Sorti could barely wait for the cuntlapping to begin. His eyes were on the lesbians, and his mind was conjuring up images of tongue against labia, teeth on clit. "I have the floor," he said, trying to return his attention to the business at hand. "If you people don't shut your fucking mouths the meeting is going to be postponed." He pounded on the bookcase next to him for emphasis. "Order, goddamn it. I have the fucking floor."
The group quieted down, their mutterings ceasing as they realized that their leader meant business. Sorti, a wiry, tough-faced man of thirty, smiled grimly and scratched his balls through his jeans before going on.
"We were talking about the vaginal orgasm," he said, nodding toward an attractive, well-dressed blonde sitting in an easy chair at the far end of the living room. The girl unconsciously reached up to adjust her horn-rimmed sunglasses, which were oversized and had lavender lenses. Oversized, Sorti thought, oversized like her cunt.
"Thank you," the girl said quietly. She cleared her throat, delicately covering her mouth as she did so, and she smiled without self-consciousness as her audience turned around and gave her their full attention.
"The vaginal orgasm is a myth," she said. "A product of male chauvinism, the vaginal orgasm was introduced by Freud and preached by a host of his disciples-all of them male disciples, I might add, except for a few women who accepted penis envy as an important factor in their own lives.
"A value judgment-indeed, a moral judgment-is implicit in the concept of the vaginal orgasm. Freud, in conceiving the vaginal climax, was saying in effect that any female orgasm that was not vaginally induced was inferior and perhaps immoral. The clitoral orgasm was an unsatisfactory by-product of self-abuse; the vaginal orgasm, on the other hand, was an artistic masterpiece created by a penile 'brush', with every nuance of pleasure being provided compliments of the male sexual palette." The blonde gave a little nod to indicate that she was finished with her statement, and a hubbub ensued as the members of her audience tried to squeeze their two cents' worth in.
"Quiet," Sorti said sternly. "Thank you, Susan. You, Felsen-" He pointed to a stocky, dark-haired fellow who sported a heavy moustache. "What was it that you were about to say?"
Felsen got to his feet and grinned drunkenly. A half-empty pint bottle of V.O. was clutched tightly in his right hand.
"I beg your pardon." Felsen thumbed his nose at the man who had interrupted him, then extended the arm in the direction of Susan. "And I beg your pardon, too. Your trouble, Susan, is that you're a goddamn dyke. You wouldn't know what to do with a cock if someone offered it to you. You'd think it was just a clit with elephantiasis, or-" Felsen suddenly laughed for no apparent reason and made a grab for his fly. He had just opened it and yanked his flaccid four inches of prick through the zipper when a girl grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him off-balance. Felsen cursed as he hit the floor. His bottle broke in the fall, and the sharp odor of Canadian whiskey wafted throughout the room.
Sorti was shaking his head, more in disappointment than in anger. "That's the end of the discussion for tonight," he said. His voice carried the ring of authority. "We'll move on to the demonstration. Susan? Andrea? In your places, please."
Sorti retreated to a folding chair several feet from where he had been standing, and the blonde who had spoken only a few moments before rose from her chair and moved to the center of the room. She was joined by a tiny, almost child-like brunette who had a thin slit-like mouth and enormous brown eyes. "Andrea," Susan said softly. "I love you. It's been so long."
The blonde undressed first, unfastening the button front of her midi-length dress and slowly working the garment off her shoulders. She let the dress hang at hip-level for a moment, then loosened her fingers so that it fell to the floor. She was left standing in a tiny taffeta slip, a white confection that seemed incongruously small in comparison with the heavy woolen dress that she had been wearing only a moment before.
Every eye in the room was focused on Susan's body. Her thighs were perfectly formed; neither too muscular nor too soft. Perfect-there was no other word to describe them. Their proportions were somehow so lovely that they would have suited fashion designer and Playboy reader alike. "Where have you been keeping yourself?" Susan asked, her face flushing with warmth as she stared at the tiny brunette. "I tried to call you last week, and the week before, but-"
"I was in Italy. Making films."
"Oh." Susan pulled the slip over her head, revealing a magnificent navel. Her medium-sized tits were barely concealed by the flesh-colored brassiere that she wore, and her briefest of briefs clung to her mons veneris in a way that suggested an absence of pubic hair.
"Your brassiere," Andrea said quietly but with firmness. "Take it off. Now."
"Andrea, darling, take it off for me," the blonde said with a seductive smile.
Andrea shook her head. "No. You will take it off. Now." There was a threatening quality to her tone, and this seemed to make Susan all the more excited.
"Yes!" Susan said breathlessly. "Now, Andrea! I'll take it off-" She reached behind her back and undid the fastener, then shrugged the bra off her shoulders and let it drop away from her breasts. "Here! I give you my tits, Andrea!" She closed her eyes and dropped the brassiere to the floor, then moved her hands to her breasts and cupped each hillock of flesh with trembling fingers, squeezing the white-skinned tissue, making the delicate network of pale blue veins stand out, causing the soft pink nipples to change their shape and texture until they stood out bumpy and red and hard.
"Your pants," Andrea commanded. "Remove them, please."
"Touch my breasts first," Susan whimpered. "You don't have to suck them, or even to kiss them. Just touch them, please. Remember the time I let you touch them for the first time? No other woman had touched them, Andrea. Not ever. You were the first. The first to touch my breasts, to-" Susan swallowed hard, then shook her head as if to bring her thoughts back to the present. "My panties. Of course. I'm sorry." She inserted a pair of fingers on either side of the waistband and pushed. The briefs slid past the hipbones, over the lower belly, past the stark white surface of her recently shaven mons. "I shaved for you," she breathed. "So you could see me better." She stepped out of the right leg opening, then the left. She parted her thighs, rose on tiptoe, and reached between her thighs, using her fingers to part the thick outer lips. "Look at my pussy," she managed to say. "I shaved it for you, Andrea. So you could see it, and taste it, and... " Susan suddenly remembered where she was. She blushed furiously, the pink of her face turning to a raspberry shade. She let go of her twat and let her hands dangle at her sides.
"You should have asked me before shaving yourself," Andrea said in a flat, expressionless tone. "Suppose I had wanted to shave you myself."
"But Andrea, I merely wanted to-"
"To make me happy. Of course." The brunette smiled wanly and stepped toward Susan, unbuttoning her man's shirt as she went. "And you have made me happy. I shall make you happy. And then you will make me happy again, in a different way. But for now I am going to stand here, just stand here, and permit you to help me get undressed. I have unfastened three buttons of my shirt. You will do the rest. You will remove the shirt, then my jeans. And then... you will remove everything, Susan."
"Yes," the blonde said, shuddering at the thought.
"Why?" Andrea reached out and let a finger touch the very tip of Susan's right nipple. "Why will you remove my clothing for me, Susan?"
"Because I love you," Susan said, the words coming out as a sigh.
Andrea smiled. "Yes, you love me. And I love you."
Susan hesitated for a second, then tremblingly reached for the fourth button of Andrea's shirt. The brunette rested a hand on Susan's right hip as Susan nervously undid the fourth button, then the fifth, then the sixth.
"Take the shirt off," Andrea said when the garment was completely unfastened. "Don't just stand there. Take it off."
Susan uttered a tiny cry of excitement as she pushed the shirt off Andrea's shoulders. The smaller girl was tan underneath the shirt, and the shirt came off to reveal delicately-hewn muscles on her upper and lower arms. The biceps were like the sinews of frogs' legs, the forearms were powerful yet somehow feminine at the same time. "Your pants now?" Susan asked shyly. Andrea nodded, and Susan reached for the brunette's heavy leather belt.
The audience, all of them eager to see the exhibition which was about to take place, abandoned their chairs and sofas and tiptoed into a circle around the two girls. One by one the group fell into cross-legged positions on the floor, staring upward as Susan unfastened the belt, then the snap of the jeans, then the zipper.
One girl let out a soft "Ah!" as the jeans fell to the carpet and Susan dropped to her knees to lift Andrea's feet out of the pants legs, one at a time.
Sorti, who sat where he could see both girls in profile, began a narration. "Lesbianism," he said quietly. "A perversion, some would say. A corruption of God's plan. An unnatural, deviant form of love. Yet there's nothing unnatural about the way these two girls are going at each other. Look at Susan-at those hard nipples, those swelling tits. At the inner lips going from virgin pink to flaming red between her thighs. Cunts were made for fucking... or were they? Perhaps they were, once; but today there is room for so much more. For fingers, lips, tongues, teeth, dildoes... " Sorti chuckled. "Bananas. Cucumbers. For whatever man or woman chooses to insert in the name of lust and love."
Sorti paused as Susan tremblingly pressed her body against Andrea's and reached around the brunette's trunk to unhook the bra. The brassiere went loose, Susan stepped back. "Remove it," Andrea commanded. "Now. Without delay."
Susan hesitated for the briefest of moments, then moved to obey. Her quivering fingers grasped the cups, dug into the soft cotton material, pulled the cups away from the tits. The bra fell away, came down off Andrea's shoulders to the forearms and then to the wrists, dropped over the brunette's hands and then to the floor as Susan stared at the tits. And what tits! Small, but delicious in their olive complexion and glorious in their firmness. It was as if they had been sculpted from some rare wood brought to life. "Oh, Andrea...!" Susan moaned, throwing her arms around her friend's trunk and plunging her face between the petite yet cuddlesome tits. She grasped Andrea tightly, pulling the smaller girl against her face. Then, as if by instinct, she drew one hand back and placed it gently on the brunette's right breast, at the same time moving her face a foot or so away from the bosom and contemplating the oversized nipple of the hand-held tit.
"It's brown," Andrea said softly. "Not pink like yours. Opposites attract, don't they?" She chuckled, and her voice was beginning to sound harsh. "Let go of my tit, Susan. There'll be time for that soon enough."
Sorti interrupted, his voice quiet and low. "Remove her panties, Susan. Hurry, now-you don't want to keep us waiting." He laughed. "Or Andrea waiting, for that matter."
Susan took a deep breath and dropped to her knees, her hands clawing at Andrea's hips, trying to stop the trembling long enough to grasp the black satin boxer shorts that hung sensuously over Andrea's firm hipbones and buttocks. She pulled downward, as hard as she could; the weak elastic of the waistband gave way and the shorts fell to Andrea's knees in a single jerking movement. Susan gasped, groaned, and plunged her face into the muff, the black mass of thick, wiry curls that extended from Andrea's crotch almost to the navel. The thatch grew in a diamond pattern, more like a man's than a woman's. Susan sunk her teeth into the curls, spread the flat of her tongue against the pussy hair, whimpered joyfully as her fingers gripped Andrea's thighs, then her knees, then her buttocks. Susan's fingernails left little red marks where they dug into the olive flesh.
Sorti, still sitting cross-legged only a few feet away, grinned and sniffed loudly. "Someone is eager," he said.
"Who isn't?" The redhead who had tossed off that comment was breathing heavily and had forced her fist between her tightly clasped thighs. She rocked rhythmically to and fro as she watched the pair of naked women. "Stop playing around," she called to Susan and Andrea. "If I come before you do, it'll be... " She hesitated, then giggled and went on. "Hurry up, or it'll be for shit."
"I shaved for you!" Susan had pulled her face away from Andrea's mons and was bending backward, her calves and shins still tucked beneath her thighs. "Look at me!" she begged. "Look at my naked twat-" She closed her eyes, inhaled sharply, and managed to spread her knees wide apart without moving her feet from their place beneath her buttocks. She now lay spread-eagled on the floor except for her lower legs; her knees were parted so wide that it looked as though another inch of spread would split her glistening cunt. And what a cunt it was, with its pink-tan outer lips, its slick red labia minora, its tiny summit-like clit almost hidden in the valley of juicy, literally quivering flesh.
"Open it wider," Sorti interrupted softly. "Hold the lips with your fingers. The inner flaps, Susan-there, that's right. Pull them apart, now. Yes, just like that. Pull them wider apart so that Andrea can see inside, so she can stare all the way up to your womb... "
Andrea, too, was excited now. Her eyes were fixed on Susan's shaven pussy, and her nipples stood brown and hard. Her cunt exuded a heavy odor, and as she dropped to her knees between Susan's parted thighs her asshole let loose with an involuntary fart. "You little bitch," she said softly, with a chuckle, as she let her fingers run up and down the inner surfaces of Susan's thighs. "You little blonde whore."
Susan bit her lip. Her eyes were closed, her forehead was furrowed, her lips were twisted in a grimace of pleasure and pain. She needed it, of course. It. The tongue. Andrea's tongue, the tongue for which she so often longed.
"Kiss me," Susan begged. "Right there. Right now. Like... like you used to do before!" The sentence ended in a sob as Andrea's middle finger stabbed into the ragged opening of her cunt. Susan twitched, lifted her buttocks off the carpet, kicked one leg out straight and cried out with need as the foot fell back on the floor. She writhed to one side, drawing the other leg from its place under her thighs and stretching it out, extending the toes, almost going into a spasm as Andrea's finger probed her moist inner depths. "Suck me!" she whimpered. "Andrea, I need you now-"
"No." It was Sorti speaking, his voice firm and loud. "You will wait your turn, Susan. Andrea has been away from us for a while. She must be allowed to receive her pleasure first." Sorti nodded to Andrea, who had half turned toward him. "Squat over Susan's face, Andrea. Hurry-that's right, duck-waddle forward until- ah, right there. Perfect." Sorti took a deep breath, then continued in a softer but equally commanding tone. "Squat lower. Lift your heels off the carpet; there, that will increase the tension. By increasing the tension, you heighten the pleasure. Balance there; no hands. Place your hands on the back of your head, Andrea. On the back of your head! I want to see your tits standing out straight and firm. Ah, lovely. Hold your hands there, Andrea-don't move them! Balance on the balls of your feet. It isn't hard once you get the hang of it. Susan? Are you licking her yet, Susan? Stop fucking around, you lesbian bitch!" Sorti's voice had become a snarl. "Lick her. Yes, lick her! With your tongue, not just the tip of it but the whole surface, the whole tongue flattened against her cunt. Lick her till the hair is as wet as... " He laughed. "But I guess it's pretty wet already. I'll tell you what, Susan. Bring your fingers up to the vulva. Start by probing the vestibule, gently, gently, gently-gently! I said-while your tongue licks the clit." Sorti leaned forward, squinting in an effort to get a better look.
"Not bad. Keep it up, Susan. Get that arm back behind your head, goddamn it!" he shouted to Andrea. "There. Perfect. Rock back and forth if you wish, Andrea. Only don't lose your balance. Remember- weight on the balls of your feet. Try not to wiggle your toes too much; you'll end up shifting your center of gravity. Calves tight, thighs stiffened and well apart. Use your ankles to control movement. Forward, backward... Try lowering your ass a little; move your feet apart. Nice, nice. Susan, I want you to stick two fingers in her twat. Two, I said, not one or three. One is too little for a cunt like that one; three will make her come too soon. Two fingers, that's the way. And your thumb on the inner surface of the buttocks; keep it away from the asshole for now."
Sorti paused, watching as Susan did as she was told. He glanced around at the rest of the group; all eyes were focused on Susan's head and the black bush above Andrea's twat. "Lovely," he said. "Remove your fingers now, Susan. Pull your tongue away-" He grinned as Susan obeyed him; he knew how Andrea would respond, and he was correct. Andrea cried "No!" and forced her pussy against Susan's face; Susan hesitated for a moment, her nose sunk deep into Andrea's cunt, but then, obediently, she followed Sorti's instructions and forced her face free of the brunette's hairy crotch.
"Don't!" Andrea whimpered. "Sorti, you bastard, you-" Sorti laughed. "All right. Resume licking, Susan. But just the clit for now. Try a circular pattern, the tip of your tongue going from the shaft along the right edge of the clit to the bud, then back down the left side to the base... more of an ellipse than a circle, really, but you get the idea. Do you like that, Andrea?" He paused. "Answer me, Andrea. Do you like it? If you don't tell me, I'll make Susan withdraw her tongue from your twat."
"Shit, yes!" Andrea croaked. "Yes!"
"How much do you like it?" Sorti persisted. "Enough to... "
Andrea exhaled heavily, simultaneously rotating her ass and cunt above Susan's probing tongue.
"Enough to let me fuck you?" Sorti asked with a grin.
"You bastard." Andrea was gasping, but she too was grinning. "You bastard, you no-good... "
"Answer with one word. Yes or no."
"Yes!" Andrea closed her eyes, savored the sensations emanating from her clitoris, shuddered from shoulders to ankles for everyone to see.
"Very well. Place your finger against her asshole, Susan. Gently, for now. Just tickle it lightly, touch it just enough for her to get the idea." Sorti watched closely as Susan followed orders. He nodded his approval as she scraped her fingernail loosely over the dimpled asshole, as she picked off stray bits of lint and dried shit.
"Perfect," Sorti told her. "Now, then. Finger forward, upward, very hard. Stick it in there, goddamn it! That's right, Andrea, wince if you want to. Scream, curse, anything as long as you don't let those heels touch the floor. Up on the balls of your feet, goddamn your dark dyke hide! Ah, yes. Try working the finger deeper into Andrea's ass, Susan. Twist it a little; that usually helps. Is it working? Fine. Now I want you to hook the finger slightly, bend it into a modified 'L' shape, with the first two joints at a fifty- to sixty-degree angle. Hmmm. Heels off the floor, Andrea! Susan, I'm proud of you. You're doing very well... "
Sorti shut up, leaving the girls to their own devices. He watched approvingly, his own body starting to respond as the reclining Susan began to shove her ass forward and backward on the carpet, her knees clasped tightly together and her cunt seeking to find pleasure through the squeezing pressure of her thighs. He watched as Andrea opened her mouth, let her jaw go slack, drooled saliva out of one corner of her lips and along the side of her chin and down onto Susan, whose hair was spread out, fan-like, on the floor. He smiled happily and reached for his zipper as Andrea whimpered something unintelligible and strained to keep her hands where they belonged, behind her head. He licked his lips and drew his semi-rigid cock from his trousers as Susan reached up with her free hand and grasped Andrea's left tit. He closed his eyes for a second, then reopened them and glanced briefly at his seven inches of hardening meat before returning his gaze to Andrea, who was literally panting as she reached her peak of desire.
Now, as Andrea's voice suddenly filled the room with a garbled stream of love words and obscenities, Sorti found himself jerking hard on his organ, pulling on the thick veined shaft with his callused fingers sliding over the sensitive glans as the uncircumcised foreskin came back to reveal the red-purple head of his masculinity. It was a good cock, an eager cock, a cock that would have crammed its way into Andrea's pussy by now had it not been for the act which was taking place in the midst of this panting, staring group of voyeurs.
Come, Andrea! he wanted to cry. Spill your juices on her face, fart on her finger, shit on her bosom, spray her with menstrual fluid, punch and kick her into insensibility, show the violence of your pleasure in a violent, passionate deed...
Sorti couldn't help laughing at himself. Such fantasies, he thought. He stared at Susan, who had taken the hand that had been fondling Andrea's tit and placed it on her own twat. The fingers were parting the shaven labes, fingering the clitoris, spreading juice over the love flesh, finally poking inside.
"I'M COMING!" Andrea suddenly shouted, and indeed she was on the verge of spilling all. She rose high on her toes, her hands falling from their place behind her head and seizing her own tits, the right hand pausing there for but an instant prior to dropping to the thatch, to the slit, to the clitoris where it settled and kneaded the shaft of the organ even as the bud was being slobbered upon by Susan's eager tongue. She closed her eyes, inhaled sharply, then released the vast quantity of air in a long, shuddering groan.
When it was over, Andrea staggered to her feet and grinned. Then, turning her face toward Sorti, she thrust her hips forward and opened the floodgates, letting her piss spray down on the sputtering Susan like a warm tropical rain.
To Sorti, Andrea's act was a command. He closed his eyes and let go of his cock; the stiff prick stood quivering for a second or so, then shot rope after rope of epoxy-like fluid into the air, onto the carpet, onto the clothes of the masturbating folk around him and onto Andrea's muscular calves and thighs.
Two hours later. The group had dressed and departed. There had been the usual debate on whether or not the evening should turn into a fuck-fest and, as always, half the group had gone away mad. Sorti grinned. Ah, the perils of being a master! He understood how Charles Manson must have felt at the height of his alleged hypnotic career.
Sorti yawned. It was late, and he needed sleep rather badly. He had been staying up past his bedtime far too often in the past few weeks. Group activities, routine pick-ups, even reading... there always was something to keep him awake when he should be asleep. Sorti glanced at his watch. It was two-thirty A.M. Time for all decent folk to be in bed.
FLASHBACK NO. 1 (a la The Naked and the Dead): Sorti was twenty-eight and new to New York. He had arrived the day before, being upchucked into the Port Authority Bus Terminal by a Continental Trailways cruiser, a split-level model where you sat high above the auto traffic as you sped and inched along America's highways, byways and pikes. The terminal was depressing-crowded, top-heavy with commuters and MP's.
The MP's in particular made Sorti angry. Having some asshole with a billy club and fancy armband come up and ask, "Hey buddy, are you in the service?" wasn't Sorti's idea of a friendly welcome to New York. "Fuck you," he snarled to one military policeman, and it almost got him into a fight. Take the bus and leave the driving to us-hogwash, poppycock and bullshit.
It was half past noon on a Saturday. The date was January 24, and it was snowing outside. Sorti waited for his bags-one had been lost; he decided it was fruitless to bother filling out a tracer-and staggered into the street with them, not knowing where or how a body was supposed to get a taxi. Two cabs went by; the driver of the third taxi slowed down, sped up, finally changed his mind and stopped, backing up to where Sorti was standing and motioning for Sorti to open the door.
"Where to?" The man was surly. Maybe it was true, all the things Sorti had heard about New York? "A hotel. Any hotel, so long as it's cheap." The driver shook his head. "You got me, buddy." Sorti was irritated. "Oh, for Christ's sake. You must know of a cheap hotel."
"Yeah, but none of them are worth two bits."
"That's fine and dandy. Find me one that's worth about a dime. The cheaper the better. I'm looking for a bed, not luxury. Step on it-your meter is counting waiting time."
The cabbie took him to a joint on Washington Place, a shoddy little hostelry called the Parisian Arms. He didn't help Sorti with his bags. "You want a bellboy, you hire a bellboy" was the way he put it. Sorti paid the man off, gathered his luggage from the front seat of the taxi, and carried his gear inside. The hotel lobby was dirtier than the sooted snow of the street outside, and Sorti had to gather up all his self-discipline to keep from executing a 180-degree turn.
"You want a room?" The voice belonged to a small, slimy chap in a faded iridescent suit. The man's black hair was heavily greased and combed back. He looked sneakier than Richard Nixon.
"I want a cheap room," Sorti said. "Cheap."
The man shrugged. "I can give you a single, no basin or bath, for four dollars a day." His voice was reedy, and the words came out backed by a constant wheeze.
"Four bucks a day seems like a lot of money for-"
"Four dollars, three-seventy-five... I won't argue with you. It's all the same. Three-seventy-five. Okay?"
Sorti smiled, pleased with himself. "Okay."
"Room 36, third floor. I'll get the nigger to run you up in the elevator."
The nigger? Sorti winced. He didn't like the expression, didn't like the kind of man who'd say it. How would you feel if I called you a kike? he wanted to ask, but of course he didn't. "Yeah, get the nigger," he said, hoping the sarcasm would come through. It didn't. Sorti felt his ears burn as the man smiled and gave him a wink as if recognizing a fellow bigot.
Sorti was soon in his room. And a depressing room it was, too, with a creaking twin bed (mattress about three inches thick over flat, not coil, springs), an old-fashioned wardrobe and a dirty linoleum floor.
There was an ancient dresser in one corner, a three-drawer affair coated with chipped green paint and topped by a giant placemat of sorts that turned out to be little more than a giant paper doily. Sorti lifted the paper and frowned as he saw what was underneath. The top of the dresser was scarred with names and telephone numbers that had been carved in, etched into the paint with a ballpoint stylus or applied with fingernail polish. "Amie sucks... 843-1000", "Harry has 8 inches at 921-2463", a half-dozen other names and numbers. All men's names. Fags. Sorti's mouth felt dry. He had seen enough fags in prison, had made it with a few in his time. He still felt mildly uptight about his experiences. No queer stuff for him, not after seeing nothing but men for those eight years in jail. Sorti wanted something else. Namely, a piece of ass. Female ass. Though "ass" may have been a less than appropriate term, considering how many assholes he had seen penetrated during those years at Lewisburg Federal U.
Sorti unpacked slowly, trying not to feel too depressed as he hung his shirts and second-hand sport jacket in the dusty wardrobe. He opened the top drawer of his dresser; the bottom was covered with paper and contained two dead roaches. Sorti sighed wearily, picked the roaches up with his bare fingers, and tossed them into the small metal wastebasket next to the rickety writing table. He then filled the drawer with socks and underwear, a stack of clothing that represented a large portion of his total assets. A man didn't put much money in the bank when he was serving time in a Federal pen.
Sex. Sorti trembled as he thought of a bright, glistening, juice-slathered female cunt. He hadn't seen one, not in a long time. And the last time he had seen one... ah, but that was many years ago. He had learned a great deal since then. He had learned the meaning of common sense, even if he hadn't acquired a sense of social responsibility.
Sorti looked at his Timex. Several hours to supper. Then what? A movie, a walk through the Village, maybe an attempt to crash the student center at NYU? Or maybe you didn't have to crash it at all. Perhaps you just walked right in. Oh, fuck it. Sorti, exhausted, needed to take a nap.
Hours later. Sorti was awake, rubbing his eyes. He was still dressed, his body stretched out on the sagging bed. He yawned, then noticed the pressure in his bladder. He got off the bed, went into the hall, and looked for a bathroom. He found one, three doors away. It had an ancient bathtub lifted off the floor on claw-like iron feet, a large washbowl, and a foul-smelling toilet with an overhead tank. Sorti held his breath as best he could, flipped the lid up, and pissed into the John. When he had finished, he shook off the last drops of urine and reached for the flush lever that hung from a rusty chain. Christ. It sounded like a flash flood, the water roaring down from the tank into the toilet, foaming and bubbling and at last settling there in a singularly unattractive pond.
Sorti washed his hands, remembered that he hadn't brought a towel with him, and wiped his wet hands on his pants. He was hungry. Refreshed and hungry. Hungry for food, for companionship, for sex.
Nine AM. Sorti woke up, thanking God for small favors as he remembered that the Parisian Arms was all in the past, that his latest encounter with the reedy-voiced man and the stained toilet was no more than a nostalgic dream.
How long had it been now? A year and a half? Two years? The time had gone by so quickly. In those brief twenty-one or twenty-two months-it was closer to twenty-three months, now that he thought of it-Sorti had progressed from impoverished ex-con to... to what? To something better, that was for certain. Good money, good sex. He could fuck more or less at will. He didn't have a steady girl friend, and he would have been at a loss for partners were there a sudden dissolution of the group, but the group had become so well-established that it seemed as if it had always been an integral part of his life.
Sorti smiled. For an ex-con, an ex-con who had been imprisoned on a sex charge, no less, he was doing all right.
The doorbell rang. "Just a minute!" Sorti called out, not caring that he couldn't be heard through the soundproofed door. Every door in the apartment was soundproofed, as were the ceiling, floor and walls. It seemed a sensible precaution against nosey neighbors and curious cops. People were likely to call the police if they woke up at four AM. to the sounds of a full-scale sex orgy.
Sorti hurried into the bathroom, emptied his bladder, flushed the toilet and headed for the front door without washing his hands. He unfastened the three bolts and opened the door a notch, using the heavy guard chain for security. "Andrea!" he said, surprised to find himself facing the dark-haired, fiery-eyed girl.
"You said I was supposed to be here by nine-thirty," she told him, appearing to be hurt by his failure to remember their appointment.
"Oh?" He furrowed his brow, trying to get everything straight in his head.
"Last night. Before everyone left. Remember?"
"Well, I don't, I-" He thought again. "Oh, sure. Look, why don't you come in?" He closed the door partway to release the chain, then opened it again and gestured for Andrea to step inside. She crossed the threshold quickly, looking somewhat nervous as she glanced down at his large, flaccid cock.
"You're naked, you know," she reminded him.
Sorti blinked, then grinned. "You're right. I am."
"It makes me uneasy."
Sorti chuckled. "That's just fine."
Andrea, dressed in velvet bellbottoms and a purple knit top, took up a position on the sofa while she waited for Sorti to tell her what to do. He raised his finger as if to silence her, walked quickly to the bedroom, and returned to the living room wearing a black satin robe patterned on a karate expert's coat.
"Last night was fun, wasn't it?" Sorti said with a grin.
Andrea shrugged, but her lips were slightly curled in a wry smile. "You humiliated me, Sorti."
"That was the general idea."
"In front of everyone, no less. You always do that-humiliate a person in front of the group. You're sick, did you know that?"
Sorti shrugged, his shoulders moving more forcefully than Andrea's had done a moment before.
"Why did you ask me to come here?" Andrea asked.
Sorti rubbed his chin, thinking it over. "I don't remember, to tell you the truth."
"To humiliate me some more?"
"Perhaps." He laughed.
"You humiliated me enough last night."
"I know. You said that," he pointed out.
"I love Susan, you know."
"I know."
"And she loves me." Andrea said it almost violently, as if challenging him to an argument.
"I'll go along with that," Sorti agreed.
"It cheapens our love when you humiliate us that way."
Sorti laughed, long and hard. When he had finished, he got to his feet and went to the stereo, where he put on a John Philip Sousa record. "Our Director," he said, holding up the record jacket. "Written in honor of me."
"You cheapen us, Sorti."
He shrugged. "I know. That's the general idea."
Andrea pursed her lips in anger but stood up and began to undress.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Undressing, of course."
"For heaven's sake, why?" He affected ignorance.
"You bastard."
"First you come in here saying we had an appointment of some kind, now you start to take off your clothes... " He chuckled, an odd tone in his laugh.
"For God's sake, Sorti-"
"I don't know what you expect me to do," he said.
"You're going to humiliate me, of course."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Just like you did last night."
He smiled. "I see."
"How are you going to humiliate me?" she asked him.
"I'm going to fuck you." He said it quietly, matter-of-factly.
"The regular way, or... "
He shook his head. "In the ass, baby. In the ass." Sorti laughed as Andrea finished stripping and reluctantly, fearfully, angrily fell onto all fours.
CHAPTER TWO
THIS was the sort of thing that had characterized his fantasy life when he had organized the group two years earlier. Those first few months in New York had been hard though-scraping for a living, failing in a succession of pointless and boring jobs, surviving only by paring expenses very, very close to the bone and giving a fag a blow-job now and then. Sorti winced as he thought back to those whoremongering days, to the times when he had posed as a pimp and then, when the Johns asked to meet their partner, said "You're looking at him-hands, asshole and mouth."
Yes, times had been tough, but only because Sorti wasn't about to settle for less than he had laid out for himself before coming to New York. He had come to the big city with a single goal: to make good money having a lot of fun. He would organize a group of would-be swingers who had never managed to satisfy their fancies and fantasies with the sort of people they could pick up in Democratic clubs and singles bars. A fellow would be interested in, say, urolagnia but wouldn't know where to turn. Sorti, by advertising in the various underground publications and carefully screening the replies, would act as a matchmaker and Scout leader. Once he had someone who liked to piss, he would locate someone else who enjoyed being pissed on. At that point all he had to do was tell each of the other's existence and invite both to join the Group for Sensual Involvement which-like a corporate bigwig-he often shortened to GSI. Dues were high-fifty to a hundred dollars per month, depending on the individual member's financial status and the oddness of his hangup-but once the group had been established for a while and its existence had become widely known through word-of-mouth advertising, Sorti found himself making a great deal of money indeed. He had no overhead to speak of (just a large apartment, a phone bill, and a miniscule advertising budget), and the group now had close to a hundred active members. His current gross receipts were in the neighborhood of seven thousand dollars a month. Yes, Sorti was doing all right from a long green point of view.
He was doing all right sexually, too. Few of the new female members-the heterosexuals, anyway-were able to resist the chance to get laid by the founder and president of GSI. They no doubt figured that he must have a certain hypnotic appeal, and to a certain extent they were right, Sorti was a magnetic sort of fellow; it took guts and drive to create something like the Group for Sexual Involvement, after all. His erotic technique had become a bit rusty thanks to those eight years in prison, but he had acquired ejaculatory self-control through careful masturbation and made up in energy what he temporarily lacked in technique.
"Well?" Andrea looked up at him crossly. She was still crouched on the floor, her knees parted wide enough so that Sorti could see her cunt through the lower cheeks of her ass.
"I was thinking." And he still was, though his thoughts were now returning to her crotch and to what he intended to do with it. Should he eat her out first; should he simply fuck her in the ass and dispense with trying to bring her sexual pleasure; or should he fuck her in. the ass but simultaneously provide maximum manual stimulation to her cunt?
"Is this part of your humiliation of me?" she asked wearily. "Making me kneel here like this without knowing when you're going to suddenly drop to your knees and fuck my guts to kingdom come?"
Sorti laughed. "I'm sorry, my dear." He leaned over and stroked her ass lightly, marveling at the lovely olive flesh. "You've got fantastic skin," he told her.
"Thank you," she said drily.
"You'd look great covered with baby oil. Or olive oil." He beamed, proud of his sudden inspiration. "Olive oil. Christ, that's perfect. Olive oil for olive skin. I think I've got some in the kitchen. Hang on a minute and-"
"Sorti! Please don't do that." She was begging, but in a calm and almost matter-of-fact tone. Sorti wondered if she was purposely avoiding a whimper or a whine; could it be that she knew such a plea would only increase his desire to humiliate her completely?
"Wait a minute," he told her firmly. "I'm going to get the olive oil."
Andrea muttered something obscene, but Sorti ignored her. He strode to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a half-gallon can of olive oil dangling from his right hand. "Great stuff," he said. "Imported from Italy. There's all kinds of Italian shit written on the can. You can pretend you're back in Wopland making films."
Sorti removed his bathrobe, not wanting to stain it with the oil. He unscrewed the can's tin cap and knelt behind Andrea. Chuckling softly, he poured a small quantity of the golden oil into the palm of his hand and clenched his fist, working the oil over his fingers. Next he opened the hand and rested it on Andrea's buttocks, letting it glide over the curved buns leaving a shiny, slimy trail in its path.
Slowly, delightedly, Sorti smeared the oil over the girl's calves and thighs. Then he thought of something. "We're going to soil the rug. Crawl over to that patch of tile." He pointed to the sunporch. "There, next to the glass doors." Andrea reluctantly obeyed, and the oily surfaces of her ass and legs glistened in the sunlight that poured in through the sliding glass doors leading off the sunporch to the balcony outside.
Ah, yes. This was going to be nice. Sorti carried the can to Andrea, whose nose was only inches away from the glass.
"What if the neighbors see?" she asked.
"They won't. Mine won't, anyway. The only building with a view of this sunporch is a half-block away, so I don't have to worry about anyone reporting me to the super or beating on my door. No, if someone sees us, we'll simply give him a good show." Sorti grinned and began to slather the olive oil onto Andrea's back, eventually working the stuff over her shoulders and under her armpits and finally to her small, delicately formed breasts.
"Your nipples." Sorti coated the buds with oil. "Hmm. Getting hard, aren't they?" he said with a chuckle.
Andrea's reply was cool. "It's the draft, that's all."
"What draft? I sure don't have any goose bumps. Hell, the thermostat is set at eighty degrees. It's a good temperature for nudity, don't you think?" Sorti smeared the oil into her cleavage, returned his hand to the can, and filled his palm with another generous dollop of oil. Soon he was slathering the stuff on her belly, into her navel, onto the magnificent briar patch of her pubic hair.
"I'm going to fuck you, Andrea," he sighed, trying to sound apologetic. "I know you aren't going to like it, but what the hell. Women were created to serve men. Oh, I know an assertion like that isn't going to win me any plaudits from Women's Lib, but those dames are just a bunch of dykes anyway. Women are man-servers, Andrea," he said, rubbing the oil into the crevice of her ass. "Look at their basic design. The cunt is a passive instrument, basically, a receptacle for man's desire. Anything a woman does with it merely enhances the male's pleasure. The male, on the other hand can fuck a woman without bringing her any satisfaction at all. He can introduce fantastic variations into the sex act, all for his own orgasmic well-being. I'd hate to be a woman, Andrea. It must be a tremendous pain in the ass."
Andrea stiffened, perhaps because Sorti's fingers were sliding closer to her asshole as he finished his last sentence, and Sorti laughed. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to make you nervous about what we're going to-be doing a few minutes from now."
And what an asshole it was, too! He could tell simply by pushing against the anus from the outside that this was going to be a hell of a rectal fuck. There was a swollen quality to the asshole, a taut and firm swollenness, that told him there was a powerful set of muscles under there. A sphincter with spirit, a ring of muscle tissue that was going to squeeze God knew how many ounces of jism out of his angry, aching cock.
He wondered how she had become a lesbian. What the hell was wrong with a healthy man-woman fuck? Licking and sucking were well and good, but there were inherent limitations on the lesbian repertoire. That was the nice thing about heterosexuality-you could use your mouth until you were slobbering all over the bed, and then you could perform sexual calisthenics for hours on end. Man on top, woman on top, side-by-side, dog-style, in the pussy, in the ass... no, you couldn't beat man-woman sex. Not in Sorti's book. Though he wasn't about to put down bisexuality, since occasional queer acts added even greater scope to one's total sex life.
Sorti had smeared olive oil all over Andrea's body by now, and he was adding a second coat to her rectal crack.
"It feels greasy," she said.
"Not greasy. Slippery," he corrected. "Olive oil has a smooth, antifrictional texture while Vaseline and other lubricants tend to be sticky. Let's put a little more oil on your ass... " Sorti pushed against her asshole, attempting to force his slippery fingers into the opening, and Andrea pulled away.
"Damn you-" she started to protest, then stopped.
"And your cunt. We mustn't forget your cunt." He removed his hand from her ass, poured more oil onto the fingers, and plunged the hand into her fur-lined furrow. Andrea jerked away as three fingers forced their way into the opening; Sorti simply laughed and pushed deeper inside. "A little fingerfucking is good for you," he told her. "Maybe we can drive away some of those dyke tendencies. Pretend that you're fifteen and I'm sixteen, and that I'm fingerfucking you in a drive-in theatre... " He thrust the fingers in and out of her twat, relishing the splat-splat sound made by each stroke of knuckles against moist love flesh. He let his thumb creep around until it found her clitoris, whereupon he began to stroke the bud slowly. Nail scraping lightly along the clithead, whorled ball of the thumb caressing the surrounding tissue, thumb shifting position so it could work itself into the cunt alongside the fingers, hooking itself around the inner ring of the vaginal sphincter and becoming slick with the gathering juices of Andrea's growing desire.
"So you want to get fucked, huh?" Sorti said with a grin. "Well, you're going to have to beg for it."
Andrea's laugh sounded more like a retch. "Fat chance," she told him.
"Ah, but you're jumping to conclusions, my dear. You're assuming an inability to achieve heterosexual orgasm before you've given it a fair try."
"I've been fucked before," she said angrily.
"Not by me, you haven't. Which reminds me-have you had it in the ass before?"
She shook her head. "No." Her reply was quiet, with a hint of fear.
"Be happy, then! You're about to embark on a new adventure." He pulled his thumb from her twat and pressed it against the clit again, pressing hard and steadily for a moment before rolling the tiny knob to and fro with growing enthusiasm. He could feel her crotch stiffen, then relax beneath his hand. He smiled. She was getting there, willing or not. "The ass," he said, "is the perfect sexual receptacle. It will accommodate a prick of any length and diameter; it will accept any quantity of semen without doing anything stupid like getting pregnant. One needn't worry about its being too loose or too wet; it has no natural lubricants, and if it were lacking in muscle tone it wouldn't be able to ride herd on the turds." Sorti could feel the girl's cunt begin to quiver; he smiled, pleased at the response. "Think of the power of the asshole-the power to take in, to clasp, to expel! And think of the affirmative nature of anal intercourse. At last, after a lifetime of forcing stuff out of your asshole, you'll be taking something in!"
Andrea said nothing, but her growing excitement was obvious to Sorti, whose fingers had worked their way to the very rear of the girl's cunt, where they were kneading the meaty knob of her cervix. With his spare hand he reached under her body and grabbed her left tit, which he stroked gently, then with increasing vigor until at last he grasped the nipple in his fingers and rolled it to and fro, twisting and pinching it in the process. Andrea whimpered something unintelligible, then groaned.
Ass-fucking time, Sorti told himself silently. He pulled his right hand from Andrea's cunt and reached for his cock; the organ was hard. He stared down at it. Its tan sheath was stretched over the swollen structural tissue, and the purple-red glans peered out of the taut foreskin. Sorti pinched the upper portion of the prepuce in two fingers and pulled it to the rear. It came back reluctantly; he had to stretch it like a too-small condom being drawn over an oversized cock. When the glans stood free in all its glory, Sorti took the cock in his fingers just below the rim. Carefully, unhurriedly, he guided the stiff penis to Andrea's cunt where he let it wallow in the puddle-like vestibule, its knob being coated by her pungent and slippery vaginal juices. And the oil, he thought, grinning. Yes, the oil.
She wanted to take his cock into her pussy. She was shoving the cunt back toward the prong, balancing all of her weight on her parted knees as she held her hands between her thighs and spread the vaginal lips with trembling fingers. He would humor her, Sorti decided, but only partway. He would let her think he was going to screw her in the conventional manner, albeit from the rear, and then... He chuckled as he thought of how surprised she was going to be when she felt his cock forcing its way into her ass after all.
"Hurry," Andrea was moaning, her trunk arched toward the floor now and her head pressed against the floor, scalp and forehead on carpet, to preserve her body's balance. She was still pulling on the cunt lips with quivering fingers, and once she let go of the right inner flap to run several fingertips over the juice-slathered underside of Sorti's cock.
"What is it you want me to do, Andrea?" Sorti said calmly.
"Hurry, hurry!... "
"I know this is going to sound old-hat, but I want you to tell me what I'm supposed to do to you. I'm sorry, Andrea, but you'll have to explain your desires."
"God, oh God!... "
"Pretend that you're a character in a classic pornographic novel. Say 'Fuck me', Andrea."
The girl whimpered, then gasped out the words. "Fuck me," she said.
"How do you want me to fuck you, Andrea?" He was grinning, oblivious to the spittle oozing out of one corner of his mouth. How do I fuck thee? Let me count the ways...
"Hard," she pleaded. "Now!"
"In the vagina, or in the-"
"Just fuck me!" she groaned.
"In the ass, Andrea. I want you to say, 'Fuck me in the ass.'" Andrea hesitated for a moment, but when Sorti pinched her clit between two fingers she was unable to resist. "Fuck me in the... the ass," she whispered. Then, shouting, "Oh, God, fuck me now!"
It was the signal that Sorti had been waiting for. Quickly, before the girl could object, he pulled his cock from her pussy's foyer and guided it back toward her asshole, pushing forward when he felt the glans come in contact with the pulsating anal sphincter. The asshole tightened; he could also feel her buttocks stiffening as he pressed against the ass with the lower part of his belly.
"Open up, goddamn it!" he snarled.
"No, no-"
"Shout 'Fuck me in the ass!'," he warned.
"No, I-"
"'Fuck me in the ass!' "
"No, I-" She hesitated briefly, then gave in once more. "Fuck me in the ass!" she cried. Then, even louder, "Fuck me any way you want to, you selfish pig!"
Sorti laughed, long and hard, evil and sadistic. He slammed forward, caught her anal reflexes off-guard, forced the thick knob of his prick past the sphincter and into the shithole. He kept shoving, thankful for the thin coating of olive oil and love juice that eased his entrance into her ass.
"Good God!" she moaned.
"Never mind God. Think of my cock in your ass." Sorti took a deep breath and exhaled it in an explosion of air as he pumped the prick another four inches into the bunghole. One more breath, one more tightening of the dunghole. one more constriction of his own anal sphincter for intensity's sake, and...
"GOD!" Andrea cried, writhing in pain as the full seven-plus inches of his masculinity filled her tight, virgin ass. He could feel the fecal leakage adhering to his pubic hair; he could also feel her asshole twitching around his cock's shaft, trying to expel it as it would have pushed out a rock-hard turd.
"How do I fuck thee? Let me count the ways." He said it aloud this time, chuckling before continuing. "I fuck thee in the asshole, I fuck thee in the cunt. I fuck thee while you whimper, I fuck thee and I grunt. I fuck thee with my cockhead, I fuck thee with my dong. I fuck thee till I feel your asshole tighten 'round my prong... "
The pain, the humiliation, the obscenity of his poetry, the mocking quality of his vocal tone... all combined to make Andrea react more powerfully than ever, and Sorti felt his own guts begin to gurgle as Andrea forgot her fear and literally threw herself into the act. Thrashing, writhing female flesh... what could be nicer?
"I fuck thee with my penis, I fuck thee hard like this... and when, at last, it's over, upon thee I will piss... " He was laughing now, a hysterical quality to the guffaws which emanated from his chest even as he fucked progressively harder in Andrea's quivering, hurting ass. He felt her sphincter tighten even more, and then there was a moment's suspension of all movement on her part as she tried to stay at the point before orgasm, at the delightful quivering stage just before all hell was to break loose...
"OHGOD!" Sorti almost jerked his cock from her ass when she cried out and thrust her anus backward, catching him completely by surprise. He restrained himself just in time, forcing his cock forward into the asshole and closing his eyes to relish the powerful spasms that had taken hold of her sphincter. One, two, three... he lost count. He held his breath, stiffened his back and his butt and his thighs, tightened his asshole and clenched his jaw as he tried to catch up with her, tried to match her rhythm.
One, two, three... "Motherfuck!" The thrusts had given away to spasms, the semen was coming up out of his balls and prostate to squirt through his penis and into Andrea's asshole, where it lined the cavity like Pepto-Bismol, acted like an enema in the impacted shit. Sorti felt like screaming, such was the intensity of his pleasure; but then he felt Andrea's body relaxing, her asshole loosening its grip, and his own orgasm faded away as her rectum slowly slid off his prick and her body slumped to the floor.
"Andrea?" He was flopped on the floor beside her, his right hand resting on her ass.
"Hunnh-" She couldn't say anything; she was too tired to do anything but gasp.
"Show me a dyke who can fuck you like that, baby."
"Hunnh."
There was a sudden gurgling in Andrea's intestines, and Sorti couldn't help laughing when she jumped up and ran for the John.
It was in his role as counselor that Sorti truly found emotional satisfaction. One of the nicest things about being president of the Group for Sensual Involvement was that the members, both male and female, had a compelling need to confess their problems to their leader and mentor. Sorti was a combination sexologist, psychiatrist and priest. Girls would come to him to confess their frigidity, to inform him that they wanted to join the group in the hope that the total abandonment of moral principles would lead to the disappearance of their inhibitions. Men would confess the need to beat women, or to humiliate them through coprophilia or urolagnia, and Sorti would often become excited as he listened to it all.
Of course, there were problems in paradise. Sorti was making a great deal of money, and he was enjoying his work, but he knew that his group could only grow so far. When it reached a certain point, it would be difficult for him to provide the personal touch that his members demanded. Furthermore, he suspected that he would soon become satiated with all this sex. He was a participant at one moment and a voyeur the next. Sex had become the driving force-indeed, almost the only force-in his life. He thought back to his youth, to dreams of trips abroad and a hitch in the Navy or the Merchant Marine and expensive cars. He didn't have time for the cars, let alone the Merchant Marine or foreign travel. He barely had time to read the Sunday papers. Sorti was working a seven-day week, playing Christ figure to a flock of disciples. He knew that he couldn't keep it up forever. The whole scene was beginning to wear him out already, and he had occasional spells of depression, moments when he almost wished he'd never conceived the idea of the group at all. And the legal risks-Christ, he almost puked every time he thought of the law. What he was doing certainly wasn't legal; in a sense he was little better than a pimp. He was taking money to provide people the chance to fuck and to commit the strangest, most despicable perversions. He'd been providing his members with almost everything short of necrophilia. And he suspected he'd have to provide that before long.
Sorti didn't know how many years he could get for this sort of activity, but he did know that he was bound to get caught if he kept this game up forever. The cops weren't stupid; slow, maybe, but not stupid. The larger his group became, the more likely it was that some cop might infiltrate it or that some disgruntled member might bring GSI to the attention of the police. The whole thing was depressing to think about, and it would be even more depressing if it came to pass.
"Sorti?" Andrea was addressing him, her voice so low as to be almost inaudible.
"Talk louder. I can't hear you."
"I don't know how to say this, Sorti, but-" she hesitated. "I did enjoy that, you know."
"I figured as much," he said with tongue firmly planted in cheek.
"I'd been fucked before, but not in the ass."
"Uh-huh."
"I never liked being fucked the regular way. It made me feel, well, used. Like I'm in Women's Lib, you know? Some of the girls use the word cunt to describe a woman who sells out to a man. You know, the kind of girl who marries some lawyer and lives unhappily ever after tending to the dirty diapers of a bunch of snot-nosed kids."
Sorti nodded as she looked him in the eye.
"So I have this emotional thing about being a cunt. Which probably has something to do with the fact that I'm uptight about using my cunt. Even when I'm with another girl, making it with a lez like Susan, I don't find myself particularly turned on by having a bunch of fingers crammed up my twat. It's the clitoris that counts, and maybe the love lips. My asshole, too, when someone's thoughtful enough to give it a digital cleaning job. And today... " She closed her eyes and shuddered. "Well, Sorti, it was nice."
Sorti picked at his nose for a moment, then spoke in a quiet, almost fatherly tone. "What are you going to do now?" he asked.
"Huh?" She frowned. "How do you mean?"
"I mean are you going to stick to dykes, or are you going to open yourself up to other men?"
She glared at him. "I let you fuck my ass, didn't I?"
"Yes. But we have a rather special relationship. I'm your leader, your sexual advisor. Your procurer, for that matter. You come to me when you want to learn something about yourself or when you need to have the shame reamed out of you via a nice session of humiliating sex-like today."
Andrea said nothing; she merely stared at her knees. Sorti reached out and touched her breast. Both of them were still naked and were sitting side by side on the living room sofa, the velvet one near the wood-burning fireplace. "Well, what's the story?" Sorti asked.
"I don't know if I'm ready to make it with another man," she confessed in a choked voice. She seemed almost on the verge of tears.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm-God, I'm just too uptight." She bent her body forward, pressed her face into her hands and curled into a sort of sitting fetal position on the couch.
"Take it easy, for Christ's sake."
"I'm trying tooooo!" she sobbed.
"I want you to fuck another guy," he told her.
"Nooo."
"Yes."
"No!"
"I'll set it up for you," he said. "Tomorrow. The day after, maybe. Hell, if you want me to I can arrange things for tonight."
"I don't want it, Sorti!" she cried sharply, sitting up and staring at him with wild eyes.
"Good lord." He put a finger to his lips, grabbing her wrist with his free hand and giving her a sharp squeeze. "Calm down. I was merely trying to help you, damn it."
"I don't want to be helped," she sniffed.
"Sure you do. You're not a dyke. Not really. Oh, you enjoy the lez stuff enough-I don't blame you; if I were a girl I'd like it, too-but you're not a hard-core dyke the way Susan is."
Andrea stiffened. "I love Susan."
"Sure, sure. A crush, that's all it is. An unusually powerful friendship. Susan satisfies your sexual needs while providing you with a target for your nervous tensions. You can play the dominant role with Susan.
She'll take whatever kind of shit you can dish out. And when you've dished out all the shit you can give, you come to me and whimper for another heap. You can't humiliate until you've been humiliated. You know, what you need is a schedule. A fucking schedule, with someone slipping it to you about four times a week. You need to be fucked just often enough to remember that you're a woman, a receptacle and not someone who's supposed to dish it out."
"Male chauvinism again," she said sarcastically.
"I was being facetious." Half-facetious, he corrected himself silently.
"I still don't see how you can say I'm not a dyke," she told him. "I had my first lesbian experience when I was fifteen, in convent school where I-"
"The old Catholic boarding school bit, huh? Sounds like you stole it from a dirty novel. Little girls getting their hymens popped by nuns holding crucifixes, the same old corny bullshit-"
"Let me finish!" she said sharply. "It wasn't anything like that. I was sharing a room with another girl, a French girl named Marcelle. She was pretty, very pretty, far more delicate in her features than I. She spoke French beautifully-which made sense; she was from Lyon-and she had lovely manners, what with being the daughter of a second secretary to the French Embassy and all. Anyway, a lot of us girls were shy about undressing in front of one another and the like-the nuns' influence, you know; don't look at your tits in the mirror when you brush your teeth, all that stuff-but Marcelle was different. Instead of taking her nightgown to the showers with her and putting it on in the stall like the rest of the girls, she'd come back to our room in her bathrobe and put it on in front of me. I was embarrassed at first, and I'd always try and time my toothbrushing to coincide with her arrival from the shower. I'd lean over the sink and brush my teeth for about five minutes while she slowly put on her nightie and crawled into bed. I was almost afraid to look at her nightgowns, in fact, since some of them were almost transparent. A couple of them were even confiscated by the Mother Superior, who thought they violated the school's rules.
"Anyhow, I started to think about the way Marcelle pranced around naked in the room. Though it wasn't really prancing; she was far too delicate and mannerly for that. One night I held my head higher than usual while brushing my teeth so I could catch a few glimpses of her in the mirror. I saw her remove the soft flannel bathrobe and put it on the bed. She stood there for a moment or so, staring at her tits in the mirror on the dresser. They were nice ones, too-a little bigger than mine, but more pointed with big nipples that always looked pink and stiff. She balanced her tits in her hands for a moment, and I found myself on the verge of giggling as I thought how she looked like some housewife hefting rutabagas in the supermarket. Then I got another glimpse of her in the mirror as she did a little ballet exercise while holding her hands behind her head. She seemed to be doing it for no particular reason, unless she knew I was watching. It was as if she were in love with her body, so in love with her sensuality and grace that she had to touch herself and look at herself before going to bed each night. I looked at her pubic hair, which was a lot skimpier than mine, and I saw how her legs looked like they were about three inches apart from the top. You could see the light coming through from behind her, and it was like the entrance to a cave as seen from inside. A real gap, you know? She must have trimmed the hair, because I could see the outline of her sex lips. The outer lips, that is. Very delicate, like all of her, but also very distinct. There was this little cleft in the middle of that space between her thighs, and I found myself transfixed by it. Suddenly she looked up and saw my eyes in the mirror. Her mouth turned up in a little smile, and she said something to me, something so soft and low that I couldn't hear. Stupid me, I said "What?", making it obvious that I'd been watching her. Naturally, I wouldn't have known she had said anything if I hadn't seen her mouth moving in the mirror.
"So she did another little turn for me, lifted her right leg delicately as if she wanted me to see more of that lovely crotch. Then she smiled again, blushed prettily, and put her nightgown on. Then we went to bed. And that was all."
Sorti had been listening carefully and was stroking Andrea's right knee. "You're sure that was all?" he asked quietly.
"It was all for that night," Andrea explained. "But the next night... well, she did it again. But this time she made sure I saw her naked before I could start brushing my teeth. As soon as she came into the room she took off her bathrobe and hung it over a peg on the door. She smiled at me again, that same enticing smile, and she began her exercise routine. I couldn't start my toothbrushing routine; I had to watch. I knew she wanted me to watch, and I also knew I couldn't help watching. I stood there, feeling a sort of fluttering sensation in my stomach, and then-for no real reason-I found myself wanting to follow her example. I bit my lip, blushed like a radish, and pulled off my pajama tops. Then, before I could let my better judgment say no I yanked off the bottoms and tossed them onto my bed. I began to pirouette with her, to lift my right leg while curling my left arm and all the rest of the ballet things that I didn't know anything about but could imitate without too much trouble. She did a split, and I did a split. I felt my cunt lips spread open as they almost touched the floor, and I heard a little farting noise as my twat filled up with air.
"Marcelle giggled at that, and so did I. I was blushing a mile a minute, but I was giggling too, and when I got to my feet I couldn't do anything but stand there and laugh. It was like a barrier had been broken. Marcelle came over to me and put her arms around me lightly, at the same time leaning forward and kissing me on the lips. Nothing dykey about it-just a light, sisterly kiss. But what it did to me! I could actually smell the juices that started oozing from my crotch. I was embarrassed as hell. What if she notices? I asked myself. And I guess she did notice, because the next moment she was embracing me a little more tightly, muttering something in French. I couldn't understand what she was saying; I never did get anything higher than a D in French. But I got the idea quickly enough when she started to caress my back with her fingertips. I felt ashamed of myself, and a little afraid, but I couldn't think of doing anything but to do the same thing to her as she was doing to me. That is, I put my arms around her and started to rub her back. The shoulder blades first, then the line or fissure or whatever you call it that goes down the back, then the little depression at the base of the spine. She started to rub the top of my ass, right between the buns, and I shuddered. It wasn't just a shiver; it was a shudder. I felt those fingers in there, parting the cheeks at the top and rubbing the bones of my spine, and I shuddered.
"Marcelle seemed to notice my reaction, because she moved the hands lower and continued to probe around in the crack of my ass. I shuddered a few more times, then tried to pull away. I was becoming afraid; what if she tried to stick a finger in my rectum or something?
"Well, Marcelle didn't want me to pull away, obviously, so she took her fingers out of the crack and started to rub the cheeks, pressing just hard enough to force my hips against hers. We stood there for a long time, kissing and rubbing each other's buns and resting our heads on each other's shoulders. I was excited as hell, really juicing up. I could feel the moisture coming out of my cunt; there was a sort of cool sensation where the juice was evaporating from the hair of my twat. Some of the juice started to run down my leg, and I pressed my knees together to catch it. Marcelle must have misunderstood me, because she kissed me harder, really hard, and took a hand off my ass so she could grab one of my tits. I tried again to pull away; I was becoming too afraid, too confused. But she seemed to become even more insistent, and I melted completely when she momentarily let a hand dart between my thighs. It was like 400 volts of electricity suddenly shot through my body, all of it coming from a point right there at the top of my pussy. She had touched my clit, the clit I had been afraid to touch myself because of what the sisters had said about masturbation. She touched me again, and I let out a little cry. She kept it up, kept stroking me there and sticking a finger into the outer part of my twat every now and then, and I was so excited I could almost scream. She started to strum the clit, and to sort of flip the inner lips from side to side with her fingers, and I started to clench her so tightly that I damn near broke her back. I thought I was going to come, I could feel all kinds of wonderful things that I'd read about in the forbidden books, and it seemed even lovelier than I'd ever imagined. I was seeing stars in front of my eyes-really, it was like I'd received a good sock in the jaw-and my body was shaking all over. I started to rock my hips back and forth, I tried to wrap my legs around one of hers, and then, just as I was about to let it all go in a wild burst of nervous tension, she pulled her hand away. Just pulled it away and laughed. Then she said it was time to go to bed.
"I didn't know what to say, of course-I was stunned, but I couldn't very well ask her to finish jerking me off-so I just mumbled good night and went to bed. I didn't even brush my teeth."
Andrea, laughed; Sorti thought there was a bitter quality to her laugh, but it seemed tempered with nostalgia. "Go on," he said.
"The next night, Marcelle came from the shower and hung her robe up again. This time she didn't play around. She went to her dresser, removed a tiny bottle of perfume that she'd apparently hidden in a box of sanitary napkins, and put it on at the usual strategic points, plus a few others-her wrists, her temples, behind her ears, between her tits, at her pulse point-at the bottom of her neck, you know-and finally between her legs. Right there where her cunt was. Then she told me to lie on her bed. I obeyed. She told me to open my legs so she could see me better. I did that, too, feeling like I was going to be damned to hell at any moment but past the point of caring. I was juicing up just thinking about what we had done the night before, and I was even more excited by lying there with her eyes staring at my virgin little twat.
"She said something about how much hair I had, and about how it was a sign of maturity. I must have blushed, because she told me not to worry. She was being as kind and gentle as ever, but she was completely in charge. She sat on the edge of the bed with one of my legs next to her buttocks, on the mattress, and the other stretched across her thighs. She stroked the insides of my thighs, kept working her fingers higher, and then... well, she touched me. Right where she had the night before, right on the clit. I must have nearly leaped off the bed, because she laughed and told me I mustn't get that excited so early in the game. She caressed me some more, making little circles around my clit in a way that was so maddening, so really excruciating. Then she parted the inner lips with her fingers and gazed inside. I thought I was going to die, I was so excited. And then, without my really knowing what was going on, she leaned over and put her lips on my cunt. On my cunt! I'd never even heard of oral-genital sex. And there she was, eating me out. She was moving her lips around my clit, sucking on it, lapping at it with the saliva mingling with my juices. The stuff was running all over the place, soaking my thighs and asshole. I thought it was going to leave a stain on the bed. But I didn't care, not really. I just kept groaning and wishing I could talk to her in French, since French was the language of love. And finally I came. Really came. I was writhing and twitching all over the place.
"I didn't know what I was supposed to do after that. I wasn't sure if I was just supposed to say 'thank you' and go to bed, or if I was supposed to eat her out too or what. I must have lay or sat there dumbly; I honestly don't remember what I did for the first few minutes after I came. But I do remember finding myself lying below her while she knelt on the bed, following her instructions as she told me what to do with my teeth, lips and tongue. She taught me about sucking the clit, and about using the tip of my tongue to send little shivers through her perinea! ridge. She taught me about licking the asshole, about touching it ever so briefly and delicately so I'd be able to arouse another woman without turning her off. And she taught me about using my fingers. Like I said, fingers in my cunt have never turned me on that much, but Marcelle seemed to like being fucked by hand. I learned how to part the lips with my fingers, stretch the hymen with one finger, then put maybe two fingers in if I could do it without causing pain. It was a whole new world for me, and it almost broke my heart when Marcelle's father was given a transfer and Marcelle told me she would have to go back to Paris at the end of the year."
"And?" Sorti was stroking Andrea's breasts lightly, not for erotic effect but out of affection, as one would caress a dog's ears.
"She left."
"That's the end?"
Andrea smiled wanly. "We practiced a lot before she left. We had our... our first experience in March, and she went back to France at the end of May."
"You said you were fifteen?"
Andrea nodded.
"Then you had several more years of boarding school after that."
"That's right. But I didn't get very involved with sex again until I was out of school. I had one roommate who must have heard something about Marcelle and me, because she tried to get into the shower with me a couple of times. But I didn't like her; she was too pushy, too much of a tomboy. Not at all like Marcelle, who was delicate and feminine."
Sorti pursed his lips. "Hmm. And after you got out of school?"
Andrea suddenly laughed. It was a joyous laugh, as if her confession had rid her of a great deal of tension. "You're asking a lot of questions, Monsignor," she said.
"You're right. I am. But go on."
Shrugging, Andrea continued. "I spent a couple of years in college. There was one girl in the dormitory who appealed to me, but it was hard to make it with another girl when you had a roommate around. Anyway, the atmosphere wasn't right-too many girls running around the halls, too much noise from traffic and hi-fis and so on. I never was promiscuous. I quit school when I was twenty, and I came to New York. That was a year and a half ago. I got this job as assistant to a film editor, and I met Susan at a party, and... "
"How come you haven't moved in with her?"
Andrea's face clouded. "She's living with someone else."
"Another girl, you mean."
"Yes."
"But she loves you?" Sorti persisted.
"Yes. She lives with the other woman-some divorcee, a dyke in her forties-because the bitch pays the bills."
Sorti sighed and shook his head. "Your only trouble, Andrea, is that you missed out on coeducation during your formative years."
"There's nothing less reliable than amateur psychoanalysis," she said sardonically.
He shrugged. "Call it what you like. But I'm right, you know. What you needed was a good defloration when you were about sixteen. Six inches of high-school meat up your snatch."
"Do you have to be so vulgar?"
He grinned. "Sorry, I was born that way."
"And maybe I was born a lez," Andrea pointed out.
"No." He shook his head. "You're wrong, Andrea."
"How the hell do you know?" She was angry.
Sorti grinned. "I know," he said, "because you squealed like a stuck pig when I fucked you in the ass."
CHAPTER THREE
SORTI wasn't sure just how much he liked Andrea. Oh, he enjoyed making it with her sexually, all right; partly because fucking humiliated her and partly because screwing her gave him a sense of having done something useful-of having provided her with a bit of heterosexual therapy, of having given her an insight into the pleasures of man-woman sex. But did he like her? He wasn't sure. She could be incredibly vulgar at times, and she enjoyed dishing out humiliation as much as he enjoyed watching her be humiliated. The way she had behaved with Susan the other night, in front of the group... She hadn't been very nice to Susan, really, though God knows she hadn't behaved any worse than Sorti himself.
There were moments when Andrea could be remarkably tender. She did love Susan; she said so, and he believed her. It wasn't the same kind of love a woman would have for a man, or even the sort that a true lesbian would feel for a fellow dyke, but it had a certain sincerity. It was a sisterly love with incestuous-overtones, one might say.
And the story of Andrea's first lesbian experience, her friendship with Marcelle, had been deeply touching. She had told the story with genuine emotional warmth. It had been more than a confession of sin; it had been a reminiscence of a true friendship, a friendship that bordered on love. Andrea hadn't exploited Marcelle, nor had the French girl taken advantage of Andrea. It had been the tenderest, most genuine form of friendship, and whatever bitterness Andrea felt now was aimed not at Marcelle, but at her own confused sexual identity and needs.
Andrea was becoming something of a problem for Sorti. He found himself worrying about her, identifying with her problems. It was an unhealthy state of affairs, and he knew it. Sorti had always been aware of the need to avoid emotional involvement, no matter how casual, with GSI members. Personal counseling was one of the services which he offered, to be sure, but he had no obligation to cure his members' neuroses and he certainly didn't accept any responsibility for whatever sexual failures his clients might suffer during their tenure in GSI.
Sorti wondered about Andrea's relationship with Susan. He knew Susan; he knew the blonde well. There was something about Susan's personality that cried, "Hurt me!". She needed to be dominated. She required a sado-masochistic relationship-with herself on the receiving end. Yet she needed genuine love-or at least affection, as well. The person who hurt her one day would have to assuage her feelings with kind words and delicate caresses the next.
How long would Andrea's relationship with Susan last? Sorti wasn't worried about Susan; if she were to lose Andrea, she would soon find a partner to replace the petite brunette. She would try to become closer to her current "keeper", the divorcee; or she would find a new friend within the group. But if the converse occurred, if Susan dropped Andrea, Andrea would no doubt be in for a nasty surprise. Would the brunette be able to adapt? Would she be able to survive the shock, the hurt, to find a new female lover within a reasonable period of time or readjust her thinking to accept a suitable male partner?
Sorti didn't know. He did know that he shouldn't care. Involvement is weakness, he warned himself in a silent rebuke.
Like all men, however, Sorti had his weaknesses. Just how serious this current weakness could be was something that only time would tell.
FLASHBACK NO. 2: "Your son has fantastic leadership potential," the guidance counselor told Sorti's parents when he embarked upon his junior year in high school. "I'm afraid he hasn't done much with it, unfortunately. His faculty advisor last year attempted to talk him into running for class office, but the boy simply refused. I think we'll have to work closer with him-give him a special project to challenge his mind, or perhaps assign him to some student-faculty committee where he can develop a greater sense of social responsibility. We're establishing a Dress Code Committee. Perhaps Dennis would be interested in that."
Dennis. How Sorti hated that name! He always told the girls he dated to call him Sorti, and ever since he could remember he had been called Sorti by the other boys at school. He liked his last name as much as he disliked his first. "Call me Sorti," he told his teachers. Most of them, alas, refused.
Perhaps it was his teachers' refusal to treat him as an adult that prompted him to reject the System that they tried to thrust upon him. Yes, he did have leadership potential; and yes, he did know it. But the kind of leadership that interested him wasn't the kind that was made available at school. Dress codes, football captaincies, class office... To Sorti, they were all identical turds in a very large crock of shit. He would develop his leadership qualities on his own, and in ways that wouldn't necessarily meet with his parents' and teachers' approval.
Sorti especially excelled in his ability to lead girls. Lead them where? one might ask. Down the primrose path, of course... the primrose path that led to the bed of clover, clover soiled with a virgin's hymeneal blood. Sorti had been interested in girls for as long as he could remember. Playing doctor had been his forte when the other boys were playing baseball, and at the age of nine he had been the best amateur gynecologist on the block.
Consider the case of Roxana. Roxana, like most other fourth-graders in Sorti's subdivision, was at an age of increasing sexual curiosity. She wondered where babies came from, and why her mommy had always told her silly stories about the stork. Fortunately for her quest for knowledge, Sorti knew it all. "The father puts his penis in the mother's cunt," he told her. "His penis-his dick, most people call it-gets real hard, like a piece of wood, so he can shove it into the cunt. Then he and the mother fuck, which means that they push back and forth like this." Sorti did a little demonstration with his hands, digitally piercing an "0" formed by his right thumb and forefinger.
Roxana was delighted. Sorti knew so much! "How does that make a baby?" she asked, her little nine-year-old cheeks turning pink with the knowledge that she was discussing the forbidden with the brightest boy on the block.
"Well, after the father has been fucking the mother for a while, his dick shoots out some sticky stuff."
"Sticky stuff?"
"Yeah. It looks something like library paste, or white glue. Anyway, the sticky stuff-it's called semen-is full of little invisible things called sperms. The sperms swim around in the mother's cunt until one of them fertilizes her egg."
"The mommy has an egg?" Roxana looked skeptical.
"It isn't like the kind of egg that comes from a chicken. It's a real tiny thing, so small that you couldn't see it without a microscope. And when the sperm and the egg stick together, they grow into an embryo. And that grows into a baby. It takes nine months."
Roxana bit her lip, blushing. "Where?... " she giggled. "Where does the baby come out? Does it come out of the mommy's bottom?" She laughed self-consciously, excited and happily ashamed at discussing the verboten subject of sex.
"No, stupid. What do you think a baby is, a turd?" He grinned, and he found his prepubescent penis tingling slightly as he saw Roxana blush an even brighter shade of pink at his scatological comment. "The baby conies out of the cunt, also called the vagina. You know what the cunt is, don't you?"
Roxana shook her head. "I don't think so."
"Well, it's the slit between your legs. Your little crack. You don't have any hair on it yet, do you?"
There was a gasp as Roxana considered his question. "Hair?" She was incredulous. "Down there? Where I go pee?"
"That's right. When you're a grown-up, you'll have a lot of hair on your cunt." He grinned. "On your pussy. That's another word for it, you know-pussy. You can also call it the twat. I can teach you a lot of things, Roxana, if you want to listen."
"Oh, yes," she said excitedly. "I'll listen. I promise!"
"Okay. You're going to have a lot of hair on your pussy, Roxana, just like I'll have a lot of hair on my balls and around my dick."
"Really?" Roxana pursed her lips into a tiny circle.
"Yeah, really. Have you ever seen a boy's dick, Roxana? That's right, you don't have a brother, do you...?" He let his voice trail off as he pretended to consider the matter for a moment. "I'll tell you what," he said confidentially. "If you promise not to tell anyone, I'll let you see mine."
Roxana shivered with glee. "I won't tell, I promise."
"Of course, you'll have to show me your cunt."
"My-" She frowned. "Where I go pee-pee?"
"Uh-huh. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone either."
"I don't know, Dennis. It-it seems bad."
"It isn't bad, Roxana. We'll be playing mother and father, that's all. We'll be doing what grown-ups do, looking at each other and maybe even touching each other's things."
"Touching?" Roxana looked frightened.
"Well, you don't have to touch mine if you don't want to. And I won't touch yours if you don't want to let me. Right now let's just take our clothes off and look at each other, okay? You can show me your cunt, and I'll show you where the baby comes out. And you can see my dick." He leaned forward slightly as he finished up his sales pitch, figuring the offer of a cock show would be too much for her to resist.
He was correct, of course. Roxana couldn't bear to miss out on a chance to see a boy's dick. "Okay," she said shyly. "Where do we do it?"
"We'll go to the garage at my house," he told her. "We could use my room, but the garage is safer. We can escape easier if my mom comes home-she always parks in the driveway in the afternoons, anyway."
They hurried to the Sorti house, where they entered the garage via a side door. There was a pile of old blankets in one corner. "The dog sleeps there," Sorti said, pointing to the faded quilts. "He's at the vet with my mom. We can do it there, where you won't get dirty."
Roxana balked when Sorti tried to help her remove her dress, but he was insistent. "We're doing what mothers and fathers do," he told her. "This is just like playing house." Finally he was able to undo the buttons that closed the front of her dress, and within moments she was standing there on the blankets, naked except for a pair of white cotton panties.
"I'm cold," she said meekly, folding her arms across her chest.
"Come on-it's eighty degrees," he scoffed. "Look, I'll show you my dick first, if you want." He started to take off his shirt.
"Maybe we shouldn't," she said.
"You promised," he pointed out.
"But-"
"If you don't let me see your cunt, I'll tell all the other boys that you insisted on showing it to me. But if you do let me see your pussy, I won't tell anyone about it, no one at all."
Roxana bit her lip again. "Okay," she finally agreed. "But you show me yours first."
"Sure, that's okay." He stepped out of his jeans, having first kicked off his low-cut canvas shoes. He faced her in his Jockey shorts, his boyish genitals making a small lump in the tight cotton material. "I'm going to take my underpants off now," he told her. "Close your eyes." He waited until Roxana had shut her eyes and covered them with her hands, then stepped out of the briefs. "Okay," he said. He grinned proudly when she opened her eyes wide and giggled as she saw his penis, which was larger than the cocks of most boys his age and which half-stood as he willed it into a state of partial erection.
"Is that what goes in the mommy's-the mommy's pussy?" Roxana asked shyly.
"Yes. Would you like me to put it in yours?"
"Oh, you're not old enough!" she said in a scoffing tone.
Sorti's facial muscles tightened. "I can stick it in your cunt if you want me to," he insisted. "I'm more mature than other boys."
Roxana giggled again, then looked worried. "I don't think we should," she said.
"Well, show me your pussy anyway." He tried to affect a big-brother tone. "So I can show you where the baby comes out, and where the father puts his dick when it's hard and he wants to fuck the mother."
Roxana hesitated, then put a hand to her mouth and giggled yet another time. "You have to close your eyes," she insisted. "Just like I closed my eyes before you showed me yours."
"Sure, sure."
"Cover your eyes!" she giggled.
Sorti covered his eyes. When she told him to open them, he did so, and found her lying on the blankets with her eyes closed and her crotch hidden by her thighs, which were raised and pressed tightly together.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"We shouldn't," she said meekly. "Shouldn't what?"
"Shouldn't play mommy and daddy."
"Oh, shit." Sorti chided himself even as he was saying the word; hopefully she wouldn't know what it meant. Perhaps she wouldn't even know it was a curse word; he didn't want to say anything that would make her even more ashamed and afraid. "Open your legs, Roxana. Come on, show me your pussy."
Roxana was on the threshold of tears. "I don't know," she whimpered.
"Show me your cunt, Roxana!"
"No!" She began to cry, sobbing and revealing her titless chest with its immature pink nipples as she covered her face with her hands. "Don't make me, Dennis."
"Come on, Roxana. I showed you mine, you show me yours. It's only fair, Roxana."
"No," she squeaked.
"I won't hurt you, I promise," he said reassuringly. "Look-listen to me, Roxana. If you let me see your pussy, I won't tell anyone that we were here today. Also, if you show me your pussy, I'll protect you from any boy who tries to hurt you. Even if it's a fight between all the boys and all the girls, I'll look out for you. I promise. Doesn't that sound nice?"
Roxana's sobs ceased, to be replaced by a heavy breathing. "You promise?" she asked eagerly.
"I'll protect you, Roxana. I really will. I promise!" Sorti knew the ploy was going to work; the girls of the neighborhood were always being picked on by the boys.
Slowly, Roxana took her hands away from her face and stretched her arms out to either side. "Look at me, I'm an angel," she said with a shy grin.
"Let me see your cunt, angel," he asked quietly.
"Don't laugh," she begged.
"I won't. I promise."
Roxana hesitated for a second, then giggled as she threw her knees apart. He saw it then, saw the tiny pink fissure with its hairless lips, saw the red flesh within as she suddenly became exhibitionistic and spread the cunt with her fingers. He got down on his knees and stared at the little girl's pussy from only inches away, his dick becoming harder as he peered into the tiny hole and looked for the clitoris. It was a good cunt, better than any of the others he'd seen. It was older, of course- Roxana was older. The other cunts he'd seen had been on girls who were maybe six or eight months younger than Roxana. Roxana was almost ten; if she had been born a few weeks earlier she would have been in fifth grade now instead of the fourth. Maybe it was imagination, but the cunt did seem bigger. Of course, there were variations in pussies; he had read about that in his parents' marriage manual. The labia minora, he had read, differ in size and expansion potential according to a variety of factors, including inherent natural differences and whether the woman has given birth to a child...
"You've got big cunt lips," he told her.
"Huh?"
"Cunt lips. Your cunt lips are big. Don't you know what I'm talking about?"
"No," she confessed, obviously not understanding.
"Your cunt has lips, just like your mouth. Oh, they look different, but they're lips anyway. Outer lips and inner lips-the inner lips are the ones I'm talking about now. You can even kiss them. A man can anyway. Lots of fathers kiss their wives' pussy lips. Would you...?" He licked his lips and hesitated. "Roxana, would you like me to kiss yours?"
There was a moment's silence as Roxana digested the suggestion, and then she burst into tears. "No!" she cried. "I'm going to tell my mommy what you said! You're bad, bad, bad! I never heard about things like that until you told me. My mommy doesn't let my daddy kiss her there! Dennis, you're bad, and you're disgusting-" Sorti couldn't stand it. "Pretend you're my wife," he said in a quavering voice. God, what if she did tell her mother? Well, he was into it pretty deep already; he might as well get full benefit of her nakedness. "Pretend you want to have a baby." He pushed her legs farther apart and mounted her, pressing her arms against the blankets so she couldn't flail him with her fists. He poked around with his semi-rigid penis until it fell into the valley-like fissure of her opening. He tried to push it inside, tried to poke it into her nine-year-old pussy, but it wasn't hard enough. Goddamn! he thought, somehow hoping to get a hard-on by using the adult word. He rubbed back and forth, begging Roxana not to be afraid, telling her it was just a game, a fun game, that it was just a way of playing father and mother.
When he gave up at last, got off her and began to dress, he felt ashamed of himself. "Don't cry," he begged. "Please don't cry like that, Roxana."
She did cry, of course. She wept until the two of them suddenly heard a car pulling into the driveway.
"It's my mom!" he hissed. "Don't talk. Just get dressed, before she comes in here."
Roxana's weeping stopped immediately as she jumped to her feet and made a grab for her panties. She dressed even more quickly than Sorti, and, when the two of them had all their clothes on, Sorti held a finger to his lips as he opened the back door. He took her home and touched her arm lightly when they got within a hundred yards or so of her house.
"I'm going to say good-bye here," he said, "so no one will know we've been together."
Roxana nodded, sighing with relief at not having been discovered.
"You won't tell anyone about what we did today, will you?" he pleaded.
Roxana shook her head, and Sorti relaxed. She was obviously even more afraid of discovery than he was.
Now, at sixteen, Sorti couldn't help grinning as he looked back on the incident. He had been a sex offender, by God; had he been an adult, the fact that his penis had rested in her vulva would have constituted an act of rape.
The thought of being a rapist gave Sorti a hard-on. Rape was exciting, somehow; the idea of dominating a girl so totally, so mercilessly, held a strange appeal for him.
But so far he hadn't really felt the need to fuck anyone against her will. The girls he went out with were too familiar; if he ever committed an act of rape, it would have to be with a stranger.
Though he was only sixteen, Sorti had read enough books to know that most adolescent boys had fantasies in which they perpetrated unspeakable sexual cruelties on girls. For that matter, he had often heard his schoolmates talk of tying some attractive young virgin to a tree or goalpost and fingering her to a frenzy of desire (rape victims invariably became aroused once things reached a certain point, according to popular belief) before raping or gangbanging her into exhaustion. He had heard one popular student body leader brag of beating an ex-girlfriend black and blue prior to fucking her, and he had noted that most of the boys in the locker room had chuckled (approvingly?) upon hearing the story. So Sorti didn't take his own fantasies too seriously, since he knew such desires were seldom acted out.
The cruelties that Sorti showered on his girl friends were mostly psychological; but more of that later on.
Andrea had left at one o'clock, after they had showered together and exchanged a bare minimum of conversation during lunch. Sorti spent the next hour checking his books. He reminded himself to phone his accountant. He wanted to double-check a few of the "facts" in the occupational cover story which he and the accountant used in filing his income tax. (Sorti was not one to ignore the IRS; what with his sex operation, he was running legal risks already.) He gave some thought to what he had suggested to Andrea-the idea of having her ball with a number of males in the hope that the shock treatment of sorts might give her a few insights into the deficiencies of lesbianism. Now that he considered the idea more carefully, he realized it wouldn't work. Not yet, anyway. In time, she might be ready for such an experiment-soon, in fact, if he could get her to give it a whirl on a voluntary basis. But to force her into it, to work her to a high pitch of desire and have some stud step in for a quick fuck with her, would do more harm than good. Perhaps he should screw her again himself, Sorti considered. If he could prove to her that she could enjoy orgasms in two consecutive heterosexual bouts, he might be able to talk her into researching the possibilities. Sorti would have to come up with some suitable candidates, with some men who were masculine enough yet understanding enough to look out for her orgasmic interests and thus lead her to a cure.
A "cure"? Sorti smiled. By putting down lesbianism, he was making a moral judgment. But what the hell, wasn't that his privilege? In the incestuous world of the Group for Sensual Involvement, Sorti was an omniscient and omnipotent God.
The next scheduled group meeting was for eight o'clock, and Sorti reviewed his appointment book. Most of the participants were to be married couples who were seeking liberation from their tired, unvaried sex lives by switching mates in an atmosphere of depravity tempered with a "group therapy" let's-let-it-all-hang-out approach. Sorti always enjoyed these sessions. They were entertaining, just like a good Western movie. There were the bad guys, and the good guys. You could root for either side or both. There was violence, physical and verbal; and in the end someone always got his or her just deserts.
People began showing up at seven-forty-five. Sorti grinned as he greeted his guests at the door. There weren't many stragglers in the world of communal sex. People who would have been a half-hour late for a theatre curtain were invariably punctual when it was time to witness or take part in a juicy, public fuck.
By five past eight everyone was seated in the Discussion Room, a windowless room some twenty-by-twenty feet in size and without furniture. It was a comfortable room, however, by virtue of the three inches of foam padding that lay under the fake fur-carpeted floor.
"It's like sitting on a polar bear," one newly-initiated member giggled as she dug her fingers into the soft white fuzz. "Yeah," her husband said. "Except you won't catch fleas and it doesn't bite."
Sorti was naked, as were his clients. There were eleven of them altogether; five married couples and one middle-aged male voyeur who had come along for the ride. "We'll start with a few comments on our last meeting," Sorti said, consulting his notes. "At our last session, Mr. and Mrs. Schmeling discussed several aspects of impotence. Nora pointed to Max's prick and suggested that it was going limp on her because Max had, in her words, been 'sleeping around'. Max denied the charge, claiming that the cause of his impotence was twofold: nervous exhaustion stemming from difficulties at work, and a feeling of inadequacy based on Nora's jokes about his small cock. I read a passage from Masters and Johnson which refuted the myth of large cock supremacy, and Nora promised to refrain from such jibes in the future. Max agreed to limit his overtime to three hours per week and to temporarily give up his hopes for a more prestigious position within the company. Max and Nora were then encouraged to fuck during the meeting, but Max was unable to get it up. Elvira-Mrs. Hennessey-came forward and described how her husband had once had the same problem and how several techniques that she had learned had helped. She proceeded to fellate Max while toying with his nipples, and in due course the two of them fucked with Nora and the rest of us looking on."
Sorti closed his notebook and turned to Nora Schmeling. "Tell me, Nora-you saw your husband penetrate and achieve mutual orgasm with Elvira Hennessey. Just what were your feelings at the time?"
Nora, a slightly fleshy platinum blonde of about thirty-five, looked down at her knees and flushed. "I was jealous," she confessed. "I know it was immature of me, but-"
"You were jealous." Sorti nodded as if her answer had confirmed some suspicion. "Why were you jealous, Nora?"
The woman shrugged, then looked up. "Why shouldn't I have been jealous? My husband was fucking another woman. It was just like the things I'd been accusing him of all along-he was sleeping around."
"I wasn't sleeping around, I was getting help," Max countered, angered by the charge. "Anyway, what do you think we come to these meetings for? Didn't we agree that we'd come here for sex?"
Sorti decided he'd better interrupt before the argument turned into a full-fledged marital tiff. "Nora's reaction was perfectly normal, even if it wasn't justified by the circumstances," Sorti said. "As for Max's fucking Elvira, didn't it accomplish what it was supposed to do? He was able to maintain an erection through a lengthy blow job and an equally extended act of screwing. He brought Elvira to climax and enjoyed a healthy orgasm himself. I don't think he should be put down for living up to his potential as a man."
Nora sighed. "I know," she said. "And... "
"Yes?" Sorti spoke in a kindly tone.
"We did it three times since the last meeting. Twice it wasn't much, but at least he got it in. But the third time, the day before yesterday, well... " Nora giggled self-consciously. "Can I tell them, Max?"
"Sure," he said, obviously eager for her to announce the good news.
"He did a real nice job, folks. He fucked me real good. I came, for the first time since before we had the kids. And then we talked about masturbation, and he agreed that I could do it whenever I had to after we made love. If we fucked and it wasn't so good, I mean. And-"
"Then you shouldn't have been jealous, isn't that so?" Sorti asked.
She blushed, still smiling. "I guess not."
"Very good." Sorti rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking, then turned to another couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Larsen. Welcome to the group. People, Sarah and Mike Larsen came to me only two days ago to ask if they could join GSI. Mike is in the laundromat franchise business, and Sarah makes ceramics for the gift shop of an old folks' home." He glanced at Larsen and grinned. "Oh, yes-as you've probably noticed, Mike is exceptionally well hung."
And so he was. The man's cock was a good eight inches long in a flaccid state, and Sorti could tell that his clients were eager to see how it would appear in erection.
"Mike does have a problem," Sorti went on. "And it's Sarah's problem too, in a manner of speaking. Mike, would you like to tell us about it?"
Mike grinned nervously and glanced down at his large, sausage-like phallus. "Yeah, it's like the man says. My cock is too big."
Nervous laughter from the group. At least two of the men appeared to be jealous.
"What he means," Sarah broke in, "is that we have a terrible time making love in most of the normal positions. Or the abnormal positions, come to think of it. Mike's prick is too large for my vagina, and my gynecologist says that surgery isn't a practical answer to the problem at this time. It seems that I shouldn't have my cunt altered, if that's the word, until we've finished having children. Don't ask me why; ask the doctor. Anyway, I keep reading that the vagina is an elastic instrument which will accommodate almost any size penis, but it simply isn't so in my case. Mike is just too darned big for me, I guess. But I love him, even if he is a son-of-a-bitch." Sarah laughed and gave her husband a poke in the ribs.
Sorti took over. "I asked the Larsens to demonstrate their difficulties in my office, and we began with Mike trying to fuck Sarah in the missionary position. Sarah winced throughout the act; her cunt simply wouldn't shape itself around Mike's rather unusual organ. Next, I had Sarah lie on top-stretched out, kneeling, squatting, and several other variations on the female dominant position. The results were moderately successful, but Sarah kept complaining of discomfort whenever Mike got overeager and began to lift his hips off the bed. After that, I had them screw in the side-by-side rear entry position, which seemed to lessen the problem of Mike's slamming against the rear wall of Sarah's vagina but which, according to Sarah, interfered with the intimacy of lovemaking. Indeed, it interfered sufficiently to deprive her of almost all pleasurable sensation.
"I suggested that they come to tonight's meeting with a view toward exchanging partners. No doubt some of you ladies have larger or more elastic cunts than Sarah; girls, Mike awaits your pleasure! And I'm sure there's some fellow among you who'd be willing to take a crack at Sarah's tight-walled pussy. Do I hear any volunteers?"
Several of the men looked at their wives, and one woman-a young redhead named Emma Janovitz- nodded in the direction of Sarah Larsen. "Go on, Phil," she told him firmly. "Go up there and show your stuff."
"But, Emma-"
"Don't worry about me, lover. I'll be busy with Logjam up there." She got to her feet and headed for Mike, whose penis swelled ever so slightly as she approached. Her husband started to get up, but Sorti held up a hand, traffic-cop style, and shook his head.
"One at a time," he insisted. "Emma, we'll let you make it with Mike while the others look on. When you two have finished, Phil and Sarah can give it a try. Places, everyone."
Emma grinned up at the tall, strapping Mike, totally free from self-consciousness as she reached out and rested two fingers on the shaft of his slowly expanding cock. "Any way you want it," she told him. "You on top, me on top, in the mouth or dog-style...!"
Mike shrugged, slightly embarrassed by the attention. "I'll let you decide."
Sorti took control once again. "For the sake of the group's ability to observe what's happening, why don't you try it with Emma on her back, legs over Mike's shoulders? This should be good for Mike-he'll be able to slam away at will without worrying about excessively deep penetration-and you, Emma, will have control over how deep you want him to thrust. The position will be nice from the group's viewpoint since we'll be able to see better what's going on."
Emma shrugged. "I'm game."
Mike scratched his nose. "I'm Mike." He laughed, proud of his own joke.
Christ, Sorti thought, a real card. The joker, no less. "Okay, you two, on the floor. Emma, I want you on your back, legs well apart. Get your knees up so you can throw your legs over Mike's shoulders when he's in position. Mike? Kneel. Get ready, Emma. No, Mike, not stretched out like that, but kneeling. Back straighten Come to think of it, you'd better put your knees farther back so you're sort of half stretched out. Hmmm... Knees a little more forward, Mike, and-there, that's fine. Emma? You can put your legs up now." Sorti glanced at Sarah, who was biting her lip as she looked on. "Take it easy, Sarah. You two made this decision for yourself. Keep a" eye on this, please; you may want to try it for yourself."
Sorti returned his gaze to the soon-to-be-fucking couple. Emma had draped her knees over Mike's shoulders and was grinning as she looked between her thighs at Mike's semi-rigid cock. The prick was a masterpiece of anatomical art, a full ten inches in length by perhaps two and a half in diameter.
"You'll never get that big thing in you," Emma's husband scoffed, somewhat unhappily, from the sidelines.
Emma only laughed. "Keep your fingers crossed, honey. When this guy's finished with me I may be so loose that I'll need a horse to keep me happy."
The word "horse" reminded Sorti that he had better seize the reins again. "Quiet, everyone. Mike, grasp your cock in the middle and rest the head in Emma's slit. Ah, that's fine. You know, I'd like to take a picture of this. Do either of you mind?" Before Mike or Emma could think of an answer, Sorti produced a 35 mm. camera with electronic flash which had been hidden inside the podium. He snapped several quick close-ups of! the monster cock arching into the oozing vaginal vestibule, then returned the camera to the podium. "Sorry for the delay," he said. "Let's get this show on the road. Emma, I want you to reach down and touch the cock. From below. Try reaching under your right leg-yeah, that's the way-and touch it just below the head, near where it's sticking into your body. Careful, don't dislodge it. Mike, your cock doesn't stiffen up too quickly, does it? Don't feel guilty; everyone reacts that way at first. Most men aren't used to fucking in front of a group. That's our Puritan heritage for you. Emma, tickle it. Can you feel that, Mike? Do you like it, huh? Don't be afraid to tell her if she's doing anything wrong. If you want her to touch you higher or lower, if you want her to pinch your balls or stick a finger in your ass, by all means say so. This is a liberated environment. The Group for Sensual Involvement, remember that. Is it all right, Mike? Is... "
"Maybe she could squeeze my balls," Mike said reluctantly. Sorti almost chuckled out loud; he could tell that the man was about to go limp with embarrassment.
"You heard him, Emma. Squeeze his balls." Mike smiled as the woman complied with Sorti's order, then winced when she squeezed too hard. "Hey!" he cried.
Sorti shook his head. "A little more delicately, please. Surely you've squeezed your husband's testicles before. You should know better than to-" Emma's spouse laughed harshly from the sidelines. "She squeezes them a hell of a lot harder than that," he said. "You might say that we have a sado-masochistic relationship." He coughed. "With me playing the victim."
"Be that as it may," Sorti said to the woman, "you're the one who's supposed to get fucked this time. Caress them lightly, Emma. Try tickling Mike by playing with the hairs-"
"Christ," Mike muttered, his voice dissolving into a sigh.
Sorti laughed. "I see it's working. Now, Mike, I want you to make things nice for Emma too. You might try working your hand between your bodies to her clit where-" Emma interrupted. "I'm fine," she whispered. "I like it just the way it is."
Mike was thrusting lightly into the woman's vestibule, his eyes closed and his face turning a deep shade of red. "Goddamn, I think I'm going to get a real piece of ass," he murmured.
"Don't forget," Sorti cautioned, "that I want this to be a pleasurable experience for both of you. Mike, I don't want you to enjoy yourself at the expense of Emma. If you make Emma go away angry, or for that matter aching, your wife isn't going to be too turned on to the idea of taking that big cock of yours into her pussy. As for you, Emma, don't start acting possessive. You two are fucking, and that's all. This isn't some kind of love affair. I've seen you becoming emotionally involved with your partners before, and in GSI that sort of thing is forbidden. Forbidden, is that clear?" His voice was harsh, and Emma nodded silently in acknowledgement of the implied threat.
Sorti continued. "Remember, this isn't a goddamn wife-swapping party. This is a group-training session-an opportunity for each couple to expand mutual and individual horizons in the wonderful world of sex. There shouldn't be guilt, but there shouldn't be betrayal either. You're not committing adultery tonight; you're committing an act of self-education, an act of increasing your and your spouse's mutual self-awareness." Sorti suddenly laughed as he saw Mike's trembling jaw. "Sorry, Mike. I shouldn't have strayed from the subject at hand. Go to it-slowly, now; I don't want you to hurt her. Silence, everyone. I want us to hear him going in."
The room was quiet as Mike inhaled deeply and prepared to push past Emma's vaginal sphincter. The ten-inch cock seemed almost threatening as its monstrous knob rested in the spread inner lips of Emma's cunt. "Are you ready?" Mike asked in a rasping whisper.
Emma nodded. "Yes." Her voice choked.
Mike muttered something which no one could hear, then took another deep breath and slowly pushed forward. Emma stiffened as the cockhead pushed against her membranes; her cunt was loose, but not that loose. "God, you're a monster!" she said to him, her little laugh tinged with fear.
Mike moved forward another quarter of an inch. Sorti lay nearby, stretched out on his stomach so he could see all. The other group members were looking on with similar eagerness, and Sorti hoped Mike wouldn't be distracted by all the attention that was being focused on his massive prick.
"Ah!... Oooh." Emma jerked, then relaxed as the cockhead squeezed past the ring-like sphincter of her vaginal opening. She kept her eyes tightly closed as Mike continued to push forward slowly; her jaw suddenly went slack, spittle trickling out of one corner of her mouth, as another inch and a half of stiff phallus went into her hole.
Sorti began to give instructions softly, tonelessly, speaking as quietly as possible so as not to interfere with the squishing and schlupping of Mike's cock in Emma's juicy hole. "Relax your thighs, Emma," he said. "You seem to be resisting. You're only making things harder for yourself. Relax those thigh muscles, get your knees farther apart so they're just barely balancing on the edges of Mike's shoulders... Very nice, Emma. Mike, don't be so cautious. You're inside; you can use a little less discretion now. Emma's got her legs over your shoulders, and she's got her hands on your neck-I warned you not to lean forward so far! Anyway, she's got control. Farther in now. Think of it-a vagina designed for your fantastic cock. Pretend she's Sarah, if that makes you feel less uptight. One day Sarah's cunt will be like that, once she's had her babies and the doctor... " Sorti's voice trailed off as he felt his own prick stiffening at the sight of Mike's huge organ glistening with its coating of vaginal juices. Mustn't get too turned on, he warned himself. Got to maintain professional detachment...
Sorti continued to give suggestions as he and his clients watched Mike and Emma fuck. He felt a tightening of his gut and a thickening of his throat membranes as he saw Emma begin to writhe eagerly, her cunt lips fluttering against the thick cock's shaft and heard her occasional fart of desire and gratitude. He tried to shut out the steady slap-slap-slap of flesh against flesh, the heavy odor of cunt juice and perspiration. He tried to remain detached, to keep his own needs under control, to think of what was happening in front of him in the role of a guide and counselor, not as a voyeur...
"Holy-fucking-shit-I'm-coming!" Mike suddenly groaned, his sentence pouring out in a single, breathless burst. His buttocks tightened, his thighs trembled, and he cried out again as the first dollop of semen shot into Emma's waiting hole. Sorti and his fellow spectators could see the five-inch protruding portion of Mike's cock thicken, then contract as each squirtload of jism spewed through it. Goddamn, Sorti thought, if I had the right camera this would make a fantastic movie... !
Sorti tried to keep his eyes off Emma's gaping twat after Mike had pulled out, but of course he couldn't. He found himself staring at the juice-dripping crack, at the generous hole that was already leaking semen; his eyes flicked over to Mike's cock, which was rapidly softening into a curved length of glistening meat and which was spinning a spider-like thread of jism from its red-slashed tip.
"Very nice," Sorti managed to tell them, hoping his erection would die down before he had to roll out of his prone position. "We'll take Sarah and Phil next, if they're willing. Sarah-" Sarah Larsen was blushing. "I don't know," she said.
"Go ahead, baby," Mike gasped as he crawled over to her. "You deserve a good fucking. One that won't hurt you."
Sarah reluctantly glanced at Phil, whose average-size prick was already turning into a hard-on. "I don't know-"
"Go on," Mike insisted.
Sorti glanced at his watch. His erection was a powerful as ever, and the tingling of his cock had disappeared-to be replaced by a dull, steady ache.
"Let's get a move on," he said wearily. Christ, he thought, this is going to be a hell of a long evening...
CHAPTER FOUR
SORTI was tired the following morning. It made sense. Sorti always felt exhausted after a night of fucking or supervising the copulation of others. The job took a lot out of him, physically and emotionally, and now-as he drank his second cup of coffee-it was eleven-thirty A.M. and time for more work. Fortunately, he was able to turn his energies (such as they were) to the less strenuous task of drafting classified ads.
Advertisements were of immense importance to Sorti's operation. Word-of-mouth helped a great deal, of course, but advertising was the primary means of communication between Sorti and potential GSI members. Sorti placed numerous ads in the personal columns of Screw and the various other sex tabloids. Some of the ads were subtle, and some were not; it all depended on the sexual topic at hand and what sort of customer (shy or openly sex-crazed) he was attempting to reach.
Sorti's first ad of the morning was aimed at people who were hung up on black-white sex relations. Its language was discreetly frank: INTERRACIAL FRIENDSHIP CLUB open to all who share the belief that eroticism is a gift to be shared by people of all colors. Discussions, lectures, demonstrations, audience participation. Details from P.O. Box 8881, Sophie Tucker Sta., NYC 10099.
Interracial sex ads always drew a stack of replies; Sorti estimated that there were thousands of New Yorkers who, out of myth hang-ups or curiosity, were hot to make it with members of another race. It was usually a matter of whites wanting to do it with blacks; the ratio of white to black responses was about two and a half to one. Orientals were an insignificant factor, though a few men-usually Vietnam veterans-wanted to make it with Asian women. American Indians hardly ever replied, though an occasional white woman (middle-aged, as a rule) inquired about the possibility of being fucked by a "hung Navajo" or a "gentle but manly Apache type". Odd, but true.
Sorti had difficulty in locating suitable black partners for his white customers, since he didn't deal in ghetto types and the educated blacks seemed to resent GSI recruitment on the grounds that Sorti regarded them as "sexual objects". Thus black GSI members found themselves several times as active in the group as their white counterparts, which was fine with them but worrisome to Sorti, who feared that members might become stale from excessive orgy participation.
The second ad to come from Sorti's typewriter was sadist-oriented. There were a lot of people who went in for s-and-m, and the number of replies from sadists were almost equal to the inquiries from masochists who were looking for a good stomping, whipping or whatever. Sorti used the traditional bondage keywords in this ad: STERN DISCIPLINARIANS needed to meet with passive men and women who feel that to spare the rod is to spoil the fun. Educated males and females only. Bisexuals O.K. Reply to P.O. Box 7942, Sophie Tucker Station, NYC 10099.
Sorti maintained a number of post office boxes under various aliases. He used any of several postal stations within reasonably comfortable walking distance from his apartment. He picked a different station for his ad aimed at anally-fixated homophiles: GUYS WHO LIKE GUYS-Why not meet Mr. Right in the privacy of a luxurious bachelor pad? I provide the partners, you provide the fun. B.Y.O. KY! I'm talking about guys who like assholes, blow-jobs, hand-jobs, the works, but assholes-ah, sweet dimples of lust!-in particular! You must be clean, well-educated, and willing to work for the sexual betterment of a like-minded group. No introverts, please. Send photo and personal data to P.O. Box 438, Father Hitt Station, NYC 10097. All inquiries will remain confidential!
Sorti was sure that the authorities were after him; hence the fictitious names. His primary worry, however, was that postal inspectors might get wind of his operation and harass people who replied to his ads. Thus he was very careful in establishing new post office box numbers. He always tried to deal with a clerk who wouldn't recognize him, and on occasion he hired other people-hippies, GSI members, friends-to rent the boxes for him. He hadn't been nabbed or harassed yet, and he hoped things would remain as safe and relaxed as they had been so far.
Screening the replies to his ads was a pain in the ass. A large percentage of the replies were from crackpots and freaks. Sorti had no desire to deal with such people. "I run an organization for respectable men and women," he liked to say, and his customers were indeed reputable for the most part if one overlooked their sexual proclivities. Sorti believed, no doubt correctly, that letting the freaks into his organization would increase the likelihood of exposure and ultimate arrest.
Sorti sighed as he went to work on the final ad of the morning. It was aimed at voyeurs, specifically those peepers who dug stag films. It was a triumph of Sorti's copywriting talents: CINEMA BUFFS, UNITE! We've got the movies-all we need now is an audience, and that means you! See stag flicks, vintage and contemporary, in congenial surroundings with like-minded adults. This is a private club, and we can show you the finest in erotic movie material available today. Our stuff is hotter than anything you'll see on 42nd Street and of infinitely greater quality than anything you can order by mail You'll be able to enjoy these classic film works in an audience situation; what you do in the screening room, whether it involve masturbation or making new friends, is entirely up to you! This ad is NOT aimed at derelicts, child molesters and dirty old men-rather, it is intended to appeal to those educated, sexually liberated adults whose interests are centered on the silver screen. Reply in confidence to Box 1940, Warren Harding Sta., NYC 10092.
Sorti was tired. Writing advertisements might not be strenuous, but it was fatiguing. It wasn't yet noon, and he had been awake for only an hour and a half, but Sorti was sorely tempted to go into the bedroom and take a well-earned nap.
FLASHBACK NO. 3: There he was, a high school student, and he was going to get his first piece of ass. Oh, it hadn't been promised to him, but he knew he was going to get it. No doubt about it. Luline, a sixteen-year-old bundle of nymphomaniac desires, was going to spread her legs for him. It was a sure thing, as sure as subzero weather in a Minnesota January.
He knew about Luline. Everybody did. There were a good two dozen guys who said they'd fucked her, and Sorti had no reason to doubt their stories. Luline was the kind of girl who looked like she did it... She walked sexily and wore short skirts; she let her knees fall open when she sat in class and she licked her lips whenever she chatted with a male teacher or one of the more self-assured boys. Sorti had asked her out, and she'd accepted. There wouldn't be any more petting or finger-fucking; not tonight. A bit of foreplay, perhaps, but it wouldn't take Sorti long to get down to basics. Fucking. That was what Luline was all about. She was a fucking machine, a hunk of meat with a gaping pussy in it, and he was going to fuck her for all that she was worth.
Sorti picked her up at seven and took her to a movie. The film was Dracula Meets the Lizard Man, and it was an artistic disaster. But it turned Luline on and that was what mattered. Sorti had heard about her fondness for monster movies, of how she squirmed and giggled every time a reptilian creature slithered across the screen. Phallic symbolism? Sorti didn't know. He was a teen-age boy, not a Freudian psychiatrist. What he did know was that he was going to fuck her, probably within an hour or two.
They had Cokes at Morrie's Milk Bar when the show was over, and then they headed for Luline's car. Luline had to do the driving, since Sorti didn't have his license yet, but neither of them cared. Luline drove slowly, provocatively; Sorti felt like crying "Go faster!", like telling her to speed to the local lovers' lane so they could fondle, pant and fuck.
Luline didn't have any doubts as to her own place in Sorti's plans, fortunately. She reached the wilderness preserve in due course and parked as if she'd done it a million times before. She probably had, Sorti thought with mixed jealousy and amusement. It was funny, but he didn't like the thought that she'd slept with so many other guys. Maybe it was because he hated to face the fact that she was more experienced than he.
"Hi," she said, turning to face him. She was grinning.
"Hi."
"I guess you wanted to park, didn't you?" she asked.
"Yeah."
Luline giggled. "I'll bet you've heard a lot about me."
"I sure have."
"You must think I'm terrible."
"God, no. I think you're great!" Sorti said it so intensely, so sincerely, that he blushed a second after he'd uttered the words. If sounded so adolescent. So goddamned dumb.
Luline licked her lips. The old telltale sign, thank God! "What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"I want you to undress," he said.
"Now?"
"Yeah."
She shrugged. "Are we going to do it here or on the ground?"
"We'll get dirty if we do it outside the car," Sorti said.
Luline laughed in a way that said Sorti was lacking in something-namely, experience. "There's a blanket in the trunk, stupid," she said with a wry smile.
Sorti was steaming. The girl was trying to make an ass out of him! Still, she wanted to be fucked. She wouldn't have come here with him if she wasn't eager. "Give me the keys," he muttered. He took the key ring from her and went to the trunk, where he removed the blanket and spread it out under a nearby tree. In the moonlight he could see the numerous stains from previous escapades. Indeed, the blanket felt stiff in spots, its wool hardened by God knew how many gobs of starch-like semen.
Sorti looked around. Luline was already undressing. She had her sweater off and was fiddling with her bra. Sorti moved to help her, but she had the strap unhooked before he could reach her. She shrugged the brassiere off her tits casually, as if to remind him that she'd done it a hundred times before. Sorti's cock tingled as he saw her breasts. They weren't fantastic, their shape wasn't anything to write home about, but the quantity was something else. They were big, with soft nipples that spread across two inches of flesh at the outermost point of each breast. There was nothing aesthetic about them, and they'd never get into a photo magazine, but they were female. Very female. They were the kind of big, floppy breasts that a fellow could dream of sucking, of sticking his cock between and sliding back and forth till the jism started to flow.
"I-" He was going to compliment her on the magnificence of her breasts, but he stopped himself just in time. She'd merely think him naive. Sorti kept his mouth shut and watched as Luline stepped out of her short plaid skirt to reveal a cotton half-slip. The petticoat came off quickly, and Sorti's guts began to churn as he saw the bulge of her panties where the fabric was strained by an excess of something... labia? Pubic hair?
Luline didn't waste time on seductive nonsense. She pulled the briefs off quickly, and Sorti saw what he'd been waiting for. Hair, tons of it, a multitude of curls that grew from the hidden recesses of her crotch up to a point not far below her navel. She had the bushiest twat that Sorti had ever seen; he didn't know a girl could be so hairy. It made him uncomfortable at first; was she part male? Was there something un-feminine about a girl who had so much pubic fur?
Luline was laughing. At him.
"What's so funny?" he asked angrily.
"I'm laughing at the way you're staring at me," she said. "I'm sorry. It's just that you look so shocked."
Bitch! "Maybe I am a little shocked," he allowed.
"Sorry." She was still laughing. "Look, maybe you'd better get your own clothes off if we're going to do you-know-what."
Sorti cursed silently but did as she suggested. He almost ripped his shirt off, tossing it onto the forest floor without thinking that it might get dirty. He kicked off his brown loafers, unzipped his jeans, stripped down to his shorts as quickly as she'd gotten to her panties. His briefs were bulging with the enormity of his erection, and he could hardly wait to set the cock free. Bitch! he though again as he inserted his fingers in the waistband and pushed downward, drawing the shorts over his hips and bringing his cock, all seven-and-a-quarter inches of it, into view. He waited for her reaction. There wasn't any to speak of. She was eyeing his prick with interest, but she didn't seem particularly impressed. Well, fuck it. Sorti kicked his shorts to one side and motioned to the blanket. Silently, he dropped to his knees, cursing to himself once more as he felt the stiff spots and saw the stains, and he watched with trembling cock as Luline came over and knelt beside him on the blanket.
"Kind of eager, aren't you?" she said as she nodded toward his cock. Sorti flushed proudly and reached out to grasp her right tit. Luline didn't resist as he pinched the nipple between two fingers and rubbed it to hardness. Nor did she object when he let go of the breast and moved his hand to her crotch, which he explored slowly, his fingertips creeping from the thatch of her pubic mound to the moist slit between her thighs.
Sorti grinned as he slipped an inch of finger into her cunt. "Kind of eager yourself, aren't you?" He felt a curious quivering just beneath the head of his cock.
He was ready to fuck her, and he was on the verge of doing just that when she pushed him away. "Not yet," she said.
"Why not?" His cock was aching with need.
"Eat me first."
"Oh, shit-"
"I always insist that the boy eat me before we screw. Sorry, but it's one of my rules."
The bitch! She was trying to humiliate him with her constant reminders that he wasn't the first. And she wanted him to eat her pussy... Hell, he didn't mind that, and he rather liked the idea of sucking her cunt because of his relative lack of experience in that area, but he didn't like being told what to do. "Let's fuck," he said thickly, trying to shove her onto her back.
"No!" She slapped him. Slapped him! Sorti couldn't believe it.
"Holy-" he began, but she cut him off with another light slap to the mouth. She was laughing at him, her eyes sparkling tolerantly, and Sorti was incensed.
"Eat me," she ordered again, lying back with her legs spread wide. "We'll fuck in a little while."
Sorti held his breath. He couldn't rape her; he could go to jail for that, right? He'd heard of guys being thrown into prison for fucking women who'd been eager at first but who'd changed their minds midway through the proceedings. He wanted to fuck her, had to fuck her, and there was only one way that he could count on doing it. That, alas, was to do as she insisted. He had to eat her. "Okay," he muttered. The bitch!
Angrily, Sorti fell to his knees and elbows and prepared to go the oral-genital route. He brought his face near her pussy and took a deep sniff; she smelled like... well, like a female. She was hot for it, there was no doubt about that. Sorti paused briefly, hoping she'd beg him to get on with it, but she didn't say anything. The bitch was still trying to humiliate him; still, he had to go on...
"Ah!" She gasped softly as Sorti pressed his mouth to her cunt. Sorti's tongue slid into the fissure and held the inner lips apart while he used his upper lip to rub the sensitive clit. He felt her thighs tighten about his head, and he stuck his tongue even deeper into the slit so he could savor the taste of her fresh, abundant juices. There was something faintly fishy about the flavor, but he didn't mind it at all; on the contrary, he found it exciting, and he felt an even greater need to stuff his cock into her snatch.
"Higher," she said after a while. "Lick my clit. With your tongue." Sorti stiffened; she was still giving commands! Here she was, trembling with desire, and she had the presence of mind to give him orders! Still, Sorti knew better than to object; he pulled his tongue from her labia and moved it upward to the exposed knob of the clitoris, lapping at the oversized organ until he heard a long, racking moan and felt her pubic bone press against his face as she lifted her ass off the blanket. Well, he was showing her. She might be more experienced than he, but he had the inborn talent to give her a hell of a good licking.
Sorti kept at her. Tongue on clit, teeth scraping against the flesh where the shaft disappeared into her pubic mound; fingers sliding into pussy, single finger of other hand stroking her perineum and asshole, hot breath bathing her entire genital region in humid warmth...
Shit, she was responding! Really responding. He could see her writhing beneath his moving mouth, could feel her fingers digging into his scalp. So she thought she could humiliate him, eh? Well, he'd show her who was boss...
Tongue into cleft. He was stroking her clit with two fingers now, alternately rubbing and strumming it as he forced his tongue deeper and deeper into her juice-drenched cunt. He loved the taste of her; loved the stench of her juices, the stench that tickled his nostrils almost to the point of irritation but not quite; loved to stroke her, to stick his tongue in her, to feel her asshole and to think of how he was going to fuck her in a very, very short time.
"Yes!" she moaned. "Oh, yessssssssss!" Her voice dissolved into a hiss as he slathered saliva over her clitoris and simultaneously stuck three fingers into her cunt. Shove! Yeah, he drove them in as deep as they'd go. Her vaginal sphincter gripped the fingers, and when he pulled his hand away her cunt seemed reluctant to let go.
I'm going to lick your asshole, he told her silently, and so he did. He pushed her legs farther apart and used both hands to spread her anal cheeks so that he could slide his tongue into the cleft of her ass. He tickled her perineum with the tongue-tip, leaving a trail of saliva as he did so; he then stabbed the tongue against the tight dimple itself, soaking the crimped opening with vast gobs of spittle. Take that, he thought as he cleared his throat noisily and spat yet more saliva into the space between the cheeks. She was whimpering now, begging him to fuck her.
"Now!" she cried. "Fuck me!" she shrieked a moment later when he continued to lick her asshole. No sweat, he thought; he was going to fuck her, all right, but when he was good and ready. The tables had been turned, and now it was she who was doing the begging. Well, let her beg some more. Let her wheedle, whimper, beg, wheeze, groan... shit, he felt like forcing her to give him a blow-job. But no; he didn't want to come in her mouth, not yet. He just wanted to fuck her.
Ah. He'd pulled his tongue from her asshole and was about to stick it back into her pussy when she surprised him by blowing a fart. He was turned off at first-Christ, to think he'd licked her there a moment ago-but after a moment's thought he found it rather amusing. If he wasn't careful, she'd be shitting all over the place after a couple more licks. No more asshole licking, he cautioned himself; it was back to the cunt where the smells and flavors were more to his liking...
"Oh, God!" She was whimpering, and her tone pleaded for him to fuck her. Sorti stabbed four fingers-four whole fingers-into her twat and spread the opening as wide as he could make it go. Luline cried out in pain and begged him to stop. Sorti, amused, only hurt her more. He forced a fifth finger into the pussy, spread the sphincter until he was certain she'd burst, and only when he saw the tears running down her cheeks did he pull them out.
"Sorry," he muttered in a sudden burst of shame. He was relieved when he saw that she stopped weeping and went back to normal once his fingers went back to massaging her clit. She was writhing again, lifting her ass up in the air with her legs parted wide and her cunt glistening in the moonlight and the stench of her juices assaulting his nostrils and...
"Fuck me!" she begged yet again. Sorti, his cock suddenly burning with unfulfilled desire, made the snap decision to obey. He'd fuck her, all right, but only because he was ready at last. He was doing it for his benefit, not for hers.
"All right," he said softly as he rose halfway and crawled forward so that his prick came within inches of her cunt.
There was a way of doing this, he thought as he stared down at his swollen cock. He lowered himself into the missionary position and used his left hand to balance his weight as his right hand moved to the cock and aimed it in the direction of Luline's pussy. He rested the cockhead against her pubic fur, then moved it downward until it slid into the waiting vestibule of her labia. The lips were wet and warm and the sensation was completely fantastic. Overwhelming, that was the word for it. He hadn't even fucked her yet, was only on the verge of sticking it in her, but he was feeling great already. This was going to be quite a night.
"Fuck me!" she screamed, thrusting her hips forward and upward, catching him by surprise. A good three inches of cock was in her before Sorti knew what was happening, and he almost fell off balance as she began to pump back and forth on his organ.
"Jesus." Sorti took stock of the situation and felt a tremendous surge of relief. She'd done it for him; she'd saved him the worry of wondering just how to handle his first fuck. Suppose he'd made an ass of himself as he put it in?... God, how embarrassing it would have been! Or what if he'd shoved it in too far, too fast, and broken her mood?... That, too, would have been a disaster.
Sorti fucked her now, steadily and powerfully, and he rose high on his arms as he rode her so that he could look down at her, could see her heaving tits and the contorted features of her face. She was breathing hard, punctuating each breath with gasps and grunts; an occasional moan came out of her chest to tell of her fantastic need, and her cunt seemed to become tighter and tighter as they humped toward orgasm. She needed him, needed him badly. She was gripping him with her vaginal sphincter, crushing him as tightly as she was able, and now, as he felt her cunt tremble around his prick, he knew that she was at the brink of climax...
Well, fuck her! Or, rather, cease fucking her, he thought as he pulled his cock from her pussy just in time. "Who's boss now?" he muttered so softly that she couldn't hear him. He watcher her writhe angrily, laughed as she cried out in frustration. She'd been on the very edge of ecstasy, and he'd pulled out of her. Sorti, not Luline, was king of the mountain now.
"Why?" she sobbed. "Why, oh God, why?" She made a grab for his prick, presumably in an attempt to shove it back in, but Sorti knocked her hand away.
"Not yet," he said, chuckling cruelly. "In a little while." Those had been her words, hadn't they? In a little while. Let the chick suffer a little, let her beg for his cock. If she wanted him, she'd have to plead. He'd show her who was boss.
"Bastard!" she muttered. She glared at him, showed her teeth to him, tried to slap him but was stopped by Sorti's hand on her wrist. "You son-of-a-bitch," she hissed. Sorti, still in control of the situation, only laughed.
"I'll fuck you," he said, "when I'm good and ready." He laughed again, holding his cock in one hand and waving it at her as if to mock her. "Want to suck it? Want to get it all nice and wet, huh?" He was being vulgar, incredibly vulgar, but what the hell! She was a bitch, wasn't she? The bitch!
Suddenly Luline began to cry. She started with a few tears that trickled out of each eye and glistened on her cheeks, but within seconds her whole body was jerking with powerful sobs, and her hands flew up to cover her face. She didn't say anything, she didn't complain, but Sorti knew why she was crying. He wanted to laugh at her, but a sudden twinge of compassion prevented him. He saw her right hand move from her cheek to her belly; when she reached for her cunt, he knew that she was going to try and finish up by herself. "No." he said thickly, seizing her wrist and forcing the hand back to her face. "We'll finish the regular way."
Slowly, less angrily now, Sorti moved over her for a second time and let his cockhead slide around her thigh and pussy until it settled in the appropriate spot. He thrust forward quickly and decisively; Luline, her entire body trembling, uttered a cry of delight as five inches of meat slid deep inside. Sorti fucked steadily, his rhythm unaffected by Luline's writhing or by the jerking spasms of her cunt. She had one climax, then lay gasping while he fucked her until her vaginal sphincter began to shudder once again (Sorti could feel it) and finally twitched in a second orgasm. Sorti grinned; he was good, and he knew it. And, just as important, he was boss.
"Come," she begged as she nibbled on his shoulder. She was pulling him close to her, and her fingers were running up and down his spine. "Squirt it into my guts!"
That did it. At the word "squirt", Sorti slammed forward with all his strength, building up momentum with each thousandth-of-an-inch until his forward progress was suddenly stopped by the rear wall of her cunt. Sorti then went into reverse, sliding backward till his cock almost fell out; another thrust, another reverse, and the heat built up in his cockhead and in the flesh just below the knob and finally, wonderfully, uncontrollably, the jism came out of his balls and prostate and forced its way through the urethra! canal until he was spewing it, firing it in rhythmic bursts, into the slippery recesses of Luline's cunt.
"Christ!" he cried, as if the orgasm were the result of some divine inspiration. "Holy mother of... shit!"
He shot the last gob of the stuff into her, and then he let his body sink onto her belly and rest there until she finally begged him to roll off so that she could get her breath.
"Was it nice?" he asked a few minutes later.
"Yes." She was still breathing hard-and he was too.
"I'll bet you thought I was a first-timer," he said.
"Yes, I did."
Sorti laughed.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"Nothing. Nothing at all." he lay there, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand, not caring that the blanket beneath him was stiffened from a score of ejaculations. He was boss, wasn't he? He was the conqueror, the first-timer who'd made a nympho plead.
"Sorti?"
He glanced at her. "Yeah?"
"I don't understand you."
"Why not?"
She smiled uncertainly. "I don't understand why you're so cruel."
Sorti laughed. It was a long laugh, a loud one that came from deep in his belly.
"Why are you laughing?" she asked.
Sorti looked at her for a moment, then stopped laughing and grinned. "I guess it's because-" He paused and thought for a moment. "I guess it's because I don't understand it myself."
CHAPTER FIVE
SORTI answered the phone on the third ring. It was Andrea.
"I've seen Susan," she told him.
"So?"
"I told her what you said about our relationship."
"Oh."
"Are you listening, Sorti?" She paused, then went on. "I told Susan how you didn't think I loved her in anything more than a sisterly sense. She thought you were full of shit."
"Uh huh."
"Then we made it together, Sorti."
"Uh huh."
"Goddamn it, Sorti!"
He laughed. "What's wrong?"
"Well, aren't you going to react?"
"Okay, I'll react. Susan is full of shit, far more so than I am, and you're a fool for letting her talk you into another fucking tongue-fest. There... is that enough of a reaction?" He was angry, and his anger carried over the wires.
"You're really mad, aren't you?" she asked, awed by the intensity of his response.
Sorti took a deep breath, held it, and managed to calm down. When he spoke again, it was in a normal tone. "No, I'm not angry," he said.
"I suppose you think I'm being hostile, calling you up and confessing everything this way."
Sorti shrugged, though he knew she couldn't see the gesture.
"Sorti? Are you there?"
"I'm here." he sighed, trying to sound bored with the discussion. "Look, Andrea, what you do with Susan is no skin off my ass."
"Well, I thought you'd be interested."
"I am interested, but only insofar as I'm interested in what becomes of you. I think you're pretty damned foolish to waste your time on Susan."
"I enjoy it, Sorti. Susan is very good in bed."
"So am I, damn it," he said.
"I know, but-"
"But what? I told you what your problem was. You're hung up on Susan because you never developed a proper sex life with men. That's all. If you'd been fucked a few times in your youth, and if you'd been lucky enough to enjoy it, you wouldn't be doing the lesbian routine today."
"That's simplistic."
Sorti shrugged again. "It's true."
"Sorti... "
"Yes?"
"I slept with Susan because I wanted to."
Sorti laughed at the shrillness of her insistence that it was sex, not a desire to refute his theory, that had led her to make it with Susan.
"What's so funny?" Andrea asked suspiciously.
"You're so transparent."
"What do you mean, transparent?"
"You're like a goddamn window pane. One little squirt of Windex and I can see right through you."
"You're a son-of-a-bitch."
Sorti laughed again. "Call me later, when you're in a better mood." He hung up the receiver and went to get another cup of coffee. He laughed yet again as he thought of Andrea's intensity; the girl had to be admired for her persistence in sticking to her dyed-in-the-wool lesbian routine.
The afternoon went smoothly, with Sorti spending several hours on bookkeeping and research. He found his thoughts drifting back to Andrea, however, and he couldn't help worrying about his interest in Andrea and her problems. Why was he so fascinated by her anyway? Why couldn't he simply treat her the way he treated every other sex object on the GSI rolls?... That is, why couldn't he push her out of his mind when she wasn't around and concentrate his mental energies on something more useful?
Sorti turned the radio on; every song on the air was about love, or so it seemed. Happy songs about love, sad songs about love, indifferent songs about love. Goddamn the whole concept of love anyway! Surely he wasn't in love with Andrea. Yet he couldn't help thinking about her, wishing that she were in his presence at that very moment; he could not help visualizing his cock in her cunt, his hands on her breasts, his lips moving across hers and his teeth being washed by the tip of her tongue.
The girl was like a malignant tumor-she just kept growing on him! Well, there was hope. Maybe she'd let Susan talk her into marriage or something; that way she'd be out of his life forever. In the meantime, Sorti had more important things to think about. A marital orientation session, for example. It was scheduled for seven o'clock.
One of Sorti's sidelines was providing "marital orientations" for newlyweds. The sessions weren't much different from Sorti's usual orgies, except that most of the participants were outright exhibitionists who enjoyed having an audience of non-orgiasts on hand. The audience consisted of the newlyweds, usually one to three couples at a time. They weren't required to join in the activities, though they were welcome to do so if they wished. The primary purpose of the marital orientations was to teach newlyweds the facts of married life while providing an opportunity for the exhibitionists to fuck in front of relative innocents-i.e., the newlyweds.
Tonight Sorti was expecting only one married couple. The husband was an ad space salesman for Skating Rink magazine. Sorti remembered him from the initial interview. The man was twenty-three, an ex-athlete from a small college, and a former candidate for the Congregational ministry. His wife was a blonde who wore her hair cut short and her skirts cut even shorter. The chick had seemed fairly shy during the interview, and her accent had definitely been Midwestern. Tonight's session ought to be an interesting one, if only because the viewers seemed so very straight.
Sorti dressed in black slacks and a bronze double-breasted corduroy jacket, then went out for dinner. It was six o'clock, and he had just enough time for an omelet at Mom's Jewish Dairy Snak.
"You can undress or keep your clothes on," Sorti said to Ned and Dusti Ermold, the couple who had signed up for the marital orientation. "Some newlyweds like to get in on the action, and some don't. Of course, being nude doesn't mean that you have to take part in the activities."
Ned and Dusti looked at each other; the girl blushed shyly, and she bit her lip when she saw her husband reach for his tie.
"I'm game," Ned said, looking slightly nervous. "But I'm only going to be an observer, I'm afraid." He tossed his tie to the floor, removed his shirt quickly, and pulled his undershirt over his head to reveal an exceptionally hairy chest. When he reached for his belt buckle, Dusti took a deep breath and reached around to unzip her dress.
"I'll help you, Sorti said solicitously. He saw that Dusti stiffened up as he helped her with the zipper.
Meanwhile, the other guests were undressing quickly. There were four of them: Griswold, a shaggy-haired sculptur; Ruth, his wife; Bettina, a woman slightly older than the others, perhaps thirty-five years of age; and Katz, a literary critic of fifty or so who was especially noted for his essays on pre-Miltonian poets. The four exhibitionists were naked by the time Dusti and Ned were undressed halfway, and Sorti smiled approvingly as he saw that Katz had an uncircumcised cock. Foreskins were a nice touch at such gatherings, since so few men had them these days.
Griswold, who was about twenty-five, came over to Dusti and watched as she nervously stretched her legs out in front of her and shoved her panties over her hips. "Nice," he said with a grin.
Ned frowned. He didn't seem to approve of Griswold's interest in his wife, but he didn't say anything.
"... was far more important than the era that came afterward," Katz was saying to Bettina, who looked rather bored. "Milton was the turning point, you see. Without Milton, the world of English literature might be far different from what it became after Paradise Lost."
"Cool it," Sorti interrupted. "You're here to fuck, not to discuss your goddamn English literature."
Katz managed a smile. "Ignorance is bliss, isn't it?" he said sarcastically.
"In literature, yes. In sex, no. Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Ned and Dusti Ermold. I would have introduced you earlier, but I think introductions are more effective when everyone is in the nude. Now, then-Ned, I want you to stop glaring at Griswold. Gris may be a long-hair, but that's no reason to dislike him."
"It's not his hair," Ned muttered. "It's the way he's looking at my wife."
Dusti was blushing a deep shade of red. But she was smiling, and every so often she met Griswold's gaze for a second or two before looking away.
Sorti sighed. He would have to take charge. "Let's get down to business. Griswold, I want you and Ruth to begin. Ned, Dusti, we're going to start with fellatio. I trust that you know what it is."
"Of course," Ned growled.
"Uh-huh, well, there's more to it than most people think. A good blow-job is more than a simple series of sucking motions with the mouth and lungs. Fellatio, at its best, is an extremely complex combination of techniques. Ruth, could you kneel in front of Griswold, please? Thank you. Now, if you'll take his cock in your fingers and direct it toward your mouth... there! Perfect. Don't start sucking on it yet. Just follow along as I chat with Ned and Dusti. Got the idea? Fine... !
"Now, then. Taking the cock into the mouth... Ruth? Go ahead. Good! That's just fine. You see, there's a certain way of taking the cock into the oral cavity. Oh, there are several ways, actually, but this is one of the most exciting methods and is the one most useful to beginners. The tongue comes out of the female's open mouth... Could you do it again, Ruth? Fine! Once more, now... and the moist upper surface of the tongue comes up to touch the underside of the male's cock. If the prick is hard, so much the better. You like that, don't you, Gris? Your cock is expanding, all right...
"To continue, the tongue caresses the underside of the penis momentarily, then serves as a platform to hold the cock in place while the female's jaws open wider and move forward to take the knob. Once again, please. There... note, please, that Ruth takes the cockhead into her mouth slowly. Speed is totally out of place in something like this; it may be of value if both partners are exceedingly hot to get on with it, but beginners at fellatio are advised to proceed slowly so that each step can be savored to the utmost. To continue... Ruth? Stop sucking. We're not ready for that yet."
Sorti glanced at Ned, whose cock was ramrod-straight, its thick six inches or so lined with swollen blue veins. Dusti, sitting next to him, had her legs tucked under her so that her pubic thatch was barely visible. She seemed to be doing her best not to show any reaction, but her nipples were erect. Sorti suppressed a chuckle. They were enjoying the show, all right.
"Ruth?" Sorti gestured to the long-haired brunette, whose lips were dribbling saliva. "You're going too fast. You know better than that, now... Come on! Stop sucking him." Sorti waited. The girl finally obeyed. "Very well. Now, then, Ned and Dusti, I want you to see how Gris reacts when Ruth applies a bit of tongue-stroking. Go to it, Ruth-slowly, now!"
Ruth's tongue, which was hidden in her mouth (the lips of which were closed tightly around Griswold's prick), began to lave the underside of the captive penis. Gris suddenly stiffened and arched his back slightly. A gasp escaped his lungs, and he placed both hands on Ruth's scalp.
"See?" Sorti nodded toward the fellating couple. "A half-inch or so of tongue movement accomplished that. Now, I want you to watch what happens next. Ruth? Give him a little suction. Not too much. Just enough to-yes, look at that! See how her cheeks pucker, or maybe I should say dimple, as she applies a pound or so of negative pressure? The vacuum is just enough to make Gris stiffen a little more... You like that, don't you?" Sorti grinned at the sculptor.
"Tell her... to go... faster!" the man managed to choke out.
"If you insist. Go on, Ruth-suck him! Hard!" Sorti stepped back for no particular reason as Ruth began to draw her lips even more tightly around Griswold's massive cock. He watched approvingly as the women sucked progressively harder; Gris also approved, obviously, for he was rocking to and fro rhythmically, with his fingers entangled in his wife's hair, wheezing in response to the powerful, expert sucking.
Sorti spoke more softly now. "Ruth, why don't you grab his balls?" He turned to Dusti and Ned. "Watch how she grasps his testicles firmly, but not hard enough to hurt him-there! She's squeezing him now, in tempo with her sucking. Pressure, release; pressure, release... She's doing just fine.
"Ruth, move your hand back toward his asshole... Marvelous! Dusti, I want you to try that when you're home with Ned. Let your middle finger creep along the perineum-that's the ridge connecting scrotum and asshole; there's an identical ridge between your own anus and vagina-while the rest of your fingers continue to cradle your husband's balls. Let me see your balls, Ned... They're big, but not so large that Ruth can't manage to cradle them and fondle your asshole at the same time...
"Ruth? Give him a goose. Perfect! Ned, Dusti, watch how the first joint of the finger sort of disappears into the vestibule of Griswold's anus. She isn't shoving it in, at least not yet; it only looks that way. Gris?" Sorti paused. More loudly now, "Gris?"
"Hunnh?" It was difficult for Griswold to speak.
"Open your legs more. I want Ned and Dusti to see what's happening. And turn around more so that your ass is facing us straight on... Just like that. Fine. Ned, Dusti, you can see the finger action through his parted thighs. Ruth's fingers are still squeezing Gris' balls while the middle finger is stroking his asshole. Ruth? If you want to, you can apply a little more pressure now. Great! How does that feel, Gris? Hmm?"
"Ah!" Griswold gasped as the finger attempted to push its way into his anus.
"You like that, don't you?" Sorti chuckled. "Now, then, I want you to watch him come, Dusti... Watch how Ruth isn't afraid to swallow his load."
Suddenly, as if on cue, Gris gurgled some unintelligible phrase and thrust his hips forward, simultaneously rising on tiptoes and stiffening his entire body. Ruth laughed from deep in her throat and stabbed a full two inches of finger into Gris' asshole, causing Gris to shudder once more. She began to suck even harder, making loud slurping noises in the saliva-glutted recesses of her mouth, and Gris began to moan uncontrollably as he twitched, thrust, gasped, shuddered, and dug his fingernails into his wife's soft scalp...
"Oh shit!" Gris cried at last, almost toppling as the intensity of his body's jerking knocked him off balance. He stiffened once more, held his position momentarily, then uttered a long, shuddering sigh and let his shoulders go limp. "Shit!" he said softly, happily, and then he fell back on his heels as Ruth pulled her finger from his asshole and let his softening cock fall from her mouth.
Sorti was smiling. "Show us his come, Ruth," he commanded. Ruth, grinning with the sticky white stuff dripping off her lower lip, opened her mouth and extended her tongue. There was a pool of semen on the tongue, with string-like trails of seed extending forward from the center to mingle with the dribbling saliva. "Wonderful," Sorti said enthusiastically. He glanced at Ned and Dusti, who were breathing hard. "Isn't it lovely? I want you to try that when you get home. Or even here, if you want to... " he paused and saw that Dusti looked discomfited. "Well, then, at home." He chuckled softly. The best was yet to come.
The orientation ended two hours later, with Katz pulling his foreskin back and pissing all over Bettina. Dusti gasped, and Ned muttered something about "perversion", but Sorti simply smiled. "It's easy to put things down when you haven't tried them," he said.
"But don't forget, you could be missing out on a lot. Take pissing as an example... There's nothing more delightful, really, then feeling your sex partner standing over you with a hot stream of urine pouring down on you from above. It may sound unsanitary, but urine is quite germ-free when fresh. As long as you take a shower afterward-and Bettina is going to, I'm sure-you don't have anything to worry about. The very un-usualness of the activity, its shock value, so to speak, is what contributes to its effectiveness as an adjunct to conventional lovemaking. And it is rather enjoyable in itself, of course. As I said, there's nothing more delightful than the sensuous feeling of piss on flesh... "
Ned had risen to his feet and was beginning to dress, his cock was soft now, and there was a dribble of fluid at the tip.
"You're leaving?" Sorti asked.
"That's the end of the show, isn't it?"
"Yes, but I thought you might like some private counseling."
Ned looked suspicious. "What does that mean?"
"Well, some couples who come for the orientation like to try what they've learned-under supervision, that is. With me doing the supervising."
Ned shook his head. "No, thanks."
"It's for your own good."
"You're a fucking voyeur," Ned said without emotion.
"No more than you were a voyeur as you watched my four friends in action."
Dusti licked her lips, then spoke. "Maybe he's right, Ned."
"Huh?"
"I mean it. Maybe we should take his advice. He's a professional, isn't he? And it isn't as if he hadn't seen us naked already... Air. Sorti, I'm still kind of confused about some of the positions."
Sorti looked at Ned. "Well?"
"How much does it cost?" Ned asked in a tone of resignation.
"Ten dollars per half-hour. You've already paid for the orientation."
"Greedy bastard, aren't you?" Ned was knotting his necktie.
Sorti shrugged. "It's no more expensive than a good flying lesson."
Ned didn't say anything, but for the second time that evening he began to undress.
Sorti was a night person, so he felt no qualms about going to work once Ned and Dusti had left. Instructing them in the finer points of sex activity had been pleasant; Sorti always enjoyed the role of schoolteacher, and he also liked to watch newlyweds fuck. They invariably seemed nervous about the whole thing, and they always behaved as if someone were standing by with a television camera. Dusti had acted like a teen-age girl going to a gynecologist for the first time. Ned, on the other hand, had seemed worried that he might not be able to get it up. But once they'd begun fucking, with Sorti giving them pointers on how to get the most out of each position, they had loosened up. The hour of instruction had ended with the two of them having a simultaneous orgasm, one joined in with by Sorti who, without their noticing, had begun to jerk off.
Now, with everyone gone, Sorti turned his mind to another project: an illustrated book on adolescent sexuality. The volume, to be published by the Pubescent Publishing Corp. of Torrance, California, was going to be a pseudo-scholarly work sprinkled with photographs of teen-agers fucking. Not to mention sucking, fingering, widdling, nibbling, whipping, lesbianizing, and every other sex act known to the typical oversexed teeny-bopper. The book was going to be a triumph of bad taste; it was also bound to be a best-seller.
Sorti had prepared quite a few notes for the book, though he hadn't yet written it up in final form. His primary worry right now was lining up suitable models. He could do his own photography-he had a good studio, and he was quite capable of operating the equipment even if he didn't know much about the final artistic merit-and he planned to shoot the photos a few days hence. In the meantime, he wanted to study his notes. And he couldn't help thinking about his own adolescence...
FLASHBACK NO. 4: There he was, sixteen and in love. The girl, a raven-tressed lovely named Sofia Morgenthau, was full of fire. She was what Western movie heroes called "a girl with spirit", and it was her spirit (not to mention her body) that appealed to Sorti. She liked sex, and she enjoyed the competitive aspects of a relationship with Sorti, and she was also one goddamn hell of a fuck.
But there were complications, specifically the threats of her brother, a senior in high school, named Fred. Fred, unlike Sofia, had very little spirit. What he did have was a streak of meanness, a basic sneakiness of purpose that made him very easy to dislike.
Fred was a blackmailer. Sofia's father-Fred's father-was a Conservative rabbi. Sorti was fucking Sofia, and Fred knew it. That was the crux of Sorti's problem-for Sofia's father, if he were to learn about Sorti's misbehavior with his daughter, would forbid Sofia to see Sorti. And Sofia, being an obedient daughter, would do as she was told. Without Sofia, Sorti would be very unhappy. He would be deprived of a very steady, very good piece of ass.
Fred had been dropping hints to the effect that Sorti would have to do something for him if the secrecy of Sorti's and Sofia's sex life was to be protected. Fred hadn't yet said just what his terms were, though Sorti had an idea that something odd was involved. For one thing, Fred talked like a fag. For another thing, rumor had it that he was a fag. Finally, there weren't many fags at school, which meant that Fred had a limited number of potential partners available to him. That meant... Christ, Sorti hated to think what it meant. Not that he was disgusted by homosexuality; it was simply that he was disgusted by Fred.
Finally Fred came out with it. Sorti had come over to ask Sofia to a movie, and Fred was the only member of the family in the house. "They've gone out," Fred said. He wouldn't say where. But he did say that they wouldn't be back for several hours.
Sorti was about to leave when Fred stopped him by grasping his right shoulder. "Hold on," Fred said quietly.
Sorti stiffened. "Why?"
"I want to discuss something with you." A sly chuckle.
"Like what?"
"Like what you're doing to my sister."
"I don't know what you mean." It was a poor bluff, and Sorti knew it. He wasn't surprised when Fred simply laughed in his face.
"You've been fucking my sister," Fred insisted.
"Prove it."
"Do you really want me to?"
"Sure," Sorti said stiffly.
"Well, I could show you Sofia's diary... " Fred laughed. He sounded a little like Truman Capote.
"What diary?"
"Sofia's diary. I told you. Only... well, if I showed it to you you might steal it. You're bigger than I am, you horny stud!"
Sorti's guts were churning. "I don't believe you. Sofia doesn't keep a diary."
"Sure she does. Let think... " Fred pursed his lips and made a show of scratching his head. "Let's see, now... Last night, dear diary, Sorti made me get down on my hands and knees so he could put it in me from behind. We did it just like dogs, and I loved it! He humiliated me so, but I didn't mind... ! had two climaxes before we were finished, and it was my best evening with him yet!" Fred laughed. "Does that sound familiar?"
Sorti exhaled slowly, trying to keep from kicking Fred in the balls. He didn't say anything.
"So you see," Fred continued, "Sofia does keep a diary. And I've copied most of it down. I even cut a couple of pages from it-oh, she'll never even notice that they're gone, and what if she does, anyway?-and those little secrets will be very, very interesting to Dad if he finds out."
"If he finds out?"
Fred raised his eyebrows. "He doesn't have to find out, of course."
Sorti stared at him. "What you're talking about is blackmail. Isn't that right?"
"Yes. That's it exactly. You see, Dennis-"
"Sorti."
"I like Dennis better."
"I'm going to kill you," Sorti warned.
"Not if you want to keep my sister, Dennis."
Sorti frowned. "Go on with what you were saying."
"It's like this, Dennis. I'm an admirer of the human body. Male human bodies, especially." Fred laughed. "Don't look so put off. Michelangelo was the same way. As I was saying, I'm an admirer of the human body. And now, if you're willing, I'd like to admire yours."
Sorti cursed silently. He felt like murdering the son-of-a-bitch.
"Take your clothes off, Sorti. We can talk about the rest of my suggested arrangement once both of us are nude."
Sorti didn't move. Gears whirred and clicked rapidly in his mind as he tried to decide whether Sofia was worth it.
"My sister is very attractive," Fred reminded him, seemingly reading Sorti's mind. "And she likes you very much. You really ought to see her diary." Fred grinned.
"What do you want me to do?" Sorti asked tonelessly.
"Like I said-undress."
"And then?"
"We'll talk about that afterward," Fred said.
Sorti sighed. "All right." he stripped quickly, without embarrassment. He wasn't going to let this little shit of a fag intimidate him. When he was naked, he faced Fred squarely, as if to challenge the other boy to do something. Fred was only half-naked; but soon he stepped out of his shorts to reveal a small but aesthetically perfect set of genitals. The blond-brown hair around his cock and balls was clipped short to set his organs off to maximum advantage.
"Look at me," Fred said in a soft voice, one that trembled slightly with desire.
"I'm looking," Sorti replied cryptically.
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm not thinking about anything," Sorti snapped.
Fred laughed gently and walked toward Sorti. "I want you to touch me," he said.
"Where?"
"I think you can guess."
"I'm afraid you're right," Sorti said drily. "But you'd better tell me anyway. I'll be damned if I'm going to humiliate myself without being asked."
"My cock." Fred said it so softly that Sorti almost didn't hear him.
"Oh, shit."
"Touch it," Fred said more firmly.
"Goddamn fucking-"
"Touch it!" Fred paused; then, more softly, "I insist."
Sorti cursed silently and reached for Fred's small cock. The organ was soft; thank God it wasn't a hard-on yet. The cockhead felt soft and warm to Sorti's touch. He held it for a second or two, then let go. Oddly enough, he didn't feel repulsed. He didn't like it, and he didn't want to go on with this whole business, but he didn't feel particularly disgusted with himself. What the hell, sex was sex, whether it was hetero or homo.
"Touch it some more," Fred insisted. "Stroke it. Make it get hard."
Still sputtering mental epithets, Sorti grabbed the cock and held it between his thumb and index finger.
He forced himself to grip it hard. The only way to do it, he decided, was to plunge right into the whole goddamn business and do what he had to do. Nothing more, nothing less. He wasn't about to go overboard, but to be coy about cock-stroking or whatever was merely prolonging things.
"That's nice" Fred said softly. "So nice. Do you want me to play with yours?"
"No thanks," Sorti said irritably.
"I insist."
"No-" He stopped. If Fred wanted to grab him, he'd let the little bugger grab him. He didn't have any choice.
"Now... I'm going to touch your cock ever so softly, Dennis, and I want you to tell me how it feels." Fred let his fingers graze over Sorti's cock and balls, and then three fingers grasped the soft cylinder of flesh. "Mmm, it's a big one! How does it feel, Dennis? Tell me, please."
Sorti frowned.
"Say something, Dennis."
"Well, I wouldn't say that I'm enjoying it."
Fred smirked. "You will, Dennis. You will." The boy began to knead Sorti's cock rhythmically, simultaneously thrusting his own hips back and forth as if to encourage Sorti to do some more energetic fingering. Sorti, taking the hint, resigned himself to making Fred happy. He wrapped his entire right fist around the fag's stiffening cock and began to squeeze it to the tempo of the kneading that was taking place on his own organ. Fred sighed, closed his eyes, and began to breathe more noisily.
The son-of-a-bitch! Sorti could hardly believe what was happening. Here he was, a thoroughly confirmed heterosexual, and he was engaging in mutual masturbation with a goddamn queer! What if Sofia should find out? For all he knew, Fred might turn this whole business into a double blackmail arrangement, extorting sexual favors not only to keep the news from Sofia's father but to keep their homosexual activities from coming to Sofia's attention as well! Damn, he should have thought of that earlier... Still, it was too late to back out now. He'd already committed himself, and Fred had whatever ammunition he needed to fuck Sorti for good. Sorti could only hope that Fred would be satisfied with this single session. Goddamn son-of-a-bitch!
"You're making me feel wonderful," Fred said. "I love it. Oh, God, I love it!" He quivered ecstatically and grasped Sorti's penis even harder. Sorti frowned and tried to fight back the feelings of arousal that were building up in his loins.
It felt good. That was the whole problem, Sorti thought. He couldn't help it-Fred's expert caressing was too much for him to resist. It was no more than a physical response, of course... His cock was responding; it wasn't his mind. Emotionally, Sorti was turned off by this whole scene. He couldn't help it if his nerve endings reacted to Fred's fondling, could he? How could he be expected to fight sensations which were the same whether they were created by a fag's hand or a good heterosexual fuck?
"I want you to perform fellatio on me," Fred said thickly.
Oh, shit!
"Did you hear me?" Fred repeated.
"I heard you."
"And...?"
"No dice."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk."
Sorti thought again. "Motherfucker." He gritted his teeth as he heard Fred laugh.
Fred gestured for Sorti to lie down on the floor. "On your side," Fred directed, dropping into position beside Sorti when his instructions had been obeyed. "I'm going to lie alongside you," Fred said. "In the sixty-nine position. I want you to take my penis in your mouth and... " He laughed. "Well, you can figure it out for yourself, I'm sure."
Sorti felt like puking when he saw Fred's stiff cock only inches away from his face. He thought of saying no, of simply getting up and walking out of the house with his clothes under his arm, but then he realized that he had been trapped. Shit. Well, he hadn't any choice. Gathering up every last ounce of courage, Sorti opened his mouth, licked his dry lips with an almost equally dry tongue and-with a sudden lunging motion-forced his lips and teeth over Fred's cock. He felt his intestines twitch as he closed his mouth on the organ, and he had to close his eyes so as to avoid seeing Fred's close-cropped pubic hair.
Suck it! he told himself, using every bit of will power that he had to fight back his stomach's rebellion. Steeling himself as best he could, he began to suck on the prick rhythmically, applying as much pressure as he could muster. With luck, the act would be finished in a minute or two, releasing Sorti to go to the bathroom and puke out his guts. God, he hated it-not just because Fred was a fag, but because Fred was Fred. What a rotten son of a bitch!...
God! Fred had grasped him by the balls and was... shit, Sorti thought, the bastard's sucking me off! Sorti stiffened and felt a surge of fluid in his belly as Fred began to lap at his prick with a saliva-slathered tongue. Stop it! Sorti wanted to cry, but he couldn't say anything because he was too busy sucking Fred's organ. Goddamn fucking luck! How had he ever gotten into this situation in the first place? God, if Sofia should walk in and see him now...
"Mmmmmm!" Fred was becoming excited, far more eager than before. Sorti's sucking was taking effect, and Sorti could feel Fred's loins pressing toward his face. The cock was thrusting deeper into his mouth now; after one particularly powerful suck, Fred stuffed his prick halfway down Sorti's throat. It was all that Sorti could do to keep from gagging.
If only the son-of-a-bitch would let go of Sorti's cock, if only... yet Sorti, too, was beginning to enjoy it, He couldn't help himself. Fred was, if anything, a better cocksucker than Sofia. Sofia was good, but being a girl she hardly had the experience to know just what it felt like to be fellated by a pro. Fred knew, and he also knew how to reciprocate. All of Fred's homosexual background merged into the present to provide Sorti with the most lovely, the most fantastic of blow-jobs... Shit! Sorti tried to pull back, tried to get up the will power to yank his cock from Fred's mouth, but Fred's expert sucking was just too much to resist...
Jesus Christ! Sorti was coming, and he knew it. Still he tried to hold back, but it was too late. He couldn't help it when the stuff poured through his urethra and squirted out of his cockhead in a single urine-like stream; he cursed himself as the stuff shot deep into Fred's contracting mouth... And now Fred, too, was coming; long rope-like spurts of semen were spurting from his organ's tip, coating Sorti's tongue and going deep into Sorti's throat until Sorti felt like puking then and there.
Sorti suddenly pulled his cock from Fred's mouth, released Fred's softening organ, and jumped to his feet. He was angry, and he was ashamed of his inability to resist Fred's expert lips. Silently, but breathing hard, he slammed his foot into Fred's belly. Fred gasped and rolled onto his side. Sorti kicked him in the face. Fred cried out. Sorti then gave Fred a solid kick in the balls. Fred whimpered, rolled his eyes back, and passed out.
Sorti looked down. He didn't feel anything at all now, not even revulsion. He was dressed and out of the house before Fred had a chance to regain consciousness.
CHAPTER SIX
SHE showed up at one P.M. the following day, and she looked troubled.
"What's up?" Sorti asked, wondering why she had come.
Andrea tossed her purse on a chair and paced toward the far end of the room. "It's Susan," she said. "I'm confused about our relationship. Much more confused than I was before."
Sorti mixed a couple of drinks. "Bloody Mary? They're good at this time of day." He preferred one of the glasses to Andrea, who took it without much interest. Sorti quaffed his drink while she sipped at hers.
"I love Susan," Andrea said firmly. "I've told you that, of course. It still holds true!"
"So why did you come to visit?"
"It's-" She put her glass on the coffee table and sat down on the couch. "It's not that I don't love her," she went on. "I mean, I do love her. We're like, like... " She groped for the right word.
"Sisters?" Sorti suggested.
"No!" Andrea shook her head vehemently. "Not like sisters. Like lovers. I mean, we are lovers. Have been, still are. It's just that-well, I've started to think about it, you know, because of what you were saying about how I was deprived of male companionship during my formative years. And I've begun to wonder if maybe you aren't right, at least partly. I do love Susan, you see, but perhaps I have an even greater capacity to love men. A capacity for... for fucking men." She laughed self-consciously. "Or maybe I should say a capacity for letting men fuck me."
"It's possible," Sorti said, smiling.
"But I can't be sure."
"True."
Andrea suddenly looked glum. "Here I am," she said. "An adult female who doesn't know what she wants. I love Susan, and I love having sex with Susan, but I have so little to compare it to where hetero stuff is concerned. I've had you fuck me, and it's been... well, different. But is it good!, I mean, is it really enjoying it if you have to combine an orgasm with humiliation? You do humiliate me, Sorti. How do I know if I can be fucked by a man and enjoy it without humiliation? Maybe I'm a masochist, heterosexually speaking... " Her voice trailed off as she considered the possibility, and she suddenly took a large swallow of her drink.
"What are you getting at?" Sorti asked quietly.
"I think you know." She blushed.
"Don't be coy with me, Andrea."
"I'm not being coy. I'm being... " she giggled nervously. "All right, I'm being coy."
"You want to experiment, is that it?"
"Yes."
"You want me to fuck you again?"
"That's it," she said so softly that it came out almost as a whisper. "Exactly."
Sorti chuckled. "But you want it minus the humiliation?"
"Yes. I want to see if I can come when you fuck me... nicely."
"What if I can't do it nicely?" he asked. "What if I've got to harass the living shit out of you so I can have an orgasm?"
She looked him in the eye. "Then you can go without an orgasm."
Sorti laughed and touched her knee. "I think I like you," he said.
"That's what Susan told me before we fell in love." Andrea sighed, finished her Bloody Mary, and reached for the button of her blue denim shirt.
She looked good with her clothes off. Better than almost any woman he could think of, in fact. There was something deliciously appealing about the olive skin, the taut little muscles, the abundant curls at the junction of her thighs. She looked like a coiled spring that wanted to break free from its mounts. She looked like a... oh, hell, he didn't know what she looked like; he knew only that she looked incredibly sexy, like an irresistible piece of ass. And she was irresistible, to Sorti. He could barely wait to stick his cock into her snatch...
"Sorti?" Andrea sounded nervous as she folded her clothes neatly and placed them on the coffee table.
"Yes?"
"Let's do it in the bedroom, not in here."
"Sure."
Sorti followed Andrea to the bedroom, his cock sticking out in front of him in a quivering erection. The organ was twitching slightly; it was a purely involuntary reaction. God, her ass looked great. The small olive-skinned cheeks wiggled and contracted, undulated and softened with every step. Every muscle seemed to be visible through the skin; yet the muscles were rounded, feminine, smooth rather than bulging. The ass looked so eminently fuckable, Sorti thought ruefully. Today, alas, he would have to screw her by the conventional route.
"What do we do first?" she asked worriedly as she eyed his cock.
"You can begin by lying down."
"On the bed?"
He laughed. "Where else?" He gave her a slight nudge with his cock, and she crawled onto the bed. "On your back," he said. "Spread your legs so I can see your cunny. There-hold it just like that." He stared at her, feasted his eyes on her swollen inner lips. The flaps were glistening already, moist with anticipation and desire. So she was a lesbian, eh? Her body said something different. It said that she wanted to be fucked, and not in an hour or two either.
"Sorti... " She sounded nervous again.
"Yeah?"
"Promise me something."
"Sure." He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch her clit. She jerked slightly, then regained her self-control.
"Promise that you'll be gentle," she begged. "Really. Promise that you won't humiliate me. I know you can make me come by treating me like a whore, but I want to see if you can do it by fucking me with... " She paused.
"Yes?" He toyed with her right inner lip.
"Well, tenderly."
"With love," he said. "That's what you meant to say, isn't it? You want to see if you can come when I fuck you with love."
"Yes," she said meekly.
"You want to see if I'm as desirable as Susan when I fuck you without the sado-maso element."
"Yes." She was trembling slightly; was it fear or a reaction to his finger on her snatch?
"We should be fucking, not talking," he told her.
"I know," she breathed.
Sorti chuckled softly and took his hand from her twat, simultaneously bending forward and moving his legs up on the bed so he could stick his face in her pussy and eat her like a banana split...
She tastes like fish. Sorti closed his eyes and savored the flavor and aroma. What the hell, he liked fish. Eating Andrea was like dining on red snapper, and that was fine with him. He stuck his tongue into the vestibule of her cunt and wiggled it to and fro. Andrea gasped and mumbled something unintelligible. He did it again. This time she whimpered and ran her fingers through her hair.
I'm going to fuck you, he thought. Nicely, the way you want it. He thought of her asshole, the anus that seemed so much more desirable than any other asshole that he'd ever fucked. Ah, well, today it would have to be her cunt. And why not? He couldn't complain, not really. Her asshole was nice-he liked its tightness, its powerful musculature-but her cunt wasn't anything to bitch about. He wouldn't mind shoving his cock into it. And shove it in he would-in a few minutes from now.
"Mmmmmm," She said softly. Sorti moved his tongue to her clit. This time she stiffened her thighs and dug her fingernails into his skull. He pursed his lips over the clit and sucked gently; she cried out and tightened her legs about his head. And he was being gentle! What do you know about that, he thought. She might have a climax yet.
"Vwwooooo... " Sorti pursed his lips more tightly and hummed, forcing the air through the small mouth opening at the same time. The vibration made his lips tingle, and it obviously made Andrea's cunt tingle as well. She let out a little cry and begged him, almost unintelligibly, not to stop. He didn't stop. He increased the volume of the humming, simultaneously moving a finger along her perineum to the hole of her cunt and on inside. He hooked the finger into the opening and applied upward pressure; the combination of pressure from his finger and mouth was almost too much for Andrea who lifted her ass off the bed and uttered a long, shuddering sigh.
Tenderness? I'll give you tenderness, he thought. He let his thumb move into position in the crack of her ass, and as he ate her and fingerfucked her he simultaneously began to stroke the dimpled asshole with the ball of his thumb. She likes it, he thought. She likes it a lot! Sure enough, she was pressing her asshole against the thumb, farting lightly as he dug the nail into the dry inner surfaces of her ass cheeks, and she was whimpering meaningless syllables as he increased the loudness of his humming and dug the thumbnail deeper into her ass.
But no, he was going too far. The ass bit would have to be kept under control; he would have to be certain not to stick the thumb into the anus, not to do anything which might excite her through pain or humiliation. Was thumbnail sex "tender"? Probably not. Sorti signed, pulled his thumb from the crack of her ass, and softened the intensity of his oral-genital vibe job.
Tenderness-that was the ticket. Gentleness was the name of the game.
"Do it," she whispered suddenly. "Now!" she begged.
"Fuck you?" He pulled his mouth from her crotch and stared up at her face, seeing the upper half of her body in distortion as if gazing through a wide-angle lens. Her head was half-hidden by her heaving tits, and her enormous pubic thatch rose up like a heavily-timbered mountain.
"Yes," she begged. "Now!"
Sorti smiled. He was tempted to laugh, but he resisted the urge. No, she might hear him and get the wrong idea. She wanted love, right? He'd give her love, then, or a reasonable facsimile thereof.
"All right," he said quietly. "I'm going to put it in you now, Andrea. I want you to enjoy it. Here... " He knelt between her thighs with his cockhead grazing the slippery vestibule of her pussy. "I'm going to slide it in, and I want you to count out the inches... " He said it affectionately so she wouldn't think he was giving her the humiliation routine.
"One... " She giggled as an inch or so of cock went in. "Two?" She wasn't sure, he could tell by her tone. "Three... Four?" She giggled again. "Five inches? Oh, God, Sorti, I can't take any more... "
But she did take more-about two inches more to be exact. She swallowed what seemed like an endless quantity of cock, and he felt her slick and swollen cunt lips pressing against his pubic hair. Yes, she'd swallowed all of him, every last inch. Christ, he couldn't believe it. Her cunt was tight, muscle-bound, but in terms of depth it seemed like a bottomless pit.
"I'm going to start moving now," he told her. "I'll begin slowly. Tell me if it isn't fast enough." He breathed deeply, braced his arms against the bed and began a steady thrusting rhythm. "I'll speed up as you become more interested... " His voice trailed off as he shut his eyes and concentrated on the delightful sensations that were building up in his cock.
Forward. Forward, yes, into the bottomless pit. Backward. Not a retreat, but a recoil-a reaction to the powerful delights of each forward thrust. Forward, backward; forward, backward; one, two; three, four; count it out, hup two three four, count each movement, breathe between thrusts, establish a carefully worked-out rhythm involving fucking, breathing, heartbeat, stiffening of the gluteal muscles, twitching of the cock...
Sorti looked down at Andrea. He saw that the girl's mouth was quivering. What the fuck? He moved a little faster. Now he noticed a drop of moisture at the corner of her left eye. Was she crying? He rotated his hips slightly, hoping the extra fillip would hum her on. Hey, what's going on? Her eyes opened for the briefest of milliseconds, just long enough to let a few tears trickle out, and then the lids closed tightly while Sorti muttered silent words of disbelief and moved his cock faster in her cunt, hoping she'd react to the sensations which, presumably, were flowing through her loins...
Shit, she was slowing down. Now she was stopping completely, just lying there with her ass on the bed. Her cunt muscles were tight, still; yet they didn't seem quite as taut as they had been a minute before and now she was loosening the sphincter, letting the pussy go limp as if she'd given up completely.
What's wrong? he thought. Finally, getting up the energy to speak, he said it out loud: "What's wrong?"
He stared down at Andrea, his cock still pumping away in her pussy, and he thought he saw a flicker of her eyelids. Look at me, he thought. Tell me what the fuck's going on! But she didn't do anything of the kind. She wouldn't, or perhaps she couldn't open her eyes and meet his gaze. Something was wrong, but he couldn't tell what, and she didn't seem about to discuss it with him...
"Come on," he groaned at last. "God, what the hell is the matter?" He stiffened his ass and thrust his cock into her-hard, hoping to jar her out of her depression. But no, she just lay there, limper than ever.
"I love you," he gasped. He didn't mean it, or at least he thought he didn't mean it, but he hoped it might work. "I love you!" he groaned. "More than Susan does!" Still no reaction. Holy fucking shit!
He looked down at her. The tears were oozing from her closed eyelids. Her mouth was open now-an inch or so, the teeth glistening with spittle, her Adam's apple jerking in silent sobs. "Come on," he begged, genuinely wanting her to enjoy it. "Please," he pleaded, but to no avail.
Goddamn it. He felt sorry for her; yet at the same time he felt angry because of the way she'd fucked both of them out of pleasure. He hadn't felt like humiliating her, and he didn't want to do it now, but what the hell was he supposed to do? He had to come; there was no alternative to squirting his seed into her guts.
"I'm going to come," he choked out at last. "Ready or not, here I come." He stiffened his back, took a deep gulping breath, gritted his teeth, and prepared for the inevitable. There was a pressure, a surge of warmth, and then...
"Sheeeyit...!" It was a curse, an orgasmic groan of anger and disgust. Sorti felt ashamed of himself, though he knew that what had happened wasn't his fault. He had tried, hadn't he? He plugged away at her, shot his gobs of semen into her cunt, yet each spurt of jism seemed less pleasurable than the one before it.
"Are you finished?" she asked softly, flatly, as if she were afraid to show any emotion.
Sorti stopped his thrusting and pulled out, his cock still half-hard with tension. "Yes," he replied.
"I'm sorry," she said, a tremor creeping into her voice.
"Yes."
"I don't know what went wrong."
Neither do I, he thought.
She opened her eyes and gazed up at him. She seemed afraid. "I'm sorry," she said again, this time a little more forcefully.
"So am I," he said without expression.
"It wasn't good for you, was it?"
"Not especially."
"Oh, God...!" She turned her head to one side and began to sob more noisily.
"Don't cry," he told her. "I can't stand to hear people crying... " Shit, he thought, climbing off her and rolling onto his back. Well, you had your good days and you had your bad days.
This had been a bad day-no doubt about that.
FLASHBACK NO. 5: It had been stupid of him to beat Fred up. He knew it now. He couldn't help but know it, considering that Fred had blown the whole thing to Sofia, who hadn't believed the story at first but was beginning to accept its truth as she saw the frantic expression in Sorti's eyes.
"Tell me it isn't true," Sofia begged.
"It isn't true." He tried to sound sincere. "Fred's lying. Honest. You know how he is. He's a fag, and a son-of-a-"
"He's my brother," she reminded him.
"I know. But he's a liar and a-"
"Just tell me if it's true. Don't insult my brother." She bit her lip, which was quivering. "Even if he is a-a liar." Sorti was perspiring heavily. How could he convince her that Fred had been lying? Especially when Fred hadn't lied to her at all?
"I didn't do it," he repeated for the umpteenth time. "I didn't do it!" The words came out with a hollow sound; he wondered if she knew he was feeding her a line of shit.
Sofia stared at him for a while without saying anything. When she finally spoke, it was in a tone of resignation. "Fred wasn't lying, was he?" she said. It wasn't a question but a statement and Sorti, caught off-guard, didn't quite know how to refute it. "I'm shocked," she said quietly. "I don't know what else to say, Sorti. I'm just... " She gulped hard, trying to keep from sobbing. "I'm shocked!" she suddenly warbled.
Shit. His eyes were filling with tears too. His cheeks were burning, and there was an uncomfortable sensation in his guts. She knew he had given Fred a blow-job! Oh, Jesus!... He felt sick to his stomach as he thought of her visualizing him lying alongside Fred with Fred's stiff cock in his mouth. He wondered what she thought when she saw, in her mind's eye, Fred's semen dribbling off the corner of his lower lip. He cringed as he realized that she knew everything, everything, that Fred had no doubt added to the believability of his story be describing Sorti's cock in great and accurate detail...
"Hell, Sofia-"
"You're a fag," she snapped. She was angry now, and in her anger she looked sexier than ever.
"Hey, look-"
"You're a fag. Just like Fred. What else am I supposed to call you? You sucked him off, didn't you? You took his cock in your mouth and gave him the best blow-job of his life... " She let her voice trail off as she reached into her purse for a Kleenex. Sorti tried to think of something to say while he watched her blow her nose in the wadded piece of tissue.
"Look, Sofia. Let me tell you something. It was blackmail, didn't he tell you that? He was going to tell your father everything-Christ, think what it would have done to you! What would your dad do to you if he knew how the two of us, you and me, had-"
"Oh, shut up."
"Damn it, Sofia-"
"Shut up, you fag!"
Sorti stiffened. "Wait a minute," he said thickly.
"Eat shit."
Sorti's jaw fell open. He didn't believe it. Sofia, his lovely and beloved Sofia, was telling him to eat shit?
"Eat it," she said in a trembling voice. "Eat shit, you queer bastard!"
Sorti's hands were trembling. "Hold on, Sofia. Just one minute, goddamn it-"
"Eat shit!"
He slapped her. He couldn't help it. He felt guilty afterward, but what the hell, she'd told him to eat shit, hadn't she? His feelings of shame quickly dissolved into a greater sense of anger. "Don't talk to me like that," he warned her.
She stared at him. "Eat-" He cut her off with another slap to the mouth. "You bitch. You no-good bitch. I did it to protect you, to keep Fred from fucking us up-"
"And you blew it by beating him bloody," she reminded him angrily, almost spitting the words out.
"Speaking of blowing," he laughed harshly, "you're going to blow me. Good!"
"Not a chance."
"You're going to do it," he insisted.
"Eat shit!"
Sorti slapped her again. He hit her once, twice, three times. He slapped her harder each time he did it, and on the last slap he drew blood. He was about to apologize, to offer her his handkerchief, but then he changed his mind. Fuck it, he thought. He would make her do the shit-eating... If anyone was going to be humiliated tonight, it wouldn't be him, but her.
"Bastard," she said with a quaver in her voice and a tear in each eye.
"Blow me." Sorti reached for his fly and unzipped it. He reached into his shorts, withdrew his cock, and pointed to the flaccid organ. "Suck it," he said firmly. "Now. Get down on your hands and knees."
Sofia shook her head. "No," she said. Sorti slapped her. She whimpered. He hit her again, drawing more blood from her lip. She begged him to stop, but still she refused to get down on her knees. "Blow me!" he said angrily, slapping her yet another time. This time the girl cried out in pain and fell to the floor, covering her bleeding mouth with both hands.
"That's better," Sorti said, his voice trembling almost to the point of unintelligibility. "Suck me now." He swallowed hard, trying to regain control of his larynx. "Take my cock in your mouth and suck it until I say to stop. Otherwise I'll beat you some more."
Sofia wept quietly, glancing at his prick out of the corner of one eye. Sorti nudged her with his knee; she jerked back. He gave her right leg a poke with his foot, and she moaned something that he couldn't understand. He felt a momentary pang of shame and sympathy for her, but then he remembered what she'd called him a few minutes earlier. "Suck me!" he repeated yet again, giving her a slight kick.
She did it. She did it reluctantly, but she did it all the same. Her movements were jerky and suspicious; she obviously feared that he would hurt her again if she didn't do everything just right. She reached for his cock, held it in the fingers of her right hand, and wet her lips with her tongue. Sorti held his breath as Sofia rose fully on her knees and moved her face closer to his crotch, an inch at a time, until her lips were grazing the knob of his cock. Suck it! he shouted silently, and she did just that. Sucked it. Took the cockhead into her mouth, held it with her lips and teeth, and used her tongue to lap at the very tip. Jesus. It felt good. He wanted to tell her to suck it harder, but he didn't have to. She did it like the expert that she was. She took another inch of cock into her mouth, applied suction, and used the flat of her tongue to slather additional saliva on the organ's sensitive underside. Holy Mother of God! That's right, baby, suck it harder, harder, use your tongue to...
"Aaah." The sigh came from his lungs involuntarily, catching him by surprise. Sofia, seemingly spurred on by the sudden noise, took yet another two inches of cock into her spittle-filled mouth and sucked harder, sucked so powerfully that he thought he couldn't stand it. Her fingers were cradling his balls now, weighting them, shifting them up and down and from side to side, toying with the hairs, creeping back to his perineum toward his asshole, pulling lightly on the wrinkly leather-like skin of his scrotum until he thought he couldn't bear to let her do it any longer, until he was sure that he'd come...
"Unnh!" It was a groan, a grunt, a cry rolled into one. He closed his eyes, grabbed her by both ears, and held her close to his crotch as he mentally counted each suck, each powerful pumping of his prick. She was an expert-far better, actually, then Fred had been. The humiliation, the pain, the anger... all had somehow combined to bring out her talents as a fellatrice, and here she was giving him the blow-job of his life.
"Oh, God!... " He bucked, jerked, thrust his body forward spasmodically as the first of the spasms hit him. He felt the hot goo spurting out of his cock, felt Sofia's mouth close harder about his throbbing cylinder of flesh, felt her tongue washing the stuff from his prick as it came shooting out of the slit at the tip of the knob, and he almost laughed as he heard an involuntary fart escape his asshole.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!... Well, forget Jesus. Jesus wasn't his savior; his cock was what provided him with saving grace. No matter what happened to him, no matter how depressing or frightening the situation, his cock always gave him the pleasure (and the confidence) that he needed.
"Ah," he said simply and gratefully when Sofia let go of his prick and spat the mixture of jism and spittle onto the floor. He looked down at her, and she looked back. Her eyes were hard now, and he flushed as she seemed to stare right into his soul. He had conquered her, and yet...
"How was it?" she asked flatly.
"Great," he confessed.
She smiled in a way that smacked of... sarcasm?
"Thanks," he said.
"You're welcome." She kept smiling that way, and it made him nervous. "Tell me," she said at last. "Am I as good as Fred?"
Sorti stiffened, flushed, and slapped her until she fell onto her face and belly and dug her fingernails into the floor. "We're finished, aren't we?" he managed to say though his throat trembled with shame and anger. Then, without asking, he pushed her skirt up and removed her panties and proceeded to fuck her dog-style with a half-hard cock.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE models were on hand for the big photo shooting, and Sorti was glad that he'd be getting that chore out of the way at last. Fortunately, the agency had sent him some attractive models. They looked clean-cut, normal, self-confident; in short, they looked like everybody's favorite team of all-American girls and boys. Well, with a few hippie overtones, perhaps. They were almost perfect for a book on adolescent sexuality, in any case, and well worth the fifty bucks each that Sorti had paid for their services.
There was something cool, almost jaded, about the oldest girl in the bunch. Her name was Martha, and she had big tits. "The agency said there was going to be some lesbian stuff," she said calmly. "I told them I'd expect an extra fifteen dollars if I had to eat any of the other girls."
Sorti frowned. "The agreement was for fifty bucks each, no questions or conditions asked."
"I don't know," she said. "I always get paid extra for lesbian stuff."
Sorti shrugged. "Trust me. I'll take it up with the agency in the morning."
"Why should I trust you?"
He laughed. "Good point. All right, sixty-five bucks for everyone. For that I'll expect all of you to do a damn good job."
Mike, a seventeen-year-old boy with blond hair of medium length, asked whether they should undress. Sorti nodded, and the boy stripped quickly. Sorti smiled appreciatively when he saw that the boy had a cock of average size. He didn't want any eleven-inchers today; the book was supposed to be convincing. Like a genuine documentary. Big cocks, size-E boobies and whatnot were the exact opposite of what he needed for the book.
"I didn't get your name," Sorti said as he turned to face a redhead of about fifteen. She was lean, almost skinny, and her freckles went nicely with her carrot-colored hair.
"Lillian," she said simply.
"Lillian what?"
"Just Lillian." She smiled. "Isn't that enough?"
There was another boy, a junior in high school named Edgar Schmutz. He was dark, olive-toned, and very sure of himself. He looked like the typical class-president type. He was just fine.
"And you?" Sorti eyed a pretty brunette, a girl of sixteen or so with a slender figure and a worried-looking face. Her hair was tied in long braids... Did she always wear it that way, or was it braided for a sort of Lolita effect? The girl smiled nervously, then looked away. "Well?" Sorti was becoming impatient.
"I'm Tess," she said. Tess! What a great name! Shades of Thomas Hardy, Sorti thought.
"You seem nervous," he told her matter-of-factly.
She blushed. "I guess I am."
"Why?"
"I've-" She fidgeted. "I haven't done anything like this before," she confessed.
Sorti felt a momentary surge of anger-was the agency trying to fuck him up, or what? But the sudden look of fear on the girl's face made his heart melt. "Look," he said. "There's nothing to worry about." God, he hoped she wasn't a virgin. "You aren't cherry, are you?"
She blushed. "No."
"Good." Sorti was relieved. "I don't want you to be nervous. You don't have to do anything here that you wouldn't do in real life. Except for a bit of... " He grinned. "Come to think of it, you may learn a few things today. Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. Lesbianism, blow-jobs, rectal intercourse... ! may ask you to try all of those. Are you game?"
"Yes," she said in a barely audible voice.
"Fine. Take your places, everyone. Martha? You've got nice tits. Stand in front of Mike and let him play with them for a while. I want those nipples nice and hard. Edgar? Stand behind Lillian with your cock pressed against her ass. Tess? Over there with... hell, you don't have a partner." He grinned. "Well, just sort of stand around and we'll see where we can work you in. Places, everyone. Start feeling each other up. Tess, you can masturbate a little-finger on clit, that's right. Okay, gang. The shooting begins right... NOW!"
Sorti began snapping pictures rapidly with one of several Hasselblad cameras. The camera had a 70-mm. film magazine which allowed him to take several dozen photos without changing rolls. He moved close to Martha and got a good shot of Mike's hands on her swollen breasts; next he dropped to his knees in front of Lillian and gave directions to Edgar as he focused for a shot of the boy's prick sliding through the redhead's thighs to rest in her shaven snatch. "You look great, Lillian," he said enthusiastically. "Just like a wholesome, nervous, Midwestern virgin." He got a great shot of her parted pussy lips, then moved to one side to get a profile of Edgar's stiff cock as the boy pulled back far enough to reveal several inches of meat between his groin and Lillian's tight-pressed thighs.
"Tess." He said the name simply, quietly, as he approached the girl, who was jerking off self-consciously and without much pleasure. "Take it easy," he told her. "Steady with that hand. Don't pull at yourself... Hell, haven't you played with yourself before?" He shook his head, smiling indulgently. "Here, let me show you... " Sorti took her fingers in his own and guided the middle fingertip to her clit. "Open your thighs a little more," he suggested. "Fine. Now, move your finger up and down like this-" He guided it in a gentle stroking motion. "And keep it up while I snap a few pictures." Sorti dropped to his knees and aimed the lens at her crotch. "Okay, now. Stick the index and middle fingers of your other hand-your left hand, this time-into your cunt while you continue to stroke your clitoris. Don't balk, damn it. Do it! Ah, that's right. You're doing just fine. It's starting to glisten a little; that's a good sign. Keep it up now. Legs a little wider so I can get a good shot... " He snapped three pictures of her self-administered fingerfucking, then patted her on the thigh and stepped back to direct the next scene.
"Martha? Go over to Lillian. Lillian? I want you to lie on the floor with your legs well apart and your knees up high. Martha, get down on all fours and stick your face into her pussy... Hurry up, goddamn it, you got your sixty-five dollars... Lillian? Try to look more interested. There, that's fine. Mike? Kneel over Lillian. Lillian, suck on his balls. Harder. That's better... Mike, try to look more excited. I want to see a good hard-on. Reach down and grasp your cock with your right hand... Perfect. Start jerking off now; I want to get a couple of pictures when you squirt your load all over Lillian's chest and belly... and Martha too; maybe you could get some of it on her hair... "
The threesome on the floor became more and more excited as the scene progressed. Good, Sorti thought as he shot picture after picture. He glanced at Edgar, who was standing about six feet from Tess, his cock standing in as firm a stiff-on as any pornographer could desire. Tess was eyeing the cock nervously as if she knew that she might be called upon to take it into her snatch at any moment. Well, he wouldn't ask that "of her-not yet. But he did want a few good blow-job shots.
"Tess?" He spoke sharply.
"Yes?" she asked nervously, averting her gaze from the cock.
"I want you to give Edgar a few good laps," Sorti said calmly, trying not to make the girl any more nervous than she was already.
"Laps?" She seemed confused.
"With your tongue. You know-kneel in front of him, grasp the cock in your right hand, and let the tip of your tongue play along the underside of Edgar's hard-on. You don't have to take it into your mouth-not this time anyway. Just lick it a little; get it nice and shiny so I can take a few photos before we move on to other things."
Tess awkwardly moved toward Edgar, afraid to look him in the eye. She took a deep breath, dropped to her knees, and reached upward with a trembling hand. There was a brief pause, and then she gingerly seized the base of Edgar's prick in three fingers. "Okay," she said.
Sorti glanced at Martha and Lillian, who had shifted positions and were preparing for a sixty-nine scene while Mike apparently got ready to fuck one of them from behind. "Hurry," he said to Tess. "Start licking him. I want to get this over with-fast!"
Nervously, almost fearfully, Tess did as she was told. She opened her mouth, licked her lips, then extended her tongue so that its tip barely grazed the cleft on the underside of Edgar's swollen cockhead. Edgar closed his eyes and sighed; Sorti, his own cock stiff and dribbling, took pictures as rapidly as he could. He nodded approvingly as Tess lapped her way along the half-foot or so of Edgar's prick; the hard flesh was glistening now, shining with spittle and premature oozings of come. "Perfect," Sorti said softly, rapidly working the shutter release. He moved closer to the twosome and lay on the floor so that the lens was aimed directly at the gap between Tess' thighs. "Tess? I want you to spread your legs. Yes, your knees. Open them wider so I can get a few shots of your beaver while you lick Edgar-There! That's fine. It's nice and shiny, just the way my readers are going to like it... You've got nice love lips, has anyone ever told you that? Great flaps. Symmetrical as hell, and generously proportioned... "
Sorti could see that Mike was about to stick his cock through Martha's legs as the two girls, as well as Mike, lay on their sides. He got to his feet and took a few more photos of Tess' face with her tongue slobbering saliva onto Edgar's cockhead; he then patted her, told her that she could stop if it was all right with Edgar, and moved to photograph the guy and two girls who were humping and licking a few feet away. He got a great shot of Mike's prick penetrating Martha's cunt (he had to ask her to lift one leg so he could get the photograph), and then he noticed that Tess had abandoned her cocklicking and was wiping her mouth on her right forearm as Edgar, cursing, proceeded to jerk off. He'd have to have a talk with her later-for the moment, however, he was busy. "Lillian? Open your legs a little more so I can get a better shot while Martha sticks two fingers up your crack... "
"I'm a runaway," the girl confessed as the three other models were putting their clothes on. She was holding her panties in both hands, but for some reason she seemed shy about pulling them on with Sorti talking to her.
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"I want to know exactly how old you are," Sorti said. "No bullshit."
"Sixteen," she repeated.
He thought about it. "I could get in a lot of trouble for this if you should have second thoughts about being in the book. What I'm doing is illegal enough as it is... If you should go back to your parents and tell them what you were up to in New York, you could get me in real trouble."
The girl's eyes flashed angrily. "I wouldn't do that," she said sharply.
"How do I know you won't?"
"I'm not that kind of girl."
Sorti shrugged. "Never mind. It's academic anyway. I've already committed myself, and so have you. Tell me, how did you get into this racket? You don't seem too happy with the whole scene."
"I don't like it," she said with a blush.
"I figured as much. So why are you doing it? Why aren't you clerking in the A and P?"
She looked him in the eye. "I need money. Not for drugs or anything like that; don't get the wrong idea. I just need money, that's all. Money is freedom. The freedom to get out of the bind I'm in. Out of the crash pads, the Lower East Side hippie shelters with their dope addicts and all of that." She seemed to be challenging him. "Don't you approve?"
"Sure, I approve." He laughed. "If I was a prude, I wouldn't be in this business. It's just that you seemed a bit out of place. I saw the look on your face when I asked you to lick Edgar's cock. You looked like you were about to throw up."
"It's not that sex turns me off," she said softly.
"No? Then why did you look so goddamn disgusted?"
"I don't like Edgar. And I don't like doing it for... for money. Even though I have to, even though I know it's an easy way to get bread."
"Where do you live?" he asked.
"Like I said. Places where drug freaks will take anyone in. I meet people. Some of the other models let me stay with them, and I meet their friends and friends of friends. One night here, one night there... I sleep all over."
"And you fuck all over too?"
She bridled. "Look, these people aren't renting out hotel rooms. I can't help it if they make me give them sex."
"No, I guess not." Sorti got out his checkbook and started writing a check to the agency. Martha came over to watch. "I'm sending this to the agency," Sorti said. "They'll pay you. You know how it works."
Martha frowned. "Your agreement with them was for fifty bucks a head, right?"
"Right."
"And your agreement with us was for sixty-five."
"That's right."
Martha smiled professionally. "All right. Why don't you give the agency two hundred and pay the other sixty to us? Fifteen bucks to each of us, direct?" She stared at him. He stared back. He felt like chuckling; the girl was a pro. "Fifteen each," she repeated.
"How about the agency?"
"You're giving them two hundred. You're meeting your obligation to them."
Sorti laughed. "You win," he said. He wrote a check for two hundred to the agency, then prepared four checks for fifteen each, leaving the payee lines blank. Martha took three of the fifteen-dollar checks and distributed them among herself, Lillian, and Mike. Sorti handed the other fifteen-dollar check to Tess, who accepted it gratefully. "I'll mail this to the agency," he said, holding up the check for two hundred. "Not a word to them about our little bonus, right?"
"Not a word," Martha said with a nod.
"You can go now," Sorti told them. He took the still naked Tess by the arm and spoke to her softly. "Not you, though. I'd like you to stick around."
The girl stayed, though she looked at him suspiciously as he escorted the others to the door. When they were alone, she spoke calmly, almost with boredom, as if she had been through this scene many times before. "Are you offering me a place for the night?" she asked.
"Yes."
"And I suppose you want the usual favors?"
"Not necessarily." He grinned. "Why? Do you intend to offer them?"
She shook her head. "Usually I don't offer anything. I just let my hosts take what they want. I'm pretty passive about it, you might say."
"I see." Sorti let his right hand graze one of her nipples; the pink crown of flesh turned hard. "Aroused?" he asked, looking at the nipple.
"No. Cold."
"It must be seventy-five in here. I turned the thermostat up since you'd all be posing in the nude."
"I get chilled very easily," she said.
"Uh-huh. Well, look... I've got some chores to do. Like develop these negatives, for example. Why don't you get dressed? Or wear a bathrobe if you'd like? I'll get you one and you can make yourself comfortable-and just sort of make the rounds of the apartment while I'm working? Later on I'll sit down with you and we can have a heart-to-heart talk."
She laughed nervously. "You're very self-assured, aren't you?"
"I have reason to be."
She laughed again and followed him into a spare room where he opened a closet and took out a mini-length bathrobe of gold satin. "Take this," Sorti said, handing it to her. She put it on, tied it, and stood there silently as he quickly strode out of the room.
The photos were excellent; Sorti's faith in his own abilities as a photographer was sustained. He examined the negatives carefully, then hung them to dry. He'd make some contact sheets later on to get a better idea of the photos' suitability for reproduction, but he was confident that they'd do just fine. The models looked genuinely interested in what they were doing so far as Sorti could tell from the wet negatives, and the images looked well-focused and sharp. Most of the negs seemed just about right in terms of exposure too. All in all, it had been a good day so far.
Sorti locked the darkroom door (he was very careful about his works in progress) and looked for Tess. He found her in the library, where she was sitting at his desk with a number of files and photographs spread out in front of her.
"You really are making yourself at home, aren't you?" he said in a tone of mild disapproval.
The girl blushed. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I didn't know I wasn't supposed to open the drawers and-"
"It's all right."
"I don't understand all this," she confessed, giving him a quizzical glance. "I mean, all these files and the pictures... "
He laughed. "Welcome to the Group for Sensual Involvement," he said.
"Huh?"
"I run an organization dedicated to the proposition that there's nothing better than a good fuck. Unless it's a good fuck with a good blow-job, foot fetish, whipfest, lesbian clit-suck, or whatever attached." He moved closer to her and saw that she was staring at a photo of a black man sticking his cock up a middle-aged white woman's ass. "Therapy," he explained. "That woman, Mrs. Fenster, had a thing about black males. She still does. Only now she can indulge her hang-up without risk of public embarrassment, thanks to the services offered by GSI."
"Oh." The girl reached into the heap of material and pulled out a picture of an elderly man fucking a St. Bernard. "And how about this? Isn't this kind of thing pretty hard on the dog?" She frowned. "And it's so disgusting!"
"Repulsiveness is in the eye of the beholder. And no, it wasn't hard on the dog in that particular instance. The animal, a female, is owned by a breeder in Fort Lee, New Jersey, and she's been specially trained for sex." He thought about it for a moment. "Sex with humans, that is. The breeder tells me she won't get near another dog."
"God! And this picture, this one where the blonde is eating that... that shit! Is it really something that happened here? Or-"
"It happened."
"But why?"
"Some people like that sort of thing."
"Do you?" she asked worriedly.
"Hell, no."
She sighed in relief. "Thank God."
"If you don't mind, Tess, I'd like to keep my files confidential."
"You mean-"
"I mean that I'm going to put that material away and that I don't want you to get into it again."
"I'm sorry," she said, flushing in embarrassment. "I don't want you to think I'm a spy."
"I don't think you're a spy. I just think my patients are entitled to a little privacy."
"Your patients? Are you a psychiatrist?"
"No."
"Then what are you?"
He laughed. "A stud," he said. "A guru, a counselor, an advisor, an entrepreneur, and a stud."
The girl didn't say anything while Sorti went to work putting the photos and file folders back where they belonged.
"Just why did you ask me to stay?" Tess asked as they finished dinner which Sorti had ordered up from a steak house a few blocks away.
"Charity," he replied. "An innate tendency to do the right thing."
"Come on now. You just want to fuck me, don't you?"
He laughed, but didn't reply.
"Look, I don't mind, if that's what's bothering you."
"Nothing is bothering me, Tess."
"I won't do anything to make it nicer for you- like I said, I'm the passive type-but I won't stop you from doing anything you want."
"Thanks, but no thanks."
She stared at him, open-mouthed. "You mean that you don't want to... to use me?"
"I didn't say that."
"But-"
"Sure, I'd like to fuck you," he told her. "But not on those terms. I don't want to fuck you unless I think you'll enjoy it."
"Sex isn't my bag," she said.
"Come on. I saw you glistening when you were jerking off for the camera... And your slit looked pretty good when you were licking Edgar too."
She blushed. "That's different."
"How so?"
"I didn't feel that I was being used."
"What do you mean? I was paying you sixty-five bucks, wasn't I? Isn't that using a girl?"
"Well, you weren't trying to make love to me."
He sighed. "What if I charge you six bucks to stay the night here? Will that keep you from feeling used?"
"Do you mean it?" She jumped up and disappeared into the living room, returning with her purse. She opened the handbag, got out a wallet, and removed two bills-a five and a one.
"Here you are," she said. "Six bucks."
He took it, grinning. "I didn't think you would."
"I hate being used," she said, laughing. She seemed relaxed now, ready to accept whatever might come. "What are we going to do now? Make love?"
"If you like."
"I'd like."
They went into the bedroom together, with Sorti unbuttoning his shirt on the way.
"Hey!" Sorti, who was kneeling between Tess' thighs as she reclined on the bed, thought of something.
"Huh?"
"You're supposed to be a beaver model, right?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Yet you said-and I remember it distinctly-you said you hadn't done anything like this before. Like what you and the rest were doing this morning, that is."
"Well, I-"
"How can you be a model if you've never let a guy fuck you on film?"
She blushed. "Well, I'm a model, but... " She stopped.
"Tell me," he insisted.
"I model mostly in figure studios. You know, where men pay so much a half-hour to take pictures of you in the nude. There isn't any sex, not really."
"Then you've never done any hard-core work until today?"
"Just a few split beaver things. You know, close-ups of my genitals without my face showing."
Sorti laughed. "You're sure you aren't cherry?"
She bristled. "Look at my crotch if you're so sure I'm a virgin."
"Maybe you lost it playing tennis."
She suddenly giggled, and with that Sorti began to finger her cunt as he took her clit in his lips and moistened its sensitive tip with his tongue.
Ah, sweet teenie! You couldn't beat an adolescent snatch; at least, that's what Sorti firmly believed. There was something so firm about a sphincter that hadn't been fucked a thousand times, something so appealing about pubic hair that hadn't been around long enough to turn thick and wiry with age. This hair was young, fresh, still mixed with a quantity of puppy down; the girl was sixteen, but she hadn't yet turned into a full-blown woman, and Sorti felt like a dirty old man-a very pleased dirty old man-as he tongued her clit until she tittered happily and followed it up by sliding the tongue tip into her juicy, tight-lipped hole.
So the girl hadn't had much experience... Well, that was fine and dandy. He was willing to bet that she'd never licked a cock before doing it with Edgar, and thus it was probable that she'd never taken a good four or five inches of penis into her tasty little mouth. There was a first time for everything, however; that first time-the first time she made a stab at cocksucking, that is-would occur very shortly. With Sorti providing the guidance, of course.
"Tess?" He spoke softly, between licks of her clit and crack.
"Huh?"
"Tell me if you're enjoying this."
She giggled. "Oh, yes."
"You don't feel used?"
"God, no."
"Great." He took her left inner lip in his teeth and yanked on it gently. He heard her gasp. Next, he stuck a finger into her vaginal opening as he tugged on the other labe. She gasped again. Moving quickly, Sorti pressed his thumb against her clit, still fingerfucking her and holding her flap in his teeth, and with his other hand he stroked the perinea! ridge slowly, provocatively, caressing the entire length of it from cunt to asshole. Tess lifted her bottom from the bed when he got his fingers into her anal crack; there was a momentary stiffening of her body as he prodded the asshole itself-was it fear? Arousal? But she relaxed again and began to move her hips in a circular motion as Sorti continued his expert routine.
She tasted delightful. It was like being young again. It was like being back with Sofia in the better days of their relationship; like feeling her fingernails in his scalp as he tongued her black-haired cunt, like tasting her dribbling juices as he sucked on her oversized clit. No, he couldn't complain. Tess, he repeated silently, again and again, as he fingered and licked the girl on the bed. And to think that she'd be sucking him soon...
She was coming. He had been at it for no more than two or three minutes, and already she was coming! Sorti braced himself for the crushing grip of her thighs; sure enough, her legs clasped his head tightly as the pressure built up in her loins, and he heard her begin to whimper words of delight as she pressed her cunt harder, tighter, more quiveringly against his mouth. He licked, lapped, slurped, spat, tongued; his fingers dug deep into her ass and even deeper into her pussy as he felt her moving closer and closer to her peak...
"Unnnh!" It was Tess, crying out as the orgasm took hold of her. She shook, shuddered, jerked; Sorti had to gasp for breath as she virtually swallowed his mouth with her cunt, the lips of which were spread wide so that the juice poured out of the hole and onto his tongue, with the muscular opening of the love hole contracting rhythmically, powerfully, twitching with each burst of sensation that shot through her loins...
He had to fuck her. He couldn't wait another second. Pulling away as hard as he could, he managed to disengage his head from the trap of her trembling thighs. He moved into a fucking position, holding her knees apart with his hands as he went. Working quickly, he guided his cockhead into the still quivering lips of her pussy. A quick intake of breath, a gathering up of energy, and then-into the crack! He stabbed deep into her cunt in a single motion, forced his cock into the juicy hole until he could feel the tip of it slamming against the back wall. All right then; there was no more distance to go so he retreated and tried it again, thrusting with even more power this time. Back, then forward; back again, into the hole again, fucking, fucking, screwing her with the need of a madman...
"Aaahhhhh...!" The climax came quickly, almost too rapidly for Sorti's taste. He felt the stuff pour out of his cock without much jerking; it was as if his gonads had surrendered prematurely, as if they'd agreed to give up their load without a fight-God! It was over. Already. Not that he was complaining. It had occurred too quickly to satisfy him completely, but it gave him a good temporary respite from his need. He'd get his rocks off again soon enough, and better, once she sucked his prick.
"Sorti?" The girl was breathing hard.
"Yeah?"
"I didn't give you permission," she said. Sorti looked at her incredulously, and then he laughed long and loudly till the tears came and moistened the upper reaches of his cheeks.
Later, when both had recovered from the experience, Sorti told her what he wanted. "I don't want to put this in a way that will offend you," he said, trying to be kind, "but I'd like you to... "
"Yes?"
"Fellatio. That's the word."
"Oh." Tess didn't look very happy about it.
"You licked Edgar's cock, didn't you? And you didn't like him." Sorti tried to sound calm, logical. "If you like me enough to let me fuck you, surely you can suck mine."
The girl thought about it, sighed, and motioned for him to lie down on the bed. "Am I supposed to kneel over you, or what?"
"That's as good a way as any."
"And I'm supposed to lick it first, or just take it into my mouth right away even though it isn't hard...?"
"Lick it first."
She shrugged, resigned to doing what he asked. "Okay." She straddled his legs, bent over, took his flaccid cock in her right hand and began to lick it. She tongued it slowly, cautiously, somehow afraid to lick him as well as she'd done it to Edgar.
"Faster," he told her. "And try to show a little more enthusiasm." He watched her as she bent a little closer and began to slather a greater quantity of saliva on the cockhead, using her tongue as a spatula. He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes. It felt just fine. Marvelous, in fact. She was licking him as well as he could ask any woman to do it. Christ, the girl had a natural talent! Now, if only she could be as good at sucking him after his entire cock slid into her mouth...
"Suck it," he muttered at last. Then, with more intensity, "Put it in your mouth!" Sorti held his breath as he felt the girl's tongue slide along the stiff cock's underside to rest two-thirds of the way down the shaft while her lips and teeth made themselves comfortable around the organ. He felt her incisors press lightly on the swollen flesh; then the lips, wet and warm, so wonderfully complementary to her tongue. He felt her hot breath on his cockhead, the air coming from the back of her mouth; and then, suddenly, catching him by surprise, there was a surge of pressure as she tightened her lips around the cock and sucked hard, so hard that he literally cried out with delight.
"That's the way," he managed to tell her as she began a rhythmic sucking. Jesus, she's fantastic! he thought, trying to keep a fart from escaping his anal sphincter. His guts were quivering, trembling in anticipation of what the blow-job was gradually building up to. "Jesus... " He savored the ecstasy of it all. "Harder, now...!" She obeyed, and he stiffened happily.
When he came, it was five times more powerful than before. He bucked like a horse in a rodeo, almost knocking the girl's face from his crotch. He seized her by the hair, pulled her closer to his groin, begged her to suck even harder. He gasped with each spurt of semen, fell back on the bed between spasms. When it was over, he pleaded for him to keep his cock in her mouth; he wanted her to comfort his softening cock, to let his jism mingle with the juices of her mouth.
"Thanks," he said finally. He let her go to the bathroom to rinse her mouth, and while she was gone he fell into a deep, satisfying sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SORTI slept till ten in the morning, and when he awoke he found less lying beside him, her naked body concealed from the waist down by the rumpled sheet. Sorti lifted the sheet gingerly and stared at her hair-strewn mons; there was something inexplicably lovely about the curve of a woman's lower belly, the way the hair grew in a thin line from the navel and suddenly blossomed into triangular fullness where the abdomen merged with the pubic mound. Sorti reached out and touched the girl's fur. She didn't react. He moved a finger downward, cautiously sliding it between her thighs and into the crack of her cunt. The slit felt moist, almost juicy. Sorti's cock tingled. He was about to proceed still further when the phone rang. less slept on while Sorti went to the bathroom to take the call.
"Hello?" He spoke guardedly. You never knew who might be calling.
"It's me-Andrea. Look, can I come over?" Sorti frowned. "Well, I-" He paused. "I've got a houseguest," he explained lamely.
There was a brief silence at the other end of the line; it was followed by a nervous laugh. "I get it. You've got a girl in there with you, right? Okay, okay, I won't bother you. If I'm not good enough for you... " Her voice trailed off.
"Christ," Sorti muttered. What was he to say? "All right, I do have a girl in the apartment. But it isn't because you aren't good enough for me, it's because she didn't have a place to stay. And yes, we did fuck." He stopped, wondering how she'd react to that bit of information.
"I still want to come over," Andrea told him. Her voice took on a pleading quality as she continued, "I've got to see you, damn it!"
"Be here at twelve. We'll have lunch."
"We who?"
He laughed. "The three of us."
"Oh." She sounded disappointed.
"What do you want me to do, turn my houseguest out? Throw her onto the street?"
"No," she said resentfully.
"Twelve, then."
"Thanks."
Sorti shrugged, hung up the receiver, and returned to the bedroom. Tess was waiting for him, awake and seemingly more naked than ever. Her legs were parted so that he could see her cunt lips, and there was a glistening hint of moisture on the edges of the swelling crack.
"Got something in mind?" Sorti was grinning; he was still nude, and his cock was already growing hard.
"Yes."
"Want to give me a blow-job?"
"Not this morning," she said, shaking her head.
"What do you want then?" His cock twitched; he licked his lips as he felt the stiff flesh become literally hot with desire.
"I thought we could make love."
"Any particular position?"
She grinned. "You're the boss."
Sorti crawled onto the bed and lowered his face to her pussy. He sought out her clit, finally moistening its tiny knob with his tongue. less gasped and jabbed her fingernails into his temples. Sorti kept it up, slathering spittle on her clit and depositing a slick trail of the stuff in her crack and on down to her asshole.
"Jesus!" she whispered excitedly.
Sorti chuckled and stuck his tongue deep into the fissure, savoring the taste and pressing his stiff cock against the smooth satin sheet.
He was in her in five minutes, and out again in fifteen.
Andrea arrived early, at seven minutes to twelve. Sorti invited her in and gave her a Bloody Mary. "You could use one, from the look of you," he said only half-jokingly; then introduced her to less, who seemed no more eager to meet Andrea than Andrea was to meet less.
"You two should get along famously," Sorti said, wondering which girl would try the lady wrestler bit first.
"I was hoping for a private talk," Andrea said quietly.
"Sorry." He shook his head firmly. "This is a group therapy outfit, remember? If you've got something to get off your chest, you'll have to do it in company."
Sorti led the two girls into the kitchen, less offered to do the cooking, but he told her to sit down. Working quickly, he prepared three Spanish omelets and produced French bread and white wine. The three of them ate with Sorti leading off the conversation.
"What's the problem?" he asked Andrea, noting that she seemed a bit paler than usual.
"It's the same thing as always. You know." She seemed reluctant to talk in front of Tess.
"Have you seen Susan lately?"
"No."
"Then why the sudden need to come over here?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just felt lonely."
"Why haven't you seen Susan?"
"She's been... busy."
Sorti toyed with a piece of French bread. "Busy in what way?"
"I don't know. She didn't explain."
"And you think it's another girl?"
Andrea started. "God, what an awful thing to say!"
"Let's not fuck around, Andrea. You're obviously worried about Susan's activities... Aren't you?"
"I-" Andrea bit her lip, then tried to look Sorti in the eye. "Say it," she insisted.
"All right. Susan is screwing around on the side. Or licking around, to be more precise." He laughed. "And you're jealous."
She shook her head. "Not jealous. Afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"I'm afraid to lose a friend. I-" She took a healthy slug of wine. "I don't have many friends, Sorti."
"I see."
There were a few moments of silence while everyone tried to think of something to say. Finally Sorti turned to less, who hadn't said anything at all. "What do you think?" he asked.
"About what?"
He nodded toward Andrea. "Does she strike you as the lesbian type?"
Andrea flushed as less studied her carefully.
"I can't tell by looking at her," less said at last. "Hell, what do I know about lesbians?"
Sorti laughed. "Okay. We've settled one thing, at least... Andrea, you don't look like a dyke. Not to the average person, in any case. And to tell you the truth, I don't think you're any more upset about Susan's stepping out on you than you are about mine. Take Tess here... you seemed rather put off when you learned that I had a houseguest. Right?"
"I suppose," Andrea replied rather reluctantly.
"And if I were to fuck her right now, in front of you... " He looked at Andrea, wondering how she would react. She said nothing for a moment or two, then muttered something that he couldn't understand. "What was that?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Please," he insisted.
"You're humiliating me again."
He laughed. "Uh-uh. I'm merely trying to find out what makes you tick. Tell you what. Some people are coming over this evening. The usual orgy scene-heterosexual, for the most part, with a few horny young guys on hand. I'd like you to come."
Andrea eyed him suspiciously. "What for?"
"I want you to make love with them. One of them anyway. I'll let you pick him out, or I'll do it for you."
Andrea thought it over. "I don't think so," she finally said.
"Why not?"
"I just don't like the idea."
Sorti shrugged. "It's a proven method, you know. GSI, I mean. My group therapy approach. I can't guarantee that it's going to work tonight, but it's worth a try. I think you've built up a wall of resistance where I'm concerned. You want to come when we're fucking, but you've told yourself not to, perhaps because you think of it as yet another form of humiliation. You don't want to let me dominate you; you're afraid to let me bring you to climax because it implies that I'm somehow the winner, that I've fucked you into admitting that I'm as useful to you as Susan is. But if you make it with another guy tonight... " He paused for emphasis. "I think you get the idea."
"No, I don't."
"Sure you do. It'll give you a chance to make it with a man who couldn't care less whether you're a lesbian. All he's going to care about is whether you're a good fuck."
"And what if I'm not a good fuck?"
Sorti laughed. "Don't worry. You are. You may be a bitch at times, but in your way you're a very good fuck."
It took him another fifteen minutes of arguing with her, but at long last Sorti convinced Andrea to give his plan a try.
FLASHBACK NO. 6: The crime had occurred when Sorti was twenty-two. He got eight years for it. Somehow the whole scene seemed a tiny bit unfair.
He had committed the crime almost by accident; it wouldn't have happened if the girl hadn't been such a cockteaser. She had begun the seduction process; it hadn't been his fault, not at all. Donna was twelve years old, but she was a very mature nymphet, one who obviously knew what sex was all about. He certainly hadn't figured her for a virgin, considering that she'd practically unzipped him and yanked out his cock within minutes of their encounter in the Sears, Roebuck parking lot.
"Hi." There he'd been, climbing into his clunker of a Ford, when the sexy little blonde came up to him and thrust her pelvis forward as she stood there with legs parted and hands folded behind her ass.
"Hi," he replied noncommittally, grinding the starter without any initial success.
"Having trouble with your car?"
"It'll start. Always does." He gave it another dose of juice; the starter fought valiantly for fifteen seconds until Sorti switched the ignition off again. "What a bitch," he muttered.
The girl's ears perked up. "Are you talking about me?"
He looked at her, wondering what she was up to, then grinned. "No. I'm talking about the goddamn car."
"Oh." She continued to watch as he tried to start the automobile.
"Can I go for a ride with you?" she asked a little while later, when the engine had finally started.
"Christ, no. You're just a kid."
"I can fuck real good."
Jesus! He didn't believe his ears.
"I don't have any hair on my pussy, just a little fuzz," she said as she leaned against the window frame. "I'll bet you haven't fucked anything like that in a long time." Sorti gulped. "No, I guess not."
She was licking her lips provocatively. Was it on purpose? Sorti felt his cock turn hard.
"You've got a stiff one, don't you?" the girl said with a giggle.
"I-" He glanced at his trousers; there was a very prominent bulge where his cock was fighting to burst through the fabric. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
She laughed again. "My name is Donna."
"It is, huh?"
"Yes, it is." She met his eyes; there was something cold, almost calculating, about the way she stared at him. "What's yours?" she asked.
"Sorti."
"Is that your first name or your last?"
"Neither. It's just Sorti. It's the only name I go by."
She seemed not to care. "Okay. Look, do I get the ride?"
Sorti thought it over. "What if someone sees us? You can't be more than thirteen and-"
"Twelve."
"Shit. Well, I'm twenty-two, and-"
"No one's going to see us. I'll keep my head down low."
He gave the engine a little gas, afraid it might stall. "Why are you so eager for a ride in my car?"
"I want you to fuck me, silly. You look like the kind of man I can trust to screw me without telling everyone about it afterwards."
Sorti inhaled deeply, then gestured toward the passenger door. "Get in," he said. He reached across and opened the door for her; chivalry seemed in order if a fuck was in the works. "Where do we go?" he asked when she was in the car.
"Any place. Wherever you want to go."
"I've got an apartment. More of a room, really. I use the bathroom down the hall."
She looked at him. "Do you have privacy?"
"Enough."
"Will anyone see us go in?"
"Not at this time of day. The old lady who rents the room to me is visiting her sister, and the guy down the hall works till six in the evening."
She grinned. "Okay."
"You're sure about this?" he asked, not quite believing what was happening to him.
"I want you to fuck me," she repeated firmly.
God, Sorti thought. It was almost too good to be true.
He took her up the back stairs, not wanting anyone to notice from across the street. He unlocked the kitchen door, showed her inside, and led her down the hallway to his room. "It isn't much, but it's home," he said as he gave her a nudge toward the bed.
"It's very nice," she said. "A double bed too!"
He grinned. "That was one of the reasons why I took the room."
The girl was slow to undress. She seemed nervous. He wondered why.
"Look, if you're not sure-" he said hesitantly.
"Oh, I'm sure."
"Then why don't I go down the hall and undress in the bathroom while you-"
"No. I'll use the bathroom." She giggled. "I have to take a pee."
Sorti watched her go down the corridor toward the bathroom; she was wearing tight shorts, and he could see the cheeks of her ass wiggle from side to side as she walked. She had a nice ass, especially for a twelve-year-old. He hoped she wouldn't be too nervous. He had suggested that they undress in separate rooms simply because he figured it would be easier fro her that way. Sorti's cock was rigid, aching, and he couldn't stand the idea that she might become frightened during the undressing process and change her mind...
He was naked, his cock sticking out in front of him when she came back into the room. She was also stripped to the skin, and was carrying her clothes in a neatly folded pile. "Set them over there," he said, gesturing toward the nightstand.
"Am I pretty?" She was blushing in a way that made him hornier than ever.
"Yes." He stared at her crotch, which was smooth except for the barest hint of blonde fuzz on the lips between her thighs. "You're fantastic," he said, moving closer to her and reaching out to touch the tiny swellings of her breasts.
She was mature, all right, not so much in body as in the way that she carried herself. She didn't seem to mind when he toyed with her nipples, and she bit her lip shyly but eagerly when he took her in his arms and pressed her close to him, with his stiff cock pushing against her belly.
"It's so big," she said as she touched his prick hesitantly. "I can play with it, can't I?" She seemed unaware of the proper procedure. Sorti suddenly wondered if she was so experienced after all.
"Play with it all you want," he said, looking at her. Was she a phony? Suddenly he felt her fingers gripping his cock tightly, with her thumb kneading the sensitive place on the underside, just below the knob. No, she couldn't be an amateur. She was too damned good. No novice could squeeze him that way; no rank beginner could make his cock swell to even greater size...
"You can fuck me now," she said quietly.
He laughed. "Not yet. Why don't I play with you first?" He gently removed her fingers from his cock and lifted her like a baby; he felt a surge of pleasure as one of her dangling legs rubbed against the stiff and tender glans. He carried her to the bed and put her down on it, pushing her legs well apart and shoving her feet back toward her ass so that her knees were a foot or more off the bed. "I'm going to eat you out," he told her. "Do you think you'd like that? Huh?"
She licked her lips again. The gesture was so goddamn sexy! " Sure."
Her slit was perfect. So young, so tight, so soft with its sparse coating of pubescent down. He bent over and placed his mouth against it firmly, forcing the tip of his tongue into the crack. The girl giggled. So you think it's funny, huh? He moved the tongue up and down in the pussy, moistening the inner labes and eventually kissing the clit. She began to respond at last; he felt her knees pushing against the sides of his head, and he heard her breathe harder as he used the fingers of both hands to caress the cheeks, particularly the hidden lowermost portions, of her ass.
"Is it nice?" He paused just long enough to ask the question and to look at her expression. She seemed more nervous now-he wondered why.
"It's nice," she said meekly.
"You're sure?" He was on the verge of abandoning the project altogether, though his prick told him not to give up.
"Yes!" She closed her eyes. "Go on," she told him.
And so he went on. Licked her, sucked her, nibbled her; stuck his tongue in her crack, used his teeth to toy with the firm little inner lips. He tongued her asshole once, wondering how she'd react; she jerked back in fear-or surprise. Ah, well, how was a twelve-year-old supposed to know what was perversion and what wasn't?
He stuck a finger in her pussy. It was a tight fit. Jesus! Was she a virgin? He tried to get two fingers inside; the hymen resisted the intrusion. Oh, shit!
"Let's forget it," he said at last.
"No!"
"You're a goddamn virgin." He was becoming angry.
"No, I'm not!"
"You stupid little bitch. How did you think you'd get away with-"
"I want you to fuck me," she insisted.
"You're too goddamn tight."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are!" He was trembling with anger. The fucking little whore had been lying to him all the time!
"Fuck me," she insisted yet again.
"My cock is too big for you." He thought about it for a moment. He wasn't about to go away without getting something out of her. "Tell you what," he said as calmly as he could. "You can blow me."
"You mean-" She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I don't do things like that," she said.
"You'll blow me," he said. "You'll blow me or else."
"Or else what?"
"Or else-" He slapped her. Not hard, but it was enough to sting. "Blow me," he ordered, straddling her chest and pulling her head off the pillow so that her lips were in position to seize his cock.
"It's too disgusting," she whimpered.
"Do it, damn it!" His temples were throbbing, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
"No."
"Do it!" He slapped her again and tried to force her mouth over the head of his cock. She spat at him; the saliva landed on his lower belly and it made him very, very pissed off. He slapped her again, harder than he had earlier, and he grabbed her by the ears. "Blow me, goddamn it!" He tried once more to make her suck him off, but she closed her mouth tightly in silent refusal.
Sorti looked at her. The bitch seemed to be smirking. "All right," he said at last. "I'll fuck you."
She laughed. It was a snotty laugh. "See? I won," she said.
"You're not going to like it," he warned.
"Just be gentle."
He shook his head. "Not a chance. We'll do it my way, not yours." He got off her chest, moved downward and rested his knees between her legs. He moved into the missionary position, then changed his mind. "Over on your hands and knees," he told her.
"Huh?"
"Like a dog."
She stiffened. "What?"
"I'm going to fuck you like a dog."
"No." She was whimpering now, afraid of him and of his swollen, purple-red cock.
"Onto your hands and knees, damn it!" He seized her and, in a sudden burst of strength, threw her into position almost instantly. He got his cock between her legs before she could resist, and within seconds he was sliding into her pussy, tearing the hymen as he went.
"Noooooo!" She was crying out in fear and pain.
"Sorry, baby." He stabbed forward until he reached the rear wall of her cunt; he did a quick reverse and continued backward until his cock slipped out of her hole. She tried to pull away, but he impaled her on his prick once again, repeating the action over and over until she finally gave in to him and let him establish a steady, powerful fucking rhythm.
"Oh, no," she kept mumbling as he fucked her.
Sorti grinned. "Oh, yes."
He ended up beating her. He couldn't help it. She spat at him again when he shot his wad into her and pulled out, and he slapped her hard on the right cheek. She slapped back, and he punched her. She tried to get away from him, so he grabbed her by the right arm and twisted it until he heard a snap. She screamed and fell to the floor. He kicked her, hard enough to hurt her but not hard enough to do any permanent damage. He looked down at her. She had curled into a ball.
"Bitch," he said softly. He felt a curious thrill as he slammed his right foot between her thighs from behind, his toes entering her seed-filled cunt. He heard a splat as the lips parted; he tried to regain control of his emotions when she begged him to stop, but he couldn't seem to overcome the desire to kick, pummel, punch, twist, and otherwise torture her twelve-year-old body.
"You've got to understand," he said, breathing hard, when he had finished and she was crawling to her clothes, which had somehow been knocked to the floor. "It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't lied to me that way."
The girl didn't say anything; she merely sobbed, the tears flowing from her eyes and onto her bruised cheeks and down to the welts and scratches on her tiny, pink-nippled breasts as she reached for her bra.
"I'm sorry," he told her.
She remained silent.
"You'd better not tell anyone about this. I'll tell them how you talked me into it."
She sniffed. "I mean it," he warned.
Twelve-year-old Donna dressed quickly and left the room without a word, shaking her head tearfully when he asked if he could drive her within a block or two of her home.
CHAPTER NINE
It was evening, and the GSI meeting was getting underway fifteen minutes before the scheduled time. "Eager, aren't we?" Sorti asked with a grin as he faced the group, all of whom were nude. Sorti, too, was naked, as was Tess, who had been invited to sit in as an observer.
"Tonight," Sorti said, "something interesting is going to happen. Some of you may know Andrea, who is sitting to my right." He nodded toward Andrea, who nervously attempted a smile. "Andrea is worried about a possible orgasmic inadequacy in her relationships with men. She does fine with lesbians-I'm not giving away any secrets, am I, Andrea?-but she fears that she can't climax with men unless she's subjected to pain and/or humiliation. I hope to see that thesis disproved tonight with the help of someone in this group. Andrea will select a partner from among you, and I trust that the honored guest will be flattered by the invitation. Andrea? Would you like to pick someone out?"
There were four possible partners. Hal, a crew-cut real-estate salesman type, was a heavyset man with a dynamic air. Doug, somewhat younger at a mere twenty-two or so, was blond with medium-long hair. He worked in a record shop and loved to talk about Beethoven. Jerry, who had black shoulder-length hair and a heavy moustache, owned a head shop, one of the most profitable such operations in New York. And Alexis, a research librarian for a prominent foundation, was perhaps forty years of age with a meek manner but a very large cock.
"Take you pick, Andrea," Sorti said softly.
"Him," Andrea said at last, pointing at Doug. Doug smiled happily as though he'd won a contest, and started to get to his feet.
"Wait a minute," Sorti cautioned. "Let me state the ground rules before you begin. Doug, I want you to fuck Andrea tenderly-nicely, gently, the whole lovers-in-the-grass bit. No humiliation, no pain, no mental cruelty, none of that shit. Just be nice, and try to show Andrea that she can enjoy heterosexual activities without being treated like a piece of crud. So... go to it, and good luck."
Doug took a deep breath and strolled slowly toward Andrea. He looked nervous but game. "Are you ready?" he asked as he met the girl's nervous gaze.
"Not yet," she said. "You have to get me ready." She attempted a grin; it looked rather sickly, and Doug didn't seem to appreciate what she had intended as a joke.
"Do you want me to feel you up, or suck your cunt, or-" Sorti shook his head disapprovingly. "You've got to talk nice too, Doug!"
"Sorry." The boy tried to seem less pushy. "Is it okay if I sit down next to you?" he asked, dropping to his knees so that his medium-length cock, still soft, was a foot or so from Andrea's right arm.
"Sure." She shifted position so that her knees were slightly closer together.
"I'm going to touch you," Doug said. "Is that all right?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to start with your breasts." He spoke softly, calmly, like a psychiatrist talking to a nervous patient. "I like your nipples... " He touched them, one at a time, manipulating their projecting centers until they were quite hard. "Does that feel nice?"
She shrugged. "It's okay."
"May I kiss your breasts?" He didn't wait for an answer, but leaned over and placed his mouth on her right nipple. He sucked gently, tonguing the nipple to coat it with saliva, then broke away and proceeded to lick the entire undersurface of the breast. He moved to the other tit and did the same thing.
"It isn't doing much for me," Andrea confessed. "Maybe you'd better try something else."
"Sure." He shifted position so that his right thigh was lying parallel to and against her equivalent leg. He pushed her other thigh to one side, leaving room for his hand between the pelvic joints. "Now," he said. "I'm going to touch you. Tell me if it bothers you at all, or if it hurts, and I'll stop." He slipped a finger into the wad of hair that obscured her pussy; his cock swelled slightly as it pushed into the hole. Andrea looked worried, but she closed her eyes and managed to keep her emotions under control. The young man continued to work the finger into her cunt, pushing it in until it was buried up to the hilt, and in the meantime he used the ball of his thumb to massage the base of her clit.
"That's nice," she murmured at last. "Don't stop. Don't move! Do it just like that... " She let her voice trail off as she took her right hand and placed it over his fingers and squeezed him lightly as he continued to rub.
Sorti smiled approvingly. "Good work," he said quietly enough so hardly anyone could hear him. His cock was stiff, standing straight out from his body, and he grasped it just below the knob. He squeezed it gently, hard enough to feel sensations but softly enough so as not to build toward a sexual peak.
Andrea suddenly took her hand off Doug's probing fingers and stretched her legs out in front of her. She lay back on the floor and parted her knees until her pussy lips were spread and glistening. Raising her knees, she spoke self-consciously. "Lick me," she said. "Sorti does... Please."
Doug bent to hi? task with fervor. He stretched out between his legs, sandwiching his hard cock between his body and the carpet. He grasped Andrea by the buttocks and pushed his face into her crotch, moistening her pubic hair with his lips and tongue. After a brief search for the right spot, he tongued her clitoris until she began to move her hips rhythmically, her ass moving up and down and from side to side. "Mmmmmm," she murmured at last.
Sorti gripped his cock more tightly. The girl was reacting! Thank God, he thought. Thank God.
Doug's right hand had moved from Andrea's ass to her crotch, and he was fingering her cunt opening while his tongue played with the swollen bud of Andrea's clit. He was making loud slurping noises as he lapped at her, but Andrea seemed not to mind. She was smiling almost beatifically, and her fingers dug into the rug. Was she thinking about Susan? Sorti couldn't tell. Well, she wouldn't be able to think about Susan once Doug's cock was in her, and at the rate things were going the fuck wasn't a long way off, not at all.
"Now?" Doug choked at last, moving into a missionary position.
"I-" Andrea looked disappointed. "Yes, okay. Go ahead. Do it now." She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and held her breath while Doug slowly rested his cockhead in her vestibule and worked it past the tattered opening of her cunt until finally, with everyone watching, he got five inches of cock inside her.
"I'm in," he said for no particular reason.
"I know," Andrea replied.
Sorti shook his head in disbelief. Jesus, he thought. Sex might look silly to some people, what with asses bobbing up and down and all, but it wasn't any sillier than sex-oriented conversation.
Doug fucked Andrea slowly, seemingly afraid of hurting her or of frightening her into losing her interest in the act. Andrea didn't look particularly enthusiastic about the whole scene, but she got into the rhythm of things as Doug continued to fuck her. Sorti nodded approvingly as he saw that she was beginning to rotate her hips again, albeit to a lesser degree than before, and he grasped his cock tightly, moving the skin back and forth, as he watched her fingers play along Doug's spine while the young man slurped his cock back and forth in her juicy snatch.
Sorti let go of his cock, got onto his hands and knees, and crawled closer to the fucking duo. He leaned close to their joined organs, peering up at Andrea's cunt from underneath her right thigh which was lifted from the floor. He could see her hairy outer lips stretched about Doug's throbbing cock, and the slick inner flaps were pressed tightly against the juice-coated shaft as if they were attempting to crush it in their grip. While Sorti watched, Doug pulled back so that his cockhead almost fell from Andrea's cunt. Andrea moaned and shoved her ass and pussy forward, recapturing the prick. Sorti was pleased. Andrea was excited, all right.
Yet that was as far as it went. Andrea was excited.
And that was all.
"When are you going to come?" someone kibitzed from the sidelines, and the accusing tone of the question sent Andrea into tears.
"I don't know," she sobbed, moving her hips faster. "I don't know!"
Doug gritted his teeth and fucked her for all he was worth. He managed to balance his weight on his left hand, using his right hand to reach around and underneath to touch Andrea's clit. He strummed the clitoris rapidly, causing Andrea to utter cry after tiny cry. But it wasn't enough; Andrea even said so, finally: "It just isn't enough!"
Sorti knelt at her side and grasped her by the shoulder. "Relax," he told her. "Just think of what's happening inside your body!... A cock is sliding back and forth in your vagina, a pair of balls is slapping against your perineum and ass with each thrust. Doug is fingering your clit; he's stroking it as well as Susan could, even as well as I could... Your cunt is ready for climax, but your mind is not. Let your cunt speak out, goddamn it! Let your pussy be boss!"
Andrea looked at him, her eyes pleading for him to take over. "Fuck me," she choked at last. "You fuck me. Please!"
Sorti looked at Doug, who stared back angrily. He raised his eyebrows and the younger man shrugged. "Okay," Doug said at last. Take over." He pulled out instantly, jumping to one side as Sorti moved in. Even as Sorti guided his cock toward the girl's quivering pussy, Doug was aiming his prick at her face and jerking off. "I've got to come," Doug said thickly. "Oh God...!" The stuff shot out of his cock in sticky strings, landing on Andrea's face and arms. The girl seemed not to notice. She was too busy concentrating on Sorti's enormous hard-on, which had just slid past her inner lips and was now pumping mightily in her wet, cock-hungry cunt.
"Mmmmmmm," she sighed. "Yes, Sorti. Oh, God, you're the one... " She fucked faster, eagerly, her lips curving upward in her smile and her eyes closed tightly as her mind considered the beauty of being fucked by Sorti, her mentor and guide.
"Now," Sorti said thickly. "I want you to come now!" He increased the speed of his thrusting, simultaneously bending over to bite her nipples one at a time. He chomped on the tits, licked them, sucked them, buried his face between them, at the same time slammed his cock back and forth in her cunt. Andrea responded by uttering a series of tiny, happy cries; yet she still seemed unable to get over the top of the mountain, to reach the climax which, after all, was what this fuck was supposed to be all about.
"Nooooo... " Andrea shook her head violently, then began to sob. Sorti, oblivious to her sudden action and too far gone to stop in any case, let out a deep-throated cry and stiffened as his guts quivered in preparation for the explosion. Suddenly his entire body went into a spasm as the first gob of semen shot out of his cock and into Andrea's hole.
"God," he groaned. God! He fired his load into her, one spurt at a time, and when he finished he saw that Andrea was still quivering, still frustrated with her failure to come.
"What's wrong?" Sorti asked, not knowing what else to say.
"I don't know." She wasn't sobbing any more, and her voice was subdued.
"Come on, tell me-what's wrong?"
"I don't know," she repeated. She got up and went to the bathroom, where she rinsed her guts with a douche syringe as she ran hot water in the tub.
A week later. Sorti was in the bedroom with Andrea and Tess.
"What's wrong?" Sorti asked Andrea for the umpteenth time.
"I don't know," she said wearily. She had been asked the question too many times in the last few days.
"Maybe she is a lesbian!" Tess said brightly.
Sorti glared at the runaway. "Please," he told her threateningly. "If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."
Andrea wiped the sweat from her forehead. She was naked, like Sorti and the teen-age girl. "You aren't going to fuck me again, are you?" she asked, obviously unenthusiastic about the idea.
"Not unless you want me to."
"Well, I'd rather not. Not today anyway."
Sorti shrugged. "Then I'll fuck Tess instead." He pinched the girl on the leg. "If you're willing, honey." He looked Tess in the eye and gave her a wink as he moved his fingers farther up her thigh.
"Any time at all," Tess said with a grin.
"Don't mind me." Andrea couldn't manage a more emotional response. Sorti wondered what it was that made her so subdued these days. She seemed more than withdrawn; she seemed too goddamned weary.
Sorti got onto his knees and grasped his soft but long cock in his right hand. "Ready?" He was staring at Tess, at her downy pink-lipped pussy.
"I'm always ready."
Sorti laughed. "So am I." He pushed the girl's legs apart, bent down and licked her. She was juicy. "Let's do it with you on top," he suggested.
"Fine." Tess eagerly moved to one side so Sorti could stretch out comfortably. She then straddled his hips, simultaneously stroking his prick to erection. When the cock was fully hard, she placed the knob-like head against her cunt lips and moved from a kneeling to a squatting position. "It's easier this way," she explained. "It's hard to get so much meat in my pussy."
Entry was easy, considering that they'd hardly bothered with foreplay. The cock slid deep into the young girl's cunt, stopping only when it reached the rear wall. Tess pulled upward then, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet as she fucked him. "Nice," she murmured. Sorti nodded, grinning. He agreed.
They kept it up for a long time, with Andrea watching all the while. Sorti saw that Andrea seemed disinterested at first, then bothered, then frankly jealous. He wondered if the jealousy was good for her, if it would lead her to a little more heterosexual interest of her own; perhaps, if she saw less enjoying herself with Sorti, Andrea would feel the urge to prove herself superior to the teen-ager by having just as potent an orgasm. It was hard to say... Sorti returned his thoughts to their fucking. He took a deep breath and grasped less' hips, pulling the girl's cunt down on his cock so hard that she uttered a tiny cry of pain when she couldn't accept another inch of it. Sorti barely noticed when Andrea got up and left.
Sorti was on the verge of climax. "I'm going to come," he warned.
Tess grinned. "Me, too."
They came. Magnificently. They shot their wads together, shuddering and twitching amidst great quantities of jism and juice. When it was over, Tess knelt between Sorti's knees and licked his cock clean. She began to lick his balls for good measure when Sorti pushed her head away with a firm no. He chuckled, patted her, and explained. "I might get hard again, and I'm not ready for that. Not now!" Tess laughed too.
So there they were, minus Andrea, the two of them lying together on the bed and gasping for breath as they savored the post-coital warmth, the dregs of their mutual orgasm.
"I'm tired," Tess confessed.
"So am I."
They fell asleep together, the liquid leftovers of their climax dribbling onto the sheets.
CHAPTER TEN
IT had been three weeks since Andrea had disappeared so mysteriously. Sorti still wasn't sure if he was sorry that she'd walked out on him so suddenly. He wondered why she had done it.
Granted, there had been jealousy. He'd fucked Tess in front of her, and that was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. Still, her departure was surprising. He hadn't expected it. She had seemed too attached to him somehow. She had come to him repeatedly, despite her professed lesbianism, hoping each time to benefit from his advice.
Had she gone to live with Susan? Apparently not. When he called the blonde and asked if she'd seen Andrea, the girl seemed as ignorant as he. Granted, Susan could have been lying to him. But she seemed straightforward enough on the phone, and Sorti had a talent for seeing through walls of untruth.
Where was Andrea? He didn't know. Nor was he sure that he wanted to find out. He couldn't be expected to accept responsibility for her behavior as long as her whereabouts was unknown.
FLASHBACK NO. 7: In the end, Donna, the twelve-year-old, had refused to testify against him. He thought he'd go free, but there was a surprise in store for him. It was called the Mann Act. Sorti, confused, didn't understand.
"It's simple enough," said the public defender, sighing resignedly. "The Feds are saying you took her over the state line for sexual purposes."
Sorti didn't believe him. "We didn't cross any state line," he insisted.
"Just how far is the state line from your apartment, and from the Sears parking lot?"
Sorti thought about it for a moment. "Two or three miles at the closest point."
The lawyer smiled sadly. "There you are."
"But we didn't cross it, I tell you!"
"The U.S. Attorney is saying that you drove her across the state line, tried to get her to make love to you there, and that you managed to force her into heavy petting before returning to your apartment-where you had sex."
"It isn't true."
"You don't understand," the lawyer said. "It doesn't matter if it's true or not. They've got witnesses."
"What witnesses?"
"A gas station attendant. A motel operator who says you tried to get a room in her motor court across the state line."
"But why would they lie?" Sorti asked, confused and angry.
"Why not? You're a certified sex maniac. Certified by the newspapers if not by a judge and jury. The cops can't get the girl to testify-God knows why; maybe her parents are afraid we'll tear her apart in court-but the Feds can find witnesses to say you took her into the next state. They can get you on the Mann Act even if they can't get you for assault or statutory rape."
And so Sorti went to trial, and his lawyer didn't seem very surprised when he was convicted. They got him on the Mann Act and on a variety of lesser Federal charges. Sorti ended up in Lewisburg, a medium-security prison in Pennsylvania. And there...
"Fuck your own asshole!" he told the lifer who tried to press against the seat of his pants as the two of them worked in the bakery. The older man produced a handmade knife and stuck it under Sorti's chin, digging the point into Sorti's Adam's apple. "No," Sorti choked. He had never made it with a man before, and he wasn't about to lose his anal virginity at twenty-two years of age.
But the lifer proved too strong for him, as did the threat of the knife. Sorti found himself bending over, his trousers around his ankles as the older man held the knife blade against his balls from behind. And when the lifer spat on his hands and smeared the saliva over his prick and placed the cockhead in the crack of Sorti's ass and pushed forward until Sorti bit his lower lip with pain and felt his asshole being stretched taut by the penetrating cock...
"I can't take it," Sorti groaned.
The rapist laughed. "You're taking it very well, son."
Sorti thought of Donna, of her twelve-year-old body covered with bruises and welts. Suddenly he believed in God, and in the mercilessness of His revenge...
Being fucked in the ass wasn't the worst part of being in prison, not at all. What was frightening was the fact that he learned to enjoy anal intercourse with the other men. Eight years was, after all, an awfully long time. Sorti learned to fuck, and to be fucked; he slept with scores of men during his incarceration, men who- were they on the outside-would have condemned all ass-fuckers as fags. It was funny how being in prison reshaped your moral outlook, at least temporarily. Masturbation was as accepted an act as urination, and rectal mounting wasn't any more sinful-from the average prisoner's viewpoint-than heterosexual fellatio and cunnilingus were to Mr. and Mrs. Middle West.
Sorti was glad to get out, of course. And he was happy to be back in the company of women; he still preferred vaginas to assholes even after eight years.
It took him a while to readjust, to get used to massaging clits instead of cocks, to sticking his cock into an opening without rubbing spittle all over it first. He did get over his experiences in jail in the end; yet his thinking would always be colored by the fact that the Establishment had made him spend eight years behind bars.
"You've lost your right to vote," someone told him once, saying it as though Sorti should be weeping over his loss of civil rights. Sorti, too cynical to believe in democracy, simply laughed.
"When you're in the minority," he said, "a vote doesn't mean much." And he knew that he was right. GSI was Sorti's salvation. The Group for Sensual Involvement-God, what a name! What a concept! What an opportunity for non-stop voyeurism and screwing!
What the hell, he had to find some way of making up for those eight years. Not to mention getting back at the Establishment... What the hell, he liked to say, thinking of the authorities. J. Edgar Hoover, Richard Nixon, John Mitchell, fuck you!
Sorti's hand was inside the runaway's panties. He was fingering the slick love lips, using his thumb to massage the clit.
"You're tickling me," Tess said with a giggle.
"Only tickling?" Sorti began to strum the clit with two fingers, and Tess suddenly stiffened.
"Well... " The girl put her arms around Sorti and pulled his face against her chest.
"Let me get this goddamn bra off you," Sorti said, struggling with the hooks.
"Not now!... Oh!" She cried out, not at all unhappily, when he pushed one of the brassiere cups up and bit into the breast.
They were stripped to the skin within a minute or so, and Sorti grabbed Tess by the ears. "Blow me," he said, his cock swelling as he spoke.
"Let's just fuck," she begged.
"Nope. I want you to blow me first."
"Oh, Sorti!... " She didn't really mind; it was all a game, and one they'd played before. With mock reluctance, Tess fell to her knees in front of him and took a good four inches of penis into her mouth, slobbering on it as she tightened her lips around the shaft. She sucked, licked, nibbled; Sorti groaned, gasped, shuddered. All in all, it was a very nice beginning.
"Play with my balls," Sorti told her. He closed his eyes and smiled as the girl obediently took his low-hanging testicles in her right hand and kneaded them gently, using her fingernails to tickle the wrinkled skin as she massaged the egg-like objects within the sac. He felt her other hand come up to tug at the hairs playfully; the fingers then slid back along the perineum to his asshole, where she picked out bits of lint.
"Put your finger in my... " He laughed. She knew what he meant without being told in detail. He looked down at her. He thought he could detect a grin at the corners of her cock-stretched mouth.
"Mmmmm," she said. Sorti moved his feet apart. He stiffened in anticipation as her finger worked its way into the vestibule of his anus.
"Now," he muttered, closing his eyes again and loosening the anal sphincter as best he could. He found himself thinking of prison again, of being fucked by the lifer and three other inmates, as Tess' finger disappeared into his ass...
There were four of them altogether. The lifer was holding him by his right wrist; a Mexican named Manuel had him by the left. There was a black man, a beefy character with a William Warfield voice, holding him by the left ankle so he couldn't flop around. And Constantin, sweet muscular Constantin, was sliding to and fro in the hole between Sorti's thighs.
"Christ," Sorti groaned, feigning discomfort but enjoying the fuck as he hadn't enjoyed a prison sex act in a long time. Constantin's cock was just the right size-long, but thin, eight inches of stiffness to push the shit back into Sorti's guts without tearing his rectum in the process.
Sorti's cock was pressed against the cold concrete floor. It was hard. He didn't want the others to know it, didn't want them to laugh in the knowledge that he was turned on by this phony rape scene, but he couldn't help himself. He began to move his hips back and forth, his cock rubbing against the concrete, the delicate and sensitive nerves just below the knob savoring the contact of skin and man-made stone.
The others were laughing at him now. Rich laughs, belly laughs, uproarious har-har-har reactions to Sorti's unwitting confession of sexual need. He tried to stop, but he couldn't; he kept on rubbing, kept on scraping his cock against the concrete, harder and harder and faster and faster, keying each thrust to the quickening movements of Constantin's cock in his ass.
I'm coming, he thought. And he was. All over the place-rich canals of white jism forming on the concrete floor.
They laughed at him when he rolled over. One of the men bent down and stuck a finger in the semen, then smeared it on Sorti's forehead. "Fuck you," he said. And he did, a few minutes later. That was the nice thing about having friends like these. You got to have it both ways...
"Eat me," Tess said, grinning as she wiped his jism from the edges of her mouth.
"Yeah, sure." Sorti, his cock soft and his body weakened from the climax, got down on his hands and knees and waited for her to spread her legs. He looked at the girl's crotch, at the glistening lips with the trickle of juice that was emerging from between them, and he felt happy, so happy that he wanted to cry out. He restrained himself, however, contenting himself with a good taste of Tess' cunt.
"Eat it nicely," Tess giggled. "Make it a real seven-course dinner."
Sorti smiled. "How could I possibly resist? You truffle, me gourmet."
"Sorti?" The voice on the phone sounded familiar.
"God, Andrea!" His guts did a quick jerk.
"I was afraid to call you."
"Why?"
There was a pause as the girl gathered her thoughts. "I don't know."
"You never know anything," he said, laughing.
"I know that I wasn't too happy when you fucked that runaway in front of me."
"Oh... Tess." He felt a pang of sadness. "She left a month ago."
"Really? How come?"
"She got homesick. Wanted to go back to her parents."
"I'll be... "
"Don't be."
"Huh?"
Sorti laughed. "Look, just come around."
"When?"
"Any time at all," he said. "As soon as possible."
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"Make it ten."
"I'll try."
Sorti hung up, feeling happier than he'd been since Tess had said her tearful, heartfelt good-bye.
He cancelled a GSI meeting so they could be together, alone, for the entire evening. Not to mention the entire night.
"Sorti?"
"Say it."
She laughed. "What if you don't like what I'm going to say?"
"Say it anyway."
"All right. After I walked out on you, I went to a lesbian bar."
"And?"
"And I let myself be picked up by a dyke."
"Butch or femme?"
She smiled wryly. "Butch. Very butch. The Ferdinand-the-Bull type, you know what I mean?"
"Yes, I do."
"We went to her apartment. She had this-this dildo kit."
"With or without vibrator attachment?" He was grinning.
"Both kinds. And in different sizes-small, medium, and large."
"You took the large, of course."
"No." She laughed. "It was even bigger than you.
Sorti faked a God-now-you've-hurt-my-feeling expression. "What the hell," he asked, "now you've got me competing with a goddamn machine?"
"Anyway, she wanted to use the dildoes on me."
"Did she?"
"Oh, yes. She ate me first, and then she got out this big rubber dildo, it was a sort of light green, and she plugged it into the wall. It made a terrific noise, like one of those barbershop massagers, and then she... " Andrea giggled. "Are you sure you want me to go on?"
"Go on, damn it."
"Well, she stuck it in me."
"And you liked it, of course."
"Not at first. It hurt a lot, you know. She didn't have much finesse, I'm afraid. Just got out this big rubber dildo and stuck it in me. It was gigantic, bigger than you'd ever believe."
Sorti attempted a smile. "You came in the end, of course."
"Of course."
"Andrea?"
"Yes?"
"You're lying, aren't you?" He prided himself on his ability to see through women's tall stories.
Andrea surprised him when she shook her head and said no.
It was funny how things always went full circle. Life was a series of cycles; you had your good moments, then your bad ones, and then the good ones came along again. Like sunspots, or weather, or earthquakes. Everything was in cycles. It was funny, or at least weird.
"I'm going to fuck you," he told Andrea at one in the morning, having wakened her from a sound sleep.
"Oh, shit... "
"Dog-style."
"Sorti, goddamn it, I was sleeping!"
"Come on, damn it, onto your hands and knees."
"I won't, Sorti. I was sleeping, and-"
"Onto your knees, damn it!"
"Sorti, I-" She sighed and gave in. Moving slowly, she pushed the covers back and crawled into position for the fuck. She was wearing one of his nightshirts-she'd borrowed it, she said, because her shoulders were cold-and now she pulled it up over her hips so he could put his hands on her ass as he fucked her from behind.
"I'm not going to get you ready," he warned.
"Why not?"
"I want to see what you feel like dry."
"Oh, God-"
"Spread your knees wider. Lean forward more." He spoke sharply.
"Sorti, for-"
"Let's go."
She sighed and obeyed. Sorti grinned as he shoved his cock between her thighs, guided the knob of it into her pussy, and pushed it in as far as it would go. Andrea grimaced with pain, but she ended up moving with him, enjoying it more than he would have though possible a few months earlier.
"It isn't so bad, is it?" he asked as he fucked her slowly, almost in relaxation.
"No," she answered, breathing deeply with each thrust.
"Do you want me to play with you? Touch your clit, tickle your asshole, or-"
"You can touch me," she said.
Sorti grinned. She was obviously talking about her clit. He moved his hand around her right hip, slid it between her thighs, felt around for her glistening cunt lips. He found them; they were stretched around his monster cock. He moved the fingertips upward, searching for the clit. He located it and began to stroke it slowly. "Tell me," he said quietly, "how does it feel?"
She was breathing harder. "Fine."
"Tell me if you like it like this." He strummed the clit lightly, flipping the buried portion from side to side like a guitar string, his fingers moving back and forth against the juice-coated prepuce.
"It's nice," she gasped.
"And this...?" He pinched it lightly, just hard enough to make her twitch.
"God!"
"And this...?" He alternately pinched and strummed it, then began to make tiny rotary movements with the ball of his thumb.
"It's so niiiccce...!"
It was nice for him, too, of course. Nice enough to get his balls tight against his body where they always went when he was thoroughly aroused. Nice enough to make his asshole tremble as if it were about to be fucked. Nice enough to make his mouth go dry, his ears pound, his temples throb, his chest heave with growing excitement. He was breathing hard, and his face was flushed. He felt slightly dizzy. His balls were hurting, eager to get off their load.
"I'm going to come," he warned.
"Me, too!" Instantly, the girl's cunt was seized by a series of powerful spasms, twitches that almost sent pain through Sorti's prick as they seized it in grip after muscular grip. "God, Sorti!" Andrea suddenly cried. She paused for a moment, body stiff and muscles trembling as if she were hanging in mid-air, and then-as Sorti groaned and slammed his cock full-length into her-she resumed her movements, bobbing and bouncing faster than ever, grasping his cock in a second orgasm even as he was having his first.
They flopped down on the bed afterward, oblivious to the fluids which soaked the sheets.
"Sorti?"
"Yes?"
Andrea reached out and touched him. "I didn't think I could do it," she said.
"I didn't, either."
"How come I was able to?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
"I guess I learned something, huh?"
"It sure looks that way."
Neither of them said anything for a minute or two, and then Andrea giggled. "Life is funny, isn't it?" she said.
Sorti fondled her sodden love lips. "Yes," he replied. "It's a real barrel of laughs."
