What are the innate, natural, and unchangeable differences between men and women?
People will answer that question in various ways-but most of them will assume that there is a real answer. Very few will perceive that a scientifically accurate answer is totally impossible. A few profound philosophers in the past, however, have pointed out the flaw in the reasoning. The first of these, probably, was Plato; another was a great English thinker of about one hundred years ago, John Stuart Mill. Mill pointed out that we can know nothing about innate sexual differences because we have never encountered and been able to study a society in which either men or women lived completely separately. From this obvious but rarely mentioned fact Mill deduced that we can't "know" what the pure "nature" of either sex might be. What we think of as female behavior, Mill stated, is the result of what he called the education of "willing slaves."
This reasoning has recently been followed up by Florence Howe, professor of humanities at SUNY College in Old Westbury, New York, and second vice president of the Modern Language Association. Professor Howe made some very cogent points in an article in Saturday Review, adapted from an address she gave to the Superintendents Work Conference, Teachers College, Columbia University, at the invitation of Columbia Women's Liberation.
"Children learn about sex roles very early in their lives, probably before they are eighteen months old, certainly long before they enter school," Professor Howe said. "They learn these roles through relatively simple patterns that most of us take for granted. We throw boy-babies up in the air and roughhouse with them. We coo over girl-babies and handle them delicately. We choose sex-related colors and toys for our children from their earliest days. We encourage the energy and physical activity of our sons, just as we expect girls to be quieter and more docile. We love both our sons and daughters with equal fervor, we protest, and yet we are disappointed when there is no male child to carry on the family name."
Obviously there is a double standard. Equality of the sexes has been talked about, but it has never actually existed and it does not exist now. And who is to blame for this? We all are, but the blame can be assigned largely to certain institutions.
Professor Howe says: "How much blame should be placed on public education? A substantial portion, although it is true that schools reflect the society they serve. Indeed, schools function to reinforce the sexual stereotypes that children have been taught by their parents, friends, and the mass culture we live in. It is also perfectly understandable that sexual stereotypes demeaning to women are also perpetuated by women--mothers in the first place, and teachers in the second-as well as by men-fathers, the few male teachers in elementary schools, high school teachers, and many male administrators and educators at the top of the school's hierarchy."
It is only when we consider such problems as this very seriously that we realize how big a battle the Women's Liberationists have on their hands. There is no evidence of any kind that men are naturally "superior" to women, but all the evidence indicates that society has placed them in a superior position, and the way that society is set up naturally operates to keep them there.
Cynthia Hall, the heroine of At His Command, is by no means a Women's Liberationism Indeed, in her short life she could have had very little opportunity to be. As the story opens, Cynthia is only sixteen, and is working as a babysitter for the rich banker, Josh Gorman. Josh's brother Paul seizes the opportunity to take advantage of Cynthia and seduce her, and the pattern is set for Cynthia's unhappy future life.
Cynthia is obviously unsophisticated and naive, and her reaction is to feel that in some strange way she "belongs" to Paul. She will do anything he tells her to do, and some of his commands are humiliating in the extreme. Thus she becomes a classic example of the female victim-a victim of one cruel man, but also a victim of the society the advocates of Women's Liberation are struggling so valiantly to change.
Whether or not Cynthia ultimately accepts her fate makes for an exciting, suspenseful story. Integral to that story is a closely woven, minutely detailed picture of contemporary America-a picture which lifts the book above the level of just another entertaining novel. It may be superfluous to point out that the author, Stanley Baker, is a man. We find it interesting to note, however, that he is a man in his sixties who has had exciting adventures of his own in almost every corner of the globe and who has arrived at his own very positive philosophy of life.
The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
"Suck it, damn you!" His hand slapped her swollen face for the third time. Dazed, unsure of what she was doing, she groped for his jutting prick and ringed the big head with her lips. The hand slid around to the back of her neck and he drove his horn into her mouth until she felt the bushy crotch hair tickle her nose. "There, bitch! Eat it all!"
* * *
The seduction of Cynthia Hall took place when she was sixteen. It was not exactly rape, because she consented to the first part of the act and helped carry it out For her age, she was well-developed, with good legs and tight, proud breasts which cried out to be eaten; a pretty girl, attractive enough to make men look back when they passed her on the street. She had managed to remain a virgin until this night when the strange man who said he was her employer's brother let himself into the beach house where she was babysitting. Apparently, he had not expected to find her there but he merely nodded before going to the liquor cabinet under the bar and helping himself generously "to Scotch.
"I don't remember you," he said then, leaning on the bar and rattling the ice in his glass. "You're not family, are you?"
After she had explained that she was watching the children and that his brother and sister-in-law had gone to a concert in town, he nodded again. This time his eyes lingered awhile before-he looked down at his drink.
"Are the kids asleep?"
"Yes. They're upstairs. I have a phone number you can call to contact Mr. Gorman if you like."
"No. Let it go. Josh and I haven't been such good friends lately. I'll wait and talk to you. You're pretty."
Afterward, when it was top late, she realized that she should have left immediately. But he seemed so polite and the way he was looking at her made her feel grown up and important. When he asked when the children's parents would be home, she told him between midnight and one.
"They told me not to let anyone into the house before they left," she added, "but I didn't really, did I? You have a key, so I guess it's okay."
He must be over six feet, she figured while she was talking; somewhere around thirty and good-looking in a careless sort of way. Now that she had rationalized the situation and lost her first feeling of guilt, she was becoming interested. After all, he would not have a key to the place if he were a thief or a burglar and as Mr. Gorman's brother, although he was younger and bigger, he must be a gentleman. Mr. Gorman was president of a bank and highly respected. Besides, he was very attractive and it was a drag, even at a dollar an hour, sitting there all by herself. There was nothing good on television and the records were all old. She had been trying to get interested in Doctor Zhivago when he came in. For a minute, it occurred to her to wonder how he got to the bungalow. The place stood by itself, away from any neighbor. His well-shined shoes did not look as though he had walked. There was no sand on them, so he must have a car, although she had not heard a motor.
"My name's Paul," her interesting visitor announced. "You can call me that if you like." He glanced at his wristwatch and Cynthia noticed the diamonds marking the hours. Maybe he was a banker like his brother. "It's only a little after nine." He smothered a yawn and went back behind the bar to the liquor cabinet and refilled his glass. Carrying the fresh drink in a well-manicured hand, he came across and sat down beside her on the couch. He did it so easily that she did not move to make more room. He drank, then looked up at her. "Want one?" The question was just as casual as the way he had sat down. He rattled the ice again and took another swallow.
"Oh, no." Her refusal was automatic. Her parents were very down on liquor. Her father would kill her if he merely suspected that she had drunk anything stronger than a Coke. She had sneaked a few glasses of beer at parties, mostly in bedrooms with the door locked, but she had never tried what some of her school friends called "hard stuff." All the same, quick curiosity made her answer sound a trifle unconvincing.
"Why not?" This time he undressed her with his eyes. "You look old enough to take a drink and I won't tell a soul, cross my heart."
When she hesitated because she did not know what to say, he set his drink down on the coffee table and got up to mix another.
"I made it weak," he said when he came back. "It's mostly ice and soda. Try it."
He handed her the glass and sat down a bit closer, so that his knee brushed against her thigh and sent an involuntary thrill through her as she obediently sipped the Scotch. It tasted like smoke and she did not particularly like it but she couldn't back out now. If Dad could see me, she thought mischievously, he'd slap me silly. Now she felt even more important, drinking with a handsome stranger who had just let his hand fall on her knee while he looked her over appraisingly and asked, "You're not afraid of me, are you?"
"No." If anything, she liked him even more for asking. He was a gentleman, after all, just like Mr. Gorman. His face was a little bit hazy and she wondered if it was the-liquor taking effect. She was not nervous anymore. Instead, she had an exciting feeling of being alive all over. Everything was beautiful.
She finished her drink quickly, then surprised herself by holding out her empty glass. Her voice in her ears sounded very grownup. "Make it a little stronger this time, please, Paul."
* * *
She awoke without realizing that she had been asleep. She knew she must have dropped off, though, by the way things had changed. The two glasses, empty, stood side by side on the coffee table. She was lying on her back with her head on a cushion and Paul, Mr. Gorman's brother, had his hand up her short dress and was tugging to get her pantyhose down.
She had barely understood what was going on when the tight nylon slipped over her buttocks and Paul put an ungentle finger in her cunt She'd had her pussy felt before but never this way. Instead of trying to push his finger all the way in, he worked it quickly over her clitoris with a stroking motion which sent waves of excitement chasing each other through her crotch and up her back until she wanted to cry out to him to work faster. In spite of herself, she raised her buttocks, pushing against that wonderful finger and feeling the nipples of her tits harden at the increasing pleasure. Then, before she knew it he pulled her away from the back of the couch so that he could get a knee there and was on top of her, giving her plenty of weight and arching up to get his hard prick where his finger had been. He held his horn in his hand, moving it up and down and sideways, parting the blonde hair and the lips of her young cunt until the flaring head entered her slick vagina. Then he took his hand away and thrust into her like a bull into a heifer and for a moment she thought she would faint with the pain.
It only lasted for a moment and when it stopped, she lay back, feeling his hardness inside her and loving it. She wanted to move up and down and feel his prick going in and out but she was afraid she might annoy him and spoil everything. Patiently, she waited until the throbbing in the head stopped and controlled herself enough to lie still as he began to fuck her slowly and deeply.
She often wondered what a man's prick felt like and listened to her girl friends as they described the sensation. Most of them had agreed that a lot depended on the size of the cock and how the guy handled it. A few decided that the size did not matter, emphasizing the buildup as the important thing. "If you get your tits well sucked and his tongue on your clitoris before he does it, the rest is pure pleasure," one of them had insisted. But words were useless to describe how Paul's horn felt ploughing in and out of her stretched pussy, coming right out a couple of times but plunging back again without losing a stroke.
She kept perfectly still until she could stand it no longer, then began to work with him, holding her breath, afraid that she would make a mistake and spoil the terrific thing that was happening to her. "I don't need any buildup," she kept thinking as she raised up to meet his deep stroking, then let her buttocks sink back into the couch as he withdrew for another thrust. "Buildup ... buildup" ... the words fell into rhythm as he humped his cock up her so hard that the couch creaked protestingly, then pulled back to plow her young tightness afresh. "All I need is his weight on me and his prick filling me."
Unlike the majority of her schoolmates, who overtly confessed to masturbating, Cynthia had never played with herself to the point of orgasm. Now and then, after a party or a dance, she had fingered her cunt tentatively, always stopping short of climax. This was not because she was cold or dispassionate. It was just that she was waiting for something better than her finger or the awkward advances of dates who tried to make her in some lovers' lane and were surprised and outraged when she slapped their faces. Now it was happening to her, as she had dreamed it would. And it was wonderful. She took a split second to be thankful that she had waited, instead of giving herself to some clumsy lout who probably would have jumped off as soon as he finished and suggested they go get a hamburger.
The thought of finishing excited her. What did it feel like to come, she wondered? Did the man quit then or did he keep on? All the time these thoughts were running through her mind, she kept moving in time to Paul's regular pumping. Tentatively, she put a hand on his buttock and tried to pull him further into her but he slapped her wrist, a bit angrily, she thought, and so she took the hand away. Did the girl feel it when the come squirted into her vagina? Was the stuff hot, as some of the others had hinted? She knew that semen was sticky, because one of the girls who liked having her tits sucked before being screwed had said so. "It's just like mucilage." Cynthia could hear her now above Paul's hard breathing.
She forgot to wonder anymore as a tremendous feeling grew inside her. It was a little like having to go to the bathroom at first; as though she must get rid of something before it became too terrific to bear. The feeling grew and she knew now that she was going to come completely and, she hoped, endlessly. She closed her eyes and her fingernails dug into her palms and there was nothing but their quickened breathing and the glorious feeling centering around that hard prick ploughing in and out of her pussy, faster and still faster, until she thought that she would faint with the pure ecstasy of it This was it a corner of her consciousness told her; the end of the coupling when the man shot his come as deep as he could plant it and the girl lay back and received it This was why people fucked, to build up to a climax which was like nothing she had ever imagined.
When she first felt his thick hardness opening her cunt, even the momentary pain of losing her cherry had been good and as the big head went on deep inside her stretching passage, she had thought that nothing could be more wonderful. But this awakening, as though she had been sexually asleep until this moment, Was so terrific and its impact so powerful as to be even a little frightening, that she found herself sobbing and biting her lips until she could taste the blood.
Because she felt that she must, she raised her legs and tried to cross them over his back. One of her shoes came off as he reached back and hit her knee almost savagely and she dropped her legs because he seemed to want it that way. For a second, she lay quite still, feeling the desire mounting through her as he shortened his strokes and the feeling grew and grew as the big head of his horn punched harder and deeper in quick jerks. When she could not stand it a moment longer, she moved her buttocks, keeping time, meeting him and subsiding and meeting him again. She came, as the whole room seemed to explode around them, and she could hear her heart beating like a loud hammer. The couch creaked again as he thrust deeper into her than ever. Then, before she realized it in the ecstasy which possessed her, he pulled back and took his wet prick out of her twitching cunt, squirting his semen on the uncovered patch of her stomach above the damp hairline.
For a second, she kept on coming, then stopped suddenly as though someone had turned off a faucet Uncertainly, she opened her eyes, with a horrible sense of letdown, and watched his hand moving as he stroked the last drops of come into her pussy hair and deliberately wiped his stiff cock on her pantyhose.
It was then, while she stared in disbelief, that he slapped her the first time. It was not a very hard slap, but a ring on his finger bruised her cheekbone and stung enough to bring tears into her eyes.
"Here!" he growled, frightening her still further. "You goddamn slut, this is all your fault getting stoned and showing me your fucking prissy ass. So take a suck at my cock and if you bite, I'll choke you!"
That part of it being slapped around and abused and made to obey him, remained with Cynthia for a long time. She had loved it when he fucked her and might even have forgiven him for cutting her off when she was in the middle of coming. Now, as he slapped her again, she knew that she hated him. Or did she, really? She was too scared to protest or try to get away. The door was locked and he'd be on top of her before she could get it open. That would mean another beating. He might even kill her.
The wet head of his prick looked enormous as she opened her mouth and she hesitated, thinking that she would not be able to take it between her lips. That was when he slapped her for the third time. Dimly, through the quick tears, she noticed a big pearl of come in the eye. In spite of herself, she wondered what a man's semen tasted like. Some of the girls had mentioned that it was salty. She shut her streaming eyes and felt the softness of the head slip between her gaping lips. She was surprised at the velvet smoothness. The shaft of his standing horn was as hard as a stick, but the head, the wonderful thing which had played with her clitoris before he drove it into her, was like satin.
She tasted the come as soon as she began to suck him. It was salty, slick on her tongue like thick oil. All of a sudden, her resentment retreated and she felt new excitement as he pushed his cock so far into her mouth that she almost gagged. She swallowed twice convulsively, finding that she could breathe through her mouth if she timed it properly and the nausea went away. As though he had told her, she began to explore the head with her tonguetip and this seemed to please him. He put a hand on either side of her face and fucked her mouth for a few long strokes before stopping to enjoy her instinctive tongue work.
My God, she thought, what would my folks say if they could see me sucking a big prick and playing with a pair of balls which felt like slippery hen eggs? And worse, she was liking it more and more. Her-face still stung a little where he had slapped her but now it was a pleasant pain, part of the choking sensation when she took him too far back in her throat, an exciting accompaniment to the smarting in her distended mouth corners. Without realizing what she was doing, she put a hand down between her thighs, feeling the wetness of his squirting as she found her clitoris with a finger. It was hard, standing like his horn, a little cock in its own right. She had just begun to rub it gently when he pulled her hand away and made as though to slap her for the fourth time, then apparently changed his mind and cursed her instead.
"Dirty little bitch!" he called her harshly. "Stop fucking yourself and get on with it I'm going to splash come all over your face for that."
Why was he being so hateful, she wondered? What had she done wrong to make him treat her like some sort of an animal? True, she had let him take her and loved it but wasn't that what he wanted, even if he did spoil it all by coming on her thighs and stomach instead of inside, where she wanted so much to take his spending? Maybe, she decided in a dim sort of way, men got that way when they were hot to screw.
Once, at her uncle's farm, she had peeked through her bedroom window and watched a horse jump on a mare. The horse had a huge prick and balls, she remembered, and while he was trying to find the mare's cunt he kept biting her neck as though he was in a terrible rage. Then he found the mare's pussy and drove his long cock into her and the come was still spurting when he pulled it out Perhaps men and horses got mad when they fucked.
There was no answer to that and she stopped wondering about it as her tongue slid under his cock head and he began to fuck her mouth again, slowly this time, with shorter strokes. Oddly, his evident enjoyment, compared to his anger when she fingered her pussy, stirred her and she felt her neglected clitoris throb and a feeling ran down her thighs as though someone was rubbing them with hot peppers.
She wanted to come again but stifled the urge because she was not sure how he would take it Holding back could be exciting, she found. Every time she moved her tonguetip under the head and into the eye, the impulse to reach climax became like an itch that she could not scratch and she kept hoping that he would come and not notice what she was doing, so that she could put her finger down again. She was sure that as soon as she touched her clitoris it would trigger her off and the itch would go away. In the meantime, all she could do was suck and lick and move his foreskin back and forward with tight lips and try not to gag when he pushed his horn into the back of her throat and held it there while his bunchy crotch hair tickled the end of her nose.
Fucking in the mouth was called "frenching," she had learned from some of the guys who had tried to make her in their cars after a dance or a movie. Some of them had come right out and asked, "Do you go bareback or do you french?" At first she had not known what they meant and now she was glad she had not investigated. Paul, even though he seemed mad, was teaching her like the kids could never have done. His hard prick in her mouth seemed to tell her what to do. Suck, nibble, work the foreskin, make with the tongue over and under the head, lick the eye; it all came as naturally as though he was directing her.
By now she had learned that the most sensitive areas, the ones which when titillated and tickled quickly and lightly made him hold her face and move his prick as though he was going to squirt his come right down her throat, were the eye and the underhead, where the loose tissue bunched in a little ruff just behind the deep cleft. Every time she ran her tongue over the ruff or explored the eye, he jumped a little and started to screw her mouth. Several times, he held her face so tightly that her cheek where he had slapped her stung like fire but she did not care.
Perhaps, she pondered, the mare had felt the same way when the horse bit her. Maybe sex was pain, after all. She had read somewhere that there were men and women who had to hurt or be hurt before they could enjoy screwing. Was she one of them? Did the slapping and the cursing really belong to some sort of studied buildup, to enable Paul to do his thing?
Her nipples under her thin bra were hard and demanding like her standing clitoris and she suddenly hoped that he would take them out and bite them until they bled. More pain would not matter. Indeed, it might make him finish all the sooner if he made her suffer an additional pang or two. In a kind of desperation, she sucked harder, trying to draw the come up from his balls so that she could taste it in her throat and perhaps be brave enough to swallow it. Several of the girls she knew frankly admitted to eating come. A couple of them Would not let the guys fuck them in the pussy but they liked to suck their boyfriends off. "You can't get pregnant that way, any more than if you got screwed in the ear," one big blonde had mentioned. "Only I like it in the tits best."
He was taking a long time, she thought, He came much quicker when he was doing it in her cunt and immediately she felt guilty, afraid that she was missing something and that he would get angry with her again. Too scared to look up because that would mean letting go of his prick, she tried to squint but only managed to get a close-up of his white shirt and the black hair showing through his open zipper.
"Harder! You're slowing down, you lazy slut!"
She barely heard him and the order seemed to sink into her mind of itself but her response was immediate. She realized that she had been holding his horn, circling it behind the head with thumb and forefinger in an instinctive measure to prevent him choking her with too long a stroke. Now she took her hand away and drew as much of the hard shaft into her mouth as she could, until she felt the head stretching her tense throat. Not knowing why but wanting desperately to please him, she began to make swallowing motions and at once she felt his steadying hands on her face and his prick moved in its foreskin between her lips.
He must be pleased with her, she hoped, and now it was up to her to make him come and get her own thing when he shot off. Would he remember his threat of squirting all over her face to punish her for fingering her clitoris? If he did, she could stand that, too, but it would be so much more exciting if he unloaded his semen in her mouth. That wish brought additional fear that she might upchuck and disgrace herself.
He was squeezing her face so hard now that she could feel his ring digging into her cheek. His prick took up a rhythm of short, jabbing strokes, as it had done in her pussy before he pulled it out. He was on the edge of coming, she knew. To help him, she tried to tighten her lips around the plunging shaft, holding her tongue flat so that it rubbed the underside of the head as it went in and out of her mouth. She felt it twitch just like the horse's great cock had done before he shoved it into the mare and the urge to rub her clitoris was growing so that she could barely fight it down.
"Suck! Damn you, suck!" His voice sounded hoarse and she felt his knees trembling. She had released the sack of his balls to put her hand between her legs. Now she felt for them and tugged at them and rolled them between her fingers, noticing in spite of her rising excitement that they had shortened up to the base of his prick and were not hanging down like when she first played with them. If anything, they seemed to have grown larger and she wondered if that was because they were full of come.
One of his hands left her face to press against the back of her head and now the bunchy hair was jammed so tightly against her nose and lips that she could barely get enough air and the room and the furniture began to spin around in a crazy whirling pattern. Don't let me pass out, her mind kept saying, please God, don't let me do that and miss it all.
She was coming herself but now that was a secondary sort of thing, pushed back by her desire to drink his come, to swallow what he pumped into her throat as fast as he put it there. That way, she would belong to him forever.
"Little bitch! You thought I had forgotten, didn't you?" The words seemed to be coming from a long way off and they were running into one another so that she barely understood what he was saying.
Then his hand came away from the back of her head to circle his prick as he took it out of her mouth. She saw the hand rubbing frantically before she was fully aware of what he had done. Then the first jet of warm semen caught her under an eye, quickly followed by fresh squirtings until she was almost blinded and could feel the cloying stuff in her nose when she tried to breathe.
"There! That's for trying to fuck yourself instead of taking care of me."
The voice tapered off. The room spun harder than ever. She sobbed a couple of times and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was alone. The only sign that she had really had a visitor lay in the two empty glasses on the coffee table.
She sat up and checked her wristwatch. It was after midnight. Mr. Gorman would becoming back anytime now.
There was a bathroom downstairs and she pulled her pantyhose up and managed to get onto her feet. She felt dirty and her face still ached where he had caught it with his ring. The cold water refreshed her and she straightened her clothes and ran a comb through her hair, feeling a lot better physically but still downcast and unhappy when she thought of how she had been treated. "Like I was a dog or something," she whispered.
Her cheek was still puffy and she went back into the living room and carried the two-glasses over to the bar and washed and dried them. When the children's parents drove into the garage, she was rubbing her face with a piece of ice.
"Well, well, here we are!" Mr. Gorman appeared to have had a few drinks. His wife just smiled and went upstairs to look at the children. Cynthia was grateful that her employer was a little stoned. On the way home, he did all the talking. It kept her mind off what had happened. She did not mention Paul. She wanted to do a lot of thinking about him.
CHAPTER TWO
The following week, with no particular feeling beyond a sense of excitement, Cynthia agreed to babysit again for the Josh Gormans while they took in a show. That morning she ran into Paul in the street and was not quite sure why she had fallen all over herself to tell him where she would be.
"Get the damn kids to bed early," he ordered brusquely. "I can't let the little bastards see me because they'll tell their mother. She hates my guts enough as it is."
At nine o'clock both children, after a vigorous game of tag around the living room, were sound asleep upstairs. Cynthia had about given up and was wondering if she dared sneak a highball at the bar when a key rattled briefly in the front door and Paul walked in.
"I waited until I saw the light go out in the bedroom." He kept his voice down on purpose. He had another man with him and, as both of them came over to the couch where she was sitting, she saw that the second man was black.
"This is Vivian." Paul waved a hand at his companion. "He's got an eight-inch prick and he's going to stick it into you up to his black balls as soon as we have a drink."
The announcement was so deliberately brutal that Cynthia put a quick hand to her mouth and felt her cheeks burning and Vivian looked embarrassed. Paul turned away and headed for the bar. "I'll mix you one, too," Paul flung over his shoulder. "It'll make you hotter and you'll come faster. Isn't that right, Viv?"
When his friend made no answer, he merely shrugged and poured Scotch over the ice in three glasses and came back with them circled by his two hands.
"Take yours," he grunted at Cynthia, "and don't say I never did anything for you. Anything outside of fucking you, that is." He laughed softly at his own joke and motioned to Vivian to sit down. Cynthia, holding her drink so tightly that her knuckles showed white, found herself wedged in between the two men. Neither, however, made any move to touch her.
"Here's to rape." Paul held his glass high, then swallowed the Scotch in a couple of quick gulps. "Come on," he said to the black man. "We haven't got all night." He turned to Cynthia. "You, too. Drink up. Then get out of your clothes, all of them. I want to see what white meat looks like lying under black."
Her hand trembled but she managed to get most of the whisky down before he took the glass out of her fingers. "That's all you get. Now off with the threads. When I come back, I want to find you naked from your toes to your chin. You do the same, Viv. We'll have a ball. That is, two balls and one pussy."
He cradled the three glasses in his hands and took them back to the bar and Cynthia watched him pour another Scotch neat for himself as she began to fumble nervously with the zipper of her dress. It was in the back and she was all thumbs until Vivian leaned over and started the zipper down for her. "Don't panic," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you, white baby."
They were undressed to shorts and panties when Paul decided he had had enough to drink and came back to the couch. "What the hell?" His voice sounded a little blurry. "You can't do anything that way." He reached over and hooked a finger in the elastic of Cynthia's panties and pulled them down around her trembling thighs. "There!" he said triumphantly to Vivian. "What did I tell you? How's that for light pussy? Now let me see you cut it."
As though she were someone else looking on, Cynthia watched while Vivian shed his jockey shorts, then gasped when she saw the big penis. It was only half hard but it stood out from the kinky crotch hair and was longer and thicker than Paul's. As she stared, its owner put a hand around it and stripped the foreskin back and she gasped again when she saw the pink head, all moist and ready for action.
"Horse-fuck her the first time." Paul seemed to dominate his friend completely. "And don't forget to pull out before you squirt. I don't want to come in your come, hear?"
Now, in spite of the shock which Paul's crudeness and the sight of that great black cock had given her, Cynthia felt her clitoris hardening and a delicious sensation which ran up her spine and made her shudder. She wanted to be screwed, hard. She would have liked Paul better but as long as he was there, looking on, it would be almost as great And from his last remark, he intended to take her after Vivian was through.
Still not quite certain what she was doing, she turned her back on both of them and knelt on the couch, with her face resting on her arms at one end. "Hurry," her mind urged Vivian. "Put it into me now."
She felt the couch give under his weight as he knelt behind her and put one hand under her bare buttocks to lift them higher. Then his thumbs spread them wide and now his big cock head was doing the same to the lips of her wet pussy. She winced with pleasure as the top of the head slipped over her standing clitoris and slid back to align the hard shaft and gather more lubrication. When it came back, quicker this time, she was ready for it and pressed against it and a good half of the big horn went into her vagina before retreating for a third try. The next time she bit her lips and moaned a little as Vivian, true to Paul's prediction, put it all inside her quivering pussy right up to his black balls. His crotch hair felt like bristles in a brush tickling her rectum.
After the initial pain of the first stretching, when she thought that the black prick was going to tear her up, she gave a little cry of protest when it drew back almost to her clitoris once more, because she thought he was going to take it out. "Don't stop now!" Her mind was clamoring again. Then she subsided with a sigh of pure pleasure as it slipped up her again, deeper this time, until she fancied she could feel the insistent head punching against the mouth of her womb.
She felt a third hand on her buttocks and imagined dimly that it must be Paul's. He must be watching Vivian's stick-hard cock stretching the lips of her cunt. The mere thought that he was watching Vivian take her gave her a further thrill. Although the prick in her was not his, somehow it seemed to make him a party to the action and she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to believe that it was Paul fucking her steadily, in and back, like a piston, balls banging into her ass every time it went home, then lifting to hammer again at the next long stroke.
She was trying to imagine the look on her employers' faces if they came in and caught them, when Vivian grunted softly and began to pour the prick to her in shorter, more rapid strokes. She sensed that he was on the edge of coming and took the unconscious brakes off her clamoring desire because she wanted to come when he did. It wouldn't be Vivian she finished with, of course. In her mind, it would always be Paul and Paul alone. A corner of her mind took time to wonder why she felt that way. Was it, as she had heard somewhere, that a girl always subconsciously came with the first man who had screwed her? Was it really that? Forever after, even if she got married, would she be able to close her eyes and imagine it was Paul's prick in her instead of her husband's? With all her remaining clarity, she fervently hoped it would be like that.
Then she forgot everything else but that she was going to come. The great horn in her was plunging back and forth in inch-long strokes and the heavy balls slapping her crotch felt harder and tighter. A long shudder shook her and she gave herself up to complete sensation. Then, just as she arrived at ecstatic climax, the swollen prick slid out of her vagina and she felt hot come squirting over her back. The immediate effect was as though someone had thrown cold water over her. Too far gone to stop, she jerked her crotch convulsively a time or two, then buried her face in her arms and began to cry in great sobs which Paul deadened by pushing a pillow over her head.
"Shut up, for Christ's sake." There was a fierceness in his hoarse whisper that made her stop weeping. Something that felt like a handkerchief was wiping the sticky come off her back and buttocks and when she opened her still streaming eyes and rolled over, Paul was already kneeling between her spread legs with his stiff prick in his hand, ready to plunge it into her. "Hush up or I'll slap you like I did last time," he threatened. "Next thing, the damned kids will wake up. You know what that will mean. Open your legs wider."
Halfway between tears and pleasure, as he pushed his prick up her dripping vagina and let his weight down on her, she put both arms around his neck and impulsively kissed him. "Do it to me right," she begged in a small, pleading voice. "I don't care if I get pregnant. Come in me, please."
"Cut out the horseshit!" He took time to rub his lips where she had kissed him Then he put his full weight on her and held her flat while he drove the full length of his erection into her relaxed vagina until their crotch hair met and tangled. "Do it right, did you say?" he muttered in her ear. "Where do you want it? Up your ass? I'm going to screw you so that I like it and you'll like it too or else. Just so you'll know."
She barely heard him. After the disappointment of Vivian pulling out just when she was coming, the letdown had gone into reverse as soon as Paul's horn plowed into her. Now she was coming again and everything was great because it was really him and not somebody else. Oh, God ... was all her tumbling mind registered. It was coming. The thrill was flooding into her ass and all the way up her spine so that her ears were ringing.
It was over quickly, leaving her breathless but happy and her wet pussy twitched around his stiffness as though in gratitude for what he had done to her. She wanted to kiss him again but held back because she was afraid of how he would take it Instead, she hugged his neck and put her unsteady legs around his waist and let imagination take over again.
Was he in love with her, she wondered. She had read somewhere about men who had to hurt a woman in order to show their affection. But, if he did love her, would he have allowed another man to touch her? There was no answer to that; only the steady thrusting of Paul's hardness over her clitoris and deep inside at every stroke and the thump of his balls in her crotch as though he was hammering them together.
She strained up to meet him, careful not to spoil the timing, even in her inexperience knowing that if she broke the regular rhythm, he might slip out of her and that would spoil everything. She felt herself getting ready to come again but deliberately pushed the urge away, biting her lips, hoping that the pain might help her to wait for him. It was wonderful to reach climax but incomplete when one did it alone. She remembered the ecstasy, in spite of her slapped face and near panic at what was happening to her, when he screwed her last week and she had come big and long as soon as she felt his hot come shooting into her raped pussy. That surely, was the only way to go.
Anything else was just buildup to be able to enjoy the real thing all the more for knowing the loneliness of coming alone. She must wait until he was ready, even if she bit her lips through while holding off. Another thought came to her. One of her girl friends had told her that men enjoyed doing it much more when the girl finished at the same time. That was what she wanted Paul to feel; to enjoy her thoroughly so that he would come to her again.
Why did the man have to shorten his strokes toward the end, she asked herself. And why did his balls seem to get harder and colder the longer he screwed, right when he began to breathe louder and do it quicker? They seemed to be all alike. Vivian had got that way just before he uncoupled and now it was happening to Paul. She could hear his hard breathing in her ear and he was putting more and more weight on her, while the couch underneath them creaked at his faster stroking. She could stop chewing her lips now, she told herself. In a few seconds, he would come and she could come with him.
The very thought of feeling that hot juice of his again made her meet his flurried stroking even more vigorously and he growled at her and pushed her shoulders down, holding her with his strong hands and putting all of his hurried weight on her so that all she could move were her fingers and toes while he fucked her deeper and deeper. Out of the corner of an eye she caught a blurred glimpse of Vivian. The black man was playing with his huge penis, stroking its standing hardness while he watched the action. She forgot about Vivian as Paul grunted and instinct prompted her to dart her tongue into his ear. At once, he lifted himself off her nakedness, holding himself up on stiffened arms and looking down, deliberately watching his prick screwing in and out of her twitching pussy. She had a quick urge to see it but when she raised her shoulders to glance down the length of her body, her tits got in the way and all she glimpsed was a patch of dark crotch hair before he muttered again and slammed her back down.
"Keep still, you bitch." She heard him that time and now his abuse sounded wonderful, instead of frightening her. She wanted him to call her everything; "whore,"
"cunt,"
"cocksucker,"
"prick eater," anything that had to do with fucking and being fucked. Even the term "bitch" made her think of dogs screwing and her excitement grew until she thought she would pass out with the sheer ecstasy of it. "Come!" her mind urged him. "Come, darling, give it to me before I flip and miss everything."
As though reading her prayer, he hunched back on his heels and slid both hands under the small of her back, knocking her knees away so that he could lift her bodily while he drove the prick to her even faster. That lasted for less than half a dozen strokes. Then he seemed to lunge into her in one long, glorious thrust and the urgent semen squirted deep in her cunt as she hugged him down on top of her again and came with him as though she would never finish.
She was panting so hard that she did not feel him get off her. She did hear his slippery horn come out of her with a little plopping sound. Then she closed her eyes, still breathing as though she had been running and let herself dream. Now she loved him. He could do anything to her and she would love that, too.
She jumped and opened her eyes as the ungentle hand slapped her shoulder. "Get up, slut!" Quite bewildered, she made out that it was Paul, standing over her and drinking whisky out of a glass in his free hand. He was getting ready to slap her again when she pushed up on her elbows and obediently slid around so that she could get her bare feet on the rug. Sitting there, shivering a little now that the excitement had drained out of her, she waited for him to tell her what to do.
He looked at his watch, then said, "Get your clothes on, just in case that stuffed-shirt brother of mine and his asshole wife show up early. Fix your face and hair. Put everything back on except your panties. Move."
Nothing about him frightened her anymore, she realized. She wanted him to be rude to her. Perhaps that was what made her love him so; that and his wonderful prick which made her come a little every time she had thought about it during the past week. She had even locked herself in the bathroom at home and tried to remember every detail of that first time while she masturbated herself first with her finger, then with the smooth nozzle of her mother's douching syringe. The syringe was longer and thicker than her finger and felt more like his hard penis when she rammed it into her pussy all the way, then let it come back to play over her clitoris until she came until her knees were shaking. Then she had washed and dried the syringe carefully before putting it back in the cabinet.
She forgot and was stepping into her panties when Paul snatched at her wrist. "Damn you, can't you hear? I told you to leave them off. Viv-and I are going to have a little fun before we go." He dropped her wrist and took a deep swallow of Scotch while he watched her wad the offending panties up and slip them under a cushion. His frown relaxed a little as she fluffed the cushion and patted it back into shape. "You're learning." The words were a switch but his tone held a sneer. "One of these days you'll be worthwhile fucking, damned if you won't Now haul your white ass over to the bar and fix me another drink. I'll need something to brace me while I watch Viv do his stuff."
He held out his empty glass and she tried not to show any confusion as she took it and walked a little stiffly over to the bar. Her pussy ached a little, probably, she thought from the stretching it had received by the black man's huge erection, but it was a good ache.
She fumbled with the Scotch bottle, then remembered to put more ice cubes in the glass first. She had never mixed a highball that way but she had watched Paul. She overdid the whisky and when she took the drink over to him, he sipped, then pulled a face. "Christ! What are you trying to do to me? Get me smashed so you can he rid of us? Go back and put two more ice cubes in it and swizzle it around." He tried the drink again when she came back, then nodded. "That's better. Now kneel on the couch like you did before and pull your dress up. You ready, Viv?"
"Never readier. Give me a pull at your glass first." The black man held his hand out.
"You son of a bitch, you drank it all." Paul looked ruefully at the remains of his drink when Vivian handed it back. "When I told you I'd get you some young white pussy, I didn't include all of my brother's Scotch. Now get your big cock hard and go to work."
"Can't get it any harder or it'll snap off." Vivian took it out of his open fly and skinned the foreskin back all the way. With a black hand still cradling his penis, he looked up at Paul. "Beauty, isn't it?" A taunting note came into his voice. "You may be white, man. You may even have more money. But when it comes to peter, you ain't in my class at all."
"Don't pull any shit," Paul snapped. "You get fresh and you'll be behind bars for the rest of your life."
The cockiness left the other as quickly as it had showed. "I didn't mean anything. Making a joke, man, that's all."
"Joke my ass. Now shut up and do what we agreed."
Vivian fingered his thick prick while he looked at Cynthia on the couch. He saw Paul nod to her and obediently she got on her knees as she had done the first time and reached back to pull her dress up.
The sight of her white buttocks seemed to be too much for the black man. He skinned his great erection once again, then held the foreskin back from the pink shiny head and put a quick knee on the couch behind the waiting girl. He left his other foot on the rug, bending that knee slightly to line his flaring horn with the crack between the firm, naked cheeks, opening them with a thumb and guiding his prick with the other hand.
She felt the sudden pressure of the head probing her crotch and braced herself to receive a second straining entry, hoping and yet not caring whether the huge cock hurt her as it had done the first time. From somewhere far away, it seemed, Paul spoke derisively. "Remember the rules, Viv. We don't want any striped bastards running around, do we?"
His companion merely grunted and slid his free hand around her hip to pull her up a few inches. Now the hard erection was prodding insistently and some drops of sticky fluid that she thought might be come lubricated the spot just behind her ready pussy. Why was he taking so long, she wondered? Last time he had entered her like a dog taking a bitch. Three strokes were all he had needed to get right up her. Now he seemed to be hesitating. And what had Paul meant about "striped bastards?" Was he going to pull out once more and leave her all up in the air while he shot off on her butt?
She got the answer in the next second. Now the probing head was going in but, to her sudden consternation, it was not pushing up her pussy. Instead, it was opening the tightness of her rectum. Just as she realized what was happening, the black man drove harder and she screamed in spite of herself as her sphincter closed around the back of the head. The pain was shooting through her in sharp waves and she almost fainted as he pushed harder.
She knew she couldn't take all that hard prick in there. It was just too big and long. It would tear her wide open. Desperately, she tried to wriggle away from the prodding horn. It felt like a stick being shoved into her. She had never felt such pain in her life.
Her tormentor pulled her closer and she knew his tense fingers were bruising her thigh where he held her against him. With her mind reeling, she realized that she could not get away. He had her at his mercy, to do with as he pleased. "Stop him, Paul! Please, please!" She did not know whether she said it aloud or just thought she did. When no answer came, she era-, died her face closer in her arms and began to sob convulsively.
Something had happened. The terrible pain was going away. Had Paul come to her rescue after all? She managed to turn her head and saw his blurred figure standing by the couch. He seemed to be laughing as though at some good joke. Then she heard his voice, unsteady but jibing at Vivian.
"So you couldn't hold it, you horny bastard." He broke off to chuckle, then jeered afresh. "How about your big horse's dong now, eh? So I'm not in your class? Let me tell you something. When I screw, I run a good show. I don't jab and jitter and blow my nuts like some high school harry until I'm good and ready. I don't believe you even got all the head into her ass."
"Did too," Vivian protested sulkily. He said something else but the relief after the ordeal, during which she was afraid she was going to die, was so great that she did not listen. Slowly, as though her mind were coming back from a long trip into misery, she figured out what had happened. Unable to restrain his eagerness to take a white girl in the ass, the black man had come prematurely. She could feel his come trickling through the hair on her pussy and her rectum was sodden with the gooey mess. Now she was safe. Whatever else Paul made her do, it could not be any worse, she told herself, than what she had just been through.
In sudden rebellion, she swiveled around, trying to keep her dripping butt off the couch and, without looking at either of them, went to the downstairs bathroom and locked the door. She removed her miniskirt and was relieved to see that, although it was a little creased, none of the semen had soiled it Methodically, she flushed the toilet and when the water in the bowl leveled off again, she sat on it and washed between her legs until she was clean. When she came out, with her face fixed and her hair combed, she looked as fresh as when she had come to work.
Paul was leaning on the bar, with a new drink cupped in his fingers. Vivian was sitting on the couch, looking unhappy. The black man did not have a drink, she noticed. Paul must have cut him off. She marched over to the bar and perched herself on a stool, surprised at her sudden temerity. "Fix me a Scotch," she said, forgetting to say please.
Paul looked at her quickly, then further surprised her by putting his glass down and reaching for a clean one. He scooped ice then poured the Scotch, and stirred it. Then he made a little mocking bow as he handed the drink over. "Like I said," he grinned, "you're learning fast. Just play along and you'll be all right. I like a broad with spirit."
The rest of his speech blurred away in an alcoholic maundering. He was quite drunk but steady enough physically. He leered at her as she sipped her highball, then looked at his own glass and picked up the almost empty bottle. He replaced the bottle on the bar and straightened his jacket. "Come on, big lover," he said to Vivian. He teetered a little as he peered at his watch. "Time to go." He looked back at Cynthia, who was recovering her panties from under the cushion. "If my bigshot brother wants to know where his booze went, tell him the fucking termites ate it."
The black man got up, not looking in her direction. He seemed unhappy. Paul must have blasted him again while she was in the bathroom. He must have something on Vivian, she thought, to be able to threaten him with the law.
They left as suddenly as they had come and she finished dressing before going over to the front door and locking it after them. A car started and then the only sound was the hiss of the surf on the beach.
CHAPTER THREE
A mile out of town, a sign reading "Motel Vacancy" threw red-and-blue neon across the highway and Paul slowed the borrowed car to pull in. "Stay put," he ordered Cynthia. He had picked her up half an hour ago, three blocks from her house.
He got out and went into the office and she tried to make herself as small as possible while she waited, afraid that she might be recognized and these stolen intervals with him would come to an abrupt end.
He came back and got in and drove slowly, reading the cabin numbers until he found the one on his key. There was a stall alongside the cabin and he backed the car in. "Think you can stand getting fucked for about three hours?" he inquired conversationally as he switched off the motor and opened his door. "Come on. We haven't got all night. I believe you've been riding your finger, just thinking about it."
She got out without answering, but the familiar thrill ran through her deliciously as she waited for him to lock the car and open the cabin door. She saw the Scotch bottle in his hand as he went in ahead of her and picked up the phone and ordered ice. When he turned around, he grinned at her maliciously while he broke the seal on the bottle with a thumbnail. "I thought you'd be in your skin by now," he jeered. "You've been hot to trot ever since I picked you up."
He turned away to answer the door and take the ice bucket. He only opened the door a crack and did not say thank you. But that was Paul. By now, she had learned to expect nothing and everything from him, depending on the mood he was in. And she didn't care, one way or the other, even when he hit her. In fact, a few slaps made doing it all the more exciting. However, she had enough intuition to keep playing it cool and not to appear too eager. She knew she could not play hard to get. He would simply have pushed her down and raped her. Inexperienced as she was, all she could do was play it by ear and keep up some appearance of reticence. That way, she might be able to keep him coming back. So far, it had worked.
This was the third time they had been together and from his remark when they got out of the car, the evening promised to be as thrilling as ever. And this time, she had him to herself, with no friend to worry about. The fact that she had lied to her mother, pretending that she was babysitting again, did not weigh on her conscience. As far as she was concerned, starting on that first night when he had taken her cherry at his brother's place, Paul was all that mattered.
She was unfastening her brassiere when he came over and handed her a drink without speaking. She sipped it, wondering how anyone could really like Scotch, while she stepped out of her panties and kicked off her shoes. The whisky warmed her and she drained the glass, rattling the ice as she had seen him do to get the last drop.
He finished his own drink as she put the glass down on the night table. He stood for a minute, taking in the freshness of her young figure, eyeing the firm, proud breasts and the flat belly and the triangle of silky hair at the crotch between the enticing thighs. He did not look at her face. She had noticed this before. Evidently faces, once he had decided that they were not actually repulsive, did not interest him as much as what he inelegantly called "the meat."
He stepped closer and took one of her nipples between thumb and finger and pinched it until she shrank back with a little gasp. "So!" He grinned at her without mirth. "Touchy tonight, eh?" Deliberately, he pinched the other nipple between thumbnail and forefinger, then abruptly walked over to the only chair and took off his own clothes. He folded the trousers carefully in their creases and hung them on the back of the chair. When he turned around, Cynthia was stretched out on the bed, shivering a little in spite of herself but not daring to cover herself until he told her what to do. Taking orders from Paul, she had already realized, sharpened her desire in the same way that slapping thrilled her, even while the pain lasted.
"Let's see." He stood beside the bed, looking down at her while he stroked his chin in mock indecision. "I had planned to show you a few new things tonight. Actually, there's nothing new in fucking. It's still a question of push and come, no matter how you slice it. But there are a few positions which make it more interesting. Get up."
Dutifully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat, waiting.
"Suck my prick while I figure out the first one," he said casually, as though he had asked her to fix him another drink.
She put a hand out and took his penis-that wonderful horn which had taken her virginity-and felt it grow harder in her warm hand. She kissed the head twice before taking it between her lips and let her tongue play underneath and in the big eye, feeling her clitoris throb almost unbearably as she let the head slip back into her eager throat.
"That's enough," he said, after a minute. "I'm not going to feed the jizzum to you yet you cannibal bitch. Come on over to the chair."
She followed him, waiting until he took his slacks and found a hanger for them. Then he sat down, with his prick standing up almost against his belly, and motioned to her.
"Face me and spread your legs over mine," he directed. "Fit the head of my cock into your cunt as you sit."
Obediently, she straddled him, fumbling until she got his erection lined up, then sat slowly, shuddering with pleasure as the hardness slipped up her until it was completely buried. "It's in me," her mind repeated. "All of it." Unconsciously, she moved up and down, getting the full sensation of being fucked, until he put a rough hand on her shoulder.
"Cut it out," he grunted. "What are you trying to do. Jack us both off?"
She froze at once and waited to see what he wanted her to do. His hard prick throbbed in her pussy and she was hard put to it to keep still. Only because she felt completely dominated by him did she sit quietly. But she could not control her pussy. It kept twitching around the shaft of his horn and she felt as though she would come at any second.
Presently, he began to move his hips in a half-circular, screwing motion and she knew then why fucking was sometimes called that. He had enough strength to lift her weight a little, so that his prick moved up and back in her pussy a couple of inches each time. In between, he kept the circling motion up until she could not hold back any longer.
Her cunt twitched harder as he slapped her shoulder. "Okay, cocksucker," he growled. "Let it go before I blow my nuts. Make it snappy."
It was like being released from exquisite, unbearable torture. But even in her frenzy, she was careful not to let his horn come out. She stroked up and down over the whole length of it, gasping as though she was drowning every time the swollen head touched, her hard clitoris, faster and faster, until she finally stiffened and lay against him and came as though she could not stop.
She stayed there, resting against his bare chest feeling deliciously spent while she wondered dreamily if he had come with her. When he slapped her thigh and she reluctantly got up, she noticed that there was no pearl of semen in the eye of his penis and guessed that he had held back on purpose. "Why?" she asked herself. "Didn't I do it right or is he getting tired of me already?" The mere thought made her want to bawl. Then she remembered what he had said about not wanting to blow his nuts yet. He must be saving up for something else he had in mind. The thought made her feel better and excitement returned in a sudden, wonderful wave.
"Get back to bed," he snapped at her. "Lie across it, with your ass at the edge."
He made himself another drink while she was arranging herself on the cold sheet. He did not offer her one. She wondered if it was the whisky that kept him hard. Or could men keep an erection indefinitely? She had no way of knowing.
He crossed over to the bed and she felt herself seized roughly and jerked nearer the edge, so that her buttocks hung over a little. Then her thighs were pushed apart and he lifted one of her legs against him until her heel was resting on his shoulder. Then, as she described it to herself later, "He walked into me."
She remembered him fitting his prick between the open lips of her cunt while he pushed her other knee away. Then the length of it opened her up until the hair of their crotches met Never, she thought afterward, in all their fucking, had she ever taken a hard cock so deep inside her. Even Vivian's enormous prick had not gone in that far. She could feel his cool balls crowding into her crotch, covering her rectum. She had all of him. There wasn't any more.
He fucked her slowly, all the way back and deep in again and almost at once, she was ready to come again. Perhaps the thought that he had given her his whole length quickened her desire. This time, she did not wait for permission. Instead, she dug her fingers into the sheet beneath her and came in great, trembling waves of ecstasy. The effort left her breathless and she closed her eyes when it was over, seeming to drift away on a blissful trip to nowhere.
His harsh voice, like a drill master's she had heard at the ROTC parade ground, brought her back to reality. "Go to sleep on me, will you?" Almost immediately, his flattened hand caught her across a cheek and she opened her eyes to see him glowering at her. She was so startled that she just lay there, looking up at his angry face. Her cheek stung but she kept her hands still. In spite of herself, she was finding a growing curiosity in wondering what made this man tick.
His penis was still as hard as a stick and again there was no telltale drop of come in the eye. He must have held back again. Perhaps if he did come, he might get soft. "No, please," her mind begged. "Don't let that happen."
"What the hell are you dreaming about?" he demanded, frowning at her. "We came here to fuck. Remember? Now move your ass and get up."
She sat up and wiggled around him and put her bare feet on the rug. At his frowning direction, she turned until she was facing him.
"Listen carefully," he was saying. "Put your hands on my shoulders and jump up with your legs around me. Understand?"
She nodded and pulled herself up until her wet crotch was level with his prick before opening her thighs and crossing her heels in the small of his back. She got a funny impression that she had done this all before. At any rate, it seemed natural to hang on and adjust the height of her pussy to his questing cock. He was holding it in his hand and just as she crossed her heels, she felt it plow into her and slide all the way up.
She bit back a stupid impulse to laugh at the thought of being fucked in the air, because that was what it amounted to. Instead, she hugged his neck as she felt him grasp her buttocks with both hands and begin to screw her, pushing her away, then pulling her close, in and out until she wondered how his back could take the strain. But then, wasn't he her man who could do anything? With that thought, she began to follow his rhythm, moving with him until he growled at her to stop.
"Keep your ass still, you stupid slut! Stay quite or I'll drop you flat."
After that, she just clung to him until the flooding rapture swept everything else out of her mind and she came for the third time, gloriously and completely. She dropped her legs finally and stood, still hugging him and resting her flushed cheek against his shoulder. For a hopeful second, she thought he was about to lower his face to hers. Then, with a brusque movement, he pushed her roughly away. The edge of the bed caught her knees and she fell on her back across it, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes damp with sharp disappointment.
She heard him go over to the dresser and smelled the pungent Scotch as he sluiced some over ice and swirled the cubes to stir it For a minute, everything was quiet except for a single car speeding along the highway. Idly, she wondered if its occupants had been on a fucking party, too. His voice seemed a long way off when he spoke again. Evidently, the whisky had mellowed him a little and he did not sound so gruff.
"So far, you've had all the fun," he told her. "I'm just the hard cock that makes you come, right? But you better remember all you're learning. I'm not going to show you again."
He came back to her when he had finished his drink and ordered her to suck his penis again. It was not quite as hard now and she rolled over to reach him and opened her mouth wide and took the length of it back into her throat as though she were trying to swallow it. She felt it throb in response as the head slid back and instinct prompted her to release it almost to losing all of it, so that she could get in some quick tongue work and probe the flaring eye.
When it throbbed again, she knew she was doing the right thing. She tried brushing the rougher surface of her tongue across the top of the head, licking hard while she worked the foreskin back and forward along the shaft with circling thumb and finger. Now it was hard again and when he pushed her face away, the head glistened and appeared to be bigger than ever.
"Lie flat on your back," he directed. When she complied, he rolled onto his side, facing her, and pulled her free leg back over his hip. Then he raised his knee, holding her that way with her buttocks against his belly while he steered his erection between the lips of her slick cunt.
As soon as the head passed the labia and pressed against her clitoris, he grunted and heaved and at once his horn disappeared and there was only fair crotch hair merged with dark between them. His penis was like a rock and it hurt her when he thrust it in. As before, when he had dragged her over to the edge of the bed and walked into her, it was so deep that she could feel it nudging against the button of her womb. It felt so wonderful that she wished it could go in there, too.
This was the fourth time he had taken her in as many positions and she wanted him to come with her so badly that she deliberately fought down her excitement, telling herself she'd make like a whore and just lie there and let him fuck her until he was ready. This resolution faded quickly when he pulled her closer and took her nipple between his teeth and nibbled at it.
For a second, knowing him, she waited for him to bite hard. Then, when he merely sucked it lightly and teased it with the tip of his stiffened tongue, reaching at the same time for her other tit and cupping it in his hand, she breathed easily again and gave herself up to the sheer enjoyment of his cock cutting her pussy and the indescribable thrill which made her clitoris stand like a little penis in its own right.
The sensation was so wonderful that she did something then that she had not thought of before. Slowly, so that he might not see and stop her, he put her hand down and found her clitoris and pushed it gently with a finger until it was rubbing against the moving shaft of his horn. The result was so gratifying that she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out Now, instead of having to wait until the top of the head came far enough back to engage her clitoris, it stayed in constant contact with the back and forth movement.
If he felt the pressure of her finger, he took no notice. Even when she gasped and bit her lips again and came in a frenzy of twitching and crowding back against him, all he did was push her away ungently, as though he was tired of her. She knew that he had not reached an orgasm. Four times she had reached a climax and all he had done was fuck her, as though his prick was a piece of wood ramming into her and nothing else. How could he stand it, she marveled when the surge of emotion leveled off and she could breathe once more without gasping like an idiot. Was he really tired of her? If he was, she'd kill herself because she could not stand even the thought of losing him.
He said nothing for a full minute, lying there on his back with his wet prick standing straight up. The sight of it, hard and glistening even in the dim light, made her want to take it in her mouth again and suck the come out of him swallow every last drop of it. The urge was so strong that she actually put her hand out to touch it and rolled on her other side to face him. He grunted something that she could not hear and slapped her hand away brusquely as he sat up.
She waited for him to leave her for the Scotch bottle and pour his between-fucking drink but he sat on the side of the bed, shaking his head slowly. "I must be getting old," he muttered more to himself than to her. "I nearly shot the works that time. Losing control. That's bad."
He sat there, mumbling to himself and presently she lifted her head high enough to sneak a peek and saw that, whatever he was blaming himself for, his erection was as hard as ever. He moved finally and looked down at her with a critical frown.
"I'm going to give you a treat," he announced but there was a scathing edge in his voice that belied his goodwill. "If I'm going to make a fucking machine out of you, you might as well learn it all."
He stretched out on his back, with his penis standing up like a wooden peg and directed her to straddle his hips, facing away from him and kneel to get some spring in her knees, so that she could adjust her position at will. "Put it in," he said when he was satisfied with the way she obeyed him. "Get it up all the way, then lean forward and put your hands on my knees and fuck yourself with my prick. Catch?"
It was easy, she found, and terrific. Now she could control the length of his stroke in and out and take care of the speed and timing. As long as he stayed hard, she could ball to her heart's content. It was a bit lonesome at first, because all she could see of him were his legs and feet. At the start, she was nervous, afraid that she would make a mess of it and get chewed out or beaten. Then she looked down and saw his rigid length moving in and out of her like a piston. It was the first time she'd had a chance to watch herself getting screwed and the sight drove the nervousness and everything else out of her mind.
A jingle she had read somewhere kept running crazily through her head. "We love to hop on pop ... on pop ... on pop...." She had hopped on him, all right, crotch deep. Deliberately, she pressed down and watched his entire prick disappear, then slide back again as she eased up to allow the head to find her clitoris. After a minute of this, she repeated the trick and had used before, holding a finger against her clitoris and pushing it down against his moving horn. His prick looked funny until she realized what she was looking at the underside of it and that depressed clitoris was sliding in the groove instead of on the top of the head. AH the same, it felt dreamy and she closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying to recapture the sight of his hardness plunging in and out of her pussy as she moved up and down.
Another thought struck her, probably the result of his screwing motion when he took her in the chair. She experimented half fearfully, purposely leaning sideways and then, when he made no protest, rotating her buttocks and moving around his erection as well as up and down the length of it. The combination was so wonderful that she almost forgot to breathe.
This had everything, she decided. It felt as though she were using his prick to bore a hole between her legs, a new hole in addition to the one where the friction was merely up and down. She hung onto the impression that she was being fucked by two cocks at the same time. It was a delirious sort of feeling and she wondered if she could come twice to satisfy both demands.
It was too much. After a minute or so, she stopped the circular motion and raised up enough to let his solid prick come out into her hand. She stroked it a couple of times, then bent closer to fit the eye around her clitoris and hold it there, rubbing it sideways and rotating the shaft as she moved gently in the opposite direction. Unable to stand it any longer, she eased the hard shaft back into her twitching pussy and fucked steadily while she played with his bunched balls.
She had never had a chance to more than touch his testicles when she was sucking his cock. Strangely, they were always cool while the rest of him was warm and exciting. Almost shyly, she played with them, moving them against each other in their puckered sack, noticing how slickly they rubbed together under her fingers and wondering if the bag was full of semen waiting to spurt into her when he finally decided to come.
A man's external sex organs were no mystery to her by now, but what went on inside was a closed book. Vaguely, she remembered some of her school chums trying to explain how semen was made in a male testicle and stored in this gland or that, she could not remember which, until a valve automatically shut off his urine when he was ready and he came in the woman's cunt instead of peeing. It was all very complicated, like the process of becoming pregnant about which she had read in Biology II. In spite of her rising excitement, she felt quick fear nudge her as she thought of becoming pregnant. Her mother evidently did not use contraceptive pills. A diligent hunt through the bathroom cabinet and her parents' bedroom had failed to turn up anything in that line. With a chill, she remembered Paul telling Vivian about the striped bastards and she missed a stroke thinking about it.
The fear was still somewhere in her consciousness when she felt Paul's hands come under her arms and his fingers groping for her tits. Now he was moving under her, thrusting up from the mattress as she came down. His balls were all drawn up around the base of his cock and sack containing them was smooth instead of staying puckered. Behind her, she could hear his hard breathing and guessed that he was about to give her his hot juices at long last.
The realization that in seconds she would feel the spurting semen flooding her greedy cunt made her fuck faster and shorten the strokes as he did when he was calling the play. There was no question about it now. He was working in time with her and his fingers were pinching her nipples, but the pain only sharpened her eagerness and she was half sorry when he stopped playing with her teats and dropped both hands onto her stretched thighs to haul her down against his crotch.
He was doing the fucking now, rolling around under her flattened buttocks and jerking up and down, his rigid horn drove in and out of her in inch-long strokes which jarred her so that she had to hang on to his legs to keep from falling off.
She had no need to guess the psychological moment in which he would come. As soon as he began to tremble, she knew he was about to squirt and she tightened her bent knees against his thighs in anticipation, holding back until the split second when she felt the pumping action make his prick throb as though it were thinking for itself.
At the exact moment, a fraction of a moment before his semen reached her vagina, she pushed herself up and whipped his hardness out and rubbed it with a little moaning sound as she watched the lovely white come jet out over the sheet.
"You dirty bitch!" His fist hit her between the shoulder blades and knocked the breath out of her but she clung to his pumping horn until she could swivel around and lean over him to take it in her mouth. Semen splashed on her lips and she licked it off, then swallowed his plunging prick and kept her throat moving around the head while she drank the rest of his come.
"I was scared," she tried to explain. "If I get pregnant, they'll send me away and I'll never see you again."
"I save it up so you can waste it, you stupid cunt." He looked up from the drink he was fixing and sneered at her. "Why d'you think I always give you a drink? Because I love you or some horseshit? That whisky has a pill dissolved in it You couldn't get knocked up if the whole Marine Corps fucked you."
He gulped down half the Scotch and regarded her distastefully. Then he shrugged and emptied his glass. "You're not doing too bad for a brat, though," he conceded reluctantly, reaching for his clothes. "Pretty soon you'll be able to hustle and then I can pimp for you."
CHAPTER FOUR
"Yes, Mr. Gorman. I'll tell her." Cynthia's mother hung up the phone. "That was Mr. Gorman at the bank," she said unnecessarily. "He wants you to sit for them tonight."
Cynthia nodded. Paul was a good actor. He could mimic his brother's voice enough to fool anyone. They had arranged it before he dropped her off the last time and she looked away, not wanting to meet her mother's eyes with the eagerness showing in her own. After what he had told her about the pill in the Scotch, she was not afraid anymore. Excitement and anticipation would now drive her half crazy before it was time to meet him.
"Hi," she said, getting into the car quickly and leaning against him. He grunted something and turned a corner, heading back toward the center of town. She hunched down, hoping that no one she knew would see her and yet half hoping that some of her girl friends would recognize her so that she could brag at school the next day.
She looked at him inquiringly when he pulled over to the curb and tapped the horn but he had nothing to say. He reached back to open the rear door on his side and a man stopped leaning against a traffic signal to come over. He was a white man, she saw, smaller than Paul and younger. Then he was in the car behind her and she smelled perfume and wondered if he might be a queer.
Paul made an illegal U-turn, heading for the edge of town, in the opposite direction to the one he had taken the last time. Nobody said anything until flashing neon proclaimed a motel. Then Paul turned to the man in the rear seat. "Get out when I pull in. Pay for a room. And hurry. I've got a hard-on already."
The room turned out to be larger and better appointed than the cabana they had taken before. Paul backed the car into the port and got out. The other man keyed the door and went inside. So far, he had paid no attention to Cynthia beyond looking her up and down before he turned away.
"This is Charley," Paul said. "Did you order ice?"
Charley nodded and put a bottle on the dresser and went into the bathroom to find a third glass. The ice arrived and he took it, then closed the door and put the chain on. For want of something better to do, Cynthia was sitting on the bed, watching the two of them and wondering if she would have to take them one after the other or both together. There had been much discussion between classes about how two men and a girl could do their thing together. None of her friends knew much about it and the general agreement was that the girl could suck one guy's cock while the other screwed her, then change over. Nobody came up with anything more.
She was considering Charley, who was not bad-looking, when Paul turned and motioned toward her. "See that?" he chuckled. "I've got her well trained, don't you think? Goes straight to the work bench, ready for action." He laughed and raised his glass. "Cheers. Drink up and I'll show you some other things about her."
He swallowed half his liquor in a single gulp, then picked up the third glass. "Take your medicine, pussycat," he said tauntingly. "Then get undressed."
,She drained the glass and the whisky nerved her to start taking off her clothes. She had not minded stripping in front of Vivian. She did not know why, unless it was because he was black. But she felt shy with Charley watching and turned her back to step out of her panties.
"Turn around." She felt Paul's hand on her bare shoulder and she obeyed, keeping her eyes down. "Look at that, will you?" There was a strange note of pride in his voice, as though she was something he had created especially for the occasion. "Just get an eyeful of those boobs, man. You never saw a better pair." He cupped a tit in his hand, pinching the pink nipple before he released it. "Nice flat belly." The hand brushed down over her navel and a finger felt between her thighs and found her clitoris, making her open her legs a little in spite of her hesitation. "Good crotch. Hair's like silk. Tight little cunt and enough ass to make it worthwhile."
His finger had lit a fire in her but she still felt like some prize animal as he pointed out her charms to his staring friend. "Cock hard yet, Charley?" He laughed again and took his hand away. "Get rid of those threads. There's work to be done."
He kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his belt. Beyond him, she saw Charley doing the same and a lively interest possessed her about what was going to happen. She did not care very much, as long as Paul was there. Maybe he would screw her while she sucked Charley's prick. She would leave it in this time and take all of his come as far up her pussy as he wanted to put it.
Both men were naked when she looked up. Paul's penis, she noticed happily, was already hard and standing. Charley's prick, a little shorter, was coming up fast as he looked at her.
"Match you for who does what." Paul took a coin out of his pants pocket and flipped it. He snatched it out of the air and slapped it on the back of his hand. "Call it."
Charley called heads but it was tails. "I get first choice," Paul grinned at him. "Let's see. We better leave the double bit until last, just in case." He came over to the bed and stretched out on his back. His horn now was standing straight up like a small mast.
"Come here," he snapped at her. "Sit on my prick and face the other way. Be sure it's in good before you lie back."
Dutifully, still keeping her eyes down, she knelt alongside him with her face toward his feet, then put a knee over his hips, catching his stiff rod and working the head in between the lips of her ready pussy before putting her weight on him. Then she let herself down easily, feeling the hardness slip into her, loving every second of the wonderful sensation his cock always gave her. Although he had said nothing about his balls, she leaned forward with his horn stiff inside her and squeezed them gently as he directed Charley to stand close to the bed behind her.
"Now come back." His quick hand on her shoulder tugged at her until she was lying with her back on his belly and chest. When she turned her head, Charley's jutting cock brushed against her nose.
"Eat it," Paul grunted. As she reached for it and skinned the foreskin to expose the moist head, he began to fuck her slowly, playing with her tits and moving up and back in her pulsing cunt in a lazy fashion which made her impatient. She wondered if he was teasing her purposely, trying to make her beg him to screw harder.
Charley's prick, shorter that Paul's, did not reach so far back into her throat and she found no difficulty in breathing while she let her tongue play under the head and up and down the shaft. She had learned to keep thumb and finger circling the prick between her mouth and the crotch. That way, when Paul fucked her face, there was no danger of him driving too far in and gagging her. Now she moved Charley's foreskin backward and forward as she sucked and got in her tongue licks, feeling his prick twitch in her mouth as he put a hand on her face and began to pump with her.
Paul had picked up the pace and was screwing her deeply instead of playing with her. Deliberately, she timed her own movement around his prick to the rhythm of her hand on Charley's cock. After another minute of that technique, Charley's fingers slipped around to the back of her neck and he began to fuck her mouth in short, quick strokes. All she had to do now was watch the timing and keep her circling hand there so he would not choke her.
It was like a machine, her mind told her; some well-adjusted contrivance in which all the parts moved in perfect rhythm, each dependent on the other. The underside of Paul's erection was rubbing against her clitoris at every shortening stroke. She knew she could not hold back much longer and she felt sure he intended to come with her.
Then, suddenly, the wonderful timing was interrupted as both men began to screw like dogs, faster and faster. She held her breath until she felt Paul's hot semen squirt into her, then came herself with a deep sigh of contentment just as Charley shot off in her mouth.
Everything was too wonderful with the three of them coming together. She had decided to spit Charley's jizzum out but, unable to help herself in the wave of emotion, she swallowed it anyway. She was still trying to clear her throat when Paul pushed her off him and sat up. Charley had gone into the bathroom before Paul had finished coming. Now he came back, looking pleased with himself.
"Best blow job I ever had...." he began and stopped. When Paul frowned in mock reproval.
"Such language!" he protested. "I'll have you know that this young lady is still in school. She is not used to your coarse terminology. We call it, "Kissing peter good night."
They both laughed and Paul got up and joined his friend. As she had figured, they made for the bottle and the ice bucket and poured two stiff drinks. She would have liked another herself. Come was exciting but it left one with a sticky mouth.
They talked in low tones as they drank and she saw Charley nod a couple of times as though Paul was explaining something. She thought about getting up and visiting the bathroom to dry herself and Wash her mouth out, but abandoned the idea as Paul put his glass down and came back to the bed.
"So!" He examined her critically. "You got fucked at both ends that time. That's good. You can't get knocked up and come is like vodka, good for the digestion. Charley, come over here."
She reached out to stroke his penis, rubbing the wet foreskin to and fro until it got bone hard again. He fucked her hand a couple of times, then cleared his throat as though about to make a speech. "Ladeez and gentlemen!" he announced. "The famous Jizzum Trio will now present Niagara Falls."
Charley sniggered and fingered his prick, while Paul made her get up and sit in the chair, which he first pulled to the middle of the floor. "You got eaten last," he told the other. "Now it's my turn. You can do a hand job until you're ready to shoot. Play with her tits if you want to."
He walked around the chair to stand in front of her. Out of the corner of an eye, she saw Charley screwing his hand. After a few strokes, he began to feel her tits, keeping out of Paul's way.
"Suck me until I tell you to stop," Paul ordered.
She appreciated then what just a small difference in size made. She had to stretch her lips much wider to take his cock than she had done with Charley and yet there was apparently not that much variation in the two penises. She decided that the head of Paul's horn was larger around than Charley's, while the shafts were about the same thickness. Then she forgot to think anymore, giving her full attention to the job in hand.
She even loved the taste of his cock, she realized. It had a musky flavor which thrilled her all over and made her clitoris get hard immediately. And he always smelled clean, as though he had just taken a bath.
She sucked hard and moved her tongue quicker than usual because she knew he would stop her soon. In the meantime, just sliding her tight lips over the flange of the head made her think of it slipping into her pussy. Mouth fucking with the right person was almost as neat as doing it the regular way, she assured herself. The next time she did it, she resolved to play with her clitoris so that she could come when he did.
"Hurry, man!" It was Charley talking to Paul. His tone was strained. "I can't hold it in much longer."
Paul took her face between his hands and drove his cock back into her straining throat in one long thrust. Then he tapped the top of her head and took it quickly out. "Ready?" he called to Charley.
"Ready. Let's go."
Before she realized what was happening, they were standing one on either side of her, each with his cock head in one of her ears. She could feel their hands bumping against her cheeks as they rubbed vigorously. Then, together, they pushed their prick in as far as they would go and shot off.
The noise was like close thunder as the spurting semen filled her ears and dribbled down over her neck. She felt sharp pain as it seeped in and welled downward, clogging the passages until she was deaf on both sides. Every time the stuff moved in there, new thunder rocked her until she could not stand it any longer.
She sprang up, pushing Paul blindly out of her way and ran into the bathroom to wash her ears out, certain that if the thunder did not stop, she would go crazy. Behind her, she heard both men howling with laughter and the tears came because Paul had played such a dirty trick on her. Was there anything he would not do to humiliate her? With the screwed-up corner of hand towel, she got as much of the come out of her ears as she could, then washed her sticky neck with soap and water and felt better.
When she came back, they were still laughing. Paul looked at her questioningly, then winked at Charley. "How did you like listening to a fuck?" he inquired solicitously. "That's what it sounded like when your old man made you, only your old lady didn't listen hard enough."
They went off into fresh peals of merriment until finally Paul dropped ice into her empty glass and poured a generous slug of Scotch and held it out.
"Here," he jibed at her. "Get smashed. She's earned it don't you think, Charley boy?"
The other nodded, trying to keep his face straight and barely succeeding. "She's okay." His accent was a bit blurred, either from the whisky or the merriment or both. Suddenly, she hated him.
The drink helped. She gulped it quickly, almost gagging at the first swallow, then feeling better as she finally got it down. Without looking at them, she put the empty glass down on the dresser and crossed over to sit on the bed.
"Look at her," Paul commented. "All ready for more merry-go-round. Ah, youth, where is thy sting? No, that's wrong but you get what I mean, don't you, Charley boy? You can't wear 'em out at that age."
His companion nodded again, solemnly this time, then picked up the bottle to see how much liquor was left. "Couple more rounds," he estimated. "Counting her."
"Piss on her," Paul answered brutally. "She's already one over quota. She doesn't get any more."
Listening to them, Cynthia wondered if they realized that she was there. The whisky was making her sleepy and she felt like going home. She bit her lip as she realized that this was the first time she had wanted to get away from Paul. But the ear business was still rankling. That had been dirty pool.
They were whispering again, she noticed. Then Paul grinned and came over. She half cringed as he stopped in front of her, wondering what new humiliation he had cooked up. But his tone was mild enough.
"I'm pampering you by telling you this," he said, almost conversationally, "but you're going to enjoy our next number." He reached past her to get one of the two pillows and place it on the foot of the bed. "Stretch out," he ordered, with the old arrogance again. "Lie on your back. Get going."
When she was in position, he pushed her knees out of his way, kneeling in front of her. "Put your feet up high." He nudged one impatiently. As she raised them, Charley reached over her head and caught both ankles and pulled them back. She had not heard him come up behind her.
Never in her life before had she been so helpless and, for a second, she felt panic flood through her and almost cried out Her head was pressed against Charley's belly as he leaned over her, holding both feet so tightly that her buttocks were lifted off the bed and she felt as though her back was breaking. She was doubled so far backward that all she was conscious about, beside the discomfort, was the tightness in her crotch. It felt as though her rectum was sticking out while her pussy was closed so tightly that she was sure Paul would never get into her.
He must have sensed that she was uncomfortable; either that or his cock could not open her cunt, as she had guessed. He looked up, holding his erection in her crotch and grimaced at Charley. "There's no need to kill her," he growled. "Slacken up."
A lot of the pressure went off as the other loosened his grip and the circulation came back into her feet. The thrill from Paul's prick thrusting into her was an anticlimax after the relief of being able to keep her back flat again. Then the surging desire to be fucked hard and deep possessed her and everything else went out of her mind except the steady drive of Paul's horn.
He was screwing her pussy deeper than ever, right up to the balls and back and in again, holding her tensed thighs lightly, supporting all of his weight on his knees. From the look on his face, he was enjoying himself as much as she was.
She wondered what Charley, looking on and getting none of the action, was thinking. He could not be masturbating because his hands were occupied. She thought she felt his prick twitch against her head but was not sure. The hell with him, anyway. All she wanted was Paul and she had him, all to herself.
What did a man like Paul get out of fucking a kid like her, her mind inquired. Were young girls really tighter and hotter than older women? She had heard fellows at school talking. Some of them voted for young stuff and others maintained there was nothing better than a woman who knew how to handle herself. What did they know about it, anyway? Paul could give them points and still beat them. She knew their style. Several of them had parked and felt her pussy but that was as far as they got with her. Some of her girls friends who went all the way called them the hump-and-ham-burger lovers. As long as they got their thing, they had no regard for the girl. She was just a hole to come in. Then they had to eat so they could make more come. She closed her eyes and said a little prayer of thanks that she had waited for Paul.
She was breathing hard, on the edge of orgasm while he was still thrusting in long even strokes. She felt below her buttocks, trying to find his testicles and play with them but they were out of reach. What was holding him? She moved slightly, thinking he might find it better that way. Then she could not stand it a second longer. She came almost violently, fighting Charley's grip on her ankles as she jerked up and down in a spasm of ecstasy which was like sharp pain.
Paul stopped screwing her and held his hard prick as far inside her cunt as he could push it, letting her hot pussy twitch around it until she flattened out with a long sigh and was still. Then he took his prick out and put a foot back on the rug and stood up. She was certain he had not come with her, or if he had, it was a dry run.
She opened her eyes and glanced at his set face apprehensively, wondering if she had done something wrong. But, almost mildly, he told Charley to release her before walking to the dresser to mix a drink.
For a moment, she thought Charley was going to take her. His cock looked as hard as a stick, standing up from his crotch hair so that the top of the head almost touched his belly. Perversely, she wanted to rub it and watch him come. But he turned away and joined Paul and she changed her mind quickly. She still hated him for what he had done to her ear.
They took their time drinking. Neither appeared to be drunk, although Charley's voice slurred a little when he talked to Paul. She took advantage of the respite to close her eyes again and dream.
In a way, it was wonderful to relax just in her skin, knowing that Paul would want her again soon. She wished Charley had stayed home. However, it was Paul who controlled the action, as usual. Charley only got what Paul gave him. She did not know which of them was responsible for figuring out the different techniques but she couldn't figure Charley doing it. He was plainly a follower, not a leader.
She fell to thinking about her favorite subject, Paul. Up until now, she had not taken time to realize how little she knew about, him. He never talked about himself. In fact, he seldom talked at all, except to order her around and blast her when she annoyed him. For all she knew, he might have a wife and kids. The mere thought of another woman having him made her feel jealous. She wondered if she dared ask him and decided against it. If he wanted to, he would tell her.
How he managed to live was another mystery. He did not appear to have a job, yet he always had money. Perhaps his brother paid him an allowance. Apparently, he did not own a car. The last time they had gone out together, he had let it slip that the car he was driving had been borrowed. Tonight the car belonged to Charley. She had guessed that when they got out and he showed Paul how to lock the steering wheel.
They were talking louder now. She heard Charley say, "Let's do the double bit now," and Paul's sharp answer telling him to hold his horses. That was the second time they had mentioned the "double" thing, she remembered wondering what they meant Then she decided that it was up to Paul. He was running the show. Charley was following his lead and she, she decided a little bitterly, was what she had been thinking a little while ago, a hole for them both to come in.
Paul rattled the ice in his glass and looked at the whisky bottle, then put his glass down and came back to her. "Our next number is called doggie-in-the-manger," he said, without smiling. "You're the doggie, so get on your hands and knees and make like one. Catch?"
She was not quite sure what he wanted her to do and when she got on all fours in the middle of the bed, he made her turn around so that she was facing the foot, with her supporting hands on the edge of the mattress. "There," he muttered, studying her briefly. "You make a good bitch, bitch." He beckoned to Paul, then got on the bed behind her and opened her buttocks with his thumbs and drove his hardness into her cunt so fast that she gasped and looked around to see what was going on. "Get your head round," he snapped at her. "Take care of your end and I'll take care of mine."
Charley's hard erection nudging her mouth let her know what was expected of her and a bit wearily, she opened wide and let the head of his urgent prick slide between her lips until she had taken the length of it and his crotch hair was threatening to make her sneeze as it tickled her nose. She had a mad urge to bite it But men had bled to death, someone had told her, when their cocks were bitten. Besides, Paul would probably kill her. Then her resentment vanished before the growing rapture of him screwing her pussy and she tongued Charley's prick mechanically, not caring whether she did a good job or not as long as that wonderful horn kept plunging into her.
To her unspoken relief, Charley came almost immediately and this time she spat the semen onto the rug before closing her eyes and putting her head down on her crossed arms. Behind her, Paul was laughing at Charley but not missing a stroke, even when he spoke.
"She got rid of you in a hurry, Charley boy. Now you can go into the bathroom and jack off while I finish."
The feeling was so wonderful that she drifted off into a state of half consciousness, half fantasy. She was a movie star, having sex with her leading man. She was Cinderella, being raped by the prince. She was a mare and Paul was a horse, fucking her with his heavy prick.
She came to earth in a hurry as he slapped her buttock. She thought she had reached a climax while she was dreaming, but she did not remember him coming. Was this another dry run? Or was he saving up for the "double" business, whatever that was?
"What the hell are you doing? Praying for more?" His voice was harsh and she wondered why he always had to be rude and insulting. "It's all over, you hot slut. You can get up and wash your mouth out."
She took his advice because her throat felt as though she had been eating library paste. And all for nothing, for she had not got any sort of kick out of sucking Charley's penis. Why had Paul brought him along? To pay for borrowing the car, perhaps? It would have been much nicer if he hadn't been there.
She was shivering as she sat on the edge of the bed and she pulled the quilt around her shoulders, hoping that this was it and she could go home. The whisky was finished, she noticed. Surely they had had enough excitement for one night. They had their heads together, discussing something which seemed important. Paul was chewing ice. She could hear his teeth crunching. She shrugged the quilt closer around her and bit her lip, trying for patience and hoping they would hurry.
It was a relief to her tensing nerves when Paul slapped his companion on the shoulder and came over to stand in front of her. "Sleepy, eh?" He hooked a finger under her chin and studied her face. She managed to keep her eyes steady on his until he took his hand away. "We have invented a final presentation, a kind of grand finale, which is guaranteed to wake up even a person in coma."
The jeering tone was so familiar by now that she did not expect anything else. Perhaps it was his way of being happy. "It's called Double Entry, like the bookkeeping bit. All you have to do, pussycat, is stand up and spread those lily-white legs. Then relax and enjoy it."
He turned back to Charley, who was rubbing something shiny on his erection. It looked lubricant of some sort, probably Vaseline. Paul took the jar and anointed his penis. It was suddenly hard again, she saw. When he talked to her, it was half limp. Now it stood out above his crotch as though it was made of bone.
"Come over here." He glanced at her and pointed to a spot in the middle of the floor. As she obeyed meekly, he found the coin on the dresser, flipped it and caught it deftly, covering it with his hand. "Heads takes long, tails takes round. Call it, Charley boy."
Charley came over to where she was standing and stood alongside her. He seemed to be checking their heights. Then he called heads and lost.
"See?" Paul left the sneer in his voice. "I'm unbeatable. You get round, like it or not. Ready? Go!"
She was so nervous that she was shaking when they reached her. Perhaps deliberately, Paul put it down to a chill. "You'll soon warm up," he grinned. "Little sluts who do this one sometimes catch on fire." His light slap on her cheek may have been playful but it stung enough to bring tears to her eyes.
"I won so I go first," he warned Charley.
Still ignorant of what they intended, she stood quite still and watched them take up their positions, Paul facing her and Charley behind. She was still trembling a little but now curiosity replaced a measure of her anxiety as she tried to guess what they had in mind.
Paul came closer until he was standing almost against her. He put an impatient hand between her thighs and shoved them apart. Then he took his lubricated prick in his fingers and worked the slick head between the lips of her pussy until it slipped inside. He had to stoop a little and bend his knees to reach her crotch and he put a hand on her shoulder to steady himself as he called to Charley, "Snap it up. This is a ball buster." He stood there, with just the head of his horn in her pussy, waiting.
Only when she felt Charley's hand opening her buttocks did she tumble to what Paul meant by "Double Entry." Then the oiled prick forced her rectum open and she screamed with shooting pain as the length of it ploughed into her. Immediately, Paul drove his cock all the way up her cunt so that now she was hanging on two horns, front and back, sandwiched between the two of them and feeling as though she was being split in half.
She sagged a little with the pain and Paul caught her under the arms and held her up. "Hang on to her," he said to Charley. "If she passes out, we'll put her on the bed and do it anyway." There was an exultant ring in his voice, as though he had been waiting for this moment all evening.
The pain eased and was pushed out of her consciousness by quick passion aroused and filling her mind in waves as Paul fucked her harder and harder. When he was sure that she could stand again, he shifted his grip and held her close, pulling her against him with both hands on the backs of her thighs. Charley's prick in her rectum was now a sort of background effect, even pleasant, an accompaniment to Paul's thrusting.
Presently, sensing the strain which the difference in their heights was putting on him, she rested her arms on his shoulders, hugging his neck and standing on tiptoe so that he could straighten his back. Now he was taking her completely. Their crotch hair ground together every time he hauled on her thighs and several times Charley had to take a step forward to avoid coming out A delirious conviction possessed her. She was a handsome bitch and these two dogs were fighting over her. Actually, the imagined condition was not too wild. First, Paul jerked her against him, then Charley pulled her back. The action speeded up as both men got ready to come.
Paul gave an extra-violent shove that almost knocked the breath out of her and called to his companion, "Can you feel my prick rubbing against yours, Charley boy?"
Charley was too busy to do more than grunt, "Man, it's too much. You're jacking me off."
Now she sensed the mutual action of the thrusting cocks for the first time. Sometimes they would enter her together. That was when the pain was worst, because then they opened her up more. She liked it better and it hurt her less when one went up while the other was coming down. That must be what Charley meant when he accused Paul of masturbating him. Vaguely, she remembered that there was only a thin partition separating a woman's vagina from her rectum and two hard pricks in either passage had to rub each other. It was almost the same as having two cocks in her pussy at the same time. The mere thought of that excited her further.
It was too good to last. The pain was a secondary thing now. All that mattered was the tremendous feeling. Would they all come together, she wondered? Would she be able to feel Charley's come when he shot off? She stopped thinking and leaned heavily against Paul, not moving, although the strain on her legs from tiptoeing was making her legs ache. It ended suddenly, even before she was quite ready.
"How're you doing?" Paul said over her shoulder to Charley. "Are you ready?"
"Yep. Let 'er go." The strokes in her rectum shortened and the pace increased. Then the first spurt of Paul's semen nudged her into climax and she came shudderingly as both her pussy and her rectum seemed to expand over the flooding juice from both plunging pricks, held hard into her until both men had spent entirely.
CHAPTER FIVE
It had been five days since Cynthia Had gone with Paul and Charley to the motel and she was almost sick with worry. Before he dropped her off that evening, he had promised to call, but since then she had heard nothing nor had she been able to run into him downtown, though she had haunted the street corner where she had met him before. Then, shortly after she came home from school, the phone rang and "Mr. Gorman" asked her mother whether she could babysit again.
She was so relieved that she dared to complain to Paul when he picked her up and he set her back in his usual crude style. "You crazy little cunt," he growled at her, "do you think I've nothing else to do but fuck you? And how long is your old lady going to believe I'm my bigshot brother if I call up every day? If you'd use your head half as well as you use your ass, you'd see what I mean."
She forgave him quickly, especially since he was alone. He was driving a new car tonight and she wanted to ask him if it was his but thought better of it, remembering that he did not like questions. Instead, she sat as close to him as she dared, reveling in the pressure of his arm, wondering vaguely where they were going and not caring. It was enough that they were together.
She had expected that they would go to a motel and was vaguely surprised when he turned several corners and finally stopped in front of a large house half hidden by a high hedge.
"What are you waiting for?" He leaned back into the car. "Come on. Get out."
"But-but I can't go in there," she protested in quick panic. "I'm not dressed and someone is sure to see us and fink to my folks."
He laughed spitefully. "I doubt that. The cats in there are not quite the type to associate with your parents. And you'll probably find some who are not dressed at all. Let's go."
Still feeling uneasy, she followed him up the steps. When he opened the front door and walked in, she looked around quickly and was relieved to see a roomful of couples wearing street clothes. There was a bar against the back wall and most of the stools were occupied. Some of the assembled guests stood around in groups of two and three couples and others kept coming in and going out of a doorway to Cynthia's right. It seemed to be just an ordinary crowd and she felt easier as she looked them over.
Paul allowed her to take his arm and he led her over to the bar and found two unoccupied stools. "Scotch on the rocks," he told the barman. "Make mine a double."
She sipped her drink and looked around interestedly. "It's quite a party," she ventured. "What a lot of people."
Paul rattled the ice around his glass and grinned. There was a mischievous air about him and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing. "You haven't seen anything yet," he informed her. "Stick around awhile."
She was finishing her drink when a youngish man with a flushed face caught her eye and came over. He pushed in between them without a by-your-leave, turning his back on Paul and letting his eyes rove over Cynthia's lush figure. "Why, you're just a kid." He seemed startled and looked around at Paul. "I didn't know they were letting junior leaguers in here. It's strictly against the rules.".
Paul regarded him distastefully. "The lady is my wife," he said softly.
The other recovered himself at once. "Oh, in that case, may I...."
"No, you may not." Paul turned his shoulder. "Get lost."
The fellow hesitated, then took the advice in a sudden hurry. He disappeared among the crowd.
"What was the matter with him?" Cynthia wondered.
"Not a thing." Paul pushed his empty glass toward the barman. "I didn't appreciate him calling you a kid, that's all." He sipped his fresh drink, then glanced at her with the same impish air that he had adopted before. "You see, this is a swinging party," he confided. "All these people you see here came to get fucked."
"You mean, by anybody else?" Her nose wrinkled provocatively as she looked puzzled. "Did that guy...?"
"Sure. He wanted to screw you so badly he could taste it. Then he chickened when he thought you were quail. Can't say I blame him."
"But you...."
"I know. I stick my neck out every time I pick you up. I could get ten years in the pen."
Quick dismay struck her as she listened. She wouldn't be able to stand that if it happened. Why, when he got out, she'd be an old hag. "Please," her mind prayed, "don't let that happen."
Presently an oldish man detached himself from a group near the door and came over. He nodded at them in a benevolent way and put a hand on Paul's shoulder. "So you made it," he beamed. "Welcome aboard."
"This is Roger," Paul introduced him. "He's our host. Be nice to him."
The two men talked briefly and Cynthia studied Roger covertly. He must be in his forties, she thought. That, to her, made him practically antediluvian but still he was nice. His blue tuxedo fitted him perfectly and there was a rakishness about him that intrigued her.
A woman joined them and was presented as Roger's wife. She was younger than her husband, not overdressed enough to make Cynthia feel awkward, with a nice figure and big boobs which apparently were not confined by a brassiere.
Roger ordered a round of drinks and brought his around to Cynthia's other side and perched on an empty stool. "You make me feel ten years younger," he told her, smiling. He really was charming, she decided, in spite of the fact that he could have been her father and then some. She only half listened to him because she was busy wondering if he still liked to make love and whether he screwed his titty wife enough to satisfy her. He looked in good condition physically. A little tickling sensation ran up her spine as she reflected that he must still be good in bed.. What would it be like to be laid by an older man? Would his cock stay hard? Could he come like Paul did, in big, warm squirts which nearly drove her crazy?
These thoughts and others ran through her mind as he reached to put a hand over hers and pat it. As he leaned closer, she caught the suggestion of cologne and for some reason, the headiness of it brought a sudden wish that he would try to make her. A twinge of guilt came with the realization that she actually wanted to cheat on Paul, but she rationalized with the quick reminder that he had brought his friends to do it to her without as much as a by-your-leave. But she would never attempt anything like that without his permission. The desire was still with her when Roger came even closer and kissed her cheek.
On her other side, Paul was chatting unconcernedly with Roger's wife. If he saw Roger kiss her, he paid no attention. Instead, he finished his drink and got up. He looked at Roger inquiringly, then said, "Let's go."
Roger's hand under her elbow helped her off the bar stool. He held onto her arm as they made for the doorway through which couples were still drifting. Cynthia had been curious about this coming and going ever since they had arrived. She wondered where the door led to and what lay beyond it.
To her surprise and disappointment there was only a large room with a couple of easy chairs and four couches in it. It was darker in there and for a moment, all she noticed was the furniture. Then she saw a couple occupying one of the couches. As far as she could make out they were both naked, busy doing what she recalled some of the girls describing as "sixty-nine." They paid no attention to anyone or anything except what they were engaged in. As far as the others were concerned, they might have been part of the furniture, but Cynthia was all eyes. The way the man on the couch had his head between his partner's thighs gave her goose bumps all over. She knew his tongue was playing with the girl's Clitoris and wished immediately that it was her own. She had wanted Paul to do that to her but was afraid to ask him. It wasn't fair, she had decided. He made her suck him off and do the same for his friends but he did not seem interested in doing the same for her. She heard the girl on the couch moan and there was a short flurry and she knew they had come together. Roger's voice interrupted her musing.
"The best one is down the hall," he was saying. Only then did she notice the passageway to the right of them. They turned into it and went to the end and Roger listened for a moment, then opened a door.
It was a comfortable-looking bedroom, furnished tastefully with the usual items including a double bed. A door on the far side of the bed probably led to a bathroom. The lighting was indirect and subdued until Paul found a switch and an overhead fixture revealed the room in detail.
Roger shed his blue jacket and found a hanger in the closet Then to her amazement he undid his belt and stepped out of his trousers and hung them neatly beside the jacket His shoes followed and, as she watched open-mouthed, he stripped quickly until he was quite naked like the couple back on the couch. She found time in her surprised condition to notice that he had a big penis and that it was standing half erect when he straightened after removing his shorts.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" It was Paul. He nudged her and tugged at her sleeve. "Get it off." he ordered and there was enough hardness in his tone to make her comply without question.
Roger came over and cupped her tits, one in each manicured hand as she took off her bra. "Um-m-m! Wonderful," he murmured. As he bent to kiss each nipple, she again caught the odor of cologne, faint but sufficient to sharpen her first desire. His prick, hard and fully erect by now, nudged her thigh with an impatience all its own and she got rid of the rest of her clothing in a hurry. The bed seemed to be the natural place after that and she went over, her bare feet sinking into the heavy rug and stretched herself on the far side. She did not look at Roger's wife as she passed her.
In another minute, Roger was kneeling in front of her buttocks. He had pushed her legs back, telling her to hold them while he did things with his hard cock. She felt the head parting the lips of her already moist pussy and then he was inside her so far that she felt his balls cover her exposed rectum. He gave a little sigh of pleasure and began to fuck her slowly, as though anxious to prolong it as long as possible.
Things were happening so quickly that she almost missed seeing Paul and Roger's wife come over and sit on the side of the bed. They were still dressed but she noticed the wife had her hand up her dress and Paul's crotch bulged significantly. Both watched while Roger did his stuff, commenting now and again and criticizing when he missed a stroke due to Cynthia's involuntary response to his thrusting.
It was prearranged. It had to be. Everything, even in her inexperienced judgment, was too pat, too smooth just to have happened by coincidence. But she did not care, now that Paul had given his okay. She was having sex with an older man, probably twenty years older than Paul and he was fucking her wonderfully. His prick was just as hard as Paul's had ever been and his timing, except when she spoiled it in her eagerness for added sensation, was regular. And he was doing something that Paul usually neglected. Every even stroke went balls-deep into her, then receded to let the top of the head rub over her clitoris and excite her until she wondered how long she could stand it without coming. She did not want to come too quickly, for fear that he might finish with her. At his age, he was probably a one-shot lover and as long as Paul would let her, she wanted to feel his solid length opening her ready cunt all the way.
Her first impatience to respond to his hardness in her gave way to a pervading languor, an indolent dreaminess in which everything was wonderful. She closed her eyes, not tightly but just enough to shut out everything including Roger, who had taken her legs and opened them to the point of discomfort so that he could drive his horn deeper. Now there was nothing but her own receptive body and the stiff prick sending little shudders through her at every thrust. Paul had never been able to thrill her quite like this, possibly because he took her for granted and went to no pains to give any added pleasure while he was screwing her. He was selfish, she admitted, while Roger, in spite of his eagerness to take her, was making their union a mutual thing, helping her while he got his own kicks.
She wondered vaguely if that was why so many marriages went on the rocks. Fucking in itself was wonderful but she was realizing that it could be beautiful when indulged in with consideration for the partner. Instinct told her not to spoil the harmony by jiggling about and she lay there relaxed and not moving except to keep in line and take the full horn every time it moved into her.
"He's still got plenty steam in him." She realized it was Paul commenting to Roger's wife. She opened her eyes enough to focus on both of them.
They were sitting in the same positions, facing each other and looking at the action, as though they were watching a ball game or a movie. There was an impersonal note in Paul's voice and she saw the other nod just as distractedly. "He always was a good lecher," she remarked. "The night we were married, he took me five times in a row. Then he made me go down on him."
"Not bad," Paul agreed. "How often does he pester you now?"
"Enough. About once a week. But I don't think that he does it to me anymore. In his mind, I'm some chick like this one; some youngster who took her pants off for him. I'm just a hole for his penis when nothing better offers."
A corner of Cynthia's mind wondered why she did not sound at all bitter and her next remark supplied the answer. "I get back at him in my own way. I have no complaints."
"How?"
"Stick around. Maybe you'll find out before the evening's over. Then you won't need to ask."
It was all very intriguing and mysterious but Cynthia suddenly had no time to listen to any more. She was right on the verge of coming,' feeling that she could not stand another stroke. This was it and she could not help herself. She reached down, managing to get both hands in the crack of Roger's buttocks and pull him into her deeper than ever. As the head of his prick came completely inside, nudging against the end of the passage where the tight button of her womb was, she began to shiver all over, tightening her grip and stroking with him at last in short, delirious thrusts of her crotch. She came at once and it seemed to last longer than before.
When it was over, she lay back, panting a little, with Roger, who had spent with her, still screwing her gently and giving her the last drops of his come.
"I'd say that was as good a job of screwing as I've seen in a while." Paul's tone was dry and judicial, as though he was in the habit of watching people fucking and then delivering his verdict.
Roger's wife took her hand from under her dress and smiled vaguely. Cynthia had recovered her breath and her head was clearing sufficiently to surmise that hers was not the only cunt to get its jollies. Paul's crotch was still bulging and she knew he was hard and ready but somehow the knowledge failed to thrill her. Perhaps if he did it to her, the old excitement would come back,, but just then she felt fulfilled, as though she had been made love to all evening instead of just once. She knew then, quite definitely, that it was not how often one was fucked, only how it was done. Was that what love meant? She knew she was not in love with Roger but why did she like his technique better than Paul's, whom she adored? Perhaps she was just dazzled by his coarse way of taking her, making her feel like an animal completely dominated by physical possession. Then a surge of feeling swept through her and she felt ashamed for even thinking such things.
Roger got up and went into the bathroom and his wife put a hand on Cynthia's bare shoulder and stroked it.
"Why, you're cold, you poor thing." She reached down and pulled the rumpled quilt up. "There. Snuggle down and get warm." Her hand, lingered underneath the cover and her fingers found Cynthia's nipple as though by accident and stroked it. Instinctively, the girl recoiled and the other gave a short, barking sort of laugh and looked up at Paul. "She's still shy," she informed him. "She needs a teacher: someone who'll show her the other side of the mirror."
Paul's answer to that held a palpable sneer. "You should be able to do that without too much strain."
Roger came back into the bedroom, looking down his nose and avoiding his wife's eyes. Without speaking, he reached for his clothes and began to dress himself. "He's shot his wad," she mentioned, nudging Paul. "Now remorse is setting in." She lowered her voice. "He doesn't know that I could care less if he shoved it into a boar shoat." She laughed again in that brittle way, then looked back at Cynthia.
"Go ahead," Paul said, watching her. "Help yourself. I haven't-seen a blunt job in a coon's age.
She continued to stare at Cynthia. Slowly, she put a hand out and pulled the quilt down, exposing the firm white boobies. Then, without warning, she bent down and began to suck the standing nipples.
At first, the shock made Cynthia lie there without moving. Then, instinctively, she pushed the other's head away and drew the sheet up quickly around her shoulders. "Don't," she protested. "I don't like that."
"Don't be such a stupid bitch," Paul rasped at her. "She won't hurt you and you'll learn to do a few besides jiggling your ass up and down." He looked back at the other. "Get with it," he nodded. "If she gives you any more trouble, I'll slap the shit out of her."
Roger, seeming surprised, met his wife's eye and looked away quickly and she got off the bed and began to peel her clothes off deliberately. When she was quite naked, she went back and pulled the quilt down once more and stretched out beside Cynthia. At once, she kissed her on the mouth. "Don't be afraid of me;" she whispered, "You're going to like what we do. You'll see."
Automatically, Cynthia put a hand up to rub her mouth, feeling the other's hot hand on her tits again. Then her boobies were being sucked with a lot of expert tongue play and she felt a finger opening her wet pussy, searching for and finding her clitoris. Of a sudden, the feeling was so wonderful that she forgot her repulsion and shut her eyes again, tightly this time, as though to shut out the fact that she was being made love to by another woman instead of a man.
The sensation was so exquisite with the combination of the licking tongue and the gently moving finger that, in spite of herself, she began to move her body under the coverlet, keeping time with the exploring finger which was so gentle that it began to feel like the head of a prick stimulating her standing clitoris and venturing a little way inside her pussy before returning to continue the stroking routine.
She almost came under the double stimulation when, without warning, the other seemed to jackknife and at once her head was where her finger had been and her darting tongue had replaced it. She was lying on her side, facing Cynthia and she had thrown the quilt over the foot of the bed so that she could breathe.
The sensation was indescribable. The quick tongue in the entrance of her cunt was a thousand times better than the finger, especially when a searching hand found her tits and began to stroke the nipples. Now she knew how the girl on the couch had felt when her lover kissed her pussy preparatory to screwing her. Why hadn't Paul done this to her? Perhaps he just didn't care enough. Or maybe he thought it was beneath his dignity.
She could feel the warmth of the close crotch on her face and presently, stifling the urge to throw off restraint and let herself come, she put a hand over the buttocks and edged closer to the bunched hair. Before she realized it, her own tongue was separating the lips of the other's pussy and she found the clitoris, hard and standing.
"Just get a load of that." Dimly, as though he were a long way off, she recognized Paul's taunting laugh. "They don't need us anymore, Roger. Let's go get a drink."
Quick panic gripped Cynthia as she thought of being left alone. As long as Paul was there, she didn't care much what happened because, in spite of his coarse ways, she trusted him to look after her. Now he was going, leaving her at the mercy of this stranger whom she had only met a short hour ago. She managed to raise her head and find Paul as the two were going out. "Don't leave me!" she called and her voice sounded loud in her ears as though she was shouting. "Stay here, please."
Paul stopped and turned around to look at her. "What do you know?" he chuckled. "It seems that we are needed after all. Better take a raincheck on that drink. It'll still be there."
Gratitude threw the wonderful sensation out of her mind for a split second. Paul came over and sat on the bed next to her and Roger slumped down in one of the chairs. "Go to it, pussycat." Paul reached over to pat her bare buttocks. "Tongue the hell out of her."
Roger's lesbian wife was ramming her tongue all the way inside now, tickling Cynthia's clitoris as it darted in and out, faster than any prick and almost as hard. Cynthia could hear her quickened breathing and she shoved her crotch closer, opening her legs wider and moving her hips in sudden sharp jerks. Her fingers grew rougher on the girl's nipples and she opened them to caress the breasts and hold them together.
This was it, Cynthia knew. Coming together would surely not be as wonderful as finishing with a man but she could not hold back any longer.
They climaxed at the same instant, it seemed. Cynthia felt the other's pussy tremble and then seem to go out of control. The hard pubic bone hidden by the dark hair bumped against her nose hard enough to bring tears. The springing tongue left her pussy as the other woman pushed her face away and rolled over on her back and finished coming with her finger. Then she rolled onto her face and lay there, as though she were dead.
"A dead heat, I call it." It was Paul, being cynical again. Roger did not say anything. When his wife continued to lie there, without moving, he got up and came over to lift her and turn her on her back. To her astonishment Cynthia saw that she was weeping. The tears had plowed furrows down her cheeks through the makeup. In another moment, she sat up and rested her head against her husband. "There," he soothed instead of chiding her, "it's over now and we can forget it." She began to sob convulsively and Paul, looking disgusted, turned away to inspect Cynthia. She was sitting up in the middle of the bed, rubbing her nose and wondering if she would get a black eye. If she did, she'd have to lie some more when she got home. They might phone Mr. Gorman to check her story. Then anything could happen. She felt a little reassured with Paul spoke again. His tone was bantering and she knew he was teasing her deliberately, but it was comforting, somehow, just to know that he was there.
"For your first yodeling job, you handled that okay," he said, with rare praise. "Your partner's got cuntlapper's remorse or something. Don't mind her. She'll be all right when she gets the hots again."
In quick sympathy and because Paul's approval made her feel ten feet tall, she reached forward and patted the bare shoulder in front of her. Roger's wife looked around, her eyes still streaming, and sniffed into the handkerchief her husband had handed her. "Now you can hate me," she whiffled. "I don't know what got into me."
"That's bullshit," Paul commented bluntly. You know you're a dike, so why lie about it?"
Roger looked up quickly. "That's no way to talk to a lady...." he began.
Paul's jeering laughter cut him short. "Lady!" he hooted. "If she's a lady, my ass is a lemon and you can suck it, Roger lad."
"Now look here." The other stood up and took a quick step toward his tormentor. "I asked you here tonight...."
"Because I told you I was bringing some young pussy and you could cut it if you liked? Isn't that so?"
When Roger did not answer, he went on. "Of course, if you feel brave, we can go outside and settle it that way." His manner was calm but he watched the other carefully. "Or if you want to stick to the bargain we made, it's my turn to screw your wife. How about it?"
Roger looked down at his shoes, then turned away and slumped down in the chair and took his head in his hands. "It's up to her." His voice was muffled and he did not look up.
"What say, beautiful?" Paul swung around to face the wife. She had dried her tears at last and was trying mostly unsuccessfully to dab some powder on her shiny face. "Shall we dance or would you rather give me a blow job? Either way suits me."
It sounded so rude, talking to another man's wife that way, that Cynthia expected Roger to come out of his chair fighting. But he just sat there, cradling his face, as though he did not mind. He was no longer the debonair host who had charmed her when she had been introduced to him. He looked crushed and older than she had thought.
Paul glanced at him, sneering openly, then appeared to forget that he was there. Pursing his lips in a soundless whistle, he began to get out of his clothes.
Cynthia stopped watching him remove his slacks to look back at Roger's wife and saw that she was staring at Paul's hairy shanks as though they fascinated her. On an impulse, Cynthia got off the bed, wishing that there was some whisky to warm her. She put on her panties and brassiere and, when Paul said nothing, got into the rest of her clothes. She felt warmer at once and sat down in the other chair, curious to see what was going to happen.
Paul's cock was only half standing, she noted, and felt glad that it had not stood up like it did when he was about to screw her. She should be feeling jealous, she told herself, surprised to find that she was not that way at all; only of an inquiring turn of mind, like she used to get before the circus started when she was a kid. She had never seen Paul fuck before except for stolen glimpses of his prick in her pussy during some of the positions he had so carefully taught her. Now she had a lively curiosity to see what he looked like when he was doing it to somebody else.
"Ready, tootsy?" He went over to the bed, stepping across Roger's outstretched legs without even glancing at him. "How do you want it? Round, long, blow? You say it and we'll do it. But hurry up. Everybody's been fucked but me."
He pulled the quilt off her nakedness and looked at her pussy. Then he got on the bed, straddling her belly, and allowed his hardening cock to push up between her big boobs. He cupped them together experimentally and drove his hardness up and back a couple of times. Then he grunted and settled himself so that his weight was half on her and half on his supporting knees. "That's it," he said, cheerfully for him. "We'll do it that way. It's a long time since I had a titty fuck."
He reached below his erection and pulled his balls up so that they made a brown patch against her whiteness and began to screw her slowly and evenly, holding her tits by the nipples daintily and pushing them together so that they made a tunnel for his penis to plow through. That was another thing he must do to her, Cynthia decided. She would try and persuade him to go down on her and fuck her in the boobs the next time they were alone.
Wondering how his companion was taking it, she examined her face and saw that her eyes were closed. Her lips were moving as though she was praying or talking to herself. As Cynthia watched, she saw a hand go down past Paul's thigh into the damp crotch hair and move slowly from side to side.
Paul was giving his entire attention to screwing, as he always did. He squeezed the big boobs closer together, then allowed them to open up a little. Finally, he found the exact pressure he needed and she gasped quickly as he put more of his weight on her belly, using his knees for purchase and driving his hard cock backward and forward in long, measured strokes.
Cynthia's clitoris began to throb as she watched them. She repeated to herself that she wasn't at all jealous, only disappointed that Paul was enjoying another woman when he could have had her under him instead. She stole a quick glance at Roger's chair and was surprised to see that he was no longer there. He must have sneaked out as soon as her attention was occupied by Paul's antics. She could not help feeling a little sorry for Roger. If he had been a bit less eager to take her before anybody had a chance to more than breathe, Paul might not have been so abrupt with him. He had brought it all on himself. He was probably drowning his sorrow in a big, cool highball at the bar. She forgot about him and gave her full, attention to what was happening on the bed.
Roger's wife had opened her eyes. Now she was blinking them dreamily, holding onto his arm with one hand and using the other to finger her pussy. Presently, she moved between his imprisoning knees and put both hands up to her tits, helping him to bunch them higher. He let her do that for about half a minute, then sat back and slapped her hands away and muttered something Cynthia could not hear. Every now and then, he raised up and allowed the underside of his prick to slide through the tunnel to contact the woman's chest Every time, Cynthia caught a glimpse of his tight balls swinging against the joined tits, causing them to quiver at each impact.
It grew a little monotonous after the first few minutes and Cynthia wished that he had decided to do it the regular way. She would have liked to see that hard horn of his ploughing somebody else's cunt, just to watch the action. All she could see this way was the movement of his buttocks and a brief glimpse of his cock head and the swinging testicles seeming to hammer his prick home. Still, it was thrilling, because it was Paul calling the shots.
She felt a strong urge to watch him come. Would he be satisfied to leave his semen between the tits or would he squirt higher up? The thought of his warm jizzum splashing out of his cock sent a shuddery thrill through her and she wanted him to hurry. She had never seen him finish; only felt him shoot off in her pussy and her mouth. In quick excitement, she got up and crossed to the bed to get a closer view.
Paul might have been reading her mind. He began to screw faster and the bed creaked, reminding her of the couch at the beach house. He was breathing through his mouth, as though needing more air. The white tits around his driving prick were stretched so tightly that they shone as though polished.
Obeying a sudden impulse, Cynthia leaned over and cupped a hand above the bunched boobies, just as Paul grunted and came in a final hard thrust. The shooting sperm lodged in her cupped palm and she thrilled again at the intimate warmth of it.
Paul sat back and untangled a foot from the wadded quilt. He wiped his prick on a corner of it while she stared at her dripping hand. He was reaching for his clothes when she went into the bathroom to wash up.
CHAPTER SIX
The girl called Terry was lithe and brown, as though she spent a lot of time on sunny beaches, playing handball in a bikini. She had been in the car when Paul stopped to pick Cynthia up, hunched in the front seat close to him, so that Cynthia had to sit on the outside.
Although they had barely arrived at the motel, she had already sensed that it was his intention to make her jealous by playing up to the other girl. He had kissed Terry twice since they got out of the car, while to Cynthia he had scarcely spoken a word.
Now he gave her a malicious grin. "Did you really think it was my bitchy sister-in-law calling?" He looked away to frown in mock reproof at Terry. "Sweetheart, you let my glass get empty." As she jumped up to busy herself with Scotch and ice, he gave his cynical attention to Cynthia once more. "My brother is attending a bankers' convention in Sacramento. It was in the paper. So I had Terry here fake it. I think she deserves a little fun for doing that, don't you?"
Without waiting for an answer, he reached out to spank Terry's trim behind as she handed him his drink and in spite of her resolve to remain cool and play it by ear, Cynthia experienced a twinge of envy. She knew that he was getting his kicks out of trying to make her mad. In another man, she would have called it a cheap trick but this was Paul, who was liable to come up with anything, as long as it was designed to offend and humiliate her.
She knew by now that he didn't care a damn about her except as someone to abuse and work his ill humor on and make love to when he felt like it. When she paused long enough to give that fact serious thought, she found, to her surprise, that she expected it At least he was honest. Had he treated her differently, he would have been out of character. And there was not a thing she could do about it. When she was away from him, she was miserable. It had been less than a week since he took her to the swinging party and it had seemed like a year. Even with this girl along, she was so glad to see him that she nearly choked up and she was sure he would hear her heart hammering.
"Come over here," he said to Terry. "Closer. That's it." Quickly, he ran his hand up under her miniskirt and she said "ouch" as the hand appeared again, holding a couple of dark hairs between thumb and finger. "You're a brunette, after all." He nodded his head, feigning astonishment. "From head to pussy."
He sighed contentedly and put his glass down to regard Cynthia quizzically. "You've been screwed by a white man, a black man, a young man, an old man," he reminded her pleasantly, "tongued by a stub-assed lez, doubled and buggered and taught just about every position there is. Quite an accomplishment for one so young and innocent, if I do say so. Remind me to dig you up a guy who's spotted or striped." He laughed at his own humor and drank the rest of his whisky. "Now, to work." He got up and clapped his hands.
Terry glanced at Cynthia apologetically. She did not appear to be enjoying the situation. This jealousy bit had to be Paul's own idea, another mischievous quirk to build his ego. Maybe he had paid Terry to stick around. It would be like him to do that.
"The class will come to order," Paul said. When they both looked at him, he waved a hand at the bed. "Welcome aboard."
When both girls had removed their clothes, he showed them the positions he wanted them to take. He told Terry to lie on her back with her head on the pillow, then made Cynthia lie below her, so that her legs hung over the footboard. He was already naked and he straddled Cynthia's head while he caught Terry's knees and pushed them wide. "Suck my prick," he directed Cynthia, then pushed his face between Terry's brown thighs and parted the dark hair in her crotch to get at her cunt with his tongue. "This is what is called a double sixty-nine," he informed them. "The top girl plays with her own tits and lies back and enjoys it."
There was barely room for Cynthia to find his hard cock and slip it between her lips. His balls kept getting in the way and she had to push them aside and hold them while she played her tonguetip up and down the tense shaft and under the head and in the eye.. He liked it that way, she knew, and feeling the slippery testicles sliding around in their cool bag gave her an extra thrill. When she had adjusted his hardness in her mouth, tightening her lips around it to accommodate the irregular strokes he made, she let his balls go and circled his prick with thumb and finger, to avoid gagging because he never cared how deep he fucked her that way. Then she lowered the other hand and found her clitoris and stroked it gently.
She was back in heaven again. She could feel Paul moving above her, tonguing Terry's pussy hard, but she did not mind. The fact that it was not her cunt he was sucking failed to disturb her as he no doubt intended. She had his prick all to herself and that was enough. Deliberately, she slowed down, moving her tongue languidly, to see if she could not delay his coming, wanting to prolong the great feeling indefinitely. Her clitoris was responding to the stroking, standing up, hardening under the friction. To delay climax, she barely moved her finger and, a couple of times, she took her hand away from her crotch to play with her nipples. The only better way, she decided, would have been to feel Paul's prick deep in her lubricated pussy. Maybe he would fuck her when he was through showing off. That way she could close her eyes and dream that he loved her, after all. Even dreams were better than nothing.
The bed was shaking and she knew it was Terry moving her hips, enjoying Paul's tongue-work, probably getting ready to come. That was her affair. Cynthia wanted to wait until she took the first squirt of his semen in her straining throat before going into orgasm. Maybe he would like it better, too. It was almost impossible to tell what satisfied him and what did not. He never said anything except when he was in a temper and then he was not constructive. She could only sense from his physical reaction to stimulus when he was excited.
Terry began to moan in a low, crooning way and, perversely, the thought that it was Paul making her do that pleased Cynthia, so that she forgot for a minute that she was engaged in a delaying action and sucked harder and harder, moving her tongue in little darting plays and working the foreskin up and back, playing with his balls and squeezing them ever so gently between her fingers. His immediate response told her that he approved.
Instead of thrusting irregularly in and out of her mouth as he had been doing, he began screwing rhythmically, up and down and deeper, until she had to be careful that she did not choke. She moved her circling thumb and finger higher along the rigid shaft and tightened them when she had to, so that her whole hand at times was holding him back.
Terry had stopped her moaning to start a regular series of sharp gasps punctuated by unintelligible muttering. As Paul would have agreed, she talked a good fuck. Cynthia's finger went back to her clitoris and she stroked faster and harder as Paul began to breathe heavily. She waited until she knew he was right on the edge of coming, then tongued the head frantically and made swallowing motions every time she let the length of him reach back in her throat.
The three of them appeared to come in the same second. Terry gave a small shriek just as Paul shot off in Cynthia's mouth and she pushed her finger as far as she could into her pussy and came with them, breathlessly and endlessly. It was good. It was perfect. She wanted to lie there forever, drinking his semen to the last warm drop.
"Pretty nice team work." Paul was sipping more Scotch on the rocks to condition him for further action. Terry was still stretched on the bed when Cynthia came out of the bathroom. "Take a look at that!" Paul motioned with his chin. "When I lick them, they stay licked."
It was on the point of Cynthia's tongue to ask him to do it to her but she thought better of it. He was running the show, as usual. No matter what she said, he would do as he pleased.
He finished his drink and got up and pinched one of Terry's still-hard nipples. She opened her eyes with a cry of pain and sat up quickly, massaging her breast.
"I just wanted to see if you were still alive," Paul mentioned conversationally. "Lie over on your side. I've got a treat for you."
Terry looked as though she was going to protest, then rolled over obediently, showing her white buttocks where her bathing suit had kept the sun off. Paul walked over to where his jacket was hanging on the back of a chair and took something out of a pocket. It was white and cylindrical, with a tapered head, something like a male penis. At first, Cynthia thought it was a dildo. One of the girls had brought one to school and explained how it was used. Then Paul pressed a button on the blunt back end and at once the thing gave out a whirring sound.
He disappeared in the bathroom and Cynthia heard the water running. When he came out, the white cylinder was foamy and slick where he had soaped it. He placed a thumb and finger around it and slid it back and forth a few times. When he thought it was slick enough, he went back to the bed.
Terry tried to roll back and see what he was doing and he snapped at her to hold still. When she hesitated, he slapped her buttocks, leaving red fingermarks. He pushed her back, then parted the white cheeks and fitted the tapered end against her rectum. She gave a little jump when he inserted it. When he turned it on, her whole lower body began to quiver and she pushed back quickly, trying to get more of the thing inside.
Cynthia identified it then. She had never seen one but from overheard conversations, she knew it was a vibrator and her curiosity sharpened as she saw Terry put a hand back to hold it.
Paul let her take the vibrator while he turned back to Cynthia. "Get your ass over here," he ordered crisply. He half shoved her onto the bed, then walked around the foot and lay down, facing Terry. "Hold the vibrator," he told Cynthia. When she complied, he pulled Terry's knee over his hip and fitted his standing prick between the lips of her pussy. Without pausing, he thrust the length of it balls-deep into her quivering body and began to fuck her in long slow thrustings, watching Cynthia meanwhile to make sure that she kept the vibrator in place.
Once more, she sensed that he was using her, purposely making fun of her while he enjoyed himself. Why, otherwise, was he screwing Terry when he could have been doing it to her? Instead, he was deliberately making her play second fiddle, doing chores like this when he should have taken her.
She let herself become angry enough to shove the vibrator further into Terry's rectum and make her yell a little. Then she lessened the pressure, telling herself that she was doing just what he wanted by losing her temper. By ignoring his crudeness, she would be annoying him and he might change his tactics. Summoning all her patience, she lay there, facing Terry's brown back and holding the vibrator so that it could not slip out, not even bothering to tickle her own cunt because she did not want Paul to think that she was interested. If she ever lost her cool, there was no telling what he might do to provoke her further.
Terry was moving her buttocks now, keeping time to Paul's stroking and Cynthia had to use extra care, holding the buzzing contraption loosely to keep it in place. Her struggle to control herself was not helped by the vibrations running up her arm to her breasts and her nipples began to stand again as she pictured what a sensation Terry must be getting from the double stimulus of the vibrator in her behind and a stiff prick in her pussy.
Fortunately, because Cynthia's resistance was wearing very thin, the coupling did not last long. Paul, shortening his strokes, suddenly pulled Terry's thigh further over his hip and Cynthia knew from his jerky breathing and the quick flurry of his buttocks that he was coming. Terry moaned softly and lunged against him and Cynthia felt a wetness in her own crotch as she realized that they had come together.
She took her hand off the vibrator and Terry rolled on her back, raising enough to snatch the thing out of her rectum and throw it on the floor. Then she rolled over onto her face and commenced to dry-fuck the bed beneath her.
"It's out but she can still feel it." Paul got up as soon as Terry began to roll. He stood at the foot of the bed watching her with a sardonic grin. "She'll come again before she snaps out of it. Watch and see."
As though to bear him out, Terry began to grind her teeth and thrash up and down. The bed creaked under her and the frantic movement increased, then seemed to reach a peak before she flattened, writhing still in an ecstasy of second orgasm. Then she rolled over on her back and opened her eyes wide and stared at them, her chest heaving as though she had been running. On the floor, the vibrator still buzzed impotently until Paul picked it up and switched it off.
Two highballs later, when Cynthia had given up the idea of finding any real pleasure, he looked at her and raised her hopes by saying, "It's your turn now, pussycat."
At his direction, the three of them stretched out face up on the rumpled bed, with Paul in the middle. He played with their nipples and fondled their breasts and stroked their crotches impartially until his penis once more stood hard and erect Then he rolled over onto Cynthia and spread her thighs impatiently and entered her in one long shove which took the breath out of her.
The rough handling hurt but she submitted meekly enough, happy with the thought that at last he had preferred her to Terry. Perhaps he was through with his teasing and now intended to take her as he had at their first coupling. The old familiar thrill returned at the weight of his bare body on hers and the stiffness of him inside her and she opened her thighs still wider and hugged his neck carefully, so as not to annoy him. Waiting for this to happen made it all the more wonderful. He must care for her a little; otherwise how could he take her so vigorously after spending twice? His prick ploughing back and forth in her moist cunt felt like an iron bar and she pushed up against him, giving her body to him entirely, to do whatever he wished.
On the other side of the bed, she could see Terry lying on her back, with one hand between her tightly closed legs. She must be feeling like I did, Cynthia thought a bit maliciously when she could think at all. Watching it happen was nothing to feeling it. Terry had had her fling. Now she could jack off by herself and good luck to her.
Paul put his hands down and pulled Cynthia's knees up, holding them there while he fucked her as deeply as he could drive his hardness. Her cunt twitched in response and she could barely keep from coming before she was ready. He was screwing quickly now. His fingers on her naked shoulders dug into the flesh and she knew that she would have bruises next day. But they would be good bruises because he had put them there. For a brief minute, she wanted to give him something to remember her and wondered if she dared bite his neck. She felt half delirious, wanting to meet her teeth just under his ear in a love bite which would show for a week. Suddenly terrified at what he most certainly would do to her if she even kissed him too hard, she got rid of the impulse in a hurry and began to meet his stroking instead.
She fell in with his rhythm, not moving fully to take his return strokes but meeting them with enough response to grind their crotches together deliciously before he pulled back. She grew impatient, wanting him to come, then come again in her without uncoupling and, in her haste, she lost her timing and heard him curse and thought he was going to slap her face.
She bit her lip, waiting for the expected blow. When it did not come, she lay perfectly still, letting him do the screwing, holding her breath when his thrusting grew shorter and even harder, ready to come the instant he spent the first drop. It was so wonderful that she wondered fleetingly if it were real or if she were only dreaming. Nobody else could make her feel so gloriously possessed except Paul. Maybe that was why she loved him and only came alive when he was with her.
Judging his readiness by his shortened breathing and the pressure of his fingers, she readied herself to receive his semen, wishing crazily for a moment that she was sucking him off and that she would be able to swallow it. But she would come with him, she promised herself; come completely, like she had never done before.
Now! She was moving again, unable to control her clamoring desire. She felt him thrust into her savagely and held her breath again. Her lips were bleeding where she had bitten them but that was nothing. All that mattered was to trip out together, to finish in perfect harmony.
She opened her eyes in sudden anguish, to find that he was no longer fucking her. Instead, he had moved quickly onto Terry and was giving her all of his attention, screwing her willing cunt like a horny dog. As Cynthia watched, only half understanding what was happening, she saw him come and grunt contentedly as he gave the other girl his squirting jizzum.
Cynthia got up and went into the bathroom and stayed there for a good ten minutes before Paul came in without knocking. "I just wanted to be sure you hadn't flushed yourself away," he said unfeelingly. "When you cool off, come on back and I'll let you have a drink. It'll be worth it after seeing that look on your face."
She sipped the Scotch without looking at either of them, feeling it warm her and iron some of the wrinkles out of her mind. After all, she reasoned, he was his own boss. He could put his god-damned come in his sister-in-law, for all she cared. Then she scolded herself for thinking that way. It was early still. Perhaps he'd give her another chance before the evening was over. Before she had finished her drink and because she wanted to, she had forgiven Paul completely, as she had known she would when she told herself she hated him. As she had read somewhere, forewarned was forearmed and she knew now to expect no favors so that she would not be left up in the air when he pulled one of his tricks again. In a sudden access of humility, she resolved to take whatever he handed her and be thankful. That way, there could be no more disappointments.
She watched him covertly while he belted down a shot of neat Scotch, hoping that he would not decide to take her home yet. If he would only give her a chance, instead of going out of his way to hurt her feelings, he could take Terry as many times as he could come and she would help him. She did not remember in her upset condition if she had finished when he pulled out of her and mounted Terry. Anyway, that was past and the best thing to do was forget it. She was wondering what he intended to do, noticing that he was pouring the last of the whisky into his glass. Maybe if he sobered up, he'd give her a break. He spoke sharply, interrupting her thoughts.
"I suppose it was a dirty trick, leaving you like that, so I'm going to make up for it."
But it was Terry he led over to the bed, making her sit against the headboard with her tanned legs apart. "Hold it there." He turned then and beckoned to Cynthia. "Put your head on the pillow between Terry's legs," he directed when she got up and crossed the floor. "Face up and raise your knees."
When she obeyed, he told Terry to take her thighs and hold them up. "The old rabbit catcher position," he mentioned. "The old mid-wives used it or have you been neglecting your sociology?"
Quickly, he skinned his jutting prick as he knelt below Cynthia's tensed buttocks and fiddled round to find the opening. He succeeded and she caught her breath sharply as he drove his hard horn deep into her rectum and laughed as she flinched at the shooting pain.
"Hold onto her," he flung at Terry. "She's been asking to be screwed all evening. Don't let her go until I'm through."
She had anticipated feeling his prick in her pussy and the switch, in addition to the sharp discomfort in her distended rectum, took her breath away for a minute. She felt helpless, like a trussed chicken, especially when Paul pushed her fluttering hands away and put his own on top of her raised thighs to pull himself further into her. Terry's fingers were softer than his but they still bruised her. She felt some small relief when the girl clasped her restraining hands together under Cynthia's knees, still holding her firmly but at least giving her something to rest on. Even so, she was doubled so far back that she was sure that her pussy was gaping and she experienced quick shame at finding herself in such a position in front of another woman.
The only time she had been taken by a man that way was when Vivian had tried it in the beach house and Charley lost the toss for the "double." The black man's cock had been bigger than Paul's but he had only put part of it in her and the head had been half outside when he shot off. Charley, standing, was never more than half in her rectum except when he drove deeper to come. Paul was not so considerate. He was driving his whole length into her, not caring how much he hurt her.
Through the blur of pain and mounting unhappiness, she could feel Terry moving in time with Paul's stroking, giving herself a dry run. The bitch, Cynthia thought. If she hadn't come along, things would have been different. She must have a prick in her brain or maybe she had fallen for him. Cynthia relented. It was not Terry's fault but Paul's, the louse. He might have paid her or maybe she just liked to screw, which in itself was no crime.
Paul's horn was hurting her more and more and she had to bite her already bleeding lips, liking nothing about it except the intimacy of his crotch pressing against her buttocks and the possessive urgency of his hands holding her thighs. She did not count Vivian's nervous effort as screwing. Paul had got the poor guy all worked up with his threatening and, in spite of that, the black man had tried to spare her. Screwing was what she was getting now, really and entirely. It hurt and it did nothing for her except to bring on negative excitement because her man was into her, like it or not.
She tried to play with her nipples but her knees were in the way. Then she remembered her clitoris, standing in spite of the pain or because of it, but her thighs were too tight against her belly and she could not reach her crotch. Finally she gave up trying and lay back against Terry's warm stomach, trying not to flinch every time that rigid prick plunged into her and hoping that Paul would come quickly and get it over with.
A man, she seemed to remember, could get a kick out of being taken in the rectum because of a gland called the prostate which responded to stimulus somewhat like a woman's clitoris. But a woman was not built that way. All she could feel, beyond the mental kick, was an unwelcome invasion of the passage which was not meant for such coupling. There had been some furtive discussion at school as to why men went in for ass fucking. Queers, she had been told, did it all the time but that was because a man, except for his mouth, had no other opening in his body large enough to accommodate a big hard cock. Also, the theory had been put forward that the rectum, being round in shape, provided greater friction for the male member right from the start, instead of being oval for most of the occupied area. And the rectum was tighter than the vagina. Tightness and hence more friction was gratifying to men. Some of the overheard conversation at school and in the street attested to that. That must be why Paul liked her to close her lips tightly around his erection when she sucked him off. That, apart from the desire to embarrass her in front of a stranger, was doubtless why he was taking her that way now.
He came finally, in a brief burst of hurried pumping which left her rectum lubricated and a vacuum in her pussy because she had not received his semen there. For a minute, she thought he was about to go for a deuce but he finally ceased thrusting and took his prick out and went into the bathroom to wash himself.
Terry had jerked her hips a bit when Paul shot off and Cynthia supposed that she had come. She did not care, one way or the other and when the other released her doubled knees, she stretched out full length, feeling the relief ease through her cramped muscles, glad that it was over but proud in a way that he had taken her, even if it was painful and shameful to her.
She was crying when he let her out of the car an hour later. She had tried to thank him submissively for what he had done and he had taken it the wrong way, claiming that she was bitching and making fun of him in front of Terry.
"Shut your goddam trap," he raged at her. "I've a good mind to drop a note to your folks, telling them that they have a whore for a daughter. Here."
Involuntarily, she had caught the thing he tossed to her. Dazedly, because she was petrified by his unwarranted accusation and his threat about telling her parents, she glanced at her hands and saw that she was holding the vibrator.
"Go and fuck yourself," Paul sneered. "That's all you're good for."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Two days later, on Saturday afternoon, the telephone rang and she answered. It was Paul and when he recognized her voice, he stopped pretending that he was his brother and laughed. "What're you doing, pussycat?" he inquired. "Still mad at me?"
She wanted to hang up on him but she listened in spite of herself. A hundred times, she had told herself that it was all over between them. Yet now, as soon as she heard his voice, she was almost peeing her pants to see him again.
"See you at eight. Same place. Good-bye, pussycat." She caught his mocking chuckle as he broke the connection, leaving her staring at the receiver in her hand and hating herself because she knew that she would keep the appointment. When her mother came home, she gave the usual excuse of babysitting for the Gormans, who, according to the paper, had returned from Sacramento yesterday. "That's nice," her mother smiled. "What are you going to do with all your money, dear?"
That was something else. She had earned no pay since the second night Paul had come to the beach house. She'd have to lie and say that she had opened a savings account at Mr. Gorman's bank. Things were promising to get out of hand fast. She stood there, holding the receiver without replacing it, feeling sudden panic which had been latent in her mind ever since she had met Paul. If her mother ever got suspicious and phoned the Gormans', she and he would be in immediate trouble. As to the money thing, she could see him sneering at her and branding her a whore if she asked for some. She cradled the receiver, making up her mind to talk to him that very night. She walked over to the window and stood looking out into the street without seeing anything. The helpless feeling that had been haunting her lately came back. She shivered a little, knowing beyond any argument that she would keep on doing whatever he wished. She was trapped and that was all there was to it.
She took a book with her when she left the house a few minutes before eight. It crossed her mind that her parents must be wondering why Mr. Gorman had not sent the car for her lately, although neither her father nor her mother had commented to her. Then she saw Paul, parked at the far corner of the block, waiting for her, and she forget everything else in the anticipation of going with him again.
"You're late," he growled when she opened the car door and got in beside him. "You kept me waiting. I don't like to be kept waiting."
He appeared to be in a worse mood even than two nights ago when he had throw the vibrator at her and told her to do a job for herself. She made some excuse about her watch being slow, careful to keep her distance and not crowd against him. He made a quick U-turn, earning a loud curse from the driver of another car and exceeded the speed limit until they were on the edge of town among spectral trees and oil pumps which for some reason frightened her. He had never taken her here before and she wondered what was going on in his mind. They were off the highway and there were no motels in this area. He spoke to her, allaying her quick sense of unease.
"I've got something special for you tonight, pussycat." His tone was more agreeable. He seemed to have recovered his temper and she became excited enough to forget her misgivings and wonder again what he intended. That it would be something more or less unpleasant was practically certain. However, there was also the certainly that, whatever it was, it would be new. Paul never played the same tune twice. That she thought, must be part of his fascination for her.
He turned the car into a rutted lane and drove between sagging fences until they reached a small frame house set back from the road under eucalyptus trees.
"Get out," he said. "This is where we dance."
He put a key in the front door and switched on the light and at once a large red dog came bounding across the room and almost knocked Cynthia down.
"He won't hurt you," Paul grinned as she slipped behind him. "His name's King. He likes you, pussycat."
He grabbed the dog's ears and pulled them until the animal whined and pulled away. Then he took him by the collar and led him to the door behind them and pushed him outside. "He watches the place when I'm away," he mentioned almost affably.
This must be where Paul lived, she guessed looking around the living room interestedly. Typically, he did not ask her to sit down and she decided on the couch while she watched him open a closet and produce a bottle of whisky. He went out of the room and came back almost at once with a bowl of ice and two glasses.
"I'm afraid I haven't been able to manage a bar like my banker brother," he flung over a shoulder, "but it tastes the same." He got busy with both glasses and handed her a more than generous drink and raised his own. "Here's to sex," he toasted. "It's love that makes the world go round."
She wanted to ask him about the place and questions crowded into her mind. So far, nobody else had appeared and her feminine sense told her that no woman lived here. Yet the living room was tidied and clean and the furniture dusted.
He might have been reading her thoughts because he solved the question of the dusting and polishing by mentioning that he had a cleaning woman come in twice a week. "My dear brother at least sees to it that I live in the manner to which I am unaccustomed," he said ambiguously. It was the first time that he had even suggested receiving money from Josh Gorman. "He pays, me to stay away from him," he went on, between sips of Scotch. "You see, I'm the bad apple in our family. Josh would rather pay up than put up with me."
So she had been right, Cynthia thought. He lived on his brother. Like a parasite, her mind prompted her. "Is that where the new car came from?" she dared to inquire. The whisky was making her brave.
"None of your business," he chided, as though he was not paying much attention. He seemed to be preoccupied, immersed in his thoughts as he held his glass up and let the light filter through the amber drink. Then he drained it in a quick swallow and looked over at her. "Get undressed," he said dourly.
The evening was a little chilly and she would have liked to leave her slip on but she knew he would not stand for it. "Meat to meat," he had once told her. "That's the only way to go."
In spite of the times she had taken her clothes off in front of Paul and his friends, she felt quick shyness now and turned her back while she slipped out of her underthings. Maybe because she was in his house, she figured. Still with her bare back turned, she stretched out on the couch, wishing she could cover her breasts and hips with her dress and certain that he would bawl her out if she did.
"You read my mind," he said, coming over to join her. He was naked and automatically she glanced down and saw his standing cock. It twitched as she looked and she resisted the impulse to put a hand out and stroke it. He would tell her what to do when he was ready.
She thought he would lie down beside her and perhaps play with her boobies and bite the nipples a bit before mounting her. Instead, he turned away and went over to the door and opened it to let the dog in. It made a beeline for the couch and she felt its cold nose nudge her thigh before Paul called it back and took a leash from the wall. He tied it securely to the leg of a heavy armchair and it sat on the rug and whined plaintively when he left it to come back to her.
"He's young like you," he told her mischievously. "He still has a lot to learn. You don't mind if he watches us, do you?"
She shook her head, refraining from answering because she knew it would be all the same if she did mind. Anyway, she'd rather have an animal present than another of Paul's friends. Then she glanced past him and saw the dog watching them out of sharp brown eyes and wished that Paul had left him outside. A little shudder ran through her and she found no explanation except that she wanted them for once to be completely alone.
Paul nudged her and she made room for him beside her. He put a hand on her tits, gently at first, then pinching the nipples roughly as his hard penis prodded against her hip. He turned toward her to push her thighs apart and find her clitoris with a finger. Presently, he took his hand away from her boobies and lipped the standing nipples without biting them, using his tongue to probe them and sucking them in turn until they were wet and shiny.
She almost came before he stopped teasing her pussy with his urgent finger and nudged her again, harder this time. "Get up on your knees," he ordered. "We'll do it dog fashion and give King over there a few pointers."
He stood up while she got into position, with her head propped against her crossed hands on the arm rest and her back curved so that her buttocks were raised sufficiently, as he had taught her. Then he knelt behind her in a hurry, as though anxious to couple and, almost at once, she felt his hardness in her pussy, slipping full length into her and not stopping for the head to engage her standing clitoris before his crotch hair tickled her crotch, then retreated as he pulled back for another hard thrust. She grunted a little as he drove his prick into her again and murmured a little prayer to her cushioning hands that he would go all the way.
The searching head came back for a third stroke and she loved the shuddering thrill as it lingered for a couple of tremendous seconds between the distended lips and rubbed her clitoris before plunging back into her hot vagina. She sighed happily and closed her eyes, settling down to enjoy the pure ecstasy of being fully taken at last. It was worth all the teasing, all the degradation she had gone through to experience a perfect union like this. His hands came sliding under her arms to find her tits and his impatient fingers on her nipples made her straining cunt twitch.
She smiled in pure enjoyment as he cupped both breasts in his hands and tugged at them as though to pull her closer to his crotch, until her buttocks pressed against his thighs and his piercing length thrust further inside her. She wanted desperately to fuck him back, to move in time with him, and only the knowledge that he would be angry restrained her and kept her kneeling passively while he entered her fully, creating his own rhythm, possessing her nakedness completely.
He began to screw her so hard that her face slid over her folded hands and she reversed them for a better purchase. When her head continued to move forward at every new thrust, she laid a cheek on the couch arm and held onto the smooth fabric with both hands instead of cupping her face in them. It worked even better when she turned slightly and anchored a shoulder against the arm.
She thought of letting herself come. It would have been so easy with his full prick opening her cunt and nudging her clitoris every time the head came back far enough. Then she remembered what she had done before when he took her in this position. She sneaked a hand back between her thighs and found her clitoris with a probing finger and pushed it down against the chafing shaft, so that it was engaged during the entire stroke in and out. Now she did not have to hold her breath until the flange of the head touched it momentarily before returning. The ecstasy was continuous instead of periodic and she wondered how long she would be able to stand it without crying out in pure rapture.
She decided to delay orgasm as long as possible. At first, when Paul and the others had taken her, she had come three or four times before they were ready. It was a glorious sensation but she had learned that saving herself for the final climax, with the driving prick squirting the tepid semen into her so that the emotion left her weak and spent, was not only better but more fulfilling.
When she was unable to stand the constant friction on her depressed clitoris a moment longer, she took her finger away and groped until she found Paul's balls. They were cool in her hand, as usual, just beginning to bunch up in his crotch, a sign, she had learned, that he was still a little way from finishing. She played with his testicles, softly so as not to hurt him, popping them like slick wine grapes between her thumb and finger and cupping them in her palm, trying to imagine what it would be like to suck each one and promising herself to try it next time she took his prick in her mouth.
She began to make her vagina twitch around his plunging hardness, knowing instinctively that it would make him come sooner and release her to climax with him. She was so intent on keeping the twitching action up that she barely noticed that he had pulled out of her cunt until the head of his wet prick came ramming against her rectum and opened it and drove inside. Before she could do more than gasp and release his balls, his full erection was buried in there, splitting her like something on a pin and pumping in and out harder and faster than ever.
Now she realized how appropriate the word "fuck" was. Not only did it adequately describe the condition of being screwed but the very sound of it expressed the feeling of having a hard cock in one's body. She was being fucked now, as much and as thoroughly as she ever hoped to be. Paul's turgid cock felt like a thick stick inside her and, perhaps because it had been lubricated from her pussy when he rammed it into her rectum, it did not hurt her nearly as much as when he had entered her that way, with Terry holding her legs, at the motel.
She even changed her mind about the sensation it gave her, liking it more and more. It still hurt briefly when he shoved the head as far up her colon as he could and held it in there for a second or two before withdrawing. A thought struck her during one of these momentary pauses and she strained tentatively as though she were having a bowel movement, smiling again when she felt the stationary shaft throb in response.
She practiced the straining motion every time his urgent prick returned, timing the pressure to the moment when the head began to recede, as though she were ejecting it. She thrilled when she found him working with her, neglecting to withdraw until she had expelled a full half of his penis from her rectum, then entering her again, slowly and deeply, always with the throbbing effect which made her think she was going crazy. She became so expert that, after a few more attempts, she found that she could milk his cock with her rectum fully as well as she could have done with her mouth or her hand.
Without warning, while she was debating whether to hold back or let herself come in a burst of delirious joy, he let her void the entire length of it. The head made a queer plopping sound as it emerged and she suddenly felt empty and useless, only reviving when he entered her wet pussy again without missing a stroke, straining into her and hauling on her thighs to bring her back against him.
Now his swinging balls were bumping between her tense legs, feeling tighter at each stroke and the glorious sensation shot through her again as she envisioned their coming together because neither could delay any longer. She chewed her lips, finding any more waiting intolerable. She had to come or trip out.
The watching dog whined for the first time since they started coupling, straining at the leash and choking with the pressure from the collar, to sit panting, tongue lolling, to regard them with its head on one side inquiringly. It drooled on the rug and whined again. Both were too busy to give the dog any attention. Each was breathing rapidly and the couch shook under them with the combined effort which was approaching mutual frenzy.
They came in the next second in violent unison, bruising each other in the urgency of their desire. His fingers gripping her tits were iron bands and his prick a triphammer driving into her flesh. The room and everything in it blurred, then began to wheel in crazy circles as his semen jetted into her twitching cunt. She closed her eyes and left the scene, tripping to nowhere, out of herself, uncaring if there was any more.
The dog's cold nose exploring her wet crotch aroused her. Paul stood behind him, with the unfastened leash dangling from one hand. When she jumped and turned over, he laughed at her quick alarm. "Don't mind King, pussycat. You can't blame him for wanting a little, too, now can you?"
She sat up quickly, pushing the dog away with one hand while she reached for her slip to cover her nakedness. "You wouldn't!" Her voice trembled a little as she stared at Paul's amused face. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Oh, I don't know," he answered conversationally. "King is a gentleman. He's a Labrador retriever with a pedigree longer than my cock. And he's a virgin."
"But-" She reached quickly for a pillow and hugged it against her breasts, not looking at the dog, her eyes wide with something close to terror as she considered the enormity of what Paul was thinking. She wouldn't do it. She couldn't. Not with an animal. Letting a black man screw her was bad enough and she had enjoyed Vivian doing it in her pussy. But not a dog. Underneath all her resolution, yet dominating her mind, was the certainty that she would do anything he asked. The inevitability of it brought tears of self-pity to her eyes, so that his face seemed to be swimming in fog.
"I know several girls who like to be dog fucked." Paul's tone was reasonable for once, as though he was not ordering her but merely commenting. "Most of them prefer a dog to a man. You didn't know that did you?"
Mutely, having trouble with her breathing, she watched while he came over and sat on the other end of the couch. When the red dog followed him, she crouched back against the armrest still hugging the cushion and trying to cover her thighs with the slip. She could hear her heart thumping and she was chewing her lips again.
"Here, boy." Paul snapped his fingers and the dog came nearer and rested his muzzle on Paul's bare knee. Dully, Cynthia's whirling mind registered the fact that King's rippled coat was a near-auburn, and his liquid eyes at that short distance were deep golden. Paul patted the sleek head, then reached across the dog's body to pull him around so that he was facing Cynthia, while his feathered tail brushed against Paul's legs. "There's the boy." Paul patted him again, then put a hand between the animal's legs. He fingered the shiny black balls and King looked around at him, whimpering softly as the hand slid forward to find the sheath of the penis.
Staring in spite of herself, Cynthia saw the pink head, pointed like a blunt spear, emerge for a couple of inches as Paul drew the sheath back and worked it slowly along the hardening shaft. King humped his back quickly and whimpered again as he began to fuck Paul's hand. At any other time, the intent look in the golden eyes might have appeared comical, but all Cynthia's attention now was riveted on the pointed prick coming further out of the sheath with each stroke, sprinkling the rug with a few drops of what she thought might be semen, while a big knob swelled under Paul's circling fingers. The knot, she had heard, was what caused a dog to get hung up in a bitch and again the feeling of pure terror gripped her as she thought of being connected that way until the dog's prick softened and the swelling went down.
Perversely, on the heels of her panic came a quick curiosity about how a stiff prick lacking a head, with a thing in the middle as big as a walnut, would feel in her pussy. Dogs fucked quickly, she knew, and she hated herself for trying to feel the strange-looking cock jabbing in and out of her.
Now questions began to replace some of the fear crowding her mind. As there was no visible foreskin on King's thrusting penis, would the friction be greater? A man's prick, even when fully inserted in the vagina, slipped back and forth in the foreskin, which in turn moved behind the head to create sensation. But a dog's cock had no definite head; only a slanting tip containing the eye. King's had a large eye and the sight of it, appearing to open more as the panting animal screwed, suddenly made her pussy twitch. At once, she felt herself blushing, admitting lively interest in the animal's member despite her revulsion at the thought of any contact with it.
Paul took his hand away when the swelling in King's penis emerged from the sheath and stayed that way. The dog continued to go through the motions of fucking for a few more seconds. More droplets dribbled out of the open eye and Cynthia could see the shaft behind the knot running back, hard as a stick, to the black testicles.
King screwed on, slowing down now that Paul's hand was not there to masturbate him. Finally he stopped altogether, whimpering plaintively as he turned his head to lick his retreating erection.
"Turned you on, didn't it?" Paul's question held derision as he regarded her closely. "I can tell. You want to fuck that pink horn so much you can taste it. Just to show you that I'm a right guy, I'm going to let you. Get down on the rug."
"Oh, no!" The gripping fear was back again and she put a hand to her mouth in quick alarm.
"Oh, yes!" Paul's tone was thin now. "You're going to do it and I'm going to watch you. Or would you rather I had a short telephone conversation with your folks?"
"No, not that! Yes...." She hardly knew what she was saying.
"I guarantee King will not hurt you. I had the vet clip his claws less than a week ago and his cock is not as big as mine. So get going."
It was the threat to tell her parents, more than anything, that made her get off the couch and kneel on the rug, she told herself. It was not until afterward that she admitted to feeling a strange thrill, different to the anticipation of being taken by a man. Men's pricks, except for length and thickness, were much the same and felt the same but the one she had just seen, with its flat point and dripping eye and the funny bulb in the middle and no foreskin, interested her even against her better judgment. What sensation would it give her, she wondered, especially if its owner diddled it in and out quickly, like the mating dogs she had seen in the street? Above all, and the risk she would be taking thrilled her rather than bringing back the natural fear, would King hang up in her pussy, unable to withdraw? A spell of breathlessness plagued her at the thought.
Out of the corner of an eye, she saw Paul push the animal behind her with his muzzle almost touching her exposed crotch. The dog's questing nose nudged her rectum, then went deeper to find the lips of her pussy. As soon as he smelled the vestiges of semen in the labia, he whined afresh and she felt the weight of his lumbering forelegs as he mounted her. His blunted claws bruised the tops of her thighs and his darting prick, hard as iron, entered and left her crotch without penetrating either orifice.
"You clumsy bastard." Paul reached over and took King's questing prick in his hand again and guided it to the wet slit of Cynthia's cunt. "Don't let him come in your ass," he cautioned her. "If he gets in there, we'll be here until morning."
Paul removed his hand and at once she flinched as she felt the point and then the hard shaft of the dog's cock drive up her pussy. The swollen bulb halfway along the rigid member lingered over her clitoris, tight and hot in the passage, then went on until she felt the hairy sheath prickling the entrance. The sensation was weird as King drove his prick deeper. After the first contact with the tapered end parting the labia, all she could feel was the knot slipping into the vagina, as though someone was pushing a spongy golf ball deep inside her.
After the sensation of a man's balls swinging into her crotch in time with the fucking action, the impact of the dog's lesser testicles was an anticlimax. They did not swing, being shorter and tighter. They might have been a couple of dark plums following his prick, making the sensation fleeting and vague. All the same, they were balls, male balls. The resultant mental stimulus was exciting even if the physical reaction was less.
Now Cynthia knew how a bitch felt when she took the male dog in her necessarily narrower passage. If it was difficult for the dog to retire his turgid knot after orgasm, it must also be hard and painful for the female to accommodate such an organ, shaped, as it were, like a douching syringe with a tube at either end.
So far, there was no indication of difficulty in insertion or retraction. The central knot, which was all she could feel once the stiff penis was fully inside her, slipped back and forth at three times the speed a man usually screwed. Now King was fucking in earnest, holding the tops of her thighs tightly in his circling paws, beginning to pant with the exertion and drooling on her bare back as he pumped the prick to her.
In comparison to a man, a dog normally comes quicker. This one driving his hardness into her was no exception. Subconsciously, she had been waiting for the sluicing semen to come squirting into her cunt ever since the animal had entered her, intrigued as to whether a dog's jizzum was as hot as a man's and how much there would be.
She found out quickly. King only took a few more strokes before spending. She was surprised and somehow disappointed that there was no sudden flurry before squirting, as in the case of a man reaching orgasm. The dog simply moved his erection in her pussy at the attained speed, which did not increase or diminish in length or rapidity right up to the moment he finished. There was no attendant effect of faster breathing, only the quick, steady pumping of the stone-hard cock and the tapping of the small testicles, then, without warning, a flood of splashing juice further lubricating her vagina and sending shudders of pleasure all through her, during which, for some unexplained reason, she failed to come.
Apprehension shot into her mind as the dog finished and began to withdraw. To her great relief, the swollen knot, even larger now that he had spent, slid back and came out of her distended pussy without difficulty. Had the swelling been in her rectum, as Paul had warned, the tight closure of the sphincter muscle would surely have held the panting animal inside her. The fresh contact of the retreating knot with her clitoris made her shrink back in quick ecstasy.
"Good boy." She could not see Paul but she knew that he was patting King's head. "Blew your first one in a woman, eh? Now go back and finish the job."
What now, she wondered dully? Did he want the dog to take her a second time? She heard the animal's blunt claws scratch the rug as Paul hauled him back to face her buttocks. "Get your nose in there and show us how you can lap." Paul must have pushed King's nose into her crotch. Nervous, not knowing what was going to happen, she flinched quickly and almost cried out as the cold nose snuffled against her rectum. Dogs always smelled one another when they met, she knew, but did this one have to do it to her after taking her so completely?
Then the animal's rough tongue, warm where its nose had been moist and cool, licked across her rectum and she forgot to be apprehensive and scared in the pure delight of it.
Cynthia put her head down on her arms and gave herself entirely to physical sensation. She forgot to be afraid or disgusted anymore. The licking tongue was an independent thing, unconnected, just a tongue caressing her intimately, without origin. It might have been Paul's or Vivian's or the lesbian wife's who had made love to her at the swinging party.
Her dripping pussy twitched uncontrollably as King stopped his probing of her rectum and gave his attention to the wet area further down. At every second lick, the end of his tongue found the opening of her cunt. Then he was licking the hair around it, opening the lips and applying the warm roughness to her clitoris. Unable to keep still under the added stimulus, she pushed back against him and heard Paul chuckle and urge the dog to further effort. "Lay it into her, King boy."
The derision in his voice had no effect on her mind. Before, when the dog was screwing her, she had decided that she could not get any lower than allowing an animal to possess her. Now she could not have cared less, as long as the wonderful sensation continued to drive her almost out of her mind. She knelt there and enjoyed it, deliberately repressing all thought other than the realization that she had never experienced anything so exciting before. She knew that she was going to come before that teasing tongue made many more strokes over her clitoris and this time she had no intention of holding back as she was beginning to do when Paul took her. The woman at the party had done her best but nothing a human tongue could do was a match for King's hard licking. His strokes were longer, beginning at her standing clitoris, which seemed to puzzle him a little so that he lingered over it, to end on her rectum before lapping back for another pass.
She did not even try to repress the overwhelming urge when it drove everything else out of her head. Instead, she held back for a couple of maddening seconds to let her desire become unendurable, then came with a hard gasp until she became afraid that she could not stop. It was the best orgasm she had ever felt and it left her momentarily spent and weak. She closed her eyes, trying to retain the exquisite feeling, and the dog's tongue left her crotch and he whimpered behind her.
Her eyes were still closed in delicious reverie when she felt his paws grasp her hips and his silky belly hair tickling her back as he mounted her again. His moist nose sniffed the back of her neck and he licked it briefly. Although she could not see him, she knew that Paul was helping the dog to find her pussy with his pumping cock.
It parted the lips almost at once and the engorged knot in the middle which had reminded her of a douching syringe followed the sharp head deep into her vagina. She could feel the swollen part forcing her pussy open, sinking in ever deeper as he quickened his strokes. The knot was even bigger than Vivian's black cock and it hurt her this time as King rammed his erection into her. But the pain was pure pleasure, making her want to laugh and scream as she pushed back against it. She turned her flushed face sideways on her folded arms and giggled and sobbed, out of herself, in a state of total rapture which frightened her as it enthralled her mind to the exclusion of everything else.
Vaguely, she wondered for an instant if the dog's plunging prick would tear her pussy. Then the thought vanished as the rapture prevailed. The big bulb seemed not to move anymore. Only the sharp head and the shaft were providing any friction, driving in and out at an ever-quickening rate as though detached from the swollen section. Her straining mind did not even try to explain it. All she was aware of now was the stick-hard shaft rasping over her clitoris, making her want to come forever.
From her experience the first time King took her, she knew that the coupling would be over almost as soon as it began. The dog would spend in her much sooner than a man could reach orgasm. Yet doing it with King seemed to extend the act, in spite of its brief duration, into a much more satisfying and complete experience.
Even though she was subconsciously ready when he came, the first jet of his tepid semen took her by surprise. Then she was with him, climaxing in a protracted orgasm which dominated her mind and body so entirely that she could not remember the urgent prick coming out of her.
Dimly, she thought that a brief light flashed behind her. She heard Paul talking to the dog and pushed herself up to turn and face him. Then she saw the camera with the flash attachment in his hand. She wanted to protest but the impulse was a weak one. What did it matter, anyhow?
"I took a couple more before," he informed her evenly, "but you were too busy to notice. Don't worry. They're just insurance. I won't show them to anyone unless I have to."
He tugged at the panting retriever's silken ears until the dog yelped, then turned away to pour himself a drink.
She was coming out of the bathroom when he spoke again. "Now you know how to dog-diddle," he mentioned and the sneer was back in his tone. "That's insurance, too; for your old age, like saving yo-yos and boy scout knives."
Later, she hated him and herself and cried all night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In spite of herself, the first thing Cynthia looked for a few evenings later as Paul opened his front door was the dog King. To her disappointment, he did not come rushing to meet them like the first time and Paul answered her unspoken question.
"He's at the vet's. Won't eat. I think he's in love."
She felt the hot blush on her face but he did not pursue the subject. As usual, the first thing he did was to dig out the whisky and go into the kitchen for ice.
She had regained a measure of cool when he came back and put another question which popped into her mind. "Why didn't we come here instead of going to those motels?"
He turned quickly," frowning at her. "You know I don't like questions," he grunted. "Why don't you shut up? If it'll ease your mind, I only moved in here a couple of weeks ago. Anything else bothering you?"
"No," she answered contritely. "I just asked."
He grunted again but had nothing more to say until he handed her a drink. "Drink it all, pussycat It's got a pill in it, like I told you. You'll need it tonight."
Wondering and not caring overmuch what the evening held in store for her as long as Paul was there, she sipped the Scotch. Then, because she was thirsty, she emptied the frosted glass in two long swallows and asked Paul politely if she could have another.
He looked at her appraisingly without saying anything, then surprised her by taking the glass and refilling it. "Enjoy yourself," he said. "There's work to be done."
She was sipping her second drink, not enthusiastic about the taste of the whisky but enjoying the quick kick it gave her, when a car stopped outside, followed by a loud knocking on the door.
Paul put his drink down without appearing surprised and went to the door and opened it Past him, Cynthia saw another man about Paul's age. When he came in, a girl wearing a lot of makeup and a pair of hot pants followed, resting a hand briefly on Paul's arm in greeting and glancing curiously at Cynthia. She was so made up that her age was anyone's guess. Cynthia was certain that she would never see thirty again, which made her more or less old and decrepit.
"Welcome to my lowly pad," Paul said. He waved at chairs and mixed two more drinks. Only after he had handed them to his new guests did he bother with introductions. "Cynthia, meet Trudy and Bill. They're brother and sister, though you'd never guess it."
She had already lost interest in the girl and was studying the brother, comparing him to Paul. He was an athletic type, broad through the shoulders, with almost white hair which stood up stiffly in a crew cut. He was younger than his sister, Cynthia figured, and she felt sure that he had played football at school. At first glance, she liked him somewhat more than she disliked Trudy.
"This is the girl I told you about," Paul mentioned. "She's coming along fast but she still has a lot to learn. What do you suggest we do for openers?"
When they hesitated, he went on. "Don't be afraid to speak up. She knows what the score is."
Trudy handed him her empty glass and shook her head at the offer of a refill. "Let's go then," she suggested. "The first thing to do is take off our clothes." She sent a quick glance in Cynthia's direction to see how the idea affected her and opened her blue-shadowed eyes a trifle wider as she watched her get up off the couch and pull her dress over her head. "Well," Cynthia heard her murmur, "she's quick on the draw, right enough."
For some not apparent reason, Bill wanted to keep his jockey shorts on but Paul shook his head. "No fair to organized lechery. Get 'em off."
As soon as the other reluctantly complied, Cynthia was barely able to stifle a giggle as she saw the reason for his hesitation. He was blessed with a pair of balls like a yearling bull's, above which nestled a penis less than an inch long, looking as though the rest of it had been cut off. Cynthia was convinced that he must have had an accident until she saw the pink head emerging from the foreskin. As she watched, incredulous still, the head came all the way out and the foreskin receded as the stubby prick became erect. In no time at all, even while his sister was unconcernedly removing her brassiere, Bill's baffling member was standing proudly up against his belly, longer and thicker than Paul's.
"Had you guessing, didn't it?" Paul, who had been watching the astonishment grow in Cynthia's face, laughed shortly. "Bill has a gut cock. It's in his own when it's not in somebody else's." He nodded when he saw that all of them were naked. "That's that," he said. "Where do we go from here?" He was looking at Trudy and she made a face at him, then smiled.
"Why pick on me? I'm just here, like the rest of us. But if I had my druthers, I'd like to play merry-go-round."
It made no sense to Cynthia until Trudy stepped out into the middle of the floor and bent over, with her hands on her knees. At once, Paul took his hard penis in one hand and made like he was leading himself by it. When he came up behind Trudy's dimpled buttocks, he pushed his erection between them, then opened them with his thumbs to see where he was going. "Long or round?" he asked her.
"Long," she answered. "Round this early gives me the hiccups." Then, when he drove his length into her cunt-"Jesus! You're Worse than Bill. Take it easy, lover, will you?"
The "lover" was not lost on Cynthia and she was furiously jealous until she decided that it was merely a term of address, with no particular meaning. Bill came over to her and held out a hand to help her off the couch. Then he seemed to change his mind and sat down beside her. "You're pretty," he told her sincerely. "Just looking at you makes me want to come. How do you like to fuck?"
She was still wondering where all that hard prick had come from, listening to him with only one ear. Then she realized that he was trying to be gentle with her and liked him even more. For a minute, she appeared to be tongue-tied, not knowing how to respond to this unexpected consideration. Then she said, in a sort of shy whisper, "I'm old-fashioned. I like it the regular way."
"You mean, like Dad and Ma did it?" She sensed he was laughing with her, not at her and nodded quickly. Not looking at him, she wriggled around and lay flat, with her head on the arm rest, raising her knees to let him get between them. Unashamedly, she reached for his standing penis and steered it to her pussy as he put weight on her and startled her by bending down to kiss her on the lips. "I only kiss my women for openers," he said. "After that, I can't be certain where their mouths have been."
He moved his crotch in response to her guiding fingers and pressed gently when his cock head opened her pussy, thereby discrediting Trudy's allegation that he liked to ram it in."
"We'll have to make it fast," he murmured in her ear. "When Sis calls out, that's merry-go-round and we all ride together."
She was too excited by the sensation of his prick slipping into her to ask questions and she forced her thighs wider apart to take the fullness of him and feel the nudging of his balls as he finished thrusting and paused momentarily before withdrawing. It was perfect and she closed her eyes to dream that she was a hetaera of ancient Athens, dispensing her favors only to her chosen lovers. She was Helen being made love to by Paris on the ship that carried them to Troy. She was anybody but the girl who had been taken by a dog in this very room a couple of nights ago.
"Why, you're crying!" Bill came to a quick stop to look at the tears seeping through her lashes to streak both cheeks and drip slowly off her chin. "Am I hurting you? I thought...."
"It's all right," she whispered, managing to open her wet eyes and give him a shaky smile. "I'm just being silly, I guess."
Trudy's voice cut off any further explanation. "Merry-go-round!" she called and Bill got off the couch and held his hand out. "Get up now," was all he had time to say before Paul and Trudy came over to join them.
"Get your ass down on the floor," Paul directed Cynthia. "Lie on your back between Bill's legs."
Bill was already in position when she looked down and he helped her first to sit between his knees, then lie back on his belly with her head on his chest. He put both hands down to adjust her buttocks, lifting her a little until the head of his prick was in line with her pussy. Then he let her down easily and they were coupled once more, only this time his prick went deeper. If this was "merry-go-round," she decided that she was definitely in favor of it. The sensation of being speared by Bill's erection drove the tears away and she rubbed a quick hand over her eyes so that the others would not notice.
Paul's gruff voice cut in to her enjoyment. She felt his knees pressing against her ears as he straddled Bill's head to shove his turgid prick into her face. "Suck it," he ordered tersely.
She had to turn her head sideways before she could fit the head into her mouth and she had started the tongue bit when she felt hurried lips on her nipples as Trudy did her part of the action.
"That's about it," Paul remarked. "Unless another cock comes up through the floor and sticks her in the ass."
After a little awkwardness which earned her a slap on an ear, she managed to match the rhythm of her lips on Paul's prick with the stroking of Bill's solid length in her pussy. The triple stimulation, as Paul began to screw her mouth, was almost too much for her. If someone had told her that one day she would become so turned on that she would be unable to stand it, she would never have believed them. Yet that was what was happening to her now. Bill's horn was pressing against her clitoris all the way in and out, not just engaging it momentarily. The friction was constant Paul's driving prick was probing her swallowing throat at every stroke, almost gagging her in spite of her circling finger and thumb. Trudy's tongue on her nipples was a teasing softness, an urgent insistence which in itself was more than sufficient to induce quick orgasm.
Not sure that she was doing the right thing but unable to remain still under the mounting exhilaration which amounted to virtual torment she put an unsure hand out and found Trudy's pendulous tits and stroked them unsteadily. The physical exertion helped and when she timed it to the movement of both pricks and followed Bill's steady strokes with a careful up and down reaction of her hips, the overwhelming excitement leveled off into a condition of controlled ecstasy which was still all that she could experience without immediate climax.
It did not last Otherwise, she was certain afterward that she would have had no sanity left. Bill shortened his strokes in silent concurrence with Paul and both men shot off in unison. The flooding semen in her cunt and throat seemed like anticlimax after the intolerable emotion which preceded orgasm; so much so that she lapsed into a state of non-feeling, as though her mind had gone numb and Trudy had to keep on sucking her boobies for a full minute longer before she could come.
When it was over and the rampant pricks were out of her, she let her head fall back on Bill's chest and would have liked nothing better than to pull a faint. She closed her eyes and at once her mind swam away and she was somewhere else, drifting through nothing, so spent and empty that all feeling had gone.
Hours later, so it seemed, Paul's voice roused her and she found that she was stretched out on the couch instead pillowing herself against Bill. She had no idea how she got there. Presently, Trudy brought her a drink. She took the glass with both hands and it rattled against her teeth until she got half the whisky down. The liquor stopped the trembling and she listened to what Paul was saying. There was a peevishness in his tone.
"Get a move on, you stupid bitch. You're holding up the party." She wondered if he was drunk.
"She's all right now," Trudy pronounced. She took the empty glass and added, in a lower tone, "Don't worry. It hits me like that sometimes and I've been screwing longer than you've been breathing."
"How'd you like to suck your brother's cock?" Paul inquired.
"It wouldn't be the first time," Trudy answered, without any special inflection. "Would it, Bill?"
"I love you, too," Bill said. "Let's go."
One of the strange things about this party was that nobody told her what to do. She had to play everything by ear except when Paul snapped at her. Cynthia wondered if that was their way of teaching her. If it was, it worked. Never as long as she lived would she forget what it felt like to be fucked in the cunt and mouth and have her titties eaten, all at the same time. There were no words to describe the total sensation or any way to predict the outcome. She was afraid to think about it, yet it stayed in her mind, fascinating her.
This time Paul squatted on the rug, pulling Trudy down with him. Adeptly, she pushed her buttocks between his parted knees and lay back on him, as Cynthia had done with Bill. There was a little pause while Paul found Trudy's pussy with his ready penis. She helped him by raising her hips, then settled down with a happy sigh. Bill knelt beside Paul's head and offered his hard cock to his sister, who took it between her lips without any hesitation. Plainly, it was a repetition of the first action, with a change of partners. When nobody said anything, Cynthia supposed that her part was now that of booby sucker and she bent over Trudy's ample breasts and began to lick one of the brown nipples, feeling it harden and rise under her tongue.
One of the advantages of Cynthia's position was that she could watch the performance without skimping her own job. Since Trudy had been so decent to her, she had changed her mind about the older woman. She wanted to help her all she could but at the same time, by peeking out of eye corners, she contrived to see the rest of the action.
If she had not just been in Trudy's place, she might have been tempted to laugh at the spectacle of Paul's cock screwing, as it were, backward. The underside of the head, instead of the top, was massaging the clitoris and his brown balls lay seamy side up in his crotch instead of banging against Trudy's cunt every time the engorged prick went into it Paul's knees on either side of her hips opened and closed regularly at each stroke but his erection was still visible for a good half of its length, until she lifted a foot and held it in her hand, thus taking some of her weight off him. After that his horn drove into her so that the reclining testicles appeared to belong to her. The spectacle of a pussy seemingly possessing a bag of balls was too much for Cynthia's overworked mind. She snickered in spite of herself, releasing Trudy's hard nipple and making out that she had sneezed.
Bill's face was too high for her to see it without raising her head, but she got a close-up view of his prick going in and out of his sister's mouth. She was holding the back end of it in her free hand, rubbing the foreskin up and down while she sucked the top part but never allowing the head to sink into her throat. Apparently, she gagged easily and was afraid of the full length. It did not look like much of a blow job but from the way Bill kept stroking Trudy's face, pausing every now and then to bend his knees and fuck her mouth as deeply as she would let him, he seemed to be enjoying it. A corner of Cynthia's mind registered the certain knowledge that if she dared to do a half job like that with Paul, her cheeks would be stinging in no time. Maybe they had started that way when they were kids and never changed the pattern.
Cynthia sneaked another look at Paul's upside-down cock, making a mental note to remember Trudy's foot-in-hand technique, which not only afforded her partner more room for action but also raised her pussy for better penetration.
Aware then that her own clitoris was clamoring for stimulation, she put a hand down and stroked it lightly with her finger, wishing that Trudy could play with her tits. That not being possible, she did the next best thing, milking the hard nipples between her thumb and finger until she felt the sudden surge of emotion which warned her that she was on the verge of coming.
Trudy took her brother's prick out of her mouth, rubbing it harder and holding it away from her face. At the same time, she drew in her breath and held it, then released it in a deep sigh and began to jerk her hips faster and faster, in time with Paul's stroking. Paul reached around her and found her standing clitoris and pushed it against his moving hardness, holding it there while he shortened his strokes to quick, inch-long pumping. Above Cynthia's head, Bill had closed his bigger fist around his sister's and was fucking her hand faster and faster.
There was a definite pause, during which nobody seemed to move. It only lasted for a split second. Then Cynthia saw Bill's arching come jetting onto the rug. Trudy called out and released her foot, jerking against Paul's horn. Then she raised both feet, letting go of her brother's dripping cock to hold her ankles and Cynthia, tickling her clitoris and fingering her own tits, saw the surge of the rushing semen along the tube of Paul's inverted penis as he arched his back in a final thrust and held his pulsing hardness in the twitching cunt until he had voided his load.
Cynthia came then, hard and breathlessly, as though Paul's squirting prick had been deep in her vagina instead of Trudy's. She was still coming when Trudy put her feet down and sighed again as she rolled away from Paul's spearing shaft and sat up. Semen oozed from her half-open pussy and joined her brother's come on the rug. Nobody spoke. The ticking of Cynthia's wristwatch sounded loud in the suddenly quiet room.
Paul, as usual, was the first to say anything. He got on one knee, then stood up, running a casual thumb and finger along the length of his softening erection to squeeze out the last drops of pearly come. "Good timing," he mentioned. "Everybody blew together." He went over to the bottle and mixed himself a drink, neglecting to ask if anyone else wanted one. That was Paul all over, Cynthia found time to reflect; rude, selfish, arrogant, yet fascinating like nobody else she had ever met.
"Now you know why we call it merry-go-round," Trudy remarked when she was breathing normally. "Everybody gets to ride and the action goes round and round. Paul, you horny bastard, don't be so stingy with your Scotch."
CHAPTER NINE
For two weeks, Cynthia saw nothing of Paul.
He did not call or contact her and she was sick with worry that something might have happened to him. He could have had an accident, she told herself. He might be in jail. A dozen possibilities, all of them disturbing, ran through her mind as the days went by with no news of him.
One of the worst features of their relationship was its necessary secrecy. Officially, they did not know each other, with the result that there could be no direct communication. Then she ran into Vivian, Paul's black friend, when she was coming out of a downtown drugstore. Vivian had some news. He assured her that as far as he knew, Paul was all right. He had gone out of town on business and should be back in a few more days.
With her mind easier, she began to wonder what sort of business had kept him away for so long and at once began to worry that he had taken up with another woman. Vivian had been polite but vague. He might be covering up but there was nothing she could do about it.
Two evenings later, the phone rang and she contrived to get to it before her mother could answer. "Eight. Same place." It was Paul and he hung up as soon as he gave her the message. She tried to keep from showing undue excitement and had the presence of mind to say, "Yes, Mr. Gorman," before hanging up.
"Babysitting again?" her mother smiled. "It will do you good to get out of the house. You've had a peaked look lately and I know you love those children."
"Yes, mother." There was only one "child" and he was a son-of-a-bitch on wheels but what her mother didn't know would not hurt her. Or would it? Supposing, in spite of all Paul's precautions, she got pregnant or if some busybody blew the whistle on them. What would happen then? For no apparent reason, she put her arms around her mother and kissed her. Then she went to her bedroom to change clothes. Tonight she wanted to look her best.
* * *
The black car was waiting when she turned the corner, with Paul sitting behind the wheel, smoking a cigarette. He seldom smoked and Cynthia thought this might be a sign that he was in one of his less cranky moods tonight But he just nodded, as usual not making any effort to open the door, as though they had met yesterday and he had not been away at all.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him where he had been but she thought better of it. She didn't care very much, anyway, she decided, allowing her arm to rest ever so lightly against his as they drove off.
"Some friends of mine are in town," he mentioned when he had finished his cigarette and flipped the butt away. "I've invited them to my pad. That's where we're going. And don't tell me you've got the rag on."
She had finished menstruating four days ago. During her period, when he had not called, she had wished that he would, so that she could use it as an excuse for not meeting him. Now she realized that it had just been pique and that she would have gone with him anyway.
She wondered who his "friends" were and to her surprise, after they got away from town and the trees and derricks loomed vaguely against the sky, he explained further. "While I was away, we formed a little club. It's called the Fucking Shame, because it's a pity we didn't think of it sooner."
He had no more information to give her and when they reached the end of the turnoff, she counted four other cars parked under the eucalyptus trees in front of the house. Three of them had out-of-state licenses, she noticed, and a little fear which she could not have analysed shot through her. What were a bunch of strangers doing in this out-of-the-way place? Then she felt the solid comfort of Paul's arm against hers and the fear went away, leaving a growing curiosity in its wake.
When she was a trifle slow in getting out, he took her elbow roughly. "Get a move on," he snapped. "We're late enough as it is."
There were seven strange men in Paul's living room when he opened the front door and almost pushed her inside. None of them got up. They just sat and looked at her appraisingly. There were no introductions. As Paul turned to close the door, one of them, a heavy set man with long sideburns and a droopy mustache, put his highball glass down and came over and put a finger under her chin. "Young pussy," he mumbled, looking back over a shoulder at the others. "I haven't had any in a coon's age. Look at those legs and tits, will you?" He put his other hand up to squeeze one of her breasts. Involuntarily, she flinched and looked appealingly at Paul.
"Now, Willy." Paul put a hand on the big man's arm and turned him back to the couch where he had been sitting. "You know the rules. Hands off until it's your turn."
Willy muttered something about looking the merchandise over and sat down. Two of the other men glanced at Paul and nodded. "You sure can pick 'em," one said. "She'll do."
"Let's get this straight." Paul included them all in his straight regard. "This 'merchandise,' as Willy calls it, belongs to me. It's strictly on loan, to start the club rolling." He went into the bedroom and came back carrying a leather dice box. "Who's first?" He looked around the room. "High man takes first turn." He held the box out and rattled the dice inside and Willy got up quickly, not waiting to set his glass down.
"Poker dice," he said, after peering into the box. "My favorite fruit." He looked for a place to throw them and rattled the dice several times, holding the box against an ear, before spilling them out on the coffee table.
"Three kings!" he called exultantly. "Let's see someone beat that."
Willy's throw was high until the last man, a youngish, blond fellow who looked out of place among the older members, threw four aces and swept the dice back into the box triumphantly.
"You can take your pick," Paul said to him. "On the couch here or on the bed. If you're too shy to get a hard-on, you can shut the bedroom door."
To her relief, the blond guy, whose name turned out to be Ernie, elected to take the bed. A little cheer went around the room as he put an arm around Cynthia's shoulder and led her away. "Leave some for us," somebody called before Ernie closed the bedroom door and turned the key.
Before, with Paul close by, Cynthia's principal feeling had been one of excitement. Now, alone with this stranger, although he looked to be a decent kind of guy, she grew suddenly shy. She wished Paul had given her a second highball. The drink he did pour for her was a short one, barely enough to dissolve the pill, which made it taste funny.
For a minute, she stood there by the locked door without moving or saying anything, watching Ernie take his clothes off. Then, realizing what was expected of her and feeling a quick thrill as she saw his hardening prick, she began to undress, keeping her back turned until she was naked. His hands came under her arms and cupped her hard boobies as she straightened from stepping out of her panties.
"I like you," he said. "And I like these, too."
He took his hands off her breasts to turn her around. Then he pulled her against him and dry-fucked her a couple of times. His penis was hard now, like a stick jutting out of his light crotch hair. It slipped between her thighs and brushed the lips of her pussy while he went through the motions. After that, he pushed her away to get his head down and suck her nipples.
Her clitoris began to throb at the first contact and she shoved her boobies against his mouth and moved impatiently. She had not had a man for a couple of weeks and she knew she was as hot for it as he was. She had no need of any fore-play and would have liked to stretch out on the bed and feel him enter her and come after the first few strokes and keep on coming until he shot his load into her. She would not hold back with this one, she told herself. With Paul, it was different, almost a duty to wait until he was ready. The only feeling she had now was purely physical. Like a cat in heat, her mind registered, or a mare waiting for the stud.
Ernie put a hand down and pushed a finger into her wet pussy to stroke her clitoris. The contact thrilled her so unbearably that she almost wrestled with him to get onto the bed and lie down.
"Not that way," he said, holding her back. "Lie on your face across it. A little higher. That's it."
For a second, she wondered if he was going to take her in the rectum and hoped he would not because he had a thick prick and she did not want to be hurt. But he just used his thumbs to pry her buttocks apart and steered his stiff horn, without holding it, to where his finger had been moments ago. The lips of her pussy stretched a little uncomfortably as the head sank in. Then the top of it slipped over her erect clitoris and the wonderful sensation was all she could think about.
He knew how to screw, she decided, even if he did not look very much older than she was. Instead of heaving and shoving the length of his penis all the way into her, he pulled back when it was partly inserted and again she flinched as the swollen head found her clitoris and stroked it deliciously. He fucked her a little deeper the next time, coming back to find the clitoris once more and, as his hardness finally penetrated her fully so that their hair mingled, she let herself go and came with a little sigh of contentment, almost as fully as she usually did with Paul.
His technique was fine but his staying power needed developing. She had barely finished when he caught her by the shoulders, hauled her back and had a violent orgasm which shook the bed and in which she did not participate because it was too soon. He screwed her diminishingly for a few more strokes, then came out and released her. When she looked around, wondering if he was through, he was pulling his pants on, looking very satisfied with himself.
"One-shot Charley, that's me," he grinned at her. "Never managed a double-header yet."
She sat up, feeling neglected in spite of his explanation. Through the closed door, she could hear the rattle of the dice box and knew they were playing to see who was next. Quick resentment filled her as she thought of Paul's agreement to "lend" her to his cronies or fellow members of whatever they were, without as much as a by-your-leave, as though she really were his property, to be insulted or traded at will. She pulled a corner of the quilt over her nakedness as somebody knocked on the door.
She half expected to see the loud man with the black sideburns when Ernie opened it Instead, it was the fellow who had congratulated Paul on his choice of female companionship when she first arrived. Ernie finished dressing and gave her another grin before he left. When he closed the door behind him, she surprised herself by putting both hands flat on the bed and inquiring, "Well, how do you want it?"
The newcomer opened his eyes a little wider. "Sounds familiar," he grumbled and she wondered if the disappointment in his voice meant that he was asked the same thing when he went to a whorehouse. His next remark confirmed it. "I come here for a nice friendly evening and I get hit with a crack like that." He sounded a bit blurry and she wondered if he was drunk. "But I forgive you." Now he sounded magnanimous, as though he was doing her a favor. "Do you know, by any chance, what a missionary fuck is?"
She shook her head, certain that Paul, in all his teaching, had never mentioned such a classification. She did not even know if missionaries screwed, although they must, because most of them had big families.
"You can call me Jim," her companion confided, unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm not a missionary. Just managed to escape. Threw me out of the seminary, flat on my ass. Nasty of them. All I can do now is screw like one."
Sure now that he was a little tipsy but intrigued because she wanted to find out how missionaries did it she sat there without saying anything more, watching him climb out of the rest of his clothes. When he pulled a shoe lace into a knot and cursed steadily without being able to undo it she got up and helped him and he patted her bare behind and followed her back to the bed. She noticed that he had omitted to remove his shorts.
"Lie down on your back now," he instructed her, "and cover yourself with the quilt. When I get on top of you, take the quilt away. The sin lies in seeing. And you must shut your eyes when we do it."
She almost giggled but went along with him to the extent of doubling the quilt over herself while he got a knee on either side of her hips and felt in his shorts for his penis. When she saw it, hard as a bone, she flung the quilt off and got her legs outside of his. Then she put her knees up as far as she could double them and reached for his erection, taking it out of his hand and working the head into her exposed cunt. When it was in position, she wriggled her hips and pushed hard and the whole length of him disappeared, so that when she raised her head to look down, all she could see was his brown balls lying in her crotch, with no visible cock to balance them. This time she had to giggle and, mistaking her smothered laughter for remorse, he patted her arm soothingly.
"There, there. Don't cry, child." His voice tapered off, as though he was talking to himself. "More like a dog fuck than a missionary grind."
He finished shortly, coming quicker even than Ernie and further surprised her by saying, "Thank you. Best piece of-that is, nooky I can remember."
Jim had omitted to lock the door and he was putting his shoes back on when it opened and Paul looked in. A man she did not recall seeing, bigger even than Willy of the mustache and sideburns, was behind him. He seemed impatient. "What's going on?" he growled.
"Hold your potato," Paul told him. "If you're through, Romeo wants to show the world how good he is in bed. It's okay, you guys." He turned his head and waited until the other men came in, then said, "Let's check him out."
Ernie was not among them and Cynthia heard a car start up and guessed that he had left. One-shot Charley or whatever, he appeared to have enjoyed himself. She could still feel the smooth knob of his prick teasing her clitoris. The big man Paul called Romeo pushed through the others. He came over to the bed and stood looking down at her. Jim muttered something to the effect that he had absolutely no interest in watching some other guy's ass going through the motions. He shoved his way out and she heard ice tinkling and knew he was mixing another highball.
"I can't get over those tits," Romeo, whose real name turned out to be Hank, informed the audience. He put a hand down and fiddled with a nipple and laughed when it hardened under his finger. "And I don't particularly relish a wet deck." He removed his jacket and looked around for a hanger. Finding none, he folded it carefully and placed it on a chair. "I think a little booby-busting is called for," he mentioned. For some reason, although he had taken off everything else, he had forgotten to remove his socks. She wondered if he suffered from cold feet, like her father.
"Look at those for a pair to draw to." Hank, kneeling astride her flat belly, bunched her titties with both hands. Without further comment, he hunched forward and thrust his standing prick into their unresisting softness and began to screw them in rapid, stabbing strokes.
"What the hell?" Somebody spoke up and she saw movement around the door. "I thought he had something special he wanted to show us. I want another drink."
The bedroom was empty when she managed to take another look. Even Paul had gone and she was alone with this guy who was fucking her tits almost as fast as King, the dog, had screwed her pussy.
He was heavy and he put most of his weight on her as he rasped away, holding her tits so close together that when his thick cock drove between them, he hurt her. When he stopped pressing them against each other to take the nipples and hold them that way, the pressure eased but now his fingers and thumbs were like clamps and the discomfort was even worse. She was glad when he came and shut her eyes and tucked her chin in to avoid getting too much of the spurting semen on her chin and mouth.
He finished coming with a grunt and a final shove and she wanted to get up and wipe herself but he shoved her back roughly and pulled her thighs apart and drove his smeared prick savagely into her pussy.
Paul had raped her when she passed out that first night in the beach house but she did not think he had been as crude as this man who was taking her brutally, fucking her so hard that his weight coming down on her at every stroke drove the breath out of her and made her think she was going to faint. The bed was creaking so much that she wondered if it would break beneath them. Then she hoped it would, so that she could get out from under him and draw a full breath again.
When he had screwed her boobies, his erection between them had not seemed so large. Now, probably because of the vicious manner in which he was driving it in and out of her dilated cunt, all the way up and back to plunge in again balls-deep, it seemed like a crowbar inside her.
Worse than the pain was the thought that he might injure her and that she would have to go to a doctor. If that happened, she would really be in trouble and so would Paul. She bit her lips, trying to think of some way of ending it. He was too heavy to push off her. Besides, he had her by both shoulders and was pressing her deeper into the mattress with each new stroke. His cock seemed to be a foot long, pinning her to the bed so that she could only move her hips when he raised up. That gave her an idea and she waited deliberately until he drove down into her, then lifted his crotch to start all over.
She tried to time it properly, waiting until he was at the maximum withdrawal, with his cock head bulging the lips of her pussy. Then she snaked a hand down and caught him by the balls and twisted hard as she tried to heave him off. She could barely move under the crushing weight and was about to give up when he let out a yell like a banshee and jumped off the bed and stood alongside it, with the come spurting out of his cock as though it were a small fountain.
"Goddamn you!" he snarled at her and, for a moment, she thought he was going to hit her. Then the door opened and Paul walked in. He looked at Cynthia and then at Hank. "What's going on here?" he inquired.
"She-she grabbed me by the nuts," the big man gasped. "Just when I was about to come."
"He was hurting me," Cynthia defended herself. Of a sudden, she came off the bed in a flurry of arms and legs and picked up one of her shoes. "Get out of here, you bum!" She barely realized that it was her voice. She was mad all through and didn't care if Paul slapped her. Nobody, Paul included, was going to hurt her like that. She tried to hit the big man, when Paul caught her arm and took the shoe away. "Easy does it," he said to her. Still holding her arm, he turned back to Hank. "Well," he asked the big man, "what are you waiting for?"
"Goddamn it, I paid my share with the others."
"Sure you did. Here it is."
Paul pulled a roll of bills out of a pocket and stripped some off. "Here," he said, handing them over. "Now you can go and fuck yourself."
The other snatched the money and eyed Paul appraisingly, as though taking his measure. Apparently, he did not care for the odds. Instead, he pulled his pants on, not looking at either of them and went out into the living room to finish dressing.
"He really was hurting me," Cynthia repeated. The money bit mystified her and she tried to remember what Paul had said about a club. Perhaps it was a membership fee which he had handed back to Hank. Anyway, it did not matter because he did not appear to be angry. On the contrary, he gave her shoulder a perfunctory pat as he handed the shoe back. "Regular little spitfire when you get riled up," he half grinned. "And all the time, I thought you were just a pussycat."
He went out of the bedroom and she dropped into a chair, wondering without much interest what was about to happen next. The flare-up with the guy Hank seemed to have drained her, leaving her listless and indifferent. She was grateful when Paul came back, carrying a stout-looking drink, which he proceeded to hand to her. "Drink up," he said before leaving her again. "There's more on the program and we'll all have a ball." He turned in the doorway as if he had remembered something. "Next guy that bothers you, just holler." He shut the bedroom door and she got the idea that he was giving her a chance to catch her breath.
She had finished the whisky when another knock came. Wondering if she had not better dress, she had her panties and bra on when the knob turned and one of the men whom she had barely noticed before came in and smiled a little uncertainly at her. "Paul said to wait a few minutes. That guy Hank just left."
He must have known what had happened and was trying to reassure her. She could not have cared less what the big ox had done but she was grateful for the assist This guy looked more human, at any rate; even a bit bashful as he stood there, not seeming to know what to do or say next Cynthia made up her straightening mind that she liked him.
"Take your pants off and stay awhile," she invited. "Everyone else does."
He actually blushed and she found time to wonder what a sensitive guy like that was doing with the other characters. "What's your name?" she asked. "That is, if you want to tell me."
"Sure," he answered without hesitation. "I'm Perry Ricks."
She repeated it to herself and had a hard job keeping her face straight when she discovered how close it was to "Pricks."
"What would you like to do, Perry?" she managed to ask him.
The way he put his hands in his pockets and took them out again and shuffled his feet made her think of a kid with his first date. Then he appeared to make up his mind and looked at her steadily without blushing anymore. "I want to get in bed with you," he confessed, "but I want to do it the-the way I like it. Do you mind?"
"I don't know what you mean. How do you like it, as you call it?"
"Well, don't think I'm queer or anything like that It's just that when Paul suggested I join his club and explained it was a sex thing, I thought it was a good chance for me. You see, I like girls but I don't like to do it to them, if you can understand."
Cynthia frowned and shook her head. It seemed that she had been shaking her head to this guy and that all evening. "I'm afraid I don't," she admitted. "Why don't you tell me some more about it?" That way, she could rest a bit more while she listened. She wished she had another drink. The liquor was taking away the listless feeling.
"I don't know how to say it." He was stammering again.
"Look." She felt like patting his shoulder to give him courage, but thought it better to keep her hands to herself until she found out what made him tick. "I know I'm not very old," she said, instead, "but I've been there and back, if you read me. So out with it."
"I like to do it to girls but not where other guys do." He appeared to grab his courage in both hands, eager now to explain. "Other guys like to do it between a girl's legs," he said in a rush of confidence.
"Or in their mouth or ear or butt," Cynthia said to herself. She nodded. "Go on."
"I don't care for that," Perry continued. "I think it's-well, dirty. Please don't laugh at me. I like to do it between their buttocks or in their armpit It's the only way I can get an erection."
And if that's not queer or something, Cynthia mused, what was it? Aloud she said-"I don't see any harm in doing it that way. Do you want to try it?"
A light grew in his eyes which was not there before. He seemed to shed his diffidence and become alive. She watched while he hung his coat on a chair back and came over to her. "Aren't you going to take the rest of your things off?" If he was still shy, it might be as well to boost him along a bit. But he shook his head. "This is far enough."
To hurry him up because she was afraid someone would come in and interrupt them before she found out how he went about his strange sexual enjoyment, she got up and walked over to the bed and stretched out. "Which do you want to do first?" she asked.
"Would it-that is, I rather prefer it in the back. If you'll just lie on your side, I can get behind you."
Obligingly, she rolled over, bending her knees so that her buttocks were presented to him. She felt the bed give as he climbed on it, then the warmth of his body through the shirt as he lay against her. She half expected to feel his cock nosing into her crotch to find her pussy or rectum and was surprised when it pushed between the backs of her upper thighs instead. So far, she had not seen how he was hung. There had been a suggestion of a long prick in his slacks before she got on the bed but nothing like the horn which came out below her cunt, protruding far enough for her to reach down and stroke the head and push the foreskin back. It was longer than Vivian's black dick but not as thick around. No wonder he didn't like to stick that elongated member into a woman. It was better fitted, Cynthia found herself thinking, to serve cows or mares.
He had not been circumcised and the head, after she skinned the foreskin back, was pink and moist in her hand. He began to screw her thighs and hand as soon as he felt the touch of her fingers. To help him, she pressed her thighs together and cupped the head of his prick in her palm, allowing it to slip between her fingers while she squeezed it gently. Counting what was between her legs and in her cradling hand, she figured she must be accommodating nine or ten inches of bony cock.
Experimentally, after he had screwed for a while, she tried pressing the head and the shaft as they drove forward against her pussy, trying to get some friction on her clitoris, but he reached over her hip and put his hand over hers and pushed his penis down again. Clearly, he wanted nothing to do with her genitals. Perhaps the friction of her tightly closed thighs was all he craved. She contrived to hold the head of his erection over the side of the bed when he came and the rug caught the arching semen instead of the quilt.
The pulsing of his prick as the come pumped along the underside to reach the eye and shoot out gave her a brief thrill but she did not come with him. It was too remote, too far removed from the real thing to induce a climax in her. It reminded her of masturbation, with her thighs doing the rubbing instead of her hand.
He sat up on the edge of the bed as soon as he finished coming and pulled a handkerchief out of his hip pocket to wipe his cock. He doubled it over and offered it to Cynthia but she did not need it. She was becoming expert in dodging jizzum, she found. Unless it was somewhere inside her, she wanted none of it.
A little more boldly, he asked her to let him screw her in an armpit and when she nodded, he hitched himself higher behind her nudeness and lifted her arm to put his still-hard cock underneath. He lay so that the head pointed upward and would go into her armpit when he began to fuck and she knew she would have to be quick if she wanted to avoid taking a warm come bath. She decided that the best way would be to roll onto her face when he spent and let the bedding take his load instead of her chest and tits. She wondered if a whore, doing it for money, felt this way, with no emotion, going through the motions mechanically to satisfy her customer. All she got out of it, except for the novelty of being screwed in the buttocks and under her arm, was an increasing boredom and she wished this kook or whatever he was would hurry and get it over with. All the same, in a way she felt sorry for him, with that long pole of a prick which no sensible woman would think of taking.
His erection slipping through its foreskin between her arm and her body awoke a spark of desire in her and she pressed down on it while she did some more thinking. He was a decent guy even if he was a little kooky. This thing of his, screwing between arms and legs, was ho better than jacking off. Perhaps she could help him.
He was jerking his elongated penis back and forth, mumbling under his breath as though saying a little prayer, getting ready to blow his nuts, when she moved quickly. However she accomplished it, she was not sure afterward, but at one moment she was lying passively on her side, facing away from him, and in the next she had turned around and thrown a thigh over his hip and half of his erection was in her pussy. The other half was circled firmly by her hand.
He fought her at once, trying to get away from her and free his horn, bleating something she could not understand while he attempted to shove her leg away. Only when she tugged at his prick and squeezed it did he give up and stop struggling.
"Now you're going to get fucked, whether you like it or not," she told him evenly. She turned to get a little nearer to him, hugging him against her with her leg. Then she began to screw the part of his, cock that was inside her with slow, even strokes.
"I won't come," she heard him mutter. "It's not right."
"Oh, yes, it is." She screwed a bit faster, feeling him return her thrusting, feebly at first, then taking up the rhythm, until she had to hold the plunging shaft tighter to avoid taking more of it As it was, she could feel the head punching against the end of her vagina. She found that by moving his hardness sideways when the head receded, it found her clitoris and she knew she was going to come with him. When he threw his arm around her and hugged her convulsively, she screwed all the harder.
They came together. His warm semen shooting into her passage felt wonderful; much more exciting than watching it squirt out onto the rug.
"There." She moved her leg away when it was over. "Wasn't that better, Perry boy?" Unconsciously, she adopted Paul's way of addressing people. When he did not answer, she looked at him quickly and saw that he was crying softly. Something told her not to say any more. When Paul rapped at the door, Perry was trying to wipe the come off his fly with his handkerchief. He looked up as the door opened and went out, walking around Paul without looking at either of them.
"What's the matter with him?" Paul asked her. "He looks kind of tuckered."
"Yes," she nodded and suddenly wished that everybody would go away and leave the two of them alone. "I raped him, for a change."
He frowned at her without asking any more questions. "That's four down and three to go," he mentioned presently. "How do you feel?"
It was the first time he had even showed any consideration for her condition and she felt quick tears in her own eyes at the thought of it. "I'm okay," she assured him, a little huskily. "But send me one who isn't screwy. I'm tired of creeps."
"Willy's getting impatient by the minute," he said. "He's hot to trot but I think he's all mouth. Work him over and tell me later what happened." He went out then and Willy came charging into the bedroom in his underwear. Apparently he had shed the rest of his garments outside. There was a bulge in his shorts which bespoke a stiff erection. "Open your legs, you pretty thing," he practically shouted at her. "I'm going to stick it so far up you that you'll be able to taste it!"
He stepped out of his shorts and shrugged out of his undershirt and threw them on the floor. The bed groaned under his weight as he knelt on it and pushed her knees up over her boobies. For a moment, he fiddled with his jutting prick, moving it in her crotch until he found her cunt. Then he came, pumping his jizzum all over her thigh. He stopped rubbing his penis and hunkered back, out of breath as he regarded it ruefully. "That's my trouble," he gasped at her. "I haven't been able to get into a woman in ten years."
Cynthia had heard of premature orgasm but this was her first experience. To her surprise, although she had no feeling one way or the other about him personally, she felt cheated, possibly because she had anticipated the thrill of having a hard cock put into her and nothing had happened except the sticky mess on her leg. She decided that she hated him. Then she remembered that she was doing ail this for Paul and her quick anger went away. "Try it again," she suggested evenly. "Come back here. I'll help you."
He skinned his foreskin back and his waning penis appeared to stand again. Purposely, she took her time in drying her thigh with an edge of the quilt. Then she held both arms out invitingly. "Easy, Willy boy," she counseled. "Just keep it hard. I'll get it in." Just for kicks, she was determined to take him, even if she had to fuck him as she had done with Perry.
His prick was about average size, she figured, feeling its length with a hand as he leaned over her to try again. The head was slick with fresh come and she steered it between the lips of her pussy quickly, afraid that he would shoot off before he was inside.
A look of astonishment, replaced by another in which she read hope, came into Willy's face as he felt his penis sink into her vagina. Carefully, while she thought he held his breath, he let more weight press on her and at last, as he gave a loud sigh, she thrilled to the settling of his balls against her rectum. Then he froze, seemingly afraid to begin screwing.
Tentatively, she started the action for him, pushing up a little way, then dropping back, deliberately trying to keep her full cunt from twitching. She moved slowly, only an inch or two, watching his eyes widen and the hope in them give way to conviction. "I did it!" Excitedly, he commenced to fuck her. His prick, if anything, was harder than when she had eased it into her. He put more of his weight on her and she lay quite still, letting him have his way without interference. Willy was going to have the lay which all those years had denied him.
His frank fascination with what he had achieved made her enjoyment increase until it matched his own. If he was out of practice, as he claimed, he certainly had not forgotten how to screw. Once he was confident that he was not going to climax before he was ready, he settled down to work, not forgetting her clitoris when he pulled back, leaning forward at the return stroke to allow the shaft to slide its length over the sensitive area.
She was making up her mind that this style of screwing was better than a tongue job. When the lesbian wife had lapped her pussy, Cynthia was sure that no more wonderful sensation was possible. Now, with the length of Willy's horn slipping up and back, engaging her clitoris constantly, she changed her mind. This was pure ecstasy. Even Paul had never stimulated her this much.
Nothing would have pleased her more than to come again and again, but she made up her mind to fight the urge away, letting Willy take his time in his newfound potency. After all, coming was like swallowing after one had enjoyed chewing. Once you gulped, you were through. If she let herself climax, she was almost certain that he would come with her and the sheer wonder of it would end.
When he spent in her, it was like a strong anticlimax after the almost unbearable excitement of his prick on her clitoris. He did not come immediately. She was fucking with him steadily and with a sort of desperate purpose when he finally reached orgasm. Even then there was none of the usual flurry about it, just the natural end of intercourse, when both parties unconsciously agree that mutual abstention is no longer possible. His semen did not burn her like Paul's did, yet the sensation of it flooding her vagina drove her to climax with him.
He rested on her for a few seconds, then heaved himself up and began to look for his abandoned underwear. He put it on slowly, giving his belly a little satisfied pat as he settled the elastic of his shorts and came back to the bed: His mustache tickled as he bent over to kiss her on the cheek. It was a fatherly kind of kiss, without passion. "Thank you." It was more of a whisper than anything. She watched him close the door quietly behind him before she got up to stretch the cramps out of her legs and sit down in the chair.
Afterward, she could not remember much about the remaining two members of Paul's club. They came into the bedroom together and fucked her normally and dully, one watching the other. Then they went out laughing, as though each had achieved some sexual miracle. She forgot them before they were through the door.
* * *
It was an hour since Cynthia had showered and dressed herself. The last car had left after some raucous conversation and promises to return for the next meeting. She was sitting on the couch, sipping a drink and watching Paul count money on the coffee table.
"Well, pussycat." He looked up at her, leaving the pile of bills on the table. "You ran through seven of them. I guess you're proud of yourself."
When she made some noncommittal answer, he scooped the money up and held it out to her. "Three hundred clams. Take it. It's yours."
"But-" She hesitated, not sure if he meant it or was playing one of his games with her.
"If you think that it makes a prostitute out of you," he said dryly, "it does. I made each of those clowns ante up fifty bucks before they got inside the bedroom. You'd have had a better take if I hadn't refunded Hank's money. Fuck him, anyway. I hope he breaks a leg."
She took the roll of bills from his automatically, her mind not quite registering what she was doing.
"Don't you want to count them?" The old sneer in his tone, for some reason, set her more at ease. "I might be holding out on you, you know."
She shook her head, then opened her purse and stuffed the money inside. Let him sneer. He did not know it but he could not hurt her anymore. She had graduated. She was herself. Nothing he said or did would humiliate her in any way. Because he needed her as much as she needed him.
He was right. Now she was a whore. But she was his whore and there was nothing he could do about it. That made all the difference.
