. What was it St. Paul had said about that: that it was better to marry than to burn?
She sighed and shook her head. Life was certainly very complicated. If anyone had told her a couple of weeks ago that she would be looking forward to getting married to be able to cleave passionately to the man of her choice, she would have said he was crazy. Now, she wasn't so sure. The only trouble was, she didn't know any nice young men, and Judd was definitely out of circulation, from what Uncle Alva had just told her.
"How are you feeling this afternoon, Miss Evans?"
Winnie opened her eyes. It was such a nice, pleasant voice that she wanted to see who owned it. It was a nice-looking young doctor, with brown wavy hair, twinkling eyes and the most wonderful smile. He was reaching for her pulse. It began to beat a little faster than it should have.
"I-I don't feel bad at all, Doctor," Winnie Evans replied. Her cheeks were fiery with the most delicious blush she had ever had. She had a feeling somehow that destiny had something in store for her. She was right. The doctor's fingers lingered on her wrist a little longer than was necessary to take the beat.
"Well, I'll look in on you a little later, then, Miss Evans."
"Thank you. I-I hope you will, Doctor-Doctor--? "
"Doctor Paul Elston. I'm just an intern here."
"Oh? You-you took my pulse so professionally I was sure you were one of the staff."
"Not quite," he laughed. Winnie thought he had a lovely laugh, nice and hearty, and she loved the way the corners of his blue eyes crinkled when he laughed and smiled. "I've only been here about a year. My home town's Detroit."
Winnie raised her head from the pillow, her eyes very wide and shining. "Why, isn't that a coincidence? That's my home town too!"
The vacation month for the Evans family wasn't over yet. Somehow, Winnie Evans had a feeling that before it was time to go back to Detroit, she would have found a new interest in life.
So the cockfight hadn't been in vain at all.
As for Matthew Evans, he and Alva had a long heart-to-heart talk and the upshot of it was that he decided to go into partnership with his brother, something he had always wanted to do. No, Clara wasn't going to be upset about it, because she wouldn't have to move out here right away. He'd break the news to her gradually. He was going to put up his secret savings as part of his investment guarantee, and Alva was going to pay him a good salary to help manage the resort. Judd was going to be transferred to working on the farm and develop-ping it and seeing to the construction of the new little tourist cabins and cottages that would make money by next summer.
However, he wasn't going to be in a hurry to bring Clara from Detroit. He wanted a few more nights with Darla Johnston and Peggy Bruns, and maybe, if he was lucky enough, with some of the other cute maids that worked for his brother. And when he did go back to Detroit, he was going to take Clara to a beauty parlor and force her to change her hair style and makeup, and then to a health salon bender, to streamline her figure till she looked like the girl he married. And a new wardrobe would help. Maybe it wasn't too late, after all. But even if it was, he'd have memories for all his life, the sweetest, most exciting kind.
As for Alva Evans, he didn't think he was going to train another fighting cock again. Oh, sure, it had been a wonderful idea, but he couldn't expect, no matter how many fights he staged and won, to get any better results than he'd had from this one, which really hadn't come to an official decision at all. He'd got rid of his old enemy, he'd got his brother out of that dreary regimented life back in Detroit, and he was going to be one of the officiating sponsors of the wedding of one of his favorite nieces. And maybe, if things worked out, his other niece would find herself a guy as nice as Judd Mason, too.
Just the same, Alva Evans told himself, that evening as he lighted a cigar and waited for Verna Thomas to keep her rendezvous with him, he was going to keep Diablo around a long time. Old Diablo was going to live like a king, with plenty of corn and other tidbits to keep him strutting like the fighting cock he was. He'd brought off quite a triumph in just a few short minutes. And maybe, one of these days, old Diablo would settle down too, once he had a comfortable and easy life, and decide to take unto himself a gentle hen who could pacify his fighting instincts and make a lover out of him. The female of the species, whether in the human or the barnyard world, was an amazingly resourceful creature!