Again her lips flew madly over his hand. "Oh, yes! Yes! I just ... for a moment there I was losing control. My head ... it got so crazy. I couldn't control myself at all. No, something worse than that. I somehow got disconnected from myself. I thought for a moment I might be going mad, that I might never come back."
With his other hand he leaned over and stroked the top of her head again. "Don't worry, baby. You're going to feel that way again. I want to push you to that point again. But it will be easier the next time ... and easier still the time after that. It will be easier each time until you find a way to control it, that specialty of yours, that special gift ... the gift to give ... to give to a man."
CHAPTER ONE
Catherine Wilhoite pushed aside the heavy drapes and looked out the bay window as the ambulance slowly sank from view, weaving its way down the hill that led from their huge, Spanish-style house in the Hollywood Hills to the city bathed in gray vapors below. For the thousandth time in her mind she relived the accident-the colliding of her husband's Cadillac with the other driver's Mercedes, the screams, the terror as the car turned over and over. Then that great sense of wonder at realizing she had escaped unscratched, quickly followed by horror as she looked over and saw her husband's body crunched up like an accordion against the wheel, his legs buried beneath a mountain of steel.
Then that terrifying moment in the surgeon's office just after he had come from the operating room, where he had spent six hours saving Clay's life, but at a cost.
"We had to amputate his right leg," he told her. "His left leg is paralyzed and will probably remain so. Even if we gave him an artificial leg, it wouldn't do much good. He'll always need a wheelchair."
She had not cried. She had simply sat staring at him as if she were watching a TV show about some other woman, some other doctor. Only this doctor was young and dark and not at all like the fatherly doctor on TV. She found herself thinking him attractive, sexy. Strange.
"And there's something else ... ," he added gravely. "As far as sex is concerned...." He hesitated.
Catherine did not move a muscle, not an eyelash. "I don't want to say that he will never be able to perform sexually again, but it will be a long time. A long, long time. The physical problem could disappear in time. I don't know about the psychological problem. It won't be easy for him to admit he's less than he was before."
Catherine slumped lifelessly in her seat. She almost laughed out loud at the irony of it all, the extraordinary irony that from all this horror should come a solution to her problem. She felt like a prisoner whose warden had just announced a parole.
That had been four months earlier. Since then there had been another operation. Now Clay was going back for a third, hopefully the last. But after that, what? Even once all the operations were over, what did the future promise them? For Clay a lifetime in a wheelchair, fighting to get the business back in shape, living off the trust fund his father had left him, and when that ran out....
For her, a lifetime of waiting on him, listening to his complaints, putting up with his depression, and night after night of sleeping in her bed alone, seeking ways to satisfy herself.
Only this-their being forced to sleep in separate beds, the possibility of their never again having sex-gave her, in all the pain and frustration of this ordeal, any peace of mind. It allowed her an escape from the truth, or at least an escape from Clay's finding out the truth (as he would in time)-that she did not enjoy sex with him, had not in fact enjoyed sex with him in-how many years was it? Six? Seven? It was hard to remember. She had been pretending enjoyment and faking orgasms for so long that she had lost all sense of time in the thing. She could faintly remember the beginnings, when it had been enjoyable, when he had given her pleasure, when her orgasms had been real.
That was how it began at last, that first night when he picked her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom and gently put her on the bed and just as gently undressed her. And she had been passive, the virgin, frightened, expectant, shivering. Then his hands were on her, pressing their way along her flesh, experienced, sure hands, and she had begun to tingle almost immediately. Wave upon wave of pleasure had developed within her, the fire and ice, the hunger she felt for the first time, the need, the thrill of seeing, feeling, tasting a man's cock for the first time.
She would never forget it, that initial fascination, the immediate, instinctive craving for cock. Nothing had prepared her for it. She was only eighteen and had never even played around with a guy in the back seat of a car. She had been the most protected girl in Santa Monica. Clay was then twenty-six and already a millionaire by inheritance and a potential multimillionaire from his efforts to expand and revitalize his father's drug manufacturing business. Their marriage had been arranged in an almost medieval fashion by her father, a close friend of Clay's recently deceased father. She had been given to him pure and innocent and frightened and unprepared for even the most basic of marriage-bed requirements.
Clay had done well enough teaching her the basics, and Catherine had been a fast learner, an enthusiastic learner. That first night, her first time in bed with a man, she'd had an orgasm. Even now, eight years later, she could remember it, the intensity of it. Not many people can recall the details of a specific orgasm so many years later. But for Catherine it was easy. She had not had such a good one since.
She could not recall now exactly when she first realized it-their second night in bed? the third? the fourth? But sometime before that first week was over, before the honeymoon was over, she understood that Clay had been good that first night because he had pulled out all the stops: he had shown her everything he knew. He pulled bits and pieces from the same routine the secord night, other bits and pieces from it the next night. By the fourth night, they had already begun to settle into a pattern. To her horror she realized that all the expectations she'd had-how she had looked forward to their exploring together the unlimited varieties and possibilities of sex-were to go unfounded.
Clay's sex was basic. Very, very basic. And Catherine knew that was not enough for her. She had never read about sex or talked about it with anyone else, but instinctively she knew there was more to it than Clay gave her. Her body cried out for more, ached for it. She searched for the answer whenever she was alone and could work herself up to the orgasms Clay was no longer able to give her. Strange, disturbing visions began to crowd their way into her imagination. They were muddy at first. They had no outlines. She did not have the experience to give them any substance.
Even so, what she did see frightened her, even disgusted her. All her upbringing was opposed to the things she began to think about. Each time afterwards she felt guilt and humiliation. The only way she could find to justify her fantasies was always to place Clay in them. Over the years he took on many personalities, wore many different masks. He became the thief who climbed through her window and raped her, the delivery boy who found her hot and horny in the middle of the afternoon and took advantage of it, the lifeguard at the country club, and the bellboy in a hotel.
Mostly, though, he was her husband-but a demanding, sex-hungry, aggressive husband who never let her have any rest. He was brutal with her, cruel even, and the more so he became, the wilder her orgasms.
One of her recurrent fantasies was of being tied to a tree in the middle of some woods. She had on a very sheer, see-through dress that had been ripped off her back and chest and now hung in shreds about her waist, covering only her bottom half. Her breasts hung heavy and white and free. Her arms were stretched up over her head, her wrists held securely together with a thick piece of rope, the end of which was tied to a branch of the tree. A gag was in her mouth. Her black hair was wild at her shoulders. Her feet were bare and inches from the ground. Her pussy trembled and could be clearly seen behind the thin veil of the dress. She shivered, for it was early morning and the forest was blanketed in fog-a damp, cold fog.
Then, from out of the fog, appeared an old-fashioned hearse, the dark wood and glass type drawn by two white horses. There was a bell hanging down the forehead of each horse, and whenever one of them bobbed his head the bell would ring, a thin, sharp sound that sent Catherine's head tingling.
Through the glass of the hearse she could see a coffin. It was open and there was no one inside, but it seemed as if somehow intended for her, a threat that loomed over her if she failed to do what was expected of her. And the idea of that-the ultimate punishment-was always enough to set her juices flowing.
On top of the hearse, in the driver's seat, just behind the two white horses, sat two men: Clay, her husband, and the undertaker, who in one hand held the reins and in the other a long whip which he used liberally and with relish, his black-mustached mouth quivering with glee each time he struck out at the two steeds. The sight of him made Catherine so weak that only the rope which held her to the tree prevented her from collapsing to the ground.
He was young and strong and dark, long black hair dramatically framing his square cut face, deep hollows for cheeks and black olives for eyes and black eyebrows as thick as his mustache. He was unshaven and his fingernails were encrusted with grime. He was dressed entirely in black: a frock coat buttoned to his thick neck, riding britches and knee-high boots. Around his neck was tied a black silk scarf which caught in the wind and blew behind him, trailing out over the hearse as it drew nearer and then stopped beside her.
The two men stepped down and came over to her. Clay stood to the side, grinning, as the undertaker wiped spittle from his mouth then reached up with wet hand to touch her tits, working them round as they grew stiff and darkened with excitement. With her eyes she pleaded with her husband to make the man stop, but Clay only watched and began to stroke his thickening crotch.
The undertaker's hand moved hungrily along her body, took hold of the waist of her dress, and ripped it from her, leaving her naked and exposed to the wind. Her pussy hairs fluttered about wildly. The undertaker stroked them, petted them, then poked one of his dirty fingers through her slit while Clay unzipped his pants and drew out his cock. It was already hard. He began to play with it, all the while looking into his wife's face and smiling at her. Dribble appeared on his lips.
Catherine moaned behind her gag as the undertaker poked a second dirty finger into her box. She struggled with the rope, thrashing her body from side to side against the tree's rough bark as the fingers probed deeper and deeper. Rivulets of excitement ran down her bare legs. The undertaker grew more agitated. His breathing came heavy. With his free hand he struggled with his frock coat, ripping off the buttons and parting the coat to expose his chest, hard as rock and covered with black hair, hair that now grew even darker as sweat streamed over it. It had a musky smell. It inflamed her and made her struggle harder to free herself from the rope. But for what purpose? To escape? Or to throw her arms about the undertaker and thrust herself further on his ever-probing hand?
Seeing her excitement, the undertaker sneered and removed his fingers from her box then moved them, dripping wet with her juices, to his fly. Slowly, he lowered it and reached inside to remove his hard, anxious cock. Catherine stared at it, her eyes growing wide. Her box began to twitch madly, her legs automatically spreading apart as he neared her, his cock oozing with white scum.
He positioned the hard lance up against her opening and began to push forward. Catherine opened her legs wider. The undertaker poked the cock at her but could not make her slit part enough to take him. He poked at her harder, then harder still, but no further entry could be made. Her slit was locked tight, ungiving. Catherine bit into her gag and strained to open herself, mad to be fucked now. But her pussy was persistent. It would not give. The undertaker grew angry. Hot spittle flowed from his clenched lips. His cock banged in frustration against the sides of her thighs.
He pulled away and walked back to the hearse and grabbed up the whip which rested on the driver's seat. He came toward her with in his hand. Catherine looked to Clay, her eyes pleading. But his eyes were glued to the whip, following its sway each step of the way as it hung menacingly from the undertaker's hand.
When the undertaker reached Catherine he gave her a push to swing her around so that she faced the tree, her back to him. She felt his dirty hands exploring her ass, rubbing it.
Then he reared back, raised the whip into the air and brought in down hard on her bare ass. Catherine bolted against the tree. Tears instantly began to flow down her cheeks. Her nipples hardened with their own pain in response to the sting that swept across her ass. There was another, even more brutal, crashing of leather into her white, soft flesh, and again Catherine turned to Clay for help.
His cock rested red and bonehard in his hand as he played with it and ran its constantly flowing jism up and down the shaft to lubricate it. He was staring at her ass in awe, delighted by the large red welts which now began to decorate it. His shirt grew wet under his arms. His lips quivered. Then he looked into Catherine's face and smiled and moved toward her. As another blast of the whip cut into her ass he teasingly began to play with her nipples, kneading them to hardness, flicking them mercilessly from side to side. Waves of pain and pleasure swept through her. She choked on her own saliva and trembled.
Suddenly Clay pulled the gag from her mouth and pressed hot, throbbing lips against hers. His tongue raced inside her mouth and lapped up her juices. The whip struck her again and again Catherine bolted against the tree. Clay struggled to get in front of her, between her and the tree, his lips never once leaving hers. She felt his stiff cock up against her box. She felt him poking his way through. This time her pussy responded, swung its doors open wide and let him ride in. Deeply he plunged, his hand reaching up as he took hold of her tits again and squeezed them tightly. She felt another slashing at her ass, then the undertaker's dirty hands attacked her ass cheeks hungrily, spreading them apart, positioning his own stiff cock up against her shithole and poking forward every bit as insistently as her husband played in her snatch. For him, too, she was now an easy entry and soon both cocks were colliding against one another in the middle of her, banging hard, time and again, in like rhythm, grunting and groaning like mad, wild animals as they took her ... twisting her nipples, thrusting wilder and wilder into her as she hung there in mid-air, helpless, naked, throbbing with excitement. And behind her the undertaker chuckled menacingly, his hot breath on her bare back as he felt her whole body shake with sweet satisfaction.
Compared to her fantasies, sex with Clay was no more than a ritual. He loved her and wanted to fuck her every night. There was nothing lacking in his enthusiasm, only in his imagination. Night after night it was the quick in-and-out, and then he rolled over and went to sleep, satisfied, leaving Catherine by his side, frustrated, trembling hands at a hungry, unsatisfied pussy. Sometimes he might give her his cock to suck. Once, twice, maybe three times in all those years he had gone down on her, but never once worked to bring her off that way. Quickly, very quickly, she grew bored. Is bored the right word? Lethargic. Dead. Unfeeling. And finally she had come to dread his love-making, even hate it. Better to I have no sex at all than to have it like this and be left hanging night after night.
Thus, his present condition was a blessing to her. Maybe all she had left were her private moments in her own bed, but they were better than the frustration of sex with Clay. Her fantasies and her hand were kinder to her cunt than Clay's cock.
She could have sought out other men. And with a husband like Clay, so busy with his business, gone so much of the time, it wouldn't have been difficult to meet them. Certainly enough men would have jumped at the chance to bed down with a creature as beautiful as Catharine Wilhoite. She had been a beautiful girl when she married Clay, the type of dark beauty who turned eyes wherever she went, even in that movie-crazy town overpopulated with dark beauties from every corner of the country. But now, at twenty-six, her loveliness was at its peak. Gone was the girlish beauty that had once turned heads. It had been replaced by the full blossoming of womanly splendor that turned cocks, made them go instantly hard.
When Catherine walked into a room on her husband's arm, every man there turned green with envy to see her dark long hair falling down around her smooth white shoulders and the sensuous drape of the soft, flowing dresses she wore. Each one of them seemed to be cut deeper than the next, as if she were purposely inviting men to lean over and stare down at all that mouthwatering expansion of breasts and nipples.
How she managed to keep her skin so milk-white while other California women turned brown and dry was a mystery. It was well known that she liked to sunbathe in the nude by her pool, and not a few men bragged about how they had driven up into the hills above the Wilhoite house and watched her through binoculars. They told stories about seeing her lying in the sun playing with her pussy, making herself cum and rubbing her juices all over her white thighs while they watched and jacked off and went home that night to fuck their wives and think of Catherine.
Yes, there were plenty of other men anxious to get into her panties-from George Bergen, president of a Southern California savings institution and head of the board of directors of the country club she and Clay belonged to (how often he had let her know, brushing up close to her and letting his hand glide ever so lightly across her ass) to Tommy Sprinter, Johnson High's star halfback and checkout boy at the Safeway at the end of the hill (sometimes she could actually see the weight of his cock throbbing inside his tight jeans as he rang up her purchases).
But Catherine was unable to solve her problem that way-with another man-for the same reason that she only allowed herself to fantasize with her husband somehow involved. It was her upbringing, her middle class uptightness. She could not allow herself to have an affair with some other man even though she desperately wanted to let some man-almost any man-take her. If one only would have tried, if only one would have forced her....
How many times had she driven by some construction site with the top of her convertible rolled down and her blouse unbuttoned (as much as it could be without her two over-sized tits falling right out), and slowed down to make certain that the men working on the scaffolding noticed her? How often had she listened for their cries, their taunts, their filthy, degrading comments?
"Hey, baby, let me jump right into those tits, huh? Please let me in!"
"Got a big, fat cock here for you, sweetheart ... hard, fuckin' balls ready to pop ... like to pop them in your sweet, pretty mouth...."
"Looking for a real man to fuck you, beautiful? Well, here he is ... all the man you can handle and more! Stick around, I get off work at five. Stick around. Stick around....
Oh, how she ached to stick around! She would have given almost anything just for one time with any of them ... her hands all over those over-developed, dark-tanned exposed bodies ... their tight jeans with the huge bulges in them ... the sweet smell of sweat that covered their flesh and trailed its way all the way down to the street and into her car and into her senses. What bliss if one of them had aggressively come over and pulled her out of her car and dragged her into the construction yard and raped her behind the shed where they all went to piss and shit. And what added bliss to look up and see all the rest of the crew standing in line to take her the same way, one after the other, cock after cock being plunged into her never-satisfied twat, each afterwards going into that shed to take his after-fucking piss and stiring up all sorts of sour smells that swirled about her like perfume.
By the time the light turned green, she would be completely wet, her head alive with images, and only the insistent honking of the cars behind her would bring her to her senses enough for her to find the energy to put her foot on the accelerator and escape from the chorus of insulting remarks.
Did they notice that she came back day after day, wanting more, her eyes studying them from behind over-sized sunglasses? Did they know how hungry she was to be fucked, how easy it would have been if one of them had the balls to take her without asking? Probably not. Nobody, just from looking at Catherine-so beautiful, so refined-would ever have imagined what she was thinking. Who could ever have suspected that she was an unlit firecracker just waiting for the right match?
She stood still staring out the bay window, though the ambulance had disappeared from view long before. She was shaking, her hand shoved through the folds of her robe and making her twat wet. She brought her wet fingers up to her nose and smelled her own sexual excitement. Her head went all haywire for a moment. She reached inside to pinch the throbbing nipple of one of her heaving breasts. Her legs were rubber.
"Please, oh please," she heard herself whispering in the empty room.
Her body began to shake more violently, sweat forming on her brow.
"Please! Please!" she cried out now.
Her hands were at her twat again, plunging in and out. She grabbed hold of the heavy drapes to keep herself from falling to the floor. Louder and louder she cried, hot tears now on her cheeks.
Then ... the tinkling of chimes. The grandfather clock in the living room struck nine. Catherine caught control of herself. She rubbed her wet hand off on her robe and slowly opened her eyes.
A red pickup was pulling into the driveway where just half an hour before the ambulance had sat parked. Behind the wheel was a young man, the glow from the end of the cigarette between his teeth casting a light across his mean eyes. He turned off the ignition and pulled a comb from his pants pocket, then adjusted the rear-view mirror before spreading the comb through his thick, blond hair. Afterwards, he pressed down an unruly mustache with the comb, then shoved it back into his pants. Still looking into the rear-view mirror, he took a pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment and slowly slipped them across his eyes. He made one final check in the mirror, approved of what he saw, then climbed, huge and threatening like a bear emerging from his cave after a winter's sleep, out of the pickup.
The calmness that Catherine had experienced only the moment before flew away from her like a bird at the sound of a gun blast, cawing madly as it tears out of its tree, flying into the open because of its fear and by doing so exposing itself, setting itself up for the kill.
The man who stood by the red pickup-aggressively ripping the stub of a cigarette out of his mouth and squashing it underneath his heavy boot as if it were some insect he wanted to kill-pulsated with sexual energy. The time and care he had taken to develop his body into a perfect machine, muscular and hard and powerful, the profusion of tight, blond hair that covered his arms and poked out of his T-shirt, the way he wore his pants shockingly tight, almost as if they had been tailored to fit as snugly as possible around that enormous bulge that was his cock and balls, so snugly that the zipper had been pulled apart against the pressure and now stood exposed, the morning sun glinting off the stainless steel mesh and flittering across her eyes-all of this sent her sweating, shaking as before. But this time there was no need for her to put her hand to her twat, no need to stimulate her nipples. She was hot enough, just looking at him! She dared not even breathe for a moment or two. The grandfather clock finished striking nine.
He sensed something. He looked up. He caught her staring at him through the slit in the drapes. He jerked his head toward her like an animal who had just spotted a kill. And, slowly, a grin grew on his lips, his blond mustache curling up at the sides sinisterly. Then she watched in disbelief as he gave a quick tug to the weight in the crotch of his pants and then brought his fingers to his mouth and licked at them with a red, wet tongue.
Catherine quickly snapped the drapes shut and then walked weakly into the middle of the empty living room and stood still as a statue, feeling only an electricity that buzzed at the tips of her fingers. Minutes-agonizing minutes-passed. The tick-tock, tick-tock of the grandfather clock grew louder and louder in her head. Nothing. There was nothing she could think about, no images, no ideas, no words to say. When at last she heard the sound of the doorbell, she began to shiver.
CHAPTER TWO
Catherine knotted the belt of the robe tightly about her waist, looking down afterwards to make certain none of her naked body showed through. Nervously, she walked to the front door. Her hand shook as she grasped hold of the doorknob. Quickly she ran worried fingers through her long, black hair and wet her lips. Then she pulled open the door.
There he stood, smirking, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. Catherine stared back at herself in the reflective lenses. She wished she looked less like an unkept housewife, more like her usual self. She allowed herself to glance for a moment at his crotch. It was even larger than it had seemed from afar. Large enough to set her shaking with hunger. She steadied herself against the door. Still, her voice quivered when she spoke.
"Yes, may I help you?"
"Joe Carter," he said with a deep voice. It made her knees feel even weaker. "I've come to build the ramps."
"The ramps?" she questioned.
"Yeah, you called last week about my building some ramps for someone in a wheelchair."
"You're a carpenter?" she asked.
"Yeah, that's right. Have I got the wrong address?" He looked at something scribbled on a piece of yellow paper he held in his hand. "It says 322 here."
"Yes, this is the right address," she said. "I suppose my husband phoned you and forgot to tell me. He's not here right now. They've just taken him back to the hospital."
"He's the one in the wheelchair, I take it," he said as Catherine felt his eyes, even hidden, bore through her. She knew what he must be thinking: that here was the wife of some guy in a wheelchair and she must not have gotten any for a long time and would be hot as hell for a stud like him. How arrogant he was, she thought. How right he was!
"Yes, my husband had an accident a few months back and will be in a wheelchair for some time...." She hesitated. "Perhaps always. There are a number of difficult landings in this old house. We had talked about having ramps built. He just didn't tell me he had actually called someone about it."
"Well, it's not too together of him to ask me to drive here all the way from Venice and then hang me up like this."
"Oh, I'm sure he didn't mean to ... he's had so much on his mind." But she wasn't sure at all. Clay had been doing some strange things lately.
"I suppose you'd prefer it if I came back when he's returned from the hospital," he said. "I mean I wouldn't want you to feel uneasy about being in the house alone with me or anything."
"Oh, no," Catherine was quick to assure him. "It's not that ... I just wasn't expecting you. No need to drive back." She stepped aside. "Please ... come in."
Aggressively he pushed past her, down the landing and into the living room, his back to her. Catherine stood staring at him a moment, at the way his pants sensuously hugged his ass. Her eyes ran down the length of his long legs, seeing the twitch of his muscular thighs inside. She steadied herself against the door until she was certain her shaking had subsided, then she walked into the living room after him.
"Come," she said. "I'll show you the house so you can see what has to be done."
He turned to face her. The weight in his crotch had increased considerably. Catherine could not help but drop her eyes to it for a moment. Her throat went dry. Quickly she looked back up. He was smirking at her again. She felt her face grow red and moved past him. She thought she felt a hand brush up against her ass but could not be certain. She liked thinking he had reached out for her. Secretly, she wished he would rip the robe from her naked body and rape her on the living room floor. The electricity of his presence was all about her as she walked up the three steps that led to the dining room landing. When she turned around he was still in the same spot in the middle of the room. He had yanked his T-shirt out of his pants and one hand was shoved into the top of his tight jeans. She could see the hard lines of his stomach and the sun-bleached hairs there. Again her throat went dry. Her voice was merely a crack when she asked him to follow her.
He stood staring at her a few moments more, smirking, as if he felt there was no reason to delay it any longer. They both knew what she wanted. It was only a matter of time before he gave it to her. Why not right then and there? All he had to do was reach down and unzip his jeans and she would be there in an instant, on her knees, his cock in her hot, hungry mouth, her hands trembling all over his legs as they reached out to touch and adore him. That was all it would have taken-his hand on his zipper. She waited breathlessly for him to move.
Then he slipped his hand from his pants and moved to follow her. He was going to torture her. He was going to make her wait.
The house was built on three levels with eight different sets of steps, each of which would require a ramp. The first level of the house was the living room and kitchen, the second the dining room and den, the third the bedrooms and bathrooms.
"I wasn't told it would be this big a job," he said. "I thought there would be only one or two ramps to build."
"Did you bring enough materials with you?" Catherine asked, for a moment her heart pausing as she imagined him having to go back for supplies, maybe even having to wait and come back another day, a day when her husband would be there.
"Yeah, I have enough with me," he said. "I just didn't think it would involve all this. I mean, this is at least a two-day job."
"Is there any problem?" she asked calmly and in her mind she was screaming: Two Days! My God! He's Going To Be Here For Two Days!
"I guess not. I'll just have to call the people I was supposed to do a job for tomorrow and tell them I'll be a day late. They may get mad and cancel."
"Well I'm certain my husband will compensate you for any loss of jobs you may have," she said.
"That's right," he said. "Guess the old guy must be loaded."
She wrinkled her brow, wondering what he was trying to find out. "He's not old," was all she said.
They stood just outside her bedroom now. He peeked inside a moment, saw her unmade bed, then turned back and looked up and down her body. Catherine stood stiffly. She tried to see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but all she could see was another reflection of herself. Again she looked less attractive than usual. As soon as she could, she would fix herself up. She wanted to encourage him to continue looking at her the way he was. It excited her. And the way he smiled at her told her he knew she was excited. He also knew that she would be even more excited the longer he made her wait for it-his cock. He was teasing her. He was making her suffer.
And Catherine thought she would collapse from the excitement of it all.
"How do you get him out of the wheelchair and into that bed?" he asked boldly.
"We don't sleep together," she answered softly in reply, and then looked at her bare feet.
There was a silence between them for a moment. She was afraid to look at him. Finally he spoke-again that deep, enticing voice of his. "Guess I better get to work if I'm going to have the job done by tomorrow night...."
"Yes," she said. She looked up. "If you want anything, just let me know."
"I'll need some lunch before long," he said. "I'm usually provided with a meal."
"I'll be more than happy to fix you lunch," she said. "Just let me know. Anything you need ... anything...."
"I'll do that," he said, and the way he said it let her know that he understood he could in fact have anything-anything-he wanted from her ... any time he wanted it. He was in control of her.
He turned away and walked down the hall and turned the corner. Her hands reached out after him. A few moments later she heard the front door open and close, then the crashing of boards and metal cans in the driveway. Quickly she ran into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, leaning up against it, shaking, closing her eyes, then shoving a hand between the folds of her robe and feeling the hot, wet mass at her cunt. It streamed down her thighs in rivulets. She could not remember ever being so hot as she was at that moment, and what excited her most was knowing that he would get her even hotter. About that she had no doubt.
Suddenly it dawned on her that for the shortest of moments had she questioned whether she would actually give in to this stranger, this carpenter who, for all she knew, hadn't actually been hired by her husband at all. Normally, Clay would have mentioned it to her. Then again, with the worry about the new operation, it could have easily slipped his mind. But why would he ask the man to come when he would not be there ... and knew he would not be there? Was that another lapse of memory?
What if, in fact, her husband had never hired the carpenter? How often she had read about women letting in strange men who claimed to be there to repair the phone or check the gas or deliver a package and then getting raped-or worse-for their foolishness. Or were all those women just like her? So horny, so hungry for a man's cock that they didn't use sense in such a situation? Even the possibility of death was not enough to dissuade you if you were desperate enough.
And, Catherine realized, she had reached a very high degree of desperation. Otherwise, she would never have so willingly reacted to his obvious advances, would never have so unquestioningly assumed what was going to happen. No, always before, no matter how hungry she might have been for a man, it had just been fanciful thinking. She never had allowed herself to go any further than that. Now she was not only allowing herself, she was pushing herself. Something about the carpenter made her almost compelled to do what he-and she-wanted. There was no way to stop it.
The buzz of an electric saw outside brought her back to her senses. With a sigh, she went to her dresser and pulled out a fresh pair of panties and a bra. Then, on second thought, she threw them back in and went to her closet instead. Letting the robe slip from her body, she pulled out a sheer flower-print dress she had bought a few weeks ago in a Beverly Hills shop. Through it, without a bra and panties, he would be able to see a hint of her ample breasts and the dark of her mound. Also, the sheer soft material brushing up against her flesh would keep her at a fever pitch. As hot and anxious as he was making her, she was willing to make herself even hotter!
Carefully, she brushed her hair back behind her head and tied it together with a piece of ribbon. Then she applied lipstick and eyeliner and sprinkled her most expensive perfume across the exposed flesh just above her breasts, letting her finger dip for a moment into the deep well there to freshen it. She slipped into a pair of white high heels and then looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She was satisfied. Looking like herself again should make her feel less at a disadvantage with the carpenter. She hoped.
Slowly she opened her bedroom door and stuck her head out into the hall to listen. He was in the living room. She could hear him moving about. She straightened her dress and walked down the hall, down the steps into the dining area, then down more steps into the living room. He was laying out boards along the floor, bending up and down, squatting on his boots ... and her breath stopped short when she saw he was wearing only his jeans and boots!
He looked up as he heard her come into the room. In addition to his T-shirt, he had also taken off his sunglasses. Now she could see his eyes, menacing as they were and vibrant blue. They pierced right through her ... right through the thin material of her dress. He stared at her a moment without expression, then broke out into a smile that showed off his teeth, yellowed from cigarette smoke. It was a smile that did nothing to make him seem friendlier; it only underlined his mocking nature.
Catherine nervously started to straighten out her dress, then she realized that by doing so she was pressing the thin material up closer to her cunt, making her black bush all the more visible. She felt embarrassed. She let the dress fall away and moved cautiously around him to the coffee table, picking up a magazine.
"I'm going to go out to the patio and do a little reading," she announced. "I don't want to be in your way. Whenever you're ready for lunch, just let me know."
He had been squatting on the floor all this time, looking up at her, looking up her dress. Now he rose and displayed his naked chest. It was covered with thick blond hair and shiny beads of fresh sweat, even though the air conditioning was on. He rubbed a hand over his chest to wipe off the sweat, then wiped the hand across the back of his neck. The hair under his arms was thick and black with wetness. The sweet, sour smell of manliness flowed across the room and into her nostrils. She felt weak. Her eyes dropped again to the mouthwatering hardness of his stomach, then below that, to the ever-large bulge in his pants. She wet her lips. The magazine shook in her hand.
"I'll work a couple of hours," he said. "Then we can eat."
She tried to speak, but nothing would come out. She just nodded and went out to sit on the patio. She stared at the magazine on her lap but saw nothing. She could only think of the man inside, could only listen to him moving around. From time to time she dared to watch him work through the windows that looked into the living room from the patio. She drank in the sight of his young muscles, the glistening of sweat on his flesh. He never looked in her direction, but she was certain he was aware of her attention. The way he paraded around, so suggestively, so invitingly! He had to know she was looking at him. He was performing, taunting her, torturing her and still making her wait.
It seemed an eternity before he came out and announced he was ready for lunch. She jumped with a start. She had been lost in thought, about him, about the two of them in bed together, his body on top of hers, his cock jammed far into her cunt, far, far, making her burn with pleasure.
"Yes, yes," she stammered, throwing the magazine to the floor. "I'll get something right away." As she brushed past him, some of the sweat from his bare arm rubbed off on her own bare arm. It was a hot, sticky sweat, a man's sweat. Her eyes stared into his chest, the wet hairs about his brown stiff nipples. Her mouth hungered to reach out and kiss him there, to lick off the sweat, to feast on him. Oh now! now! she cried silently. Let me have it now! But he just stood there, looking down at her, smirking at the way her lips quivered being so close to him, and said nothing, made no move. Mockingly, he placed his hands on his hips and looked at her, eyebrows raised, as if to say, well, are you going to go make lunch or are you just going to stand there all day like a dog waiting for a bone?
Weakly, she went into the kitchen.
Lunch was pure agony. He ate in silence across the dining room table from her. His manners were coarse. Throughout the meal, food fell from his mouth and collected on his still-naked chest. He did not bother to wipe it off. In other men she would have found such lack of etiquette disgusting. With him, she only thought how much she would have enjoyed being allowed to eat those pieces of loose food off of him!
Once or twice, she tried to make conversation, but they could find no common subject. There was only one thing they were both interested in, and she could not bring herself to talk about that. It was up to him to make the first move. That was the rule she had made for herself. She would do everything she could to encourage him, but he would have to take the initiative. Only then could she somehow lessen the guilt she knew she would feel afterwards ... after he had fucked her, after she had sucked his cock, after they had done all the things she hoped and dreamed they would do.
As soon as he finished eating, he rose and got back to work. He was an industrious worker, she noted, and a good carpenter. She wondered where Clay had found him, if he had been recommended or had just been a name in the yellow pages. Hurried, she cleared the table, then went upstairs to her bedroom to lie down on the bed and try to compose herself. She pushed her hand up underneath her dress and fingered her anxious cunt. How wet she was there! Every time she touched herself with him around she found herself wet. How was it possible that any man could do this to a woman? Did he torture all women the way he did her? Was it his favorite game? Or did he just see something in her, something that made him want to tease her, made him enjoy making her suffer?
Somehow, thinking about him, about his cock, wondering how it would look, how it would feel, she fell asleep. She was awakened by a pounding at her bedroom door.
"Hey, Mrs. Wilhoite ... Mrs. Wilhoite, are you in there?"
She jumped up in bed and rubbed her forehead. She had a headache. "Yes ... yes ... what is it?" She opened her eyes. Outside, the sun was very low. It was almost dark inside the room.
"I've finished for the day," he said. "I want to talk to you."
"Yes ... yes ... just a second."
Quickly she got off the bed and turned on the light. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her dress was all wrinkled, her hair in tangles. She tried straightening it out with a brush, then refreshened her lipstick. She noticed that the top two buttons of her dress had come undone. The deep, dark well that separated her two huge breasts was clearly exposed. She did not bother to rebutton them.
When she opened her bedroom door, he wasn't there. She hurried through the dining room, down into the living room. At first she did not see him. None of the lights were on. Then she saw the glow of his cigarette from where he sat in a chair in the corner. She reached over and switched on a near-by lamp.
He had his T-shirt on again, but not his sunglasses. His thick legs were spread wide apart, his tight jeans riding up close to his crotch to make it bulge and throb clearly across the room. He took a drag of the cigarette and stared at her, expressionless.
"Yes?" she asked, while her mind screamed: Now! Is It Going To Happen Now?
"I've worked a long day," he said. "I'm dead tired. It's a long drive back to Venice ... then back here in the morning."
"Yes...." Catherine agreed, and her heart skipped a beat.
"I was wondering if you'd mind putting me up for the night. I would get a good night's sleep that way ... and get an early start in the morning. In the long run it'll cost you less ... I charge for traveling time, otherwise."
"Yes, of course, you can stay," Catherine hurried to say. "We have an extra room, anyway. There's a TV in there, even your own bathroom. It's no problem at all."
"Maybe your neighbors will talk with my truck parked in your driveway all night," he pointed out.
Catherine thought about that. Yes, they might talk. She would not want that. She would not want anyone telling her husband that the carpenter stayed the night. She was desperate, but she was not crazy.
"Park it in the garage," .she said calmly, so calmly, that she even surprised herself. "I'll make dinner while you do."
He squashed out his cigarette, then stood up, stretching his arms above his head a moment as he yawned. Again he flashed his naked stomach and again this bit of flesh for some reason unduly excited her. Then he lowered his arms, stretching his T-shirt down with his hands to cover his stomach but at the same time pulling it tautly across the span of his thick, hard pectorals. The stiffness of his nipples poked their way through. The confidence which Catherine had shown only moments before now flew from her grasp. Her knees went as weak as they had been earlier in the day, her throat as dry. She watched hungrily after him as he walked through the living room toward her ... straight toward her ... his crotch swaying from side to side between his thick rounded thighs ... then turned and walked out the front door to park his truck in the garage.
What if someone sees him parking the truck? she wondered. Then she let the worry pass. Let people say whatever they wanted. She had passed the point of caring. What, after all, did she have to lose? Her husband? A happy marriage? No. Nothing. Not a damn thing to lose. And so much to gain.
Dinner went a little more pleasantly than had lunch. At least he talked to her a bit more, though not much. Still, he talked with his mouth full, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, dropping food all over her beautifully polished table. But she was able to find out a little about him: that he was single and lived in a small room in Venice above his shop where he sold pieces of furniture he had made. A young woman, a friend of his (what kind of friend?
Catherine wondered and was surprised to find herself so upset by the idea of him with some other woman) watched the shop while he went out in the day to do jobs in people's homes.
"Won't she worry when you don't come back tonight?" Catherine asked.
"No," he said, and left it at that.
Finally he pushed his plate away and announced he was tired. He asked her to show him his room. Nervously, Catherine walked up the steps to the hall landing and down to the end of the hall where the guest room was. All the way she felt him directly behind her, felt his electricity, and again in her mind she asked: Now? Will It Happen Now?
She opened the door and turned on the light. It was a little musty inside. The room had not been used since Clay's mother had stayed with them for two weeks after Clay returned from the hospital the first time.
She moved into the bedroom. "The sheets are clean," she said, patting the double bed. She turned on the light in the adjoining bathroom. "And there are plenty of clean towels. There's even a clean toothbrush ... the red one. Is there anything else you think you'll need?" She turned around to look directly into his eyes. He was only a few feet away. Her eyes begged him: Now! Now! Oh, Please!
"No, this will do," he said, reaching over to switch on the color TV at the foot of the bed. "Kind of like staying in a motel."
"I suppose, yes."
"Except in a motel, you have to tip the maid," he said.
Was he making a joke? Or was he mocking her again? She suspected it was the latter. She shivered. Did he notice? Probably.
She stood silently looking at him a few moments.
He looked back, but said nothing. His face told her nothing. She waited until it was too embarrassing to wait any longer.
"Well...." she said at last, moving past him, purposely brushing up against him, feeling how extremely warm his flesh was, going to the door. "If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll probably be in the den watching TV myself." Some inane sitcom blared forth from the set to drown out most of her words.
"Your bedroom's right next door to this one, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, catching her breath, "it is."
"Well, if I need anything, I can just pound on the wall, can't I?" Again she was uncertain whether or not he was making a joke. If so, she had no doubt it was at her expense.
"Yes, feel free," she said, trying to sound as casual as he. "As I said ... anything you want...."
Again she stood silently a few minutes, waiting, hoping. But again he made no move and so finally she walked out of the room.
"Would you mind closing the door behind you?" he asked.
Her heart sinking, Catherine pulled the bedroom door shut, then moved dejectedly down the hall and into the den. She turned on the TV but could not concentrate on it. She kept listening for his moving around, kept hoping that he would come out of his room and into the den and take her right there on the couch, pull her dress up to her waist and shove his cock into her pussy, still wet, still hot, fuck her hard and long until she screamed and cried for him to stop and then fuck her even harder. She sat shivering with hunger, wrapping her arms around herself to still her quaking.
Finally, around 10:30, she turned off the TV and went up the landing of stairs that led to the hallway and then toward her own bedroom. As she started to open her bedroom door she heard the TV still on in his room. Deciding to make one last attempt, she moved down the hall and knocked gently on his door. "Mr. Carter?" she said.
There was no answer. She knocked again, more loudly.
"Mr. Carter? Do you need anything?"
Still no answer. My God! she thought to herself. What am I doing here? I'm standing out here knocking on his door like some cheap little whore begging for it! Why is he making me do these things? Why is he torturing me like this? It's humiliating! It's disgusting!
"Mr. Carter?" She knocked again.
"What?" he answered finally, his deep voice sending chills through her body.
Slowly she cracked open the door and peeked in. He was lying on the bed, staring ahead at the TV. He had taken off all his clothes except for a pair of white cotton briefs. His arms were raised on either side of his head, and it was resting in his hands. His legs were spread to either end of the bed. His cock was clearly hard inside his briefs. Rock hard. The white cotton of the briefs shimmered against the activated movement of it. Suddenly he raised his groin into the air to flatten the prick out against the material and give her every opportunity to measure the exact weight and length of it. Both were considerable. The flickering light from the TV cast shadows over him that made him seem even more sinister than he had earlier. He smiled, but not at her. He stared ahead at the TV. He ignored her. But that smile! Oh, what a mocking, knowing smile it was!
Catherine stood at the door paralyzed, dazed, drained from waiting. Inside of her a time bomb ticked away ... tick, tick, tick....
"Un ... hun," he moaned softly, as if to himself, still not looking at her, still staring at the TV. But the sensuality of it made Catherine tremble so that she had to turn and grab hold of the edge of the door with her teeth.
To keep from screaming.
CHAPTER THREE
"Well?" he said coldly, at last, as she stood at the door.
She pulled herself away and whispered hoarsely, "I didn't mean to disturb you. I just thought ... since you were still awake ... that you might want something before I go to bed."
There was a long, excruciating pause as he stared ahead at the TV and raised his groin suggestively into the air again. Clearly his cock was growing harder, though it had seemed so huge only a moment before that she would have thought that impossible. She stared in disbelief as it made its way across his groin like a traveling snake, looming longer and thicker all the way. When at last it stopped growing, stopping crawling, she saw that it was easily twice the size of her husband's. Before this moment, she had known only his cock and had no way of realizing that he was at best only average.
In all her fantasies she had never imagined such a large cock, had not even realized it existed. But here one was! A large and overpowering cock beyond her wildest dreams. So much saliva formed in her mouth that it drooled uncontrollably out of the corners and down her chin. She reached up and wiped it off on her hand, then nervously rubbed the hand on her dress, on her thighs, close to her twitching cunt.
Openly, the carpenter reached down and stroked the palm of his hand across his groin, across the hardness of his sex. He played with himself in front of her, even letting a finger poke through the slit in his shorts and dance across the hard flesh that was in there. Then he reached under and cupped the full weight of his cock and balls in his hand and moaned softly. All the while he stared ahead at the TV instead of at her.
Catherine grabbed hold of the door for support. She could barely stand up. In fact she would have given anything to fall on her knees and beg and cry for it. That's what her natural instincts told her to do. Maybe that's what he was waiting for her to do. And if he told her to crawl across the room and bark like a dog for it, she would. She would do anything.
"Anything...." she whimpered. "Anything...." Her mouth was slammed against the door. Her tongue licked hungrily out.
"You got any beer in the kitchen?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered weakly, but made no move.
Finally he looked at her, saw her hanging on the door, saw her scratching and licking at it, helpless with need. He smiled and continued to stroke his crotch. "Well...." he said at last. "Go get me one." His voice was stern, commanding. No man had ever spoken to her in such a tone before. But instinctively she turned, like a robot, to do his bidding.
In the kitchen her hands were shaking so she could barely manage to open the refrigerator door and take out the can of cold beer. She turned around in the middle of the room, once or twice, wondering whether she should bring it to him in a glass or in the can. Correctly, she judged him the kind of man who drank beer out of a can and hurried back to the guest room with the ice cold beer can shaking in her hand.
He lay in the same spot on the bed, but once again he had placed his hands behind his head. His cock was none the less hard for it though. It throbbed wildly inside his shorts. She stood in the doorway staring at it in movement, holding the beer can out in her hand as if she had not the slightest idea what to do with it.
"Well...." he said at last, looking at her sternly, mockery seeping out between his teeth along with the smoke from his cigarette, " ... bring it here."
Now! Now! her mind screamed as she moved into the room, the beer can vibrating in her hand. Now! It's Going To Happen Now! It Has To Happen Now! I'll Go Crazy If It Doesn't Happen Now! Crazy!
She stood obediently beside the bed, holding out the beer can for him. Without looking at her, he reached out for it and put it to his mouth. When he took it away, a white line of foam covered the hair on his upper lip. He reached up and with the back of his hand, wiped it off. Still, she stood there waiting ... waiting and staring at him, at his nakedness, at the hard line of his cock inside his shorts. Her body shook. She was close to tears. She knew he could detect all of this. She no longer cared. Still he did not look at her. Somebody said something on the TV and he laughed at it, a menacing laugh. Had it really seemed funny to him, or was he only laughing at her, at how ridiculous she must seem standing there, so ready, so hungry, waiting for him to snap his fingers or reach out or give a command. Anything. Waiting for anything, no matter how small, how insignificant. Some attention, some recognition. And still he ignored her. But in his shorts his cock jerked so that he finally had to reach down with a heavy hand to still it. Softly, he moaned.
Catherine's body began to shake uncontrollably. She could not stop it. Her head was spinning. She felt faint, though she had never in her life fainted. She could feel that her dress was wet at the spot between her legs. She knew that if he moved his head toward her he would see it. She wanted to turn and run out of the room, but she couldn't. She felt chained to the spot, and her eyes were hypnotized by the sensuous, slow movement of his hand as it played over the long, hard lump inside his shorts. Her mouth quivered.
Then, slowly, his hand moved up and began to play with the elastic band of his underwear, slightly, ever so slightly, pulling it down. She gasped out loud. He made no notice of it. He ran a finger along the length of the elastic band and at the end of the run let his finger come into contact with the tip of his cock. His body jerked as he touched his own flesh. Catherine sucked in her breath. Again she heard him whisper: "un ... nun." And again it made her dizzy with fatigue. That simple movement of the throat ... that little "un ... hun" ... said he knew everything, knew all about her, knew just what she wanted. It said he was in control, complete control, and all it took was the slightest movement of a finger along the stretch of the elastic band of his underwear.
Like a hypnotist dangling a watch in front of his victim's face, the carpenter dangled the promise of his cock and by doing so turned Catherine into a shivering, salivating animal. Oh, My God! Catherine thought desperately. My Dear Dear God, What Am I Doing? Her brain thrashed about wildly in her head. It fought with her, pleaded with her to run, hide, escape. But her feet had turned to stone. She could do nothing but stand there and stare and salivate and wait like a trained dog for the moment when he would brandish his cock in front of her face and make her whine and beg for it. For she realized that that was exactly what he would do ... what he was working up to. Just as surely as she knew she would beg like a dog.
Now he let the elastic band slip slightly slower and then! there! A glimpse of the tip of his prick, hard and rose-colored and shiny with fresh wetness! His finger played gently about the long, dark slit of the prick and fresh wetness oozed out, white and creamy. Catherine's mouth filled with fresh saliva, an ocean of saliva, the saliva of a great, long-dormant hunger. Her body was vibrating madly now, and she could do nothing to stop it. The wet spot in her dress had spread and dripped its way completely down the front of her dress, her orgasms coming like clockwork. And she hadn't even been touched yet! She dared not think what explosion would take place when-and if-he ever touched her. And just as she was thinking of that-dreaming of the moment he would touch her-he once again dampened her hopes as he slowly raised the elastic band of his underwear over the tip of his prick and again hid it from her. He placed the hand that had been playing with his prick once more behind his head and took another sip of cold beer and stared, still, at the TV ... as his underwear grew wet with his cream.
Catherine's head was in a whirl. All she had to compare to this feeling was once, before she had married Clay, when she had agreed to go to a party with Tommy Conners, a party given by a crowd at school she normally had nothing to do with. Tommy had given her some of the punch, two, three glasses full of it, and soon after her head had begun to feel the way it did now, all in a whirl, crazy-like, her body numb and out of control. Everyone had seemed so gross as she looked at them, so cruel, laughing at her, mocking her as they fell into corners pulling off one another's clothes and starting to make love. They had watched her to see what she would do, and Tommy had laughed loudest of all as he reached out and started to knead her nipples beneath her sweater and to reach down to touch between her legs. She had turned and run and locked herself in a bathroom and thrown up her guts and some time after-an eternity after-begun to feel somewhat like herself again, though it was a long time before her head stopped whirling, before she stopped seeing things dancing all about her, naked bodies mostly, people fucking, thousands of couples fucking, hours before all that passed. By the time she had come out of the bathroom, the rest were no longer interested in her. They were all on the floor making love to one another, Tommy on top of Loretta Stewert, his cock plunging in and out of her willing pussy in rhythm to some loud, clashing music on the phonograph. No one even noticed as she slipped out the door and hurried home and lay in bed by herself staring at the ceiling, seeing thousands of couples fucking, naked and sweaty and-hard. She hadn't even known enough to touch herself and bring herself off.
That's how she felt now, as if she had drunk some of that punch again, as if she were under the influence of some drug. Only this time the drug was a man and his cock, and this time she did not want to run away. This time she wanted to stay.
Another sip of the beer and then slowly the carpenter's hand returned to his crotch. Again he ran his hand underneath the elastic band, again he started to pull it down, but this time he kept going, he let it fall, fall, fall, down the length of his cock, hard and red and full of huge purple veins, down over the full, unbelievable length of it and then further down over the two huge hairy rocks that were his balls. His hand moved over and under them and then he let go of the elastic band, let it snap up underneath his scrotum and push his cock and balls high into the air to be bathed in the bright light from the TV. Then slowly, assuredly, he raised the hand again to rest it behind his head.
Floods of drool ran out of the corners of Catherine's mouth. Her eyes burned. Her temples throbbed with pain. Her fingers twitched like live wires as they moved over her thighs toward her pussy, dancing into the wetness of her dress and pressing up against her opening as it throbbed and pulsated. Just one look at his cock and he might as well have locked her up in a cage and thrown away the key, so much his prisoner was she.
A snap of the finger ... a crack of the whip ... and she would be down on him ... her lips devouring him. She had become his whore. No, something more than a whore. A whore does what you want if you pay her for doing it. Catherine wasn't asking to be paid. She wasn't asking for anything except the chance ... the privilege of doing what he wanted, the way he wanted, when he wanted. He had turned her into something more than a whore. A pet? A slave? A toy to play with at his leisure? A crippled animal to poke and torment with a stick-a stick in this case ten inches long and hard and hot and oozing with white scum.
His hand went back to run the length of it, to play with it and finger it, and slowly he began to jack off in front of her in the light of the TV as, casually, he took another sip of beer. Then, just as casually, he lay the beer can down on the floor beside the bed and reached up inside her dress, straight toward her pussy.
Catherine went stiff as stone. She pinned her hands by her side. She stared ahead at his cock, watching him play with it as she felt his fingers dancing up her thighs and into her wet, dank bush. His fingers nibbled at her clitoris, pulling it away from her to make it vibrate. Then his fingers parted her vaginal lips and moved in, one by one, down, down into her opening, into that soft, mushy wetness inside her. Madly they jammed and poked and explored the limits of her canal as Catherine struggled to keep from screaming out least the sudden noise disturb him and make him stop. She dared not even moan or gasp or reach up to wipe away the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
Then she felt him moving out of her, felt the fingers crawling away. No! No! she wanted to cry out. Don't Go! But she remained obediently silent as he slipped completely away, as his hand fell out from underneath her dress without touching her thighs, and then she opened her eyes and watched in wonder as he lifted the wet, sticky fingers to his nose and sniffed them. He squinted. She could well imagine how musky, how strong a smell it must be. She hoped he would be pleased by the extreme rankness of it ... would see how hopelessly excited she was. Then he moved that hand down to his chest and in one, wild, mad sweep, wiped off all her wetness and stickiness, over his flesh, into the mass of hair on his chest, around his hard nipples, leaving shiny bright streaks decorating his chest.
And then ... after what had seemed like the passing of ages, he finally spoke again. His deep voice filled the room, drowned out the TV, and shook her from the spot where she stood like the rumbling of an earthquake. Yet there were only three words ... three simple, unexpected, frightening words: "Lick it off."
Catherine stood stunned. For a moment she could not move, could not figure out how to move, as if she had never been taught. Her brain would not work, she could not fit all the pieces together. There was a whirling, swirling pool in her head, throbbing at her temples, pain that ran the length of each hair on her head. But this lasted only a moment ... one crazy, wild moment when she thought she might still have the power to make some decision for herself, when she considered objecting to his command, when she actually asked herself whether or not she should do this thing: lick her own rank juices off of him. But no longer than that-no longer than a moment-and then she was falling to her knees beside the bed, her head leaning down over his chest, her mouth moving-At Last! At Last! her brain cried out. At Last I'm Going To Be Allowed To Taste His Flesh!-hungrily toward him. And then her tongue-hot and soft and shivering-touched him. And he smiled.
Slowly his hand returned to his exposed cock as her tongue played on his chest and began to trace a path up and down the length of the erected beast, keeping it ever hot, ever oozing with scum, pushing it high into the air until it stood straight and mighty as a redwood in the forest, bathed in the ever-present light from the TV ... and he knew she would be looking at it, staring at it with a hunger that knew by then no bounds. He could feel that as her tongue raced over his chest, picking up every little drop of sexual excitement he had smeared there. How soft! How tantalizing! How hot a tongue it was!
And then he felt it moving its way down the thin path of stomach hairs that led to his groin, picking up speed as it went on a definite journey of lust and passion. He had thought it might, thought the temptation of his great prick sticking up in the air like that, white scum oozing down the sides, might be too much for her. The way her lips trembled against his flesh-like butterflies against the wind-he could see she had lost her senses for the moment. She had forgotten who was in control. He decided to remind her and quickly brought his underwear up and over his cock and balls, letting the elastic band snap loudly against his waist as it shut the thing she wanted most away from her.
Her lips came to rest inches away from his waist and trembled there. Her great breasts heaved madly against the side of the bed as she began to sob softly with frustration. He felt her hot tears wet his belly.
"Un ... hun," he said again, to let her know he understood, he felt her tears, saw her shaking body, understood everything, and that in time, his time, he would give her what she so desperately wanted, was dying inside waiting for. He understood, oh! how he understood. (Better than she did, far better than she.)
There she was, kneeling beside the bed, her mouth on him, close, so deliciously close to his cock so that all it would take was the slightest tap on the top of her head ... a mere brushing of her hair ... and she would do his bidding. It had taken the whole day to get her to this point. But he had known from the moment she opened the door, from the moment, in fact, when he first saw her peeking through the curtains, that this was where he would have her before the day was over.
And, he had promised himself, it was the only way he would have her. No quick fuck from this horny housewife. That wasn't the way he operated. Joe Carter had a different technique, a better technique. He already had three women at his bidding. He had waited a long time for a fourth. But you had to wait to get the right kind of women, one like Catherine Wilhoite. Not all women were ready for his kind of love ... his kind of sex ... his demands. Only the special ones were, and you had to wait, be patient. There weren't that many women around who could be made to take care of your cock just as instinctively, as obediently as a hand does when you're jacking off. A hand doesn't have to be told. When you want it to go slow, it goes slow. Want it to speed up, it speeds up. Want it to make you cum, it makes you cum. No words have to be spoken. The hand knows when you want it, what you want, and it obeys.
That's how he wanted his women. That's how he wanted their mouths, their cunts, their assholes ... everything working instinctively, everything going off just the way he wanted ... and all it took was a tap, the slightest shifting of his hips, a nod of his head. And they knew-women like Catherine Wilhoite-they knew and they obeyed. But they had to have this proven to them. They had to be shown what dormant needs lay deep inside of them. Once shown, of course, they were powerless to do anything to still their needs. It was like heroin-they were addicted for life. Right then, Joe was giving Catherine her first hit ... he was turning her into a sexual addict. And once he had her hooked, he could start making her pay for it. That's how he operated. Joe Carter was a sexual pusher. One of the best.
Now he put the tips of his fingers on top of her head and slowly moved her face down to smother it in his crotch. Her nose and mouth pressed up against his damp cotton shorts, the hardness of his sex throbbing wildly up against her mouth but still denied to her. As her body began to shake convulsively, he had to press harder on top of her head just to keep her in place. She thrashed against the side of the bed, crashing loudly into it. Her breasts fell out of her dress. Her hands clawed at her cunt, automatically lifting the skirt of her dress up over her hips and then rushing up between her thighs, parting the vibrating lips of her pussy and marching inside to grab and slap at the fleshy mass of heat boiling in there.
Great streams of white ooze flowed out of her cunt and covered her legs, wet the carpet on which she knelt. Her mouth opened. Teeth bit their way around the width of his cock, bit through the cotton shorts, soaked them with wetness, then began to nip and bite at the material as if trying to rip a hole in it, hungrily striving to get at cockflesh, an animal fighting for a piece of meat, cockmeat, growling, whimpering, crying.
His cock strained beneath the thin material. It, too, was beginning to feel the strain of all the waiting. He lifted his groin into the air, slamming it hard against her face and at the same moment pressing down like a vise on top of her head. He smothered her mouth and nose in his crotch and brought his thighs up to wrap them around her head and hold her tight. His cum hovered dangerously close to his pisshole, bubbling madly to fight its way out but resisting the urge to do so, crazy for a mouth, a red, hungry mouth, her mouth closing in around that great shaft, sucking on it, licking at it, slobbering all over it, gagging on it. In time, in time, he soothed the bubbling cream. All in good time.
Now he released his hold on her head and raised his legs high into the air. At the same time he pushed her mouth down, away from the aching hardness of his cock, over his balls, down underneath, to where his asshole lay hidden behind his shorts.
Pressing against the back of her head, he shoved her mouth up against his hot, pulsating asshole and quickly felt it grow wet there, felt the saliva from her mouth seep through the cotton and drain down his crack, felt her tongue poking its way through, drilling through the material seeking out his crack and his asshole ... but hesitatingly, yes, with trepidation. Oh, she had never done this before! Her husband had never fed his ass to her. She liked being made to do this, her instincts helped lead her on. But it was new, unexpected. She hesitated ever so slightly and he felt that. He pressed her harder against his ass, using both his hands now, stretching his legs open wide, as her mouth grew hungrier, surer by the moment, as she started to growl and moan and fight to get at his ass just as desperately as she had fought to get at his cock.
At last he could stand it no longer. In one swift action, he let go of her head, reached behind to grab hold of the elastic band of his shorts, pulled them quickly down over his ass until they locked into place under his balls and then quickly shoved his hands against the back of her head again as he felt her mouth now move in on his exposed and available asshole.
She was hot, as hot as any woman he had ever known. Her tongue slid long and hungrily right up into his shithole, and there it twirled and slithered and he felt her soft, hot lips move in around the layers of skin that rode the rim of his shithole and felt them take hold of all that flesh and begin to suck on it and pull at it and force it apart, force his shithole to open wide, just as wide as when he was ready to drop a good load. Then she moved in, her whole mouth moved inside of him, and there she feasted, sucking and churning and drinking up all the sexual juices that flowed from his ass. He groaned madly, thrashing from one side of the bed to the other, pressing her closer all the way.
And then ... he felt something unexpected-felt her go wild against him, all crazy-like, her arms beginning to flap about in the air. She got up off her knees as if trying to stand even as her face continued to press in close to his ass. Something had happened; she had lost control. He wanted her to stay there, stay there and eat out of his ass all night long. But something was wrong. The instant he let go of her head she broke away, crying and gasping for air and falling on the floor beside the bed, her legs kicking out at her sides, kicking in spasms as if she were having an epileptic fit. Her hands clawed at the bedspread, pulling it half down onto the floor with her. She grappled at her cunt, folding her legs up around the hand that clawed there. Her mouth opened as if to scream, but nothing came out.
For a moment Joe was scared. He did not understand what had happened. Then, as he watched her jerking all about the floor, crazed out of her head, he began to smile. He saw that he had pushed her over the brink. He had shown her just exactly the kind of woman she was ... had proved to her what she wanted. And he had done it by doing nothing at all really. Only a little feeding of his ass to her. But as soon as this convulsion of realization was over, he could go on. Then he could do anything-all the things he wanted-and it would be all right. She would do them, gladly. In fact, she would beg to do them. And she would beg to pay. She was an addict. His addict. And he was going to be her only connection with life from then on.
CHAPTER FOUR
In time she calmed down and lay panting on the floor like a dog made to run too long on a hot day. Her mouth hung open. Her arms and legs alternated between lying at rest and jerking about, then coming to rest again. It took a long while before she seemed to be breathing normally.
When she could, Joe leaned over the side of the bed and tenderly patted the top of her head. He could afford to be gentle with her now, just the way you could afford to be gentle with an animal once you had it trained. In fact, a little gentleness, a little reward now and then kept it more addicted.
She moaned gratefully as she felt the soft hand on her, felt it stroking her. It soothed her. The jerking of her arms and legs eased completely. In time, she found the strength to move her head out from underneath his hand and take hold of it and begin to kiss it. Her still hot, soft wet lips covered both the top and bottom of the hand and each finger of it and then she began to lick at it. He heard her whisper softly: "I can't believe ... I can't believe it."
"I know," he said, looking down at her, feeling new hardness surge through his cock, the hardness that only came after the conquest was complete.
Her long, black eyelashes swept over her eyes as she looked up at him, her dark blue eyes large and wet with tears, glistening. "You know?" she asked, her tongue still weaving its way about his hand. "How do you know?"
"I just know," he said. "After all, I'm digging this just as much as you are. You're not doing it alone."
"I'm not doing it at all," she insisted. "You're doing it to me. You ... you have some magic. I can't explain it. It's something...."
"No, it doesn't happen all that often. Just once in a while with the right kind of chick...."
"No," she still insisted. "It's you. You know some secret. You know how to bring out things in me ... thing I never thought...."
"But not every woman is like you," he said.
"They aren't?" she said, not being able to imagine a woman reacting to him any differently than she had.
"No ... not at all. Some women get angry and lash back. Some get scared or disgusted and throw up their guts. Only a few ... a selected few ... let themselves go. But it feels good to do that, doesn't it, baby? You're digging it, aren't you? You're digging me?"
Again her lips flew madly over his hand. "Oh, yes! Yes! I just ... for a moment there I was losing control. My head ... it got so crazy. I couldn't control myself at all. No, something worse than that. I somehow got disconnected from myself. I thought for a moment I might be going mad, that I might never come back."
With his other hand he leaned over and stroked the top of her head again. "Don't worry, baby. You're going to feel that way again. I want to push you to that point again. But it will be easier the next time ... and easier still the time after that. It will be easier each time until you find a way to control it, that specialty of yours, that special gift ... the gift to give ... to give to a man."
She looked up at him again with questioning eyes.
"I know you don't understand. That's because no man has ever shown you this side of yourself before. No man has ever asked enough of you before. But what just happened to you was that you passed over the threshold of caring about your own pleasure. You were only interested in my pleasure, and that frightened you. It's not what you've been told, or always told yourself, you wanted. You just weren't listening to your head. You never had the opportunity to. Now I'm going to teach you to listen ... listen to the truth."
Catherine felt her head begin spinning again, begin going all haywire again. His hand lay gently on top of her, though, and in time she calmed down.
"Don't worry, baby, don't worry about it. Just leave it to me. You don't have to think about it. That's the great part. You don't have to do a thing. Leave it to me. I'm going to fuck your head over, but you'll love it. Believe me, you'll love it."
"I believe you," Catherine said. "I do believe. I ... I'm not scared. But I don't really understand."
"You will," he said, sticking his fingers into her hot mouth, letting her suck them lovingly. "You will ... all in time."
He felt her starting to chew hungrily on his fingers. She was warming up again. She was getting hot. She was beginning to rub her thighs together, and he saw one of her hands start trailing its way toward her cunt. Forcefully, he pulled his hand out of her mouth and up into the air, watching her leap up after it with her mouth, small crys choking in her throat. Now he also took away the hand that stroked the top of her head and brought it up to rub it against the aching hardness of his cock as it pressed against his underwear, fighting to get free. In an instant, he had her hot again. She was on all fours, looking up at him with begging eyes. Waiting. Ready. He smiled down at her.
"Now here's what I want you to do," he said. "First, crawl down there and turn off that TV. Then stand up and pull off your dress. Let me see that hot body of yours. Play with your pussy. Get yourself prepared for the work you're going to have to do ... then get down on your hands and knees at the foot of the bed, and starting with my feet, make love to my body. That's what you've been waiting for all day long, isn't it? Now you're going to get to do it. Run your tongue, your mouth, all over my body ... my cock, my balls, my ass. Get into it, really get into it. Because if I'm not satisfied, I'm not going to fuck that hot, hungry cunt of yours. And you want me to stick my prick into your snatch, don't you?"
Suddenly he reached down and grabbed hold of her hair by its roots and pulled her face back so that he could stare into it and see the exquisite hunger there.
"Don't you, baby?"
"Yes!" she groaned loudly. "Oh, yes!"
"Then go on, go on," he said, speaking to her as if she were a child, a pet, something that doesn't need to be coaxed but likes to be. He let go of her hair and rested his hand behind his head as his other hand continued to rub and play with the hardness of his cock, some fingers itchingly working their way through the flap to touch his own hot flesh and pacify it until it would feel her mouth-at last! at long, long last!-and he watched her crawling away, toward the foot of the bed, her ass bobbing from side to side, the wide, dark crack of it clearly visible through the damp, sheer material of her dress, her breasts hanging heavily out of it, hanging low, practically sweeping the floor with their weight, and her whimpering, oh!, her exquisite whimpering as she went.
She shut off the TV and with it the bright light that had been in the room all that time. Only the dim glow from a rose-colored desk lamp remained, enough for them to see each other, but now softly, without shadows, without harshness. They were entering the fantasy world, the dream world. It was all pleasure from here on in, no more work on his part, he could relax, lie back, enjoy himself, let her work, let her give him pleasure, sweet, delicious pleasure, without end.
Uncertainly, she stood up in front of him and tugged nervously at her dress. She slipped out of her shoes and then reached down to grab the hem of her dress from underneath. She paused for a moment as her eyes came into sudden, sharp focus and she realized what an incredible sight he was, stretched out like that, the hard long line of his cock so clearly measurable even though it was hidden from her again, the way his chest rode up and down, steadily, rhythmically, the slight twitching of his thick, hairy thighs, the sensuous curve of his arm pit stretched open against his strong, heroic face.
"I want to please you so much...." she whispered, almost as if in pain. And it was painful to look at him, but not so much as it had been earlier. He was right about that-it was going to be easier this time. She was going to be more in control. But still it was painful. There was so much she wanted. "I want to be so good for you...."
"Don't worry, baby," he said softly. "You will be. I'll make sure of that. But I'm glad you want it so bad. I dig knowing how hot you are for me. It pleases me, and didn't I tell you, you were going to please me? ... that that was what you wanted most, to please me? Are you beginning to understand?"
"Yes ... yes ... I am beginning to...." she said and then she took a deep breath and pulled the dress up over her legs, her pussy, her waist, past the enormous weight of her breasts, over her head and out of her arms and then she let it fall softly, floating to the floor to settle about her feet. She tossed her head from side to side to straighten out her hair and let it fall in billows about her white, round shoulders. She moistened her lips to make them shine in the dim light. She flicked her long, black lashes up and down across her eyes a few times. Then she opened them and looked straight ahead at him, into his face for some sign of approval in what he saw. She knew she was beautiful. Her whole life she had been told how beautiful she was. It had never meant much to her before. Now it meant everything.
His eyes studied all the contours of her body from her neck as far down her legs as he could see as she stood at the end of the bed. She stood like a little girl, not knowing what to do with her hands, swaying a little uneasily. But there was nothing girlish about her body. She was a fantastically beautiful woman, and the fact that she had gone so long without any man taking full advantage of that beauty amazed him. Her nakedness, of course, did not reveal a great deal to him. That sheer dress she had been wearing all day had left little to be discovered. Still, having her now like this, bare and available, her vibrant pink flesh glowing like a light in the room, made his cock swell even harder. His hand grabbed hold of it to still it. Unlike other women in that state, her body was not darkened and dried by the sun. It was white and silky like a baby's, and he liked that. It was worth more. All that whiteness-the whiteness of her breasts, making them seem like two perfect ivory carvings, the white of her flat stomach and narrow hips and long, slender arms-against the sharp dark features of her face and dark bush of her pussy and the two dark-colored nipples-it excited him. It reminded him of the black and white photographs of beautiful nudes he had looked at as a boy and jacked off to and used to worked out a technique on how to get what he wanted from women. How often had he created scenes almost exactly like the one he was now living out with Catherine Wilhoite? How often had he dreamed of the day they would actually take place? And now here they were-in this room, about to make love, her making love to his cock, adoring his cock, working her little fanny off to give him pleasure.
Oh, yeah! he thought to himself, desperately clutching hold of his aching cock as for dear life ... and I'm going to make her do it for me until she drops dead from exhaustion and then kick her to get up and do it for me more ... more ... more!
He snapped his hand away from his cock and drew it up behind his head to join his other hand there. He closed his eyes and moaned loudly and lifted his body into the air with expectation, lifted his hips off the bed.
"Pull my shorts off," he ordered.
He felt her shaking hands brush up against his legs as she leaned forward, felt the bed sag as she placed one knee up on it, then felt her long thin fingers grab hold at his waistband and slowly start pulling the shorts down, clumsily trying to get them to slip past the extraordinary stiffness of his prick and then, once accomplishing that, pausing. He heard her suck in her breath. She had been stunned for a moment by the sight of his cock, terrified by the way it crashed up against his gut, the way it trembled there, shook, throbbed and threw off fresh jism. His underwear shimmered against his hips as her hands trembled holding them. Then he felt her once again yanking at them and they went sliding over his hips, down his legs, and finally off his feet.
At last! He was naked, completely naked, exposed to the cool, refreshing night air that blew through the opened windows and swirled around his cock and balls. He sighed deeply and lay for a moment lost in the pleasure of just being naked, his cock no longer imprisoned but lying comfortably, though stinging with its load, against his stomach, his balls hanging free and loose between his legs.
He rolled lazily from side to side, sinking into the softness of the bed, letting the night air kiss his body, stretching his legs wider apart to let air flow into the crack of his ass and kiss his shithole. Then he felt Catherine's long, wet tongue wipe hungrily along the bottom of one of his feet and in an instant his whole body was quivering with renewed sexual determination.
He opened his eyes. All he could see was her head and that black hair on top of it bobbing up and down in between his feet. She had fallen to her knees at the foot of the bed and was covering his feet with her tongue and mouth. There was a look of ecstasy on her
"That's right, baby," he said. "Get into it. Really clean those feet of mine off. Show me how much you're digging me ... and this ... let me know. I have to know before I'm going to feel hot enough to fuck that twat ... that hot, hungry twat of yours."
Each word, each suggestion, inflamed her, drove her on. Long wide runs of her tongue swept across the bottom of one of his feet to clean off the dust there, then it trailed between each of his toes and up over the top of the foot, then down around his toes again, a never-resting, never-satisfied tongue that took in one, two, three, four, all five of his toes, sucked them right into her mouth and ate on them. It felt like she was sucking on his cock! He reached down to take hold of the vibrating beast and still it, play with it, pamper it, hold it off until the proper moment.
"Come on up, baby, come on up to my cock." He stretched his long, hard sex down toward her for her to see. Her eyes grew wide as she looked up at him adoringly, hungrily. White scum oozed out of it and dripped onto the sheets and immediately she began to run her tongue up along his leg, hurrying now to get at that little bit of his juice and suck it up from the sheets before it dried up, like a scavenger having spotted a crumb of bread to pick at. Her tongue came like a steamroller along his calf and over his knee and up his thigh, then slithered out of the side of her mouth and sucked the little pebble of scum off the sheets, leaving only the tiniest of smudges behind.
She was near his cock and balls now, near enough to smell them, near enough so that all she had to do was reach out with her tongue and she would touch those great bolders of seed that hung so heavily between his legs. He could see how her face collapsed with need as she studied them, longed for them, but then slowly she began to creep away, her body falling down in between his legs until her mouth came to his other foot and her tongue reached out to adore it the same way it had the first.
Well, after all, it was he who had shown her the advantage of waiting, the high of anticipation. She was learning how to inflict it on herself now. And again he had to grab hold of his cock to still its growing impatience.
His second foot was devoured by her tongue, her mouth, as had been the first, and then she trailed her way up the length of his leg and touched her mouth to his thigh, first along the top, then underneath to the fleshy part of it that spread along the bed. Oh! she liked kissing and pressing her face to his thick, hard thigh. He could tell from the way she moaned and the way her body shivered on the bed in between his legs. She dug her nose deeply into all his flesh and sucked in the smell of him and then he heard her moan louder than before, felt her tongue crawl achingly along the run of his muscle, taut and throbbing against her sweaty face, her shiny lips.
Her face still partially buried in his thigh, she opened one eye and looked at the two boulders just ahead and the great stalk of flesh that fell ahead of those. Joe reached down and grabbed hold of his cock and pulled at it to force his balls higher into the air, high and rounded, so she could see how large they really were, how full, how hairy. Her lips trembled madly against his thigh and then slowly they began to move as tiny whimpers of excitement fluttered out of them.
Her mouth was an open sore as it slid along him, the fleshy inside of her mouth hot all over his flesh as she went. Slowly, she began to rise to her knees in between his legs, her breasts hanging heavily down and sweeping from side to side against his legs. The touch of her mouth on his balls came suddenly, almost without warning after all the waiting, and just as suddenly they enveloped him, sucking in first one of the great nuts, then the other. He yanked harder on his prick to flare the balls out more in her mouth and she took the extra weight easily, greedily.
He relaxed as he felt her gently draw his balls away from his groin. When he moaned, she pulled at them a little more roughly. He moaned louder then. She was working instinctively, still not completely certain of how she could best give him pleasure, but listening for any sign, any motion which would give her a hint. She was concerning herself only with giving him pleasure and striving to find the ways in which that could best be accomplished. She was learning by rote, and he was the beneficiary of all her experiments.
Catherine, of course, was getting off on all of it just as much as he was, just as he had promised. Oh, yes! she was getting off on it, as she moaned and shivered all about him and struggled like a happy child with his balls. She loved having a man's balls in her mouth, all that weight, all that skin and hair and heat. She reached underneath to tickle between his balls and his shithole, and Joe jumped about on the bed.
"Oh, yeah, baby ... un ... hun." Again that little sound of the throat that instantly made her mouth more active on him, her hands run agitatedly across the tops of his thighs. He reached down to run one of his fingers between her lips and his balls. She ran her tongue over it. He played with the soft underpart of her mouth, then he pulled her mouth carefully off and let his nuts pop free, but left his finger in her mouth, left it running around the rim of her soft lips. Slowly, he pulled her up toward the tip of his cock which rested, twitching with expectation, against his hairy gut. She was sobbing now, shaking with convulsions as her nose began to catch whiffs of the smell of his cock. Her tongue ran hot along the length of his finger. Her hands shook nervously about in the air near his groin.
"Want those ten inches, baby? Hun? Want 'em?"
She shook her head weakly, her eyes opening and closing as she would look up at him then quickly away as if it were too painful, too dangerous to look at him. Her lips trembled, her nostrils flared. She was ready, so ready ... hot to suck prick, have it rammed down her throat. Now he brought her down close to it, let her get some good strong whiffs of it. A loud sob broke in her throat. His prick bobbed nervously up and down with excitement. It banged hard against his gut, all alive with blood and the thought of her hot mouth. White ooze pumped out of it with the regularity of a repeating rifle. It covered his gut and seeped along the sides of his waist.
He brought her mouth down to some of it and then withdrew his finger and pressed her nose into it. He felt her tongue struggling for a sip, a tiny taste. He rubbed her face in it, letting some of it catch on her lips from where she could lick it off. His hand now rested on top of her head, pressing her into his flesh. His hard, throbbing cock was next to her, waiting, anxious, but no less anxious than her mouth. Slowly she began to lie flat between his legs, too weak to hold herself up on her knees any longer. Her ass bobbed about madly as he brought a foot up to play in her crack. Doing so made him stretch open his ass and when she caught a whiff of that, she instantly began to move her mouth down under his balls. But he pulled her back up by a yank of her hair.
"Later, baby. I'll let you clean out my asshole later. Don't worry. I'll feed it to you. Right now I'm in the mood to give you some cock ... good hot cock-meat ... ten fuckin' inches of it. You going to take it, too ... you going to take all it. Un ... hun. Yes, you are."
Oh Please! I Beg You! Let Me Have It! her mind screamed. Her face now rested just inches from the prick, bobbing all about the way it was, held temptingly away by the rough hold of her hair, her very skin it felt. Then she watched as his other hand came slowly down and wrapped itself around the surging stalk, finger by finger, and slowly lifted the cock up, up, toward her waiting, thirsty mouth, until she could begin to see the long dark slit at the tip come into view, opening and closing like the mouth of some hungry fish, as that thick white scum oozed and dribbled out, pump, pump, and her tongue thrashed inside of her mouth and her teeth clicked like castanets and her lips pulled back and up in amazement of the size of it, the enormous span of the godhead, deep purple in color and smooth, fleshy, delicious looking. Then it was up against her nose.
The flesh of his cock was actually touching her nose, and she thought she would die from the wonder of it all. And then he was pushing her head all about by the hold of his hand, rubbing it up and down the underside of his cock, crunching her nose up against his flesh, making her mouth slide grotesquely from one side of it to the other as she involuntarily covered it with her hot saliva and felt the thick bulging veins against her tongue. Then her head was lifted up and her mouth forced down-at last! oh, at last! it's going to be in me, in my mouth! in me! cock! cock! cock!-over the godhead, the shaft, down, down, ten inches deep. She was gagging on it, choking, throwing up spittle, feeling dinner rise in her throat, her mouth thrown open in agony, her nostrils flapping about in search of fresh air, and then he let go of her head to move both his hands behind his head as he let himself sink comfortably into the pillows, into the bed, and stretched himself out, his legs spread wide on either side of her naked, prostrate form, his chest and arms tense and alive with muscle, his groin bumping, bumping, bumping up against her face. It was everything he had expected.
He went limp. She waited. Her mouth came to rest until she saw what he would do next. He did nothing. He just lay there, content, ready for pleasure, ready for her to start to work. Slowly she let the cock ride out of her throat, slowly let her lips glue themselves to the sides of the shaft and then begin to slide lovingly up and down, once, twice, picking up rhythm as she went, and her tongue dancing merrily about at his pisshole, parting it and thrilling it and then wrapping itself around the mighty bulge of his godhead and playing with the folds of skin underneath, and all the while her lips slid along the length of him while she moaned and gasped and cried a little, tiny warm tears falling down to water the bush about his sex.
Joe brought his knees up and spread his thighs wide apart to give him leverage to thrust the cock soundly into her mouth. She was good, damn good, and all he could think about was that it was probably the first time she had been allowed to suck off some guy like this, the way she had always wanted to. How much better she would be the next time, and the time after that. She was going to be a champion cocksucker, one of the best. It would be worth a lot.
"Come on, baby, that's not good enough. If you want to get that pussy of yours taken care of, you got to put lots more into it. I'm not going to let you suck it any longer if you don't start really getting into it.
Take it out of your mouth ... find me a mouth that knows how to take care of my dick the way I like. I don't settle for no amateur work. Put your mouth in action ... and fast! Or I'm going to take that cock away from you ... never give it to you again...."
Bam! That was it. That was the shove she needed. Yeah, he still had to work her, still had to keep proving to her how desperate she was for his cock. And he had. Just the suggestion of its being taken away from her had turned her into a machine, a wild, hungry, churning machine. It sent his cream bubbling and steaming all along the length of his stalk, sent his flesh crawling. He thrashed from side to side a few times, digging himself clean down into her throat and then resting as he felt her start to work on him there, in the depths of her mouth, work her throat muscles against his prickhead and run her hot tongue up and down what was left. Her teeth clamped shut down around the base of his prick, her lips smothered in his bush. Now he had her where he wanted her and she would not come up for air until he let her know she could.
"Be nice to take a piss in your mouth right now," he moaned lazily. Her body shook. "Yeah, piss in your pretty mouth, a long, hot piss. Think about that, baby. Think it over."
She was. He could see she was thinking about it. For an instant, the first moment she had heard the word piss, her action on his cock had come to a rest. He had startled her, given her something to think about she had probably never considered before. But then off she went again, slurping and sliding along him, newly aroused by the idea of piss, maybe disgusted by it, but Oh God!, a guy pissing in her mouth! She couldn't pass up an opportunity like that, a chance to really do something special for him, to be used by him. Oh, no, she took to the idea like a baby to a mother's tit. Instincts. He was working on her instincts, feeding them, he who knew so well how to feed them.
He stretched out on the bed and said: "On second thought, forget it. I'm not in the mood all at once. Maybe some other time."
She fought with the cock. Now she wanted it ... piss ... she had to have it. Give it to me! give it to me! her mouth pleaded with his cock, sucking like a leech to force the yellow liquid out.
He brought his hand heavily down on top of her head. "No!" he said sternly. "I'll do it when I want to. I'm not in the mood."
She slowed down. He had to teach her that they did things when he wanted and only then. That was the way the game had to be played. She had to learn to ignore her own desires and hungers and flow like a river with his. She had to learn to act like the hand, the masturbating hand that does only what you want, that changes with your moods instantly without being told. In time all he would have to do would be let the sides of his cock fill in her mouth and she would know that he wanted to take a piss and get her mouth in position to take the load. She wouldn't work harder to get it because she was hungry to have it. She would simply, obediently, get in place to take it. And when she did that, he would give it to her, all the piss he had, and lie back and enjoy the action of her hot mouth on his cock as it sucked out the yellow juice and gulped it down.
But not now, not tonight. Now he was too close to coming. He had tried to fight it, tried to take it more slowly, but after all this was the first time for both of them. He had gotten himself just as hot as he had gotten her, and what he was hot for was her pussy in a good, rough fuck. It would have been a good lesson for her not to fuck her this first time. It would have made her even hotter tomorrow. Yes, as far as his method went it would have been the perfect touch.
But why deny himself that pleasure? He had her where he wanted her and fucking certainly would not put her at ease. Oh no, it would only make her more desperate, more anxious to do well in order to get fucked again. Yeah, he would show her how good the fucking was going to be ... far better fucking than her husband had ever given her ... and then she would be his to take advantage of however he wanted, even more so than he was right then, plunging his hot prick in and out of her mouth freely and without effort, using her mouth like a pussy....
"Fuckin' mouth...." he groaned. "Fuckin' mouth of yours ... I dig fucking your mouth ... could fuck it all night."
Keep her hot. Keep her turned on. Do the job right now and you wouldn't have to worry about it later on, later when it really counted, later when it was really worth something. And she was going to be worth a lot, far more than the others. Yeah, that would seal it-a fuck. The crash of his cock through her pussy. That would be the end of her. She'd grovel along the floor like a dog whimpering to have another taste of that prick in her snatch. That's the kind of woman she was, how easy it was to see. And she needed to be shown, needed to see herself crawling, begging, a fuckin' dog, a slave, a whore. But not just any whore. Oh no. This one would be worth a lot, a hell of a lot.
Forcefully, he reached down and grabbed hold of her by the shoulders and pulled her off his cock, her tongue trailing hungrily behind, and flipped her over onto her back beside him on the bed and then he climbed on top of her, his cock banging into her flesh. He settled his crotch on top of hers and rubbed up hard against her, hard enough to hold her to the bed and help still her body which now thrashed about in convulsions underneath him. She gasped madly for air, her mouth flung open so wide he could look into it and see the contractions of her throat, still alive with the memory of his cock.
"I dig rubbing my cock against your pussy...." he whispered hotly, his breath covering her face. "Rub myself all over you ... just rub off on you ... use your flesh to massage my cock in ... use your skin to get myself hot ... that's what you are, baby ... your whole body ... just a cock machine ... your pussy, your mouth, your asshole, every fuckin' inch of your body ... just there to be used to massage my cock ... make it feel so good, so damn good ... make it feel good day and night long ... working like a fuckin' slave in the field from sun up to sun down to keep my cock feeling good ... work that body of yours, baby ... make that cock of mine sing ... want it to sing, sing like an angel before I stick it in your hot hole."
She was getting too wild. It was getting difficult to keep her down with his weight. Roughly he grabbed hold of both her arms and drew them up behind her head and then held them there by squeezing one of his hands around her two tiny wrists. This gave him more control over the movements of her body and also made her look as if bound and helpless. He raised his torso up off hers so that he could look down at her breasts, flared out now, drawn up as they were by having her arms stretched so far behind. Oh, how round and firm they looked! How they trembled with excitement, so white, so smooth, and the two large, dark nipples, like big chocolate drops waiting to be eaten. He reached between their bodies with his free hand and began to twist and turn one of the chocolate drops.
Catherine bolted beneath him, but he was able to keep her in place with a painful twist of her wrists. He twisted the nipple some more and then flicked at it with his fingernails and pressed in on the very smallest tip of it, squeezing it with pressure until she started to scream out. Then he filled his mouth with hot saliva and brought it down to her open, gaping mouth and let the slimy liquid flow in, let it run through her lips and down into her throat. One taste of it and she stopped screaming and began to raise her mouth to his to grab hold of him and get more of his spit, but he held it away from her for a moment, only let her touch his lips with her tongue and run hot there, lapping up the remains of his first mouthful. Then he filled his mouth again and opened wide and let his spit rain onto her lips while still he played at her nipple, making it stiffer and sorer by the moment, but she no longer complained, no longer worried about the pain. His mouth went down on hers and she feasted on him.
Anxiously, his hard prick jabbed all about her cunt, looking for an opening, hungry for entry. As his tongue ran hot along the soft undersides of her mouth, he raised his groin far enough so that the prick could stiffen out in the air above her. He felt her legs spread open, felt her start to raise her hips to him, felt her pussy lips pulsating near the tip of his prick as if they were pleading for his cock, begging for it, and slowly he let himself poke his way through the layers of flesh, parting them one by one and feeling the heat of her insides slowly envelope him. Right away he could tell how tight she was. It was unusual to get a woman this hot who was also this tight. It was going to be a joy for his cock.
He ran his wet tongue across her face, up into her eyes, across her forehead, her nose, back around her mouth. He even kissed her gently and listened to her begin to moan uncontrollably in response to that and the effect of his cock now riding into her in earnest. Her whole body was a wild, angry ocean beneath him, wave upon wave of flesh and sweat crashing into him, washing over him, sweeping him along. There seemed to be little left to do.
He raised his mouth slightly, inches from hers. A hot dribble ran in a line from the one mouth to the other.
"What are you going to do to get fucked by that cock? Hun? What are you going to do, baby?"
"Anything...." she choked, barely able to get the word out. "Anything...."
"Yeah, that's right. Anything." He raised his t groin and looked down between their bodies to see his ' long cock falling into her, going down into the well of her pussy. He pulled it out again, studied the way it came out wet and shiny, then shoved it back inside, letting all the heat and softness of her cunt envelope it again, chew on it and claw at his pisshole for a taste of cum.
He gave a fresh hard twist to her tit, then moved the hand over to the other tit and began to work it in the same way. "Yeah, baby ... anything. Say it again."
"Anything...." she cried and reached up in desperation for another taste of his mouth, a sip of his spit.
"Even shit ... hun, baby? Even shit?"
Her lips trembled on his mouth. Her body went still for a moment, her pussy freezing around his throbbing dick.
"Come on ... come on. Even shit. Hun, baby?"
"Oh no. Oh no. Oh God, oh no!" she cried out.
"Un ... hun...." he mumbled and he felt her pussy begin to churn up again, her body to thrash against his, her lips to tremble. "Come on. Say it. Let's hear it...."
"Anything...." she repeated.
"Even shit ... even if I want to take a good, big shit ... you'll lay your pretty mouth right up next to my shithole and take care of it for me, won't you?"
"Oh please! Don't make me say...."
"Come on, you know you want it. You'll even beg for it ... just like that ... you'll beg. I've shown you who you are now ... what you are ... how far you'll go for a fuck ... for my cock ... haven't I, baby?"
Then he felt it start again, the convulsions that had come earlier, the wild, uncontrollable thrashing of her body. He had taken her to the brink again, for the second time that night, but this time he had her pinned down, this time she was his to take advantage of at that moment, that exquisite moment of complete triumph. And he did. He held her fast, let his cock ride far and wide into her, let it crash up against the furthermost part of her pussy as her juices swirled hot and thick all around his staff.
And then she caught herself for a moment, long enough to cry out: "Don't stop! Oh, don't stop ... I don't want it to ever stop!"
"Don't worry, baby. It won't. It's going to go on a long time ... you're going to work your ass off for me ... remember ... you're going to eat shit...."
"Can't stop ... don't want it to stop...."
And as his cock started to throw off its cum like bullets of hot steel being thrown into a raging fire and exploding there, as his body roared against hers with all its weight, as his mouth drew in her moist, trembling lips and sucked on them, he whispered: "It's not going to stop, baby ... this is the beginning ... only the beginning...."
CHAPTER FIVE
Catherine awoke the next morning feeling marvelous.
She awoke as soon as the morning's first rays of light came creeping into the room. Then she lay silently watching as everything came into view. For eight years she had been living in that house-the house her husband's parents had lived in and decorated before the father's death-and this was the first time she had actually studied this room. It was ugly.
She could not get back to sleep. Only twice before in her life could she remember lying awake like this in the morning: once when she was a little girl and she and her parents were going to stay a week in New York with her Uncle Ralph, then an enormously good-looking young bachelor with whom she was secretly in love, and the second time on the morning before she married Clay. Now, as then, it was anticipation that prevented her from being able to rest. Those other two times, though, she had known what lay ahead: a trip, a marriage. This time she had no idea what was going to happen next and it was this-the mystery, the adventure of the unknown, the unlimited possibilities-which filled her with such anticipation. Her body crackled with it.
She turned over in bed and stared at the man who was asleep beside her, snoring heavily. The morning light softened the hard features of his face; even so, even as he slept, there was a threatening air about him, something that made her shiver excitedly. She studied the rise and fall of his chest and the ride of his muscles as he turned restlessly. She played with her pussy and slowly lowered the blanket past his waist and his groin and down below his cock and balls. He was hard. Was he dreaming of her, of the things he was going to do to her that day? He reached down to pinch at the skin about his balls, then grabbed hold of the prick and held it tightly a moment (to still its urgency?) before moving his hand up to scratch at his chest. How men loved to touch themselves, slie thought, smiling. Even in their sleep.
He rolled over onto his side and she studied the curve of his back and the roll of his ass and remembered how sweet it was having her mouth there, licking at his asshole. She had never tasted a man's asshole before. It had excited her terribly. She didn't know why. Slowly she lifted the blanket up over him again, letting it come to rest along his waist. Then she lay waiting for him to roll back toward her, and when he did she looked into his sleeping face and played with her pussy and brought herself off three times thinking about the night before.
She realized now that she had not loved Clay when she married him. Never had she lain in bed staring at him this way, being excited by him. Not counting her childhood infatuations, this was, in fact, the very first time she had really fallen in love with someone-and wouldn't her family and friends be shocked to see the man on whom she had chosen to bestow her first love! Wouldn't they be mystified!
But what of them? Had any one of them ever had as many orgasms as she last night? Had any of them ever known as sweet a satisfaction in bed? No. Just like her previous self, they had all resigned themselves to lives that didn't allow for any real sexuality. They settled for less for the sake of a marriage, a house, a career-hundreds of silly reasons. Well, she was through settling for less. Let them be shocked. Let them wonder. Let them talk. She was not going to revert to the woman she had been the day before, just twenty four short hours ago. Oh no, not that. Never, never that.
But what then? She did not know. A lot depended on Joe, but she had no indication what he had in mind. That, of course, was what made him so exciting, the way he kept her constantly off guard, and that was fine for as long as he chose to continue playing that game. But what if he finished the job that day and went away and she never saw him again? Her heart sank a little even thinking about that possibility, yet it was something she had to face. It was what someone like Joe most likely would do.
She took a deep breath. Okay, fine, if that was the way he wanted it, she would have to accept it. She certainly would not have lost anything. Whether he walked out or stayed, he had given her a new life. She was moving ahead. No more lying in her bedroom being satisfied with fantasies. No more catering to a cripple-a man who had been "crippled" even before the accident. No more being afraid of her own needs. She was moving ahead. She just didn't know the eventual destination. There was much still to think out. But oh, the excitement of it all-the fucking ahead!
She had been awake for hours before she saw him beginning to stir himself out of sleep. She thought about waiting until he did wake, for certainly she would be invited to take his morning erection and give it satisfaction in some way. But the activities of the night before had left her looking less than her best. She wanted to be beautiful for him, only beautiful.
So she slipped out of bed and went into her own bedroom to shower. Afterwards she freshened her hair and her face and then looked at herself in the mirror. She looked radiant! It wasn't the makeup. It was something else in her eyes. She had never seen it before. She touched her breasts. They, too, looked more alive than usual, seemed to be riding higher, fuller, and her nipples were decidedly harder. That, of course, could be the result of all the pinching and twisting of the night before. She pressed her fingers around the chocolate drops and shivered. Oh, how tender they were! And raw! She could feel where he had rubbed away a layer of skin on each. She went into the bathroom and got a jar of cream out of the medicine cabinet and doctored the sore nipples, tenderly, fascinated by their persistent stiffness. Just touching them like this brought her close to orgasm again!
Then she reached down and rubbed some of the cream along the edges of her vagina, for that too was sore and battered. Slowly her fingers danced inside to massage the inner flesh. In time her breathing started to come more rapidly. Quick, clear images from the night before flickered across her mind; his cock, his asshole, his mouth, the things he had said to her! And for the fourth time that morning, Catherine brought herself off.
Afterwards she put on a robe and went back to peek in on him. He was moving restlessly about in the bed, but still not up. She went downstairs to prepare his breakfast. When it was ready she went back up to the guest room and looked in again. The bed was empty. She heard the shower in the bathroom and went in and knocked on the glass door.
"Breakfast is ready when you are," she said, watching the outline of his naked body moving about inside. Her knees grew weak with anticipation. He just grunted. "Would you like some juice first?"
"Coffee," he said. "Black."
He turned to the side inside the shower and she could see the clear outline of his erection. He was running his hand along it, soaping it up. It, too, must be sore from the night before, she thought. How she would have loved to soothe it with her mouth. But he made no move to open the door and invite her in, so she turned and went downstairs and prepared his coffee then brought it back to him.
He was standing beside the bed, toweling himself off, one foot planted on top of the bed as he dried off his leg. His cock hung half hard between his legs, twice as far to the floor as did his balls, which themselves were enormously heavy and hanging low. For a moment she wondered if he had brought himself off in the shower and wasted all that delicious seed. Then she decided it was more likely that he had only taken his morning piss.
He did not look at her as she moved up behind him and placed the cup of coffee on top of the dresser. But then he thrust the towel behind and told her to dry off his back. Her hands caressed him. They moved down the arch of his back toward the place where it flared out to form his ass. Lovingly she dried those, too, her knees twitching to bend and take her to the floor so she could bury her mouth in his crack. But before she could, he reached back and grabbed the towel from her and rubbed it across his chest. He told her to get him a robe.
She went to her husband's bedroom and took his best robe from his closet, then went back to the guest room. The carpenter stood beside the dresser sipping coffee. When she came near him, he put the cup down and thrust his arms behind him, indicating that she should help him on with the robe. She held it open for him as he worked his long arms through the sleeves. The robe was much too small for him; it fit snugly against his muscular frame. He turned with it falling open to face her. He was looking down, admiring his cock, still half hard, still hanging down between his legs full of power and promise. How thick it was. How tempting.
He looked up. He caught her staring at it and smiled. Oh, what a smile! How knowing it was. How perfectly it let her know that he was thinking all the same things she was. What expectations for the day it encouraged. Then, teasingly, he folded the robe across his sex and tightly knotted the satin belt about his waist. The outline of his cock poked clearly through. She was wild to fall on her knees and crawl up underneath and take hold of him with her mouth. But he moved away to go downstairs and have his breakfast. Weakly, she followed.
He ate in silence, only looking up from his food from time to time to smile at her the same way he had in the bedroom. It excited her-the promise of that smile. It also embarrassed her-to have someone who knew all her secrets so close, just across the table from her. She wasn't used to that yet. She kept lowering her eyes, avoiding that smile. She didn't much feel like eating.
"Is it all right?" she asked at last.
"It's okay," he said with his mouth full. "I like my eggs more done than this. Maybe you'll do better next time."
"Next time?" she questioned, voice all full of hope.
"Yeah. I'm beginning to think this job may take even longer than I estimated yesterday. It'll probably mean another day's work at least ... another night of my having to stay here. Maybe it'll take even longer than that. Who knows? Just as long as the job's done when your husband gets back from the hospital. Isn't that right?"
"Yes...." she answered weakly. And in her mind she was screaming: If Only He Would Stay Here With Me The Whole Time ... Until Clay Gets Back ... How Will I Stand It? He'll Drive Me Out Of My Mind. Or Worse! Weeks, Weeks, Clay Might Be Gone Weeks, Recuperating, Physical Therapy, Weeks With This Man, Fixing Him Meals, Sucking His Cock At Night, Taking His Abuse, Being Forced To Do ... I Can't Think About It. I'll Go Mad! Mad! Oh Please, Please, Stay, Stay With Me. Don't Go! "Yes," she said, softly. "Just so it's done."
"Yeah, you won't mind if I take my time, do a real good job of it? Will you?"
The fork she held in her hand began to shake, banging loudly against the plate. Quickly she lay it down and folded her hands in her lap. "No, I won't mind."
"I didn't think you would."
She dared to look up at him a moment. Yes, he was smiling at her that way again. Why couldn't he be just a little nice about the whole thing? Wasn't it enough the way he treated her in bed? Why couldn't they laugh and enjoy each other's company out of bed? Why must he always be mocking her, always letting her know how well he understood her, how well he understood what she was thinking-about his cock, and his fucking her, and licking his feet, and her mouth at his asshole-and of course that was it. He saw that she was thinking about it all the time, was on edge every moment she was near him. He treated her like this because it was so obvious she wanted to be treated like this, like a sex object. Because sex was all she thought about. It was all they had to share, this game, this torture. She stared down at her lap again, at her fingers nervously pulling at her robe.
He pushed himself away from the table and went up the landing toward the guest room. He did not tell her to follow him, so she didn't. She stood up and started to clear the table. She did not realize how shaken she was until one of the dishes slipped from her hand and went bouncing across the plush carpeting, leaving a trail of uneaten eggs and sticky jelly behind. She grabbed hold of the table to steady herself. Her robe came loose, exposing her pussy. She felt the edge of the table up against it. It felt cool against all the heat of her cunt. Softly, she rubbed herself into it. She reached up and grabbed hold of one of her sore nipples and began to pick at it, being as brutal with herself as he had been the night before. She could hear him moving about in the guest room, making loud noises as if he were throwing things against the walls.
Her whole body quivered as she felt herself beginning to get all out of control the way she had twice the night before. And he wasn't even there! She wasn't even touching him! He had that much control over her. He could be rooms away and still take her over the edge. She grabbed hold of the table and took quick, deep breaths to bring herself back. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the knuckles of her hands were turning blue from the pressure. She stood there staring at them as if they belonged to someone else, until she heard him coming back into the room and quickly she straightened up and drew the cord of the robe about her waist.
He was at the foot of the landing, just behind her. She did not dare to turn around right away; she waited until she felt she was in reasonable control. Then she turned and tried to smile, but he was barechested, wearing only his jeans and workshoes, and the sight of his chest made her head go all haywire again. She grabbed hold of the table behind her with both hands, and hoped that he would not notice how unglued she had become already, so early in the day.
He stared at her and wrinkled his brow. How must she look? Dreadful, most likely, her hair all sweaty about her forehead, her face probably drained of all its normal color. Oh, If Only He Would Let Me Suck His Cock A Few Moments, Just A Few Precious Moments ... That's All I Ask For. Then I'd Be All Right. But He's Going To Make Me Wait, Make Me Suffer The Way He Did Yesterday. The Whole Day. The Whole Long Day. And she moaned. And when she moaned he smiled again, that smile, that same knowing, sinister smile and then he boldly reached down into his jeans to find his cock with his hand and push it around into a more comfortable position and he never took his eyes from her the whole time, smiling more broadly, more sinisterly as she had to grab hold of the table more tightly to steady herself. She shut her eyes tightly so that she would not have to watch him, though she was so desperate to do so, his muscles rippling as he struggled with the weight of his cock and balls. In her struggles to keep control her robe came loose again and he could clearly see her pussy and the way the dark hairs about it trembled and blew aside to let the fresh ooze of her passion ride out of her cunt and drip down along her bare legs.
"Why do you have your eyes closed?" he asked.
"I can't...." she coughed on her words. "I can't look at you or I'm afraid what will happen ... what happened last night...."
"I told you it would get easier each time, didn't I?" he said. "The more times you get like that, the easier it's going to be for you. Come on, open your eyes and look at me ... come on...." She obeyed him, her eyes wide and wild. "After all," he went on, pulling his hand out of his pants, now and then slowly, teasingly, beginning to unbuckle his belt and unsnap his jeans and lower the zipper. "I'm not doing anything that should get you so crazy, am I? Only straightening out my dick and my balls so they don't get in the way while I'm working, while I'm busy building those ramps for your husband so the poor bastard can get around easier ... easier for you, too, since you're the one who is going to have to do all the pushing, helping him get from room to room ... room to room...."
He had pushed his jeans down around his thighs and had pressed his legs apart to hold them there. He reached inside his white shorts and fondled himself in front of her. She did not move. His exhibitionism paralyzed her. Only a slight twitching of her head was noticeable. He packed his cock and balls carefully in the middle of the pouch and then brought the elastic band up high on his waist so that the material of the shorts pressed tightly against his groin and showed her clearly how large his cock had grown, how full his balls were. His shorts were straining with all the weight of it, practically splitting apart into a thousand loose threads. He let the elastic band snap loudly against his waist and reached down to grab hold of his jeans again and pull them up. He had not allowed her even a peek.
"No, no!" she cried out now, falling in a heap onto the floor and crawling across the floor to him, her robe hanging open, slobbering all over the thick, expensive carpet. Her body shook in waves of convulsion as she reached him and grabbed hold of his legs and looked up at him with begging eyes as he stood there still holding his jeans down just below his shorts so that she had to look up and see the mass of cock and balls that jutted far out from his body and then the wet spot that grew in front of the shorts as fresh scum shot out of the tip of his prick.
"Please, please," she begged as she pressed her twitching tongue up against his pants leg then let it slide all the way down to his feet. She began to lap at his boots, slobbering all over them, smothering her pleading cries into them. Her hands clutched frantically at his pants, trying to force them down as he insistently pulled them up again, up over the lump of his sex, over his shorts, around his waist ... and her body trembled with agony as she heard the zipper being pulled up again, trembled again at the sound of his belt being drawn through the buckle and then clasped shut.
"No, no. Oh God, no," she cried, her hands slowly slipping down, folding up around his feet as she crunched her body up close to him like an animal looking for warmth.
Without a word, he kicked her away from his feet and left her there, shaking and crying in a heap in the middle of the dining room floor while he went into the living room and began picking up boards and letting them crash to the floor. When he looked back he saw her struggling to pick herself off the floor. She was somewhat back in control. Finally she used a leg of the table for support and got to her feet. She steadied herself on the table a moment until her head stopped spinning, then she started to stagger toward the kitchen.
"Wait," he stopped her. "Come here a moment."
She stood stiffly with her back to him as if terrified to turn and look at him again.
"I said come here," he repeated.
Slowly she turned and walked toward him, her head bowed, not looking up. The robe hung open. Her breasts rode up and down with her movements, like two beautiful white dolphins riding on the surf. Her pussy was very wet, the hairs there all matted together.
"That's better," he said when she stood in front of him and he reached out to grab hold of her robe at her shoulders and then he yanked it away from her body, her arms slipping out of it as easily as paper blowing in the wind, and then he let go of it and let it fall to the floor at her feet.
"I want you naked today while I'm working. I want to be able to look at those tits of yours...."
She looked at him. Her eyes were shining. There was hope in them. He Likes My Tits! He Thinks They're Beautiful!
"I like looking at them and knowing I can do whatever I want with them ... that they're mine to play with ... isn't that right?"
"Yes...." she answered so softly he could hardly hear.
"Un ... hun," he said, clearing his throat in that way again. It was almost the meanest thing he could do to her the way it made her shiver and quake. He brought one of his hands up and let it slide across the span of her two tits, but like the wind, almost without touching them, just the whisper of his hand, and she felt her head begin to roll in waves again. He brushed his hand across each of her nipples, watching them spring to instant attention.
"Yeah, I really dig knowing I've got ownership rights to those big hard tits of yours. Isn't that right, baby?"
"Yes," she whispered again. "Yes, yes, yes-" He reached down into his pocket and took out a ballpoint pen. He clicked it once, twice, to get her attention, then brought it up and began to write across her breasts in huge, high letters:
JOE CARTER
She stared down as he wrote on her and did not make a move, did not stir an inch. Then roughly he swung her around and wrote his name just as largely across her butt. This time she shivered to the touch of the cold ballpoint on her flesh, as it dug into her and stained her. Then he flipped her around again and wrote his name across her pussy, pushing the pen into and out of all her wet pussy hairs, across the quivering lips of her opening, onto her smooth, ivory-white hips. When he was through he clicked the pen again two times in front of her face, then shoved it back into his pocket.
Suddenly, roughly, he grabbed hold of her face and brought his lips down on hers, his tongue searching out the insides of her mouth and lapping up all the collected juices that she held there, hot, sweet juices that warmed his insides. By the time he released her, let go of her face, withdrew his mouth from hers, her whole body was swaying dangerously close to collapse. Her eyes were closed. It was clear to see her head was spinning. He grabbed hold of her shoulders and held her steadily until she calmed down. Then he turned her around, gave a playful slap to her ass, the ass with his name written on it, and told her to go wash the breakfast dishes then go upstairs and straighten up his room. Like an obedient slave, she moved to follow his orders.
At lunch time she set the table for two as usual, a setting at either end of the long table. She called him when the food was ready, her voice cracking for she still had not regained total control from the incident that morning. He fell heavily into his chair and spread his legs apart. She came up beside him and set the plate of food before him, then she turned to go back into the kitchen to get her own plate of food.
He grabbed hold of her by the waist and stopped her.
"Your lunch is under the table," he said. "Between my legs."
She whirled quickly around, her eyes dancing, looked as if she would reach out and grab hold of his neck and kiss him. But before she could, his hand was on top of her head pushing her to the floor and then she was crawling on her hands and knees underneath the table, between his legs, her shaking, anxious fingers at his fly, yanking it down over the enormous hard bulge of his sex. Then she was reaching inside, twitching fingers parting the flap of his shorts, searching about for the hard pole of his sex, finding it, grasping hold of it in cold fingers, sharp fingernails, slowing working it out, through the flap, through his fly. She was pushing layers of clothes back against the base of his long, hard shaft and then her tongue, not at the tip of his cock, but way down there, underneath, at the base.
She ran her tongue up along the underside of his prick until she reached the tip of his cock but then went down to the base again to run her tongue along him again, and again, up and down, until she had covered his prick with her hot saliva, had made it throb with aching hardness. Then, and only then, did she move to the tip of his prick and begin to play with his pisshole, running the sharp tip of her tongue deeply into it, rolling about there, making him jump in his seat as he tried to concentrate on a veal cutlet and some string beans. Then she enveloped him, sucked him into her throat and forced herself to gag on him there. She drew him out a little, caught her breath, let her throat rest and open and then she took him back in that tight cavity of hers and began to work on him the way she had been thirsting to do all morning long.
Joe ate. He let her do it on her own this time, let her show him what she could do, how good she could be. After all, she would have to learn to do it on her own soon enough. He wouldn't always be around to keep her hot. She had to have a natural talent for this sort of thing or she was no good to him. He sipped at his beer and tried to keep from squirming too much in his seat. Finally he had to bring his hand down on top of her head to slow her down. She was too good, far too good for while he was eating!
"Take it easy, baby," he told her. "I'm trying to eat ... not shoot off. One thing at a time. Just make me feel good, just keep me hot while I nourish myself. You're going to be doing this a lot, baby ... while I'm watching TV, while I take a bath ... while I sit on the John. Your job is to keep me hot. I'll tell you when I want to cum."
Her mouth slowed down on him now, her tongue doing most of the work. He relaxed a little. He picked up his fork again. From time to time he looked down between his legs to watch her, her mouth sliding up and down his hard shaft. When he saw her hands drilling their way into her pussy, he kicked them away with his foot.
'I'll tell you when I want you to do that, too," he said.
Her mouth was warm and slow after that, almost relaxing. He tried not to think about it too much though, tried to concentrate on his food and did well enough to scrape his plate clean. He had worked hard that morning in spite of the fact that he knew he didn't have to do any work. He had made himself work just to keep occupied, to think about something else other than Catherine Wilhoite and what he would like to do to her. It was hard keeping a woman that hot all the time, and worse than that-it made him just as hot! He could have been fucking her the whole day long, but that would not have been smart, it would not have gotten him what he wanted. She would have tired of that, just his fucking her. She wasn't that easy. She needed stronger medicine. She was putting his method to the test.
After he had finished eating, he leaned back and tipped the chair so that it rested only on its two back legs and she had to pull herself up to be able to stay with his cock. He looked down at her, her sweet red mouth all over him, so loving, so willing to give, so hungry to give, and he told himself it was time.
He pushed his hand along the run of his cock, forcing her mouth off a moment. She looked up questioningly at first, but then her eyes grew wide as he stood half way up and undid his belt and pants and pushed them down to the floor around his ankles. He pulled his shorts down so that his balls could have some air and be free to release their precious seed. Then he planted himself in the seat again. He felt hot, his naked ass against the rich, silky material that covered the dining chair, his clothes hanging down around his ankles as if he had just pulled them down to sit on the John. This was even hotter than the two of them naked in bed together. It was funkier. It made him anxious for the time when he would go into the bathroom and sit on the John and have her come in and give him head. Yeah, he wanted Catherine Wilhoite sucking him off while he took a shit. Thinking about that just made him hotter, and again he told himself it was time. "Bring me off," he said.
Instantly her mouth took him in, the thick tip of his prick jamming up inside of her throat, all her muscles there at work, her tongue racing to give service to all the rest of his cock and she was just as hot as she had been at the beginning.
It started almost immediately, the run of his cum, burning and stabbing at every inch of his prick as it rose toward his pisshole. He bolted back in the chair, his eyes all hazy. It felt so good, so damn good, the way she sucked him there on her knees underneath the table, air conditioning blowing all over his exposed legs, his pants and underwear shoved down around his feet, so good that when he saw her hands move toward her pussy again he decided to let her get off, too. And he worked one of his feet over her leg and pushed her hands away with it and shoved the toe of his boot into her opening.
She flung her legs further apart, made herself more available to him. He shoved the boot deeper, shoved it in then drew it out, back and forth, fucking her cunt-the cunt with his name written across it-with his dirty work shoe. He watched her body jerk all about with those thousand small orgasms of hers that she was always popping off-pop pop pop pop-but now she was going to have one of the big ones. He shoved the boot in far and deep, jamming it up against her insides and saw her body shiver like a shrub in a storm and then saw her flesh roll in waves and felt her throat gag more tightly than ever around his bulging godhead. A moment later he saw the thick white ooze flow down over his work shoe and almost before he knew it, almost before he had time to think about the rushing fire that ran up his prick, he was shooting off in her and her thirsty mouth was collapsing all around him and drinking in his juice. He drew his hands around the back of her head and pushed her face into his groin and held her there for the longest time, his body stiff, balancing on the back two legs of the dining room chair while her throat continued to dance in rhythm around his pumping prick.
CHAPTER SIX
He didn't feel like working after that. There was no need to anyway. The job would be done long before her husband got back from the hospital. He decided to go to his room and take a nap.
"I should go see my husband," she said.
He turned on the landing. "Why? What'll happen if you don't?"
"Nothing, I suppose," she said. "I just think I should."
He looked at her tits with his name spelled across the width of them and smiled. "What if he wants to touch your breasts?"
"He won't," she said.
"Okay, you might as well go," he said. "There's nothing to do while I nap, anyway, since my cock's out of action for a few hours. But I want to give you something first."
He turned and went out the front door to his pickup parked in the garage. When he returned, he held a leather strap of some sort in his hand. She could not figure out exactly what it was until he reached her and held it up to her neck and wound it round. It was a dog collar, she realized, and after he had put it around her neck and fastened it tightly there, he placed a tiny lock through it and then snapped the lock shut.
She shivered. She was excited. "But I can't go to the hospital wearing this," she said.
He turned and walked up the landing toward his room. "Wear a turtleneck," he suggested.
She did not get to the hospital until after three.
"Mr. Wilhoite was given a sedative after lunch," the nurse told Catherine. "He's been somewhat excitable since he got here. I don't know if you should disturb him...."
The nurse paused, looking Catherine up and down with a puzzled look as if wondering why someone would be wearing a black, wool turtleneck sweater in all this heat.
"Oh, well," she said then, "you are his wife. Go on in. But if he's sleeping, wait until he wakes up."
Clay was not sleeping. He was sitting up in his bed watching a soap opera on TV. He only nodded when she came in and did not even move his cheek toward her as she bent over the bed to kiss him. Then she sat down in a chair beside his bed and asked him how he was.
"How do you expect me to be?" he asked.
"The nurse said they gave you a sedative," she said, trying to make conversation. All the while she was thinking about the carpenter back at the house and how he was probably lying naked in bed. How she ached to have it somewhere in her. Then she remembered how his name was written all over her, and she straightened up in her seat.
"Is that what it was?" he said, pretending to concentrate on the TV show. "I wouldn't know. They don't tell you a thing in here."
"When will the operation be?" she asked.
"Day after tomorrow. Seems they have to take more tests first or something. Don't know why they bother. It's not going to make any difference, anyway."
"Don't say that, Clay. They wouldn't be performing another operation if they didn't think it would help."
"Crap. I'm never going to walk again ... no operation has been invented that's going to make me walk again...."
They were both silent for a time after that, he staring at the TV, she at her hands folded in her lap. All the time she was thinking: I wish I weren't here. I wish I was back at the house with him, sucking his cock, licking his ass, him mounting me, his cock in my cunt. I wish I was there-there, not here, not with this stranger, my husband.
"The carpenter came to build the ramps," she said at last.
"What carpenter?" he asked.
"The one you called," she said. "He said you told him to come build ramps for the stairs in the house."
He thought a moment. "Oh yes. I forgot about him. Did he do a good job?"
She hesitated. "Yes, a very good job." She decided not to mention he was still there.
"How much did he charge?"
"I don't know. I suppose he'll send you a bill."
Clay turned and looked into her eyes. His own were expressionless. "Was he young?"
Catherine stuttered a little. "I don't know. In his twenties, I suppose."
Suddenly Clay reached out and brushed his hand up against her sweater, near one of her breasts. Catherine stiffened in her seat. All she could think about was the name written on her. What if Clay lifted her sweater? No, he wouldn't do that. He hadn't made a sexual move toward her since the accident.
"Miss me?" he asked, his hand tugging slightly on her sweater and pushing it down so that she had to quickly reach up to run a hand around her neck and hide any sign of the collar there.
"Yes, of course...." she stammered. She could feel herself sweating underneath her arms and between her thighs. He stared at her a few moments more, smiling sardonically. Then he let his hand drop to the bed and lie there as lifeless as his legs.
"You look tired," he said.
She brushed a hand through her hair. "Do I? Maybe it's just all the worrying."
He chuckled under his breath as if mocking her stab at sympathy. Did she sound so unconvincing? she wondered.
"I haven't been sleeping much...." she added. He did not respond. He was watching the soap opera again, or pretending to watch it. Another silence grew between them, for what seemed to Catherine an eternity. She asked herself what she was doing there anyway. Performing her wifely duties? Why? Already there was the question of what would have happened by the time Clay got out of the hospital, whether or not she wanted to be home when he got there. Was there really any reason to go on pretending as she had for so many years?
"In fact," she said out of the blue, "even taking an extra Valium at night doesn't help."
"What?" he asked, only half listening to her.
"My being unable to sleep...." she explained. "I really have been upset about this whole thing."
He said nothing.
"And I was going to ask if you'd mind if I didn't come to the hospital during the operation."
He turned to look at her, blankly.
Now the words came tripping quickly out of her mouth, like a child trying to talk herself out of a misdeed, making it up as she went along, her mind racing so that she didn't make any mistakes, so that he would believe her.
All the while she was asking herself why? What did it matter whether he believed her or not? What could he do to her, say to her, that was worth her fears? Nothing. There was no way for him to any longer hold on to her ... except perhaps by making her feel guilty, guilty that while he lay crippled and helpless in need of someone to watch after him, she could only think of the man back at their home, maybe now awake, his cock hard, waiting for her to return, hot for her, her mouth, her pussy, and how much she wanted to give them to him, just him. How could she even consider devoting her life to a cripple when she might have a cock like Joe's, or other cocks like his, men like him, sex like his? She could not-would not-give that up. Not for Clay, not for anyone.
"It's just that the last two operations took so long and all I could do was sit there in the waiting room going through those boring magazines over and again and worrying myself sick. And then when you came out you were so drugged up you didn't even know I was there. It would be so much better for me to wait at home and the moment they're through they can call me and I can be here in fifteen minutes and by then maybe you'll be ready to see me and...."
"It's fine with me," he said coldly.
"You sure? I mean if it would make you feel better I'll be here ... but...."
"I don't care. You're right ... it's just a waste of your time." He stared still at the TV and did not see the light that sparkled in her eyes as now she thought about how all that day, while he was in the operating room, she would be free to be with Joe and have him do all those things to her. While her husband was under the knife, she would be under Joe's boot, her face being squashed into the floor, her body weighed down by his cock, his ass on her face, she eating him out. Oh divine, delicious! And her husband in a state of unconsciousness the whole time. If only it could always be so!
She reached out and touched his hand. It felt clammy to her. Quickly he pulled back. It had only been a gesture anyway. "Thank you," she said. "I knew you'd understand. I'll let the doctor know that he should call the moment, the very moment it's over. And I hope it will be all over after that. No more operations. No more hospitals. You'll be home and...."
"And what?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders and smiled weakly. "Well, I don't know. We'll discuss that later. When you're home." She stood up and leaned down to kiss his cheek again. "But now I have to go."
"Why?"
"Because the nurse said you needed your rest ... I couldn't stay long."
"What about tomorrow?"
"Didn't you say you'd be getting tests all day?"
He frowned. "Yes, I guess I did."
"I'll call. If you're free, I'll come by."
He didn't say anything, and after standing awkwardly by his side a few moments, she turned to leave.
"What's that around your neck?" he asked.
Quickly she grabbed behind to pull up her sweater. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a new necklace. Call you tomorrow."
She walked out of the room and down the hall, not daring to look behind as if she half expected him, a cripple, to be running after her so he could rip away her sweater and see the collar and the carpenter's name written all over her flesh, the proof of who she belonged to now.
All the way home in the car her hands shook on the steering wheel. It had been suffocating in that room with Clay, worse than ever before. Where once Clay had been only an irritation, he now disgusted her by the way he looked, all shriveled up, weak. And the way he acted, so unaware of her, her body, her sexuality, while Joe Carter was aware of little else.
That was it, she realized. She was no more to Joe than a sexual plaything. He didn't care to know anything about her except the sweetness of her mouth and her cunt and her asshole. And she liked being reduced to that. It was relaxing in a way. It left her knowing just exactly what was expected of her. Yet ... she knew nothing of what was expected of her, what he would do to her next, ask of her that night. She ran a finger between the collar and her neck to loosen its hot hold on her. She ran a hand across her breasts and thought of his name there. She pushed her foot down on the accelerator, hungry beyond measure to be near him again and groveling at his feet. She saw clearly now how she had been waiting her whole life to give herself to some man this way, this completely. But it had to be the right man, the perfect one. Joe Carter was.
When she unlocked the door and walked inside the house, she heard the TV on in the den. It was still in the house otherwise, the only movement that of golden dust particles dancing through the last light of the setting sun.
She walked into the den. Joe lay sprawled half on, half off the sofa, his long thick legs falling across the floor. His eyes were closed; he seemed to be asleep. His arms lay lifelessly at his sides, his naked chest riding up and down in a steady rhythm. His jeans were unbuckled and unzipped, his cock hanging casually out, long, half hard, twitching a little. One of his hands rested nervously across his thigh, close to the head of his cock, ready at a moment's notice to take hold of it and service it. She stared at that hand and thought of it as herself, also nervous, also waiting, also ready to service his cock at the slightest twitch of a finger.
She envied his hand being so close to his cock as that. She wanted to rest her head there, on his thigh, close enough to his cock to smell it and stare at it and....
She let her tongue roll across her lips so that they would be wet and soft for whenever he gave the order to her to take hold of him. She wanted to be on her knees there, between his legs, like a pet, a faithful pet, keeping guard over him while he slept, only she would be watching over his cock, watching and waiting for the earliest opportunity to taste it once again. It was all she needed, the only thing she wanted. If she'd had any doubts earlier, while sitting in the hospital next to her husband, they now disappeared once and for all. In that moment, standing there across the room from him, staring at his twitching cock, feeling her own cunt twitch in like fashion, she saw her destiny explode before her in a most spectacular light. She did not see any of the specifics of it, her role in it-that would not become clear to her until the next day when Joe would spell out exactly what she would have to do-but she did see how much that destiny would be dominated by a man. Joe, of course, for the while. But she could not count on him for any real length of time; she was not so unrealistic. Yet, if not Joe, then some other man like him, some man who would use her the way Joe did, for his pleasure, his needs. Yes, that was her destiny: to provide for men, for their cocks, to devote herself to them. It was the only real way she could be happy-just as she was there in that room, only feet away from a cock, a ready cock, a threatening cock, fully prepared to do for it whatever was asked of her, her actions, her fate, her very process of thought in the hands of another.
She sighed heavily, a sigh that floated through the room, realized, complete, full of satisfaction, yet thick with expectation. It quivered on the brink of breaking into a sob.
He opened his eyes. His hand reached immediately for his cock, which in turn began immediately to grow thick and long and dark.
"What took you so long?" he asked sleepily, the free hand reaching up to scratch at his chest.
"I wasn't so long really," she said. "Actually it took longer to get there and back than the time I spent with him."
"Bet it took even longer with you playing with your pussy all the way."
She dropped her eyes to the floor, embarrassed that he understood her so well.
"I'm right, aren't I? Couldn't keep your hands out of your box thinking about my dick all the way there and back, hun?"
"Yes...." she answered in a whisper, then she raised her head and slowly broke out in a grin.
Immediately he was off the sofa and at her, his hand crashing against her cheek and turning her head half way round. "You think it's funny or something?" he spat. He slapped her again and turned her head half way around the other way. "Do you? You think it's funny how much you want my dick?"
"No," she whimpered. "It's not funny. It's agonizing.
"That's right, baby," he said and all at once he was pressing his hand along her cheek gently, stroking there, letting his fingers curl tenderly around the back of her neck.
It was the first warm gesture he had shown her. She had not even thought about his ever being warm to her. It came as a shock. But it was something she wanted so desperately without even having known it that she reached up to take hold of the soothing hand by the wrist as if to hold it there next to her forever. She turned her face to spread her warm, trembling lips along the palm of the hand that caressed her. She kissed it lovingly. He felt her tears falling onto his fingers.
"Yeah, baby. My dick's no laughing matter when it comes to hunger like yours."
"No, it isn't, oh no." She kissed at his hand, licked it, made love to it as if it were the sweetest thing in the world.
Then he took the hand from her, knowing she would reach out after it and follow it down, down as he let it fall by his side, until she had to fall to her knees in order to continue following it and when she did, of course, she found her face in front of his cock and then she noticed how his other hand was still massaging that cock, making it hard, incredibly hard, and already it was letting off white scum that he collected in his hand and then spread back along the hard length of his sex.
She froze. He had her hypnotized in no more time than it takes to tie or untie a shoe. Her hands dropped to the floor to help her hold her body up. She was on all fours, her tongue hanging out with thirst. She never blinked, just stared ahead at his cock, at his hand in movement, waiting like a dog for the order to fetch. She was ready to fetch his meat, take it in her mouth the way a retriever takes the game in mouth, without bruising a single feather, yet firmly, oh so firmly.
A whistle. That's the way you called a dog to your side: with a whistle. A puckering up of your lips and a blowing through of wind. Simple. If he whistled now would she understand, would she respond like a well-trained dog? He tried it. And the instant after he felt her lips on his fingers, prying them away as she worked to get at his cock and take it deep into her throat.
He moved back toward the sofa so he could sit and be comfortable. She moved with him on her hands and knees, not letting his cock slip even the slightest inch out of her mouth. He fell down hard and stretched his legs out on either side of her. He shoved his cock further into her mouth and let it lodge well past her throat. Then he leaned over and reached behind her and pulled her skirt down past her ass and looked at his name etched in ink there.
He moved his index finger into the deep, dark crack of her ass and found her shithole. He pressed forward, prying open the tight, elastic hole. Her mouth slowed down a bit on his cock, let it ride a little out of her throat. She was waiting to see what he was going to do, anxiously waiting, her ass trembling with excitement against his hand.
He pulled the finger out of her shithole and lifted it to his mouth and stuck it inside. He could taste the sweetness of her asshole on it. He wet it thoroughly, then brought it, dripping with fresh, hot saliva, back to her ass and along the run of her crack and then up against her shithole once more.
He rammed forward. He felt the rim of her hole begin to give, slowly, each tight thread of skin that surrounded her opening gradually pulling apart and riding up along his finger, until at last he began to feel the extraordinary heat that one only feels inside an ass, felt it swirl all around his finger and burn it. Determined, he pushed himself further inside her ass, as far as he could go, until the knob of his knuckle was pressed up close to her opening as close as the knob of his cock was pressed to her throat, her mouth hanging on him with fresh pain.
She had never been assfucked before. The extreme tightness of her ass told him that. It was a virgin asshole. It was going to hurt when he pushed his cock deep inside of her, hurt like hell. His cock grew harder still with the thought of all the pain she was going to feel with his cock inside her shit tunnel. How hot it was in there, steamy hot, and tight, so deliciously tight. He liked a tight fuck in an asshole, all that skin sliding up and down against the sides of your prick while you plunged far, far into the never-ending depths of an ass, farther than you could go in a pussy, and with a cock as long as his, being able to get into something that deep was pure pleasure. And when it was tight, as tight as this ass, this virgin ass, the pleasure knew no bounds.
Just thinking about all that pleasure, the joy to his cock, got him hard and hot, sent his seed so close to his pisshole, that he had to force himself out of her mouth as her tongue trailed behind. She was licking at his pisshole with hunger, wanting his seed, so hungry for it, but she was going to get it in her ass instead, get it long and hard and it was going to hurt her so much, having him pump his seed into her ass like that, the way he liked to do it, unrelentingly, that she was going to cry and scream and beg for him not to hurt her so much. That's why he was going to have to tie her up and gag her. He didn't want to have to fight her. He wanted that hot, virgin asshole completely at his disposal. He wanted to take his time with it, let his cock ride far and easy, in and out, without any resistance. She would have to be helpless, unable to fight back, for him to take her like that.
Slowly, he let his finger slip out of her asshole, feeling the wad of flesh at her opening tighten up again as he pulled out. No matter. He would have her shithole stretched as wide as her pussy before he was through that night. He sunk into the sofa and watched her move her hungry mouth after him, trying to get at his cock, always trying to get at his cock. He lifted his leg into the air and shoved the bottom of his boot up against her face and pushed her away. She fell across the floor and looked up at him questioningly.
He smiled, that mocking smile of his, then ordered her to get her clothes off. Clumsily, half kneeling, half sitting on her haunches, she slipped the undone skirt the rest of the way down her legs and kicked it away. She pulled off her shoes, then reached up into the air to pull the sweater over her head. She threw it to the side and then-in exhaustion? in anticipation?-she immediately let her hands fall to the floor and posed crouched on all fours staring at him, again, the obedient pet. She licked her lips. She seemed almost to purr.
Behind her the bare ass with his name on it wiggled impatiently. In front the two heavy tits, his name riding across them, too, dropped toward the floor and swayed back and forth. Her hair grew wet about her shoulders. Again, she wet her lips. Again, she seemed to purr.
"You dig having my name written all over you like that?" he asked, reaching down to stroke his stone-hard prick.
"Yes," she answered, cat-like, a small growl in her throat.
"You dig wearing my collar?"
"Yes," she answered again.
"Good ... good...." he said softly, and he was thinking to himself how easy it was going to be to put the ropes to her, the chains to her, and damn! she looked so beautiful down there on her hands and knees. At his feet, his little pet, his little slave. He had never had a woman so beautiful as this so securely under his thumb. Mick Jagger's voice filtered through his mind a moment ... "under my thumb ... she's under my thumb...." And he stared down at her, humming softly, playing with his cock.
"You've never been fucked in the ass before, have you?"
"No...." she said and she shifted her knees on the floor as her ass began to throb with anticipation. "You're tight ... tight like rubber...."
"I'm sorry...."
"I like it tight, tight asshole rubbing up against my cock close as that ... big cock like mine, an asshole can get so tight it feels like it's squeezing the blood out. Makes me fuckin' cum like a gusher. You're going to make me cum like that ... like a gusher."
"If that's what you want," she said, and she was staring at his cock as usual. Was she thinking about it in her ass? Was she scared?
"It's going to hurt, baby ... hurt bad. Just imagine what it feels like to have a prick big as this...." He flattened the rod out toward her, making it straight and hard the way it would be when he rode up her asshole. "Imagine it shoved all the way up your ass. And I'm going to go all the way with it ... every damn inch ... more cock than you ever had in your snatch...."
"It's all right," she said. "I want you to use me however you want...."
"Don't worry," he said, standing up in front of her and snapping the top button of his jeans shut but leaving his cock and balls hanging out. "I will ... I certainly will." Then he began to slide his belt out of his pants, stretching it in front of her as he went, then letting it fall to sway between his legs, near her face. Her eyes grew wide.
"Because if you don't let me use you the way I want...." Slowly he swung the belt up into the air over her head, then let it fall, let the tip of it kiss her bare back, but just softly, just to let her get a small taste of leather. She shivered immediately, with excitement, with a telling desire for more.
"Because if you don't...." he repeated.
Slowly he walked around her kneeling, naked body, taking in the beauty of each angle of her, especially the span of her white butt stretched out, her crack riding apart as he let the thin edge of the belt slide along it. Again her ass trembled, and this time her whole body joined in.
"Reach behind and stretch open your asshole so I can look inside," he ordered.
Catherine's fingers twirled around the edges of her cheeks and took hold of the skin on either side. She pressed it away from her crack so that the dark brown line smoothed out before him and became one with her white flesh. His eyes followed that brown line down until it came to the black, round hole near the bottom. It was breathing heavily-her shithole-opening and closing, opening and closing like the mouth of a hungry baby. Not a great deal. After all, it was tight asshole, a virgin asshole. But it was trying to open, wanting to swing apart for his cock. He moved his boot forward, pressed the toe of it up against her shithole and tried to force his way in. But not this shithole, not Catherine Wilhoite's. There were some shitholes you could stick your whole foot into ... but not this one.
"Push one of your fingers up there," he ordered. "Loosen that gate of yours."
She walked one of her hands across her ass toward her stretched-open crack and found her shithole with her index finger. She poked about with it, working to stretch the tight skin there apart. It wasn't easy. He knew that. But he liked watching her play with her own shithole that way, liked watching her wiggle her ass all about in frustration. And as she worked, while she was concentrating on her chore, he reached deep down into his pocket and pulled out a long piece of rope he had taken from his truck earlier that afternoon. Slowly he wound it around his fist and then reached down and let the rough fiber run agitatedly along the run of his aching sex.
He took a step toward her and in one quick movement reached down, grabbed the hand that was playing at her ass and brought it up to the small of her waist. Then he reached down to take hold of her other arm at its wrist and brought it up to join her other hand, placing one wrist on top of the other and then, letting the rope fall loose from his fist, wound it forcefully around both her wrists to bind them tightly together.
He had not been certain how she would react, if she would struggle or protest or grow suddenly frightened. But none of this happened. Instead she went limp, her body seeming to collapse in one great sigh of relief as she knelt there docilely and let him tie her hands together. Her head dropped subjectively toward the floor, her long dark hair sweeping along the carpet with a loud crackle. He wound the rope round once, then once again, moving quickly, with experience. Finally he tied a knot between her wrists, and a second, and then, snapping his hands away, straightened up.
She was completely still, almost as if she had stopped breathing. He had half expected her to go into another one of her fits. But this did not happen. She was at peace. It was almost eerie how easily she accepted the bondage. Almost too easily-it took some of the edge off it. But when he looked down into her dark crack now he saw that in her relaxed state her shithole had opened some, the tight wads of skin there were already smoothing out. And when he let the thin edge of the belt again slide into her crack, the shithole opened even more. Again he raised the belt into the air and let the tip of it come down to kiss her flesh, this time at her ass. She shivered slightly, delightedly. If she had actually giggled with her delight, he wouldn't have been surprised.
He lifted his foot to bring the bottom of his boot down hard on her ass. He pushed her forward until she was forced to sprawl out flat along the carpet. Then he stepped down harder on her so that she could feel his weight. Her slender body began to thrash about on the floor. Little sobs of pleasure escaped from her throat. He planted his feet between her outstretched legs and pressed them up against the insides of her thighs to force her to spread herself further apart, more and more spreadeagled until her legs were so far apart that her ass started to rise into the air. Slowly, inch by inch it rose up toward him, her crack stretching itself as open as it could get, her shithole throbbing, breathing, getting all ready for him.
His cock moved in a painful dance between his legs, the shadow of it looming across her pearl-white ass below like a threatening line of smoke cutting across a clear summer sky. When he kicked her thighs again, she raised her ass still more toward him, stretching it further apart yet. Her ass wanted his cock, wanted it bad.
"Yeah, baby, that's the way ... open that hole of yours up. Show me how much you want my cock to cut it right open."
She trembled. Her thighs shook against his boots. More sobs of humiliating satisfaction escaped from her throat. Suddenly he reached down and rammed his middle finger right up into her shithole. She tried to buckle forward, but his feet were pressed firmly enough into her legs to hold her in place. And with her hands tied behind her back, she could not press them to the ground in front for support. All she could do was dig her mouth into the carpet and stifle her sudden cries.
He moved a second finger up close to her shithole and then rammed that in, too. This time the impact of his action was such that she managed to break away from the press of his boots and went trembling across the floor, he struggling behind, keeping his fingers there, digging them in deeper and deeper. She lifted her face off the floor and cried out. It was a cry of pain, of the unexpected, but also the cry of a need being satisfied.
Her shithole tightened around his fingers and refused him as deep an intrusion as he wanted. She had lost her sense of relaxation. She was resisting him, though he knew she did not want to. He let the fingers pop out and then raised the belt and brought it down hard across her ass. She let out a loud shout and when he lifted the belt from her flesh, he saw the wide, red welt of the belt's impact left behind. His cock grew harder.
"Oh, please ... please!" she gasped, digging her teeth and mouth into the carpet. Her fingers separated in pain. She moved up on her knees.
He brought his boot down on her ass again and sent her body out across the floor as before. He raised the belt yet another time to let it fall hard on her ass. She cried out, louder this time, but never to ask him to stop. No, never that.
"I want you to get that ass nice and loose for me, understand?" he said, his voice heavy with excitement.
"I can't ... I can't," she whimpered.
He sent the belt smashing into her again. "Yes, you can! Because I'm telling you to ... so you're going to do it. Get it relaxed. Because those two little fingers aren't anything compared to my prick when it starts moving in there...."
She crawled forward on her belly as if she were trying to get away from him, away from the belt, the fingers, the press of his boots all over her. But there was nowhere to go, no way to escape him now. And his name all stretched out the way it was along the span of her butt only reminded him how true this was, how much he really owned her now, how much she was his to play with and torment however he pleased.
Aggressively he reached forward and rammed both fingers back into her asshole and pulled her back along the carpet toward him by hooking his fingers onto the insides of her shithole. As her cries and jerks came, he let his free fingers hook underneath and begin to work their way into her pussy. She was very wet and hot, loose and anxious to have something shoved into her. You could smell the odor of her excitement all over the room.
He found her clitoris and began to prick at it, flicking it back and forth until her cries of protest turned into moans of pleasure and need. He was squatting down by then, his cock thrusting out between his thighs and sniffing about close to her shithole. She began to move back toward him, toward the cock she did not yet know was there. Then she touched it and felt his pisshole rub up against her crack and she started to jerk all about him, her body bouncing up and down into the air as he held onto her by her shithole and pussy.
She cried out-louder, much louder than before. He swung the belt high into the air and caught the tip of it with his hand to double it up. Then he slashed it across her butt and told her to shut up. But she didn't. She couldn't. Her mouth was full of cries and squeals of pleasure. She was baying like a crazy animal. He slashed her again and again, one side of her ass turning so red that the letters of his name began slowly to disappear behind the darkening color of her flesh.
He pushed the two fingers that were in her pussy further up to where he could feel the soft, mushy parts. The fingers shoved up her ass were already pushed in past his knuckles, but her asshole was like a vise around them, tight as leather left to dry in the sun.
He moved his face down and shot a wad of spit into her crack. Slowly it slid down the brown line until it reached her shithole. He worked the warm fluid in between his fingers and the rim of her hole and pushed it in. Again he spit into her crack and worked the fluid into her. In time she began to feel more flexible.
He straightened up and worked her ass with his hand. He watched as her body flowed in waves of pain and pleasure, first relaxed and shivering, then tense and jerking. The white flesh on her back rippled with the effort of her straining with the rope around her wrists, not to get loose, no, not that, but to fight against the growing pain. Yet it was nothing-the pain in her ass-compared to what it was going to be in a second. That part of it excited him, knowing how much agony she was going to feel getting assfucked by him, how aware she was going to be of his being in her, how every fiber of her flesh was going to plead to crawl away, away from his weight, from his force.
He liked the fact that his cock was so big. He liked watching the long piece of flesh disappear into a little black shithole, disappear and get eaten up by all the tight, hot flesh of a woman's asshole. Oh, the way that flesh struggled with his big dick! And the more it struggled, the better it felt for his dick. That was the great thing about fucking a woman's ass: the more difficult it was for her, the tighter she was, the better he liked it.
And their cries-oh, the delicious sounds of their cries as they let him know how painful it was to have someone so big fucking them. Yet-all the same-the way they moved back the instant he began to move out, the way they came begging for more, more pain, more agony, more of him and his cock.
And this ass-Catherine Wilhoite's ass-was going to beg for it louder and longer than any ass before. But only that way: with her ass. He wanted to actually hear her ass crying, pleading, telling him everything he wanted to hear-a talking ass, begging for his prick. That was all he wanted to hear. It was the only way he wanted her communicating to him while he browned her.
Slowly he began to slip his fingers out of her pussy and her asshole. As he had suspected, the moment he began to let up on her, she started to move her ass back toward him, trying to keep close to his fingers. She didn't want him out. It actually hurt more to have him go out than it did to have him stay in. But he came out anyway, letting the fingers in her pussy drop out first, then withdrawing the other two from her ass with a loud, hot pop.
Catherine's whole body collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud. Joe wiped his hand off on her ass, then straightened up to reach behind and grab the red bandana he kept in the rear pocket of his jeans. He had used the red bandana all morning to wipe the sweat from his forehead and under his arms and off his chest, even a couple of times reaching down into his pants to wipe away the sweat that had collected underneath his balls. The red bandana was still damp from his sweat, damp and musty.
He dropped the belt a moment to take hold of the bandana at two of its comers, then twirl it around in the air until it was a tight line of rope. Quickly he drew this red rope over the top of her head, down in front of her face, and shoved in along the line of her mouth. He yanked back on it until he felt it catch on the edges of her mouth, in between her teeth, and then he yanked back on it still more, pulling her head back toward him. Again her fingers separated in pain as he tied the bandana together in one, two knots at the back of her head. When he let go, her face fell to the floor.
He sat back on her thighs and watched a moment as she flung her head from side to side, trying to look behind and beg him to take away the gag but unable to do so with her hands tied the way they were behind her. Her ass bobbed up and down directly ahead of his hard, outstretched cock, his name riding in waves on either side of the brown line of her crack.
He picked the belt up from where it lay on the floor next to her and, after doubling it up, began to slash once more into her ass, first on one side, then the other, until both her buns were just the color red he liked. Then he reached forward and threaded the belt loosely through her arms to let her know it was still there, just a hand's reach away, to be used in case she didn't perform as well as he expected her to.
Now at last he reached forward and spread apart her buns with the press of his hands. Her assflesh was hot as fire coals, stinging hot. It warmed him. He straightened up a little and moved his hips forward. The head of his cock rammed up against her crack, just above her shithole. Her ass trembled in his hold.
He let the cock slip down an inch, so that his pisshole, stinging like a sore wound, was stretched against the slightly open line of her shithole. He pressed his hips forward more. The weight of his cock began to force the shithole apart. He could feel the folds of tight skin there straining to give away against the sides of his godhead. But it was tight, very tight, like a rubber band being wound round his prick again and again, tighter and tighter, like a tourniquet, stopping the flow of blood and cum.
He left the belt where it was for the moment, but raised his hand and sent it across the side of her already sore ass, then raised the other hand and did the same to the opposite side of her ass. He heard her mumbling in agony behind the gag.
"Better relax," he said. "Let your ass sink into the ground, let that little hole of yours open up. Because if you don't relax, it's just going to hurt all that much more."
He leaned forward again, his cock pressed up close to her shithole, his mouth close to her ear.
"And remember ... I'm digging fucking your ass just as much as you're digging getting fucked by my cock. Remember that, baby ... think how much pleasure your ass is giving me, how hot it's going to make me, how, when I shoot off, it's going to be because of your ass, all because of that sweet little ass of yours...."
He felt her shithole begin to give way.
"Yeah, baby, you got the kind of ass my dick likes ... white and tight. I want to feel it pressed up against my balls. You know how great that feels, baby? ... to have a chick's hard ass pressed up against your balls when your cock's dug in all the way, when you can't see even an inch of your dick anymore because it's all inside some pretty ass. All you can see is white assflesh pressed up all around you, shivering up against you ... and your balls. A pretty white ass kissing your balls, licking them, a smooth, white, beautiful ass like yours. Come on, baby, that's what I want to see. That's how I want to know your ass ... so close to my balls ... eating up every bit of my dick ... eat me up, baby ... eat it right up ... un hun."
He rode away from her a slight bit.
"Yeah, I'm not going to even work at it any more. I'm going to let you do it for me, let you climb up along my dick with your ass ... take all of me in, real hungry like. Un ... hun. That's the way, baby. That's the way. Making me feel real good now. But you got to eat up more of me, more of my big dick, all fuckin' ten inches of me. Come on, you can do it. Be a good girl. Un ... hun. Work it for me. You're getting it now. Getting to be real whore for cock, aren't you? Digging it in your ass, aren't you? Yeah, you've been waiting for a prick like this in your ass a long, long time ... a real long time. I can tell how hungry your ass is. What's the matter? Didn't your husband have a prick big enough to satisfy you? Or didn't he have the balls to shove it to you where you really wanted it?"
Her virgin ass had almost reached his balls by then. She was working it real hard. She was real hungry.
"How'd you like two cocks in you, baby? One up your ass, one shoved deep into your pussy, that hungry pussy of yours. Maybe we'll get you three so you can have another one in your mouth. Can't let that sweet sucking mouth of yours go to waste. Like that idea, baby? Want me to get that for you? Yeah, look at that asshole of yours open up now! Just thinking about three cocks drives you crazy, doesn't it? Well, you'll get it. You'll get your chance to show me what you can really do, how many cocks you can swing on at one time. I promise you that. But not unless you really do a job on my dick right now ... not unless you show me what a real whore you are for cock, no matter where it is. Un ... hun. You got it. Come on ... just a little bit more ... just an inch. Put your ass up there next to my balls. Feel my hard rocks rubbing up next to your ass. Want to feel them, don't you, baby? Going crazy to feel my balls, aren't you? Work it harder, baby ... slide it right in ... come on ... come to my balls ... yeah, you're a whore all right, a real fuckin' whore. Never saw an ass working hard as yours. You got some real asshole on you, baby. Damn! It's eating my dick right up. Oh, slide on it, slide on it! Feel those balls ... feel 'em now, baby? Going to shove them in, too ... shove them in right up your asshole ... that big asshole of yours ... yeah, it's big now, opened up now. I could shove my whole damn body up your asshole if I wanted. Couldn't I, baby? Going to let me do any fuckin' thing I want to, aren't you? Un ... hun. Joe Carter owns your body now. It's all mine now. She wants me to have it. Un ... hun. Wants me to just pick up her body and carry it around like a suitcase and unpack it whenever and wherever I want. Well, baby, I'm going to be carrying you all over town all right, packing and unpacking you on every street corner. I'm going to see that that body of yours has enough cocks in it to keep it happy. Because that's what Joe Carter wants. That's what's going to make Joe Carter happy. Nothing else. That's what he wants from you ... his pet, his sweet, sweet piece of property. And he don't even need his name on her any more. She's his now. He's got her in his pocket now. Un ... hun. Yeah." Her ass had been working like gangbusters on his cock for some time when all at once he reached forward and rubbed the palm of his hand gently against the side of her face, across the gag, letting a finger trail around the rim of her trembling lips. She strained to kiss it-that one finger of his-but then he took it away from her and touched his hand to her ass again and watched as she slid her ass up close, so damn close, right up next to his balls and they were slapping away into her white flesh.
Joe took a deep breath. He saw her body rise and fall as she did the same. Then he took two huge handfuls of her ass and pulled it up even closer to him, up tighter around his prick as he began to massage his pisshole against the far walls of her shit tunnel.
Oh, it was so easy now! So fuckin' easy. What a whore she was. How she dug it! One sliding of a cock up her asshole and she was so relaxed, so willing, so hungry for more. But tight. She was still tight. It would take a lot of ass-fucking to get her loose. She had some elastic ass there, but it would take a long time to loosen her up and, of course, the longer it took, the better for him. But she was relaxed. She had already figured out how to relax and live with the pain of it, of a cock the size of his inside of the tiny tunnel. All it took was determination. Pros knew how to do it. She was a pro.
"Oh, baby, I'm digging this, really digging your ass. Are you digging it? Yeah, you are. Can't help it, can you, baby? Just love having a dick in you. Don't matter where it is ... just shove a prick in you and you're off. Well, don't worry. Joe's going to see that you get plenty."
He started to move his legs out behind him, to straighten his body out over hers, planting his hands on either side of her on the floor. He tensed his muscles and slowly, very slowly, started to slide the prick out, feeling the sides of her shit tunnel begin to tighten up against him. Then he slammed back in. When he hit the back of her shit tunnel her whole body quivered and rolled beneath him. It rolled freely now that his own body was no longer pressing her down. He now controlled her with his cock alone.
Again he raised his body, then brought it down with force. Up again, down again. Slowly he found his rhythm, had the freedom to now that her ass let him. He could even feel the sides of her shit tunnel lovingly caressing the sides of his cock, kiss at it, suck on it, as he slid it in and out.
Relaxed and hungry: that's what her asshole was now. But still tight, wonderfully tight, still like a tourniquet just slightly undone, pushing against the skin of his cock, pushing his skins back and forth, over his godhead, then off it, almost like a mouth-her ass almost felt like a mouth on his cock, hot and wet.
The seed was rushing up the pole of his prick very quickly, too quickly. He wanted to play in her ass more, a long while more. But you couldn't fool around with a woman the way he had with her and not get yourself so hot you just felt like exploding. That's how he felt now. All the things he had done to her, said to her-they were working on him. And it was her first time. No matter how willing she was, she could not take too much, too long. Later, another time, she would be able to let him sleep in her ass if he wanted to. But tonight she would dry up very quickly and begin to resist him, and he wanted to get off before that happened, before he had to start struggling with her again.
Right then, it was no struggle at all. Her ass was working like a champ, a wild, hungry champ. There seemed to be no limit to the pleasure it could give him, and he started to think about how much it would be worth to him, an ass like hers. He counted it up in his head, let the figures fill his mind, and he thought about the clothes he could buy, and the cars, and the new digs he could rent, and the young, beautiful women he could buy for himself-two, three, four at a time, beautiful teenage girls rubbing his body down with oils and sucking on his cock and cleaning out his ass and stretching their sweet, young cunts across his mouth. He would suck their sweet juices out and there would be another one down there licking his feet, cleaning them off for him. He saw breasts, young, hard breasts swaying to and fro like fans to cool him off, and the seed rose higher and higher, his body stiff as timber as he drove the cock deeper, ever deeper. He watched her roll and bob to catch it with her shithole, her fingers clutched tightly at the small of her waist, and her assflesh, red with the imprint of his belt and his name and....
Oh God! She was his. He couldn't believe it. And the seed danced at his pisshole, stinging fire leaping out from every pore of his body, sweat raining down on her flesh. He cried out, loud, and her ass rose into the air to slide up high along the run of his prick, up to jam itself up against his balls and then push forcefully against him.
There it was: the begging asshole, letting him know how much it wanted it-his cream, his precious seed. Feed me, feed me, her asshole cried. He could hear it so clearly. But he held his seed back a moment, one short moment while he savored all this glory, let it sweeten his body, let his flesh tingle with the pleasure of it all. And then, even before he was really aware of it, his seed was rushing out, splashing up against the sides of her shit tunnel. And she felt it, all the heat and weight of his plentiful load. She began to cry behind the gag, her hands straining to reach up and touch some part of him, the tips of her fingers managing to dance lovingly along his gut, caressing him tenderly even as they pulled against the rope that held them so tightly in place. She wanted him to know how much she loved him, how much she loved his cock in her ass. And he let her touch him, let her feel the tightening of his gut as he rammed his prick into the farthest reaches of her.
At last he collapsed on top of her, let his body, hot and wet, rest there until his breathing returned. All the while her fingers scratched at his stomach.
Finally he pulled away, ungluing his body from hers, and slowly he slipped the cock out. He watched as each inch of it came into view again, dirty and sore, and then it slipped past her opening and her whole body quivered with the pain of giving him up. But immediately after she went limp, her body seeming to sink into the floor in a sleep of total exhaustion.
But Joe was not so easily satisfied. His climax had not stilled his child-like sense of excitement with his new toy. He wanted her to perform for him a bit more that night, and feeling his strength return he stood up and reached to grab hold of her at the place where her hands were tied together. He yanked her to her knees. Then he grabbed hold of her hair and began to pull her after him as he went up the landing and down the hall and into the guest room and then into the bathroom there.
She struggled to get away from him, but he held on, kept her right behind him, and only inside the bathroom did he let go of her. He stood in front of the toilet bowl and took a piss as she knelt near by and watched, wide-eyed, frightened, fascinated. Then, when he had finished, he sat down on the toilet seat and pulled her in front of him. Only then did he finally pull away her gag. Before she had even a moment to catch her breath or say anything, he shoved his cock down into her mouth, into her throat.
"Suck it," he ordered sternly. "Suck it real good."
Her mouth went to work instantly, tired as she was. She moved like a wild machine, and he knew she was thinking still about his fucking her ass, remembering the way he had treated her and showing him her appreciation with her mouth. It was the only way she knew how to show him, the only way he wanted her to show him.
He let his asshole relax, let it open, and released his bowels. Catherine's eyes widened more and more and she realized what was happening, that she was actually kneeling there sucking his cock while he took a shit. But she didn't stop sucking. All she did was begin to struggle with the rope, and he knew why. She wanted to get at her pussy. She wanted to get herself off. But he wasn't going to let her. He was going to sit there and watch her suck on him as his cock now grew hard once again inside her mouth and when the final spurts of piss came at the end of his shit he would have her take it and afterwards ... afterwards ... anything, everything.
Her eyes rolled about wildly. Her mouth thrashed all up and down the length of him. She was starting to go out of control again, but he gave no concern. He only grabbed hold at the back of her head to push her further onto his prick so that he could take advantage of her spasms this time, feel how good it could be to his cock as her throat went into convulsions all over his godhead. Her body began to bang and crash against his legs. The rope around her wrists almost began to split with all her wild thrashing about.
His asshole opened wide and he emptied himself and as he did such an ocean of pleasure washed over him that there was nothing that had ever happened to him before that he could compare it to. It was better than cuming. It was beyond cuming. Oh God, it was good! So damn good....
CHAPTER SEVEN
As Catherine came out of her sleep, she did not know where she was at first. All she was aware of was being cold. Strange, to be cold in California, even in the morning, but then she realized why: she had kicked the blanket off during the night. She lay naked, exposed to the breeze from the near-by window. She was huddled into a fetal position and trying to reach down to find the blanket and pull it over her, but for some reason she could not move her arms at all and it took her a moment to realize that they were still tied together behind her back; she could feel the rough edge of the rope rubbing up against her wrists.
Now she remembered Joe and how he had tied her up and what had happened the night before, or at least she thought she remembered what had happened the night before. Then she opened her eyes and saw that she was not lying on a bed at all, but was on the floor at the foot of a bed, a chain attached to the collar still around her neck stretched the short span to where it was looped around one of the legs of the bed. Catherine had no memory of how she had gotten there, chained to that bed, sleeping on the. floor. Maybe she didn't remember what had happened the night before after all.
No, she did remember, or at least some of it. She remembered being in the den with Joe and being tied up and being fucked in the ass and then his taking her into the bathroom and ... yes, she remembered that much, on her knees, sucking his cock while he took a shit and then her head, that crazy, all out of control feeling that had come over her so often since he had come into the house, into her life, but she did not remember anything after that until now, waking up like this. Then she began to feel the pain, the raw ache on her legs and her back and across her breasts where she had been beaten. She looked down along the naked road of her flesh and saw the marks there, mixed in among the letters of Joe Carter's name, still written across her breasts and her cunt and she had foggy visions of something later on, after they had been in the bathroom, after she had gotten out of control, but still ... still....
Something made a sound above her. She swiveled her head around and looked to see someone moving underneath the covers on the bed to which she was chained. Joe. But they were not in the guest room. They were in her husband's bedroom. She was chained to her husband's bed and Joe was sleeping in it.
He grunted and moaned and began to come awake. Catherine could see a bright, high sun peeking through the drapes drawn over the bedroom windows. It was a mid-day sun. She wondered how long they had been sleeping.
Suddenly he kicked his legs into the air and flung the blanket away from his body. A long, naked leg came tumbling down over the side of the bed, his foot close to her face. Instinctively, she lapped out with her tongue to lick it, then she pulled the tongue back into her mouth. She wasn't sure if she should lick it. Maybe he was not really awake yet. If she startled him, she might make him angry and then he would beat her again, beat her as he must have done the night before to judge from the marks on her body. But why? What had she done wrong? Or was she just assuming she would have to do something wrong before he would beat her? Perhaps he had beaten her just for the fun of it. She still knew so little of what he wanted from her. This was all so new. She liked to think that she had disappointed him in some way in order to bring out such treatment. That, at least, would seem justifiable. Not that Joe had to justify any of his actions. She didn't expect that, even want it. It was just that a show of consideration on his part-no matter how small-would help to lessen the severity of the change her life was going through.
She didn't ask to go back to the dismal life of being Mrs. Clay Wilhoite. But he had to understand that this was all so new, being beaten. She did not mind. But if there were at least a reason for it, then it would be easier to accept. Was that asking too much? she wondered, and again her tongue twitched to reach out and lick his bare foot.
Joe stretched his arms high into the air and stiffened his body as he finally came awake. His legs opened wide, one still dangling over the side, and then a hand came falling down to stroke under his balls and run the length of his piss-hard cock. He blinked his eyes, once, twice, bothered even by what little of the day's light found its way into the darkened room. Then he opened them wide and stared at the ceiling. Like Catherine, he seemed at first not to realize where he was. The bed was unfamiliar and he was-alone in it. He did not often wake up alone in bed. There was usually a woman in it next to him, her mouth or cunt at the ready to take care of him however he might want. But as he patted his hand along the bed beside him, it was empty, and for a moment he could not even recall which woman should have been there. Then he remembered Catherine and as soon as he did, he raised his head and looked down beside the bed and smiled.
By then she had raised herself up far enough to be crouched on all fours, her tongue hanging out close to his foot. He moved it a slight inch closer, then another inch, and his big toe came into contact with her mouth and the instant it did her hot tongue surrounded it. A moment after her tongue was riding up and down the bottom of his foot and between his toes, while her whole body shivered with morning hunger.
Joe pulled the foot away from her mouth and spread his legs further apart. His cock jutted out over the edge of the bed and bobbed over her now upturned face. He placed his hands behind his head and thrust his groin into the air.
"Up!" he ordered, a snap to his voice. Like a dog she sprung to her knees, her face moving up in between his legs toward his prick. "Put that faucet in your mouth," he said with a bark, and the instant he felt her lips take hold at the root of his prick he let his piss flow out in a hot, bitter river.
Catherine began to move off, but his hand was on top of her head before she had a chance and he held her there firmly and let the pent-up fluid flow freely out and down her throat while his cock slowly lost its morning hardness in the hold of her mouth. It grew hot there as his piss swirled all about it, she letting it fill her mouth each time before she finally had to take another swallow. He let her have the final hot shots and only then did he release his hand. As he knew she would, she stayed there, leaving his cock in her mouth, slowly beginning to play with it, making it sucking-hard now, already forgetting the shock at having to drink piss for the first time, once again concerned with only one thing: his cock, in her mouth, she sucking it. Nothing else mattered.
Joe let her suck on him awhile, then he raised his foot to press it against her face and shove her away. She went falling back, tumbling across the floor until the chain tied to the foot of the bed brought her to a sharp stop. Her face reddened against the pull of the collar wound so tightly around her neck, until she managed to bring herself up on her knees again and loosen the distance between her and the bed.
She watched hungrily after Joe as he pulled himself from her husband's bed and moved to stand in front of the dressing table. He picked up one of Clay's expensive brushes and ran it over his hair and across his unruly mustache. Then he picked up one of the bottles of men's cologne and splashed it freely across his chest and onto his face, afterwards letting the bottle drop from his hand without bothering to screw the cap back on. He watched unconcerned as it toppled onto its side and the contents poured out across the top of the dressing table. He looked into the mirror and smiled at himself. He reached down and fondled his cock. Then he turned abruptly toward Catherine and came over to undo the chain from around the foot of the bed and then reach behind and undo her hands. Weakly Catherine let them fall to the floor and moaned softly as she felt warm blood fill her hands once again with life.
"Go make me some breakfast," Joe ordered.
Catherine grabbed hold of the side of the bed and, with effort, pulled herself up. The chain attached to her collar fell in between her breasts and rested there, cold and hard. Her legs began to fill with blood as she slowly walked out of the bedroom. In the hall she heard him pick up the phone and begin to dial a number. She paused for an instant, but as soon as she had, the dialing stopped and Joe shouted: "Move your ass! Or you'll get the same you did last night."
Catherine went on her way.
Again, as he ate, Joe made her get on her knees underneath the table and suck his cock. She began to realize how long it had been since she had had any real food, and as she smelled Joe's breakfast plate, her hunger flared up, her stomach growled. When Joe made no move to remove his cock from her mouth, she decided that if that was to be her food of life from then on, then let her feast on it!
After he had finished breakfast, he told her not to bother clearing the table or washing the dishes. Instead, he told her to go take a bath, wash his name off of her body, clean her hair and comb it out, polish her nails and put on some bright red lipstick. "Nice and bright, just like a whore," he said. "Might as well look like one, since that's what you are."
After that, he told her, he wanted her to put on a black bra and some black panties and a flimsy black dressing gown and some black slippers, if she had them. All the time he gave her these instructions, she posed on her knees in between his legs underneath the table, looking up at him with huge eyes. When he had finished talking, he reached down to undo the collar from around her neck. Then he shoved her out from under the table and gave a slap to her bare behind as she scrambled to her feet and hurried off to fix herself up the way he had instructed.
When she stepped down into the living room where Joe waited for her half an hour later, she looked radiant. How she managed it after all he had done to her in the last couple of days, he did not know. But he would not have settled for anything less from her in any case. From now on, her looks had a price affixed to them. The better she looked, the more it was worth to him, and he would have to keep that in mind at all times, no matter that it might mean his denying himself his own pleasure with her.
She smiled at him as she came into the room. She knew she looked beautiful. She had worked hard at it, carefully scrubbing off each letter of the ink on her flesh (though washing his name off had saddened her) and then just as carefully brushing out her long black hair so that it flowed sensuously about her face and then applying her lipstick heavily, like a whore, like Joe wanted it. She had tightened the bra-a black lace, see-through number she had bought once on impulse but never before worn except in the privacy of her own bedroom in front of her mirror-a notch or two more than she might normally have so that it would push her breasts up close together and make the well between them deep and dark and inviting. Likewise, she had pulled the matching pair of panties up tight against her slit so that her pussy hairs were visible on either side. All of this could be clearly seen since she had worn the black, see-through dressing gown untied, falling aside and behind her as she moved sensuously into the room.
It was hard for Joe to look at her and remember the timid, bathrobe-clad woman who had met him at the door only two mornings ago. How long had she been waiting to present herself like this to a man? How long had she kept these sexy, whore clothes of hers hidden in a closet, taking them out to model them for herself and imagine herself a whore for some man the way she was now his whore?
Joe pointed a finger toward the sofa to indicate that she should sit there, and she did, letting the dressing gown fall to either side so that he could see her long, white legs and the weight of her breasts as they struggled against the tight confines of the too-tightly cinched bra. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and stared ahead. Nothing was said between them, and it occurred to her that that was how it had been for some time. They were not really speaking to one another, she no longer protesting or begging or saying anything, only going about the motions like a robot, doing what he said without a word. He, Joe, never speaking unless it was either to give an order or to humiliate her in some way. There was nothing between them except silence and the length of his cock.
How little, still, she knew about him. How much he knew about her. How well he had known that she would dress as he told her to, sit there as he told her to, yet without asking why. Perhaps she did know why. It was, after all, rather obvious. Yet she had not admitted it to herself. She refused to question the strangeness of their sitting there in silence in that room, she dressed that way, he puffing, rather nervously, on a cigarette, staring ahead, not at her but at the door as if he were waiting for someone to come through it. Catherine's heart was pounding with excitement, though of what she could not say, would not admit. The grandfather clock struck two.
Two o'clock, and he had not done any work that day. Two o'clock and she had not phoned the hospital to find out how Clay was or whether she should go visit him. Two o'clock and all she had done was fix him breakfast, suck his cock, and get dressed up like this. She was like a little girl trying to look like a whore, sitting here so silently to stare at him hungrily across the room as he sat in a chair, his legs spread open, his cock clearly outlined against the tight press of his jeans-and it was hard-but he wasn't even looking at her. He acted as if she weren't even in the room, and she had gone to so much trouble to look the way she thought he wanted her to look. Her fingers twirled in her lap and began to tug at the black pussy hairs outside of her black panties. She pulled hard on them, hard enough to make it hurt. At least that would prove she was still alive, not just in some painting of a room where two people sat, with only the tick tock, tick tock of the grandfather clock disturbing the perfect stillness.
When the doorbell rang, Catherine jumped up automatically, as if to go answer it. But Joe snapped his fingers and then pointed for her to sit down again. Obediently, she reseated herself and refolded her hands in her lap. Her heart was beating more quickly now. She felt a little frightened, but of what she could not say. She had no idea who might be at the door. Oh God! she thought suddenly, what if it was Clay's mother! No, she would have phoned first, certainly. Catherine sat trembling now, her fingers picking nervously on the flesh of her exposed thighs.
Joe walked to the front door and opened it. He said hello to the bellringer in a such a way that Catherine could tell the two knew one another, but Joe's manner toward the other was not as a friend, more like one would act toward a customer. When he stepped back, three men walked into the house and down the three steps that led to the living room where Catherine sat on the sofa. Two of them stopped and stared at her the moment they saw her. They were older men-probably in their late forties or early fifties, their close-cut hair turning gray at the temples, expensively dressed in gray pin-striped suits, well-tailored to show off their well-kept bodies. They had the bodies of men who spent afternoons playing squash at exclusive athletic clubs, in the steam room, on the massage table. They had the aging faces of men who had once been handsome. They had the faces of men who had always had money. They looked at her only briefly, the way wealthy people look into the display cases at exclusive jewlery stores as they pass by, pretending not to be impressed by the quality of the merchandise, yet aware of its quality, needing only a brief look to see what was worth coming back later to finger and examine more closely, what could be passed up as junk. The two men looked at Catherine in such a way that said they were anxious to finger and examine her more closely. And soon. But then they looked away and each took a seat in a chair that did not face her and they ignored her for the moment.
The third man was younger than the other two. He was probably in his early thirties. He was dressed in a business suit, brown, and he was wearing an expensive tie. Catherine knew it was expensive because it was just like a tie she had bought for Clay the Christmas before. She thought how she had never seen him wear it. Though younger, this man was already going bald, and he seemed paunchier than the other two, not as concerned with his body as they, though he certainly was not what Catherine would call overweight. She imagined in fact that once out of those not-too-well-tailored clothes, he might not have a bad body at all. She realized, as well, that he was as interested in her body as she was in his. He was staring at her, at the way her dressing gown fell away to expose all her white flesh, particularly at the deep black well between her breasts, and she actually imagined she saw a bit of drool run out of the corner of his mouth and that his hands shook a little at his sides.
She grabbed the dressing gown and pulled it shut around her. When she did, the younger man suddenly looked embarrassed and turned from her to sit in a chair near the other two men. With shaking hands, he took out a cigarette and lit it. After taking the first deep drag, he started to cough.
Joe walked into the living room after the three men and sat down on the sofa where Catherine was. He sat, not next to her, but on the end, and stretched an . arm across the back of the sofa until his fingers came to rest on Catherine's shoulder, where they did a tap dance. Catherine sat stiffly.
"Well, men?" Joe asked.
One of the two older men turned around in his chair and looked first at Joe, then at Catherine. He smiled in a way that frightened her, though she did not exactly know why.
"Looks fine," the man said. "If what's hidden is as fine as what's showing, everything is just dandy."
Joe played with Catherine's dressing gown, pulling it apart again. "Come on, honey," he said. "Open it up and show the men what a nice pair you've got."
Catherine turned to Joe in horror. She could not believe he was actually asking this of her, yet the look on his face told her he meant business. He wanted to show her off to his friends. Why hadn't he warned her? It would have been all right, if only he had warned her.
Slowly she undid the tie at her neck and then reluctantly spread the gown apart once again. Joe caught the edge of it nearest him and pulled it wider still. Her tits flopped about within the tiny see-through bra. Joe reached down and freely ran his hand inside and let the others watch as he tempered one of her nipples.
All three men had now turned to look at her, the younger one's eyes growing large with wonder, while the other two displayed a more disconcerted attitude, though both their cocks were clearly beginning to grow inside their pants.
"Make her take that robe thing off," one of the older men said. "Let's get a good look at the merchandise."
Merchandise! The word sprung out at Catherine. Merchandise! Was that what she was to these men? Was that why they had come? Had Joe offered her to them as merchandise? Now she had to face the implications of all that had happened so far that day. As yet she did not know what to do about it, whether to go along with it or stop it. And if she did stop it, what? Rape? Joe certainly wouldn't make any move to stop them. He would assume that was what she wanted anyway. And maybe he would be right.
"You hear the man," Joe said, giving her a shove with his hand. "Stand up and take off your robe for our guests."
Slowly Catherine rose in front of the men, hesitated a moment, then let the black dressing gown slip to the floor around her feet. She lowered her eyes, not wanting to look any of them in the face. She was certain she was blushing. Yet, at the same time, she found herself getting excited. There was something satisfying about having the attention of four men all at once, of knowing that each of them was looking at her, appraising her beauty. However, for the moment she did not dare think what they intended to do with all that beauty, how they intended to use it.
"Turn around, honey," Joe said. "Show them that cute little ass of yours."
Slowly Catherine turned, her arms stiffly at her sides. She found herself wishing she could do this with the ease of a model, knowing how to be gracefully let her arms flow out and about her body. But she couldn't. It was only her first time. First Time! What was she thinking? Was she already accepting the idea that this was going to become a common thing with her, parading around in front of Joe's friends like this? Was it that easy for her to become ... to become ... still she could not bring herself to admit it. She stood with her back to the men, shivering.
"Nice ass, hun?" one of the men said and another one agreed.
"Yeah, real nice. Nice for fucking. Does she go for that?"
Joe wasn't looking at her, though he could have simply by turning his face the slightest bit. He would have seen the pleading in her eyes, the horror of humiliation that burned in them. But what did it matter? He probably wouldn't have paid any mind anyway.
"You know the answer to that, Mr. Walsh?" Joe said. "All my girls go any way you want. But, of course, it's more then. I mean, you want just the regular trip around ... or you want the special package? You've been through this enough times...."
"Yeah, but you said over the phone it was her first time...."
"First time for you gentlemen," Joe said. "But you know my girls are always well broken in before I put them in the ring. There are no limits with the Joe Carter product."
"Well, have her spread her cheeks apart then," one of the men requested. "So we can get a better idea of whether it's worth the extra money or not. I'm in no mood to have to struggle with some bitch's tight turd hole."
"Spread 'em for the gentlemen, honey," Joe said.
"Joe, please...." Catherine whispered.
Joe reached out and smacked his hand soundly across her ass. "I said spread "em!"
Catherine fought to keep from crying as she reached behind and took hold of both her buns with her hands and slowly spread the flesh apart, wide enough for the small run of black material there to spread thin across her crack.
"Come on," one of the men said. "Get those panties out of the way. Let's see her hole. Let's see how big it is."
Joe reached around and grabbed hold of her panties and roughly pulled them down around her thighs. The two round, white balls of her ass popped out and then, as Catherine pressed on them more, the long brown line of her crack spread open before the spectators.
She heard one of the men get out of his chair and move toward her. Then all at once she felt a finger poking its way around her shithole. It moved away. Then it came back, wet with saliva. It pressed forward.
Catherine's head fell hard against the wall behind the sofa. She cried out a little. Then she felt a smack on her behind. It was Joe's hand. She recognized it.
"Shut up," he ordered.
The stranger's finger poked further into her. Her shithole began to tighten up around it.
"She hasn't been browned!" the stranger shouted. "Her asshole's no bigger than the hole in a peashooter."
Joe smiled. "I can guarantee you, gentlemen, she's had her asshole loosened up plenty. You'll have nothing to complain about."
"Yeah, well what if we do?" the stranger behind asked, as he twisted the finger further and further into her hot shit tunnel, the sharp edge of his fingernail cutting her insides.
"I'll make you a deal," Joe said. "If she doesn't let you in, you get your money back. But if she does, you pay double the normal price."
The stranger hesitated. He rolled his finger about inside of her. He could feel how already she was beginning to loosen up, how already she was beginning to thrust her ass back toward him, getting hot.
"No," he said at last. "I'll take your word for it. We'll go with the regular price, whatever happens."
Catherine saw Joe smile in triumph. Her arms were beginning to hurt as she stood there reaching behind to keep her ass open for this stranger, who seemed to finger her ass with all the passion of a man kicking the tires on a new car before buying it.
Finally he withdrew the finger, and she felt him wipe it off on the material of her panties. Then he quickly ran the palm of his hand over her ass before going back to his chair and sitting down.
"Anyone else?" Joe asked. "Last chance before we make the deal."
"I was just wondering...." one of the men asked, and Catherine could tell by the sound of his voice that it was the younger man. "I wanted to know...." He was stuttering a little.
The other two laughed. "You'll have to excuse him," one of them said. "This is his first time. He's just been promoted, and we're showing him some of the fringe benefits of the job. Go ahead, Herb, blurt it out."
"I just wanted to know ... what are all those marks on her ass and back?"
"She got a little crazy last night," Joe said. "I had to whip her back into control."
"Crazy?" the younger guy questioned.
"Just like any whore," Joe explained. "You know, you got to be careful or they get a little out of control once in a while when it comes to cock. I mean, too much cock and they can't take it sometimes ... sort of like a dog that's been allowed to chase after a bone too long and doesn't want to give it up at some point. That kind of crazy ... foaming at the mouth crazy. You got to beat it out of them sometimes."
"What ... what if she gets crazy with us?" the younger one asked, his voice so hot with expectation that the words barely came out.
"Like I said, beat it out of her," Joe said casually.
"Really?" the young man asked in disbelief.
"Yeah, but I don't think you'll have to worry," Joe said, and again Catherine felt a hand smack her ass. "Because if she gives you any trouble, she knows what I'll do to her afterwards."
"But ... but ... I'd like to ... I mean," the young man stuttered.
"What?" Joe asked, placing his hands behind his head in a self-confident pose, the pose of a seller knowing he has what the buyer wants, at any price. "You'd like to beat her?"
"Well, maybe spank her a little ... maybe," the young man said.
"Can you afford that?"
The young man was silent. He looked to his companions. One of them smiled. "Oh hell, it'll be my treat. After all, it is his first time. Let the kid have some fun."
All the while Catherine stood there, leaning over, spreading open her ass, fascinated, humiliated. It was as if she were listening to four men discuss someone else, as if she had found some secret passageway behind the men's locker room at the country club and was listening to them talk about some town whore. It couldn't be her they were talking about! They couldn't be thinking of doing such things to her! Not Catherine Wilhoite! Why, one of these men could be a business associate of Clay's. She couldn't be letting this thing happen, not for Joe, not for anyone.
But wasn't this really her fantasy, all those years of dreaming of men, groups of men, fucking her one after the other, her fantasies about the undertaker and her husband bringing him to her as if she were a whore? Was this any different?
Yes ... this was different! It was no fantasy. It was actually happening. And in her own home! In Clay's home! What if someone showed up right then-one of their friends, one of the neighbors, even a delivery boy? What would they think, finding her there dressed only in a thin bra, panties pushed down around her thighs and four men in the room looking at her? What else could they think? She was a whore. At least she was acting like a whore, she was being used like one. And no matter how much she enjoyed it, she could not let it go on....
All at once she fell to her knees in front of Joe, not caring what the others thought, and grabbed hold of his legs and buried her mouth into one of his knees and tried to whisper softly enough so the others couldn't hear, though she knew they were leaning forward to hear.
"Please, Joe. Please!" She was crying now. "Make them leave. You didn't warn me. I can't go through with something like this. Please ... please!"
The sting of Joe's hand across her face was more bitter, more unexpected than anything he had done to her before. It knocked her across the room, where she landed on her back in the middle of the circle the four men formed.
"You know better than that, bitch," he screamed. "What are you trying to do ... embarrass me in front of my friends? You want them to think I haven't trained you correctly?"
"Oh, please, Joe ... please!" Now she was talking loudly. She no longer cared if the others did hear.
Joe rubbed a hand along the length of his belt. "You're going to get it later, bitch. Get it just like you did last night. Maybe you'll learn in time ... but it better not take much longer or I'll fuckin' throw you out."
Throw Me Out! Throw Me Out! But It's My House! How Can He Throw Me Out? Does He Mean Out Of His Life? No, Not That! I Couldn't Stand That. And now she began to remember a little about the night before, about what happened after the incident in the bathroom, how he had beat her, but she couldn't remember for what now. Why was it all such a blur to her?
"Now get up on your hands and knees and go around and kiss each of our guests' feet and apologize for the way you've acted," Joe ordered.
Catherine looked up around the circle of men that surrounded her. The two older men were sitting there smiling down at her, stroking their hardening crotches. The younger one was just looking, wide-eyed, his hand clutching hold of the armrests so tightly that his knuckles were white from the pressure. She stared at the three of them, pleading with her eyes, but pleading for what? For someone to come to her rescue? She wasn't even certain she wanted to be rescued? She wasn't certain she wasn't loving every minute of this.
If she refused to go on-really refused-what could Joe actually do about it? Nothing. Though he was treating her like a slave, she knew she still had the freedom to stop it all, to tell the men what a mistake the whole thing was, that she was not willing to do whatever they wanted, and they would just get angry and leave. They weren't the type to stick around and rape her. Of course, Joe would be mad then. He would probably beat her again. She couldn't prevent that. And then he would probably leave....
Leave! She would never see him again then. He would be gone. She would be left with Clay. Her life would be the same as it had been before Joe came to fix the ramps. No, she couldn't go back to all that. She couldn't stand the thought of his going away. Better to be his whore than to lose him.
And even so ... maybe she wanted to be his whore. Maybe she wanted to have to go to bed with other men for him, knowing that she belonged to him so completely that he felt he had the right to let whoever he chose use her. Yes ... she liked knowing she belonged to him that completely. Clay never would have thought of it. He would never have cared whether or not she was his enough to be able to share her with others. He was too dull to think of anything like that. He didn't want to have her that much. Joe's wanting to have her that completely was a kind of love she realized ... a kind of love....
Suddenly she felt the sharp sting of Joe's belt slash across her ass. Then she felt the end of his boot crash into her crack.
"Go on ... go on...." he ordered. "Kiss their feet and say you're sorry."
Slowly Catherine pulled herself up onto her hands and knees and began to crawl toward the closest man, one of the older ones. She touched her lips to his highly polished, expensive wing-tip shoes and softly whispered, "I'm sorry."
She glanced up. The bulge between his legs was enormous and his hands were riding up and down it in a highly agitated fashion. She could see how he was struggling against reaching inside and pulling it out. Then she felt the sting of Joe's belt across her butt again, and she crawled on to the next man, the younger one, and kissed his shoes in the same way and whispered again that she was sorry.
When she looked up at him she saw that his cock had grown just as large in his pants, but he was too embarrassed to touch it. He even smiled sheepishly at her a moment as if to say he was sorry she had to do this. But at the same time his eyes were afire, and she remembered that he was the one who had said he wanted to spank her.
Another slap of the belt at her bare ass and she crawled to the last man. He had on a pair of expensive Italian shoes and she kissed each of them, again said she was sorry, and again looked up. This one had actually shoved his hands down inside of his pants where he was trying desperately to calm himself. But then, suddenly, he pulled one of the hands out and reached down to take rough hold of one of her tits. He scooped it out of the tiny bra she wore and began picking at it.
"Damn, honey!" he spat. "You sure do have some pretty tits there. I'd like to suck on those babies ... suck 'em raw!"
By bringing the front of his boot around in front of Catherine's stomach, Joe pushed her away from the man, forcing her to move away from him on her hands and knees and her tit stretched out and then away from his hold.
"Okay, you know better than that," Joe said. "You don't touch until I have the green in my hand."
"Yes, yes, Joe," the man spoke with heated breath. Quickly he reached inside his coat and withdrew his wallet. "That was $200 each, right?"
"That was before all this talk about ass fucking and spanking," Joe said. "It's going to be $300 each now."
"That's pretty high," the guy protested.
"Look ... where else in town can you get quality girls like mine, guaranteed to do whatever you want? You got to go to Mexico and find trash on the streets for that kind of action otherwise. And this one...."
He reached down and pulled Catherine's head back by the hold of her long hair, her beautiful face spotlighted in the overhead light.
"This one's all brand new ... just broken in. Actually I should charge you more. In fact, I expect a nice tip afterwards, after you've seen what a special number she is and how nice it was of me to give you first crack at her."
Catherine felt her head getting that crazy, all-out-of-control feeling again. But she fought against it. She had to. If she went crazy then it would ruin it for Joe. She almost laughed out loud thinking how ironic it was that at that moment she should be concerned about Joe's situation. She was afraid she might embarrass him! Yet look what he was letting them say about her, what her going to let them do to her! And all she could think was: don't do anything to embarrass him, don't do anything he wouldn't want.
And then she thought: Well, I'm going to go through with it. I have to go through with it. No, I want to go through with it. I want to see what it feels like to be a whore, to have three men all at once do whatever they want to me. Tomorrow ... I'll think about it tomorrow and decide then what I'm going to do. But now I have to keep control, just keep calm, go through with it, through the motions. It won't be so hard. I won't be doing it with Joe, I'll just be doing it for him. So I won't go crazy. I'll just go through the motions ... motions....
She watched the three men take the hundred dollar bills, nine hundred of them, out of their billfolds, and for a moment she felt very lightheaded. That she was worth so much ... just for one lay! But before she had time to dwell too long on her self-worth, Joe reached down and quickly wound the collar she had been wearing the night before around her neck and then handed the leash attached to it to one of the men.
"Okay, take her away," he said. "She's all yours. Use the bedroom at the end of the hall."
And Catherine was led away on her hands and knees, two of the men walking ahead of her, another walking behind, reaching down every few feet to run a hand across her ass. It was the younger man, the one who was so anxious to spank her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The three men led her into the guest room where Joe had slept his first night there. One of them closed the door. The one holding the leash let it fall and they left Catherine on her hands and knees in the middle of the room while the two older men immediately began to take off their clothes. They walked back and forth through the room as they did, hanging a coat over a chair, a pair of pants on a hanger taken out of the closet, occasionally reaching down as they passed her to rub her ass or touch her tits or spread her legs apart with the press of a foot so they could see a hint of her pussy. It was still partially hidden behind part of her black panties.
Meanwhile, the younger man went into the bathroom. She heard him taking a piss, then the running of water as he washed his hands. When he came out a few moments later she saw that he had taken off all his clothes but his boxer shorts. He had probably been too shy to undress in front of the others.
All three were now naked but for their underwear, two in boxer shorts, one in briefs. And one of the older men still had on his knee-high socks and garter belts. Both the older men were well preserved, as she had judged them to be, their bodies hard from athletic activity, a spattering of gray on one's chest, no hair at all on the other's. Their cocks, though still hidden, looked large. She was happy for that.
Also, as she had imagined, the body of the younger man was in far better shape than the uncomplimentary drape of his suit had indicated. He had light blond hair all over his body, his chest, his arms, legs, even along his back, and inside his shorts seemed to be a cock considerably larger than the other two. She decided she was going to enjoy him most.
The three of them looked down at her as she knelt in the middle of the room, in the center of a ring they made around her. Then, somewhat embarrassingly, they looked at one another just before reaching down to pull their shorts to the floor almost in unison. Three hard, anxious pricks bounced out, up and down, up and down, like three yo-yos swinging in the air, and Catherine felt her mouth, cunt and asshole all begin to twitch at the same time.
The younger man's cock certainly was the largest by far, almost as large as Joe's, but all three were bigger than Clay's. None of them would do less than satisfy her.
They moved toward her, the one not bothering to take off his socks and garter belts and as such looking a little silly, yet she felt terribly excited. She should have felt repulsion, humiliation, fear ... but she was only excited. She found herself looking forward to what was about to happen, whatever that might be. She even heard herself giggle a little, giddy with the expectation of it all, and when she did the three men broke out smiling as if in triumph, probably because they now saw that what Joe had said was correct: she did love cock. And having seen the three of theirs, she was ready to join in on the fun, however they saw fit.
"Damn!" one of the older men growled. "This is going to be one hell of a session. Good old Joe Carter always comes through."
The other older man laughed with him. But the younger man did not. He was all seriousness and lust as he stared down at her, nervously folding his arms across his chest to keep them from grabbing at his cock, which was what he so obviously wanted to do, as the beast seemed to grow still, the long purple veins that ran the length of it bulging forth on either side as if ready to split wide open and spill their blood all over the floor, and a neat little ring, naked and brave without the protection of the foreskin, there just beneath a rose-smooth godhead and a gaping, black slit of a pisshole.
She stared wide-eyed at it, his prick, then turned to stare equally wide-eyed at the other two pricks, no less beautiful to her. All three of them, in fact, now that she could measure them at their full extensions, were enormous indeed, terrifying rape-fantasy rods which demanded her admiration and stirred anxieties of submission within her. These were cocks hungry to be licked, tongued, bitten, surrounded and swallowed. Cocks probably ignored for years by their wives. Cocks that screamed out for the loving attention of a woman's mouth and cunt and asshole.
And how anxious she was to give them that attention! How her cunt burned with the need to please them, all three of them, but especially the younger one, whose cock throbbed the most avidly, whose need was so obviously the greatest. He probably had some mousy little wife at home who didn't know the first thing about pleasing him.
Then another thought occurred to her. Maybe his wife was a lot like Catherine had been, just as horny, just as hungry for her husband to please her as Catherine had been for Clay all those years. Maybe this man just couldn't do to her the things which now so clearly formed in his imagination as he stared down hungrily at Catherine on her knees.
Maybe he could only satisfy his most secret desires in this type of situation, with a stranger, a whore. And was he then any different than she who had had to wait for a stranger to come to her door and force his way into her life and make her what she was now, that moment, truly the whore? As his cock bulged and throbbed in front of her, making her hotter and hotter, she realized that right then he was as desperate, as pent-up sexually, as she had been just two days before, before Joe had come. Was he thinking many of the same things she had on first seeing the carpenter standing in front of her house? Was he thinking how she perhaps was the answer to all his needs, his fantasies? Oh, Let Me Fulfull Your Fantasies, she cried silently inside as she looked at him, hoping he might read that message in her eyes.
He did. His cock surged forth even more, bulged even thicker with blood and seed. She licked her dry lips with her pink tongue. How she ached to crawl over and take him in her mouth, but she couldn't do that. Her being submissive to their wishes was part of the fantasy, the turn-on that was making all three of them so hard. That collar around her neck, her kneeling there like a dog ready to do their bidding, ready to go fetch their bones, their cockbones-this was what turned them on, she the whore, they the masters. And the more turned on they were, the hotter they would be, the harder they would fuck her, the more satisfied she would be.
So she stayed there, kneeling, waiting, panting with her thirst for their cocks, her eyes darting from one to the other, but lingering longest on the cock of the younger one, lingering just that extra flash of a moment longer to let him know that of the three he was special, to get him even hotter than the other two. Then once again she remembered that he was the one who wanted to spank her and her bottom, exposed to the air that blew in from the open window, tingled with the thought of it.
"Honey, you look like you're going to explode if we don't give you some cock pretty soon," said one of the older men.
The other older man chuckled in agreement. The younger man remained silent, just staring at her, but now at last touching his cock with his hand. He seemed for a moment to forget that the other two were there. The longer he stared at her, the more he played with himself, and only Catherine was aware that the other two were watching him and smiling at his growing fervor. Then they looked at each other and winked, as if to say-let's give him something to really make him hot.
They started toward Catherine, both at the same time, until they were right up next to her, so close she could feel the hairs on their legs brush up against her arms. The younger man stayed where he was, watching, his chest riding up and down rapidly as his breathing grew difficult and his legs began to wobble a little. Quickly, he let go of his hard cock because, as she could see, if he didn't he would shot his load all over the room right then and there.
One of the older men moved behind her and reached down to rub her ass, then run a hot finger along her crack and push into her asshole, while the other one, the one with his socks still on, reached down to shove his hands into her bra and take hold of her tits and squeeze them together then find her rock-hard tits with his fingers and begin to pull them away from her flesh.
Catherine moaned, closed her eyes and opened her mouth, sending her tongue out along her lips to make them glisten bright red.
The man behind then reached around to unsnap her bra and let it fall away from her body and to the floor in between her separated thighs. Her two ample tits, now free, spread out and tumbled with all their weight into the waiting hands of the man in front. He still had hold of her tits, but now fingers were also worming their way over the fleshy underpart of her breasts, kneading them and making her moan ever louder.
Suddenly she felt the hard, round end of a cock being pressed up against her quivering lips. She opened her eyes. The man in front had spread his legs wide and was close to her, only a cock's length away, and he wanted to get closer than that. Eagerly, he moved his hard godhead past her lips and then, quickly, the rest of his lengthy rod, the hard, rough edges of it scraping past her teeth and toward her throat.
Catherine opened up easily for him. After all, she had had so much practice the past two days. Then she felt the mass of his black-gray pubic hairs press up against her face and she let her lips close in around the thick base of his now-hidden prick. Still his hands tortured her tits, and with each twist her throat opened wider.
The man behind now took hold at her waist and pulled up on it so that her ass was forced high into the air and she was resting only on her toes and the palms of her hands. Then, slowly, he slipped her panties down over her slim, white hips and long smooth legs and finally past her feet. When he threw them to the side, the young man, all this time just watching, walked over to pick them up and put them to his nose. He sniffed the front of them where her activated cunt had rested, then he sniffed the rear where her crack had been, and last he brought the panties down to rub them all over his agitated cock.
He groaned hungrily. And when some white scum oozed out of his pisshole, he wiped it off with the panties and then spread the scum back along the rigid length of his prick. Afterwards, he enveloped the now-slick prick with the silky soft underwear. All the while he breathed heavily, and his knees grew weaker.
Watching him do this made Catherine hot, hotter than she had yet felt with the three men, though the fact was that from the moment the four of them had entered the room she had been extremely anxious to start whatever it was they had in mind for her and had not been thinking about Joe. Though earlier she had convinced herself to go ahead with this only because she would be doing it for him, would be thinking about him while she was doing it, that was not what was happening at all. It wasn't Joe's cock on her mind right then. It was the cocks closest at hand, the three of them. She didn't need any excuse. She was doing what she wanted to do, and she was enjoying every moment of it.
Especially so now as she felt the man behind get down on his knees and then shove his face up next to her ass. His tongue pressed up against the flesh of her bottom. She shivered. She jerked on the cock that was lodged in her throat. Then she felt that hot tongue behind travel the length of her crack, back and forth, while hands spread wide her ass cheeks, further and further, and then the sharply pointed tip of the tongue rode into her asshole, all wound up like a little ballpoint, poking, poking, and her throat struggled to get in more of the cock she was sucking on.
The man in front thrust his hips forward to help her, and she felt his cock slide past her throat. This surprised her because she had not measured him to be quite that large. For an instant, she thought maybe she was doing such a good job on him that she had forced him to get harder than he normally did. That's why he was plunging so deeply into her. But she didn't have long to dwell on such self-congratulatory thoughts as the man behind now moved his mouth down past her asshole toward her pussy, taking hold of her hips and lifting her further still into the air until her knees were far off the floor and she was balancing on her toes like a woman on a tightrope.
All at once she felt his hot, long tongue running the length of her slit and parting it and working inside of her. Her juices began to flow immediately. She thought to herself how grateful she was that it was so easy for her to cum, so easy after so many years of having to lie in bed working at it. Because it felt so good. It made her hot, hotter than before, hot for more, hot for the big one, the great orgasm that took so much longer, but was so worth the wait.
Now his whole mouth moved inside of her, thick lips sliding up next to and then beyond the lips of her cunt. For a moment, she thought she might start to go out of control again. A craziness similar to what she had felt with Joe those times sifted through her brain. But she checked herself and it passed and she was able to concentrate instead on the divine combination of a mouth at her pussy and a cock in her mouth, both at the same time.
Then ... an added blessing. The man behind reached up to twirl a finger deep into her asshole even as he continued to eat out her cunt. The younger man, to the side, meanwhile, was frantically jacking off, his cock still held within her, by then, soaked and ripped-to-shreds panties. That he had not already cum seemed something of a miracle, as agitated as he had become watching the other two work Catherine over. Finally he grew bold and walked over to them. He leaned down and began to trace patterns on her back, along the outlines of where Joe's belt had struck her the night before. His breathing grew heavier. He let the panties drop to the floor, exposing his cock, and he crouched down close enough so that he could rub the raw rod off on her flesh, across her back and then underneath to bang up against the soft fleshiness of her hanging breasts.
Immediately, she felt his lubricating cream run wild from the cock to wet her breasts and make them sticky. And again she felt his finger walking along her back, and his breathing came heavier and heavier.
The man behind now grabbed hold of her waist again and pulled her even higher than she had been before. Her legs were almost stretched out by then and her cunt easily accessible to him-or whoever was interested. He had taken his finger out of her ass and his mouth from her cunt, and now she felt the hard knob of his cock probing around those same areas, sniffing at her asshole then traveling down to poke at her cunt.
She gasped and reached down to pull her cunt lips apart to invite him in. She fingered herself and got herself all wet and all the while worked to swallow even more of the cock that was in her mouth. The man in front grabbed hold of her head, his fingers pressing painfully into her skull, and began to pump himself forcefully into her mouth, as if her mouth were a cunt, as if he were fucking her between her legs instead of between her lips. But that pleasure was to be the man's who now took advantage of the opening she had provided for him and started to move the length of his stone-hard prick up into her pussy.
She could feel how inflamed the cock was as it slid across the lips of her cunt and traveled deeply into her, and when she felt that he was securely lodged there, she let go of her cunt and let the folds of hot skin at her entrance snap shut tightly around his shaft. She began to move her body in rhythm, balancing delicately on her toes, bending, then tightening her legs, riding easily with the weight of his cock as he plunged in and out of her hungrily, in and out, his belly slapping up against her bare ass, his hands digging into her smooth hips.
And still the younger one traced patterns on her back, moaning even louder, beginning to sweat heavily, sweat falling from his forehead onto her back, there to be smeared along the red lines left behind by the edges of Joe's leather belt.
"Damn, I want to whip her," he whispered hotly. "I want to get my belt and whip her." He said it as if he were a child asking permission.
And the man whose cock Catherine was sucking said with an overwrought voice, "Go ahead. You can do anything you want with her. That's what we paid for ... let yourself have some fun."
The younger man moved away then and walked back into the bathroom. When he came back out a moment later, his belt was clutched in his hand. Catherine watched him come, her eyes growing wide, her action on the cock in her mouth growing wilder, her thrusts back to the cock that was working in her cunt becoming more and more frantic.
The young man's cock was now a throbbing, violent thing, its veins grown thick as ropes, its godhead so filled with blood that it looked like an infested boil, huge and red and aching to be squeezed. His sex extended far from his body and jutted high into the air. She thought how much she would rather have it in her mouth than the cock she did have there, though that one was satisfying her well enough.
The young man came close to her, his legs shivering against her ribcage. Again he reached down to run a finger along the lines on her back and she could almost imagine him thinking: In a moment there will be new lines there, my lines, my signature, and for the next few days it will be me she'll be thinking about when she looks into the mirror and views the results of all this.
Then he paused a moment, not touching her, not lifting the belt into the air, just standing there, his legs still shivering up against her, but otherwise still. He stared down and watched her suck on the one cock while letting the other run in and out of her cunt freely. And, as he watched, his own cock bobbed all over the place nervously. He seemed uncertain for a moment. Perhaps it was his first time to do anything like this to a woman, though it was certainly not the first time he had thought about it. In any case, it was precious to him, this sweet silent moment before he took action and looked, just looked, at her, at the beautiful white sweep of her back, the way it curved down toward her ass, the way her ass billowed out into two perfect spheres of hard flesh, and the sight of his companion's cock as it plunged in, out, and back in her pussy. Her pussy. Hot as hell it probably was and sweeter than any pussy he had ever known. He thought about his own cock plunging in and out of that sweet hole, fucking that hot cunt of hers. She was a little whore, so beautiful really, not at all like the whores he had known before, all that long, silky black hair shaking all over the place as her head crashed time and again into his companion's groin. He thought about his cock in that mouth, his cock in her throat and it ached, damn how his cock ached! It felt so close to eruption.
He looked into his companions' faces and saw how each of them were fighting toward their own eruptions, the seed from their balls having risen to the tips of their cocks and pausing there for that deliciously painful moment before they let themselves go. He brushed his hand along the run of his prick, remembering the silky touch of her panties on it, and the smell of her cunt inside those panties when he had held them to his nose. What he really wanted was to have her all to himself. He hated having to share her like this. He wanted it to be his cock she was sucking, his cock her cunt was making love to. And the more he thought about that-about how he did not have her all to himself-the angrier he got, the more frustrated he got. And it was then that he raised his belt high into the air and quickly let it fall hard across her back.
The sound of it-of the leather connecting with her flesh-it echoed all about them, a stinging sound of pain that sent the blood rushing to all three of their cockheads. And Catherine ... her body bolted out straight for a moment, then settled down again into position for the cock behind her. She relaxed again. She went to work again. And when the young man smashed into her a second time, her throat became a deep, empty well for the cock that was in her mouth. Her pussy was on fire. Her hands flew out for support, catching hold of one of the younger man's legs and one of the legs of the man in front. She seemed to be holding on to them for dear life as now her orgasms came in rapid succession and her groans of pleasure-pain, even with a cock stuffed down her throat, filled the room.
The young man now went after her with fervor, slashing the belt time and again into her white back. And, as he did, he grabbed hold of his cock and began to pump it off over her. It was only an instant after that he saw his friend in front of her stiffen his body and reach down to grab hold of Catherine's shoulders for support as he spilled his cream out into her mouth. At almost the exact same moment, the man behind rammed himself up closer than ever to her and began to yell out as if in great pain as he, too, came.
This made the young man thrash more wildly into Catherine and, at the same time, along the run of his aching prick. But just as he was about to shoot off, he let go of himself, stopped beating her with his belt, and stood there, panting, waiting while the other two regained control and one by one pulled their cock out of her.
The man in front slowly fell backwards until he found a waiting chair into which he sunk lifelessly. The man behind crawled away to lean up against the side of the bed, his cock dangling empty between his legs. Catherine dropped to the floor and stretched herself out on her stomach. For a moment he thought that she, too, was exhausted. But then she began to coil her body around, moving her face toward him until her mouth reached one of his feet and she began to lick it and kiss it and run her tongue in between his toes. And then she began to run that tongue up his leg.
Once again he started to shiver, and when she shot her tongue out to lick up the length of the belt which dangled from his hand, he felt so weak he thought he would collapse. Then her tongue was on that hand, kissing it, adoring it. She was up on her hands and knees, her hands reaching out to run up his legs until they found his cock, still stone-hard with all the blood and seed he had managed to hold back, and she began to play with it, fondling it, reaching underneath to massage his balls then back along the run of his cock, tracing the edges of his thick veins there with the sharp tip of a fingernail, then digging the tip of another fingernail into the deep slit of his pisshole.
It felt to him as if she were cutting his prick right in half. In time he was forced to push her hand away from his cock and bring the belt down across her back again. This, however, did not calm her down. Not in the least. For now her mouth came toward his cock instead. She paused a slight inch away and opened her eyes to stare at the beast and moan and moisten her lips, her tongue flipping out all over her upper lip and down along her chin.
Damn! she was hungry. Hungry for his cock! He thought he would explode just looking down at her and seeing the expression of lust and need as she stared ahead at his cock. He imagined all the things the guy in the living room must have done to her to get her this hot, to make her this hungry, and again he was angry. He wished he had been the one to teach her, to turn her on this much. His cock was in his hand again by then. He was directing it toward her more-than-willing mouth. He promised himself he would not come until he had fucked her, but first he wanted to feel his cock in her mouth, hear her gagging on his prick.
He looked at the two older men, still slumped in their exhaustion, their cock shriveled up into tiny little knots. Then he looked down at the satisfying hard extension of his own cock, the great long run of his manhood, dancing on the edges of her parting lips. He felt alone with her then. It was just him and this beautiful creature, alone in the room, only his cock to interest her, his pleasure alone to concern her. A great surge of power swept through him. He looked at the belt in his hand, the welts on her back, and he felt so in control, knowing that she would do anything for him, provide him with any pleasure he wanted. He had never felt that way with a woman before, certainly not with his wife, not even with the whores he had known as a young man. It was an extraordinary feeling. It made him all heady. It made him sweat and smell and shove his cock deep into her mouth, grinding, grinding up against her face, rubbing it raw with the thick, coarse hair that surround his cock and balls. He would use her, use her as he had never used any woman before. He would let his cum run free ... and forever.
He felt strong, so unusually strong. No, it was more than a strength; it was a compulsion. He pulled his cock out of her mouth, before she had even had a chance to show him what she could do with it there, and he pushed her out along the floor on her back and kicked her legs wide apart and fell down on top of her and plunged his cock deep into her pussy, as deeply as it would go, and still that wasn't good enough for him. He banged her hard against the floor, thrusting his full weight into her, driving his cock on with a determination that came to him out of mid-air, from some unknown source. He barely heard her cries, her screams, but he knew enough to know that she was not protesting, not asking him to stop. Oh, no! She loved it. The way she thrust her hips back up to him, the way she wrapped her arms around his sweat-drenched back and dug her fingernails into his flesh, fighting against her own wild instincts.
The seed churned wildly inside his cock, churned and rose and licked at him like flames. He had only just felt her draw her slim, smooth legs up to wrap them around his ass and push him closer to her when he felt all that fire burst loose from his cock and pour into her. She screamed loudest then and grabbed hold of his mouth with her own and reached up to yank at his hair, as if she wanted to rip it right out of his head, and her heels were digging into the well of his crack, her breasts crashing up against his chest and all he saw in his head was a swirling mass of light and fire that just grew brighter and brighter until at last it flickered, then died.
He rolled over to his side, off her, and lay as exhausted as the other two. Only Catherine lay shaking on the floor, electrified, ready for more.
Eventually, one by one, the men rose and went into the bathroom to piss and wash. Then they came back out and sat around in chairs, smoking cigarettes and talking about what a great lay Catherine was, while she remained on the floor, listening to them and growing relaxed. She felt almost as if she was snuggled beneath a warm blanket, not wanting to get up and not having to, able just to lie there half awake, half dreaming, completely content. That's how she felt, even though she was lying on the floor with no blanket over her, naked and exposed while three men sat around in chairs without their clothes on and discussed her as if she were some cheap piece of flesh from the street. Yet she felt content, perfectly content.
She half opened her eyes and saw the younger man, who was sitting on the edge of the bed only a few feet away from her. He seemed relaxed now, at ease with the other men, and with her. His cock was hanging between his legs. It was half hard. It was an attractive cock, thick and strong. She lay staring at it, not really thinking about it as something to suck or something to have inside her pussy, but just enjoying looking at it, the beauty of it, the nearness of it.
It rather amazed her, even after all that had happened the past two days, to see how fascinated she could be still by just the sight of a cock. And the longer she looked, the happier she felt, a happiness in fact so intense that it turned to sadness-and the sadness came from her counting up all the wasted years, all the lonely years, all the frustrated years. Never again that. From now on it was going to be only cock, only fucking. Nothing else.
She heard one of the older men asking: "Where will we get the rope?"
And the other older man answered: "Joe'll have some. Go ask."
"Okay," said the first who had spoken. "But I get to go first."
"Oh no," the younger guy spoke up. "This is supposed to be my party. I'll start it rolling. I want to be the one to open her up." And he said it with such authority that the other two did not argue.
Then the one older man got up and went out of the room. While he was gone, the younger man stretched his foot across the floor to Catherine's mouth and let her lick and kiss him. Doing so, of course, made her horny again, no longer content. She started to slither along the floor closer to him, but he pushed her back to where she had been with the weight of his foot and let his hand dance across the bed to his belt. Catherine pushed her cunt into the carpet and moaned and satisfied herself with feasting on the young man's toes.
The man who had left came back, his hands full of rope. When the younger man saw them, his cock instantly sprang up into the air and he had to grab hold of it to still it.
A moment after, Catherine felt arms lifting her into the air and throwing her onto the bed. They flipped her over onto her stomach and then she felt ropes being wrapped around her wrists and ankles, her legs being forced apart. There was a tight, painful pull on her flesh as she was stretched to the four corners of the bed and the ends of the ropes which dangled from her wrists and ankles were tied to the four feet of the bed.
She thrashed about, not to get loose, but testing for herself whether or not the ropes were tied securely enough to keep her in place, no matter what they did to her. When she saw that they were, she was pleased.
Next she felt two hands on her ass, spreading it apart. She looked behind as well as she could and saw that it was the young man, kneeling in between her spreadeagled legs, his cock stone-hard and aimed directly toward her shithole. He sat there staring into her crack, his eyes ablaze. Then he puckered up his mouth and spit into her crack and watched the saliva slowly trickle down the dark brown path and seep into her throbbing hole. He put his finger up next to that hole then to push the saliva in and afterward he began to play with the fleshy rim of her shithole and pry it apart.
Catherine was far more flexible now than she had been the night before. This time her asshole was loose and ready. Certainly she would have no trouble taking these three, none of whom was bigger than Joe. But she was thankful that it was the younger one who was going to open her up because he was the largest of the three and, after all, she wanted it to hurt a little.
His finger was running deep into her shit tunnel by then, and a slight sting of pain shot through her. She pulled on the ropes. Her ass tightened up. The young man smiled and slapped her across one of her buns. He slapped her hard enough to make her ass rise into the air, and when it did, it slid further up along his finger, up past his knuckle, and then he slapped her across the other bun to make her rise up on his finger even more.
"Hurry up, hurry up," one of the older man said impatiently.
The young man removed his finger and pulled himself up on his knees so that his stiff prick jutted out level with her shithole. His hands rested on either side of her ass again, spreading it apart. Then he lay the full length of his hard rod along the run of her crack and massaged it there.
He began to moan behind her, and she started to moan, too. She could barely wait for his cock by then. Shove It In, Shove It In, she wanted to scream. But she kept quiet and only moaned, loudly, hoping he would understand. He did.
The next thing she felt was the hard knob of his cock up against her opening. She remembered now how it looked, so round and red, and she pictured it starting to move into her, into her shithole, disappearing and then all he could see was the pale color of his lengthy rod, those thick, hard purple veins running up and down it-and then she felt them! She actually felt the pulsating throb of the veins on his cock sliding past the rim of her shithole as he drove himself deeper and deeper into her.
How easy it was, she thought. There was no struggle this time, though she tugged playfully on the ropes as if pretending there was. No, this time it was a pleasure, sweet and smooth, a cock being driven deep into her ass, and she began to push her ass back toward it, hurrying him on, riding up the length of his prick until with one hard jerk she felt him fall full force into her and at last she felt the weight of his hairy balls banging into the softness of her rump. She knew then he was all the way in.
Her ass rose automatically into the air to meet his groin, but he brought the palm of his hand down across the small of her back, just above the curve of her ass, and pushed her into the bed again, holding her there as he began to pump off against the tight sides of her tunnel. She could feel the rim of her ass riding up and down the length of his shaft, being pulled out along it, then shoved back inside her tunnel, and again she could feel the bulging of his cockveins next to her. Finally she relaxed and let herself sink into the softness of the bed so that he could satisfy himself freely with her ass. And he took advantage of her giving up to him-full advantage.
Neither of the other two made a sound. And except for a soft gasp now and then from the young man and the sound of his balls slapping against her ass, the room was otherwise filled with a heavy quiet, an almost-threatening quiet, as if everyone were afraid to breathe, as if they were watching someone walk a tightrope without a net and afraid that if they made a sound he would fall. But the young man did not fall. He was doing a perfect balancing act with her asshole, now pulling himself almost completely out before ramming back in with perfect aim, far and deep to nail her to the bed. She felt the sides of his prick expand within her. She actually felt the rush of his seed as it moved along his rod. But just before she thought he would shoot off, he pulled out and, breathing heavily, climbed off the bed.
Immediately after, there was another cock at her ass and almost at once it was plunging into her, deep, deep, as far as it could go. There was no fighting to be done now. Her ass took the prick easily, eagerly. She buried her face in the pillow in front of her and sighed with satisfaction as the hungry prick explored her tunnel. It didn't matter that it was a smaller prick than the one that had just been in her. It still felt marvelous. But it was to be a short-lived marvelous feeling, for when this prick grew close to eruption it, too, pulled out as had the first one. A moment later, a third prick plunged into her, and it felt just as good as the first two had.
By then she was so relaxed, so completely enjoying herself, that when she felt the larger prick of the three re-enter her, it came as a surprise. There was a considerable difference in feeling between his cock and the other two which, she realized now, was because his cock was so much thicker. Her moans grew louder then, and once again she shoved her ass up to meet him, and again he pushed her forcefully down to drive himself in deeper, deeper even than he had the first time.
But, again, when he was close to erupting, he pulled out and another prick took his place. So it went. The bed squeaked and sank time after time as man after man climbed up on top of it, then off of it, as cock after cock found its way into her ass. All the while she lay there totally relaxed, moaning, clutching hold of the pillow with her teeth to keep from crying out with joy. And each time the younger man shoved into her she would feel the difference and would moan a little louder, hoping he noticed, hoping that he saw she liked him best. He must have. For each time, her moans drove him on with renewed energy, single-minded purpose.
Then at one point a cock pulled out of her and nothing came to replace it. She waited another moment, and when still she felt nothing in her ass, she wiggled it to let them know she was ready for more. Still nothing. She wiggled harder. She bounced her ass up and down on the bed. She pulled on the ropes. She grunted and groaned. Still nothing.
Finally she pulled her face up and looked from side to side at the three men as they stood around the bed staring down at her. They were smiling wickedly and stroking their hard, wet cocks. She wiggled her ass harder for them, but none of them made a move toward her. They just kept stroking their pricks, white scum seeping out of each of the three gaping pissholes. They just kept looking at her, smiling, staring at her ass, licking their lips, showing their teeth. The young man was smiling the most.
"You want more, honey?" he asked at last.
"Yes," she moaned hoarsely, her throat gone so dry that there was barely enough saliva there with which to speak. "Yes, yes!"
"Well, show us how much you want it," he said, now obviously in charge, the other two simply going along with whatever he had in mind. "Beg us for it."
"Yes, yes!" she cried out, flinging her head from side to side, fighting frantically by then with the ropes, though why she did not know, for if she pulled herself free it would only have been to crawl on her hands and knees at their feet and beg them even more desperately.
"Please do it," she cried. "Hurry and do it some more. See ... I'm begging. I'm pleading with you. Give me your cocks. Give them to my ass. Hur-ry ... hurry!"
"The name is Mr. Stevens," he said. "Say ... please, Mr. Stevens."
"Please, Mr. Stevens," she repeated.
"Please what?"
"Please do it some more."
"Do what?"
"Fuck me ... please fuck me ... Mr. Stevens."
"Fuck you where?"
"In ... in my ass. Please fuck me in my ass."
"Now the whole thing ... come on ... please, Mr. Stevens...."
"Please, Mr. Stevens, fuck me in my ass."
"With what?"
"Your cock."
"What? I can't hear you. Speak up."
"YOUR COCK!" she screamed, thrashing about something crazy by then.
"Again ... the whole thing ... let's hear it...."
"Please, Mr. Stevens, fuck me in my ass with your cock...."
"And why do you want me to shove my cock in your ass?"
"Because ... I like it."
"You like what?"
"Your cock ... I like your cock ... your beautiful...."
"You just like it?"
"No, no. I love it. I love your cock. Pleeeeese."
"And how about my friends? You love their cocks, too?"
"Yes ... yes! I love all your cocks!"
By then all three of the men had moved up close to the bed and were playing wildly with their pricks, their hands sliding up and down, up and down the slippery stalks like wildfire.
"I think you just love cocks, period. Isn't that right?"
"Yes! Yes, I love them. Oh, please ... pleeeese...."
Her ass rose and plunged back to the bed in pure agony, her asshole stretched wide and starving for attention.
"Well ... well ... well...." he said mockingly. He moved over close to one of her hands and let the hard, scum-covered tip of his cock touch it for just a second, and just on the tip of one of her fingers, but that was enough to send her body into spasms.
She was going again. She could feel it, that allout-of-control, crazy feeling that she thought she had gone beyond. Once more it was taking over her senses. She felt his cock being rubbed across her hand, and she thought for a moment she would pass out. But she didn't. And thank God she didn't, for then she felt a cock traveling up along her legs while another crawled across her back. Suddenly she realized that all three of them had climbed up onto the bed together, and she felt the bed sag beneath their weight.
"No, no! Oh dear, dear God ... no...!" There was no stopping it then. And if it hadn't been for the ropes she would have been falling all over the floor, all haywire, licking at their feet like a mad dog. Instead she was forced to lie there and feel their cocks on her and bite her tongue to keep from screaming out.
"Well, no more for you tonight, honey," the young man said. "I think you've had too much cock already. We're getting damn tired of trying to satisfy you with our cocks. There isn't any satisfying you!"
"No, you can't," she moaned. "Don't ... don't stop ... more ... pleeeese more!"
"No. No more. Come on, guys. Let's just unload ourselves fast and easy with our hands and then we can go."
"No, don't waste it!" she screamed. "Don't throw it away...."
"Yeah, let's just get it over with ... dirty her up a little with all that cum she's so hot for...."
By then, all three of them were jacking off like crazy, the other two having easily picked up on the young guy's game. They were on their knees all around her, their hands sliding up and down along the lengths of their aching pricks as in all three of them the cum rose higher and higher.
Catherine's cries grew louder. She started to sob. She thrashed about on the bed, to get loose, to be able to get at their cocks. But she couldn't get loose and they weren't going to let her have their cocks. Now she didn't like being tied up. Now it truly did deny her freedom ... the freedom to have a cock, and each moment more that cock was denied her, the crazier, the more desperate she became.
The first hot spurt of cum on her back made her bolt high into the air. The second spurt fell across one of her thighs, a third slid across her butt. Three hot, fast spurts of cum ... then a flood of it, so much cum it felt like hot water pouring from a faucet. It was on every part of her, her back, her butt, her legs, in her hair, along her arms. Cum. So much cum. She could feel it flowing down the sides of her body, seeping onto the bed, and she rolled about in it so that her breasts and her cunt could also be covered with cum. She was so crazed she barely realized it when someone stuffed a cum-covered hand into her mouth and made her lick it off. Afterwards, another hand was stuffed into her mouth, then a third. She cleaned each of them, running her tongue over each cum-soaked finger, licking the residue from their palms. Her hunger knew no end. Her thirst no satisfaction.
Then there was nothing, nothing at all, just the sense of lying in a puddle, being hot and sticky and, in her throat, a sensational thirst as the cum she had eaten off their hands dried and caked and prevented her from swallowing.
The bed sagged beneath her as the men got off. A while later she heard water running in the bathroom and then the sounds of belts and zippers as the three dressed, later the opening and closing of the bedroom door. Through all of it, though, she felt as if in a fog. Her only real awareness was of the cum that was all over her and now beginning to dry and make her skin feel as if it were tightening up and shrinking.
Alone, she bumped her cunt into the bed. She was hungry for satisfaction, for a cock. The room was so quiet, so empty. She wanted to scream out for cock, but her throat was too dry.
Then after what seemed to her a long, long time, she faintly heard the bedroom door being opened again and someone walking into the room and then the sound of a belt being undone, a zipper being pulled down. Then, as before, the bed sagged beneath her as someone climbed up on it. She felt the rough fabric of jeans rubbing against the sides of her legs as that someone crawled toward her ass. Then two strong hands were on her ass, ripping her asshole painfully apart.
A pause. Catherine couldn't breathe. She waited. And then it came-at last it came-a huge, great rod of a cock, a giant of a cock sliding down, down, down into her ass. She knew instantly it was Joe. No one else could be that big! Oh, how marvelous it felt! She lifted her ass to meet him, to feel the touch of his gigantic balls near her ass. Her sense of relief was so great then, her gratitude to him for giving her what she so needed right then-plunging harder and deeper into her with each stroke-that she knew there was no longer any question about it: she was his. His whore. For good.
"Oh. Joe. I love you!" she cried.
But Joe said nothing. He just fucked her in silence, fucked her ass long and hard, until it turned red and raw and she shuddered with each stroke, until she had been fucked for so long that she could feel the heat of fresh raw skin against the sides of his cock, and still he waited awhile before cuming.
Afterwards he stayed in her ass, his cock shrinking only a little bit. He could feel her trembling in agony all around his rod, her shithole, and he reached underneath to feel how wet her pussy was, how it was trembling, too. She was so totally his he felt at that moment that it made him high, as if he were on a drug. And when the urge to piss came, he didn't even bother to take his cock out of her. He just took his piss there as her body squirmed beneath him, as all his hot liquid filled her up. When at last he did take his cock out of her, it was so he could pull his belt out of his pants and send it time and again into her pretty little butt. Just for the enjoyment of it.
CHAPTER NINE
When the phone rang, Catherine automatically reached for it beside the bed. But her hand found only empty air. She opened her eyes. It was then she realized she was not in her own bedroom but in the guest room, where the phone rested on the same stand as the TV set. She jumped out of bed and picked up the phone on its fifth ring.
It was only then as she looked at the hand which held the receiver and saw the red marks around her wrist that it dawned on her that she was no longer tied to the bed. Quickly she turned to look back at the bed, expecting to find Joe there. But he wasn't. She reached for her neck. The collar, too, had been taken off. She looked around the room: There were no signs at all of what had taken place the day before, for from the bright sunlight that poured in through the undrawn windows, she could tell it was early the next morning. If it hadn't been for the dull ache she now felt in her ass, she might have thought she had just awakened from a dream. But the ache-that incredible pain in her asshole-it was real enough!
"Mrs. Wilhoite ... Mrs. Wilhoite? Are you there?"
"What? Yes, I'm sorry. Yes, I'm here."
"Did I awaken you? I'm sorry."
"No, it's all right. I'm awake. Who is this?"
"It's Dr. Fillmore ... at the hospital."
"Dr. Fillmore?"
"Yes, the surgeon who's supposed to operate on your husband."
"Oh yes, how silly of me. Of course. What is it, doctor? Is Clay all right?"
"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Wilhoite, not really...."
Catherine suddenly found herself feeling strangely joyful. What if he was worse? What if he was going to die? It would solve so many problems ... so many....
"Our tests have shown that he's just too weak right now for the new operation. I've decided to delay it at least two weeks. It won't make all that much difference ... and there would be a risk...."
"I see," Catherine said, and she wondered if he could hear the disappointment in her voice. If so, he probably read it as her let-down at yet another delay in this ever-continuing ordeal.
"What he needs to do is to spend the next two weeks building himself up. Now we could keep him here at the hospital, but that would be expensive and...."
"The expense doesn't matter," Catherine pointed out.
"Yes, but there's also his morale to think about. With proper care, he can proceed just as nicely at home, and I think it might be better for his spirits. Much of the problem now is mental ... he's very low."
"Oh, but doctor, I wouldn't know what to do. I'm afraid I'd make a mistake...." She was trying to think of any reason for Clay not to have to come home. It was too soon and, of course, there was Joe to think about. But where was he?
"I realize that, Mrs. Wilhoite. That's why I've assigned a nurse to the case. She'll be coming home with your husband today after he's released from the hospital...."
"Today!"
"And she'll be there with him twenty-four hours a day. On her day off, I'll see that a substitute nurse comes to replace her. You won't have to worry...."
Catherine said nothing. She just stood there, limply holding the receiver in her hand, feeling like one of the convicted who had just lost an appeal. Back to prison, back to that wretched existense....
"Mrs. Wilhoite?"
"Yes, doctor, that's fine. What time?"
"Sometime this afternoon. Probably around three. You don't have to come pick him up. We'll bring him home in an ambulance."
"Yes, doctor. Fine, doctor. I'll have a room ready for the nurse."
Weakly she hung up the phone. For a moment she just stood there staring at the phone, not moving, not certain what to do next. Then all at once she bolted out the door and ran naked through the house, from room to room, opening doors, looking for Joe.
He was nowhere. The house was empty, silent. All his tools were gone. Fresh plywood ramps covered each landing. He seemed to have completed the job. She ran into the kitchen and opened the door to the garage. His truck wasn't there. She ran back into the living room and pulled apart the drapes she had looked through just three days before-three days!-and first looked at Joe. Now the driveway was empty. She let the drapes fall back together, then she hung lifelessly onto them. He was gone. Gone. The grandfather clock struck nine. A chill ran through her.
Slowly she walked through the house to the guest room and sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands hanging between her legs. Why had he gone? she asked herself. What had she done wrong? Or had he only wanted her to make some quick money for him and that was it?
Nervously she began to bite her nails. What if he had only gone away for a while? What if he was coming back and got there after Clay had arrived? Well, that could be worked out. They could pretend he had come back to be paid. But what if he did something crazy in front of Clay? What if he said something? She thought about that and then stopped biting her nails and let her hand fall to her pussy.
It didn't matter. Whatever Joe decided to do was all right. She didn't give a damn about Clay, about losing him, about being kicked out of the house. All that mattered was Joe and his cock and the chance to see it, touch it, lick it, swallow it, be fucked by it once more.
She fell across the bed and began to sniff around for the spot where Joe had slept the night before. She found it easily, the thick, masculine smell of him that had become so familiar, so delicious to her. She buried her nose down deep into the bed at the spot where his ass had been and, when he turned over, his cock. She sniffed about like a dog until she caught the definite aroma of his sex, of his shit, and then she began to lick hungrily at the spot. Her hands were clawing at her aching cunt, parting the lips of it and forcing her way in, in and out, made for a cock, Joe's cock-hell! any cock, just a cock! She gasped and groaned and started to thrash about on the bed, burying her nose and mouth deeper and deeper into the bed where the warmth of Joe's flesh still lingered.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Catherine had cleaned up the guest room so that it would be ready for the nurse (though having her sleep there-in the bed where Joe had slept!-was killing) and she had straightened herself up as well, making sure to wear a top and slacks that completely covered any scars or marks from the day before.
She greeted Clay as the dutiful wife. He seemed grumpy. He asked to be taken to his room immediately so that he could sleep. He was very tired from the trip from the hospital. The nurse reminded Catherine of the witch in Disney movies long-nosed and spinterish. The less she saw of her the better.
Not until the nurse had wheeled him up a second ramp, the one that led from the dining room to the hallway, did Clay notice their being there.
"These'll have to be carpeted," he said.
"Yes," Catherine answered, following behind, holding her hands nervously in front of her.
"Did he send a bill yet?" Clay asked.
Catherine hesitated. "No, not yet."
"Well, he didn't do such a good job. He better not try to soak me."
Catherine wondered how Clay could judge the job Joe had done when he hadn't even looked down to inspect the ramps. But she said nothing. She felt no need to defend Joe's carpentry. That was not the talent of his she was most familiar with.
After Clay had been put to bed, Catherine showed the nurse the guest room and left her there to unpack. She told the nurse she would have dinner ready around seven and asked what she should fix for Clay. The nurse said he could eat anything, as long as it was nutritious. She did not bother to give any examples of what a nutritious meal consisted of, so Catherine assumed the nurse would leave it to her own choosing. Well, at least she wasn't going to try to take over.
Catherine went into the living room after that and fell into a chair and picked up a magazine from the table. It was the same magazine she had taken with her to the patio to pretend to read the first day Joe arrived. Now she flipped through it again, and again her eyes saw nothing. She was thinking about him again, naturally, and decided all she could do was think about him, and wait.
If he wanted to see her again, he knew how to contact her. It would have been easy enough, of course, to look him up in the Venice phone book. But she decided against that. Somehow she sensed that her phoning him would not be right. She must wait until he called for her. And that was the only reason she was still there. Otherwise she would have packed her bags and gone-where she did not know, but she would have gotten out of that house, away from Clay, somewhere, anywhere, and figured out a way to make a new life.
For the moment, though, she couldn't risk anything like that. If she did, Joe would not know where to find her. She would have to wait. A few days at least, perhaps a week, then she would decide what to do.
Each time the phone rang the rest of the day and the next, Catherine ran to answer it before Clay or the nurse did. Each time it was someone calling to see how Clay was, and Catherine quickly put each one of them off so that the phone would be free. When she realized they would need more food, she even called the grocery store and had them deliver it so she wouldn't have to be away from the house. Still, Joe didn't call, and in the evenings Catherine lay in her bed half crazy to know what to do with herself, her hand no longer enough. It would never again be enough. Her only satisfaction came from the dull ache that remained still in her ass, knowing that it had been Joe's cock that had last invaded it. And she stuffed a hand behind in that sore ass, the other inside her pussy and, clutching hold of the pillow with her teeth to keep Clay or the nurse from hearing her cries, she brought herself off. But still it wasn't enough.
On the second morning after Clay had returned home, the bill from Joe arrived. Catherine ripped it open, but there was nothing inside except a bill for $380. It was an otherwise cold, blank, impersonal piece of paper. She copied down the address and phone number of his business, then stuffed the bill back into the envelope and placed it with the rest of the mail.
Clay made no mention of the fact that it had been opened when he had looked at the mail. This bothered Catherine more than if he had said something. She didn't know how many more days she could wait before leaving. At least now, though, she knew how to contact Joe. She could always write and let him know where she was.
That night about nine, the phone began to ring. Catherine jumped up from where she was sitting looking at the TV in the den, but then the ringing stopped. She heard Clay in his bedroom slam the receiver down angrily. She waited a few moments, then went and opened his door.
"Who was that?" she asked.
"When?" He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
"Just now. On the phone."
"A wrong number I guess. Motherfucker hung up without saying anything." He moved his head up so he could look at her. "Why? Were you expecting a call?"
"No. I just thought it might be the doctor."
"It's kind of late."
"Yes, of course, you're right. I didn't mean to disturb you." She started to close the door. "Catherine...."
She pushed the door open again. "What?" she asked, and she was thinking: Oh, please, don't ask me to come over to the bed so you can touch me. I don't think I could stand it if you touched me. I'll scream!
He stared at her silently a moment, then said: "Tell the nurse I want another sleeping pill. I want to go to sleep."
"Yes, of course." She closed the door, then leaned up against it with a sigh of relief.
The next morning she was in the kitchen preparing breakfast when the phone rang again. She reached for it. There was a pause on the other end after she said hello ... then ... that deep voice. "Hello, Mrs. Wilhoite...."
"Oh, Joe! Oh my God, Joe! I thought you'd never call ... I...."
She caught herself. What if Clay had picked up the extension and was listening in? Then she remembered, the nurse had not gone in to wake him yet. She never woke him until breakfast was ready. He wouldn't listening in ... oh, hell, she didn't care anyway.
"Oh, Joe, I've been going crazy...."
"But you've got your old man home again to take care of you. Right? Can't he take care of you?"
"How did you know Clay was back? That was you who called last night, wasn't it? Oh, Joe, please get me out of here! I can't stand it!"
"Now why would I want to get you out of there? What would I do with you? Where would I keep you?"
"Anything, Joe, remember? You can do anything you want with me. You can keep me anywhere. I'll sleep on the floor. I'll work for you ... clean, cook ... oh, Joe! Anything you want. Just get me out of here."
"Well, actually, baby, that's why I've called. I do have a little work for you. You got a pen and paper handy?"
"Yes ... but...."
"Copy this address down." He gave her an address in a posh area of Beverly Hills. "Be there at eight tonight. And look good. I want you to look real good. I told them you were one of my best."
Catherine hesitated a moment. Fresh perspiration dripped down the deep well between her breasts. She felt her pussy begin to tingle. "Joe, I can't do that ... I mean that's...."
"Sure you can do it, honey. You already have done it. You remember that, don't you?"
"But that was different. You were here."
"How does that make it different?"
"I don't know. It just does ... I mean, Joe, how would I get away. What would I say?"
"You'll think of something. Just be there. Eight sharp."
"But, Joe...."
"Listen, baby. You want to see me again?"
"Oh God, Joe! Don't you know? Don't you really know?" She clutched hold of the sink to hold herself up.
"Well, you aren't going to see me again ... ever! ... unless you get out there and do a little work for me. Understand?"
Catherine didn't answer. Her throat had gone dry.
"Understand?" His voice was firm.
"Yes," she answered weakly.
"Un ... hun," he said. "I thought you would. And my dick, baby ... my big, hard dick. Got it in my hand right now. So damn big it hurts, you know? Really hot for some piece of hot snatch, or some pretty red lips around it, tight little asshole. Think I'll call one of my other girls ... one of the more cooperative ones ... tell her to come over here and take care of me. Can't fuckin' zip my pants up when my dick's this hard ... you know?"
"Oh no, Joe! Please let me. I'll come right over ... please."
"Not this time, baby. But you be a good girl and do what you're told and maybe next time, next time I've got a bone on, maybe I'll let you take care of it for me. Maybe. If you're good...."
Catherine slumped to the kitchen floor on her knees and shoved her free hand up against her cunt "When, Joe? Oh, please, tell me when!"
"When I say ... that's when. I don't like to be held to anything. You take your chances ... but it is a chance, baby ... a chance. Otherwise, what have you got? Nothing."
Catherine sobbed loudly. She dug her hand far into her cunt. "Don't say that. Don't! I'll do it. Anything. Just don't cut me off ... I'll ... I'll kill myself if you do ... I swear...."
"Don't give me that shit. I don't like shit like that. You won't kill yourself. If I drop you, you'll start walking the streets. You'll start going down for nickles and dimes. But you won't kill yourself. You like cock too much for that. You won't give up cock ... I've proved that much to you at least. And you threaten me again and that's where you'll fuckin' be ... on the streets, spreading your legs for bums. Get it?"
"Oh God ... God!" she moaned. Was he right? she asked herself, but there were no answers. She couldn't be sure of anything anymore. That's what was so frightening. She couldn't be sure he was wrong. She didn't know herself that well. And to never see him again ... never....
"You got that address?" he asked.
"Yes, Joe," she answered weakly.
"Okay. Go there. Do what you're told. And keep tabs for me. I don't want those bastards cheating me.
"Keep tabs?" she questioned.
"Yeah, just keep tabs. You don't have to worry about collecting or anything. I take care of that. I just want to make sure they don't try to get in a few freebies. So keep tabs."
"But I don't understand...."
"You will. Don't worry. I'll phone you tomorrow this same time. You can let me know then how many times. Oh yeah, baby ... and no tips. You don't take no tips. If you earn tips, I'll collect 'em. And I better get some ... understand? You better be good. You better earn some tips ... good tips. You don't and I'm fucking through with you. From now on, it's up to you, baby. Up to you how much you want this dick of mine again, this dick that's in my hand...."
Then on the other end of the receiver she heard him spit into his hand and a moment later heard his moan and she knew he was playing with himself, stroking himself off, and she could see his cock, see it so clearly. Her hand plunged madly in and out of her wet, steamy cunt. She cried out.
"All up to you...." he repeated. Then he hung up.
Catherine sat slumped on the kitchen floor for some time, listening to the dial tone buzz angrily in her ear. When she heard the nurse in the other room, she pulled herself up and put the receiver back in its cradle. She turned toward the sink so that the nurse could not see her tear-streaked face.
"Is breakfast almost ready?" the nurse asked.
"Yes ... in a moment," Catherine answered softly.
"Fine. I'll go wake Mr. Wilhoite."
Catherine heard the nurse turn and walk away. She moved to the stove and poured the egg batter into the frying pan and stood there listening to it sizzle. Her mind was a blank. She would wait until later to think. After all, she had until eight ... eight that evening.
CHAPTER TEN
About six Catherine walked into Clay's bedroom and said: "My parents have invited me over for dinner tonight. I think I'll go. I shouldn't be very late."
Clay didn't seem to mind. He just asked, "Is the nurse going to make my dinner?"
"No, I've cooked a ham. It's in the oven. All she has to do is take it out. The salad is done, too. I'll put in the potatoes before I go. I'll tell her what to do."
"Fine."
"I won't be late," she repeated, although she had no idea how late she might actually be. He didn't say anything. She walked out of the room.
An hour earlier she had phoned her mother and told her that she had to get out of the house and go for a drive by herself. "I'm going to tell Clay you've invited me for dinner so he won't worry. If he calls, cover for me, okay?"
"Of course, darling," her mother said. "But why don't you come over? It would be nice to see you."
"No, mother. I really do want to be alone. My nerves are on edge."
"Very well," her mother sighed. "Don't worry. If Clay calls, we'll have something ready to say."
That was smart of you, Catherine told herself as she now walked down the hall and into her bedroom to dress. It wasn't difficult figuring out which dress to wear. The red one was her sexiest, lowest in front, and since it was a few years old, it was shorter than the dresses they were selling then. It showed off a lot of her.
She did not put on a bra, but she did put on a pair of panties. She knew a lot of guys liked women wearing panties. Sometimes they liked black stockings, too, but she didn't have any of those. She would buy a pair tomorrow in case she needed them for some future job. She wore her hair full because she knew that was the way she looked most attractive, but she did not put on a lot of heavy makeup. This was a house call in a good neighborhood. They would not want her looking cheap. Just some bright red lipstick, a little black liner on the eyes. Her natural beauty did the rest. She smiled at herself in the mirror. She didn't look like a hooker. But she didn't look like any librarian either. It would do fine. She was thankful now, though, that Joe wasn't going to be there. It was easier trying to decide how a stranger might want her to be dressed than to have to decide what Joe would want.
It was strange how calm she was about the whole thing. In fact she had been relatively calm all day, ever since making the decision to go ahead with it, as if it were something she had always known she would do some day. It was only when she was on the freeway, near the turn-off she would have to take for the address Joe had given her, that she started to shake. She had taken a valium before leaving home just to make sure, but all at once it wasn't working. Her head felt very dizzy. Her hands shook on the steering wheel. She felt herself losing control of the car. Quickly, she pulled over to the shoulder of the road, turned off the ignition and leaned her head back against the seat.
She didn't know how long she had been there when all at once someone asked, "You okay, lady?"
She pulled her head up. A highway patrolman was standing outside. All she could see at the moment was his crotch, slammed up against her opened window. But she saw the tan of his uniform and the gun and the handcuffs and the thick pad of tickets, so she knew it was a highway patrolman.
She leaned a little out of the window so she could look up into his face. His hat was pulled down over his forehead and he wore Polaroid sunglasses, like the ones Joe had worn the day he first came to her house. The low afternoon sun was shining off them. She lifted her arm to cover her eyes with her hand and her dress pulled up taut against her breasts. She noticed instantly the twitch in the v of his trousers.
"Yes, officer, I'm fine," she said. "I just felt dizzy all at once. I hope it was all right for me to pull over."
"If you felt dizzy, it was the best thing to do. Can I see your license?"
She reached for her purse on the seat next to her, fumbled about inside until she found her license and handed it out the window to him. He looked at it a moment, then pulled the thick leather book out of his back pocket, flipped it open and started to write in it.
"Am I going to get a ticket?" she asked.
"No," he said. "I'm just making a record that I had to speak to you."
He walked around to the front of the car and copied down her plate number. His legs were spread wide apart. There was a lot of action inside of them. With those glasses on, though, she could not tell if he was really looking down at the book while he wrote, or if he was looking into the car at her. But she felt uneasy. She reached down and tried to pull her dress together a little so that not so much of her breasts showed.
The patrolman walked back next to her window and handed her back the license. "If you're not feeling well, I'd be glad to drive you to a phone in my car. You could have someone ... your husband perhaps ... come get you and your car."
"No, thank you," she said. "My husband can't drive. He's ... he's been ill in bed. I wouldn't want to worry him. And besides ... I'm really fine now." .
"Well, I'd be glad to help," he repeated, and now it was clear, very clear indeed, that his cock was stone-hard inside his pants and Catherine was thinking just how much he probably would like to get her into his car! And as she could see that his cock was a very tasty size, she certainly would not have minded. But she did have to get to that job. She checked her watch. It was a quarter of eight.
"I appreciate it, officer," she said sweetly. "But I really am fine and I have to be somewhere in fifteen minutes."
"Okay, I'll follow you until you turn off the freeway to make sure," he said. "And if you don't mind I'll call your house tomorrow to make sure you got home okay. Just routine."
"You have my number?" Catherine asked.
He smiled. "I have your name and address. It's easy enough to get your number."
I appreciate your concern, officer," she said, poking her head slightly out of the window now to look up at him again, and it was clear from the way his head tilted down that what he was looking at right then was the way the short skirt of her dress was riding up almost to her cunt. When she looked down at herself, she saw that there was even a hint of her black silk panties showing. She did not bother to cover it.
"Just part of the job," he said.
"Well it really is nice of you," she said. "I'm sure I'll get home all right. But do call if it will make you feel better." And then she let her eyes fall, slowly and purposely, to his crotch again and, when she did, his cock leaped forward inside his pants and stretched them out so far that if she had flicked her tongue out she would have been able to touch the tip of his rod through the pants easily.
But she didn't go as far as all that. She just looked up again and thanked him once more, then reached over and turned the key in the ignition. She watched in the rearview mirror as he walked back to his car, got in and started the motor. Then, slowly, she pulled away from the shoulder, watching him fall into place behind her. She drove to her exit at the 55 mile speed limit, watching him stay behind all the way, half expecting him to make the turnoff with her. But as she moved off, he passed her. She glanced out the window. He was looking her way and smiling. She smiled back and waved, then took the dip into the traffic-filled street below.
She was amazed how calmly she had handled the whole thing. She should have been scared to death going, as she was, on her way to her first job as a-what was the word for what she was doing?-whore, hooker, call girl? She wasn't sure. In any case, she should have been horrified of the law at that particular moment. Instead, she had been turned on, openingly making a play for a cock, a patrolman's cock, and able to get him hot!
Suddenly she felt full of great confidence, where before she had been so uncertain. She was going to turn her customer on just as she had turned the patrolman on. She was going to be able to turn all men on. She was going to be able to make a lot of money for Joe. And the more money she made, the better her chances of having his cock again. Damn! How she wanted it! And just thinking about it, picturing it in her mind, made her so hot that she started to drive faster to get to her destination.
Oh, she wanted a cock in her ... fast! She was horny as hell. After all, it had been two days since she had last been fucked. And now thinking about it-cock again!-cock in her pussy-made her so hot she thought she'd explode!
When she pulled up into the half-circle driveway of the address Joe had given her, she was surprised to see so many other cars parked there. It was a huge house, one of those Beverly Hills mansions built during the days of the big stars in Hollywood. She wasn't being sent to any low-class John, that was for sure. Again, she felt confident. You didn't send any two-bit whore on a job like this. She was a class act. Joe's class act. He must think highly of her. To trust her with a job like this, she realized, was a compliment ... coming from Joe.
She found an empty spot in the driveway, parked the car, and got out. Even with all her new-found confidence, her finger shook a little as she pressed the shiny gold doorbell. She could hear quite a bit of noise coming from inside, shouting and laughing and the faint sounds of water splashing as people jumped into a pool. There was obviously a party going on. She wondered if she was going to be the only hooker there.
A guy who couldn't have been more than a year or two out of his teens opened the door. He was wearing only a brief bathing suit that barely managed to hold in the enormous weight of his manhood. He was holding a drink in his hand and weaving a little as he held on to the doorknob. One look at Catherine and he let out a long, low whistle.
"Bust my balls, baby, I hope you have the right address!"
"I believe I do," she said calmly, but holding her hands behind her to make sure they didn't start to shake. "Joe Carter sent me...."
"Yeah, you got the right address," he said, and instantly he reached out to grab hold around her waist and pull her inside, slamming her up against the door the moment he had closed it. Before she knew what was happening, the young man's hand was running hungrily up along her thighs, then inside her dress and all over her ass, pushing her panties down over it so he could take hold of her bare flesh there.
"Bust my balls, baby!" he cried out. "If you aren't just what the doctor ordered! Damn, what a piece you are!"
Then he started to push her roughly down the entrance landing into the huge living room which was filled with a lot of other young men who looked to be about the same age, some perhaps a little older, some younger still. Most were dressed only in bathing suits, some in shorts, a few in slacks and tennis shirts. Through sliding doors she could see other men around a pool, some swimming, some just standing around, drinking, talking. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of noise. Music was coming from somewhere, but it was barely audible.
"Hey, Freddie!" the young man who had opened the door cried out as his hand continued to explore the entire smooth surface of Catherine's ass, his middle finger playfully running along the line of her crack. "I think this pretty thing is looking for you."
Freddie turned from where he stood talking to a couple of other young men, all of them in wet bathing suits, water dripping onto the expensive Oriental rug on which they stood. One look at Catherine and he broke into a wide grin, then he ran his tongue around his lips, like a dog who has just heard dinner announced. His cock started to grow inside his bathing suit at once.
Catherine's eyes fell to the expanding lump between his legs and she was impressed. She looked up at Freddie and smiled, invitingly. An instant later he was up next to her, aggressively reaching out to grab hold of her mouth with his own, driving his tongue deep inside of her. Catherine responded instinctively, taking hold of the tongue and sucking on it thirstily. All the while the other young man's hand played at her ass, pushing her panties further and further down along her slim, white thighs. Then that hand danced in between her legs and found her pussy on the other side. It was already wet.
Freddie pulled away his mouth and took hold of her tits. They were so large and heavy with anticipation that his hands did a poor job of covering them. He pulled her dress apart and the two mounds of flesh fell out. Freddie picked them up in his hands and examined them.
"Damn! Joe Carter sure always comes through!" he said.
By then Catherine's eyes were closed, her tongue licking at her red lips. She was very turned on. She felt very natural, one man handling her tits, another sticking his fingers into her pussy. Yes, it all felt natural, right. She should have been horrified. Instead all she was thinking about was how hot she was to get fucked, in a hurry!
She felt the hand in her pussy being pulled out. "That's enough of that," Freddie said, as he continued to knead her tits round and round with his hands. "That pussy is for Hank. It's his present. And when he's ready to share it, I'm getting the first of the leftovers."
For a moment his long, hot tongue was inside her mouth again, and he was pinching her tits. Then he pulled away, threw an arm around her shoulders and pushed her into the crowd.
"Hey, fellows," he shouted out. "Got a little surprise for you!"
A lot of the guests had already noticed Catherine and had been eyeing her hungrily. Now the others turned and saw Catherine standing there with all that flesh hanging out of her dress and her panties pushed half way down her legs, and they started whistling and cheering, which caught the attention of those by the pool and they then came running into the living room to join the others. Soon the entire party stood clustered around Catherine, stretching their necks to get a better look.
Freddie raised his hands for quiet. "Okay, men," he said, "I told you I'd have a surprise for you ... well, here it is!"
He reached over and flipped up the skirt of Catherine's dress to give everyone a flash of her snatch. A loud, long roar rose up from the crowd. Catherine felt herself blush, but otherwise she remained calm. Only a slight quivering of her pussy hairs indicated a hint of how electrified she was. Then Freddie let the skirt fall to hide her bush once again and raised his arms a second time for quiet.
"Okay, okay," he said. "Now here's the deal. Our guest here...." He paused and leaned over to ask what her name was.
"Cathy...." she answered.
"Cathy here has come to give Hank a big send off before he enters that lifetime prison called marriage. Hank ... hey, buddy ... where are you? Get your ass over here."
There was a lot of pushing and booting then as a young, blond-haired man self-consciously stumbled out from the middle of the crowd. He looked to be no more than nineteen, but he was built like a football player, broad shouldered and hunky, and the pigskin that ran scrimmage inside his swimtrunks was so enormous that Catherine's knees went weak with expectation.
Hank's eyes were ablaze as he looked up and down her body, but he kept his hands behind his back as if he were afraid to reach out and touch her. Freddie pushed the two of them together and told Hank to go ahead....
"Give her tits a good squeeze," he laughed. "They won't break."
Gently, Hank took hold of one of the exposed breasts and began kneading it. The other guys laughed and poked one another in the ribs. Catherine smiled at Hank warmly. She could tell he did not like having to do this in front of everyone. She wanted him to know that she understood. She also hoped that he could read in her eyes how horny she was.
Once again, Freddie raised his arms for quiet. "Now look, guys ... Cathy here is my wedding present to Hank, and she doesn't come cheap. It's a hundred bucks a poke for this babe."
Lots of whistles rose up for a moment, then died. All Catherine was thinking was how that was only a third what had been paid for her by the men who came to her house. Was she already going down in value? Freddie went on.
"But as an added pleasure, my friend Joe Carter, who has supplied this bundle of beauty for us, has agreed to let all of those of you so inclined get your rocks off, too ... at only twenty bucks a hit!"
A huge roar went up from the crowd. Catherine's face turned red. Joe was giving her away ... practically giving her away!
"Yeah, yeah," Freddie quieted them down again. "But look ... Cathy is going to be keeping count, and if you take two shots, it's twice as much, you know? So let's keep this thing reasonable. I mean, we don't want the bill to be too outasight."
"What the hell, Standish?" someone yelled. "Your old man can afford it."
"Yeah, but he might want to know why the party cost so much and be angry when he learns he didn't get a piece of the action."
They all laughed at that as they crowded in closer, trying to get a better look at Catherine. Hank just stood there awkwardly playing with her tits and looking into her face with an expression of growing fervor. But Catherine was no longer looking at him. She was trying to estimate the size of the gathering. Ten ... twenty ... thirty ... there had to be at least forty guys there! And if each one of them took advantage of the offer ... she ticked it off in her head ... forty times twenty plus the hundred for Hank, plus a few would probably go through twice....
Why, it would come to about a thousand bucks! It made her hot thinking about all that money being laid in the palm of Joe's hand, and his knowing that she had done it all for him. Okay, he was giving her away pretty cheap. But it was a good total amount for only one night's work. But could she do it? Could she take on so many in one night? It seemed impossible. Yet ... she was hot, very hot, to try.
She pushed herself up close to Hank then to let him know she wanted to get started. She felt the great, long pole of a cock press up against her and after that she couldn't control herself any longer. She dropped instantly to her knees in front of him-in front of everyone!-and ripped his swimming trunks down.
A huge, throbbing beast of a cock came charging out and, not missing a beat, she took it in her mouth, down into her throat, swallowing the whole thing, her red ruby lips smothered up against his bush of blond pubic hairs. She felt his legs buckle against her shoulders as he strained to keep from stumbling down in shock. But she held him up with her hands pressed against his big ass and gobbled up his sex hungrily ... for all to see.
By then the room had grown very quiet. She peeked past Hank's hips and saw a room full of stunned young men, their cocks all growing in their pants and swimtrunks. She had never before seen so many cocks on the march at one time, and knowing that each one of them was growing because of her was such a hot turn-on-the idea that each one of those cocks would have explored her pussy before the night was through so intoxicated her-that for a moment she thought she might go out of control again. Her head had that all kind of hay-wire feeling again, her flesh tingling. But this time, she realized, it was she who had taken the initiative. She was the one in control. It was her pussy, her mouth, that was leading them on, rather than their cocks leading her on. This night she was going to get everything she wanted. And what she wanted most was their cocks ... each and every one of them!
A few of the men began to reach down inside their trunks or pants to grab hold of their stiff cocks as Hank's body tensed up against Catherine's and he threw his head back in agony. She could feel his seed rushing along the run of his cock, then into his godhead. She flicked her tongue around his pisshole to heat him up further.
At his age, she knew, he had never been sucked off so well before, maybe never sucked off by a chick at all, and she would not have to bother giving him her best job to bring him off. But she liked seeing how easy it was to take him to the edge, then force him back, keep his seed bubbling and close-oh, so close-yet not let him shoot off. She hadn't realized before that she could do that, and it excited her to see the control she could have over a cock in her mouth, how long she could extend the pleasure she gave to a man and his prick and pick her own moment when it would all end.
She suddenly pulled away from him and Hank's throbbing, hard tool bobbed with agony all over the place. Catherine fell back onto the floor, on her back, pulling the bottom half of her dress high above her waist. She stretched her legs as far apart as she could with her panties still stretched around her thighs and reached down to run her long, white fingers along the slit of her cunt, to part the folds of skin there, then place both her hands at her pussy and open it wide.
Hank was straddling her by then, his thick, football-player legs trembling wildly as he reached down to push his bathing suit completely off. When he kicked it aside, it landed close to Catherine's face, close enough so that she could turn her face aside and take hold of it with her teeth and flick it up to let it fall across her mouth and nose so that she could smell and taste the lingering of his sex and shit. And when she did, her hands went wild at her cunt, ripping it apart, her legs at the same time rubbing crazily up against one another, pushing the panties down to her feet. She kicked them away and then stretched her legs far, far apart, up into the air, and all the time her fingers tore at her pussy as her bush grew wet and dark and sweat covered her thighs.
She moaned loudly: "Fuck me, Hank. Come on, fuck me! Stick that beautiful big prick of yours in my cunt. Hurry! Hurry!"
"Oh, shit! Holy shit!" Freddie cried out. And by then the crowd was going crazy, practically slugging it out with one another to get to the front to see better. Almost every one of their cocks had by then been pulled free, and they were playing with themselves freely.
"Oh please, please!" Catherine heard one of the men plead with his cock. "Don't shoot off until we're inside that snatch. Just keep calm ... calm...."
"Hurry up, damn it, Hank!" Freddie hissed. "Can't you see she's close to having a mental breakdown? She likes that big dick of yours, man. Give it to her! What're you waiting for? Hurry up. I want my turn...."
Hank's eyes grew wide. "Here?" he asked. "In front of everyone?"
"Yeah, man ... here! Now! This is no time for modesty!"
"Oh, hell!" Hank moaned. "Oh, hell!" Slowly he sank down to his knees, then stretched out on top of Catherine's thrashing body, his hard cock aimed for her stretched-open pussy. Down, down he plunged into her, his body trembling with joy as he felt all the warm, silky sweetness of her insides envelope him, as he felt her let go of herself and let all the folds of her flesh slap up against his stiffened shaft and slide back and forth on it as he worked himself in and out, fighting to keep himself at bay.
Then he felt Catherine's legs come down around the small of his back and lock into place there, and he felt her lift her hips to him and force the very root of his extremely long prick inside of her pussy. He heard his balls slapping loudly up against the underside of her ass and then her tongue-her tongue was inside his mouth, churning, poking, traveling down into his throat, so far he actually started to gag on her tongue, and all the while her pussy was a churning, pulsating monster that chewed and sucked on his cock, licking at his pisshole for cum.
Give It To Me. Give It To Me ... her pussy cried as it kissed his cock with fire and then he felt her fingers go dancing down his back to his ass and then they were traveling into his crack, fingering his asshole and plunging in! Deep into his asshole a long, cold finger went until it found his prostate, and then she thrust the tip of a sharp, hard fingernail into it! .
Hank lifted his mouth from hers and cried out in agony and let himself unload freely inside of her, spurt after hot spurt, which her pussy greedily gobbled up. She had a hungry, hungry pussy, and all the time she pressed harder and harder against his prostate to force him to give up more cum, all the cum he had. It seemed an eternity-to both Hank and to everyone else in the room-before he stopped shooting off and screaming.
Then there were hands, hands pulling him off of her, and he was so exhausted all he could do was let them roll him over to the side and he lay there, breathing heavily, so weak-he had never felt so weak in his life, not even after the game against UCLA last season. Weakly, he rolled his head to the side and opened his eyes.
He saw the others all crowding in around Cathy. She was only a blur hidden behind the forest of their legs, legs that bobbed up and down as the men danced nervously on their toes, waiting their turn.
Freddie's cock was already buried deep in Cathy's throat as he straddled her face, and Mark Dodger was driving his hard prick in and out of her still-hungry cunt while Jeff Reinstock teased her nipples with his teeth. Then Mark shot off, crying all the time: "No, no ... not yet!" But even before he was through, even as the cum spurted from his pisshole, he, as Hank had been, was pulled away and someone flipped Cathy over and ripped apart her ass and rammed a ready prick easily into her shithole.
Cathy rose up on the cock, up to her hands and knees, and quickly two men crawled under her to feast on her heavy breasts, their heads banging into one another as they fought for position, and someone else's cock was shoved into Cathy's mouth, Freddie by then lying on the floor, as exhausted as Hank. Cathy's ruby red lips moved hungrily up and down the length of the new mouth-fucker, her long black eyelashes fluttering like new-born butterflies as she opened and closed her eyes-eyes full of delight and wonder.
But still it wasn't enough. There were too many too anxious to be pleased. They yanked her up to her knees so that one could get behind at her ass while another plunged into her pussy and a third stood in front and let her take a third cock in her mouth-her every-ready mouth. Three at a time they came to her, cocks plunging in and out, in and out, and all the while her body moved in perfect, controlled rhythm, back and forth, meeting each cock with like enthusiasm, equal pleasure. And one by one the men fell away from her and to the floor in exhaustion until slowly the room was carpeted in wasted, sweating flesh.
Hank looked on in amazement. He had never before known that women were as hot for it as men were, but if Cathy was an example, then he had no need to worry, as he had been, about his young bride to be. He had been uncertain how much he could do with her, how much she could take. But now he saw that she could take it all, all he had to give, and he grew hard thinking about what would happen two nights from then when they were alone for the first time in bed. He only hoped he could turn her on the way someone had turned Cathy on. He only hoped he was that good.
And all that time, what was Catherine thinking about? Not much of anything. After all, she didn't have much time to think with so many cocks plunging in and out of her. Mostly she was thinking about how good it felt-cocks banging up against one another inside of her and pushing their way down her throat-and how easy it was for her to take care of all of them. Also, of course, she was adding up numbers in her head, keeping tabs, keeping tabs for Joe.
Each time she felt a new cock move into her, she rang up another twenty dollars. And as the tally rose higher and higher and higher-like the cum in their cocks-the image of Joe was clearest in her mind, an image of his cock, and then the thought of that cock in her mouth, in her cunt. In time, each cock she felt inside of her became Joe's cock ... and then she felt herself growing calm, strangely calm, magnificently calm. And all at once she realized that she was in control, in control at last, in control of her lust for cock ... because she knew then that she would never again have to go without. Joe would keep her well supplied with cock from then on. She need never again worry or want. And one by one they plunged into her ... one by one....
