If what you're looking for is a good piece of fiction, you're holding it in your hand. Plucking Their Little Buds is-first, last and throughout-an erotic novel of the most graphic, lively and satisfying sort.
It's also a fun novel, and at times a very funny one. And it's an absorbing love story, too, with a villain or two, a harrowing series of crises to be surmounted by its characters, and a delightfully happy ending. Then too, it's the vehicle for a significant psycho-philosophical message. But these aspects are only incidental; they add to the book's value without obscuring or intruding on its primary function. Primarily, this is a story about people enjoying sex, written by a person who enjoys sex, for people who enjoy sex.
Plucking Their Little Buds is about Mom Glen, a lovely young woman whose sexual inclinations have been curiously shaped by the events of her early life. Mom has no husband, but she has a son, and to her shameful secret concerning him are added secrets about several other barely mature boys who enter Mom's unusual flower shop and encounter her unusual appetites. Mom also has a younger brother who thinks sex is neat, and an older brother who thinks it's nasty. The latter, the Reverend Oakley Glen, is an adherent of the old puritan battle cry, "Death Before Dishonor!" (It's Mom's death that he has in mind, however-and better late than never.)
This novel is also the story of Spike Mason, an ordinary,-likeable guy whose approach to sex is one of stifled desire, due to timidity, a traditionally "proper" set of inhibitions, and a feeling that he must be faithful to his departed wife's memory. When he and Mom meet, the attraction they feel poses an explosive challenge to both their sexual orientations. And when Spike meets Mom's little sister, the fuse is lit for some of the most dazzling erotic fireworks in modern fiction.
We can offer little information about the author of . She appears to be rather a tease; her correspondence with us has been erratic, ambiguous and sometimes downright evasive. Two excerpts from that correspondence, however, may shed some light on the novel, if not on the novelist personally. We suspect she is or was an airline stewardess; or perhaps she's a pilot, or maybe just a friend of pilots. In any case, Olga Laurie seems to get around a good deal, for she said in one letter: "I've flown over much of the world, and I've picked up the habit of asking myself, What are the people down there doing right now? There are thousands of answers to the first question but only a few to the second, and out of those few, there's one best bet the world around. That's what I keep in mind when I write."
Once, we were so bold as to ask Miss Laurie about her personal sexual philosophy. She wrote back: "Let's not get personal. Not by mail, anyway, sweeties. But I'll tell you about a friend of mine: She loves animals. She has a raccoon, a goat, a monkey, a skunk, a flying squirrel, four dogs and about a dozen cats. All her pets get along beautifully, enjoying one another and their mistress.
Apparently, nobody's ever told her she's only supposed to have one-or at least just one at a time.
"Now, if you're reading between the lines, fellas, remember: We're not talking about her life; we're talking about mine. And I own no animals."
Fortunately for all concerned, Miss Laurie's novel is as clear and forthright as her letters are coy and roundabout. Nothing is left to the reader's imagination or powers of deduction in . From the first seduction-which happens so fast that the happy "victim" never even gets his tennis shoes off to the last wild, wonderful, gloriously overpopulated orgy, the novel covers just nine days, and its abundant action is confined to five locations. It's simple, it's straightforward, and above all it's sexy.
Probably there's no need to emphasize that is fiction. It seems unlikely indeed that this exact series of events-crammed into so short a time and so compact a setting-has ever happened to real people. But Mom and all the others are realistic characters. What they are, what they want, what they do are completely believable, and any single sexual event in the story could be documented a thousand times over. That these things haven't happened to the same individuals in such rapid succession at any one place at any time in the past, then, makes not fantastic, but quite possibly a realistic novel of the future. For as the noted zoologist-anthropologist-biologist-philosopher Desmond Morris has written in his highly acclaimed study, The Human Zoo:
"Man's strong pair-forming urge, stemming, in evolutionary terms, from his increased parental duties, will persist no matter what technical advances are achieved with perfected contraception in the years to come. This does not mean that such advances will have no impact on our sexual activities. On the contrary, they will profoundly alter our behavior. The triple pressure of improved contraception, dwindling venereal disease and ever swelling human population will together work towards a dramatic increase in non-reproductive forms of copulatory indulgence. There can be no doubt of this."
So much, however, for highly acclaimed studies. You're looking-since you've read this far for a good piece of erotic fiction, and that's precisely what follows. As for that message we mentioned, Miss Laurie won't bore you or insult your intelligence by preaching at you. She won't club you groggy with a bunch of weighty theories. Her characters don't beat around the bush, either: They plunge right in, and she tells it like it happens from beginning to end.
If, when you've reached its end, the message of Plucking Their Little Buds isn't clear, and you don't care to go back through the book in search of it ... Forget it. You've got better things to do; right?
Well, buddy, you got the message, then. Because the message is simply, Enjoy!
CHAPTER ONE
Mom's Flower Tower was shaped like a gigantic prick. With its fifteen-story shaft and the two dome-shaped greenhouses flanking the entrance, with the balcony that encircled the top floor like a drawn-back foreskin, it was easily the biggest hard-on in the little city of Grand Junction, if not the whole state.
Chrysanthemum Glen had noticed this when she first saw the building two years ago, even though she'd seen only one real prick in her whole life before or since. She'd imagined hundreds of them. Ever since that one time, when she was fourteen, when she'd not only seen, not only felt, but actually fucked a genuine, man-sized, hot, throbbing, thrusting, slime-slick, cunt-cramming, clitty-battering, cum-spouting, cervix-soaking (and, unfortunately, baby-making) cock, she had formed elaborate and loving mental pictures of the pricks of every man and boy-oh, yes; particularly every boy-she'd ever seen.
She was forming and fondling such a mental picture on this Friday afternoon, as she watched the boy who stood across the street looking at the Flower Tower. How old was he? Ten? Maybe eleven? He probably didn't even know what his little weenie was for, yet. Probably thought it was just a convenience for peeing that God had given men to show they were more important to Him than women were. That was what Oak would say, anyway, even though it had been Oak's prick that had introduced Mom to the whole fascinating, frustrating subject. She was sure Oak hadn't used his prick for anything but peeing ever since, and he was ... what, now? Thirty-three years old! Because Mom was twenty-nine, and Oak had been eighteen when ... God! she thought. Twenty-nine! It's been more years since I've seen a real prick than I lived before I saw one!
The boy's ragged cutoff jeans were tight, and Mom thought she could actually see the bulge at the apex of the pant legs where that beautiful little peter would be lying, curled up all soft and silky-pink, just waiting for somebody to wake it up, arouse it to quivering stiffness and a fattened, glowing, jutting sense of purpose. Ooooh! She felt her cuntlips respond to the image with a swelling, moistening surge of heat.-
"Come to Mom, little prick," she whispered. "Come on over here, and I'll teach you to stand up nice and tall like my tower."
Michael hadn't noticed that the Flower Tower looked like an erect penis. To him, it was just the place where his stupid sister said he had to get the stupid flowers for the stupid girl he'd got trapped into taking to the stupidiferous seventh grade dance. Erect penises were about as far from Michael's mind as they were dear to Mom's heart. What was on Michael's mind was the possibility of telling his dad he'd lost the three dollars for the flowers, getting out of the dance by getting sick or something, and spending the money later on a softball.
He knew he couldn't do it, though. He was no good at faking sickness, for one thing. Anyway, his dad and sister kept saying that now he was twelve, he was going to start getting interested in girls and dancing and all that stuff, though Michael couldn't imagine why. He guessed it had something to do with the little book his dad kept leaving around and telling him just a bit too casually he could read if he felt like it-which he didn't. Melissa had read it, and said it was a real roar; but she'd said it in that sarcastic way that meant she thought it was dumb, so he hadn't even picked it up. But he guessed he was stuck with going to the stupid dance, and that meant he had to buy the stinking flowers and wait clear till next month's allowance for a new softball.
Scowling, he started across the street.
He's ... Yes! He's coming here! Mom's hand tightened on the envelopes the mailman had left. She'd only glanced at the return addresses, then fought off the mixed fear and annoyance they caused by concentrating on her daily vision of the mailman's cock. (She hoped he had one, though with that limp, and the way he talked about his Korean War injuries, she often wondered if this prick wasn't entirely in her imagination.) Then this new, wonderfully young dong had appeared, and she'd found her mental picture of it more vivid and more ... more urgent, somehow, than she could remember of any past imagining. It was almost as if this time she might ... She shook her head, but the picture of the cock didn't go away, and neither did the eerie feeling of ... well, of courage that had never accompanied her fuck fantasies before.
Yes. He was still corning straight toward the door. Mom used the unopened letters to mark her place in the magazine she'd been leafing through, then hurriedly checked her reflection in the side glass of the rose cooler. Hair ... fine. It was dark red-darker than the wine-hued nine-dollar roses. Face ... everything in place. Tits ... oh, they were ready! They strained forward in her flimsy, useless bra like a pair of fat, blind puppies, eager for a romp. Through her thin blouse and the even thinner bra, you could actually see the shape and shadow of those pushy pink, puppy-noses, if you looked closely. Skirt ... good; her shortest. And legs ... damn! There was a run in her pantyhose!
Moving behind the cash register, she hiked up her skirt and skimmed her sheer white panties and the clingy pantyhose down, slipped out of her shoes and bent to shuck the flimsy tangle off one foot, then the other. Was there time to get the panties back on? No. He was almost at the door. Straightening, she dropped both garments into the waste basket, smoothed her skirt. God! The way I'm juicing up, I may need those panties!
He walked in, looking a little sullen, and slowly crossed the vast, circular salesroom toward her, not looking at her nor at the flowers that formed an almost solid border to the room, but down at the dark maroon carpeting his dirty tennis shoes were scuffing through. And yes; she could see the slight but so exciting bulge in the front of his jeans. Mentally, she stroked and nudged his tender, tight-slung little balls and the plump, pale shoot of gentle gristle that curled to a pretty, uncircumcised point from the hairless cushion of flesh just above them. She ... she just knew he wasn't circumcised. Was it all in her mind, or could she actually see the contour of that delicious little-He was looking at her! "Guh ... Hi!" she choked out, smiling for all she was worth.
"I'm, uh ... supposed to get a thing for a girl. For a dance, I mean. A wrist corsage?"
"Oh. Well, sure. I've got a few already made up, or you can tell me what you want and-" She caught herself. "But wait. Just a minute." Smiling still-and the smile was getting easier, more natural, softer-she came from behind the cash register and walked past him toward the door, to hang up the closed sign. "Lucky you got here when you did," she called back. "I'm just closing up, so ... so you'll have me all to yourself."
She didn't look back as she said that. Didn't dare. Was he watching her? She hoped so. But it was crazy, closing more than two hours early like this! What Was happening to her?
Still, she hung the sign, then turned back toward him, pushing her tits out just a little bit extra as she did. Shit! He was still staring at the cash register. But now he turned, and he was almost smiling. "Oh! Well, if you're closed...."
He started for the door, but she grabbed his arm-and had a hard time keeping her hands there, instead of reaching down for that darling, sleeping little pee-shooter she'd decided to educate in the finer things of life. "Oh, no!" she protested, slipping an arm around his shoulders so that her tit almost graced his ear. "I mean, for you, I'm wide open!" And sopping wet, too, she added mentally. She was guiding him-pushing him, actually-around the cash register and counter toward the little alcove beside the workroom. Thank God Evangeline went home early.' she mused. Somehow I don't think I could stop myself from this even if she was hero.
The boy was scowling, squirming a little. She had to keep talking. "Now, you tell me about your date. Do you know what color she's going to be wearing?"
He shrugged, his shoulder brushing the underside of her breast ever so lightly. "Unh-uh."
They were in the alcove now, and she sat him down at the little desk where she did the ordering and bookkeeping. "Well ... is she pretty?"
Michael shrugged again, scowled again. Why did adults keep nagging at you with questions there weren't answers to? "I guess so," he muttered. What was with this woman, anyway? Did she think she was his mother or something? The thought made him look up at her. Huh! Dad might wish she was. His mother had been all fat and sort of grouchy-looking, even before she'd got sick and died. This woman was what his dad would call "really something," and then blush.
"Well ... do you know what color her eyes are? Is she blonde, or dark: You see," she went on when he seemed unable to answer, "I can pick out flowers for her better if I know."
"Well, she ... she's got hair sort of like yours, I guess. I think."
Want to see all of it? Mom thought. Would it turn you on if I just ... sort of ... She sat on a corner of the glass-topped table by the alcove's entrance, letting her thighs slip apart till she thought he could get just a peek at her pussy hair. God! I must be oozing halfway to my knees, though! she realized. And he wasn't looking anyway. His eyes were rambling vaguely over the flowers that filled nearly every inch of space along the walls of this room too-though most of men here were in glass cooler cases. And his prick ... his seated position eliminated what little bulge she'd been able to discern before, but she was sure it hadn't hardened. He wasn't looking away, in embarrassment or nervousness; he was just bored, impatient ... probably wishing he was out with the other guys, playing whatever boys played before they learned where the real fun was.
He started to stand up, and desperation took hold of Mom. She stepped into his path and blurted, "Wanna ball?"
His mouth fell open. He stood still, staring at her in amazement. "How did you know?" he said, really smiling for the first time. "I lost mine last week, and if I didn't have to buy the dumb corsage, I could-"
He caught himself too late. It wasn't polite to call it dumb to her, he realized. She probably thought flowers were the most important thing in the world.
Mom wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, wanted someone to take her in hand and spank her soundly for the evil thing die was trying to do with this innocent, sweet child. But most of all she wanted his cock. Right then, that little pud-bud in his pants was the most important thing in the world to her, and if it was the last thing she did on earth....
And suddenly she knew how!
She took his shoulders in her hands, gently. "A baseball, you mean. What you really want is a baseball, but your folks say you have to buy a corsage for this dance, and-"
"My dad," he corrected. "Yeah. And I guess I've got to."
"Well, now listen," Mom said softly, looking into his upturned face. "What if I gave you a free corsage? Then you could get the baseball, couldn't you?"
He smiled, nodded. "Softball, though," he said.
"Softball," Mom murmured. "Yes. Of course."
"But, ma'am, why would you-"
She put a trembling finger to his lips. "I'll tell you why. I want you to do me a very big favor, and I want you to promise never ever to tell anybody about it. It's ... it's something fun, and something that won't hurt anybody. You can-we can do it right now, right here, and it'll just take a little while, and then I'll give you the corsage and you can go buy that ball."
He looked ... not suspicious; just puzzled. "Is it a deal?" Mom asked, fighting to keep her eyes on his face and her hands on his shoulders, instead of letting them all pounce on the little morsel of meat that was driving her out of her mind with desire.
Michael gulped. "Well, gee, I ... I guess so. But if it's fun, why-"
"It's going to be wonderful fun for me," the woman said, her voice a little less tense. "And I think for you. Anyway, I promise it won't hurt you ... or anybody. But you've got to promise not to tell. Will you do that?"
"Well ... sure. Yeah." She just stood there, bending toward him, her hands shaking a little on his shoulders. As he took a deep breath, he could smell this funny perfume or something, that he hadn't noticed before. Was it from some kind of flower, maybe? "I promise," he said, since that seemed to be what she was waiting for.
"Ohh, wonderful!" the woman said with a big gush of breath. And then all of a sudden she started kissing him and hugging him and patting him all over, but mostly the patting was right smack on his crotch. Somehow she managed to get him sort of turned around so she was pushing her big, soft jugs against his back and upper arm while she kept kissing his cheek and forehead, and one of her hands was squeezing his peter right through his jeans and underpants till it almost hurt, while the other hand pushed his zipper down and then popped the snap at the top.
"Hey! Ma'am? What kind of-"
"Shhhh," she said, ending it with her lips against his. His were open, and hers came open and her tongue went in his mouth for about three swipes back and forth before she backed off a little-just her mouth, though-and whispered, "You'll like it. I promise."
She got around in front of him on her knees, then, and pulled his pants and skivvies clear down to his shoes, and he felt this big cloud of hot breath on his peter as she said, "Ohhhh! I was right! And it's ... it's beautifuir
"What?" he said. He didn't mean what was beautiful; he just didn't think he could have heard right, although he knew he had.
"Your cock," she answered in that same hot-breathed half-whisper. "Ohhh, your marvelous prick!" Her fingers were racing all over it, and under it, and under his balls, and even pushing back toward his butt hole a couple times; but mostly she kept stroking his peter and pulling it out toward her like ... like she wanted to eat the stupid thing!
She looked up at him, then. She looked a little crazy, but she sure looked happy. "Can you make it stiff for me?" she asked.
"Make ... make it stiff?"
"Yes, darling. Doesn't it get stiff sometimes when...." She stopped, beginning to look a little worried.
Michael shrugged. "Well, I guess like in the mornings sometimes, when I have to ... go to the bathroom. But I...." This was embarrassing. And stupid. Mainly stupid.
"Don't you ever ... play with it? Jack off?"
"Jack off?"
She just stared at him for a minute, her fingers still busily caressing his peter. Finally she smiled again. "Never mind," she said. "Well try something. You sit down and ... and sort of play with it like I've been doing. Okay? While I get undressed."
She stood up, letting go of him, and he sort of hobbled backward till he could sit on the chair again.
"Kick those off," she said, nodding at his crumpled jeans and skivvies. "And would you take your T-shirt off too, please?"
He started to comply, then hesitated. "Ma'am."
"Miss," she corrected him. "But no. Mom. That's my name: Mom."
"Hi. Glad to meet you," he said, his underpants hanging from the toe of one tennis shoe. "But ma-Miss Mom ... You aren't planning on giving me a bath, are you? Because I'll have to take one before the dance anyway-at home, I mean-and two in one week ... I mean ... Oh, never mind." Heck, it would be worth it to get the softball right away.
Mom chuckled. Her arms were doing something up behind her back, and the chuckle made her jugs jiggle. "No," she said, smiling that sort of nutty, breathholding smile again. "That's not what I'm planning on."
Then she seemed to have a thought. "The toilet's back in the workroom, on the left," she said, nodding toward it as she slipped her blouse off. "If you need to use it, I mean."
Michael shook his head, then let his eyes settle on her jugs. He guessed she must not mind, unlike his sister, who was always making a big fuss if he walked into her room when she just had a bra and underpants on. These jugs were a good deal bigger than Melissa's, yet they stood out just as solidly. He could see the dark nipple circles through the filmy bra cups ... And then the bra too slid down her arms and fluttered to the floor, and he discovered something he hadn't known about: Those nipple circles had stiff-looking bumps in the middle, sort of like two little nozzles. Huh! "Nozzle" was what Melissa had called his peter when she'd been teasing him once about missing the toilet bowl, and here it turned out girls had two nozzles of their own! Well, women did, anyway. Maybe-
He lost track of the thought as the woman's skirt slid down her legs. She wasn't wearing anything under it but a fuzzy triangle thing that was ... hair? Was that what made that dark patch in the front of Melissa's underpants the couple times he'd seen her half undressed lately? Huh! He'd learned more in the last minute than he had all year in seventh grade, it seemed like.
"Do you like my titties, darling?" the woman was saying. "And my cunt?" She put her hands on the edge of the table behind her, leaned back a little and spread her legs apart. The hair extended back between them in a narrow line, lighter, and sort of wet-looking. She looked ... swelled-up there, too; and .all pinkish, between the soft white curves of her inner thighs. That was a cunt, huh? Some of the guys at school talked a lot about titties and cunts. Titties were the same as jugs, he knew; but he'd never been sure about the other word, nor particularly interested. It was interesting, though. Sure different than a boy!
"Aren't you going to take your shirt off?" the woman prompted, standing straight again.
"Oh! I forgot. Sorry." He slipped it over his head as she came toward him.
"You haven't been playing with yourself, either. Your prick's still all limp." She sounded quite disappointed.
She held her hands out, and when he stood up in response to the gesture, she knelt in front of him again. She pulled his hands onto her jugs-her titties-then started rubbing and pulling at his prick, as she called it. "Play with them," she said. "Squeeze them and play with the nipples. And while you do, I'm going to-"
She stopped suddenly, and looked up at his face again. Her hands were hot on his little nozzle, and her own, even littler nozzles were hot against his hesitant palms. "Darling, what's your name?"
"Michael," he said. "Mike."
She smiled, then looked back at his peter. "Mike," she whispered, "while you play with my tits, I'm going to kiss your prick. I'm going to suck it, too; and I bet I can make it get stiff."
Aaahggh! The idea of sucking on somebody's pee-spout made his nose rumple up. But if it was worth a free corsage to her, who was he to complain? Gee, maybe he should have used her toilet, though., What if-come to think of it, he was beginning to get a funny feeling down there. It wasn't like he had to pee, though; it was a sort of achy, stuffed-up feeling back in the root of it and down in his balls, which she kept rolling around with one hand while she fingered his prick with the other. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it-
Ooooh! All of a sudden she'd sort of slurped his whole peter right in through her lips, and her hot, wet, slithering tongue was wallowing all over the underside of it, and she was sucking ... scraping her lips squeezily back along it, and that weird feeling was getting stronger ... spreading, pushing out to keep up with her mouth's retreating grip....
Yes! Mom thought. Yes, Mike! It's working! She brought her hands back and closed them over his, encouraging him to press and explore her tits, rub the taut nipples. Her cunt was a flaming, itching, writhing pulp of need, but she sensed that he wasn't ready to face that problem yet. She tightened her thighs, twitched her hips and held on with lip pressure and suction to his thickening dong, feeling the foreskin yield slightly as her caress reached the base of his prickhead. Now she pushed forward again, and the foreskin skidded back a little; her tongue's tip found the glans, circled it, probed the tiny opening.
She had to look again. He was half hard now, and the foreskin had slackened, and she just had to see the head of his lovely little piston! She gripped his hips, pulled and pushed through two more suctioning, lip-dragging strokes, the final one baring his cockhead entirely of the crinkling foreskin. His hands, on their own on her breasts, continued to knead, each one trapping a nipple between two fingers. Good. He was progressing nicely.
She let her lips slide free, watched intently as with one hand she pushed back the foreskin to reveal the rosy, plump knob. "Oh, Mike!" she breathed. "It's such a beautiful cock!"
He didn't answer immediately, and she didn't wait. But when her mouth once more enclosed his hardening member, her tongue massaging the little tube that bulged along its lower length, he mumbled, "Your ... your nozzles are nice, too."
Mom giggled, and the flutter of breath and palate brought a surge of response from the boy's prick; its length increased perceptibly.
"Oh, yes!" she sighed, backing off momentarily. "You're getting there, Mike!" She pressed her lips onto the foreskin, moved it back and forth while teasing the turgid head with her tongue-tip, then looked up at him, his rigid tool's end resting on her chin.
"See?" she said. "See how big?"
He grinned. "Yeah. It feels ... funny, too."
"Do you want to fuck me now, Mike?"
His face went blank. "Ma'am? I mean...."
She thought she felt his prick slip a little, and lowered her head to suck it in before it could start to shrink. And as she worked, lips, tongue and throat coaxing, he began squeezing and stroking her tits again, then cupping and hefting them while his thumbs circled the nipples, pressed the stiff tips this way and that, punched them back into the crinkled aureoles, compressing the firm yet yielding mounds of sleek heat ... , It was great, but they weren't progressing. Her cunt still wept and throbbed with need. Again, therefore, she took her mouth from his prick, but this time immediately closed one hand around it, stroking gently but firmly. She tickled the fully uncapped head with her tongue, and whispered, "Lie down, Mike. It's time you got acquainted with a quim."
Guided by her free hand', and kept horn-hard and pulsing by her other, he lay on his back on the dark red carpet. Mom positioned him so that at his head, feet and to one side, glass flower coolers provided reflected views of their naked bodies. Then she slicked her lips snugly over his gjans again, while swinging one leg across him so that she knelt astride his chest, her ass-hole and seeping dot displayed to his gaze.
That's a quim, Michael. A cunt. Or pussy. Twat. Vagina. Snatch. Slit. Pudendum. Poontang. Vulva. Goody gulch." She separated the terms with playful stroking licks along the undersurface of his plunger. "It's where you're going to put this big, beautiful, hard, hot, creamy, dreamy cock of yours in a little while, my darling. You're going to nun it in there, and it's going to feel even better than my mouth does...." She paused to fasten her lips tightly around his straining pud and scorch them right down to the base, her tongue going wild, left hand cupping his balls while her right forefinger probed the tight pucker of his ass-hole.
"My cunt's going to hang on tight while you jam your lovely prick in and out, in and out...." Her hand came up to illustrate the description. " ... and ... and that's nicking. We're going to fuck, fuck, fuck till we both can't stand it any more, and ... aaaand...."
This woman, Michael was thinking, ought to be a teacher. She sure knew how to make learning interesting! As he listened, he watched her cunt, or quim, or ... well, anyway, he watched the double rows of thick, pink-lined lips, the outer set fringed with dark, kinky hairs, twitch and palpitate beneath their coating of shiny moisture. Then, as the voice from the vicinity of his excitingly aching prick tightened, choked to silence, he watched the cunt lips twitch and writhe as a sudden flood of excess wetness oozed out to cover them and gather in the hair-packed creases at either side. In the lower end of the slot, partway into the triangle of thick hair, a paler pink nubbin had begun to peek out, like the tip of a tiny tongue.
"Ohhh, God!" Mom said after a moment. "I ... I came, I guess. It's been so long, I...." She shook her head. He couldn't see that, but he could feel it, because she hadn't entirely removed her mouth from his cockhead, and the motion sent a new feeling of excitement racing through it.
Now, though, she raised her head, and after wrapping a hand around his swollen, simmering peter, looked back past her shoulder-not at him, but beyond him, at their reflection in a big glass cabinet full of flowers. "Do you like my cunt, Mike?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said. "It's very ... well, nice." He'd almost said interesting, but decided that wouldn't sound quite right. Besides, it was more than just interest he was feeling. It was a weird kind of excitement he hadn't even gotten in science class when they'd seen that terrific film about the astronauts. He wouldn't have believed, a half-hour ago, that looking at some lady's butt, shithole and the place between her legs-while she sucked on your peter and told you all kinds of new words, most of which you couldn't hope to remember-could be anything but a great big bore.
"Would you ... would you like to kiss it, Mike?"
"Well, uh...." Somewhere up there, he figured, must be the thing she peed with. Then too, if he wasn't careful, he could end up with his nose in her ass-hole. I mean, she's nice, and all that, he thought, but ... even for a softball...."I don't know," he said weakly. "I never liked kissing much."
Besides, he knew now where that smell came from, and it wasn't any flower. It wasn't exactly a bad smell, but it was going to take some getting used to before he'd feel like getting much closer.
She didn't seem awfully disappointed. In fact, she'd gone back to sucking his peter before he finished answering. He did reach up and touch the wet, warm folds of slippery, puffy flesh with the tips of two fingers, as a sort of compromise, and from the way she squirmed and moaned and pushed her butt down toward him, while trying to suck his nozzle right out of its stupid skin, it seemed like, he figured she liked that. So he explored a little more, sliding his middle finger along the hot groove between the inner lips.
When he touched the little tongue-thing, she shuddered and clamped down even harder on his cock, and he pulled his hand back, thinking he'd hurt her. But then she raised her head and whispered, "Ohhh, yes, Mike! Right there on the clitty! And finger-fuck me, too. Push one way up inside a few times."
He used one hand on the clitty thing now, and discovered it was sort of like another little nozzle, only squishier, slipperier. With the middle finger of the other hand, he probed straight inward, and after a couple dead ends, found the passageway mat let it slide in clear past the second knuckle, to where his other fingers got in the way. The hole wasn't real tight, but he could feel her inside skin or whatever you called it all around the finger, and she sort of wriggled in there, or fluttered, maybe. Also, she was grinding her butt around real jerkily, and he felt another flood of goo soak his hands as she gasped out, "Aaaah! Oohhhh! Oh, yeee-esss, Mike! I-Uuuunh! I came again!"
Whatever that meant, he guessed it was good, so he kept on running the finger in and out, pushing it as far up the hole as it would-go, wiggling it around a little-there was no end to the passageway, as far as he could tell-and then dragging it back along the slick, clingy-hot inner lining ... and in again ... Meanwhile, his other hand tickled and twiddled her clitty, and the whole business was done to the rhythm she set with the switching of her hips and the sucking, sliding pressure of her mouth on his straining, shuddering prick. After she broke the rhythm with a third jittering, groaning "cum" spasm, he tried two fingers in the hole, and that brought on another seizure after just a couple jabs. But this time her knees sort of gave way and slid out to the sides, and the thing he hadn't wanted to kiss just about kissed him.
She rolled off to the side right away, though, and gasped out, "Oh, I'm sorry, Michael! It was ... just so good, I couldn't ... help myself." She was hanging onto his cock with one hand, and he found that when the hand's motion stopped, his hips went to work to replace it, pushing his pecker up and down in her grip without any help from his brain.
She smiled at that. "Yes! Good, Mike," she said. "And now...." She lay back on the carpet beside him, spreading her legs, taking her hand off his peter and opening her arms to him as he sat up. "Now fuck me!" she whispered urgently.
He still looked a little lost, so Mom pulled him onto her. With his hips in place between, her thighs, and that wonderful, fat, surprisingly long dong twitching an inch from her broiling pussy, his head just came up between her tits. She cupped one, thrust the nipple toward his mouth. "Suck me while you fuck me, baby," she whispered, smiling.
He seemed agreeable to that, and as soon as his lips were fastened on the pulsing bud, she wedged a hand down between their bodies and grasped the now familiar, always beloved tube of hot gristle that sprouted from his pelvis. She steepled her knees, then turned to watch the moment of contact reflected in the cooler to her right.
Breathlessly, she both felt and saw the head of his rammer touch her cunt lips. But then the picture blurred, as her whole body convulsed in an involuntary grab for more. The surge of her hips almost bucked him off, but she grabbed his buttocks, pulling him down and forward, and when her hips spasmed again, his cock plunged halfway in.
"Aaaaahh! Ohhhh! God, Michael! Yesss!" She was feeling it with every atom of her being and consciousness, swollen and surging there in the hugging, heated embrace of her twat. At last, after fifteen empty, longing years, she had a cock inside her again!
Michael felt it too. His head was dizzy, but his butt didn't need any instructions; it kept jerking forward, trying to drive his tingling prick deeper, and if he could just get his knees and tennis shoe toes planted right on the damn rag ... or maybe get ahold of her shoulders and pull....
Mom felt the hot breath from his nostrils vibrate her titty flesh, felt his suction and tongue-pressure on the nipple, felt his thighs buffet hers as he scrambled for leverage ... most of all, she felt the twitching, turgid throb of his cock, and the kneading response of her inner tissues as they clutched and clung and caressed, palpitating wildly, thrilled yet unsatisfied, overflowing with sensation, yet wanting-
With three battering thrusts, he'd driven it all the way in, slamming his pelvis onto her yammering clit and sending a new firestorm of orgasm through her devastated body. It was long seconds before she could focus her consciousness again on the actual location-the depth-of his penetrating prong. By then he'd begun to fuck in earnest, jerking out half its length, then jolting it in again, deep, massive ... she knew there was room there for more of both length and girth, but this was enough; it was cock, and it was in her to its hilt, probing and bullying her weeping, wallowing fun tunnel, building Another towering overabundance of joy in her jittering nerve ends, so that any second now, any ditty-crushing stroke....
The words weren't words any more, for Michael. They were just another surging, urging, hot-and-heaving, pulling-and-squeezing part of the swarm of soft strong muscle skin mother hug crazy everything that made him mad and sad and happy and silly and scared and brave, needing-fighting-fucking to make something happen that he didn't even know what it was but he had to ram and jam and slam and cram, harder, faster, fuller, deeper, arm-aching, knee-scraping, jaw-clamping, peter-burning....
He was biting on her nipple now, and the good pain pushed Mom even closer to the top of a trajectory that had already soared far beyond the ecstatic intensity of her earlier orgasms. And when suddenly he snapped his head up and stared at her with eye-glazed, chin-quivering, neck-straining, white-faced panic-pleasure, the pain stayed, and the pulverizing hammer of his cock strokes doubled speed and force, and she felt a molten jet of....
"AAAA-AAAAAA-aagggh!"
"Uunh-uunh-uunh-uunh-uh! Ulinggg-gg."
Dear Mom: her father's letter began. The convent at Sand Creek has closed, quite suddenly, and since I cannot see to your sister's proper upbringing without curtailing my work in the mission, I have decided, after prayerful contemplation, to send her to Grand Junction, where she will have not only your care but her brothers' companionship and Christian example. I know you will welcome her, and will raise her just as your beloved mother would have, taking all due precautions to protect her innocence and preserve the purity of her mind and soul through the crucial teenage years.
Your own youthful slip into the pit of sin has, I am certain, forewarned and strengthened you in the ways of righteousness; I would never have sent the boys to live with you, otherwise. And your letters assure me the problem that occasioned your leaving missionary work is a problem no more, so lam confident Iris could not be placed in more responsible hands.
She will arrive on a flight from Chicago at 5:50 p.m. Sunday, God willing. I wish it had been possible to give you more notice, but....
The rest was the usual chatter about the clinic, the chapel, the converts her father was making among the reservation Indians. Sighing, she dropped the letter on the counter. So now Iris was hers to raise, along with Birch and Elm, who had come to Grand Junction soon after her mother's death a year before. And her pious, Bible-blinded father trusted that Mom would preserve the twelve-year-old girl's innocence and purity, did he?
She laughed wryly, thinking of the twelve-year-old boy who had left the Flower Tower not five minutes before, his knees a little wobbly, his prick small and limp again, its head covered once more by the pointy foreskin, his hands clutching the boxed wrist corsage his first date would wear at his first dance. She thought too of her sixteen-year-old brother Elm, whose "Christian example" had recently included putting his underpants in the laundry hamper with lipstick smears on the fly. She almost giggled as she envisioned Elm's cock plugged into the mouth of some eager little high school girl-probably that pretty, blonde Melissa Mason. Why, they hadn't even kissed the lipstick off before they got down to business!
But now Mom gritted her teeth, fought back a shudder and got down to business herself-the grim business of Oak's letter. It would be another threat, she knew. She didn't understand why she forced herself to read each one. They had arrived monthly, as regular as her periods, ever since she'd tome to Grand Junction. They were another kind of "curse," she mused: another way of paying for the sin of being female.
But this letter was different. It was a single paragraph instead, of the usual two-page tirade. And the difference frightened her even before she began to read:
Chrysanthemum: God has told me that what I have known must be done, must be done NOW. Therefore, I am bringing my Crusade to Grand Junction next week. Due to the blindness or outright Godlessness of the city officials, the revival can run but a single night; however, I WILL NOT LEAVE until I have sent you on your depraved way to your home in Hell, and have rescued my son from the Satanic power that gave him birth into bastardy, and sullied my soul with the stain of foulest carnal iniquity. PREPARE TO DIE, Chrysanthemum, and to join the evil master of your vile body in the eternal fires!
Mom shut her eyes, fighting panic. He means it, she thought. She had always managed to tell herself the letters were empty threats; but now ... and what did he mean about Birch? There'd been no mention in the other letters of "rescuing" their son. Was it Oak's way of saying he planned to kill Birch too?
Trembling, she sat on the stool behind the cash register, gripped the counter's edge. God! All this in one day! First her mad, compulsive decision to seduce little Michael, and her fantastic success-a real, live, blood-engorged, cum-spouting cock in her cunt, after fifteen years of fantasy, finger-solitaire and frustration! And then the news about Iris. Little Iris, utterly innocent, fresh from a year in the very convent where Mom had been locked away for eight years because of lost innocence ... Iris, who like Mom had been born amid the poverty and earthiness of an Indian reservation, yet had never seen the reservation's people except through window glass; never played with Indian children, or outside a fenced yard in a walled missionary compound; never saw a movie or read a book until her parents had inspected and approved it....Iris, who must know even less about the body's more pleasurable uses than Michael had when he entered the Flower Tower, was to be Mom's responsibility from now until ... when? Till she got knocked up by one of Elm's friends, probably. Or worse-following the pattern Mom and Oak had set-by Elm himself! And now, topping it off, the terrifying revelation that Oak was coming. The Reverend Oakley Glen-a demented evangelist who stormed about the country branding women the willing consorts of the devil, haranguing his audiences into taking vows of lifelong chastity-apparently meant to climax two years of wrathful letters by murdering his sister, and quite possibly the child he'd fathered by her too.
It had been Oak's letters more than anything else, Mom-realized, that had finally driven her to act out the seduction he had for so long accused her of-to actualize with Michael the obsessive fantasy Oak had planted in her mind on that day fifteen years ago, just as surely as he'd planted Birch in her womb. In truth, Oak had seduced Mom, if virtual rape could be called seduction merely because she'd experienced physical pleasure before he finished. But he had lied and lied until he convinced even himself that it had been her fault-all her doing, in league with the devil. And by his endless accusations and vilification, he had somehow made Mom herself half-believe it too; at least he'd made her wish it had been her doing-her triumph over her big, burly brother with his big, brutal, beautiful cock.
Mom had been sent to the tiny, isolated convent as soon as their parents discovered her pregnancy. Violet and Sycamore Glen came and got her child when it was born, and raised it as one of their own. Now, at fourteen, Birch still didn't know the truth, nor did Elm and Iris. Mom had been kept at the convent until Oak, grown too fanatical for even his father to tolerate, had left Oklahoma and launched his bizarre "Crusade for Purity." Then, at ll, she had returned to the mission, expected to join her parents in their work. But by then Oak's vicious lies, fermenting in her mind, had brought on what her father so delicately called "the problem that occasioned your leaving missionary work...." Whenever she was around men, Mom wanted to take her clothes off.
She felt this desire in the presence of any man, but it was strongest with strangers, and became almost overpowering in a crowd. She had fought the insane impulse successfully for several years, but with every victory she weakened, or else in defeat the urge grew stronger. Finally, in a department store in Muskogee during a shopping trip, she'd lost control, and was down to bra and half-slip before a saleswoman, wrapping her in a handy tablecloth, pinned her arms to her sides and literally wrestled her into the ladies' room. Mom hadn't dared to leave till after the store closed.
It had happened next with a much smaller group-a prayer meeting in the mission chapel. There were several new male converts that night, and since all heads were bowed in prayer when her sense of decency collapsed, she was completely naked before her father-raising his eyes to Heaven as he droned on-saw what she'd done. Mom would never forget his enraged expression. Nor would she forget the growing bulge in his trousers as he rushed toward her, slipping off his black robes to enclose the glowing nudity that by then had pulled all eyes and minds away from God.
Soon after that, with her bewildered parents' blessing, she had ridden to Grand Junction with a group of ladies driving east on vacation. She took up residence in her late uncle's mansion, recently inherited and never seen by her father, and established the flower shop. It was a low-customer-volume business, so she could live a somewhat normal life, having found that tranquilizers helped her resist the desire to strip when she absolutely had to go out and face groups of strangers. Most such necessities, however, could be handled by Evangeline,-the Negro girl who worked with Mom in the shop every day but Sunday, or by Chief Flaming Arrow, the Cherokee gardener, handyman and general caretaker who had worked for the tower's original owner arid stayed on after his death, saying that the age he'd claimed when Mom arrived-was "too old for make change."
This thought made her look around. Flaming Arrow had a habit of standing in doorways or dark corners just watching her or Evangeline, silent and motionless. Once, Mom had let him do so for more than an hour before indicating that she knew he was there; then he'd come forward to report on a leaky sprinkler pipe he'd repaired. How long he may have watched before she spotted him that time, how much longer he would have if she hadn't finally turned and smiled at him, and how long he had watched on how many other occasions, she could only guess. He did his work well, and she was sure he wasn't dangerous, but she suspected the watching had a sexual element to it; she sensed that he was imagining her naked mentally ogling her tits and cunt, just as she couldn't look at any man or boy-not even old Flaming Arrow himself-without envisioning his cock.
She wondered sometimes if he ever went to her bedroom during the day and watched the panel of monitor screens linked to the closed-circuit TV cameras and microphones that covered every in-use area of the tower. Flaming Arrow had helped to install this system for her late uncle, and since there was even a camera in the little bathroom she and Evangeline used while the shop was open ... Oh, God! He could have been watching today, and seen her with Michael in the alcove!
Well, if so, good for Flaming Arrow! If an interest in sex was what had kept him alive for 109 years, Mom should live to a ripe age herself, she guessed.
She wondered, now, why she'd never used the closed-circuit system herself-to peep at Birch, or Elm, or Flaming Arrow. She'd thought of it now and then, but somehow-until Michael, today-she'd always assumed that reality would be disappointing alongside her mental images. At least that applied to her son, her young brother and the ancient Indian. It hadn't applied, she realized, to magazine models. She picked up the magazine she'd been browsing through before the mail came. It was published for male homosexuals, and Mom found the stories and articles interesting only for the vocabulary they provided-the extensive repertoire of terms and slang synonyms for all things sexual. But the really appealing things were the photographs: an average of two hefty, limp-but-lengthy, thick-veined, thrilling pricks per picture.
On an impulse, she dropped the magazine into the waste-basket, atop her white panties and sheer pantyhose. "Goodbye, paper dolls," she murmured. "Mom's a big girl now. She latched onto a real cock today, and there just may be a lot more to come!"
There will be, she amended silently, unless Oak has his way.
CHAPTER TWO
"Aww, man. Buck! You sho can fuck!" Evangeline muttered, gently massaging her sore pussy while she checked the wedding order waiting for delivery.
She glanced at the clock, then at the light over the elevator door. It was nearly ten, and Mom usually came down by nine-thirty on Saturdays. But the car was still on fifteen, so Evangeline hiked up the front of her short, pleated skirt, slipped one hand into her blue net panties and continued to rub her plump, black-furred pelvic mound, so tender after last night's battering by her gigantic boyfriend. Up inside, where his long, ebony prickshaft with its plum-purple head had been, there was no soreness-only a good, lingering afterglow; but up front, where her passion button was, she did indeed feel bruised. How can a man that big have so little padding on his bulge-bumper? she asked herself. Why, even with my ass and a mattress to absorb the shock, I'm so tender right ... there....She slipped a finger between the puffy swells, barely touching her funnybud, and felt the buzz vibrate through her innards and up her spine. "Wow! It may be tenduh, but it do still work!" she murmured. Looking down, she twitched her clit again, and watched the responsive shiver run down her sleek thighs. "What you needs ain' rest, cunt; it's mo exersahze," she said. "Fix you up in no tahm."
She leaned against the doorframe of the east greenhouse, where she could watch the front entrance, the side door into the workroom, and the elevator light, then pushed her panties down a little and put both hands to work reviving her groggy man-grabber.
In the west greenhouse, from behind a screen of ferns, Flaming Arrow had a clear view of the black girl, and as she pushed her panties lower, he reached through the bottomless right-hand pocket of his gardener's smock and began slowly whanking his already distended cock. The long, slim shaft with its triangular head was still a little rubbery, whiplashing a bit as his gnarled fist shuttled along it, but that was to be expected, since he'd just come from watching Mom take her morning shower-and had cum while watching that.
The old chief tore his eyes from Evangeline's gleaming thighs and kneading hands for a moment to grin up at the lookie-box concealed in the hanging planter to his left. He wondered if Mom was watching him now in one of her little windows, and whether she could tell, if so, what was going on under his baggy smock. He didn't much care. In fact, he wasn't sure he really believed in the lookie-boxes, even though he'd put them up and fastened all the wires for the bid boss man; he'd never thought much about the little windows, for he was content with the peephole he'd drilled into Mom's bathroom from the adjoining broom closet in the fifteenth-floor hallway, and with the ventilator grill he could peer through from the furnace shed into the workroom's bathroom.
He watched and whanked now as Evangeline's hips began to work. He wished she'd use her hairbrush handle instead of her hands, as she had once, so he could get a better look at her squaw-hole. Even so, he was getting harder now, and....
Oh, buffalo shit! She'd stopped, and covered up. Mom must be coming down.
Turning away, he let his disappointed dong droop and shrivel as he padded silently to the rear of the greenhouse and continued separating bedding plants.
Mom stepped from the elevator, called good morning to Evangeline, who was wrapping the bridal bouquet for the wedding order. "Have you called Buck about that delivery?" she asked.
"Ah seed 'im las' naht an' tol' 'im. He be heah." Evangeline grimaced. Why did she always talk nigger-talk when she was feeling sexy? "Hell be in about nine-thirty," she added, disciplining her speech. 'They want the flowers at the church at ten, and there's just one stop on the way."
"Fine," Mom said. She picked up the hospital book to add up yesterday's orders, but looked up as the front door opened and a tall, burly, fortyish man in khaki work pants, heavy shoes and a white T-shirt came in. The pants, despite his size, were rather loose, and gave her no help in imagining his prick as he moved slowly across the salesroom.
Mom smiled, meeting his gaze but seeing a thick, vein-swollen length of delicious gristle superimposed on the tanned, blue-eyed face. "Good morning! Can we help you?"
"I ... uh...." He seemed embarrassed. "My son was in here yesterday, and...."
Mom felt herself go pale. But apparently he didn't notice, for he stammered on, "Well, it reminded me that I completely forgot my wife's ... that is ... she died three years ago last Monday, and every year I ... I put flowers on her grave."
"Well ... well, yes," Mom said. She looked toward Evangeline for help, feeling a little faint. But the girl had turned away, leaving the customer to Mom.
He just stood looking at her, shuffling his feet, and she managed to add, "You must feel terrible; but we all ... make a little slip now and then, I guess."
"Yeah." He returned her smile, timidly. "I thought I'd buy 'em here so I could sort of thank you, too. For being so nice to Mike, I mean."
Mom almost lost what composure she'd mustered. But lie was so obviously sincere and ... well, bashful! He couldn't know the truth! "Oh, it was nothing," she got out, renewing her smile.
"No. It meant a lot to the boy. The ball, I mean. He told me how you got it out of him about wanting one, and wouldn't let him pay for the corsage. It ... it really made his day; you know? He almost seemed eager to go to the dance, and that morning he'd been real put out about it."
Spike stopped. He felt like he was blushing. Why was he babbling on like this to a woman he didn't even know? Partly, of course, it was that good-looking women always made him nervous ... itchy. And that always made him feel guilty, even with his wife in the grave three years. And this woman was ... damn! She was really something! Beautiful, and not just that, either. She seemed a little shy, a little edgy and uncomfortable, just like he was.
"Well, I'm glad about Michael," she was saying now. "It was my pleasure; really." Then she blushed, and he liked that.
"I guess maybe you've met my daughter, too," he said, beginning to feel more comfortable. "She goes to school with your ... what? Nephew? Brother? He couldn't be your son."
"Whoa, Elm? Are ... are you Melissa Mason's father?"
"Yeah. Spike Mason, Miss...."
He held out a big hand, and as she took it and murmured, "Glen. But please just call me Mom," he bumbled on:
"Melissa was the reason Mike came-Oh, excuse me!" That was for talking when she was, and also for hanging onto her hand so long. He felt like a big, dumb oaf.
But she got to the business of the flowers, then, and gradually put him at ease with her understanding, sympathetic tone about his feeling for his departed wife. As he paid for the bouquet, he said, "You know, I supervised the grading for this building. Always wondered what it looked like. Inside, I mean." He knew darn well what it looked like from the outside, he thought, nearly blushing again.
"Would you like to see the rest of it?" Mom offered. She too was more at ease now. After all, he wasn't really a stranger, or just another customer. His daughter and her brother knew each other far better than he was aware of, apparently. And Mom knew his son ... well ... intimately! She almost giggled, and added a pointy foreskin to her mental picture of Spike's cock, with the thought: like Son, like father, probably.
"Yeah, I'd like that," Spike said.
"I only use about a fifth of it," she said, leading him into the west greenhouse first. "The third through the fourteenth floors are empty." Yeah, she mused. It's such a ' big prick, I can only use three fifteenths of it. But I could sure use all of yours, you beautiful man!
She could think things like that, and fight down the desire to take her clothes off, and still talk to him without stammering and blushing, she found as the tour continued. She did most of the talking, but he listened and responded politely, and during one lull he mentioned that Melissa had gone to a slumber party the night before. What that was pertinent to, Mom couldn't imagine, though it had come up while she was showing him her room, the master bedroom on fifteen, with the big canopied bed. She did not, of course, draw back the curtains on its far side to reveal the wall-mounted panel of TV monitors with which her invalid uncle, she supposed, had kept track of his numerous servants.
They looked into Elm's room, which was empty, the bed neatly made. Where was he all last night? Mom wondered, recalling that she hadn't heard him come in, nor seen him this morning. And he never made his own bed.
Birch was in his room, bent over a chessboard with a book of problems beside him, as usual on weekends. If it wasn't that, he was reading zoology books. When he wasn't in school, he hardly ever left his room except for meals and to go to the bathroom. Chess and zoology were all-consuming interests with Birch, and he seemed to feel no need to share them with anyone. A real egghead, my son's becoming, she thought as Birch-introduced to Spike as Elm's brother, of course-explained to the visitor that no, he wouldn't know Michael, because he, Birch, went to KCA-Kress Christian Academy, a private, church-sponsored school in the village just south of Grand Junction.
Spike expressed a polite interest in the chessboard, but it was clear that he didn't know the game, so Mom eased him out before Birch could get started explaining-some Russian strategy he was studying.
"That's it except for two and the empty floors," she said as they walked back to the elevator. 'Two's just storage and the gardener's little apartment. I've thought some about putting in offices for rent on the vacant floors, but-Say! Didn't you say you were in the construction business?"
"Well, not that kind. Just grading and earth-moving. I'm a super for the state road department now." She looked disappointed, and he added, "But I'd be glad to take a look if you'd like me to."
"Good," she said, giving him that warm smile that made him sort of breathe deeper than normal.
They were already passing fourteen, so she pressed the button for thirteen. The car eased to a stop, and the doors did back noiselessly.
Mom's jaw dropped. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spike's hit bottom too. His eyes-corners and all-were glued to the interlocked legs and humping asses on the rumpled blanket not twenty feet from them, and the squishing, pistoning interlock of grasping cunt and balls-a-floppin' cock that was the center of the action.
Mom hit the down button immediately, but it seemed to take an hour for the doors to slide shut. And when they had, Spike's mouth was still open-a gaping rent in his beet-red face.
"My God!" Mom said. "I ... I'm so sorry! I don't know who they can be," she added feebly, "but I'll have" my gardener come up here and throw them out as soon as ... well ... right away! I don't know how...."
She let her voice fade out. If he'd heard one word of it, he was showing no inclination to respond. He'd managed to close his mouth, but still stared straight ahead, and the redness had spread out to cover his neck, and his earlobes looked like ... well, like cherries.
Then the doors opened on the ground floor, he mumbled something that could have been, "Thanks again, I've gotta...." and by then he was halfway across the salesroom.
Evangeline was behind the counter, holding his wrapped flowers, and was about to call out; but Mom shook her head, and the girl kept silent as Spike Mason went through the front door like a bashful bulldozer, and disappeared from sight.
With only a brief "Don't worry. It's okay," to Evangeline, Mom pressed the button for thirteen again. She had to know, she told herself, if what she suspected was true. There was no doubt whatever in her mind that the male participant in the little camp-out love-in was Elm; but as to the girl's identity....
Sure, she mused as the car crept upward. IV just send Flaming Arrow up, and hell ... Ha! He'd either have a heart attack, or do exactly what I'm going to: Stand and watch! And if they see me, so what! This is my building, damn it!
They hadn't heard the elevator before or now, apparently; the view and the action were the same as before. And assuming that they'd been fucking off and on all night, Mom mused, the wonder wasn't that they hadn't finished this round yet, but that they still had strength to try for another cum!
That was Elm on top, all right. The mop of carroty hair, flopping about his shoulders as he braced up stiff-armed and continued to pump, confirmed that. And the girl was blonde-at both ends-but Mom couldn't get a clear look at her face. Besides, her gaze kept fixing intently on the rear view of her brother's plunging prick, and all else blurred out of focus.
But then the mystery was solved, as Elm grunted, "Oh, yeah, Melissa! Squeeze it, baby! I'm gonna ... gonna make it!" The tempo of his belting thrusts increased; he straightened his legs and went up on his toes in pushup position, the girl's ass cushioning his hips, her legs scissoring his waist as he thudded down on her.
Mom pressed the up button and let the car take her to the rooftop sundeck. She needed fresh air. The next "slumber party," she supposed, would be held one floor up, and they'd try for fourteen. And after that...?
Spike couldn't have recognized his daughter, she told herself. If he had, he wouldn't just have left ... would he? And if he had recognized her ... well, how? Mom hadn't noticed any birthmark, and any man who was that familiar with that view of his own daughter....
It was silly, of course. He hadn't recognized Melissa, and he probably didn't even blame Mom for the incident. He was just so nervous and bashful, and , ... and probably pretty uncomfortable about sex, after three years without any.
He was cute, she mused. And big! She found herself hoping he'd come back for the flowers. Or should she send them in the truck with Buck, and attach a note of apology? She did want to see him again, though, so maybe ... But why? What hope was there? Sooner or later, he'd catch Elm screwing Melissa, or little Michael would tell all; and if not that, the time would come when Spike-any man she might get serious about-would have to be told the truth about Birch....
She caught herself, and gasped. Here I am, thinking weeks or months ahead, and next week Oak's going to come here and ... and probably fall me!
Through tears of fear and confusion, she groped her way to the lounge chair at the far corner of the sundeck. Draped on it was the four-foot stuffed toy snake her father had sent Birch for his thirteenth birthday. It was a typically naive present to choose for a teenager, but ironically, Birch had liked it, and had dragged it around the building for several months before abandoning it here.
Mom picked up the limp serpentine tube and hugged its twice-folded length as she sat down, stretched out and tried to relax, compose herself.
She just couldn't go to the police about Oak; her own brother! No. She'd simply have to close the shop, pretend to be away. Her parents wouldn't have told Oak of her need to avoid crowds, so perhaps he'd give up, if indeed he stayed firm in his resolve long enough to actually seek her out. Luckily, it would be spring vacation week, so she could keep Birch and Elm in-and Iris, too-for at least that long without ... But Elm would hate her for it, and probably sneak out, unless she explained. God! Could she do that?
Unwilling to face it, she thought again of the police. But no. They'd probably send half the detective squad down here to question me, and I'd lose control and start stripping, and....
She envisioned a half-circle of plainclothesmen staring at her-a half-circle of cop-cocks pointing at her, straining forward ... her pussy began to moisten, and when she looked down, there was the toy snake's tail, so round, so firm ... fuzzy and striped, but still....
She took a quick inventory: There were no airplanes in sight. There was the closed-circuit camera on the antenna pole, but if Flaming Arrow was in her room watching, what the hell! As for the elevator, it was waiting; she'd see it go down before anyone could come up. And the almost forgotten back stairway-which Elm and Melissa must have used for their tryst, she realized-was blocked by a locked door on fifteen. Birch could come up by the stairs, but he wouldn't.
There was something a little extra naughty about the idea of diddling herself with her son's castoff toy, and it made her hesitate But it also made the prospect just that much more appealing.
Raising her hips, Mom fucked her skirt up around her waist, pushed her panties down, then bent and pulled them off her feet. She spread her thighs, grasped the snake's tail, leaving its body to zigzag along her torso, its head resting between her breasts. She rubbed the fuzzy tip up and down against her swelling cunt lips, and as they parted, pushed the cock-thick end between them ... in an inch ... another....drew it back a little ... pushed....
"Oh, Birch," she sighed aloud as his erstwhile plaything penetrated deeper. "If you only knew!"
CHAPTER THREE
By 2:45 on Sunday, Mom was a ... she giggled. A tranquil wreck.
She didn't know how many of the whee-pills she'd taken. But of course she wasn't worried-only curious.
Birch had just gone up-he'd been awfully sweet, helping her all day-and she was alone for the first time since the shop had opened at nine. By then, she'd already taken four tranquilizers, the first two because Flaming Arrow was being such a prick about installing a closed-circuit camera on thirteen.
"Why want lookie-box here?" he'd said, standing stiff, straight and stubborn beside the stepladder, the camera in his hands.
"Just ... never mind," she'd said, wondering if his cock still had posture that good. "The wires are all there, and all you have to do is hang it up and fasten them to it. Now, I've got to-"
"You no got little window," he persisted. "Only sixteen window, already got thirty-fifty lookie-box. Not make sense."
"Now, Flaming Arrow, that's silly! Every monitor has a selector, and-" His corrugated face became even more expressionless. Was he putting her on? He couldn't be that ignorant of the setup! "Number wheels," she said in exasperation, imitating his granite-jawed face. "Me pickee number, little window see with that lookie-box. Me pickee different number ... Listen: I've got to get Elm up. Just hook up the camera, please."
She stepped back into the elevator, and as the doors slid shut she heard him protest, "What you see here? Mice? Me no let mice in building. Me no let roaches, rats...."
"Minks!" Mom muttered as the car rose to fifteen. 'Two little minks, you wrinkled old fart. One of whom I've got to drag out of hibernation because he blew all his energy out the end of his dong Friday night!"
After two tranquilizers and three tries, however, she'd given up on Elm; he was too groggy to be any help to her anyway. Birch, the monitors showed, had already gone down, and was unlocking the front entrance promptly at nine ajn., bless his little ... heart. God, Mom, she scolded herself. Now you Ye even thinking dirty about Birch!
She'd turned from the monitor panel and taken two more tranquilizers, then gone down herself.
Both boys regularly helped out in the shop on Sundays, since Evangeline insisted on that day off, and from late morning to mid-afternoon was often the busiest time of the week. This Sunday had been no exception, and its effect on Mom's nerves had been heightened by the knowledge that it was the beginning of the week in which Oak was to come to town, and the day on which Iris was arriving.
Saturday's newspaper had carried an ad for the Crusade for Purity revival. It was to be Wednesday night. She still hadn't made up her mind whether to keep the shop closed Monday and Tuesday too, on the chance that he'd come to Grand Junction early. And there was still the problem of Elm....
All this, plus a steady stream of customers-most of them men, walking in with their long, tantalizing tally whackers dangling in their Sunday pants, filling her mind's eye with meat and making her hands itch and tremble as she fought the urge to undress-had sent the tranquilizer count soaring. About two, though, the rush had slacked off, and by two-forty, when she'd returned from a ten-minute lunch upstairs, the salesroom was empty except for Birch, and he'd been eager to get back to a book on anteaters he was reading.
So now she was alone-yes, really; because Flaming Arrow had gone fishing with Buck after the day's last delivery run-and feeling ... Wheee! Now, if Spike Mason would just show up, she'd bet she could charm him right out of his pants!
Again, her mind formed and fondled an image of Michael's prick, enlarged in keeping with Spike's maturity and size. She saw it first in pointy flaccidity, but as she pursed her lips and lavished tender, titillating attentions on it, it blushed and bestirred itself, reaching forward and upward, lengthening, thickening, its ruddy head pushing out as the foreskin slackened and retreated under her coaxing caresses ... emerging, like a one-eyed widower coming out of mourning ... like Michael coming out of childhood...."like son, like father," Mom breathed, feeling the hot, wet winds of desire begin to whirl in the tropics of her twat. "And oh, Spike, if I could get my hands on that spike of yours, I think I'd like the father even better!"
She stood at the end of the counter, and was pressing her percolating pussy against the sharp corner, feeling it push her thick tweed skirt and black bikini panties in against her clit, moving her hips ever so slightly as she brought the image of Spike's rampant stallion closer and closer to the hug-snug padded stall that was her snatch.
The fantasy shattered as the front door opened and a tall, sallow, thin-faced youngster in a green Sunday suit, white shirt and orange bow tie walked in. Mom hastily stepped back, her mind changing channels automatically. Inside those razor-creased pants was a long, pencil-thin, pale-skinned penis-an undernourished twelve-year-old snakeling that needed some sunlight and then a nice, warm burrow.
Its keeper crossed the salesroom as if his parents owned the place: head up, eyes bored as they treated the abundant flowers and the waiting woman to the same scornful going-over.
Oh, it sure is Sunday! Mom told herself. This kid's a prick from his shiny shoes to his by-appointment haircut! "Today is my mother's birthday," the boy announced, his haughty gaze falling just above Mom's knees, as if he wondered why she wasn't bowing low in awe.
Roguishly, Mom cocked a hip, thrust one knee out, making her already short slide higher. His eyes followed, and they didn't look quite so bored any more.
"I see," she said, "and...? "
It took him a few seconds to realize she wasn't going to help. But he wasn't long in regaining his pomposity. "I think, roses," he said, raising his eyes as far as her breasts, as if he expected them to sprout bouquets of American Beauties. "Your nicest, of course. And you do deliver, don't you?"
Well, fuck you, too, Fauntleroy! she snapped mentally. In fact, I really ought to. Show you what the working classes do while you 're playing with your platinum duck in your mink-lined bathtub! Aloud, she said, "Of course. Come this way, please."
She did her turn in two stages, with a hitch in the middle to give him a full profile of her tits. And as she lead him toward the alcove, she let it all swing out, making a pulsing passion-pendulum of the tight tweed skirt. When they reached the secluded nook, she said, "Look around for a moment, and I'll be right back. I'm closing early today, and I'll put the sign up now so we won't be interrupted." With a sultry smile as she slithered past him, she went to do just that.
Sonny was confused. The only roses he could see in here were little pink ones that were just buds; and there'd been a whole case full of different kinds out by the cash register. And this woman ... she just wasn't acting right. He wished he'd gone, to the flower place where his family usually took its business, instead of deciding to show off his new credit card somewhere else.
Oh, well. Here he was. Shrugging, he took out the slick plastic card and looked again at the raised letters: PETER PHIPPS CLAMATH, III. When the woman came back, he just held it out to her. "You decide," he said. 'Two or three dozen, I suppose."
She didn't have to bend over to take the card, but she did. And she stayed that way while she read it. He wanted to watch her face, but his eyes kept sliding into the gap of her lacy V neckline, to the shadowy valley between the French-vanilla swells of her bosom. He'd been noticing bosoms lately, and he didn't know why. He knew his parents wouldn't approve, though, because when he'd mentioned that his tutor almost didn't have one, Mother had turned all red and told him such things weren't discussed.
He'd been noticing legs and behinds, too-on girls and women, that is. He had noticed this woman's legs and behind particularly, because they were part of what was making him feel uncomfortable. It was like when he went riding and the saddle didn't quite fit him right, and-
"Peter," the woman said. "I love that name." She looked up-still without straightening up-and smiled at him, and when his eyes took refuge in her blouse-opening again, she said, "Do you like my tits, Peter?"
"Your...." He looked around at the coolers, wondering if it was some sort of flower he hadn't heard of. But he had heard of tits, and it was pretty obvious she meant the same thing the older boys at the riding academy did when they used the word. "Uh ... I suppose so." He looked again, since she seemed to be inviting it.
"Would you like to see all of them?"
Gosh, did she have more than two? He grinned a little as he straightened that out in his mind, and she took the grin for a yes, and started unbuttoning her blouse.
She began at the bottom, pulling it out of her skirt, then baring a rising triangle of creamy skin till the point was blunted by her bra. One more button, then she shucked the blouse off, and he could see the shape of all of them-both of them-and the bare, glowing skin almost down to the points. And now her wrists compressed those points, bulging the mounds up as she undid two little hooks in the front, between the cup things.
She moved the halves of the bra apart about an inch, then stopped. "Ready?" she said.
Her eyes left his face for a second, flashing down to his pants, and her smile seemed to droop just a little. But then she was looking him straight in the eyes again, and her hands and forearms started to swing apart like the big double front doors at home ... and there were these two big nipples staring at him! They were huge, compared to his own, and sitting on these big, soft-looking-yet-forward-jutting cones of flesh....
"You can feel of them, Peter," she invited.
His hands came up before he even had time to think. "It's ... everybody calls me Sonny," he said as his fingers slid along the undercurves, testing the weight of the fascinating tit-things.
She pouted. "Oh, but Peter's so much nicer! Would.. would you like to suck on one, baby?" the went on huskily. "The nipple ll feel real good in your mouth."
"Well ... yes." This was insane! But ... but he wanted to!
As he did-using both hands to hold her left tit while his lips surrounded the puffy, puckery nipple base and his tongue met its firm little tip-her hands were undoing his bow tie, unbuttoning his shirt...."Not fair!" she murmured, her lips brushing his forehead. "I'm half naked and you're still all covered up. Stop a minute and take this stuff off, baby, and then you can suck on the other one."
He obeyed, and while he pulled off his suit coat, tie and shirt and hung them on the chair by the little desk, the woman slipped her shoes off, undid a button and zipper at the side of her short skirt and slid the band of bulky cloth down her legs....Now she was wearing only these little black underpants that were practically just ribbons on each side, low on her wide, pale hips. Her tummy was flat and tight but still cushiony-looking, between jutting hipbones, and as she stepped clear of the crumpled skirt, his eyes were drawn by the gleaming inner curves of her thighs, the black strip where the panties went between them.
"Oh, no!" Mom said teasingly. "You don't get to see any more unless I do, Peter. Take your shoes off...." She recalled Michael's dirty tennis shoes, and the trouble he'd had getting his jeans on over them after their fuck. " ... and your trousers and shorts, if you want to see the rest of me."
like a robot, he sat on the chair and began untying his shoes, his eyes never leaving her muff bulge. The shoes came off; the black socks followed. His feet were clean, toes straight, like matched sets of miniature pricks in five sizes. He stood up, undid his belt, unclasped, unzipped, slipped his pants down and turned to hang them neatly on the chair back. He wore shorts, not briefs, as she'd known he would. They weren't silk, though: expensive broadcloth. And there was no hesitation as he unsnapped these and lowered them, his little pecker-not pencil-thin, but like an anemic snake indeed-swinging from thigh to skinny thigh as he stepped out with one foot, then the other. It was long, and it curved left a little, ending bluntly with a foreskin that didn't quite cover the slotted tip of his cockhead, but framed it like the raised rim of a button.
"Button, button, we've both got buttons!" Mom whispered, feeling her clitty twitch.
"What?" His eyes returned to her face for the first time since she'd taken her skirt off. This lad's got to be a natural-born cunt hound! she told herself.
"Never mind, Peter," she said, smiling at his peter. Her hands, her lips-both sets-were itching to get a grip on it. "Lie down," she instructed him. "I've got something even better than a titty for you."
As he stretched out on the carpet, eyes eager for the unveiling of her snatch, his cock's motion showed her that it wasn't really limp-just not yet stiff enough to stand erect. But it bounced and skittered up across his thigh and onto his belly when he lay back, a semi-turgid supernoodle that she found as hypnotic as he seemed to find her crotch.
Her hands trembled a little as she began pushing her panties down. This was a sobering experience, and its gravity had begun to pierce the tranquilizers' rosy haze. Oak's right, an inner voice whispered. Maybe not about the past, but about the present. You're evil, Mom. Wicked Nasty.
Half of her bush was uncovered now, and the boy's eyes were widening, his prick twitching, seeming to straighten and thicken slightly....
Abruptly, hungrily, she shoved the black fabric past her knees and raised one leg, swinging the knee out to give him a good view while her foot cleared the filmy panties. She let the wisp of nylon fall off the other foot as she stepped toward him, to stand almost astraddle his head, facing his cock.
"See my cunt, Peter? It's all hot and squinny and gooey, like molasses candy that hasn't cooled. Do you want some?"
In answer, his serpent of a penis surged to full erection, arching up off his belly, and a tiny pearl of moisture oozed-from its tip.
The way Mom's slot felt, she was going to start raining on him if she didn't close the distance pretty soon, yet she forced herself to glide sloooowly into a squat, gradually, smoothly lowering her fire pit till it hovered an inch from his nose. Then she sank forward onto hands and knees, caught his still-shielded pricktip in her lips for three quick squeezes while her tongue spread his salty lubricant around the opening, and let it go.
"Eat me, Peter Phipps Clamath the Third!" she whispered urgently, fitting her sizzling slit neatly over his nose and lips. And ... by God ... the kid was a natural!
His lips, tongue, throat, breathing all responded immediately, as if they'd always known how, and had just been waiting for the chance. And meanwhile, a funny thing was happening to his mind. It had jumped back to when he was about seven, and found that old gas mask in his grandfather's trunk, under all the uniforms and the layers of mothballs. He'd put it on, and breathed in the warm, dry, rubbery-moth bally odor, felt it clinging to his cheeks and around his nose ... and at the same time, he was imagining something that had never happened: It was like ... like he had his face stuck right into a great big bowl of hot clam chowder! What was happening now wasn't like either of those, and not even quite like both of them put together; it was just the closest his mind could come to fitting in with his experiences this unimaginable, outrageous (that was one of Mother's words), ridiculously wonderful and right thing that was happening with his face and this crazy woman's crotch.
Part of it, too, he sensed, was what was happening down there where her face and his crotch were getting together, but that was just on the fringe, like mood music. The real excitement was in the hot, syrupy, slurp-squirming, pickled-herring, hair-fringed, dizzy-delicious, getting lost feverdom where his forehead and her buttocks had grown together, and his tongue was becoming a part of her insides, and all the rest of the skin and lips and pulpy-gooey shuddering meat was both of them together all at once, going faster and tighter and swampier and-
All of a sudden he got this picture like he was looking down through her from above, to where her thick, reddish-black hairy patch was pressed to his chin, and he looked like Abraham Lincoln. It made him burst out laughing. If it had happened with a mouthful of food, he would have sprayed it all over; but what he was eating didn't spray. Instead, it kind of grabbed him and shook him by the nose, sponging out an extra flood of hot sauce at the same time, and the woman's whole body started shaking till his arms had to come up and hang on around her sweat-slippery back. Her mouth sort of shoo shed up off his tassel (that was Mother's word, too) and she wheezed out, "Aaah! Ohhh, yess, Peter! God, I thought I'd never come! But it was ... Whooo-eee! You've got talent!"
Sometimes during the flesh quake, things had shifted slightly and his tongue had discovered a soft little fatty flap of flesh up toward the front of her gushing gash, while his. nose slid into the hole his tongue had been trying vainly to fill before. He was probing this new plaything when the woman spoke again.
"Yes! Keep mat up. Don't be so gentle, though. And a little faster, and then just ... ooooh! ... keep ... doing it. Ohh, baby, right!"
It was pretty much like you went bibble-bibble-bibble on your lower lip with your fingers when you were a kid, except this was with his tongue on that little inside out bellybutton she had in there. It was nice, but as he settled into a steady rhythm his mind sort of wandered down to the base of his belly for a better feel of what was happening there.
And wow! Her head was making little jerks in the same rhythm his tongue was twiddling with, while in a slower rhythm her squeezing lip circle was moving up and down on his thing (that was his word; the guys at the riding academy called it a peter, which he didn't think was very polite), and her tongue was wriggling wetly along the underside of it as the hot embrace of her mouth took it deeper and deeper, then backed up slowly to the tip. There, her tongue and lips went to work on the layer of extra skin around the knob, tickling and slishing it back and forth while she sucked powerfully-still keeping up those little jerks, too. Then she'd push down a little and close her teeth just enough to hold the extra skin back, and slither her tongue all over the knob and around the groove behind it, before finally tightening her lips and starting down again.
Each time, it felt better, and something tight and explosive-feeling that was budding up in his belly and down in his testicle bag-which she was holding onto and rubbing up against him-got a little bit stronger. His hands had found their way down and around to her tits now, and that poured more heat and tightness into him, as if he was some kind of skin-covered battery and was being filled up with electricity from her nipples and her mouth and her big, face-swallowing crotch-cavern all at the same time. (What had she called it? Her cunt. He'd have to remember that).
Well, if he was a battery, he must be getting overloaded, because his muscles had started jerking and snapping now, jabbing his thing up into her mouth, bringing his knees up so he could get his feet in close and push up harder, faster, his hands clamping on her tits and milking more current out, his neck straining, shoving his face tighter against her cunt till it oozed all over his eyes....Something that was sharp in all directions suddenly grew out of the bottom of his backbone and started expanding up his back and through his belly and down into the sack where her hands were, and from there up the pipe along the bottom of his thing-slowing down but getting thicker and sharper and harder to think about because it was in his head now too, burning his brains up and....
"Uuuhhnnn- Uuh! UUNNHHH!"
His whole thing was a big lightning bolt striking the back of her mouth and zzzapping right through to her cunt and into his head and down his backbone to his thing where it plugged itself into itself and turned both of them into one endless, scorching ZZZAAAAAP!
When his cum exploded into her throat, Mom came so hard that her stomach muscles all locked together in a molten buzzsaw of ecstasy--. It cut her in pieces and reassembled her as one continuous cunt, being fucked from end to end by a white-hot freight train full of plutonium bombs going off. The world ended.
No. It was still there. Or it was back. She didn't care which. Peter was still lapping at her clit like a starved puppy, while she licked up the last of the copious volcanic outpouring his peter had produced so expectedly. He was still hard, too, she realized with delight.
Her clitty was tender now, though; it needed a rest. "Down, puppy," she whispered, looking aside to where the cooler reflected his head, face hidden beneath the ledge of her buttock and thigh. "That's enough licking for now, baby."
Gradually, grudgingly, he let his head fall back, his juice-masked, gleaming face becoming visible in the makeshift mirror at their side. Her hands fondling his prick, Mom continued, "But since my little lap-doggie's bone is still hard, maybe we should bury it. Does that sound interesting?"
He took his hands from her breasts and wiped his eyes free of goo, then found her reflected gaze in the cooler glass. He was frowning. "What?"
"Your bone," Mom teased, shaking it from side to side. "Your little spitting cobra down here." She kissed the exposed tip lightly. "We ought to put your monkey where your mouth was."
The boy frowned more deeply. "You mean ... have a baby? But-"
She giggled. "No, puppy-lips; no babies! I'm going to make a fucker of you, not a father."
"But I thought when people ... I mean...."
"I understand," she said, moving off him to lie at right angles, her head on his skinny thigh, one hand still stroking his length of lean meat. "And it's considerate of you, Peter; you keep it in mind when you start balling little girls. But you don't need to worry this time, I've taken care of it."
Looking past his cock, she saw that he was still frowning; and he did look like a befuddled puppy! Really, she ought to try him out on what was called "dog style."
"Tell you what," she said. "We won't even do it the baby-making way. Then you won't have to worry. Okay?" She hoped he was as naive as he seemed.
Peter nodded, swabbing at his sticky face again, and only redistributing its shiny coating.
"Fine," she said. Increasing the speed and pressure of her hand's action on his pecker, she sat up, then got on hands and knees. "You get around behind me this time, standing up on your knees, and I'll help you put it in."
She faced the end cooler, so those on either side of the alcove could act as mirrors. She crouched forward, her head on one forearm, her ass high. When Peter was in position, she reached back between her thighs with her free hand, grasped his rigid prong and positioned its head at the rim of her cuntal tunnel.
He held back. "Oh, there? But ... isn't that the baby hole?"
Mom had to giggle again. There'd been quite a change in the little know-it-all since he entered the shop, she reflected, but he did seem to know more than Michael had. "It is from the front, but this way it's just a fun funnel."
Still, she mused, I understand the alternate route's a kick too, and if that's the way he wants to fly....
But Peter's reservations were only mental. His newly awakened cock wasn't hesitant at all; it was making its eagerness felt in urgent little hip-twitches. And when Mom answered these with a wiggle of her hips and a muscular nip on his neatly lodged knob, juices won out over judgment. His hips shot forward, plunging his petrified python into her constricting quim. When it was ball-deep, she could feel its tip tickling her cervix.
He's longer than Michael, she reminded herself, though not quite as thick. A full-grown man would be still longer, and much, much thicker ... But did she really want a man? Romantically she did, of course. And maybe her cunt did, too-wanted to be filled to capacity, mauled masterfully by a cock with size, savvy and self-confidence. Yet there was something thrilling about innocent little boys ... something to do with her memory of the time with Oak, perhaps ... that she was afraid no adult could provide.
Oak, at 18, had been tall-taller than the boy who crouched over her now, his hands fastened once more on her tits, his sharp little hip bones stabbing her stretched-taut buttocks as he butted his prick tip against the mouth of her womb in short, rapid jabs. Oak had been sturdy and broad-shouldered, too-as little Michael was, in the mold of his father. And Oak's cock ... she didn't know, really; she couldn't sort out the memory from among all the imaginary organs that had followed. It had seemed gigantic, as it fractured her maidenhead and drove deep, shouldering her inner tissues aside, filling her whole body with a pain already alloyed by a horrid, insane kind of pleasure....Yet Oak, at 18, had seemed so young in most ways, so child-like. Boys in the city were almost men at 18 now, but the sheltered life at the remote mission had kept Oak young in every way but physically, so that Mom could see much more resemblance to him in Birch, for instance, or Michael and Peter....
Ah, Peter! she reminded herself. The boy in the bush, who's worth ten in the mind. His strokes were longer now, and their angle was such that her recuperated clit was getting an indirect yet vigorous workout as his prick's undersurface frictioned along the forward wall of her quivering sheath. She focused her mind on the hot interlock of their parts, and turned her head to watch their reflection in the cooler.
Peter had straightened up, and appeared to be staring down at her ass-hole. Yes! For now his thumb slid into the valley of her buttocks, timidly touching the puckered rim. Would he ... She hoped so, and decided to encourage him.
"Feel free, Peter," she murmured, a mounting excitement tightening her voice. "Explore all you like."
He responded by increasing the force of his fuck strokes, then hooking the thumb downward to probe the dented center of her rectal rosebud. She made the muscles there relax, and the thick digit sank in to the first knuckle.
"Ooooh!" It hurt a little, but heightened her excitement a lot. "It's ... It's okay. Keep on."
He pushed it deeper, and suddenly she could feel the intervening membranes, compressed between the knuckle and the sliding girth of his cock. A shimmering skewer of tactile ecstasy seemed to materialize inside her, angling through her anus and cuntal wall, corkscrewing through her clit and into her belly, where a spasm of delight made her clamp down fiercely, quim-gripping Peter's poker. Then a surf of sensation broke in her brain. Her head snapped forward, chin up, eyes glazing as the throbbing orgasm swept over her.
"Whooeef!" she gasped out. "Again, yet! That one took me by-"
Her mouth remained open; her body went stone-cold. As her vision had cleared, in the cooler straight ahead she saw her own flushed face, and Peter's above and behind it ... and above and behind that, the red-topped, smirking countenance of Elm.
It must have taken her a full minute to control the instinctive panic the discovery triggered, yet neither boy seemed aware of her distraction. Peter went on pumping. Elm's shoulder was pumping too, in a way that told Mom he must have his cock in hand, down where Peter's reflection blocked her view.
Finally, having rejected the impulse to flee, and the more plausible temptation to simply curl up and cry, leaving all decisions to others, she faced the inevitable.-Tightening down on the steadily driving piston in her slot, she put her free arm back and grasped the twelve-year-old's scrawny thigh. "Keep on, Peter," she said firmly. "Everything's all right."
Then she raised her eves to her brother's reflected face.
"Hello, Elm," she said distinctly, and as calmly as possible in the bizarre circumstances.
The moving shoulder froze, and Elm's eyes shot up to meet hers in the cooler's glass door. His smirk stiffened, but then became a mocking grin. "Hi, sis. I, uh ... thought maybe you could still use some help. But I see you're closed for the day."
Peter had gone rigid-the parts that weren't already-but Mom's hand, cunt-grip and calm tone kept him in place. He seemed to be awaiting instructions. "Peter, this is my brother," Mom said. The boy glanced back, but was silent.
"Elm, this is ... Well, never mind names. He's a friend of mine, as you've no doubt guessed. And since you're here, I suppose you may as well join the fun."
Elm snickered, looking down to where Peter's pud lay buried in her groove while his thumb plugged her ass-hole. "It, uh ... doesn't look like there's room for one more."
"Oh, really, Elm!" she chided brazenly. "I've got a mouth, you know! It may not have as much experience as Melissa's...." She watched his startled reaction. Hadn't he even known there was lipstick on those skivvies? " ... but I bet I can treat you better than your hand can."
Shrugging, Elm sauntered past Peter and around in front of her. His thick, ruddy organ indeed jutted boldly from his fly, bobbing as he walked. "Yeah," he said. "I got downstairs in time to catch the last of that part, too. I ... Well, I was never sure before if you even knew about sex, Sis."
God, he's cool! she thought. And I'm doing pretty well myself, I guess-for a beginner sinner. But ... incest? With Oak I had no choice, but now ... Well, I still haven't. really. Not if I want to keep any control at all over Elm.
She looked up at him-at the swollen under belly of his soaring dong, and on up to his smug, thin-smiling face. "I know one thing," she said. "I can't very well suck you off while you're standing up. My snatch-angle wouldn't be right for Peter. And furthermore," she said, feeling Peter begin to fuck again, as if a reminder had been all he needed, "it's pretty rude of you to have clothes on when both of us are naked."
Elm's smile faded, and Mom pressed on. "If you were going out," she said sharply, "then go. Otherwise, get stripped, and get down here where I can give that thing a blow-job."
"Well ... well, sure, Sis!" Quickly, her brother whipped his T-shirt over his head, undid his jeans and skinned them down, letting the pant-legs take his sandals with them. He grappled his cock back into the pouch of his skivvies, then shucked these off, revealing a fuzz of carroty pubic hair that Mom hadn't noticed during the scene on thirteen, and the big, loose-slung ball sack which she had.
As he stretched out close beneath her head, she hit him with another shocker: "I can't guarantee you'll cum of course. We don't have all evening, and after your Friday night workout...."
Elm started to sit up, but she pushed him back, dropped her head and began to nibble at his loose, bright-pink foreskin. "Jee-zuz!" the redhead whispered. "What don't you know about?"
In answer, Mom slid her hand beneath his balls and worked her forefinger in till it touched his anus, penetrating slightly as she began to suck. Well, I'm progressing, she told herself. Two at once, now, and one's my own brother! And Elm's only two years younger than Oak was, and his prick ... Her lips gauged the thickness of the squat fireplug of flesh that seethed in her mouth. Well, I doubt if Oak's was any fatter, anyway.
Her fourth cock, she reflected, sucking and tonguing it in time to Peter's accelerating thrusts in her cunt. Yes, it was progress, all right; but toward what? If I'm going to die this week ... what was it that she really wanted before she died?
Jesus W. Motherfuck! Elm exclaimed mentally as his sister's lips enveloped and enflamed his tingling organ, What do I want with Melissa when I've got this right at home! Mom's twice as good with her mouth, and I'll bet she's deadly with the other end! I don't know why she's giving it to the kid down there, but I hope I can hold off till he's finished. Great as this is....His hips began to spasm, socking his stocky pud against Mom's ministering tongue....It's not fucking. I want to be balls-and-all in her shiver-chute when I blow!
He doubted that he'd make it, though. Far from slowing him down, Friday night's thirteen rounds with Melissa seemed only to have oiled the mechanism. "Hey, go easy, Sis!" he gasped. "You don't need all evening! You keep that up about one minute more, and I'm gonna paint your tonsils cream-colored!"
Oh, zowie! Sonny thought to himself as Mom's milking tunnel tightened on his throbbing thing. It's going to happen again! lean feel it getting ready, like I'm...."Uh!" ... winding up...."Uh!" ... this great big spring...."Uh!" ... and any minute it's ... "Uh!" ... going to....
"Uuu-oooh!" ... break loose and....
Cum! Mom's mind cried urgently. Fill me with it! Both of you, you wonderful little fuckers! Her ringed lips pressing Elm's genital fuzz, she tongue-kneaded the tube that under-lined his fat bat, her throat-entry squeezing the bulbous head. Her lower lips were equally tight against the bald bulge of Peter's pelvis, for her clenching quim had caught him at full depth, holding his vibrating viper with its snout at her cervix.
Then the spring snapped, the cream spouted, the hurricane hurled their bodies into hectic, flapping madness. Mom was battered fore and aft, an accordion crescendo of writhing, cum-drenched delirium, the spastic ecstasy tying her teeming twat in a knot around her mind and drowning it all in the sperm-sea of her swallow-spasming mouth. Elm came till his very brains seemed to be floating in her digestive juices; she was sucking the starch right out of his toe nails; he was all prick, and all liquefied inside her, a dizzy, crazy current of passion engulfing her cunt from the inside outward. Peter Phipps Clamath, III lost his identity in a spine-splintering staccato of geysering, gut-melting lunges that plunged him head over testicles into the wonderful land of Cunt, where nothing mattered but the wondrous wallowing oneness, flesh fire fuck-lovely forever, and there wasn't room or reason for credit cards, roses or Mother.
On the way to the airport, Mom sat beside Spike in his pickup truck and tried to keep her eyes on the road instead of his fly, and her mind on something-anything-other than the poor, bereaved, wasting-away whang locked up in loneliness behind the bars that formed his zipper.
There were a hundred other things she ought to be thinking of. All the problems that Iris;' arrival presented, for instance; or the problem she'd half-solved, maybe, through her talk with Elm after Peter had gone; or the problems Peter could cause if-along with the two dozen roses she'd persuaded him to carry home himself-he gave his mother a grunt-by-gasp description of his afternoon at the Flower Tower. Wouldn't that brighten up Mrs. Clamath's birthday! "Why, Mother, It's just marvelous the way the trades-people respond to my credit card!" She could almost hear him saying it, and she almost laughed out loud.
She was thoroughly tranquilized again, since she'd been all ready to call a taxi when Spike had dropped in. He had come, he said, for the flowers he'd left on Saturday, and to apologize for his abrupt exit. He knew she'd been as shocked as he was by the ... "Well, uh ... by finding those trespassers." After all, though, a big building like the tower must have all kinds of places, where kids could break in and ... he'd stammered to a halt, then, and seemed glad when Mom changed the subject by mentioning Iris' arrival. He'd insisted on offering his services, and Mom hadn't even made a formal protest before accepting.
Maybe all the problems were going to work out, she mused now. After all, somebody, somewhere must be looking out for her: Spike could easily have arrived two hours earlier, and not knowing about the side door the family used; could have walked in the front way-which she'd forgotten to lock, in her haste to have at Peter. And if what he'd seen on thirteen had sent him scuttling, what would this afternoon's tableau have done!
Well, she wouldn't blame him, she scolded herself. No decent man would want anything to do with a woman who seduced barely adolescent boys, and committed incest simultaneously! God! Even through her drug-induced glow, Mom felt a cruel twinge of remorse as she recalled the episode.
Yet for Spike-for his love, as well as his long, luscious plunger-she could be the kind of woman he wanted and needed ... couldn't she? And he was interested in her; she was sure of that. And he didn't need to know the truth about Birch, about Oak and herself; that was all in the past. So if somehow she survived the coming week, and Oak went away and left her alone, and if Elm kept his promise and was extra careful not to get caught screwing Melissa....
He'd agreed to that after Peter left. His dong down for the long count thanks to Mom's oral overkill, her brother had lain exhausted and listened while she explained about meeting Melissa's father, and how they'd stumbled on the young lovers on thirteen, and her fear that Spike would never return if he found out Mom Glen's brother and his daughter were fornicating-friends.
Indeed, Elm had seemed so agreeable that she'd told him about Iris, too, and elicited his promise to have no part in waking her up to the facts of life. She'd even considered telling him the whole story about Birch and Oak, so he'd Cooperate in her plan to pretend to be away while Oak was in Grand Junction. But by that time Elm had begun to eye her still-naked body with renewed interest, and while she might have enjoyed the challenge of reviving his overworked organ, there simply hadn't been time; she'd slipped her blouse and skirt on, gathered her undies and hurried upstairs to bathe and dress for the trip to the airport.
Mom snapped herself back to the present as Spike swung the pickup into the parking lot. As he held the truck's door and took her elbow in his big hand to help her down, he asked, "What time was that flight?"
"Five-fifty," she said, pressing her arm to her side to keep his hand there as they walked toward the terminal.
Spike glanced at his watch. "You would have been late if you'd had to wait for a cab," he said. "In fact, if the plane got in early-""
"Oh, it did!" Mom burst out. For there, just inside the glass doors, stood a pretty, petite strawberry blonde who was unmistakably Iris, but...."Honey!" Mom exclaimed as they hugged each other. "You've grown so! I mean you've ... you've filled out in two years!"
Filled out, Spike was thinking, was putting it mildly. The girl whose single, shabby suitcase he picked up while she and Mom embraced and exchanged greetings was clearly a child-facially she looked the twelve years Mom had said she was-but that figure ... like a brick shithouse with balconies, was how the guys on the grading crew would put it.
He'd had thoughts like this about Melissa once or twice, too, Spike reminded himself; and that had scared him, but not any less than this experience was doing. Was there something wrong with him? Did other men get these itchy, animal feelings about little girls ... even their own daughters ... when confronted by the blouse-buoying tits and firm, blossoming asses that teenage fashions seemed so devilishly effective in calling to a guy's attention?
He was sure he was blushing like a stop sign when Mom took his arm, her other arm still about the shoulders of her nubile sister, and introduced him as, "Mister Mason, a very kind, good friend of mine. He has a son about your age, Iris; and a girl who goes to school with Elm. Their mother's dead too."
Then, while Mom explained to him that her own and Iris' mother had passed away a year ago,, Spike put the suitcase in the back and held the passenger door open. To his dismay, Mom motioned Iris in first, then climbed up beside her. He was going to have to sit there practically touching this precociously seductive morsel all the way back, and he already had a hard-on that was liable to put a dent in the steering wheel!
CHAPTER FOUR
Well, he'd done it again, Mom mused the next morning.
She stood in the salesroom an hour after opening, her eyes glazed as she puzzled over Spike's hasty departure the evening before.
To Evangeline, lounging behind the cash register in the absence of customers, she appeared to be staring at the potted palm that stood just inside the entrance. And indeed Mom was; but she was seeing not the thick, slightly curved trunk of the palm, but the thick, slightly curved ridge of swelling in Spike's trousers as he'd driven them home.
Iris, tired from her trip, had had little to say. And Spike, Mom reflected, hadn't been much more silent and self-contained than on the drive to the airport-he wasn't much of a talker; not one to start conversations or carry them on for long without help-yet his silence coming back had been somehow grim, severely ill at ease.
She'd noticed his hard-on, of course, before they even got back to the truck, and she'd been delighted. The sight of her embracing Iris must have put ideas in his head, she'd surmised: He'd put himself in Iris' place, being hugged and kissed by Mom, and it had started his engine. And oh, what a beautiful hunk of machinery that engine appeared to be, pushing his trouser front out in a long, broad mound that reached almost to his belt buckle!
But why had it frightened him so? Could a man who had fathered two children be such a prude that even after three years without a wife, thinking sexy thoughts about Mom made him run home to hide without even carrying her sister's suitcase to the door?
Progress! she thought ironically. For a while last night, she'd been almost giddy with her sense of impending romance. He'd come back, been very friendly, taken her to the airport, and finally-in what she had taken for both a tribute and a promise of joys to come-she'd actually seen his big, beautiful boffer looming full-blown. It had been so vivid that she'd had to remind herself there were still two layers of cloth between its naked reality and her eyes. But then had come the tight-jawed silence, the mumbled "Won't bother you," as he swung Iris' suitcase from the truck's bed, awkwardly keeping his back to her even while he spoke-and he was gone.
Something infringed, now, on her melancholy image of that lovely, lost cock. It was ... they were ... she forced her eyes to focus, and saw two cocks, young ones-and clothed, of course coming toward her across the street.
She raised her eyes, and felt her stomach tighten. Oh, God! It was Peter, and he'd brought a friend! Immediately, she wanted exactly what she knew they wanted; but there was no chance, with Evangeline there, and Iris, who might at any moment tire of sunbathing on the roof and come down....
Hastily, she went toward the elevator. "I'm, uh ... not home, as far as customers are concerned, Evangeline," she called, stepping into the waiting car. And then in afterthought, hoping against hope: "Unless it's that Mister Mason, who was here Saturday. If he comes in, just send him up."
Upstairs, she found herself at loose ends. Birch was in his room, reading. Elm had left about nine, destination unspecified. And of course Spike wouldn't come back-at least not till evening; it was a working day, after all. Elm, she mused, was probably at Spike's home with Melissa, taking advantage of spring vacation and her father's absence to have the run of the house. Her mind produced a picture of the young couple, scampering naked from room to room while linked in a dog-style fuck; but she shook her head to dispel the vision. Stop that, Mom, or you ll do something foolish. Go panting back down after Peter and his pal, or....
She could go up and join Iris in the sun, of course. In fact, she'd had that in mind since entering her room, and had gotten her bikini from the dresser and begun to undress while her thoughts drifted restlessly. Now she completed the change, being careful not to touch her pussy or nipples unnecessarily as she donned the tiny bra and still skimpier panties of the suit.
She should check on Evangeline before going up, though. Mondays were usually slow, but if the two boys had come prepared to buy something, and if other customers had come in ... she went around the big bed, drew the curtains back from the monitor board and flicked it on, setting the dial of the nearest screen for the camera that showed the whole sales room.
The boys were still there. They stood side by side at the counter, opposite the slim, pretty black girl, who was leaning forward in a way that offered the youths and the concealed camera a tantalizing view down the front of her scoop-necked top. She was smiling as the three conversed.
Mom activated another camera on a second screen, for a close view from behind and to one side, where she could see the boys' faces. She turned up the sound on this one.
"... was, huh?" Evangeline was saying. "You keep saying that, but you haven't told me what you mean. Miss Glen's nice to everybody, far as I know."
"Oh, but I mean ... well ... extra nice," Peter responded, his eyes wallowing in the clerk's dusky cleavage. "She, uh ... kind of let her hair down, and ... other things."
"Oh, I see!" Evangeline said, her eyebrows soaring. "And you think that since Ah'm-I'm working for her and she's not heah, Ah-I ought to treat you the same way; raht?"
Mom's mind was a whirl of colliding emotions. There was dismay that Peter had told about her-told a friend, and now was telling her own salesgirl. There was relief that Evangeline didn't seem shocked, but only surprised, amused ... fascinated. There was dismay too that there wasn't a camera located where she could see the boys' lower bodies. She was sure they both had hard-ons pushing out against the counter-the older boy looked older, more experienced than Peter-and she wanted to confirm this. And there was guilt-the terrible, aching self-hate for what she'd done with Peter ... and for wanting, now, to see Evangeline do the same with Peter and his friend.
It was clear that the black girl was considering just that, for she had leaned forward even more revealingly, and was drawling, "Well nahw, y'all maht be rant. Miss Glen would want me ta treat such gooood customuhs wif ... speshul cun-siderashun. Whah don' y'all jus' git comf able wahle Ah closes up, an'...."
Mom forced herself to look away as Evangeline went toward the door, hips swaying full-tilt in the close-fitting top. But looking away only brought her attention to the screen she'd used yesterday to look for Birch in his room. He was there now, wearing only skivvies, stretched out on his back on his bed, reading; and beyond where he held the book....
Stop it, Mum! Her eyes had fastened on his crotch, and she was imagining ... with a surge of conscientious resolve, she reached out to turn off the monitor panel.
The motion was never completed. The screen now showed Evangeline returning across the sales room, and a step behind her was Spike.
When their voices came in range of the live microphone, the clerk was saying, " ... said you should come rah-right up. I 'spect she's on fifteen, or else the sundeck up top."
"Well ... well, thank you," Spike stammered. "I'm surprised she expected me, though; I'm supposed to be at work. But I went over to the cemetery first, and thought I'd just...." He let the nervous outburst trail off, simply smiling back at Evangeline till the elevator doors closed between them.
"Damn! No camera in the elevator!" Mom murmured. Then she laughed at herself. Couldn't she wait even half a minute to see him? She went to the door of her room, looked down the hall and watched the lighted indicator as the car came up. He was passing ten before she remembered the monitors. Oh, well. He wouldn't be comfortable in a bedroom anyway; they'd talk in the living room, and if it looked like she had a chance of making real progress, she could excuse herself for a minute and-Oops!
The moving light had slid right past fifteen before stopping: He'd gone straight to the sun deck. Oh, God! I hope Iris didn't decide to....
She hurried back to the monitors. The sales room was empty, and she switched one screen from it to the camera on the antenna pole.
Ohhh, no! Her fears were realized. There was Iris, on her knees and clearly startled, clutching a skimpy towel to her naked breasts, its lower edge just concealing her creampuff. And there was Spike, also in profile from the camera's angle, blushing, shifting from one foot to the other while he held folded hands, stiff-armed, in front of his bulging fly.
Iris was smiling, though, and ... yes. They were talking. Spike even managed a tight "smile and some sort of mumbled reply before Mom had the presence of mind to turn up the monitor's sound.
Even then, the mike's distance and the open air enabled her to hear only bits of their words, but from what she could make out, Iris was expounding on the wonderful view the sundeck offered. She accompanied this with gestures toward the distance which caused some very alluring shifts and slippings of the towel, and Mom watched in mixed horror and amusement as Spike-his agony apparent to her, if not to the utterly ingenuous Iris sidled over to sit in a handy deck chair, the better to conceal the throbbing lump in his pants.
Damn! Now he's trapped there, and Iris is- likely to talk all day! She doesn't know what she's doing to him! Why, it's a wonder she had the sophistication to cover up at all! I'd better go rescue him, she thought. But shouldn't I change first? There's as much of me showing as there is of her, and it might be too much for him.
While she hesitated, a faint noise from the monitor covering the sales room counter caught her attention. It had sounded like Evangeline's laugh. Mom had been trying not to think about what must be going on downstairs, but now curiosity got the better of her. She switched the screen to an alcove camera, and finding that area unoccupied, selected one in the work room.
"Whoooo-eee agin!" she heard Evangeline squall before her eyes could unscramble what she was seeing. "Ah nevah did go fuh skinna pricks, but den Ah navah did trah two of em!
As Mom sorted out the black-and-white tangle, her hand slipped into the tiny sling of her bikini bottom, one finger finding the moistening slit, pressing along her twitching fun-button. That was Peter on the bottom, his hands clutching Evangeline's big, dark tits. And atop the pair, his torso angling upward, was the other boy. He ... he could have been fucking her in the ass, but the angle didn't seem right for that. Was he ... were they both?....
She activated the second work room camera, for a better side-angle, and her eyes widened. The boy's pricks, squashed tube-to-tube, both disappeared into the black girl's distended snatch, and they were humping in unison, grunting in joyous chorus while Evangeline cheered them on.
"Yeah, you mothuhs! Jam dat whaht meat up theah!
Awww, Lawdy, Ah's gon ... Yeeee-aaaah!" The gleaming, dark body writhed and shuddered ecstatically, and the young fuckers held on for all they were worth, somehow managing to keep both prick-snouts embedded while her racking climax wore itself out.
As they began to pump again, Mom looked back at the sundeck screen. There, Iris prattled on, not knowing or not caring that the towel she held had slid aside enough to bare the entire side of one breast and a quarter-inch of nipple, and had settled about her crotch, as she sat casually on one hip, in such a way that the full inner sweep of one thigh was exposed. Another inch of slippage down there, and Spike would be staring right into the twelve-year-old's tender little cunny.
He sat as if hypnotized, a glassy smile on his face, and now even his crossed legs couldn't wholly conceal the straining growth at his groin.
Oh, God! And now I've got to change before I rescue the poor guy! I've swamped these damn pants, and it's running down my legs!
Again, she reached out resolutely to turn off the panel-but not until a quick look showed that Peter and his pal were cumming, their heads thrown back, hips spasming ... and before the screens went dark, Mom's eyes had flown once more to where her son lay reading, his innocent little pecker curled inconspicuously in his pure white under pants.
Any second, I'm going to cum, Spike told himself balefully. He wanted to look down to see if the clammy-hot leakage he felt had soaked through his under pants and begun to stain his clean khakis; but somehow he just couldn't jerk his gaze from the moist, gleaming lips of the girl before him.
He'd fastened his eyes on her face as she talked, so that what they really wanted to feast on was kept in the periphery. And he'd succeeded, somewhat; at least he hadn't cum yet. Sure, he could have stared off into space until she tired of talking, but ... well, that would be rude. She didn't know how she was affecting him. There wasn't even a hint of conscious calculation in the way that damn towel kept creeping....
Christ!
It wouldn't have been so bad, he thought, if he hadn't seen it all for a second before she realized he was there. But he had-the pale-pink nipples on their firm cones of creamy flesh ... the faint puff of hair that veiled but didn't conceal the plump mound and dark, dizzying crease of her little nookie-notch ... the full, sleek swells of her ass as she'd turned away to grab the towel and cover herself, chirping, "Oh, I'm sorry, Mister Mason! I didn't know anybody ... But the view's so beautiful up here, I guess...." She'd chattered on, seeming to think her apology for being naked when he arrived was all that decorum required-that, and the towel. But now that he had seen everything, the towel just made it worse; made him want to see it again, and kept almost revealing it....
"What-er...." Christ! What had she said? It had been a question, and he'd missed everything but the expectant tone as she finished. "Well ... Well, yeah," he gambled.
"Then I'll go get her," Iris said, giving him a flash view of the convergence of her thighs as she got to her feet. "She must be in her room, if she wasn't down in the shop."
He started to answer, but the words dropped dead in his chest as the girl went past him, the towel held in front, and walked obliviously toward the elevator, the round, shining melons of her buttocks in full view. The dimple-topped cleft between them burned into his brain and belly like a hot wire.
In the elevator, she faced him again, the towel concealing as much as it could, and as the doors slid shut, she sent him a smile that made Spike feel like he'd just ravished the Virgin Mary.
Well, his pants weren't stained, and the big, beautiful ridge was still there, Mom observed as Spike switched legs and leaned toward her, his smile still showing strain. She congratulated herself on choosing the clingy, high-necked hostess gown. It was perfectly tasteful, showing no skin at all in strategic areas, yet it hugged her every contour excitingly. She'd been sitting opposite him for five minutes now, and it didn't seem- likely that it was still the encounter with Iris keeping him hard.
He had apologized again, pushing the words out a bit tonelessly, as if it was a prepared speech, about how he'd remembered leaving the lathe running in his workshop yesterday, and had rushed home in fear that it would burn up the motor, or short out and start a fire. It was a clumsy lie, but she liked him all the better for it, the poor, bashful darling. And he had come back; he did want to get to know her better, and ... But oh, God, how can lever break down his inhibitions?
They were making conversation now-empty, smiling chitchat about the weather, and how much Grand Junction was growing-and Mom was thinking. I want him, Now! In my bed In my cunt! He's thicker than Peter and his buddy put together, and long ... so wonderfully long....
"I'm surprised nobody's built on that lot across the street from here," Spike was saying. "It's about the closest-in vacant property left."
"Yes," she said, smiling, encouraging him to go on. He probably doesn't drink, she was thinking. And since I don't, there's none in the house anyway. Damn! It could be six months before he's even ready to kiss me! On the mouth, even!
"Oh, say!" he continued. "I see there's going to be one of these revival meetings over there. And the preacher's name is-"
"Over where?" Mom interrupted, a chill shooting through her.
"What? Oh! The lot across the street. And the name of this evangelist is Glen! Oakley Glen. How's that for coincidence? Right across the street!"
"Uh ... Why, yes," she managed, her insides suddenly icy. If the newspaper ad had said where the revival would be, she hadn't even noticed.
"That's going to be Wednesday," Spike added. "Which reminds me: There's a movie starting Wednesday at the Grand that I've been wanting to see, and I thought maybe you'd like to go. It's-"
"Oh, I ... I wish I could, Spike," she said, fighting for composure. She had to make the most of this opportunity, wretched as she felt, suddenly. "I'd really love to, but I have this ... this problem with crowds. I almost never go out, and when I do, it has to be somewhere ... well, like just a ride, or a picnic...."
"Well, let's do that, then," he responded. "I can miss work again without much trouble, and-"
"Wednesday?" Mom prompted hopefully, seeing a double ray of hope in the proposal.
"Sure, if it's convenient. We can get an early start and drive out a ways ... find some nice place to stop where there aren't people around...."
"Oh, Spike, I'd love it! I haven't been on a picnic for years!"
Warmly, then, they made the arrangements: what food she'd bring, and what he insisted on bringing; a seven-thirty start, and no need to be back till ... Well, they'd just see what developed-maybe drive back by moonlight, even.
She was disappointed when he rose to go, his trousers now flat and perfectly presentable in front; but she wasn't as hot as before he'd mentioned Oak, and they were progressing. Who could tell what might develop on Wednesday? He'd surprised her already with his easy acceptance of her aversion to crowds, and his eager, open desire to be with her.
Spike had surprised himself by suggesting the picnic. Hell, he'd lost half a day's work already, and by the time he got home and changed out of his rapidly stiffening undershorts ... but damn it, he wouldn't miss Wednesday for anything. He needed a woman; that was clear from the way his sex urge had been busting loose lately, pushing him in all kinds of unthinkable directions. And this woman was prettier than he'd ever dared hope for, and she seemed to be a fine person, too-someone his kids could look up to. If he could just control himself long enough to conduct a decent courtship....
"Just the two of us," she'd said. "I'll close the shop, and Iris, Birch and Elm can look after themselves." And the way she'd smiled then ... He blushed just remembering it. Yes, he'd be there Wednesday, all right!
He left the pickup out front, hopped out and half-ran to the house, let himself in and headed for his bedroom. The voices slowed him down before he got there.
"Oooohh! I don't know if I can ... Push, Michael!"
"I am! If you'd just-"
"Jesus! You two're gettin' heavy! Keep on, though. I can ... Uuungh!"
Spike stood in the doorway, his mind an empty, pitch dark cavern as his eyes absorbed the scene on his bed. His daughter was crouched atop a redheaded youth, their naked bodies linked by the boy's thick, half-buried penis; and bent over Melissa was her brother, the head of his stiff little organ pressed to her anus.
Now Melissa's lush lips twitched, and she sank down fully on the older boy's cock; her stomach tightened visibly, men relaxed, and with an elated moan, she enveloped Michael's plunging tool as well. "Eeehh! We made it! Your ... your fuck sandwich, gentlemen!"
"Cripes, it's tight!" Michael gritted. "Gooood, though. And I can-" His taut, child-trim buttocks were drawn back slightly, then shot forward. "Aaah!"
"Her cunt's tight, too, Mike, and if I come as quick as I feel like I'm gonna ... Hey, kid, leave one of those tits for me!"
"Oh! Sorry, Elm. I-uuunh! God, I think ... Uhh!"
"Jee-uuh-zuz! Me too! I'm co-uuh! UUUNHH!
"Aaaahh! Ohhh, yes! Me-eeeEEE too! Oh, fuck! Both of you! Fill me up! Aaaaaggghhh!! "
Spike reeled away and lurched down the hall, his hands to his head. As he went through the front door he heard Melissa say, "Ohh, Mike, you're still ... Quick, put it in my cunt, and tell me if I'm as tight as-"
He didn't hear the rest, and didn't care. He'd heard and seen more than enough. He was ... stunned. Groggy. He wasn't angry, he'd discovered; just bewildered. Those were his kids, the ... the top two, anyway. His A-student, obedient, polite, always helpful children! Michael, just twelve ... Melissa, fifteen ... No man could ask for a finer pair of youngsters! And the older boy ... the redhead ... what had Michael called him? Elm? But then he must be....
Without conscious thought, he had started the truck and was driving toward work. He became conscious of it now, as he slowed for a left turn-and conscious too that he had a hard-on again: rock-solid, and aching like hell since the minute he'd stopped in the bedroom doorway. And he didn't even feel guilty about it!
Of course that was Mom's brother! he told himself. Melissa hasn't mentioned any other fad at school for weeks. And if three nice, well-raised, decent kids like those are playing sex games....
Spike winced, shook his head, and said aloud, "Then what the fuck's wrong with me?
CHAPTER FIVE
Tuesday, fearing that Oak would come to town early, Mom kept the shop closed. But since she insisted on paying Evangeline for her time during the indefinite period of closing, the girl insisted on working. There were paperwork and greenhouse chores to be caught up on, it was true; but her presence and her questions about how Mom wanted things done were just that many more jittery-making factors in a day already filled with them.
They weren't answering the business phone, and its frequent, lengthy jangling contributed to Mom's unnerved condition. And the unlisted family phone kept pace, with two calls for Evangeline from Buck, one for Birch from a school friend, and three calls for Elm-Mom answered only one of these, and it sounded like Melissa-all before eleven tin.
She'd been worrying all morning about her absence Wednesday, too. Finally, about eleven, she took Evangeline aside-they'd been helping Flaming Arrow rearrange the perennials-and told her of the problem. She didn't explain why, of course, but said that her older brother, who was for all practical purposes insane, was to hold his revival tomorrow night across the street, and had threatened her life. It was going to be up to Evangeline, Mom said, to make sure no one answered the door-any door-or either phone, and to do all she could to prevent Iris, Birch and Elm from seeing the tent, once it was up. If one of them did, they must be kept from making contact with Oak, no matter how.
Evangeline looked puzzled, but didn't raise serious objections. Birch would be no problem, she said: He'd be reading or doing chess problems all day, and would neither know nor care about anything outside his room. And she was confident she could keep Iris occupied, and find tasks for Flaming Arrow that wouldn't entail his going in and out. She wasn't so sure about Elm, however.
"Hell probably be over at his girlfriend's the whole time I'm gone," Mom said. "But if he does stay here, or comes back during the day ... Well, you just do your best. I'll bet you can think of something to keep him busy."
She wanted to kick herself when she realized what she'd fear made her want to lash out, and her younger brother she didn't betray it.
They returned to the east greenhouse and continued their work with Flaming Arrow, and after a few minutes, Elm sauntered in from upstairs. He stood watching them for some time-watching Evangeline, mainly, it appeared.
Finally Mom excused herself and went over to ask what he wanted.
"I, uh ... guess I ought to tell you something," he began uneasily.
"AD right. I'm listening."
"Well...." He glanced at the clerk and the old chief. "Here?"
Shrugging, Mom led the way toward the elevator, commenting irritably, "Anywhere you like. I just thought you might not be able to tear your lewd little eyes away from Evangeline."
Elm grinned. "I was sort of thinking about that. Do you think she'd ... uh...."
"I'm sure I don't know," Mom snapped. Recalling yesterday's scene in the workroom, though, she suspected Evangeline might be quite agreeable. But she'd be damned if...."And if you're thinking of expanding your horizons in that direction, you'll have to do it on your own. I don't plan to run a dating service for you."
Why am I being so nasty? she asked herself as the elevator rose. But the answer was clear: Oak. Her mounting fear made her want to lash out, and her younger brother was the handiest whipping boy. Then too, she suspected Elm might be angling for another sex session with her and she'd resolved not to endanger her chances with Spike by any further surrenders to her little weakness.
Still she tried to soften her tone as they entered Elm's room. "Okay, what's the big secret?"
"WeU, Melissa and I got caught yesterday. And her brother."
Mom went white. Oh, God, no! But...."You ... you mean by her brother."
"No," he said, snatching the last straw of hope from her grasp. "By her dad. All three of us were-"
He stopped, seeing how hard the news had hit her. "Now, wait! He's not going to make any trouble! He isn't even mad, Melissa says. He just-"
"Oh, sure!" Mom burst in. "I suppose he-"
"Really, Sis! In fact, he told her it ... sort of woke him up!"
"I'll bet it did!" she half-whispered, feeling empty, ready to die. "And there goes the picnic, and-"
"No!" Elm persisted. "Melissa told me about the picnic. It's tomorrow; right?" Numbly, Mom nodded. "Well, first he talked about making her and Mike go along. You see, he didn't mind at all about me balling Melissa! It's just that he doesn't like her playing around with her own brother, and ... well, she says he's got this incest hang-up. And when he walked in yesterday, the three of us were trying out a...."
While he groped for a word, Mom's mind cleared enough that she was able to ask, "Didn't he find out-Spike, I mean ... didn't Michael tell him ... anything about me?"
Elm grinned. "I don't think so. He told us, but I don't think their dad was around right then; and Melissa didn't say Mike had told him. See, he their dad-didh't ask any questions, I guess. I mean, he didn't even stop us or let on that he'd come home at noon and seen us! It was last night before he said anything, and Melissa says he was ... well, pretty shook and all, but he didn't bawl them out or anything just said he couldn't accept them having sex together, and he thought they'd better come with him tomorrow on this picnic. But then he changed his mind. He said he'd just trust them not to do any more of that. With each other, I mean. But he said Melissa can keep on ... well, screwing me, just so we don't make it too obvious to the neighbors; you know? He's even going to get pills for her! Melissa's surprised as hell! He seems to be a real cool guy, Sis-except for that one blind spot."
The long dissertation had given Mom time to get a grip on things. Unbelievable as it seemed, there appeared to be hope, if she could just keep Spike from learning of her own incestuous experiences. There would be a picnic, at least, and if she understood the implications of Elm's report correctly, she might find Spike a lot less shy than before about things sexual.
There remained the problem of Elm, and she might as well face it now, she decided. She looked down at him, for during her silence he'd stretched out on his bed, fingers laced behind his head. "So you'll be spending tomorrow with Melissa, I suppose."
"Well, part of the time, maybe. But...." He paused, his expression thoughtful. "Look: Is Evangeline going to be here? I mean, unless you're afraid shell quit if I ... well ... make a little pass...."
"My God, Elm! You're serious, aren't you?" She'd known before that he was serious. She was stalling, trying to decide how to handle this. If he stayed home, and spotted the tent, and Oak's name on it ... or if Oak came to the door ... "Don't you ever get enough?" she added.
Boldly, he reached up and tweaked her nipple through the rib-knit top she was wearing without a bra. "Never, Sis. Want me to prove it?"
Automatically, her eyes went to his crotch. And sure enough, his tight trousers clearly out-lined the swollen, reaching girth of his cock. She felt her clitoris and inner tissues begin to respond, her nipples perk up and push forward as her practiced X-ray imagination pierced the cloth and wrapped itself around that horny hunk of sausage....
But she caught herself, forcing her eyes up, backing away. "No. I ... I mean, maybe later. I've got to get back to work now, or Evangeline and Flaming Arrow will worder." It was a lame excuse, and she knew it. Why didn't she just tell him she'd sworn off such games?
Why? Because I need his cooperation. It may be a matter of life or death, in fact. But to give in, and possibly have Spike find out....
"You can try with Evangeline if you want to," she conceded, eager to escape before her will weakened. "But I warn you, Elm: If you pull anything with Iris...."
"Okay, okay!" he said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I promised, didn't I? Anyway, I hear cherry's not that great. The kid that got Melissa-"
Mom cut him off by turning toward the door. If she heard any more, she was liable to break down and make a grab for his zipper. But with the doorknob in her hand, she stopped. There was still the problem of Oak; she hadn't really solved anything. And the only way to solve it....
She turned back, sat in the chair by his desk. "Elm," she said, taking a deep breath, "I'm going to tell you something. It's ... It's about incest, so you'll find it interesting. I'm sure. It's about ... about murder, too-a possible murder. So it's important. When I was fourteen years old...."
She told him. Everything. And he listened, never interrupting, his face sober. It was apparent that he understood; but did he believe her?
When she'd finished, he was silent for a long time. Then he sat up. "Jesus!" he said. "I knew Oak was kind of a nut, but ... Murder?" He looked doubtful.
Telling the story-reliving it not just in her mind but out loud-had made Mom hot, somehow. She noted that Elm still had his hard-on, too, as he sat staring at her. II he doesn't believe me, she told herself, maybe I ought to ... well ... persuade him a little. After all, she rationalized, there's no point in steering clear of Spike's prejudices if it means I may not live long enough for them to matter.
She thinks I don't believe her. Elm was thinking. Hell, I remember how weird Oak got before he left home! But if I play it sort of cool, maybe she'll try a little bribe. I mean, shit! Oak's had her, and little Mike's had her, and even that skinny rich kid, and the closest I've come is the top of her esophagus!
She'd told him about her compulsions-the wanting to undress, the fixation on pricks. He wondered what she'd do if he just whipped off his pants and waggled it in her face. She did keep looking at him down there, and sort of squirming in the chair....
He moved his hands to the top of his zipper.
"Wh-what ... are you doing? I told you I have to go back downstairs. I-"
He grinned. "That was a half-hour ago. What's ten more minutes going to matter?" As he spoke, he unzipped, unclasped the waist tab, folded the halves back to reveal the white mound of his skivvy-covered rod. "But, uh ... you just go ahead, if you have to, Sis." He gazed blandly at the ceiling as his thumbs hooked pants and skivvies down halfway to his knees. "I'll just lie here and beat my meat, I guess."
Suddenly she was on her feet, and in two strides she reached the bed. "You're a rotten bastard, Elm Glen!" she spat, skinning her bellbottoms and panties to the floor in a bending sweep that washed her hot breath over his cock. "And in one second you're going to be a rotten fucking bastard!"
The motion in which she stepped from the crumpled garments brought her astride him. He had a glimpse of her dark-furred cunt, parted to reveal the wet-pink inner lips and deeper crevice, as her hands possessed his prick, smoothed back the sensitive foreskin and angled the stout shaft upward. Then her broiling heat and sinuous grip enclosed the knob, suctioning down the shank. His hips heaved up in response, and he was in her to the balls.
He was still clothed except from navel to mid-thigh, but who gave a shit! Mom was now peeling her knit top upward, her crossed arms lifting then freeing her big, delicious tits. He gazed up at them, watched them shimmer and sway and vibrate as the pullover released her tumbled mass of hair and was thrown aside.
She kept her arms raised-elbows pointed at the ceiling, hands locked at the back of her neck, and swiveled her torso from side to side while her silk-on-steel thighs pumped slowly, dragging her steaming quim clutch up and down his cock with maddening friction.
"Oh, Jesus, Sis!" Elm moaned, slamming his pelvis up to meet her on the downstroke. "You're ... You're great! Where'd you ever learn ... UUnh!"
"It ... seems to ... come ... naturally," she gasped out, adding a rapid corkscrew action to her pussy's plunge and pull.
"Aahh! I'm ... uuhggonna ... come naturally ... too-oohg ... in about...."
"Oh, Elm, not yet!" she protested, leaning forward so her breasts swung toward his face, her cuntal sheath relinquishing all but the head of his stout club. "Here. Play with my boobies and...." Her hips squirmed. "I'll try to hold still while you do the moving. Slow, now. Make it last, baby."
His hands and mouth savoring her heavy, honey-smooth jugs with their turgid rubbery tips, he set a steady, slow, jolt-punctuated pace, buffeting her clit with that little extra oomph at the fullest depth of each stroke, as Melissa had taught him. The angle was one at which he could stabilize the tension in his balls, keep a high level of sensation going without soaring over the top.
It soon sent Mom soaring, though. She couldn't keep her ass still, and as it snapped and ground down against him, she threw her head back and shook it sharply, whipping her long hair from side to side like the dark red flag of her stormy passion.
"Oh, PM ... cc-coooh ... c-COMING!"
"Naturally," Elm gloated, speeding his strokes, thudding harder against her flooding flue to prolong the gasping spasm.
When she relaxed at last, she bent and kissed the tip of his nose. "Now for you," she whispered. She rose suddenly, spun about and squatted facing his feet, her dusky-rose ass-hole winking at him as she positioned his dong near the top of her slot. Playfully, she rubbed its snout and her clitty several times before slipping it back to sound the depths.
This angle was new to Elm, and provided an unaccustomed pattern of tugging friction and tube-tickling tingles that he knew would finish him soon. With hands and eyes he caressed his sister's bobbing, weaving ass, its milky globes like giant twin melons on the ruddy, stubby stalk of his tool.
She raised her arms again, hands sweeping her hair to a pile atop her head, drawing his eyes along the undulant sweep of her spine from her buttocks to the back of her neck, and somehow it was the most beautiful, breath-taking thing he'd ever seen. The creamy tower of her torso seemed to blossom from his bucking, scalding cock, as if she were a genie conjured out of the magic lamp of his balls. She writhed and wriggled, swizzling his stick in tight, hot, whirlpool circles.
With the cum-pressure building in his balls, he slid one hand beneath her, felt his slick organ plunging in the grip of her squishing tissues. His thumb, feeling left out, explored the tender dimple of her anus, and he felt its puckered heat expand, engulf the digit's tip....
Damn! he thought suddenly. Little Mike's still one up on me! He's screwed Melissa in the ass, and I've never-
It was as if Mom read his mind. Her hips rose till only his pricktip was lodged in her kneading slit, and she murmured, "Move it back, Elm. Let's try the rear entrance. I've never ... Would you mind?"
In answer, he scooted his stabber back along her groove, positioned it firmly against the tremulous, crinkled ring, pushed....
"Relax," he whispered. "But hurry, too. Just thinking about it, I'm almost ... aahh! God! The head's in! Now ... Uuhhgg-uhn! Jee-zus! Tight!"
"Ohh, full! And it feels so ... so deep, too! Is it ... all the way?"
"Not ... Uuh! Not yet. Lemme...." He squirmed his ass a bit higher on the bed, for a better angle. "Now ... Now, ju-uhh-AAH! Oooh!"
"G-G-Gaawd! Ohh, Elm, it's c-clear up ... Oh, FUCK! Spray me, baby! I'm right ... on the ... Ohh, yess!"
Her own fingers swarming in her snatch, Mom felt the thunderous rush of her brother's cum where no cum had been before, blazing a fiery tral that led straight to her brain. Her quaking, shuddering innards seemed to embrace a tree-sized conglomerate of gristle and shooting goo, and as the straining form she straddled heaved in one last, surging lurch, it seemed the whole earth shook.
To Elm, it was as if mind, muscles, nerves, guts, bone marrow merged and mounted skyward in one towering cloud of cum, tunneled from his body through the constricted, crush-wondrous core of his colon-clad cock, a genie of jazz come alive in Mom's columnar form and pulling him after it, every cell of him sucked up out of his skin, spout-soaring into her, blood-boiled, prick-petrified, brain-flaming, scrotum-and-skull-draining, hour-glassing up through his cum-numb stump and out of consciousness.
She was bending over the picnic jug, its lid in her hand, checking the level of the lemonade, when she felt Spike's hands on her waist ... and then-lightly, not pressing, just barely touching-in the shallow vale between her buttocks, through the thin fabric of her shorts, the heat and swollen bulk of what must be his....
Slowly, she straightened up, carefully increasing her body's pressure against the great, long loaf of libidinous brawn. His hands slid forward, staying at waist level; his upper arms framed her shoulders and her own arms, so that her breasts were pushed out ... His hands joined in a sweaty, twitching knot. His breath riffled her hair, brushed her cheek. The urgent length of pressure now lay along her lower spine, and its trembling radiated through every fiber of her breathless form.
"Mom...."
"Yes, Spike," she whispered in response to the strangled gasp.
"Mom, I ... You...." His trembling increased. Suddenly his hands parted; the pressure at her back diminished.
Desperately, she spun in his arms, grabbed him around the neck. "I said yes! "
His brows nose-dived. "B-but ... What...."
"No, not what. I know what. And I said yes!"
She let her belly go slack, felt it make contact with his hungering hugeness, pressed forward. He didn't respond; he almost cringed, in fact. His moment of courage had passed, and his look now reminded her of Michael's when she'd first gotten hold of his prick.
"Spike," she said, hanging on as he tried to back away a step, "it's all right. I'm twenty-nine years old, and I'm....
I'm not a virgin, and I want ... I want it as much as you do, And ... and not in trade for anything. You can tell me right now that you never want to see me again, and I'll still want...."
Damn! Did she dare use the words? She might have spoiled everything already by admitting she wasn't cherry. If she started saying what came naturally, he might break away and run!
And Spike made it no easier for her. His hands now limp at his sides, his expression one of agonized bewilderment, he said, "You mean...." And stopped.
She wanted to kick him in the balls. She wanted to kiss him, tousle his hair and tell him the facts of life. She wanted ... Ohhh, more than ever!
"Listen," she said, still clutching the back of his neck with both hands, staring up into his blue eyes almost angrily. "Why do you think I came here with you? For the scenery? For my own potato salad and your undercooked hamburgers? For your scintillating conversation at the rate of six words an hour, plus a twenty-five-minute lecture on how to make a roadbed? We drove for three hours, Spike, and we've been here five hours now, and I've taken two tranquilizers per hour because I kept wanting to ... Why do you think I wore this outfit-for ventilation? My God, Spike, can't you smell me? I ... I reek like a fishmarket! And you've had a ... damn it, a hard-on for eight hours now, and it's a wonder you can still walk!"
Spike's face had reddened and stiffened, his jaw jutting out, quivering.
"I'm sorry," she said, her tone still more urgent than apologetic. "Your wife probably didn't talk like that.
Probably didn't even think like that! And I guess I've spoiled the whole day, and ... and everything, and ... and you'd better take me home!"
There were tears in her eyes, and when she ducked her head to hide them, and saw his beautiful bulge slowly dwindling, fading away, they flooded down her face as she spun away from him.
Then his hands were there again, gripping her shoulders this time, and he croaked out, "Mom ... it's all right. I ... Well, I just came. But if you'll help me get these damn sticky pants off...."
She spun again, her eyes taking in the spreading stain on his trousers, then his flushed but happy face. "Spike!" she cried. "You ... you didn't wear underpants either?"
His blush deepened, but his grin broadened, as he undid his belt, ran his zipper. "I, uh ... really had big ideas, long about six-thirty this morning. But after I picked you up, it took me those eight hours to get my courage back ... and it lasted about eight seconds."
Now he peeled his T-shirt off, his fly parting to give her a glimpse of the shadowed, intriguing treasure within as the white cotton went over his head. And then he hesitated, hands at the pants' waist clasp, his look that of a bashful child. "Mom ... are you sure? I mean ... it doesn't seem right like this. I ... haven't even kissed you!"
"I know," she said, matching his sober face, standing almost within arms' length of him, and longing to reach out...."But if you do-kiss me-I'll come. And I want to save that. It's ... I don't know why, but it is right this way, Spike."
And because it was, she reached back and unfastened her strapless halter, let the stiff, wire-braced cups fall away, freeing breasts that proved they needed no support by surging up and forward, the dark nipples fully erected, Her hands dropped to the zipper at the back of her skin-tight short shorts, and in seconds she had kicked these away. She toed off her sneakers, then raised her eyes ... and a gasp that was also a giddy giggle burst from her lips.
Curving out and Upward from the open front of his pants was the marvelously thick, gloriously long, foreskin-hooded, vein-gnarled, ruddily twitching marvel of man-meat she had so fervently envisioned for so many agonizing hours.
The explosion of heat in her loins literally melted her from navel to knees. The latter gave way, and she sat down abruptly and ungracefully on the grass, thighs splayed, her pussy a soft-walled caldron of boiling juice. Feebly, she held out open arms as she lay back, whimpering, "Oh, God! Hurry!"
Only then did Spike become aware of the looming phallus that had made a mockery of his lingering modesty. It made him laugh-that, and ... well ... everything! He was still laughing when he half-fell atop Mom's writhing form, kicking one stubborn pantleg free of his heavy shoe even as he slid his hands beneath her shuddering ass-cheeks and let his cock plunge home unerringly, the swollen head lodged, then driven inward to the full extent of his burgeoning, blazing log in one mindless, slashing hip surge.
He came again immediately, and with an impossibly sustained frenzy of battering white-heat spasms, while his mind, torn loose from time, performed an awestruck inventory of the bliss in which he wallowed.
Her legs--those long, lush-fleshed yet sleek and supple limbs his eyes had been savoring all day-were locked around him, the strong-soft, cushioned spring-steel thighs gripping his hips and waist, guiding his lunges while her calves propelled her heels against his buttocks, prodding him with a pelting passion-rhythm.
Her tits-gorgeous, hot-nippled, heaving mounds-pummeled his chest as she jittered her shoulders, each rubbery nubbin branding him repeatedly as the yielding, spreading swell beneath it surged against him and drew back to surge again.
Her arms clung about his biceps, nails raking his back. Her lips, crushed and encompassed by his own, were a yielding, gladly submissive gateway through which he tongue-fucked fiercely, a microcosmic match for the action of their loins. Her tongue, a fluttering, swarming madness of welcome, wrestled with his in joyous mock combat. Her breath was in his mouth, and overflowed from her flared nostrils to bathe his face. Her hair was a blinding red-black blizzard, a silken explosion of splendor about their elated faces. Her eyes, deep green, long-lashed, were open, locked brightly on his when they paused between orgies of ravenous kissing.
Her ass ... Her ass was the world, its heavy-soft, squirm-heaving hemispheres filling his hands to overflowing-the world split open to engulf, engorge, embrace his cum-screaming cock in belly rutting, clutch-undulant lava
flows of crushhugging shudderous fuckfire ... her cunt a hot tornado fastened forever to his scalding spermspout, consuming what it endlessly created anew and in overabundance, milking him, mauling him, earthquaking up to absorb and redouble his every gut-blasting concussion of thrust....
Mom, from the first ferocious inrush of his penetration, had been swept up in an orgasm more powerful than any she'd known before, and was held there, soaring in unimaginable ecstasy for what seemed twenty years, but was probably little more than twenty minutes. The world didn't end, this time. Instead, it seemed to wrap itself around the end of Spike's impossibly huge, unutterably deep-plunging prick, thrust far beyond her cervix into some hitherto unsuspected fjord of her inside passage. She floated in space, dangerously close to the sun, while the earth bucked and burned in back of her belly, the moon ran aground against her clit, and comets blazed through every sinew, eternally in elliptic orbit about her brain.
Mom didn't think of it that way, of course. Mom wasn't thinking at all, but in looking back on it later, she would tell herself it had been one of the best fucks she'd ever had-and the first of the best. While many more were to follow, she would always recall that afternoon in the wilderness valley with special affection, for it was there, then, that she first attained the utmost pinnacle of physical-psychic delight-never the same, yet never surpassed, no matter how often revisited.
She would recall the confirmation of her fondest hopes as Spike's massive meatloaf filled, stretched and heat-treated the astonished tissues of her tunnel, and how those inward walls had responded with what seemed an impossible elasticity, not only making room but mustering sufficient muscle and malleability to move in contracting-expanding undulations, clinging yet massaging as the vast intrusion was heaved forward, withdrawn but never removed so much as an inch, hurled forward again....
He had held her ass as if trying to crush it to a bloodless nothing around his cock, and yet somehow tenderly, gently, in the way that violent lust can be gentle. His weight was overwhelming, yet wonderfully right, and she'd found she could move beneath it with all the freedom that passion required.
His kiss had been devouring, devastating, demanding, dizzying, delicious-a suctioning, tongue-swirling whirlpool that sang through her being like cymbals above the thunderous drumbeat of the cuntcock kiss below.
From that moment on, through the timeless, tender-savage fuck, through the resting and touching that followed, through the second fuck-in which she toprode him and came five times before he ignited her sixth with his own volcanic cataclysm-through the calm, soft talk that followed that ... through all of her life that would follow, Mom knew that this man was what her existence was about.
Near sunset, she lay with her head oh Spike's belly, whispering sweet sexthings to his sleepy cock, kissing its tip, riffling the heavy foreskin along the half-hard shaft's upper girth. As it lengthened and extended, leaping toward her lips, his legs twitched, and one still-shod foot jarred the U-shaped support at one end of the folding metal table he'd brought along. Something fell, with a small click and then a mild splatting sound, but neither he nor she was about to be bothered.
She took his hot, crab-applish knob in her mouth, pushed her straining lips along the faintly triangular girth of his rod till she could contain no more, then retreated, feeling the foreskin bulk up then smooth out beneath her Up-shielded teeth. Her fingers furled it back again, and she set to sucking the burly head, while one hand grasped and stroked the rest, and the other sent a teasing, urging finger deep into his rectum, curling up along the buried prostate gland. Surprisingly soon, Spike began to growl and jerk, feet flat, knees steepled, hips bridging up to buffet his organ deeper. Then, with a groaning, grinding shudder that shook them both, he came, flooding her mouth and desperately swallowing throat with salty soup from his inexhaustible scrotal reservoir.
Mom sputtered, coughed, gasped, but managed a sparkle-eyed, sperm-oozing smile as she got to her hands and knees. "God!" she wheezed wetly. "I didn't think you'd have much left!"
She crawled past his feet toward the jug, standing still uncapped in the grass at the far end of the table. "Hope that stuff goes good with warm lemonade," she called.
Exhausted and feeling silly, she rolled onto her back, hoisted the jug above her gaping mouth and opened the spigot, letting the pale liquid stream down to fill her throat. It splattered her face when her arms swayed, but she restored the aim quickly, and drank till the stream dwindled to rhythmic drips.
As she lowered the jug, it rattled, and she tipped it, peered inside, "My gosh! How did...." Reaching in, she extracted the empty vial and peered at the peeling soggy label. "Oh, Christ!" she said hollowly. "Spike...."
He sat up, groggy. "What's the matter, hon?"
She giggled. "Spike, I must have left my pill vial open, and ... Well, anyway, I just drank about ten tranquilizers dissolved in lemonade."
He jumped to his feet, frowning. "Maybe we should head for a hospital. That could be dangerous, couldn't it?"
"Oh, no. There's nothing in them that could hurt me. But I bet for a while I'm going to be tranquil as all hell!" Lying naked in the grass, she flung the empty vial aside, threw her head back and began to laugh, breasts shaking, belly fluttering. "Oh, God!" she choked out through the uproarious seizure. "Oh ... Oh, God!"
CHAPTER SIX
"Oh, God, we beseech Thee! Spare the men who here repent of their vile, lust-sodden lives and vow perpetual chastity! Oh, God, they turn to Thee from the poisonous pit of corruption that is woman! Have mercy on them! Spare too those females who confess and denounce their foul alliance with Satan, oh, God, swearing nevermore to entice any man to the way of flesh, which leads to the fires of Hell! Grant these women, if they truly forsake Satan, the boon of immediate death, that they may return to eternal perdition without causing further sins to fuel the flames!
"Mercy, Lord, on Thy creature, Mankind, hired from the righteous path by the devil's silken-skinned, sultry soldiers of depravity! Mercy, oh, God, even on Thine enemy, which is woman!! "
The tall, handsome black-robed man lowered his glittering eyes from the top of the tent. He scanned the tight-packed ranks of his listeners in the rows of rickety chairs. His shouting grew louder, his gestures wilder:
"You are soiled, sullied by the scum and slime of carnal sin! You ... and you ... and YOU! Oh, don't whine about the sanctity of marriage! Satan has destroyed that! It is no more! I say again: Unless a virgin marry a virgin and they cohabit only to beget offspring unto God, shunning all thought of pleasures of the flesh, they are damned! One single lustful thought; one touch, under the demon guise of affection; one look, my friends, unless it be cast in purest holy zeal, at these unclean creatures contrived by the devil in Hell, sprung like a tumor from Adam's rib and made malignant by the powers of darkness ... YOU ARE DAMNED!! ! "
Spike scowled, regretting the impulse that had brought him there. While the evangelist raved on, he shut out the maniac tirade and turned to see if Mom was coming around.
No. She still sat slumped against his shoulder, eyes open but totally glazed, a faint, vacant smile on her lovely face.
She'd slipped into a woozy doze while he helped her get dressed, then into this happy-zombie state as they drove back toward the city. He'd checked the label on the vial first, and decided she was right in dismissing his hospital idea. He found she could walk, with his help, and they'd stopped once for coffee. It hadn't seemed to help, and he'd driven back to the tower almost without thinking, then realized he couldn't just drop her at home while she was still in this walking stupor.
At that point he'd seen the tent, and the huge, bold-lettered banner proclaiming the Crusade for Purity. The Reverend Oakley Glen, Evangelist. "Hey, there's that revival I saw the poster about!" He knew she was beyond answering or even comprehending, but talking soothed his nerves. "I've never been to one of those things. Might be interesting, huh?" At least it would pass the time till she started ... what? Sobering up? Untranquilizing?
He could hear the preacher's shouts as they approached, and he figured they'd just sneak in and sit in the back somewhere; but it hadn't worked out that way. A pair of usher types had grabbed them the minute they came through the tent flap, and just about pulled them past twenty or more rows of empty folding chairs to the front, where five or six rows were jam-packed except for two seats right in the middle.
So here they were. With all the stares directed at Mom's skimpy costume, he'd been too timid to resist the ushers' pushiness; and now he was too timid to get up and lead her out. Shrugging, he turned back to listen to the nut on the platform.
Somebody was ... yelling. But that was miles away. But somebody was ... right in front of her. A head. The back of it. A man's head. There was a man ... propping her up, too. But that was all right; that was Spike. That head up ahead was a stranger's, though. And ... her eyes slid left, then right. God! A whole line of strange heads ... and shoulders ... big, burly shoulders of strange men....
There was ... even one on the, other side of her, and....
"Ay-men, brother!" That voice-a strange man's voice-came from behind her, and two or three others shouted the same thing! There were ... there were strange men all around her!
What ... what was she supposed to do for these men? She knew there was something, but she couldn't ... couldn't remember. She wanted to, if she just knew....
The yelling from far away got louder, and she tried to understand it.
"... salvation, if you'll shed your guilty ways! Confess! Strip yourself of deceit before your maker! Bare your soul! Confess and repent!
"YOU! Will you do that now? YOU! Do you want to be saved? Then stand up for purity! Stand up, confess, and ask the Lord's forgiveness! Stand up and swear to be chaste for as long as you live! Strip yourself naked before your God! YOU! Stand up! Stand up for purity!"
It seemed like they were all shouting now. "Yes, Lord."
"Ay-men."
"Mercy, God."
"Save me!"
And over the frenzied roar, the screaming voice from the front went on: "Standup! Stand up! STAND UP!! "
Suddenly she reeled to her feet. But there were others standing too, so she climbed on her chair. Because now she knew what she had to do for them!
Spike sat gaping as Mom lurched onto the wobbling chair, her hands fumbling at the clasp of her halter. Bewilderment froze him for the second it took her to whip it off and throw it high in the air, her vibrant breasts leaping with the motion.
He reached for her then, but was knocked aside as two or three men in the row behind surged forward suddenly, also reaching for her. She was knocked down in the confusion, but rose again on a chair in the front row, and now her red shorts were in her hand, and she flung them straight at the gaping face of the suddenly silent evangelist.
As he fought his way toward her, Spike noticed that several other women in the audience were ripping their clothes off too-with the help of several men. Other men were tearing at their own clothes even as they battled their way toward the nearest woman. There were half a dozen guys around Mom, their hands all over her. Spike grabbed two by the shoulders and was about to hurl them apart when the lights went out, and he was simultaneously knocked off his feet by something large, soft and naked.
"Ooh, you're my size!" a gushy female voice crowed while hands clawed at his crotch. He tried to roll her off, and succeeded, but ... what was the point, now? He had no idea where to find Mom any longer, in the pitch-blackness and the jostling welter of bodies.
When the fat hands found him again, and a mammoth, squashy tit was slammed against his face, he decided he might as well make the best of it.
Mom had been pinched, prodded, squeezed, jostled and even briefly fingerfucked before her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she was loving every bit of it. She had somebody's cock in her hand and was trying to pull it toward her swollen, creaming slot, meanwhile searching for another for her mouth. Then a tall, immense-shouldered figure loomed up in front of her. Viciously shoving the other men aside, he picked her up by the waist and strode several steps along the side of what appeared to be a low platform before he tripped on something.
As they crashed down, her arm got tangled in the flowing, ankle-length robe he wore, and her hand encountered a hot, hefty length of sleek-skinned meat. It was much bigger than the one he'd pulled her away from, so she wriggled toward it. It met her more than halfway, and as it bulldozed into her, the man attached began a hissing, vicious chant in time with his furious lunges: "Harlot! Whore! Slut! Die ... bitch! Die! Jezebel! Enchantress! Succubus! Die!"
When he got to the longer words, he added a shuddering, battering follow-through to each slashing prickstroke, and all the while, his hands were crushing and mauling her breasts, sending a delicious ache down her spine to meet the explosive jolts that reverberated up from her cunt.
Mom was puzzled by the whole business. It was nice of him to fuck her, of course-and he was quite good at it, in an overzealous, rather panicky way-but she didn't really care for the dirty names. But she shrugged it off, thrusting her tits more abundantly up to his claw-like grasp. If this was how he got his kicks, then so be it.
On the third time through the litany of abuse, he came. The word enchantress broke off to a gagging groan, and she felt his thrusts grow ragged, felt a steamy jet of cum drench the depths of her well-filled well. When it was over, though, he resumed the wrathful chant and went right on pumping, even harder than before.
"Oh, thank God, you're still hard!" Mom exclaimed. " 'Cause I haven't cum yet, and we ... seem to have gotten separated from the others."
Spike's eyes had eventually adjusted to the darkness too, and as soon as possible after that, he'd pulled his pecker from the triple-chinned mouth of his first partner and rolled toward a slim one from whom a naked, very skinny young man was just extracting his limp organ.
As he replaced the exhausted youngster, Spike saw that the adjustment wasn't all in his eyes. Apparently some of the crowd had fled in horror when religious fervor had been transformed into orgiastic frenzy, and one of the tent flaps was open now; through this, a streetlight cast a corridor of illumination. He noticed too that the roiling mass of bodies seemed to be drifting gradually into that lighted area. Makes sense, he mused, fucking steadily into the tight quim of his anonymous and steadfastly silent partner. A guy-likes to see what he's getting into.
He wondered, then, who was getting into Mom at the moment, and the thought tweaked his conscience. Fitting his hands over the small, pincushion-firm breasts of the woman beneath him, he braced up to look around. No Mom, that he could make out. There were a few bodies that might be her, at least in the obscuring gloom, but most of their faces were hidden by one or another heaving part of some man. There had been, he recalled, few women in the audience-not more than one to every four or five men. And Oakley Glen's preaching had made clear the reason for this. But it was convenient for orgy purposes, too, he mused, since men required time to recuperate, while women were virtually inexhaustible.
Giving up the search momentarily, Spike returned his attention to the slim form whose wiry thighs were locked around his hips. She certainty seemed inexhaustible. From the spasms of internal clenching he'd felt, he guessed she'd come at least four times since he put the blocks to her, yet she still met his every thrust with an upward snap of her ass that sent tingling shock waves along his cock's tube-swollen underside. He began to think he was going to come pretty soon, despite the afternoon's effluent excess with Mom.
He liked this gal. She didn't babble or scratch as so many around them were doing. She kept her mouth shut except to sluice a hot, pointy tongue around in his ear when she could get at it. He decided to stay with her as long as possible, and to prolong his prick-life, therefore, he raised his head again to scan the surroundings-hoping, of course, to spot Mom, but mainly just to get his mind off the buildup in his balls.
On his left, in the streak of light, several steadily humping couples formed a ring about a piece of moving sculpture more bizarre than what he'd seen in his bedroom two days before. A middle-aged woman wearing only a white bra stood bent over, being fucked from behind by one man while she sucked the prick of another. Her suckee was totally naked, while her fucker was still fully clothed-but unzipped, of course-just as Spike was, These two were supporting a second woman somewhat horizontally; the suckee's head was out of sight between her thighs, and the fucker held her shoulders over his head while he sucked her breasts, first one and then the other, in rapid alternation.
While Spike watched, a couple on the periphery rose and joined the acrobatic centerpiece. The man crouched beneath the fuckee, scooped her heavy breasts from the bra and began to fondle them, while his former partner knelt behind the naked suckee, reached between his legs to grasp his balls, then burned her face in his asscrack.
The newcomers seemed to spoil the artistic appeal of the grouping, though and Spike's attention drifted to a trio nearer the platform. On the bottom was a very fat man, and while a small, leathery-looking older woman clung to his belly and rode his penis, a tall, voluptuous blonde squatted facing her, riding the fat man's face. The first woman kept, losing her grip on the man's dome-like paunch, and teetering backward, until the blonde reached out and took a sisterly grip on her shoulders, helping her stay upright.
Everywhere were writhing, rutting, flapping, fucking bodies, naked, half-naked and only purposefully disarrayed. But the quantity of visible skin far outweighed the clothing, ignoring what was scattered about, discarded. In the dim light, the total effect was that of a coruscating bed of coals in which occasional upright forms were leaping names. The eternal fires," Spike murmured. "Christ, what a weenie-roast!"
Slim was coming again, it felt like. And Spike himself wasn't far from it. He held on at maximum depth while the current cuntquake ran its course, then backed his oar all only the head remained in her churning channel, and...."Whaaa...? "
Two hot hands had grabbed his hips from behind, and a very cold object that felt like a nose had sliced icily into the deft between his buttocks. Now this slid upward a bit, and he felt the heated face behind it ... and a wet-warm, eel-eager tongue attacking his ass-hole.
When he didn't descend-fearing he'd crush somebody's something back there-Slim slung herself up to engulf him again. And that one, tight-sliding, cock-squeezing cunt-surge was all it took, on top of the shock of the anal incursion: His balls unleashed a thin but nonetheless nerve-wringing stream of cum that needled through his peter in an acid-anguish orgasm of giddy, good-grief glory-the kind that hurt but made you happy, like when you'd lifted more weight than you should, to show off.
When he roiled to one side, the hot hands and torrid tongue pounced promptly on his pulverized prong. They belonged-along with the cold nose-to the blonde he'd been watching earlier. And since she didn't succeed in reviving his rammer, after a minute she swung atop him in sixty-nine position, presenting what had been the fat man's feast. It looked good, so he tried it. It was.
Mom was beginning to lose the glow. It was still good to have the tall man's tall cock pile-driving in and out, again and again sending crashing waves of rapture through her cunt, clit and ass; and her tits had almost begun to feel at home in the strangling grasp of his hands. But ... well, now that they were out in the midst of other people-other pricks-she thought she might at least like a change of riders.
This one had come eight times now, and only gone soft once. That had been after his fourth orgasm in the traditional "missionary position" they'd started with. They'd peaked together, and so violently that they tolled several turns to the side in a shiver-heaving, gasp-gargling spastic tangle of passion. Mom ended up on top, and found that her frantic fucker had fainted.
As there was no water handy, she applied the only liquid that was, spinning around to press her sloshing snatch to his face. With her own face and hands, meanwhile, she strove to revive at least his flagging mast. Several deep, avid sucks produced results, and the last few were emulated amid her emulsified funnel flesh, as his other end came to life as well.
He didn't know pussy from porridge when it came to mouth work, though, so as soon as his mushroom spouted fresh mush, she spun again and seized it in her still resilient quim, for a sweet but all too short session of ass-wrenching ascendance. Her strapping steed stayed hard, but he was groggy; while his hips responded with vigor, his head lolled. A goo-turgling mutter was the only sound he made for several sizzling strokes of Mom's taut tunnel along the good girth of his gristle.
Then, though, he seemed to recognize his recumbent position for the first time, and with a hissing oath from his glistening mouth that sounded like "Get thee beneath me, Satan!" he hip-hurled her clear of his cock and almost over his head. Almost, of course, meant that her meaty morass was once more flush on his face; but without so much as a friendly twitch of his nose against her clit, he'd squirmed free and wrestled her into a canine copulatory posture.
When he tried to penetrate, Mom had to giggle. Oops! she thought. That's the shithouse, not the doghouse. Rex! But its fine with me, if you can. Ooggh!"
He could, and he had. Her rectum was stretched like a glove about his foreskin-wristed fist, and even as he came again, he forged forward fiercely, gaining a pleasure-painful quarter-inch with each thrust.
He would have done much better if he'd been able to hold Mom still, but his grip on her sweat-slippery hips was no help, and she kept lurching forward, then regaining her knees as he scuttled after her. In this mode they made it halfway back to the crowded, light-washed area before the platform; and the rest of the journey was accomplished by his battering, cursing onslaught once he was seated to the root in her rump, his shaggy pelvic mat tickling the incurves of her pried-wide ass-halves as he bullied her burrow unmercifully. Ohh-ooo! It hurts ... but it's heavenly!" Mom crooned as the rectal reaming increased in fury. "Now if you'd just ... aah! ... slide a finger down in front and ... ahhohh! God! ... ring my doorbell...."
He didn't, but an exhausted man they'd run aground against did, and in gratitude Mom extended a helping hand to his spineless, spongy plunger and began to pump it up. While the good Samaritan tickled her clit with two long, talented fingers, his thumb plumbed Mom's cum sump.
Her doggie delight, meanwhile, had sent a second slurry of sperm to her intestinal depths, and decided to return to the more expansive passage. Wrenching his whang from her anal canal, he bludgeoned it blindly into the lower hole, apparently unaware of its other occupant until he tried to pull back. Then the prone man's thumbnail must have slashed him severely, for he screamed in anguish and jerked back, barking out a second scream before he completely unsheathed his damaged dong.
Furiously, he flung Mom onto her back. The landing was cushioned, however, by a second prone man, and she lay in a location where that gentleman could-and did conveniently lever his slender prick into her distended ass-hole, even before her angry assailant mounted the pile and plunged his prod once more to the hilt in her cunt.
As this occurred, she got a quick glimpse of the tall one's face in the light, and felt a twinge of disappointment. He wasn't a stranger after all! She couldn't recall where, but she knew she'd seen him before. She felt sure another look would tell her, but for the moment that was impossible, since a third man's lower torso had intervened as soon as her two crotch cubbyholes were filled; this one was squatting above her face, and had placed his half-hard, head-hooded, honey-dripping dingus against her lips.
And now, there she lay, with a cock in her mouth, another up her ass, a third in her hand and ... oh, goodie! Somebody'd just grabbed her other hand and wrapped it around a new length of lunchmeat! This one was really big, too: Salami-sized and excitingly gnarled; it could almost have been Spike's, but of course she couldn't turn her head to find out. All this as well as the towering rate of raw fuckmuscle in her mainstream should have made Mom deliriously joyful, yet something was bothering her. It Was fatigue, she supposed, and the hopeful yet distracting possibility that she'd found Spike again ... but it was more than that. Something about the unstrange face of her ferocious fucker ... who was-"Aahh! Eeee!-coming again, incidentally, wrenching her titties and walloping her clitty as he sluiced more juice into her cum-numbed bed concourse ... Something about that face made her uneasy, all of a sudden. It had started her wondering where she was, and how this mayhem of mass fucking had happened.
Let's see. I was with Spike, out by the forest, in that little valley. We'd ... umm! We sure had! And then I ... oh! The tranquilizers in the lemonade! And then....
But that didn't explain any of this. And it was getting harder to think about an explanation, because the cocks in her mouth and ass had started simultaneously to shoot streams of hot syrup into her, and she thought she was actually going to ... Oh, God! The one in her cunt, too! Again! And she very definitely was going to ... was going ... was ... was COMING!! ! "Uuhrrrrrggggaaagh!"
Her hands were streaming goo too, and slipped from the slouching spigots they'd held. The ass man collapsed, his prick squidging free as her whole torso constricted in a final orgasmic clench. The squatter fell forward, somersaulting his meat from her mouth. Only her robed ravisher was still sunk to the utmost and spurting, and when she opened her eyes and focused her reeling vision....
Oak.
An icy axe of abject terror chopped off her orgasm and sank into her heart. She went totally numb, frozen by fear beyond any she'd ever known-a fear so complete that in seconds it was utter resignation, and she breathed tonelessly, "This way, Oak? But ... yes. I guess it's appropriate. So go on. You've fucked me half to death already. Finish it."
His eyes were glittering crystals unconnected to a mind. His cock was a blunt perpetual-motion dagger, slashing her vitals with jack-hammer speed and impact. His mouth was a drooling rent in a rigid face, and his hands like a gargoyle's granite claws, talon-locked on her breast flesh.
But then she whispered, "Oak ... If only I'd known this was what you wanted!"
He went limp, rolled to one side, huddled up and began to weep.
Spike, his slack penis dangling just inches from Mom's fallen hand, had listened and watched, utterly bewildered. Well, not utterly. Whoever this Oakley Glen was, Mom knew him. Her father? No; he didn't look that old. Husband, then? Had she....
His puzzlement and worry were interrupted, then, as every light in the tent blazed to life, and he stared at the ring of riot-armed cops surrounding the devastated tangle of prostrate, panting, powerless bodies that had lately been an orgy.
Now a squat, fat police captain stepped forward and snarled, "Don't anybody move! This is an illegal assembly and you're all under-" He stopped; his eyes bugged, and he croaked out, "Eloise?" His gaze was fixed on the voluptuous blonde, and in the full light, Spike recognized her from newspaper pictures as the recently acquired fourth wife of Grand Junction's elderly chief of police.
by this time the skinny young man he'd replaced in Slim's quim was on his feet; he had fished a wallet from a crumpled coat lying nearby, and he walked forward and flapped it open in front of the captain's livid face. Spike couldn't hear what was said, but he thought the young man's lips formed FBI.
In rapid succession, then, about fifteen other men-all wearing or carrying drab suits and highly polished shoes-approached the officer and flopped their wallets open, then passed unmolested through the cordon of police.
Now Spike's hideously fat first partner-managing to conceal certain superfluous points of her bulk behind an inside-out pair of trousers-approached the top cop and whispered to him. After a moment the captain backed away from her and stammered, "Sorry, folks. The mayor's wi--I mean ... It seems there's been a terrible mistake. We, uh ... didn't know this was a religious service." With that, he did a stiff about-face, and led his troops in a hasty retreat from the tent.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Damn! Mom thought as she helped Evangeline complete another wedding order. Always the bride's florist, but never ... Oh, hell! You don't deserve him and you know it, she scolded herself. The way you've screwed around with little boys ... even his little boy ... And now Spike knows it too-at least about the incest with Oak.
She'd had to explain that, of course, once they'd reached her bedroom last night. He'd rushed out of the tent right on the heels of the police, leaving her clothes and her crumpled brother behind, literally carrying her across the street ... She'd still been too befuddled to protest coherently, and only when he lay beside her on the big bed, gently caressing her sore, strength-less but still responsive body, had she told him the whole story of Birch's conception and its aftermath of anguish. She'd explained the compulsion to undress in crowds, too-but not, of course, her corollary fixation on little boys, and all that it had recently led to. Finally, she'd expressed concern about Oak, and Spike had said he'd go back and check-make sure he was all right.
He hadn't left immediately, however. In fact, he'd undressed and made soothing, sweet, slow love to her. It had ended in a miraculous mutual orgasm-not intense for either of them, but intensely peaceful, somehow. And after that, she'd had the distinct feeling that he was about to propose to her needed only a minute or two to get the words in order ... Then she'd fallen asleep, to be awakened at tern a.m. by Birch's knock, and the message that Evangeline needed her help in the shop.
Had he found Oak, talked with him? She had no way of knowing. The tent was gone, and there'd been no word from Spike. Had he decided-with or without contacting Oak-that her incestuous past was something he simply couldn't accept?
Last night, with the tranquilizers' effect at last worn off entirely, she'd still felt that all her troubles were over and a wondrous world lay ahead. Surely Oak was no longer a threat; and there'd be no sordid publicity, for among the other bedraggled women sprawled about the tent as she left, Mom had recognized the wife of the man who owned Grand Junction's single newspaperradio-TV monopoly. And with marriage to Spike, she was certain she could overcome her terrible craving for young boys, too. Well ... almost certain.
He could just have slept late, of course; it wasn't quite eleven yet. Or he could be at work he did work, after all, and wouldn't have called, figuring she'd sleep late. Everything could be fine. It was just that--
Then his truck pulled up in front, and Mom saw his face as he swung out of the cab ... and she knew that everything was fine!
She met him at the door, coming into his arms with a rush, hugging, kissing, squirming against him till he was half afraid he'd cream in his pants again. It was embarrassing, anyway, with her clerk staring at them and grinning the whole time. But it was still damn nice, and the only thing that enabled him to hold her away at last was the knowledge that she'd probably take him upstairs pretty quick, and they could start all over-unencumbered, then, by curious clerk, constraining pants or anything else.
Apparently, Mom had exactly that in mind, and as they went toward the elevator, he told her Oak had been gone, and the men dismantling the tent were ignorant of his whereabouts, saying only that he'd driven off alone.
She shrugged, smiled up at him "Well, maybe he'll write, sooner or later. Anyway, I know it's over. I sensed it last night. He finally got what he'd been wanting all along, and suddenly he realized it. We both did, at the same time! So now I'm...." She took a deep, gloriously chest-expanding breath. "I'm free, Spike! I'm-"
"MISS CHRYSANTHEMUM GLEN!"
The harsh voice froze them a step from the elevator, and they both spun to stare at the tall, richly overdressed, attractive-but-bitchy-looking woman who had stalked in through the front door.
Alertly, Evangeline tried to intervene. "She's, uh ... very busy right now, Ma'am. Can't I help you with something?"
"Yes, you may," the woman spat. "By stepping out of my way when I'm speaking to your employer! Miss Glen, I'd like some confidential words with you." She looked again at Evangeline, frowned, then added, "And your Negress, here."
Mom turned, rose on tiptoe and gave Spike a pecking kiss, "Go up," she murmured, smiling. "We get these socialites every so often, grousing about the order for their daughter's wedding or some such. I'll be as quick as I can."
This didn't look like that kind of thing to Spike, but he grinned back, stepped into the car and pressed the button-the right one, this time; he was careful about that. As the doors slid shut, he watched Mom move easily toward the interloper. Christ, what a beautiful ass! And it could be all mine, forever, if I could just convince myself....
Yeah! There's the hitch, he thought as the car hushed upward. But could even Mom cure me of this damned itch for ... for babies?! After that session on the roof with her sister ... and this morning when my own daughter showed up at breakfast in that little see-through wrapper ... oh, did she ever show up! And my damnable hungry horn , stood up, as if it hadn't had any action for a year, instead of a year's worth in just a few hours!
But I can control it with Melissa, I know. With that Iris, though ... Hell! Some brother-in-law and substitute father I'd make for her! Every time I saw her, I'd....
He was in Mom's room now, and looking around for something to get his mind off lechery. His eyes stopped at the curtain on the far side of the bed. Hmmm. He'd assumed last night that it covered a window, but he saw now that it couldn't: That was an inside wall, and beyond was Mom's bathroom.
A mirror, then? He'd always wondered what it would be like to boff in front of a mirror. He found the pull cord, swept the curtains apart, and gaped. "Well, I'll be damned!" he mumbled, "Closed-circuit!"
On the single live monitor, he saw Mom, Evangeline and the snotty woman in the salesroom. And when he turned the knob labeled audio, he heard the bitchy one saying, " ... no concern of yours what he did or did not tell me! I'm here to hear your side of it. And if it's what I suspect ... '
"Why?" Mom said, her tone nervous yet determined. "Why should there be any side of it, Mrs. Clamath, beyond the fact that he came here, bought the roses and left?"
The woman was losing her composure. Her face flushed and contorted, she spat out: "Because ever since, he's been trying to ... to corrupt every little girl in the neighborhood, and several of their mothers! And he won't-" One hand flew to her mouth, but then she let it fall, and snarled, "Oh, all right! He won't tell me a thing! But when I learned that it was this building ... And now that I've seen you, Miss Glen, and your b-b-black c-c-c-clerk here ... Well, that just may explain why Sonny's even been talking about integrating the neighborhood!"
Mom appeared to be fighting to master her anger. "Mrs. Clamath," she said finally, "you're ... you're imagining all this! You'd have gone straight to the police, otherwise. And it's ... well, it's preposterous! I can't-" it's ... Well, it's preposterous! I can't-"
The woman interrupted her, waving her arms and ranting on about Sonny's sins, and the evils of sex education, and how she meant to learn the truth....
Disgusted and bored, Spike glanced at the other screens, then idly punched the on button for one. It lit up to show a vacant bedroom-Elm's, if he remembered right. Then he noticed the selector, and clicked it over a notch. Yep. For there was Birch in his room, hunched over his chessboard.
Bemused, he clicked past two more bedrooms, both empty and without signs of occupancy, and a third ... oh, oh! He should have known better. This was Iris' room. There were clothes tossed on the bed, a big stuffed toy ... but no Iris, thank goodness! He'd feel guilty as hell if-Klik.
"Ohh, good Christ!"
The screen now showed a bathroom. And Iris, naked and glowing, had just stepped from the tub and was reaching for a towel. Her taut, pert-nippled breasts shed droplets of water, and beads of it gleamed in the light fuzz of her muff, and....
Why hadn't he turned the selector again? Why couldn't he turn it? The instant rigidity of his prick seemed to have spread just as instantly to his hand; it stayed clamped on the dial, and his mind couldn't make it move-or wasn't really trying.
Oh, no! She was toweling one deliciously curved thigh now, her foot up on the edge of the tub, and he could see obliquely the slim, tight crease and puffy lips of her tender, untried little nookie!
He was literally panting as he watched the hypnotically nonchalant display of that luscious young body in casual motion. It was ten times more seductive than any intentional exposure could have been. And while his left hand on the selector seemed paralyzed, he discovered that his right had already run his zipper and plunged in to pry out his aching, reddened, rock-rigid whang.
She was dry now. She turned and opened the door, and ... strangely, he heard the door open. But he hadn't touched the audio knob for that screen!
Then he heard a little gasp, and he turned, and she'd been in Mom's bathroom!
Now she stood before him, still ball-mangling naked, staring at his rampant prick and looking ... not shocked; not embarrassed or frightened. Bewildered.
"Mister Mason!" she piped. "Gee, I always seem to be undressed when you ... Mister Mason, are you all right? Have you hurt yourself? Can I-"
Then she saw the screens, and after a thoughtful pause, her look of puzzlement gave way to a faint, faltering smile. "You were ... watching me ... before?"
Automatically, he nodded. His face was prick-red; he could feel it. And now, except for that nod and the constant skittering of his eyes over her blinding beauty, nothing would move. He couldn't put his cock back, couldn't turn away, couldn't-
"I ... I guess that's sort of a compliment, huh? So, thank you. But I guess the nuns at the convent wouldn't-"
"No!" Spike croaked, amazed to hear himself speak. "It's ... wrong! I shouldn't ... it's sinful!"
"Yes! That's exactly what the nuns would say! They were always telling me all these mysterious, angry things about 'sins of the flesh,' and 'impure thoughts' and stuff."
"But ... But then ... don't you see how wrong it is? Didn't-"
"Oh, no, Mister Mason! I figure anything the nuns hated so much ought to be pretty fun!"
When Spike was silent, his mouth gaping, jaw trembling, she went on, "Were you ... having fun?"
Again, like a robot, he nodded.
"Well ... could we have fun together? I mean, there must be more to it than just-"
No!! Spike's mind was screaming. You can't! Not ... not here, anyway! At that, his eyes leapt back to the monitor. Mom was still down there, thank God, but the rich bitch was at the door now, and-
"Oh!" Iris said, following his gaze. "You're afraid Mom wouldn't like it, huh? I mean if you showed me some of the stuff the nuns were ... gosh, though; Mom's a fine person! I really don't think she'd-"
"Iris, I ... I can't," he groaned. "I ... I'd love to, really, but ... look." He managed, suddenly, to make his hand move, covering his pecker, stuffing it into his pants. "You ... better go get dressed. Mom might be ... well ... upset, if she found you here with ... without ... okay, Iris? Please?"
"Well, all right," the girl said, her disappointment evident. "I see she's coming up now, so I'll go. I'm sorry if I ... said anything wrong, Mister Mason. 'Bye." With a parting wave and a twitch of that chubby, snug little butt, she walked naked into the hallway and out of sight.
Taking what seemed like his first breath in five minutes, Spike turned back to the monitor in time to see the elevator doors close on Mom. He zipped up, then collapsed on her bed to wait, mopping his sweat-drenched brow with his sleeve.
A minute passed, and another: no sigh of elevator doors in the hallway, and no Mom. He was about to go to the door and look at the indicator light when Iris reappeared, in a skimpy little wrapper even more transparent than Melissa's.
"That's funny," she said as Spike strove to lift his eyes to her face. "She stopped on thirteen. Do you think the elevator's stuck? Oh, hey! Maybe we can use those TV things to find out!"
Mom hadn't stopped on thirteen; she'd been stopped there. Someone had pushed the call button while she rode up. And that someone, to her puzzlement and discomfort, turned out to be Chief Flaming Arrow.
He stood stiffly before her, and she stepped from the car, then reached back to touch the button that would keep it waiting. One hand was plunged deep in the pocket of his gardening smock-so deep that she wondered if ... Oh, stop it, Mom!
"Why, Flaming Arrow!" she said. "What are you-"
"Me watch you other day pow wow Skinny Boy and Redhead Brother," he interrupted, using the words as if they were Indian names. "Me get idea. Me got-"
"You were using the monitors, then!" Mom burst in.
"Monitors? What them? Me use junipers. Stand behind in east greenhouse, look through. Can see alcove-place heap good. Anyhow, me think you, me pow wow. Me got heap long pipe-thing-longer them baby braves."
"You...." Did she understand him? Yes; she understood him, all right. "You, Flaming Arrow? At your age?! "
He snorted. "How age matter? Me got long, strong pipe-thing. Hot, too. How you think me get name?"
"Name! You mean ... Oh!"
"You take look," he said, hiking the smock up along bare, brown, knobby legs. "You like, we pow wow plenty." Then the garment was bunched at his waist, and Mom was staring at a cock that was longer and leaner than any she'd ever imagined. It was an eerie yellowish tan, and the head-from which the chiefs bony fingers now peeled back the foreskin-was a flat, sharp triangle, reddish and flinty-textured.
Gosh! Had cocks evolved in the past 109 years? she wondered giddily. This one was certainly like nothing she'd ever seen in pictures or recent real life. But a cock it most decidedly was; if her mind wasn't certain of that, at least her manhole was, for it was parting and palpitating, juicing and jittering....
"They find blanket here," Flaming Arrow was explaining. 'Think maybe you use other time for pow wow. Anyhow, floor more good than bed; all bounce come from squaw. Thirteen heap good number, too. Great Spirit....
He rambled on, waiting for her decision, but Mom wasn't listening or deciding. Her brain was shouting things about Spike, how long he'd been waiting already, how she had to be true to him even if he hadn't exactly proposed yet ... shouting, No! Stop! at her hands as they reached for that fantastic tube of jerky....
"See?" Iris crowed, leaning toward the screen. "I told you she was a fun person! Now she's taking off her clothes! Are you sure we couldn't go down and play too?"
Spike had wrestled his eyes from the profile of the girl's tantalizing tits long enough to confirm her report. "No!" he blurted to the question. "It's ... it's more fun with just two. Sort of."
"Oh. Well, could we play it up here, then? I could watch Mom and do what she does, and...." A giggle cut off the words. "Gee, Mister Mason, you're redder than he is, and he's an Indian!"
Startled, Spike looked down. Had his hands been playing dirty tricks again? But no; he was still zipped up tight. Oh! She meant his face!
And when he looked up again, it must have gotten even redder ... and he knew the zipper got tighter. For there was Mom, smack-dab in the center of the screen, kneeling like a naked captive before the chief, with half the length of his savage spear in her mouth.
"Could we, Mister Mason?"
Spike stood up. Then he sat down. He looked again at the screen. Then he looked again at Iris. Then he nodded, stood again, and unzipped.
"Oohhh, goodie gumdrop!" Iris slipped off her wrapper, glanced at the monitor, then went to her knees and popped his goodie gumdrop into her mouth. She was so tiny she had to bend his business down to get at it, but that only added to the ecstatic agony. Groaning, hands shaking, Spike set about getting his clothes off while the eager child sucked, tongued and lip-laved his jaw-straining jock with an instinctive finesse that failed to surprise him at all.
He was barely naked, though-and already dangerously close to coming-when she stopped. "Oh, heck!" she gasped. "I just got started, and they're starting something else! Should I...? "
. Spike looked at the screen. Mom was lying back on the blanket, white thighs thrown wide, her dew-clad cunt in full bloom. "We better get caught up," he choked out.
Iris sprang gleefully onto the bed and matched Mom's posture. Her slit, however, was still just that; no moisture coated the barely parted, puffy-pale lips with their fluff of pinkish fuzz. Spike hesitated. Forget iff his mind said. You Ye twice as thick as that Indian, and you Ye looking at a cunt that couldn't take a pencil without pain! Sure, you're telling yourself she wants it; but she doesn't know what she's asking for!
Iris seemed to read this in his face. She looked at the action on the monitor, then at his burly bludgeon, then reached down to part the tender folds of her cunny, revealing the moist, deep pink petals within. "We can do it, Mister Mason! I just know we can!"
"Uh ... Spike," he stammered. "Call me Spike, huh?" Then he winced, seeing the irony of it.
"Okay," the girl chirped, smiling up at him, then glancing back at the screen. "We're getting behind again, Spike."
The rest was a blur. His body would remember it better than his mind. There was heat, and the squirm-squishing, urgent kiss of delicate tissues about the tip of his knob. There was the eager lift of her lithe-yet-lush ass in the cradle of his hands. There was something alive in his own ass that wouldn't listen to reason, wouldn't relent, wouldn't let up until....
"Aaaaaahh! Ooooh, you...."
One jolting, rending inch; the whole head buried, broiling, crammed and crushed ... and her pain must be twenty times his own!
"... bb-broke something, I think! It's ... ggooood, though! Can you...."
There was not a slackening but a spreading of the impossible ring of pressure, then a slow throb coursing through his conduit ... not orgasm but a strange, shuddery leakage of lubricant fluid, a flinching quarter-inch retreat, and then the muscular recoil....
"Yeee-esss! Ohhh, Spike! It's getting...."
"Urrrgh!"
"Ooooh! B-bbetter."
"Uh-uurrrh!"
"Aah-waaaah ... ohh! It's ... all the way...."
"Uugngh!"
"... t-t-teeeeth ... it feels like!"
There was tightness that teetered on the pleasure-pain borderline, then fell like a trap's jaw on the side of pain, and he had to jerk her hips up, slam her distended muff-mount into him drum-tight belly to relieve the agony. And there ... there was the angle! He went in, then-not sliding, but in one steady, boring stroke to the utmost, feeling her pussy fat flatten and spread against his pelvis, feeling the whole-length hug, and the dazzling wave-like spasm as she absorbed the shock....
"Nnnn-aaah! Eeeee! Ohhhhh, f-f-f-FUN!"
He let it roast there, giving her time, looking up at the screen. Mom's heels were going in a tom-tom tattoo on the backs of the Indian's withered thighs. She flung her head from side to side, flapped her hands wildly in the air. He reached up and turned on the sound. "Oh, God!" she was wailing in worshipful wonder. "Ohhh, Great Spirit! It's clear up between my lungs!! " Her hips were hopping off the blanket in a rapid rain dance, and it was clear that Flaming Arrow's firebrand was due for a drenching.
"Oh, hey!" Iris whisper-wheezed. "He's kissing her boobies, too!"
Spike looked down. Well, that was out-at least while his prick was in. Iris was just too short; her nipples were farther from his mouth than his own were.
"Later, baby," he husked. "Right now we'd better get fucking."
"G-get what?"
"Uh ... do what they're doing."
"Oh. Fucking," she said, sampling it on her lips. Then she giggled. "That's a fun word."
The giggle did things to Spike's cock-like it was immersed in a babbling brook of molten steel. And he started fucking indeed, then, with such uncontrollable, unbelievable, prick-over-principles ferocity th he had to hold Iris' shoulders and bear down brutally to keep her from being smashed against the headboard on every stroke.
She gasped, gurgled, crooned, moaned, wriggled, giggled and gave every bit of it back, getting her legs up and pummeling his ass, pounding his ribs with her tiny fists, hissing hot-breath yeses against his chest ... tightening ... tightening ... clinging and wringing his prick out with that game little grabber of a quim ... bouncing his balls with her upsurging ass-cheeks and tightening ... tightening....
... TIGHTening....
He came. There was no room, so it backwashed straight to his brain, drowning it, shattering every cell with a speed-of-light sperm, smoking out of his ears and nostrils, cooking his eyeballs, gluing his teeth together in a white wall of anguished exultation, picking him up by the scruff of his ass and shaking him till his limbs fell off and the rest shriveled up and hid in his prick and caught fire ... was fire ... consumed itself utterly in one muzzleflash instant and was ... gone.
"WhWhat hhappened, Spike?"
"You fainted, I guess, honey. I sort of did too."
"No. It wasn't like that. My ... my insides just all of a sudden rolled themselves up and ... well ... pulled me inside them! It was ... ohh, wow! It was fucking!"
He backed down, and his spent, flaccid organ slid with still feelable friction from her after shuddering chute. He smiled past her smiling-back face, ducked and sucked in a nipple, cupping and gently caressing the other breast in one coarse, callused hand. The other still cradled her ass, his palm overflowing with the profuse drainage from her furrow.
"Ohhh, that's nice, Spike! But we're way behind, now. Mom's been on top, and then he got around behind her, and ... does that mean we've lost the game?"
He raised his head. He'd completely forgotten! Whew! Mom was still ... occupied, so to speak. Still Indian Territory. It looked like she'd been ambushed-a savage attack from the rear.
"Nobody loses in this game, baby," he told Iris. "You just ... play it a little different and a little longer sometimes When you've had more practice."
Iris was silent, smiling blissfully as she watched the screen. Her older sister was on all fours in profile, her lovely breasts hanging, her gorgeous bull's-eye twanging to each sweeping stroke of the old chiefs armament. Spike watched a moment too. More sauce for the goose coming up, he mused. But what's sauce for the gander is no old squaw, and....
"Listen, Iris, I...." Christ! Even now, just looking at her nubile nakedness sent strength, tension and turbid desire surging through him! "I want you to promise to keep this a secret. All of it: What we saw ... what we did ... even that you know about these screens."
She looked at him, eyes big. "Well ... okay. But why?"
Why, indeed? he asked himself. Just what the hell is it you want? If it's Mom, then face it: Someday she's got to find out about your yearning for young stuff. And when she does ... Well, it'll serve you right if she cuts your balls off before she sends you packing! Is it just more pieces of Iris you "re after? Screw around till you "re caught, and then take your big baby-buster home to Melissa ... or out to find some new twelve-year-old cherry to chop up?
He didn't know. He just knew he wasn't ready to face the situation. He needed time.
"It's a secret," he told Iris, sliding down to lick, along the snug, recovered crease of her bunny-fuzzed twat. "A fun secret. Just ... just for a while."
"Okay," she said, squirming toward his teasing tongue. "But could ... could we practice more now, Spike? I want to learn-"
He shook his head, backing up and away from that mind-boggling muff-tuft. "No, honey. They'll be through soon. You'd better go to your room while I ... straighten things up."
She giggled, looking at his cock. "That thing's already straightened up," she said. "But I guess that's for Mom, huh?"
Then, child-quick, she flipped herself, off the bed, scooped up her wrapper, stooped to smack a warm, wet kiss on the tip of his tool, and flitted from the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
You're a hopeless, helpless, horrid, degenerate slut, Mom Glen! You corrupt innocent little boys, you jack off with your son's snake and pretend it's his prick, you fuck your brothers young and old, and then while the wonderful man you love waits patiently, you go three fast rounds with a hundred-nine-year-old Indian just because he shows you a foot-long totem pole! And ... and when you finally get around to putting your voracious vagina where it ought to be, you're so fucked out that it's no good for either of you!
It was Friday. Spike had to work today, he'd told her-almost apologetically. (He's too good for you, Mom. You're not worth the salt on his beautiful balls!) Elm was off visiting Melissa, of course, Birch in his room as usual, and Iris, after sleeping unusually late, had asked to have Flaming Arrow take her to the library. (God, I hope she's not going to be another Birch, constantly studying something!) She and Evangeline were alone in the shop, idly watching a carnival go up on the lot across the street.
Oh, sweet Spike, I'm so sorry! Mom was thinking. But I guess I'll never be able to control myself. She paled with shame, recalling the scene when she'd finally reached fifteen the day before. He'd had the bed all open, the spread off, and when she stalled him further to go in the bathroom and shower, she'd found the spread in the hamper, with this huge stain where the poor guy must have jacked off while waiting ... or fallen asleep and had a wet dream of her ... she hadn't mentioned it, of course; he was so bashful....
She'd come up with all kinds of things to chatter about, giving herself time to recuperate ... and he'd been so patient even then ... But when at last she lay naked in his arms, he'd had a terrible time getting hard-she was almost certain he sensed something wrong in the way she was acting-and the fuck had been....
The word's 'mediocre,' she told herself. Half-assed. You spoiled it for yourself and for him! And now you're horny again, and if Spike's got any sense, he'll take his horn elsewhere the next time!
She had wandered into the alcove while she chastized herself-returning to the scene of the original crime, Mom?-and now was startled to hear voices in the salesroom. It was Evangeline's that she could hear most distinctly, as the black girl said angrily, "Oh, you might, might you? Well, then you jus' might's well git awn outa heah an' plan you li'l speech, 'cause me an' Miss Glen don' take dat kind o' shit off no twelve-year-ol' kid or his mothah! You know what dey does to blackmailers in dis state?"
"Black whaters?" Peter Clamath's companion asked as Mom reached the counter. "Wow! Hi!" he added when he saw her, staring boldly at her tits in the clingy silk sheath.
"You must be the one Sonny-"
"Jus' you nevah mahnd! "Evangeline cut in. "You boys done got all you's gittin' roun' heah. Y'all jus' go integrate yo' neighborhood or somethin', 'fore Ah 'cides ta disintegrate you!"
Sonny ... Peter ... whatever his name was ... looked quite uneasy, but when his friend stood fast, he smiled hopefully at Mom and said, "Hi. This is Buddy," glancing toward the larger boy. "We thought you might like to, uh ... teach us some more things."
Mom's knees were shaking, and her eyes wouldn't focus right. Somehow, out of her self-hate and despair about Spike had come the worse attack of prick-fever she'd ever experienced.
"Y-you ... take the rest of the day off, why don't you?" she told Evangeline, hardly moving her eyes from Buddy's tight-swaddled crotchbulge. "I'll, uh ... handle this."
The clerk shook her head. "No, Miss Glen. I'd a sight soonah kick 'em out dan handle 'em, but if dat's what you wants, I bettuh be heah. As a witness dat dey fawced you, f rinstince," she added, scowling at the boys again.
Mom shrugged, managed a smile of gratitude. "All right," she murmured. "Lock up and hang the sign, then. We'll be in the alcove."
As she led the way,Mom unbuttoned her dress down the front, opened her front-fastening bra, began to push half-slip, panties and pantyhose down in one sweep of hooked thumbs. Three steps into the alcove she was naked, and turned toward Buddy with her hands already at zipper-level. From there on, that was the pace of the action.
She held the boy's hard little hunk of manhood in her mouth even while he undressed, her tongue softening the foreskin and swish-sizzling over the bullet-shaped head. And she had it full-bore in her cunt, held fast by the pincering pressure of her thighs on his waist, before Evangeline returned to distract a naked Sonny from a toe-aided contemplation of Mom's ass-hole.
"Git yo' foot out fum undah yo' buddah's balls!" the clerk scolded, stripping her sweater over her head. " 'Less she roll ovah, you ain' gittin' inta that nohow. Meantahm, you kin dabble yo' toes in me!"
Sonny barely had time to appreciate the sheen of gauzy bra cups over her great, dark breasts with their obsidian tips. Then the bra was gone, the skirt was going, and his eyes were bobbing between those black-cherry nipples and the black buckthorn thicket atop her chocolate thighs for the filmy bikini panties hid no more than the bra had.
"You's seed it before, but you still looks inter'stid," Evangeline teased huskily, edging the panties lower. "You ready fo' de whole shee-bang?"
Buddy, meanwhile, was she-banging away as if the world would end when he slowed down; and Mom was beginning to feel that hers would soon end unless he did. His frenzied fuckstrokes reminded her of Oak, except that the sensation then had been centered in her chasm, while the boy's rapid-fire attack had its greatest impact on her clit. That was the button to summon instant passion, though, and as he puslipuU pummeled it, she felt herself soar to the verge and....
Damn! Suddenly he'd shifted the angle and rhythm, bracing up on stiff arms to grin-grimace down at her face and tits while he scythed his stabber forward and back in swooping uppercut strokes. The pace was still brisk, but the posture presented a whole new frictional situation, and she had to begin her buildup all over. Starting from snatch, she mused.
As an additional annoyance, the new position made a wildly swinging nuisance of the shiny ID tag Buddy wore around his neck. Repeatedly, Mom felt its chill metallic slap on the inslopes of her heaving, striving jugs.
Three times more, just when she was getting there, the youth changed his whole pattern of attack-apparently spurred to it by yipping, yammering outbursts from Evangeline in praise of Sonny's technique. "Awww, baby, yo' pole sho got soul!" the clerk would gurgle joyously. "Yeeeahh, an' you shove so lovely! Maaan, de way you move man groove!"
So, just when Buddy's lowslung jolt-and jerk method had Mom's juices at the boiling point, he'd grabbed her thighs and doubled her knees-over-nipples. His chest against her calves, her insteps framing his waist, he commenced a downward hammer-stabbing through the now tight-pressed aperture of her outer pussy parts.
"like that, lady?" he leered. "Pretty hot, huh?"
And when that angle had heated her honeycomb almost sufficiently, he'd shifted gears again, pushing her legs flat and inward, getting his own outside them. This made for shallow but clit-scrubbing thrusts, and her fourth approach to the summit was swift. But about two pokes from the peak, Evangeline sang Sonny's praises again, and Buddy responded with another fast shuffle. He pried Mom's thighs apart once more, slid into the saddle and tried to make like a he-man, scooping her up by the ass.
For all the fidgeting around, he came surprisingly soon. No more than a dozen whizzing cockstrokes had separated the changes, and after a half-dozen with his hands beneath her bucking butt, Buddy's pud thudded deep, throbbed there, then sent a sputtering stream of cum to coat the cone of her cervix.
Despite his late start, Sonny was spurting too. "Eeee-yeah!" Evangeline yelped. "Go, baby! Drum whahl you come! Yeahhh! Ream me whahl you cream me, you dreamy dong-dipper! Ohhh, mercy me, Ah b'lieve Ah'm gonna ... Whooooo! Boy, you jus' Rapped man Brown an' Cleavered mah Eldridge all at once! Laawwwd, you done Wilted mah whole Chamberlain, too!"
The boys rolled off almost simultaneously, and the black girl went on, "Well, it do look lahk changin' tahm! Ah nevah knowed whin new nookie wouldn' pump a man up in jig-tahm." So saying, she pounced like a panther on Buddy, whose panting turned to grunting as her gash grasped his goodies like a black clam snapping up a shrimp. Mom had been just as quick to pull Sonny into her-scissorgrip. His shaft solidified and sank deep, and as he began to shove in sharp counterpoint to her urgent cuntal surges, he whispered grittily, "I'll beat him, this time! He had a head-start and I caught him, before. And with you ... I mean, I'm not prejudiced; really! But this time I'm going to shoot even sooner!"
"Don't ... uhh! ... rush it," Mom protested. "I want to cum too-ooh! Just ... steady and hard ... and maybe well both ... ohhh! Slow down a little, huh?"
Sonny didn't stop sucking her tit to answer, but he was thinking, Fuck you, lady! My way! Buddy's been better at everything as long as I've known him. But I can show him up at this, and I mean to! This one's for me!
He slammed into her erratically, fighting the clamping contractions that made every nerve in his sensitive foreskin flame and jangle, jolting against her juice-squishing maw, mouth-mauling her swollen nipple, sucking ... fucking....
He seemed to be sucking clear through her-pulling the cream from his balls by the force of his tongue and lips on her tit. For the heavy, steaming sludge was gathering now in the base of his thing, pushing a good ache ahead of itself as it climbed like mercury through his pistoning tube....
"Aaaa-ahgh!" he croggled. "I ... uhn! I ... waaaah-WON-unh-unh-unh!"
But his bat was but a frazzle now, floating feebly in her simmering soup, and she could only bang her buffer up against his flaccid, flapping form and feel her anguish blend with envy as Evangeline squalled, "Balls! Awww, you is turnin' mah insalides whaht! Spray, baby, spray! Ah's headin' fuh dat big watuhmelon in de skaaaaah! Waa-hoo! Dats what Ah calls integrated!"
Breasts heaving, the lithe Negress sprawled on the floor, thighs wide, her splayed snatch drooling profusely.
Yes! That's what I need! Mom told herself. Rolling toward Buddy, she grabbed his goo-slick, flagging staff, pointed her lower parts meaningfully at Sonny and called out, "It's daisy chain time in the flower shop, folks!"
Evangeline was quick to agree. "Well, fertilize mah fuchsia if it ain't!" she crowed, swiveling her slot toward Buddy's face while she grappled Sonny's hips into gobbling-range. "Ree-freshments is sulived, gennulmuns! Hot goop fuh lunch!"
Mom's mouth accomplished Buddy's resurrection quickly, and Sonny's nose for nookie led him straight to her clit, while Evangeline's lush lips pumped up his skinny pecker. Buddy was the chain's weak link. Mom had to prod him into position, and once his head lay high in the angle of the black girl's gleaming thighs, he complained of a stiff neck. "I can't ... do it in this position!" he whined.
They tried several readjustments, but always one of them was uncomfortable. When Buddy was rutting cheek-deep in Evangeline's crimson tissues, Mom couldn't gel the angle on his bangle without breaking Sonny's neck, or Evangeline couldn't get any closer to his cock than his colon.
Finally the frustration was too much. "Fuck flowers!" Mom sputtered. "Just hunker down and eat me, Peterer, Sonify. Your prick's limp again anyway. You two play your own game," she told the others.
Sonny, glad for the chance to make amends, dived deep, then lapped his way up to begin the nubbin-strumming tongue trick she'd taught him. "Aahhhh, yesssss!" Mom moaned. "Now we're getting places!"
While the thrilling tension coiled slowly but steadily up her shuddering spine to where it would burst in her brain and blast her over the brink, she looked to her left and found Buddy and her clerk in a slurping sixty-nine. The boy was on the bottom, the black bottom on the boy, and Mom had a close-range view as his sturdy cock slid in and out of the woman's clinging, dark lipgrip.
Then Evangeline glanced up, sat up. Reaching down between her thighs, she lifted Buddy's ID tag off his chest. "Keep lappin, lovuh chile," she said. "Ah's jus' takin' a lfl readin' break." She glanced up again-toward the alcove's entrance-then back at the tag. "Wah, you ain' no Buddy atall! You is Hoover Hamling Frampton Junior, of ... Ee-leven Fo'teen Kingsley Circle! Yeah, you got de suction, all raht, Hoover!"
Now she grinned at Mom. "Who's yo' li'l friend, Miss Glen?"
Puzzled, Mom turned her head to follow another flash of Evangeline's eyes toward the alcove entry. There, filling it with his six-foot-five bulk, was Buck, her delivery driver. Ah ha!
"Why, this is Peter Phipps Clamath the Third," Mom said. "I don't know where he lives, but I'm sure he's listed in the Social Register." , Evangeline stood up, reaching out to rap Peter on the head as she rose. "Boys, meet Killer Miller," she said, her diction perfect. "You may have read about him. How he got kicked out of pro football for being too mean."
Sonny and Buddy, their slime-dripping faces chalk-white, were gaping up at the black giant in abject terror already, and Mom half expected one or both to pee all over the rug when Evangeline went on, "Killer was only mean to guys who didn't play by the rules, though. And the rules, boys, say you don't tell nobody not nothin'--and you don't come back here till you're invited!"
For some time, then, Mom simply lay still and fought to suppress the laughter that was threatening to burst her lungs. The boys were dressed and hastily departing before she dared to sit up. Then, turning, she could see for the first time the monstrous, meaty mountain in the front of Buck's pants a dark ridge she'd imagined every time she'd seen him, but which appeared to surpass in its proportions her wildest fantasies.
Only then did she realize she still hadn't cum, and this increased tenfold the longing with which she regarded the trucker's vast, fabric-straining whang.
Buck, she noted with hopeful delight, was having trouble keeping his eyes off her, too, and she made no attempt to conceal the salient points of interest. He did manage, though, to scowl at Evangeline, once the boys had fled, and say, "Next time you call this knight, maiden in distress, leave a door unlocked, huh?"
"Oh, damn! Didn't I...."
"You ... you called Buck?" Mom interrupted.
"Yes. I hope you don't mind. I was afraid they'd have us closed every afternoon after school, and pretty soon one of them would tell somebody...."
"Mind? Evangeline, you're beautiful! But ... but, Buck, how did you get in if...."
"Your brother let me in. I stood there a couple minutes, trying to decide what to do, and he came and unlocked it."
"Elm? But I thought-"
Buck shook his head. "No. The younger one."
"Birch? But why should he ... how ... OHHH!"
Two minutes later, having dressed in the elevator, she stood in the doorway of her bedroom, facing her son.
He lay casually across her bed, the monitor panel in full blaze before him. "Hi. I figured you'd know as soon as Buck told you how he got in." He smiled blandly. "I wasn't really sneaking, anyway, Mom. I just hadn't got around to mentioning that I'd discovered these. If I'd wanted to keep it a secret, I wouldn't have gone down and let Buck in."
Mom stood stunned, staring at the lighted screens. One showed the side entry Buck had come to, another the empty salesroom where Evangeline must have phoned him. There were all three possible views of the alcove, and it didn't even dent her numbness when she saw that Buck was undressing, eagerly assisted by Evangeline.
"B-Birch . , . how long...? "
"Today I started watching right after you went downstairs. There'd been so much action lately, I didn't want to miss anything. I discovered the system a couple weeks ago, and just stopped in on my way to the bathroom once in a while to fool with it. Then last Friday when I got home from school, I saw you with that kid in the tennis shoes...."
He wasn't even grinning! Mom had known he was cool every inch the little intellectual, but about this? "How can you sit there and talk about it like it's ... some chess problem?" she burst out.
"Heck, it's just sex! I've been reading about it for years in the zoology books, but I'd never seen any. It was pretty fascinating. And by the way: Do you happen to know if the higher apes have clitties or whatever you call it? I couldn't find any reference-"
"Birch...." She shook her head, moving toward him. "I ... I don't know. What else did you see?"
"Oh, I saw you Sunday with that one kid that came back today, and then with Elm too; and then Tuesday in Elm's room ... Just about any time you weren't in here, I kept a pretty close check, after that first time. Oh! Saturday after Mister Mason was here, when you went up on the roof, too. You can have that snake if you want it, Mom."
Oh, no! she thought. Even that!
Her mind was no longer numb. It was a chaotic whirl of emotions, perceptions and questions. Her eyes flew back and forth between Birch and the alcove monitors between the gargantuan black cock now poised above Evangeline's humping cunt ... and the swollen mound that pushed her son's fly forward as he watched. The agony of guilt was giving way before the anguish of need, and she asked, "Birch ... have you ... only watched?"
He looked back at her, eyebrows raised. "Huh? Oh, you're worrying about Iris again! Well, don't. As far as I know, she's as innocent as you told Elm she is. I checked her body out; sure. But I could have saved myself the trouble, the way it turned out. Yesterday she barged into the bathroom while I was in there. Stood there stark naked while I sat on the pot, and explained that she was going to take a bath, but since I was in there, she'd use your bathroom. Yeah. She's innocent."
"B-but ... Birch ... didn't you want to ... haven't you even ... jacked off?"
"Masturbated? Oh, yeah; a few times. But that was before I found the TV setup, if that's what you mean." He glanced down at the bulge in his pants. "Sure, I get hard watching stuff like this...." He gestured toward the interlocked, lunging black bodies shown from three angles on the monitor panel. " ... but it would be distracting to masturbate then. I might miss something!"
Mom took a deep breath. "Birch ... Do you remember when you tried to talk me into buying you a snake? A real snake? You said books weren't good enough. You said you wanted to feel one-experience one."
Birch frowned his intellectual frown. Then he smiled his little-boy smile. "I get your point, Mom, and I guess you're right. But ... well, aren't you a little tired out right now?"
Mom began unbuttoning her dress. "No, Birch. Besides, I feel like I should make it up to you for never getting that snake."
Then he fucked her.
He undressed, and let her make oral and manual love to his small but substantial, rigid and responsive, soft-hooded, glowing-headed, deliriously delicious penis while he manually and orally explored every detail of her ardently throbbing anatomy. She had her first orgasm the moment she touched him, and five more before he got between her thighs for the final phase of his first sexual field trip. They weren't great orgasms, but they were good ones. And she was glad to get them out of her system, too, because it enabled her to hold off and feel-really feel, in meticulous, marvelous detail and clarity-the meeting of his cock and her cunt. She went for some time without an orgasm at that stage of the proceedings, able to concentrate, to focus every bit of her sensory system of the wondrous interplay of phallus and vagina, rather than reeling dazed through the devastation of a whole-body, identity-blurring passion spasm.
When the moment of contact was near, Mom reached out and .activated another monitor screen, selecting a camera she'd never understood her late uncle's purpose in installing: It was mounted at bed-level across the room, so that it produced on the monitor panel an endless chain of diminishing images of the monitor panel. But it was not this phenomenon that interested Mom, of course; it was the perfect angle the camera provided for seeing her son's genitals merge with her own.
The head of his organ touched, and her avid tissues flared to welcome it. Mom saw this. She felt it. She smelled it. She heard as well as felt her own sharp intake of breath. She heard Birch exhale a long-held gust, and felt it as warm breeze in the cold-sweating valley of her breasts. She tasted the lingering salty savor of his organ, which had been in her mouth only moments before. She even drew his hand to her lips and tasted from his fingers the kelpy tang of her own orgasmic secretions.
The head pressed, slipped slightly, fitted itself to the inlet of the constricted canal. The pressure, the slipping, the fitting all caused tiny perturbations of Mom's inner flesh-that .which was touched, and that surrounding it, including her nerve-packed clitoris. She felt the pressure, the slipping, the firm fit, and the tingling echoes of it all that sparked and spat along the nerves. She felt his heartbeat and her own in the blood-pulse where their engorged and sensitized organs met. She heard Birch draw a breath, and watched him hold it; watched the tension tighten his face; watched a muscle in his buttock twitch once, and felt this echoed to her through his flesh.
"Now ... Push."
Pressure ... slow, sporadic yielding ... the head enclosed ... wave-like embracing pressure all about it ... sense of displacement, extension, heat ... the half-retracted foreskin grasped ... crumpling as the shaft's top slid within it ... head forging ... pausing ... flowing, smoothing compromise of foreskin and surrounding clasp ... surge and snug counter-crush ... half the length seen, half felt.
She shuddered briefly-felt it in her breasts, which Birch's hands were shaping; through her rib cage, diaphragm and abdomen, bearing his weight; in the parted upslope of her thighs, their fullness a double fulcrum for his narrow hips; felt it re-echoed, magnified, brought full-circle in the moist, firm lock of channel and staff. (Full circle. My son becoming a man; returning in flesh and symbol to the source of himself.)
"M-more."
It was harder to concentrate now. Ghosts of Oak, and of Spike, and of her stern, stiff, upright father moved in her mind, blurring things, making her need for the now and the next grow urgent. The pressure was in motion and growing, the yield-and-knead expansion spreading, accelerating. The thickening girth of the stalk made its contour felt, coursed forward slow as tideflow ... unceasing, irresistible as tide-flow ... head ... ridge ... faint foreskin thickening ... then smooth solidity to where her ringing tissue crept and wept and waited, hardly a light leak from his pale-haired pelvis now ... his tight-tucked ballbag still unfelt, yet merged in image with her buttocks' undercurve....
"Birch ... Fuck me."
He struck like a storm. Ripped back. Slammed in. Rocked and wallowed, full weight on her clit. Dragged out. Slashed in. Again. Again. Again.
The brightest, hottest, sharpest, shrillest, most pungent, awefull anguish-ecstasy Mom's body had ever absorbed surged up to fill her skull and drown her brain. It wasn't an orgasm. Death isn't sleep. The orgasms followed.
Birch experienced them.
Her whole body squeezed him-squeezed both of them-contained him and made him move, jerk, jolt, jam and jitter ... she was vibrating all around and through him, clenching and whiplashing down there ... pulled something out of every cell in his body and stirred it all up in his balls till he had to belly blast it out, screaming and scorching through tube and knob, longerfarther than his mind could hang onto....
So mat was sex. It was like beating Bobby Fischer and Albert Einstein and five thousand computers at chess all at once, with gorillas and elephants and cobras and whales and eagles and Bengal tigers and kangaroos and giant pandas for pieces. Only maybe a little better.
He could understand, now, why Mom spent so much time at it.
He felt like the biggest, strongest, bravest man in the world-bigger than Buck, even. He also felt like a stupid little goo-goo baby.
All in all, it was pretty neat.
"Birch," she called.
"Yeah?"
"On second thought, bring two towels."
"Okay."
Wheee-oooo! That kid sure inherited sexual talent! With his pedigree and a full-grown prick, hell be ... She sat up. Frowned. x
"Birch...."
"Yeah; I'm bringing 'em. Just had to pee. Here."
"Uh ... Thanks. Birch ... Did you ... When I was with Elm in his room, did you have the sound turned on."
"Sure."
"Then...."
"Oh! You mean about you being my mother and that Oak's my father? Yeah. I never suspected that. Why? Did I just call you Sis?"
"No. But ... in fact, I guess you haven't for the last couple days! But ... is that all it means to you? I mean ... doesn't it ... disturb you?"
He thought a moment, then raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "You know ... there's one thing that does bother me, though...."
"Yes, Birch?"
"Do you know if the great apes have orgasms?"
CHAPTER NINE
How do I feel? Mom kept asking herself as Saturday crept by.
Silly as the question seemed, she really couldn't answer it. She kept trying, but her mind kept drifting away into this strange euphoric fog....
She ought to be miserable. And she was, when she thought about it. Spike hadn't called. She'd waited all evening yesterday, and had hardly slept through the night, still clinging to the ridiculous hope that the phone might ring, even at three and four a.m. She'd waited all morning and ... what? She looked up at the clock. Half the afternoon. And he still hadn't called, and it was pretty obvious he wasn't going to. After his long wait for her, and then the lukewarm lovemaking, he had turned elsewhere, or decided to, at least. That should be obvious by now. She'd even foreseen it. Why, then, couldn't she make herself believe and accept it? Why did she keep on hoping ... waiting ... even forgetting...?
She ought to be nervous and itchy as a cat in heat, too, what with the swarming crowd at the carnival across the street. And when she stood at the window and watched, as she'd done several times through the day, she did get those feelings, watching the throng of strange men and boys-strange cocks-that milled about the midway ... But even this never really got a hold on her; her mind kept drifting....
Looking over there made her think of Oak, too, and realize that she ought to be worried about him. He could have gone off and ... well ... killed himself or something, after the utter demolition of his Crusade for Purity and his whole woman-hating, sex-hating, Mom-hating self-image. She knew only that the revival had never showed up in Kress, where it had been scheduled to run for several days. That had been in the paper; from Oak himself, there'd been no word at all. Her son's father had disappeared, and in a state of mind that could conceivably drive him to self-destruction or worse, yet she couldn't even keep her mind on that!
Mentally, she inventoried her other concerns. Elm and Birch were over at the carnival. So were Evangeline and Buck. Iris had freed the black girl by volunteering to help in the shop through the afternoon--and since there were no customers, had spent the whole time sitting behind the cash register with her Bible open before her. Once, about an hour ago, she'd gone back to the bathroom in the' workroom, leaving the Bible spread face-down on the counter, and Mom had gone over to see what it was in the Good Book that Iris found so absorbing. When she picked it up, a smaller book lay beneath it, entitled simply. The Sex Rites of the Cherokee Indians.
Mom didn't know whether to be shocked and worried or simply amused. She still hadn't decided, because that too kept slipping from her mind.
And Flaming Arrow ... well, she supposed he was puttering around somewhere in the building or on the grounds, as usual; she never could keep track of him, he made himself so inconspicuous. She thought momentarily about his very conspicuous cock, but then her mind drifted....
Above all, she should be feeling guilty. If not about how she'd treated Spike, and if not about her flagrantly sinful conduct with his son, with Sonny and Buddy, Elm, Oak and several strange men in the tent that night, Flaming Arrow ... If not about all this, then at least about having seduced her own son! All the rest had led to that. He'd been as good as corrupted before she even walked into the bedroom yesterday, and yet it had been all her own doing. The miracle of television had only hastened what the greater miracle of Mom's insatiable lust would eventually have brought about anyway.
And yet ... it was that that seemed to hover in the haze to which her mind kept drifting so calmly, peacefully ... contentedly! It was as if her seduction of Birch had been some magnificent accomplishment-some glorious turning point in her life!
Which was an outrageous idea ... Wasn't it?
Hmmmm. There were four boys coming toward the tower from across the street. Four cocks, she reminded herself after a second's delay. And, gee, they were all....
No; just three of them were dressed alike and looked alike. The fourth was Birch.
"Hi, Mo-uh, Mom. These are the Searle kids, from school. They ran out of money about the same time I got bored, so I thought I'd teach 'em chess."
He gestured down the line of tow-headed thirteen-year-olds. 'This is...."
"Merle," said the first. "Hi."
"Hi," Mom said, smiling.
"And...."
"Burl. Hi."
"Hi."
"And-"
"Earl. Peace." He grinned and waggled a V sign at her. "Hi, Earl. Peace." She returned the digital greeting. "Come on, you guys."
It was only as they trooped into the elevator that Mom's mind produced an image of three pert, pink, pointy identical pins of prickflesh, strung out like ducklings behind Birch's older, experienced organ. The mental picture persisted, though, and after an itchy five minutes, she turned toward Iris.
"I've ... got a tummy ache, honey. Think I'll go up and lie down for a while. If anyone comes in and you need me, just use the phone; I won't be sleeping. Okay?"
Iris raised her eyes a bit reluctantly from the book behind her Bible, but then smiled and nodded. "Sure, Mom. Hope you get to feeling better."
"Oh, I'm sure I will in a little while, dear. 'Bye."
Well, maybe there's safety in numbers, like they say, Spike mused.
He'd been watching Melissa throw baseballs at dummies, and fighting to get his eyes and mind off the things her awkward motions did to her tits and ass. He was half hard, and if the blood ever drained from his face, he'd be at full bulge-another big attraction on the midway. See the monstrous baby-fucker! Just two bits!
Elm, Birch and Michael had been with them earlier, and it had been a little easier, then, to keep his lecherous longings in check. But the boys had wandered off, and now it was just himself and his full-bodied daughter in that damn clinging T-shirt with no bra, and the too-tight denim cutoffs that out-lined every curve and crevice....
And the only thing he could think of to relieve the situation was to go across the street and invite Iris to join them. Christ! He hadn't even dared call Mom since Thursday night, for fear the girl had told her, yet the only thing he could think about-other than what Melissa would be like with those knockers naked and up against him, that lively little ass ramming her snatch up around his ... Damn! Quit it, Spike! The only other thing he could think of was Iris.
But he did think maybe if both of the girls were with him ... gossiping and giggling, ignoring him the way girls did an adult when they got together-he could do a better job of ignoring them, or at least quit thinking in terms of himself and either one as a tangled twosome, skin-to-skin and squirming, straining....
Yeah. You better do something, Spike, or there goes another pair of pants! And even better, really, if Mom hasn't found out, she might come along ... oh, shit! That crowd thing. No safety in numbers for her, anyway.
Well, at least I'll get the suspense over with. If she's kept the secret this long, maybe Iris won't tell, and then ... Then what? He still didn't know, and didn't want to think about it any more.
"Melissa, what do you say we go over and see if Elm's little sister might like to come back here with us? Ought to be more fun than just goin' around with your old dad, huh?"
Buffalo shit! How brave shoot stickum when little paleass punks keep get in way of squaw! No can see hole, no can see rump, no can see tepee-things, even! Little windows show three ways, still no can see!
At first, while Mom had undressed herself and then the four boys, Flaming Arrow had been deeply impressed by the advantages the little windows offered over a peep-hole or distant-concealment view. He'd sat cross-legged on her bed, his smock fucked up, his piece pipe smoking in his double-handed grip. But now the little savages were all her take a cavalry charge, and his delight had diminished considerably. Only in the brief periods of position-shifting could he so much as glimpse Mom's really interesting parts in any of the screens.
And the prospect of another such shifting session looked remote, now, since she had Birch's pipe-thing in her squaw-hole for the second, and he'd pow wowed once in her mouth while she was initiating the other little braves. They were now whomping up what it took for a second-turn and covering her almost totally in the process. One was sucking and playing with her tepee-things, another nuzzling and tonguing her sittumhole and the surrounding hills, and the third-waving V-fingered arms like Sitting Bull after Custer's defeat had his little big horn in her mouth.
The old chief began to wish he wasn't such a stickler for tradition. The way that little vixen, Iris, had gone after his pipe-thing yesterday ... But the tribal law said she had to be initiated by a member of her family before any other brave put the pipe to her. You could overlook it with a grown-up squaw like Mom, that you knew had been around plenty, but....
Iris had kept telling him she had been piped before, but she admitted it wasn't a blood brother, so ... "No! Stop lick like that!" he'd said. "Me put back, we go library, like you say first!" And now she was down there by the wampum box, all alone....
He looked back at that little window, and scowled. "Buffalo shit! Too late anyhow!"
"Gee, I'd like to, but Mom's not feeling well, and Evangeline's not here, so-" She stopped, seeing the worried look on his face, and guessing its cause.
"Don't worry," she said. "She just has a stomach ache. I've kept our secret."
The worried look changed-to a different kind of worried look. Gee, maybe I shouldn't have said that in front of his daughter.
"Couldn't you close up?" Melissa asked. 'There aren't any customers."
"Well, I guess so. I've never been to a carnival. But...."
Then she noticed the big lump in the front of Spike's trousers, and the words just burst out before she could think: "Oh, Spike, what I'd really like to do is fuck some more!"
Spike stood like a wooden Indian with a broken jaw.
Melissa had one hand pressed to her mouth, and from behind it came a loud, strangling, buzzing sound that finally broke loose as a shrill giggle. When that stopped, she stepped forward and stood beside Iris, facing her father. "So would I, Daddy," she said with quiet determination.
Then she reached out and placed one finger atop the huge, cigar-shaped protuberance in his pants. "And so would you. So...."
For a while, after that, a line from some high school civics class kept running through Spike's befuddled, overheated mind: "The consent of the governed." Yeah. That's me.
When Melissa had put the question, he must have responded with one of those automatic nods he seemed to be getting the habit of using when sexy little girls asked him embarrassing questions. And the next thing he knew, his daughter had unzipped him, untangled his axe-handle dong from his shorts, and was leading him by it as she said to Iris, "Where can we...? "
Iris hadn't seemed to know or even care very much. They'd ended up down behind the counter, between the elevator and the doorway to the workroom. He'd realized while they undressed him that Mom might come down in that elevator at any moment, but he couldn't seem to stop the girls-withdraw his consent-even so. It hadn't occurred to him till quite a bit later-when Melissa bent over to take her panties off, and he found her tight, round, rosy little ass-hole staring at him-that there was also the damn TV setup.
by that time, it was too late--. Iris was already oil top of him, riding his old pogo stick, her luscious emit shimmering up and down with ball-cramping friction, her tight little tits bouncing ever so slightly....
And beyond her, positioned where he could watch them both at once, Melissa had finished undressing and now turned to face him, flaunting her jutting, full-bellied boobs with their puffy-ringed, bud-centered pinkbrown nipples, her thrust-forward mound with its pale veil of curls that ran back along the parting, moistening crease of her fat, flaring cunt lips....
"I'm next, Daddy," she said in a low, sultry voice to match the slow, swaying walk with which she came close. "And since I can hardly wait to get that Moby Cock of yours in my slot, I think I'll just while away the time with your tongue. Okay?
Still speechless, Spike just lay there, feeling Iris began to wind up the spring in his balls, watching Melissa's lush thigh swing across his face, her oozing, crimson-velvet tissues part and palpitate an inch from his nose....
Then he nodded, sort of.
Flaming Arrow wished he was a totem pole. He needed several heads to keep track of the action the little windows offered now.
There were two heap good views of the pow wow downstairs, so that by swiveling his head back and forth he could watch all four bobbing tepee-things and both squishing squaw-holes, with a ball-view and a belly-view of the tree-sized pipe they were taking turns on.
Three windows-Oops! Four, now, if you counted the view of Birch's butt sticking into the hallway-showed the crazy ring-around-the-rosebud dance the little braves were' doing with Mom. Each one would get on his knees and slam his pipe into her sittum-hole several times, then move around to her face to get sucked, and then go back to the beginning, with stops to play with her hanging tepee-things in between, till the circle moved again.
The battering from in back and the reaching for them in front had moved Mom jerkily across the room. Now her head was out in the hall, and one of the little windows showing the room was useless. Still heap much to see, though, with the boys shifting around so often, and one dropping out to pant now and then. The old chief had made soup signals twice already, and even if the strange dance ended in the elevator, there was enough happening downstairs to keep the kettle boiling.
He was getting a sore neck, though. The old bones weren't used to this kind of exercise. And since it looked like Mom and the four little braves were going to disappear into the open elevator car, he decided to go down the stairs and out to the west greenhouse. From there, he should be able to watch the big warrior make his last stand or two against the little squaws.
On the way down, he had an even better idea. He stopped on two, went to the master panel for the elevator, and pushed a button.
Mom heard a sighing sound, got a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach, heard a hollow banging. None of it surprised her much. One of the triplets, gasping and grunting, had just cum in her mouth, his fat, ballpoint pecker splatting gobs of white ink into her throat. Why shouldn't he sigh? The sinking sensation was a new experience, but only one of several she'd encountered in the last hour. As for the loud banging ... well, it was probably her imagination again. For the first few minutes in Birch's room, she'd been worried about Iris, and kept thinking she heard the telephone ringing in her room; but the boys had all assured her they heard no such thing.
Birch was banging brutally, beautifully into her ass-hole now, but that couldn't possibly produce a sound like-
"Hey!" one of the triplets said. "Where'd Earl go? And ... how'd the doors get closed?! Burl, did you push a button?"
"Hell no, Merle! It does feel like we're going down, though."
The boys' hands stopped moving on her tits and in her cunt, and Birch now held still as his quaking cock, wholly embedded in her constricting colon, began spurting cum. When the other boys' words began to penetrate Mom's ecstasy, she lifted her head from against the car's rear wall, craned her neck to look back. Then the sinking feeling stopped, and....
Spike lay on his side, hands gripping Melissa's meaty hips, prick plunging in and out of her spasming, slush-squidging box from the rear. The friction was terrific, and amazingly, she could absorb his total length in this position. In a way, he wished he could watch it happening, but he wasn't about to stop eating Iris. His head lay on her thigh, held tender-tightly in place by the other one; he was nose-diving in fluttering quim tissue while he tongued her little clit, and all he could see were her blinking butt-button, a creamy V of ass valley and her undulating lower back.
Both girls faced toward his feet, but Melissa had roll-twisted back enough so they could exchange gasps, gurgles and giggles the way girls doonly they were by no means ignoring Spike while .they did so.
He was close to another cum, and his hips and pelvis were slamming Melissa's ass harder and faster, his tongue-tempo increasing against Iris' fun-bud ... He wasn't particularly surprised, therefore, when Melissa rolled forward a little, and both girls gasped at once.
Iris blinked, but it was all still there. Two naked boys, exactly alike, stood in the elevator with their little spikes sticking straight out, and between them was this ... Well, it had four feet, the soles pointed at her, and four legs that were just thighs the skinny pair in front and inside, then die fatter ones. It had a skinny butt with a big, rounded butt glued on beyond it, a skinny back that rose to a head covered with sandy-brown hair ... and another head sticking out beyond the rib cage, with long, wild, dark-red hair through which peered a face that could only be....
"Wow! Two more! This is a great place!"
"Yeah! That guy needs help, too, Merle!"
"Sure looks like it, Burl. C'mon!"
by the time Mom shook the hair out of her eyes, the doors had closed, and she felt a rising sensation in her stomach. All she knew for sure was that she and Birch were alone, and he'd stopped dimming. The rest was confused, unbelievable, and she didn't want to think about it. Whatever she'd heard, she couldn't have seen what-
The doors sighed open. "Peace. Why'd you-Hey, where'd Merle and Burl go?"
Birch, dazed by his fourth orgasm of the session, didn't even look around, so Mom began to crawl around, pulling him like a trailer.
Earl, meanwhile, had stepped in and pushed the down ' button. "If those guys think they're leaving without me ... Huh! No way! Not with all our clothes still upstairs!"
Spike was still blasting jazz into Melissa's turbulent channel when Iris rolled aside, sprawling out flat and letting his head slip from her thigh. "Hi," she said pertly. "Who're you two?"
"I'm Merle."
"And I'm Burl."
"I'm Iris, and this is Spike, and that's his daughter, Melissa."
"Hi," said Melissa, rolling-twisting back to smile at them. "Who-oooh, Daddy! Wh-who was that that went back up in the elevator?"
The boys turned and spoke simultaneously: "They did?"
Spike was beginning to believe it. He hadn't when he first heard the voices, and even when he saw the two naked boys, he'd thought, it was all some fantastic mirage produced by too many orgasms too fast, after a three-year layoff. But' he damn well knew Melissa and Iris were real, and if they could see and hear these guys....
He'd stopped cumming, and he supposed he ought to pull his pecker out, sit up and say hello. It would be about as sensible as anything you could do in a situation like this. But ... what was this elevator bit? If they'd come from upstairs....
He didn't pull out and sit up. He backed it up a couple inches, but then just lay there, still hard, stepping in his daughter's simmering tunnel, staring up at one boy with two bodies-uniformly naked and presenting prongs-who stood staring alternately at him, at Melissa, at Iris, at the elevator doors beyond his feet....
Shhhhoooshh....
Mom saw Spike with his cock in Melissa, his face not a foot from Iris' widespread, slime-streaming cunt.
Spike saw Mom with Birch draped over her back, his prick quite obviously buried in her ass-hole, her bush dripping, her mouth smeared, her rubbed-ruddy breasts swaying....
Neither of them saw much else that really mattered, for the moment. That was enough to think about.
"Peace, party-lovers! I'm Earl. Who wants to fuck?"
"Oh, I do!" Iris piped up. "But ... But gee, there are thee of you!"
Earl ambled toward her. "Oh, did they already ask you? Well, lemme see." He turned slowly, counting. "Five cocks, three cunts. Hmmm. Better ask the genius. Hey, Birch...."
Birch's eyes had cleared, and he was wearing his thoughtful frown. "I'm working on it," he told Earl. "It sort of depends on what the females feel like, though. Mom, what do you think? Hey, Mom...? "
CHAPTER TEN
While the kids balled, Mom and Spike lay face to face and talked. She told him everything. She paused a dozen times, expecting him to get up, gather his clothes and walk out of her life. He didn't, though.
Once she said, "Spike, you're not even listening!"
"Yes, I am. You just said Michael never even got his tennis shoes off."
"But ... But how can I tell you're listening when you just lie there staring at my tits?"
"Well, they're damn nice tits! Anyway, you're playing with my cock."
"I ... I am?" She hadn't realized. "Oh! Sorry. But ... it's a damn nice cock."
"So keep on. But keep talking, too. I'm listening." When she got to the part about Flaming Arrow, Spike actually looked a little bored, and began playing delicate finger games with her nipples. It made her itchy, so she hurried through the rest of it, finishing: "And then we came down again in the elevator, and ... and there you were."
"Yeah," he said, frowning for the first time. "So I guess now it's my turn to confess, huh?"
"No, Spike. Not unless you want to. I'm ... The way I've acted, I'm not entitled to any explanation or-"
"Shhhhh! You're entitled. Anyway, I ... I love you, Mom."
That caused a slight delay while she told him she loved him too, and burst into tears, and he ... well, soothed her, so to speak. They both came, but it was a gentle, quiet kind of orgasm. It was, at least, by contrast with what the kids were going through at the time.
Then Spike told her his part of the story. It wasn't much, he realized, compared to what she'd been doing, but it was the best-the worst?-he could offer for the time being. "And Mom, I ... I don't know if I can change," he concluded. "I don't know if I want to change, even. If some other little girl came along who was as sexy as Iris and Melissa...."
Suddenly she grabbed him by the head and kissed it almost violently. "Ohhh, Spike, I'm so glad to hear you say that!" she cried, looking up at his face. "Because I don't think I'm going to change much either. In fact ... just now I've been watching little Earl, over there with his brothers and Iris. My son, by the way, seems to be monopolizing your daughter. Anyway, Earl keeps getting butted out of the action by Burl and Merle, and I keep wanting to ... Well ... I am the hostess at this affair, you know."
"I know," Spike said, wrinkling his nose at her. "So go see to your guest's ... uh, comfort. I'll just drag myself over and see if Birch needs any help."
Mom's mission of hospitality was detoured, however. As she crossed the salesroom toward Iris and the triplets, she noticed that the closed sign wasn't up. Oh, God! she thought, hurrying toward the entry. I'll bet they didn't even lock the door! Someone could have walked right in!
She was ten feet from her goal when someone did. It was Oak.
Mom froze. Oak froze. His piercing eyes swept her nudity, took note of the naked, swarming scene of carnality beyond her.
"Damnation!" he roared. "We're late! I came to start an orgy, and you've already got one going!"
He strode forward, then, and before he swept her up in his arms, Mom saw twelve of the most beautiful, most seductive young teenage girls imaginable troop through the doorway behind him. When he'd kissed her, bumped his bulging frontal mound against her own for a minute, squeezed her ass-cheeks and stepped back to tweak her nipples, Oak announced loudly, "Ladies and surplus gentlemen, meet and greet the student bodies of the newly established Grand Junction Academy for Tomorrow's Women-yours truly Oakley Glen, Headmaster!"
The others had all looked up, But Earl was the first to grasp the event's potential. He hurried forward, his prick and two fingers stiff. "Peace, students! I'm Earl. Who wants to fuck?"
"Young man," said Oak, pulling a tiny brunette tidbit to his side, "meet Cherry. Actually, her name's Toni, but she just enrolled this afternoon, so I haven't had time to-" He stopped, seeing that Earl wasn't listening. The lad was busy trying to remove Toni's well-filled blouse without taking his right hand out of her panties.
"Strip and disperse, sweeties,"-Oak instructed his other lovely charges. "It's time to put your ... lessons to work!"
While twenty-two more taut little tits, eleven more lush little asses and pouty, pert little pussies were unwrapped and offered around, Mom broke away from Oak. "Undress," she said. "I'll be right back, but I've got to lock this door!"
It was dark outside, she discovered. Thanks to the abundant plants in the windows, and the slight rise of ground the tower stood on, no one could see in unless they came quite close and tried, so she didn't worry much about that. And Elm and Evangeline had keys to the side door, so....
She hung the closed sign, and was about to turn the lock when a chilling war whoop distracted her. Spuming, she saw Chief Flaming Arrow fling his smock aside as he leapt onto the counter, his unbelievably lengthy weapon angling up and out from his lean, withered torso. He stood like a statue, skeletal arms folded across his sunken chest, hawk-beaked head held high. "Me want pow wow paleass squaws," he declared. "Me got heap big-"
Four of Oak's nubile protegees pulled him down before he could finish stating the obvious, and as they fought for first crack at him, Mom surveyed the action elsewhere.
She couldn't see Spike, but deduced that he was the focus of a second swarm of Oak's girls near the east greenhouse. Each of the triplets had his own personal plaything now, and Iris lay alone amid this triangle of madly banging pairs, intently eyeing Oak as he undressed. Birch had switched around behind Melissa, so both could watch the fun while completing their own.
Mom went quickly to Oak, who was peeling off a pair of bright orange skivvies, his big whang twanging against his belly as he bent down. "The little blonde over there is your kid sister Iris," she said. "I think you'll find she's grown surprisingly since you saw her last."
"That's my father over there," Birch was telling Melissa as he pumped toward another cum, her cunt milking maddeningly around his throbbing organ. "I think he recognized me, but he may just have been grinning at your tits. I was only seven the last time he saw me."
"F-f-fuck your father!" Melissa hissed. "I mean, fuck me, and forget your father! I'm right on the edge, Birch, and I want a load of ... Aaaahhh! Ohh-ooooo! Yessss! Ohhhh, that's so gooood! So-"
Good God! I still haven't locked the-Oh, NOW In the entry stood a livid, quivering Mrs. Clamath, holding her terrified son by one ear, and his blubbering buddy by the other. Behind them were uniformed policemen.
Mom felt faint. She wanted to faint. Yet she could only stand staring and swaying dizzily while the shrewish woman screamed, "I knew it! This abomination is a subversive den of iniquity intent on corrupting our children! And that woman....
Peering out between a pair of vibrating thighs, Spike watched and recognized the woman. He saw lightning flash through the night sky behind her as the accusing finger was pointed at Mom and the outraged intruder screamed, "Arrest her, officers! Arrest all of them!! "
One of those cops looked familiar, Spike mused. It was a face he'd seen ... where? When?
The lawmen were whispering to each other. Then one turned to lock the door, and the familiar one bent over and shucked his pants off, straightened up and grabbed Mrs. Clamath by her big tits.
Oh, yeah! Wednesday night in the tent! The one Mom was sucking just before the raid!
Then a sparse-haired slot squirmed down to block Spike's line of sight-but not before he saw both cops begin to frisk the screaming, struggling mother of Peter Phipps Clamath, III, while Sonny and Buddy raced for the nearest nookie.
"Jee-zus, what a storm!" Elm huffed, unlocking the side door and letting Evangeline, Buck and Michael file in ahead of him. "If that wind gets much stronger, the whole damn carnival's- likely to-"
Evangeline's shrill outburst cut him off. "Well, Russell mah Bill, Ah b'lieve we's havin' a bar-bee-kew! Ain' nevah seed so many chicks roast in' on de spit!"
"Gosh!" Michael burst out. "That's ... that's my father under there!"
Buck was silently, swiftly undressing. " 'Scuse me," Elm said, slipping past him and unzipping at the same time. "Uh, would you mind if I borrowed Evangeline?"
"Oooooh, Buck! Fuck, Buck! Ohh, the way you drive that truck through my muck, Buck! Now ... all the way!" He hesitated. "You sho'? "
"Show? Oh, sure! Yes. Sure, I'm sure! I've got to learn to take the big along with the little, Buck, and...." She wriggled on the massive black piston. " ... they don't ccome any bigger."
The ox-like ebony shoulders shrugged; "Okay, pretty ofay. You's de boss lady."
"Ooof! Wheew! You don't need any more schooling, girl. You know everything!"
"It's Melissa," she said, grinding down on it again to keep him hard. "But ... isn't it sort of a finishing school, too?"
"Whooo! No, it's strictly-Uhnn!-a starting school. I started Mom, you know, so I figure I'm qualified."
"Ohhhhh, you're qualified!" Her heels hammered the backs of his thighs as he humped up and nibbled on her nipple. "B-but ... where ... Uhn! Oh, more!"
"The school? Here, maybe. Iris said Mom's got lots of , vacant space." v He chuckled, his prod jiggling her in sides, as he glanced across the room. Mom's vagina was anything but vacant at that moment. "But there's a building south of here--
I've-Aaaggh!-got my eye on, too. The First Unitarian Church of Kress. It's-Uh-ohhhnnn! You little demon, you're making me-Uhhn! Uhh-uh-uh-uh-uh-UUUUU-GGNN! Again!"
"Finally, Flaming Arrow! Ummm, goodie! Now, push a little ... Eeeeee! Hey, don't look so stone-faced! My blood brother just in-Ahh!-initiated me, so it's all okay by the Great Spirit. Oak's thick, but he's only got ... Oooohhh, wowie! You're halfway into the quiver! Now if I can figure out how...."
Damn! Won't that Clam-ass bitch ever quit screaming? Spike thought when somebody's thighs fell away from his ears. But then he really listened, looked ... and grinned.
"More! More!" the woman was howling around a mouthful of her son's slim stabber. She sat in a hunched huddle on one of the cops' cocks, while her hands tried to help Birch get plugged into her anus. But just when that was accomplished, Sonny wandered away in search of something tighter, and his mother's bellows intensified.
Spike turned back to watch the jittering titties and shimmying quim of the plumpish girl who was riding his prick through a storm of orgasmic turbulence. When he looked across the room again, the screaming had stopped: Mrs. Clamath's mouth was solidly integrated with the knob of Buck's blockbuster.
While she rested and recuperated, Mom listened to the howling wind outside. She'd heard Elm and Evangeline telling adjacent fuckers the storm had been literally tearing the midway apart when they left.
She rose and walked unsteadily to the window, and gasped. Most of the lights across the street were out. The abandoned Ferris wheel was canted sideways precariously; trailers lay overturned and broken; the false fronts of the amusements were a shambles. The single big tent, on which banners had advertised a girlie show and other attractions, was just a pool of collapsed canvas at which the wind slashed viciously. And slogging toward the tower was a crowd of bedraggled men and women who could only be carnival people.
Forgetting her nakedness and the ongoing orgy behind her, Mom rushed to unlock the door and flung it open.
"Tell you what," the stout, gray-haired man said, withdrawing his stout, maroon-headed rod and getting to his knees. "Roll over and ... let me get it in ... this way ... yeah! Now, then." His chin rested between her shoulder blades, and while he rocked on her buttocks, hips humping gently, his arm stretched past her cheek, finger pointing.
"See the brunette with the bear's snout in her snatch? That's Bunny, my wife. The bear's Brutus, by the way Brutus Mudd, World's Champion Wrestling Bruin. He takes on all female comers with his tongue. And if he really-likes a girl ... Well, anyway, Bunny's our snake charmer, and the guy that owns the snakes is her brother. He's ... Oh! Over there sucking the black chick's ass. And that's the fire-eater down in front of her, naturally. Then over there ... the blonde eating the kid with the tennis shoes is queen of the girlie show, and the other six are...."
Mom didn't follow the rest, because her plugged and palpitating back channel was receiving and transmitting some very distracting signals. But she'd heard enough. As soon as the carny boss finished force feeding her from the bottom up, she meant to go over and get acquainted with the snake man.
And after that, she might just try getting cozy with the biggest, hairiest hunk of he-male at this or any other orgy!
"Waaa-hoo, dat were a dinger! Nahw, wheah's mah nex'lley! Hey, you wif de unocc'pied peckuh! Ain' you dat eee-vangelist?"
"Well ... well, yes. That is, I-"
"Well, eee-vangelist, Ah is Eee-vangeline! Put it ... theah!"
Buck lay panting in the center of the room while an eager team of Oak's students were striving to revive his mammoth whang. Birch was lying nearby, his stiff little dick enfolded and fondled by the overblown boobs of an aging but agile midway showgirlie who was being rammed from the rear by a roustabout.
"Enjoying the bacchanal?" the black giant asked, his speech flawless. "It's quite a spectacle, isn't it?"
When Birch nodded, Buck seemed to note his puzzled look. "Oh, you're wondering about my diction," he guessed. "It's a habit I picked up from Evangeline. You watch: As soon as I'm hard again, III go back to talking nigger-style. But say! I hear you play chess. I was on the team at Rutgers. Maybe we could...."
"What tribe are you in charge of?" Mrs. Clamath asked, sliding and swiveling her cultured crevice up to meet the sweeping strokes of the Indian's ardent arrow.
"Me not tribe chief. Me party chief on survey team for lay out reservation. Me go AWOL, trade tribe's plans for. good job. Me boss heap many paleface."
The socialite apparently hadn't even heard. Her face paled, and her hands and heels clamped down on the red man's rawhide ass. "Oohhh, it's been so long! And it ... it is so long! Wheeeeee!! "'
"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!"
"Jake, hand me the jar. Or better yet, you smear it on. Ooooh! Nice. Thanks."
Jake stepped back, and Brutus raised his snuffing muzzle once more to Bunny's honeyed cunt, his ham-slice of a tongue slurping and burrowing. He rocked on his broad, hairy bearback, all four legs flailing gleefully, his turnip-shaped, carrot-colored cock extended fullv.
"Yep, he's ready," Jake said, helping Mom mount. He left one fingertip in her ass-hole to guide her. "Eee-asy, now. Just get the end of it in; hell do the rest. Have you-"
"Aaaa-ooooooohh! Have I ever!! God! Hot! And he-eee! Ohhh, it gets thick, too! Uhh! Unnh-uh! A-a-and he's-Aaaaaaaggh-ug! Already he's ... unhhhn! Ohhhh, I just can't bear it!! ! "
"Don' ass me, baby! Whin Ah lef dismawnin' it were a puffickly respec'ble flowah shop. Well, anaways, it were a flowah shop. Awww, yeah, man! Keep on! You's gonna Bunche mah Ralph in a minnit! Were de bes' job Ah had sence Ah got disbarred, too. OOOOHH!"
Evangeline's sweat-streaming hips whipped upward, her prehensile pussylips nibbling at her fuck fellow's balls as they emptied themselves in her meat-mauling depths.
"Don' know 'bout tamorra, tho. Ah heah dey's gon' staht a fuckin' school. An' whin Ah says fuckin' school, dat's whut Ah means! Ifn dey don' need no Hey! Did'n . you say you runs a whorehouse?"
"No," the old barker puffed. "A house of horrors."
"Aw, sheee-it! Thot maybe Ah had me a backup job!"
"By cracky, this looks like where I came in!" Spike quipped, gazing into the rosy convolutions of Iris' pretty pudendum.
"Well, cum in it again," she urged, slithering down to seize his tool. She fitted the head to her profusely lubricated opening and boasted, "I've learned a couple little tricks since you-ooooh! Uunh! Uhn!"
"Aaaa-waah!" Spike expostulated. "You sure have!" It felt like someone was running a red-hot ring bearing up and down his shaft.
As he began to fuck, Melissa staggered over and sagged to the floor with thighs splayed, her crimson-lined cunny an inch from his nose. "Ohhh, Daddy, that big, black Buck! Could you kiss it where it hurts?" she teased. "Make li'l Melly's muff all better?"
"Sure thing, baby," he wheezed. "B-but just a sec. Hey. Mike! Over here!"
When his son stood beside them, Spike said, "I guess you kids both know I've-Ugghh! Christ, Iris! That's no trick; that's a treatment! Aaaaah! Anyway, kids, I've changed my ideas a bit lately. So Melissa, why don't you suck your brother off while I lick your wound?"
Melissa giggled. Michael grinned. He kept grinning while he got down and slid his giggy into his sister's giggle, and the grin widened as he watched his dad attach himself to her gurgling gash.
"Lie here by Spike, and I'll ... Aaahhh! There! Oops! Keep that thing away from my face, please. I don't mind it nosing around down below, though. It is silky-feeling, like you said. But Oooooohh! Who's Oh, Elm! Can you ... Let me lean forward a little, and ... Aahhhhh!! "
Mom was crouched atop her son, his man-staff once more securely clutched in her cunt, while his brand-new, real live six-foot anaconda gift from the carny people-entwined itself about both of them, wedged its narrow snout beneath her bush and tickled her clitty with a flickering tongue. Elm knelt astride his nephew's thighs, his own pud snug in Mom's rump. She closed her eyes and felt the good surge of her flesh about theirs, and their rutting, ramming response.
When she opened her mouth to exclaim at the goodness, a gooey hunk of healed meat popped into the perfect circle of her lips, and as her hands came up to caress its thrusting, thick column, she opened her eyes and confirmed that it was Oak.
He held and hefted her tits as she sucked him, thumb-titillating the nipples while she tongued the heavy-ridged head, rippled his foreskin with glib lips, cuddled and juggled his balls with her sisterly hands. "More suction, Mom," he advised. "You'll never bring on the flood if that's all the pull you've got!"
Spike raised his head from his daughter's full-blooming flume. He spoke through a curtain of burbling juice: "Excuse me, Reverend, but I think I resent that slur on the abilities of the woman I'm going to marry!"
Oak's eyebrow climbed his ecclesiastic brow. He looked down inquiringly at Spike, then at Mom. "He is?"
She took one hand from her big brother's balls and slipped it into Spike's broad, work-hardened paw, which he held up while his face submerged itself again in Melissa's slippery sluice. With Oak's cock in her mouth, Mom couldn't very well answer, but she nodded eagerly.
"Well, then...."
Oak raised and spread his mighty arms. The gesture encompassed the whole fornicating congregation of joyously fornicating revelers, and he seemed to speak to the world at large as he intoned, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here...."