The fantasies of very young girls differ widely, depending on a variety of factors. Their upbringing, for example. The erotic dreams of a nubile twelve year old living with an aged stepfather in the country would not be the same as an eager sixteen year old, surrounded by teenage brothers or a young father and living in the city.
In this book you will meet several exciting young girls. And, true to form, each of them will have different erotic fantasies. For some of them, they will come true.
You will meet Morgan and Lila Lamb, pert nymphets whose reality and fantasy lives cross, providing their babysitter with more than a few moments of suspense, vicarious shock, and real life arousal.
Gwen Chapman, a beautiful but materialistic teenager, whose quest for money and power led her to be sold into Arab slavery, despite her wild and haughty protests.
And finally, Karen and Lindy. Two high school chums who were inseparable, even to the point of sharing their first sexual experience, until fate and a gang of sadistic bikers, severed their friendship ... and did a number on some other parts of their bodies as well.
For those these exploits happened to very young, very impressionistic girls, they could happen to older ones, too. Fantasies are the seeds of reality. And young girls grow up quickly.
* * *
THE SCARIEST GHOST STORY EVER
CHAPTER ONE
"That's not so scary," Morgan Lamb said, tucking her feet under her cherubic little buns and pulling her nightgown down over them. "We like ghost stories that make us want to wet our pants. Not pansy ghost stories."
"We like 'em where somebody gets his nuts chopped off, or his head eaten up, or steps in his blood on the way to the bathroom," her sister Lila purred in husky little voice.
It was a funny kind of voice for a ten year old to have, but it had been no fault of her own. Once, during a football game their parents had taken their young daughters to, she tried running under the bleachers at breakneck speed to get to the cotton candy stand before the crowds at half-time and she caught her throat on one of the treads. She hadn't been able to speak for the six weeks after that.
Then, when she did, it sounded like a family of frogs had moved into her throat. But that was okay. When she finally did open up and speak, she sounded like a forty year old movie queen who'd seen too many divorces and lived on booze and non-filter cigarettes.
But other than little Lila's grown-up voice, nothing else about the Lamb family was particularly unusual. Perhaps it was a little odd that they lived way out on the edge of town. Past the city limits technically, but they went to the same incorporated school as the kids in town. Only they had to ride in. The bus didn't even stop out that far. The city busses didn't stop out that far either.
No matter. Both girls liked living on an acreage. Morgan, the elder girl, who would turn thirteen come winter, even had her own ducks. Two of them, in fact.
It was great living so close to nature. Not all tied down in one of those dreary little suburban lanes with names like Camelot Court or Lancelot Lawn. Of course, isolation had its drawbacks. There weren't many other children to play with. But there were grown-ups. And both girls had grown up pretty fast. Partly due to the responsibilities their parents heaped on them, and partly due to the plain old simple fact that they had both physically matured early.
Even their babysitter noticed it. Fran Linker was sixteen and no slouch in the physique department herself. Her long reddish copper hair made her striking enough, but her figure had turned from plump to willowy and curvaceous, almost overnight.
But it hadn't turned until she was sixteen. And here she was at the Lamb house, babysitting two little girls who were already starting to put hot little shapes on ... and one of them only ten years old!
She shook her head and wondered about the younger generation. She also wondered about their taste in bedtime stories. They never went for the usual cloth-bound Grimms stuff. Nor the improvised spooky repertoire she had picked up at the slumber parties she had attended lately.
No, these girls liked their bedtime stories hard core. Full of blood and guts and dismemberment. Nice, family fare. Perfectly suitable to sweet dreams. She had just about run out of stories and it was only nine o'clock. God only knew when the two of them would tire out. Or maybe they would tire her out.
Wouldn't it be a gas if Mr. and Mrs. Lamb came home and found her dozing like a drunk gypsy while the girls stayed up and watched the Chiller Diller Late Show, which came on around four in the morning?
"Tell the one about the man with the hook," Lila said, in her deep, rich velvety voice, "the guy who comes into lovers' lane and...."
"Oh, Fran's heard that one," Morgan said, lying back on the big double bed and groping for the box of graham crackers.
Christ, Fran thought, now they're telling me ghost stories.
Lila tossed her blonde ringlets over her shoulder and grabbed a corner of the big quilt comforter.
"I'm gonna have to get inside this," she said, "it's cold in here."
The place was chilly. It was an old stone mansion, and it held the heat well enough in the winter, when the furnace was blasting, but it was late September and the Lambs hadn't turned it on yet.
Fran heard a harsh gust of wind whistle through the trees out back. Good thing she wasn't alone here. That last ghost story was frigntening enough. Not that she believed in that sort of thing, but being alone always gave one cause to ponder.
"Let me under there, too," Morgan said, pulling up the other corner. She crawled in and snuggled next to her sister.
Fran watched from the foot of the bed where she sat holding a story book. It was just a prop. She hadn't read a single page of it so far. The girls would rather hear her tell one from heart, as though she were a raconteur of the old west or something. They sure expected a lot for three-seventy-five an hour.
"I ... I don't know any more ghost stories I'm afraid," Fran said, flipping the pages of the book and watching cartoon mice and dogs flash by. Why couldn't these two little girls go for animal stories, like most of the other kids she took care of.
"Then tell us a winky-poo story," Lila purred, yanking the comforter up around her delicate shoulders.
"Shut up, Lila," her sister snarled, "cut it out."
"Winky-poo?" Fran said, cocking her head to one side. These little girls could sure sling some strange words around. First "disembowel" which she had had to look up in the dictionary, then, "necrophiliac," which she didn't even know how to spell to look up. And now, "winky-poo." She had to run pretty fast to stay up with these two little girls.
"So tell me," she said, tiring of being bested in the vocabulary department, "what's winky-poo?"
"What Mom and Dad do on Saturday night after they think we're asleep," Lila said, blinking her big cornflower blue eyes and looking innocent as a new-born lamb.
"Ya know, like what your boyfriend does to you," Morgan added, "maybe in the back seat of somebody else's car. It's not the sort of thing you would do when you're driving, so it would have to be in back."
The light finally dawned. They were talking about sex. A subject she had no idea the two little girls knew anything about. They seemed to be very knowledgeable when it came to double amputees and jugular veins, but she had no idea how much they knew about sex.
She might start telling them something very basic and be way over their heads. And she would have to be careful what she said. Little girls had a way of letting things slip out to their parents. Things best left unspoken to adults who knew your parents.
"I don't know if I want to," Fran said, pulling at a tuft of yarn sticking out of the comforter. "You might tell your parents."
"Tell them, what?" Morgan said, "they know everything. We're just learning. Come on, Fran."
"Yeah," Lila oozed in her rich, earthy woman's voice. "You know so much and we're dying to learn already."
Fran shifted her weight a bit and stared at them oddly. What would they do if she told them anything about sex. Would they tell? Possibly. Did she want to talk about it? Definitely.
"Come on, Fran," Morgan said, clutching the edge of the comforter and urging the babysitter with a little whine in her voice, "if you do, I'll tell you the scariest ghost story ever. Won't I, Lila?"
"She will, too," Lila said, sitting up and wiggling her little buns in excitement, "I know the one she means. It will curl your hair. Frizz it right up out of its sockets."
"Follicles," Morgan corrected her.
Morgan's promise was the capper. She really wanted to hear what the little girl thought was the scariest ghost story. She knew some pretty gruesome ones. But a new and scary one ... might really make her look good at the next slumber party her girlfriends were planning next weekend. They all loved ghost stories. And a scary one? The scariest ghost story ever?
Well, she would just have to hear that.
She tossed the book she was holding down onto the floor and kicked off her penny loafers. Then, she crossed her legs Indian-style on the bed and waited for their rapt attention. She didn't have long to wait.
"I guess I'll start by telling you how Tommy Vail and I...."
"Why don't you show us?" Lila cooed, in that sexy little drawl of hers.
"Be serious," Fran snapped back, "How can I? You're a girl. Tommy Vail is a guy."
"We do it all the time," Morgan said, inclining her head onto her propped up hand.
Lila giggled. "
"How?" Fran heard herself asking.
"We'll show you," Morgan said, "only you gotta promise to tell us about you and Tommy What's His Face."
"And show us, too," Lila added, casting her a no-nonsense look.
Fran took the scene in as Lila and Morgan threw back the covers and began undressing each other. Lila slipped the hem of Morgan's nightie up over her downy long legs, the ones just beginning to show signs of blondish body hair.
As she did that, Morgan began unbuttoning the trap door of Lila's flannel pajamas. She exposed the girl's spongy little high-rising cheeks to the glowing light coming from the bedside table.
They were warm, rounded and golden. They looked like two luminous cantaloupes stuck together inside a fruit crate. And because Lila was working on all fours, with her backside aimed at Fran, their babysitter had a direct view of the crevice up in between those little cheeks.
The younger girl worked her sister's nightie hem up, up over her newly-rounded curving hips. Fran jumped up involuntarily as she saw the blonde halo of hair that crowned Morgan's cunt. What was a twelve year old doing with a pussy wreathe already?
She hadn't gotten any hair on hers till she'd been nearly fourteen. And then, so sparse and transparent, she wasn't sure if it was pubic hair or wishful thinking.
She was even more surprised when Lila's cunt popped into view. Morgan unsnapped her flannel jammies at the waist and lowered them over the girl's mound. It, too was decked out with an angelic little blonde fringe layer. Not much, but definitely a hair pie.
So now they're making ten year olds with mound moss. What next? Fran was pondering the subject philosophically when Morgan's tits came-on the scene. And came on the scene, they did.
Her sister worked her gown over her luscious little upturned cupcakes with glee, exposing the girl's tits for Fran to see and comment on. And she did comment.
"My God," she said, as though she had just discovered a parking ticket on her station wagon. But her cause for alarm had nothing to do with transportation. It was from looking at Morgan's tits. They were positively breathtaking. And sizeable. Very sizeable considering the girl's age. Which looked to be about twenty-five from the size of her knocker knobs.
Each cupcake featured a bright, amber-colored raisin on the tip. A pliable-looking and altogether delectable set of nipples all right. Enough to make her slightly jealous, actually.
She felt only a bit better when Lila's boobs crept out from under her flannel top. They were flatter, but no less upturned, pert and eye catching. Same nipples, like sisters will tend to have.
Then, Fran opened her eyes a bit wider. The girls had begun to diddle each others' tits with their outstretched tongues. Sure enough, the two terror twins were sucking each other to beat the band.
Lila stuck her tongue out first and dabbed it all over her sister's jugs, getting them wet and slimy and glistening. Then, Morgan did the same thing back to Lila, only since her tits were slightly smaller, it took less time. She let her tongue roll around and around the full width of the girl's tit mounds, then roving ever closer to the center, she made little hot spiral licks around the girl's nipples.
It was an arousing spectacle. Hot enough to make her own panties steamy. But what followed got a lot hotter.
"We take turns with this, usually," Morgan explained, as though she were the announcer on a documentary, "I think I'll let Lila go first tonight. Partly cause she's the youngest, and partly cause I'm excited already."
Fran could see now that was possible, being as how her own pussy was throbbing like a kettle drum during a timpani solo. She wondered if either of the girls would notice if she stuck her finger up there and tried to stroke the fire out. She gripped the quilt with her fingers and tried to hold out a bit.
Morgan spread her legs out and arched her back up, giving Fran a view that could only be described as sensational. Her cunt lips fell apart in rosy pink folds with a darker pink gash between them. Her throbbing little clit stuck up smartly at the apex, bobbing out of the curtain of pussy lips. And into that curtain, came Lila, wiggling her hot little fingers all the way.
"Oh, oh," Morgan said, as the younger girl pushed her digits inside her. "That is so goooood."
With her free hand, she diddled the girl's clit, making what was before a hot hard little pink thumb, a dusky rose slippery wet one. The harder she rubbed, the more her willing, horny sister thrust her hips up and down.
"Stick that inside me, Lila, and quit messing around," Morgan called, bouncing her buns hard against the mattress. "You wouldn't like it if I teased you like that."
"You have plenty of times," Lila scolded back. "But I like to make you suffer a bit. You'll appreciate it more. Come on, beg for it."
"You little fuck bunny," Morgan hollered, "now cut that out. Make me come or I'll put mouse turds in your bran flakes. Now come on!"
Fran let her jaw drop open as the younger girl slipped a second, then a third, and finally an unbelievable fourth finger up into the writhing pink slit of her eager sister. It was quite a sight. The two blonde nymphets at play. Wow! She couldn't help wondering if this sort of play went on every night. Well, the two little girls had been doing a lot more than just telling ghost stories when the lights went out.
A gasp escaped the babysitter's mouth as the younger girl now popped a whole fist up her sister's beckoning pussy tunnel. And what's more, the older sister seemed to get off on it. She seemed to relish it, in fact.
"Come on, Lila," Morgan said, though her breathing was becoming a bit more halting now, "you can pump faster than that. I know you can."
Morgan reached down and squeezed the delectable nipples of her nubile young tits as her sister continued to punish her twat with her entire fist, shoving it in up to the wrist and winding it around and around like a corkscrew, before drawing it covered sopping with clear cunt honey.
Then, she would sail the whole thing back inside her and repeat the process, drawing a string of long, low moans from Morgan's open mouth.
"Shiiiiit!" the girl intoned, tossing her blonde head around as hard as a mustang in harness. "I'm gonna knock off pretty soon."
Fran had an idea the girl didn't mean quit. But she couldn't be sure. She couldn't be sure if she was even thinking clearly by now. She was too hot and bothered for any kind of real clarity at the moment.
Morgan humped her hips in perfect syncopation to her sister's continued ramming and churning. That little fist didn't miss a trick as it seemed to search out all of the girl's private places. The ones that, if touched right, could turn her on with the force of an electrical charge.
"Aaaiiiieeee!" Morgan hollered, thrashing her whole frame up and down in bed so hard, she practically rocked all three of them off onto the floor.
She was coming in an unbelievable burst of energy. She gripped her nipples with her fingers, as though they were pliers and humped her hips faster than the speed of light. Up and down, down and up. Writhing, spinning and pounding the entire time. She could feel herself lift off, like a rocket from a launching pad.
Then. ... BOOOMM! She shot off into space. She let her eyes roll back in her head as she succumbed to the power of the blast. She skyrocketed into the stratosphere as she tossed her hips wildly up into the air and down on her sister's hot, savagely whirling hand.
Lila felt the temperature of her sister's cunt rise to an unbelievable heat. Hot enough to melt her fist, if such a thing were possible. The wet, muscular cunt tunnel was pressing back against her hand as she continued to ram her sister's pussy as hard as a jackhammer.
She grinned when she popped her cork. Smiled a sweet, angelic smile, like the little angel she was. She was always happy to make Morgan come. It was a special event. Like Thanksgiving or the last day of school.
A few moments later, after the wild humping had ground to a consistent thump, the girls drew their breath back to normal and turned their attention to Fran.
Fran was nearly numbed out by the spectacle, but she tried not to let it show. She was curious, though.
"How long have you two been playing games like this?" she said, like a reporter prying facts out of an eye witness.
"I don't know," Lila said, licking her sister's jism off her fist, "a while."
"You gotta understand," Morgan said, bending her knees and drawing herself up to a near-sitting position, "we're alone out here a lot. We get tired of the same old games ... ya know, hide and seek, gin rummy, tic-tac-toe ... and the TV gets old quick."
"After five minutes, usually," Lila added, "and we don't get to stay up to watch Chiller Diller very often. That's the only show on TV we like."
"We're not dykes, Fran," Morgan said matter-of-factly.
Fran shook her head and wondered where in the world they had picked up a word like "dyke", especially since they called finger-fucking "winky-poo." Or maybe they were putting her on.
"I don't think you're dykes," Fran said, not entirely sure what the word meant Herself.
"Fran," Lila said, her eyes glowing like blue coals, "what is a dyke, anyway?"
"Ask Morgan," Fran answered, glad to have found some way out of answering her question, "Some time when you're alone with her."
"Ya know it's my turn now," Lila said, squirming her little nude form into a doggie position.
Fran wondered why she was up on all fours on the bed, but she didn't have to wait long to find out.
"Shit," Morgan said, glancing around the room, "I don't even know where the belt is."
Fran wasn't quite sure why she needed a belt, since she wasn't even wearing clothes. But that, too was answered in short order.
"The harness is under the bed," Lila said, pointing to below where they were sitting.
Morgan lay flush against the big four-poster and slid her head far over the edge. She reached under the bed and pulled out a thick, leathery tangled mass of straps and buckles.
"Do you have a dog?" Fran said, as the two girls giggled in response.
"We did," Morgan said, "but he died."
"That's too bad," the babysitter said, sympathetically.
"It's okay," Lila said, patting Fran on the knee, "he was old. We all gotta go sometime."
"This was his," Morgan said, holding up the harness. "We used to take him for walks in it."
It was a sad moment.
"Now she uses it on me," Lila said, reaching her arms out and ducking her head in such a way as to allow her sister to fit the thing over her head.
It was on her in a flash. Morgan bound her inside it expertly and tightened the buckles so hard the little girl's tits stuck out an extra inch or two. In fact, Fran wasn't sure how she could breathe in there.
"Is that comfortable?" she asked, feeling a lot younger than either of them all of a sudden.
"No way," Lila said back, looking like a perfectly contented pussy cat. She sat down on her haunches and stuck her tits out. "You got a belt on your jeans, Fran. Can we use it?"
It was just a slender little leather strap. Fran had picked it up at a flea market where she and her mother had gone looking for enamel dishes. But it was leather. It was a belt. And now, these two girls seemed to want it. What for, she was beginning to guess.
"Here," Fran said, holding the slippery tether out to Lila.
"I'll take that," Morgan said eagerly.
She took hold of the belt and the harness reins at the same time. She stood up on the bed and pulled her sister to a position where she was perched on all fours, very much like a dog going for a walk.
And, that's exactly what Morgan did with her. She began walking her around the room. First, she ordered her to jump off the bed. Then, she brandished the little strap in the air and brought it down on her upturned backside. The thing slapped against the girl's supple flanks with a slicing, leathery noise. Fran watched in awe as the place where the girl had been whipped turned into a pink ribbon. A long, raised pink ribbon against the sweet, blonde flesh of the girl prancing around the room like a wild animal in harness.
"That's right, doggie," Morgan called to her, "jump up here."
The girl coaxed her sister onto a footstool, then off it again. Then, up onto a toy chest. Then, around and around in little circles. Noises came pouring out of Lila's mouth. Noises that sounded like groans, then growls.
Animal and human sounds all mixed up.
But whatever they were, they were unmistakably the sounds of arousal. Hot, eager, onrushing arousal.
She knew sounds of arousal when she heard them, especially when she was making those sounds, too. It was a hot scene there, watching the girls parade around in the nude, one of them on the end of a rein, the other whipping her round, shining little butt moons as she led her around the place.
"Now, doggie," Morgan said, haughtily, "lie down."
The girl lay down at her feet and Morgan held her belt aloft. She brought it down with a sizzle onto the girl's backside. It curled up at the tip and snapped down into the crevice between her white little mounds.
"Now you're gonna take it up the ass," Morgan called to the girl who was writhing and rolling around at her feet. "Just like you deserve, on account of you're a very bad doggie."
Lila let out a low moan, and then she brought her hands up over her ears, as though they were paws and her mistress had said something bad to her.
Fran wondered what the hell the little girl was gonna take up the ass. Then, she saw her sister reach up on the dresser and wrap her fingers around a rubbery thing shaped like a bone. It was indeed a rubber doggie bone. The sort of thing you give a dog to bite down on when you don't want bone chips cluttering up the house. Fran could even see teeth marks in it, doubtless put there by their now-deceased canine.
The girl popped the end of the bone in a jar of sticky goo, probably lubricant of some kind and made the girl rise up on her hands and stick her ass high into the air. Then, she lashed her with the belt whip until her legs were spread out to her mistress's satisfaction.
"That's good," she crowed, "now, doggie, you're gonna get it. Exactly what you've got coming to you."
Morgan licked her lips as she spread the girl's dark pink sphincter out with her expert little fingers.
She began by working the tip of the rubbery toy around the perimeter of the girl's butt muscle. She drew circle after circle around the girl's hole, gliding it like a skater around the rink.
It got Fran hotter than a pistol. Hot enough to unzip her pants, in the hopes that the girls wouldn't notice, and reach her hand down into her panties and grip her clit. She began jiggling it as hard as she could to relieve some of the pent-up arousal that seated itself there.
She figured, if she could just shake some of that passion loose, she might be okay for the rest of the night. Or at least until these two finished the fuck fest. It was an awesome sight, watching these two carry on. Little girls, indeed! They could write a sex manual.
"Ooooooooh," Lila moaned as the rubbery thing penetrated the opening to her bung hole. It felt so hot and savage and ripping, that thing pressing itself into her now. She loved the way it wiggled up in there, insisting itself into her body.
It was like an invader and a buddy. Both at the same time. Pleasure and pain combined. A delicious combination. Like peanut butter and apple jelly.
"Take that, you lousy animal," Morgan said, stuffing a bit more of the rubber dildo bone into the girl's poop chute. "You better not move or I'll ram it up all the way and pin you to the dog house."
Fran grabbed the slippery clit between her oily thighs and pressed it around and around under her palm. It felt good to get off a bit of the tension anyway. Only problem was, the more she got off, the more it got on her. She knew she would need a full scale orgasm before this was over. It always went like that.
Morgan began working the lubricated bone prick in and out the girl's vibrating poop chute. The sphincter ran with the body fluids of hot, eager desire.
The girl pumped it in and out as hard as she could, leaving little room for the girl at her feet to even catch her breath. And she did it because she knew her sister liked it that way.
Fran made a desperate attempt to keep up with the lightning rhythms the girl was creating as she plunged that sticky wicked weapon in and out of Lila's pulsating bung hole.
"Take that boner up your ass," Morgan called, flailing her belt whip again on the flanks of the helpless girl at her feet, "take it up your poop chute and like it," she railed.
"Oh, God," Fran said, the build-up of heat and moisture intensifying under her hand. She sensed it wouldn't be long before she shot. If she could only get there ahead of Lila.
Lila was growling and showing her teeth in two neat white rows, making deep, horny guttural sounds in the back of her throat. Having that thing stuck up her ass did make her feel like an animal. An animal on the hot end of a poker. The thing threatened to sever her buttocks, to separate them, like the two halves of an apple. Deeper and deeper it plunged into her, heating her core to the meltdown point.
"Grrrrrrrrr," Lila said, tossing her blonde head around like a caged beast. She knew she was near coming. She backed up a bit onto the rubbery thing stuck up her hind quarter. Burrowing into her bung.
It felt like a giant bomb about to explode. One more thrust and she knew she would be a goner.
"Aaaahhhhhh!" she growled. She humped the punishing little instrument as hard as her buttocks would hump it. She dropped down to the carpet and let the thing penetrate her to the quick. Then, she pushed the thing out with all her muscular power and came in a burst of growls and gyrations.
She felt her cunt flood itself in a torrent of jism. She writhed around in a snaking, spiraling dance of hot, unbridled passion.
Fran slid her hand neatly into her pussy slit. Not as much as Morgan had taken into hers, but at least three fingers of it. She pushed the things in and out, out and in as fast as she could, urging herself toward a climax.
She was close, really close, only looking over there at the floor, she could see Lila beating her to it.
"Oh, no," she said, aloud, twisting her head back and forth in a denial of what was actually happening. What was actually happening is that she was coming in such a free wheeling rush of pleasure, she was nearly floating up off the bed.
"OH!!!" she shouted to everybody within earshot, "I'm coming."
She let herself go in a gush of spunk and gut-wrenching spasms. Her climax was being torn from her body. Ripped right out and presented for the other two girls to see.
She bounced her ass cheeks up and down on the bed and got herself off once, twice, three times. A whole collection of comes for them to examine and judge. She wished she had kept that collection to herself, but there it was anyway.
Watching those two had just been too hot to keep to herself. She had to share it with them. Authority figure or not. There it was.
She tried to collect her breath again. To inhale and exhale at a normal rate. When she finally succeeded, Morgan's words greeted her ears plainly.
"Did you get off?" she said, coming over to the bed and leaning her weight onto it.
"Sort of," Fran allowed cautiously.
"Sort of?" Lila said.
Fran looked up to see that Lila was now out of harness and parading around buck naked like the little ten year old show off she was.
"I've seen hurricanes on the five o'clock news get off less," she continued.
Fran looked at her watch.
CHAPTER TWO
"Your turn," Morgan said, slipping her lithe little golden form under the comforter once more.
"Yeah," Lila urged, " tell us about Tommy Hill."
"Vail," Fran corrected. "Hill, Vail, what's the difference?" Lila shot back, "as long as he's got a cock."
Fran let out a little sigh. She knew she would have to give these little girls the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They would be able to tell if she was lying. She had a hunch they knew most of what she was gonna tell them anyway.
"How big is it?" Morgan said, popping another graham cracker into her mouth.
"Do you suck it?" Lila said, leaning her chin on her elbow as though it were story time and she was the story lady.
In fact, that's just what it was and that's just what she was. Well, if this is what it would take for them to tell her the scariest ghost story ever, then she had best hop to it.
"Tommy and I have been going steady about a year," she began, gazing fondly at the class ring on her third finger right hand.
"At least you're not promiscuous," Morgan said, "I mean, you stick to the same guy and just suck one cock at a time. That's probably the best way."
"I think it's the only way, Morgan," Lila said, screwing her face up at her sister.
"Are you two gonna be quiet and let me tell this or are you gonna keep chattering like a game show host the whole time?"
Fran was getting a little short-tempered. These two were trying her patience. Very trying her patience.
"Good, now where was I?" Fran mused, her mind wandering as she thought of Tommy Vail's broad shoulders and muscular hands.
"About to suck Tommy Vail's cock," Morgan urged in a delicate little whisper.
"Shit!" Fran bellowed, "are you gonna keep interrupting the whole time?"
"Come on, Fran," Morgan begged, "get to the good part, will ya? We'll be old and grey by the time you quit dreaming about this guy. What happens when you stick his dick in your mouth?"
"What makes you think I do that anyway?" Fran said, drawing her hands up to her defensively.
"Doesn't everybody?" Morgan, perfectly deadpan.
Lila let out a giggle and threw the comforter up over her face.
"Shit, why don't you tell it?" Fran hollered, watching the remainder of her patience fly out the window.
"Okay," Morgan said, flipping the covers back and exposing her hot little tits for the umpteenth time that night.
Fran sat back and blew a puff of hot, fuming breath out of her mouth. If these were her kids, she'd take them over her knee and give them the whipping of their lives. Only one problem. They'd probably beg for more.
"Let her tell," Lila said, yanking her sister by the arm. "I think she's got some good stuff to talk about. Come on and shut up now."
Finally, the girls came to a reasonable agreement among them. Fran was to do the talking and Morgan and Lila were to do the listening. Then, everybody would have something definite assigned for them to do.
"Okay, okay," Fran said, casting her eyes toward the ceiling in a silent prayer that she get through what she was trying to say this time. "Tommy and I have done a bit of petting. We like to rub bodies. I know some people think that's not smart if you're under eighteen and have living parents, but I don't hold with it. I'm young, I'm hot, and I've got Tommy's class ring to prove it.
Anyway, last Friday night, after the sock hop, Tommy and I walked home. Now, as you know, it's getting colder these nights and we had to walk real close to keep each other warm. You think that was a problem, but we had another one to contend with. Where the hell were two horny kids gonna go to feel each other up on a night as chilly as last Friday was? Only one place...."
"The boiler room of the school house?" Lila asked, her eyes glowing.
"The nearest open garage?" Morgan said, tossing her head back and feeling very clever for having thought of it.
"Nope," Fran continued, "the bus station."
"Of course," Lila said, snapping her fingers.
"Never thought of that," Morgan said, eyeing the girl quizzically, "you sure it's okay? I mean, there's a lot of people at the bus station."
"Not on the mezzanine," Fran said proudly, "and that's where we headed. Of course, we pretended we had to go to the bathroom, but we slipped back into the semi-darkness, back behind the barber shop and the lockers. Into a little alcove. There's even a bench there. And, we took another pre-caution...."
"The pill?" Morgan offered, all ears.
"Shut up, Sis," Lila said, holding her hand over the older girl's mouth.
"We threw Tommy's coat over us. Made out like we were sleeping. That way, nobody had a clue. Anybody who walked by couldn't tell what we were doing under there.
Now, Tommy flings his coat over us and starts right in smooching and unbuttoning my blouse. We don't have too much time before I gotta get home, so we gotta make the most of it, see?
Tommy is one fast hand at unbuttoning blouses. And when he gets down to my bra, he presses his palms against my tits and sort of squeezes them, like they were orange halves and he was going for the juice.
My tits are still developing, so that hurt, but it felt good, too. And I really like the way the guy sticks his tongue down my throat and pinches my tits at the same time. He is really very affectionate for a teenager, ya know. Anyway, next thing he does, he puts my hand on his zipper. I don't know what it is about Tommy's zipper that I love, but I can't get enough of it. I know it's cause it lies just above his cock. And I can feel his thing jumping around inside there when I touch it. You'll laugh at me, but I swear it gets hot. Like the metal teeth heat up whenever he gets turned on. And I turn him on. My tits do, anyway.
So here we are, very cozy under Tommy's coat. I got my hand on his zipper, and I'm stroking his crotch. His bulge is growing by inches every second. I love the way that heap of his heats up and throbs around inside his jeans. It gets me so wet under the panties...."
"Me, too," Morgan interrupted, then clapped her hand over her mouth.
"Anyhow, Tommy and I worked together to get his zipper down. Something about teamwork that gets me right where I live, too. And we both dig inside his pants fly for his cock. And we don't have to dig very far. Not like for buried treasure, although Tommy's dick looks a lot like buried treasure to me.
If you could see it, you'd know what I mean...."
"Do you think we could some time?" Lila said eagerly. She, too, clapped her hands over her mouth, trying to stop the flow of words from seeping out any further.
"The amazing thing," said Fran continuing her story, "it's very hard. I've never actually seen it any other way, so I have a pretty good idea it's always like that. Though I don't know how Tommy plays baseball with it like that. He's such a big athlete, as you know.
But his thing is very long, not as long as a baseball bat, but long. And thick. I have a hard time wrapping my hand around it. Come to think of it, I have a hard time wrapping both my hands around it, but I do. It's sort of like holding a flagpole. Not that long, but that hard. Oh, shit, is that guy hard.
And the tip of his dick is always slightly wet. I think it's something that comes out of the slit in the top of his dick. The end of it is sort of bullet-shaped, ya know rounded. And there's this huge, throbbing hole in the top. That's where the juice comes from. It's clear and runny, like cunt juice, only it comes from a different place.
It's very useful, too. It helps me slide up and down his flagpole. It makes it slippery. What I do is, I lace both my hands together and flip them over the top of his head. Then, I sort of make round and round movements, to get him good and wet at the slit. That's cause it makes sliding up and down easier, as I said. Then, I start a long, slow slide down the whole length of his shaft. It takes a while, but it's worth it, cause it makes him very, very hot. He starts to moan real soft when I do that. I know he loves it...."
Fran paused a moment to look at the girls. She had their complete attention now and she was glad. It had taken a while, but at last, she had them. She had their attention and she had them hot and horny, too.
The comforter was flying up and down in two places. She figured it was because they were each pushing and pulling their hands in and out of their pussies while she was talking. Or maybe each others' pussies. That was probably more like them.
"Now, I get all the way down to the base and instead of floating my hands back up his dick shaft, I go to his balls. That gets him slightly hotter and more mellow. That's how I like him. I like his balls, too, even though they're a little harder to get out of his pants slit than his cock.
He's got the biggest juiciest pair of hairy hard balls. They're kind of rubbery and they have little steel balls inside them. I can feel them when I massage his pair real hard. I can feel them rolling around inside there. I love to play with his balls.
Okay. So I play with his balls and then I work my way back up his prick stick. I get to the top. I circle my hands around again and move back and forth, kind of like the agitator on a washing machine. That almost gets him unconscious. He slumps a bit back onto the bench and lets his mouth go open a bit.
And, he starts to put a little more muscle into squeezing my tits. Or, sometimes, if he's really hot, he'll shove his hands up under my skirt and pull the elastic out from around my panty legs.
Then, he starts in diddling my clit. That is a whole book in itself. The guy is a born clit-diddler. He can make mine slippery and hot and huge in about four seconds of expert handling. He just pulls my pussy lips apart and goes right for it. Finds it every time, too. Not like some guys who take all night to find it and then don't know what to do with it once they get there.
So, now I've got my legs spread wide, letting Tommy stuff a couple of his fingers up inside me. It is so hot and blistering in there, I'm surprised he doesn't scorch them!"
"I know what you mean," Morgan blurted out in hot blasts of air, "Mine is about to burn up right now, too."
"So let me finish, will you?" Fran said, growing hot herself as the story she was relating unfolded. Her cunt lips were unfolding again, right along with it. She wished to hell Tommy Vail were there right now to relieve some of the pressure, some of the heat.
"So I let Tommy pound his surging fingers up into my vital parts, wiggling and gasping in excitement. I try to keep it down, not to draw too much attention to us, but it's not easy. I am so excited just thinking about what that guy does to me, I can't stand it. Now, here I am, with his dick in my hand, and I'm twisting it this way, and I'm twisting it that way. And I'm running my hand down it, and I'm running it up. I love the way his prick pulsates under my hand. Like, the harder I press against it, the harder it springs back. And his dick is so wet now, if I peek under his coat at it, I can see the head with that slit pointed toward me, like a huge third eye. And his shaft, well, his cock shaft is glistening with juice and it's all pink and red and purple. The vein on the underside, where I can't see, but I can feel, is so huge and it's vibrating like a conga drum...."
"Oh, God," screamed Morgan as she flipped up in bed and came down onto her sister's fist.
Fran picked up the quilt from her end of the bed and saw that the girl indeed did have her fist planted in her sister's cunt. Vice versa, too, as best as she could make out.
"You two having fun down there?" she said, teasingly.
"Yeeeeeees," Lila said, feeling her body wrack with a whole string of orgasms. "Please continuuuueeee."
"Well, by this time, Tommy has his fingers stuck up my pussy slit so far, they're diddling my tonsils. I love having his fingers in me real deep. They get quite wet up there. I have quite a wet pussy. And now, his cock is a good match for it. It's wringing wet, from all that sweat, and perspiration and oil and stuff. My hands can go up and down it pretty fast. Up and down, down and up. Then down and up, up and down. I keep a nice steady rhythm, letting the tension build up to a fever pitch. I love it when he starts to talk to me. He keeps it real low, so nobody will come over there and tell us to quit it.
I just keep pumping his cock pole. One and two. One and two. Up and down. Down and up. Then, as I'm working the thing real hard, going faster and faster ... pretty soon, if I keep up a good, steady pace, I feel him go POP! just like a weasel.
And now, his dick slit spreads open all the way and out shoots this magnificent geyser. Wow! I wish I had a picture of that to show you.
A long strand of white goo just flushes right out of his peter. Right out the tip. It's real forceful, too. Knocks my hand back, if my hand happens to get in the way.
Of course, seeing him surge out like that usually gets my pussy that much hotter. Hot enough to pulsate itself halfway to climax. And then, with the help of Tommy's pumping fingers, that's exactly what happens.
Sometimes, we manage to pop off at the same time. That's good. Of course, it takes phenomenal timing, but if we work on it, we can sometimes bring it off.
Now, hold onto your nightshirts, cause here comes the good part."
Fran noticed that the covers had started rising and falling again. She figured the two of them had begun plugging each other again, then, she noticed that both of them had thenhands above the covers. She went right ahead, anyway, having come to the conclusion by now that anything was possible with these kids.
"Once he has shot his load, I like to stick my head down under the coat and look for the sticky white goo. It usually lands somewhere on his jeans. That part of it I have to kiss off. But a good handful of it does usually linger on his dick shaft. I like to lick that up with my tongue. It's kind of dangerous, to stick my head down there I mean, but what the hell. It's worth the risk. I love taking the risk just to get my lips on some of that delicious white cream. Especially before it cools down...."
Now Fran was really curious. The girls were writhing and squirming like worms on part of a fisherman's hook. They were plenty hot all right. And so was she by now, but how the hell were they doing it? Their hands had been visible above the covers during the whole last part of her story.
"Ooooooh, that feels like a come!" Morgan heaved out as she sat up and bounced her hips up and down.
"Bull's eye yourself," Lila shouted, twisting her head in an erotic circle.
Fran whipped the covers back from her end and threw the whole thing over the girls' heads, exposing them both from the waist down, or thereabouts.
Sure enough. Morgan had her big toe planted squarely in her sister's pussy slit. Lila, too, was diddling her sister's clit with her tootsies. Fran shook her head once more. These two were fucking amazing.
CHAPTER THREE
"Your turn," Fran said, adjusting her position so her foot wouldn't go to sleep. She eyed the clock on the bedroom wall. Eleven fifteen. When did these little kids start to get drowsy, anyway?
As she thought it, she found herself batting her heavy eyelids to stay awake. Maybe if she got them to tell her that ghost story, she would perk up a bit.
"Okay," she heard Morgan say solemnly, "but we're warning you, it's pretty spooky stuff."
"You don't have a weak heart or anything, do you?" Lila said, a sly little grin crossing her face.
"Oh, come on, tell me," Fran insisted, growing tired of their shenanigans.
"I'll start, Lila," Morgan began slowly, then you finish it.
"Okay," Lila said, "if Fran can stand to hear it all."
"Well," Morgan said as she cleared her throat, "I guess maybe you noticed we weren't virgins."
Fran had, in fact, made that observation.
"It's not that we intended that way. Like I guess nobody is ever born not a virgin. But we had our young cherries snatched away in a most unusual set of circumstances. You might say, a supernatural set...."
"We were raped by a ghost," Lila interjected.
"Quit getting ahead, Lila," Morgan said a note of annoyance rising up in her voice, "now shut your trap."
"Is it true?" Fran said, a look of bewilderment crossing her pretty freckled teenage face.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is," Morgan said with a touch of sad ness, "I don't know why it happened like that, but it did. Maybe what nature intended to happen. Anyway, I'll start at the beginning and tell you the whole thing. You know we have a fruit orchard out back and a garden and some livestock on the property. Not much, no herds of cattle or anything. But we have a chicken coop with some ducks in there now. And we used to raise pigeons out here. Not the kind that shit all over the city buildings, but the kind that used to carry messages. We got rid of them a few years back, but cleaning out their cages, and picking the fruit and raking the leaves and spreading fertilizer around in the spring, well, all that stuff takes an extra hand.
We were just kids when Mom and Dad brought us out here to live, and they needed somebody else to help out a bit. Dad had a job in the city even back then, and you know Mom teaches school sometimes as a substitute. So, they hired Zeus. We never could figure out why they called him that, he wasn't a god or anything. I don't even think he was Greek, but anyway, they hired him.
He just came by one day and asked my mom if she had any odd jobs for him to do and she said he could try his hand at picking apples or cleaning the yard or something.
So he did and he got paid. Well, him and Mom got to talking. She found out he was a nice old guy, though I don't know how how old he was...."
"Fifty-one," Lila said, like a detective.
"Yeah, maybe...." Fran went on as if her sister hadn't butted in, "so there was this guy and he started working for us. Mom made him up a little room over the garage out there. And we used to play with him. He would take us for horse back rides by getting down on all fours and riding us both around the yard or the living room.
Now he was a nice old guy, like I said, but he had fallen or hard times, or he had a drinking problem, or his wife ran off and left him in a state of depression where he couldn't cope or something. So I guess that's why he couldn't have a normal job and make real money. He also had one thing that made him kind of odd, set him apart from other people. He had a long, long scar on his body. I don't know how he got it...."
"Shoeing a horse," Lila broke in.
"Yeah, whatever," Morgan continued, without acknowledging her sister's comment, "but this scar was a dilly. It ran from his forehead all the way down the side of his face and disappeared under his shirt. Later, we saw where it ended up, but I don't want to rush to the end of the story before the end, know what I mean?
So, Zeus stayed here for a long time. Years. Maybe eight years. He was like our daddy. Like we had two daddies. He would walk us to school, when we started school and babysit us. Like you're doing now.
One day, and I gotta tell this part, cause I don't know if Lila remembers it. She might have been too young...."
"I remember it," Lila said, sitting up defensively.
"Okay, you remember it. One day, we were up in Zeus's room. We were looking at some stamps he had collected and I think I told him I wanted to have a stamp collection someday. I don't think I could have been more than eight years old at the time. That would have made Lila six. And I told him I wanted to collect stamps, but first, I would collect boys. I didn't know enough to say 'men' just yet. I was only eight.
Now Zeus took a real attitude when I said that. He shook his finger at me and looked at me with those rheumy grey eyes of his. He told me I shouldn't even think about boys yet. I was much too young.
I made a mistake then. I opened my mouth and we both ended up paying for it later. I told him I thought about boys a lot. I told him I dreamt about them and I got excited, though I didn't know enough to say 'excited' then, I just told him I got wet between my legs whenever I thought about a certain boy or boys.
He started fuming. He paced around the room and gave us both a lecture on how we should keep ourselves pure and clean and away from disgusting mens' filthy hands. And from boys. He especially cautioned us to stay away from them.
And the last thing I remember him saying on the subject was that if he ever, ever got wind of any nonsense with any boys, or if any boys ever gave us trouble, we were to come and tell him and he would take care of them for us.
Then he gave us both a kiss and hugged us to him and told us that we were his little girls. We shouldn't think about boys like that, cause we were sweet and innocent and he would see that we stayed that way. The last thing he said was, "I'll make sure you stay that way ... if I have to come back from the dead to do it." Now that was a real crazy statement to make, ya know?
I didn't think too much about it. I think Lila forgot it and so did I. For another couple of years at least. I didn't stop thinking about boys, though, I gotta confess...."
"Me, neither," Lila added.
Fran almost expected that she would.
Next thing that happened, Zeus died. He was found in his room one day dead. Stone cold as a frozen fish. The authorities never found a will or any papers or anything much on him. Dad really didn't want to pay for a fancy funeral for him. And he found a paper old Zeus had written down his last request on. His last request was that he be buried out in back of our house. In the apple orchard.
Well, that seemed fair enough to Dad and Mom. And to us, too. We had seen things die before, animals and stuff, so we knew this death thing was pretty final.
We had a little service, buried him, and that was pretty much that. Or so we thought.
Now, we flash to October of last year. Halloween night. I don't mean to make that night any spookier than it is already, but that was the night it happened. That was the night old Zeus came back and banged our virgin pussies till they bled. You better take it from there, Lila, if Fran can stand any more."
"Oh, go right ahead," Fran said, feeling a slight chill tingle over her body. It wasn't arousal exactly, but it was a thrill, nonetheless. Not that she believed in ghosts, but it was an intriguing tale, so far.
Lila sat up in bed and pulled the quilt up to her neck. She snuggled closer to her sister.
"Now, nobody believes a word of this story, I want you to know," she said, twisting her little pug-nosed face up. It was odd to see a girl with such a sweet face speak in such a husky voice, but it added to the suspense of the story. "And we've tried everybody. Teachers, ministers, neighbors down the hill, even Mom and Dad. Nobody believes it. But we know it happened. Cause we were there, know what I mean?"
Seeing that the girl was waiting for a response, Fran nodded. She went on with the tale.
"Morgan and I had costumes on that Halloween. I think I was a witch. Yeah. I was a witch and Morgan was Snow White. I remember that. She had on a long dress and black shoe polish in her hair to make her look like Snow White. I had on a long dress, too, but I had a mop on my head to make me look like I had witch's hair.
That hair kept flopping down into my eyes, making it real hard to see where I was going. I had a basket of goodies with me. Stuff Morgan and I had collected from going to door and doing 'trick or treat' routine.
Anyway, we were heading home, our labors for the evening being over. I think it was almost ten o'clock. And we were moving pretty fast along that paved road out front, running in this direction ... well, almost running. And before we knew what was happening, a car had pulled up alongside us.
We thought maybe somebody had gotten lost out here. Ya know, there's a whole bunch of roads all cutting into each other. A road map of this area looks like a plate of spaghetti, and well, we thought somebody was lost and gonna ask us directions.
We were dead wrong. The car was full of a bunch of guys. Guys I didn't recognize. Probably because they were a lot older than us. I think they were from North Central High. I saw one of their athletic jackets. But they could have been from anywhere, who knows?
They pulled the car up real close and started heckling us. The driver kept the car gliding along real slow, tailing our asses. We didn't like it too much...."
"I was scared out of my wits," Morgan jumped in, "my teeth were chattering like rain on the roof."
"But I told Morgan we should just act like they weren't there. That was rough, cause one of them reached out of the window and pulled the mop off my head. Can you imagine that? Stealing my mop? I was furious, but I didn't do much. Then, the car pulled to a stop and about five of them got out.
I looked at Morgan and she looked at me, and we must have been thinking the same thing cause we both made a bee-line for the trees. We heard the boys' running after us, calling us names and asking us if to come back so they eat our pussies make us suck their cocks, and stuff. Now, neither of us have anything against boys, right, Morgan?"
The older blonde girl nodded in swift agreement.
"But we don't like to be raped, either. That's not my idea of a good time at all. So we high-tailed it off into the trees. The trees happened to be fixed to our property. They were part of the orchard. The one where you-know-who was lying stone cold dead. Had been since almost two years.
But I wasn't thinking about him just then. I was thinking about to run like a bolt out of hell with a long skirt and a bag of Halloween candy. Morgan was having just as much trouble. We raced around that place, our long skirts kicking up a lot of dust, with those big bullies hot on our trail. Those skirts were raising so much dust, it was like a cartoon of Road Runner. We were leaving a trail for those horny jerks to follow.
Finally, we got smart and tore our skirts off. We just fed them to the night breeze. That made running from them easier, only now we had another problem...."
"What?" Fran said, completely caught up in the story, in spite of herself. Who at school would ever believe she had been entertained by a ten year old telling a ghost story. A horny ghost story?
"Our ass cheeks. Well ... neither of us had much else on. Those long skirts covered so much, we hadn't even worn slips. Just little flimsy panties. And I had managed to pull mine off when I yanked my skirt down. So I was pretty exposed.
Morgan still had a pair of flowered panties on, but that's not much on a cold Halloween, especially when you're being chased by a gang of hoods who want to bang you into a tree trunk. Anyway, we were still going in circles, trying to shake those guys. That's when one of them caught up with us.
He grabbed Morgan by the wrists. I just stood there and screamed. I screamed like I had seen a peasant girl do once in a vampire movie. Just before the vampire split her head with an axe.
And that's when somebody grabbed me from behind. He cupped his huge hands over my mouth and cut off my screams. Well, that's better than having him cut off my head, but I was still scared to pieces.
Another couple of guys arrived on the scene just then, slower runners, I guess. They pulled us both over to the nearest tree they could find. I was screaming my lungs out, but by that time, there were so many hands over my mouth, nobody could hear me.
I twisted every which way as a couple of the guys stretched my hands over my head and one of them tied me to a tree. I could see that Morgan was getting tied up to the same tree, only facing it.
The guys who tied me up, shoved me back against it, and I could watch everything they were doing. I could also smell booze on their breath. I'm pretty sure they had been drinking. They were whooping it up so loud and acting like such wild Indians, I don't know what else could have possessed them to behave that way.
So there I stood, like Joan of Arc, about to burned at the stake. I could almost smell my flesh going up in flames. And I was really scared. Morgan was screaming, but her mouth was shoved into the bark of the tree and nobody could hear her, except me and probably some termites.
Then, I saw one of the boys, the biggest, meanest one, in fact, reach up and pull his athletic jacket off. He was unzipping himself, too, saying stuff like, 'Come on, I get her first, you guys take seconds ... come on, I get to pop her cherry ... you guys can ass fuck Snow White over there ... move out, give me room. My cock's talking big business ... move back."
His cock was talking big business. He didn't waste any time showing the rest of the hooligans there all about that. He dug his big hard dick out of his britches and waved it around. It was so big and ugly and hard and purple. I almost tossed my cookies right then.
I squiggled around but didn't get too far cause those had tied my hands behind my back, tied them to my sister's hand, actually. It felt like elastic or clothesline cutting into my wrists.
The guy had his buddies spread my legs out real far, and I thought sure enough I was a goner...."
A little pause in Lila's story made Fran incline her head forward, "Yes?" she asked eagerly.
"That's when it happened," she said, nodding her head sagaciously.
"That's when we saw the ghost," Morgan added. Fran noted that both girls had gone a little white telling the story. Maybe there had been some truth to it.
"That's when this huge scarecrow of a man just loomed up out from behind one of the trees. He was carrying a rake. The kind he used to rake the yard with. But that's not how we recognized him."
"How did you?" Fran asked excitedly.
"From the scar," Morgan piped up, "the scar we told you about before."
Fran nodded her head in wonder. It was a pretty convincing story, except that she didn't happen to believe in ghosts.
"At first, I thought to myself, 'Whooopeee!!! We're gonna be rescued. Somebody has heard me yell and they're here to save us.' But then I took a good look and I realized who it was. Christ, I thought, it couldn't be. It just couldn't be possible. But it was. It was Zeus. Zeus come back from the grave to save our cherries.
Those guys took one look at that giant of a man standing there like a zombie from outer space and they froze a moment. Their jaws dropped open and they stared at him. The one who was about to plug me even kept his hard on. That's how fast they froze to the spot.
Then, Zeus began screaming at them. He shouted in a voice that could only be described as unearthly, 'Get out of here, you filthy scum. Get off the land and leave these girls alone. They are mine. You are defiling sacred territory. Get out of here. Run. Run for your lives or I'll kill you. Every one of you."
That voice vibrated me to my bones. It was the scariest, screechiest, spookiest sound, coming from way down in his throat. And it sounded like his voice box might have rotted out, which I suppose it had.
And he was ugly!!! I mean, he never had been a movie star or anything, but he was so white. There were these huge, crawling worms squiggling out from under his shirt lapel. The ones that eat you after you're dead, I guess. And his face was whiter than a snowdrift. And that scar had turned a sort of green. Ya know, like vomit only...."
"All right," Fran said, unwilling to hear more description, "I get the picture."
So there we stood, the three of us. Zeus was still waving that rake over his head and screaming at those guys, who had kicked up a ton of dust hauling their asses out of that place. They were all gone in a flash, screaming their lily-livered lungs out the whole time.
I won't lie to you, Fran, I was scared. Morgan was, too, cause I could feel her hands trembling. Only she didn't have nearly as good a view as I did, being that she was tucked up against that tree.
And, as you know, we were only little kids then, too. It happened almost a year ago. But the strange thing was, as scared as I was, I was beginning to be a little horny, too. Just a teensy bit, but it was definitely there.
My cunt lips were curling around my clit like ivy round an oak branch. And my nipples were growing hard. Why, you might well ask.
How could I be horny and hot at a time like this?
I think the best way to answer that is to say that I don't see how I could have been otherwise. I mean, if almost getting raped doesn't turn you on, what does?
So, there we were, the three of us, staring off into the distance as the freaked-out bullies ran off, scared out of their wits. And me, hot and getting hotter."
"I was hot, too, only Lila didn't know it then," Morgan said, clutching her sister's wrist to let her know she wanted to get a word in edgewise.
Now, what do you do when you're tied to aa apple tree on Halloween with a six foot ghost staring you in the face and your pubes are showing? Maybe you can guess.
And maybe you can guess, Fran, that we weren't the only ones that were horny. I had never seen Zeus's crotch bulge that big the whole time he was alive. But now that he was dead, it was positively plump. And growing every second he stood there, too.
He opened his mouth and in an eerie voice said, 'Now I'm gonna have to do it. I'm gonna have to fuck the both of you, so no man or boy will ever have the satisfaction. I want you to know ... both of you ... that's it for your own good. Try not to hate me too much." He spoke in a sad, tortured voice. So strange and twisted. I really get choked up thinking about, cause, ya know, the man was dead.
And still he felt protective of us. That made me feel safe, but it didn't erase my horns. I was still hot to trot and I'm afraid I looked it. I was standing there with my legs open and I arched my back to let Zeus know I was, too.
He got the message. Boy, he sure did. He tore down his coveralls with his knobby, muscular hand and stood there with the hardest, longest big dick I have ever personally seen or dreamt of.
I don't know which was longer, that rake handle or his man handle. He came toward me, braced his ghostly hands against the tree behind me and stuffed his dick knob down between my legs.
He may have been dead, but his cock was hard as a hammer. He used it like one, too. Pounding the plump little meaty lips of my cunt back, drilling his cock down into my wet, tight little cunt hole, driving it up there inside me.
On impact, I let out a little scream. Just a sharp one. He backed off a moment and I got a good look at his dick.
It was very, very dark. In contrast to the whitish cast of the rest of his ghostly frame. The head was the deepest purple you can imagine, almost black. And it was the size of a doorknob. Bigger, probably. The slit in the tip was grossly outsized. Huge, round, and full of puss. At least I think it was puss.
I was terrified. Hot and scared out of my head. I didn't know whether to tell him to stop and leave me alone or hurry and get it over with.
I just held tightly onto my sister's hand and licked my lips which were drooling like crazy. And I relaxed. I heard somewhere that if you relax, it doesn't go so hard the first time.
And I knew this first time was gonna be something special. I looked up to see him coming at me. His lean face was dark and shadowy, but the moonlight was playing on his body and I could see where that scar ended. It wound its way all down his stomach, his thighs and dick base. It spiraled somewhere under his huge man cock and must have terminated there.
He may have been dead, Fran, but he fucked like a gorilla on Spanish fly. Shit! When I think of it. His cock top pressed against my puffy little pussy lips, spreading them out and massaging them hard beneath it. He pumped his body forward, drilling his hard prick head up into the tight, wet sphincter that was my pussy slit. It ran a gusher of juice and nearly exploded by the time he had the whole shaft in.
Then he started some insane sort of pumping rhythms. I couldn't keep up with it. I felt the searing hard tip of his prick plunge up inside me, ream me out, scour out all the juices of my childhood. And I felt the burning sensation that comes when your cherry is getting busted.
My temperature rose as he pushed his dick inside me, all the way up to the hilt. The thing rammed me like a bull's horn. I was pinned against that tree, pinned down so hard with those ropes and that dick that I couldn't think of anything except when it would be over.
And I also thought how much it was getting me aroused. I felt the little trickle of blood from my cherry drizzle down my inner thigh. Only then, did I even realize what was happening.
I was getting fucked. Fucked for the first time in my life. Fucked like fury, too. I pounded my hips up to receive his thrusting blows. I greeted each of them with a tensing up of my own tight, virginal pussy muscles. That must have drawn him closer and closer to coming, because I could hear him gasp hard.
I know it was drawing me closer to coming, because my breathing was totally out of control. I gave out with a series of sharp, shrill cries. My back hit the tree trunk again and again as the ghost whammed his ramrod up into me, leaving me shrieking, panting, and coming like a house of fire.
I let go in a rage of burning seizures. My cunt lips twitched furiously, clutching onto the thick dick inside me, and churning my own jism out of me at the same time.
Phew! I was coming for all I was worth and I was getting tired fast. That thing inside me was exhausting me, taking its toll, pulverizing me.
I felt his cold frame shake all over. A single thick blast of creamy spunk spewed out from his pecker tip. It coated my insides and revived me momentarily.
He yanked his dork out just then and I saw the remains of a beautiful white arc of thick goo splashing all over me. It was a sight, all right.
But that didn't stop him. He lifted himself off my body, relieving me of his weight and stepped up to where Morgan was standing, spread eagle, facing the tree. I think I better let her tell you, Fran, cause I couldn't see much more of it."
"I was so scared my heart was about to jump out of my mouth," Morgan said, jumping into finish the story immediately. "The hard thing, the thing I couldn't even see, was bobbing in and out of my pussy slit. It was building up a phenomenal amount of friction down there, getting me hot as a fireball. That enormous dick head just kept knocking in there, skewering around a little, and hauling out.
It was a real mystery as to how it was still so hard, but you know they say ghosts can walk through walls, so why not keep a hard on through two fucks. It makes sense, I suppose.
My cunt was stretching out wider and wider to receive his giant hard dick wand. And when it was juiced up good, he stuffed it up there and banged me to smithereens.
I am amazed there is anything left of me at all, after that screwing I got that night tied up to that tree. My pussy still starts to tingle whenever I think about it.
I was so hot, the flux of blood that poured down my cunt tunnel was cold by contrast. I wasn't sorry to be relieved of my cherry, but it had come as a surprise that a non-human would take it from me.
Zeus was muttering garbled words just then. Words about fucking and cunts and cherries and stuff. I think he must have been pretty excited. I was ready to pop my cork.
I leaned my head down and took a bite of my shoulder, just to keep my wits from taking leave of me. Then, the man sprayed out a hard jet of thick stuff from his peter, like a pressurized hose would shoot.
Only it wasn't water. It was too creamy and gooey to be water. It clung to every little tiny hidden corner of my inner-being and made me brace myself to a thundering, vibrating, chilling climax.
I heaved what felt like my whole stomach up as I shot a string of wild and abandoned climaxes off, one after the other.
Thank God, my sister was there to reassure me that we weren't losing our minds. This was a ghost, and this was really happening. We were getting fucked by something that was from another world. A spirit, a ghost, a horny ghost with a huge hard on.
Well, his dick never did diminish. Not one speck. He hauled it out from the confines of my tight, wet pussy and me and Lila got a good look at it. It was the size of a loaf of French bread. And wrinkled. And purple. The vein on the underside of it was pulsing away to beat the band. I think we were both pretty turned on by then.
Aroused enough to want more, as they say. But old Zeus must have figured his time was through on this earth, as a spirit, I mean. He began weeping. Soft, strange, unearthly cries of horror escaped his lips as he backed up and shook his shoulders.
He grabbed the rake and dragged it along after him as he ambled off into the shadows. I felt so strange, seeing him stalk off like that. A ghost, a lonely haunted figure drifting aimlessly into the night.
But, I should add, he was one hot fuck of a ghost, at that."
Fran sat there a moment, confronting the silence in the room with a tilt of her head. She let her eyes pierce those of the two little girls, as though she were trying to ferret out any truth that might be there.
"Took us another twenty minutes just to get our hands untied," Lila said, "not to mention making ourselves presentable before going home."
"We tried to forget about it, but it kept haunting us...." Morgan said, "You know how awful that is? To know you've been fucked by a ghost. Who would believe it anyway?" Fran sighed and looked at the clock once more. Midnight. The bewitching hour. Who indeed, she thought to herself, pursing her lips a little and trying to ignore the tingling in her spine, who indeed?
* * *
HUNG LIKE A EUNUCH
CHAPTER ONE
Gwen Chapman stared into the gold-flecked mirror that covered half the spacious bathroom. She wiped the steam away. The steam that had built up there from the intensity of the heat from her whirlpool bath.
She took a good look at herself. And she liked what she saw. Probably too much. She was an abundantly built teenager. That was for sure. Still two months away from twenty and a body that any woman of any age would envy. The body a burlesque stripper would envy.
A pair of jugs the size of musk melons, and almost as hard. A tawny golden complexion that made the skin of her tits stand out in sharp contrast to the burnt sienna of her huge silver dollar size nipples. The nipples that were hard now, after she had stepped out of the bath.
Hard, rubbery and huge. The size of a man's thumb. That sharp reverse triangle that shot down from below her mammoth tits and plunged to the tiny circle of her waist.
That heavenly patch of amber colored cunt hair. Those warm and beckoning cunt lips that could grip a man's dick with the force of a clamp. That strong, powerful pussy slit of hers. The one that had trapped Dexter Bililo. One of the wealthiest oil magnates on the east coast.
She flipped one of her legs up on the toilet seat and dabbed at it with her towel. Such long, tapering legs. Muscular, from tennis and swimming and the best massages from the best beauty spas in the country.
But why not? Dexter was buying. And Dexter was a man who expected to pay top dollar for what he wanted. He was used to paying nothing else.
And he had gotten her used to the best. As soon as she had come to live with him in his Park Avenue penthouse, high, high over the dirt and sludge of the city.
Well, Gwen thought, see-sawing the towel over her sculpted shoulders, it's what I deserve. It's what Dexter wants. She reached up to the crown of her stacked streaked blonde hair and removed a few bobby pins.
She let her hair shake freely down and cascade over her shoulders. So lucky, she thought, so lucky to have had naturally streaky blonde hair all my life. Of course, these days it was touched up every two weeks in an exclusive beauty salon. One where you needed a letter of introduction to be admitted, but that was fine.
It had been blonde streaked the day Dexter first laid eyes on her. It had been at an art museum opening. The city was unveiling its new collection. Gwen was there. She was there because she was a millionaire watcher since she graduated from Miss Poston's Secretarial School. Well, almost graduated.
Daddy could have afforded a fancy college for her, but she wasn't interested. She had been dedicated to the art of finding a rich husband at that time, and who the hell could you find in a university? Even full professors weren't paid that much. Not enough to suit the lifestyle she hoped to become accustomed to, anyway.
So, she had turned her attention to a place where she hoped the pickings would be better. The world of business. That's when she had enrolled at Miss Poston's. Multi-million dollar a year executives had to have secretaries, didn't they? Well, she could be one. It didn't seem like much work. And it would put her right next to the big money. Less than a heartbeat away.
But the big money eluded her. She hadn't guessed that most dynamic and wealthy executives got that way with the help of an efficient, organized secretary with top skills and intelligence, who maybe didn't look like a calendar girl. The way Gewn looked. They didn't get that way by relying on a gorgeous girl with precious little abilities in any other department except the most obvious, physical one.
So, the world of secretarial millionaire-hunting hadn't opened up to her. She resolved to catch one anyway. That's when she had taken to hanging out at famous and expensive watering holes. She would dress as seductively as she knew how. Tight satin skirts and low, low cut blouses, revealing the phenomenal set of breasts that she displayed whenever she could. And that was often.
She would drop a napkin, a fork, and bend over languorously to pick it up. She would lick her lips and smile at everyone who came past, hoping one of the rich and dynamic would spot her, ask her for a drink, and end up keeping her.
But with all the bait she put out, still no bite. So, she had stooped to covering gallery openings and museums. She had heard that a lot of wealthy men bought and sold paintings. She couldn't imagine why. Paintings had never interested her much. Especially the ones where you couldn't see what the artist was supposed to have painted.
But, it was worth a try. For months, nothing. A few nibbles here and there. Some old codgers hot and hungry for young pussy. Well, hers was having none of it. She would keep it that way until Mr. Right came along. Mr. Right On the Money, that is.
Big bucks were dancing like sugar plums in her head the day she set out for the opening where she met Dexter Bililo. She selected a lemon colored linen suit with a long, erotic slit in it. And a low-cut blouse. One that made her tits look like they were stuck together with crazy glue and showed the outline of her nipples quite plainly.
She wore a jacket over it, but that was only for appearance's sake. She would slip that off her shoulders as soon as anyone whose aftershave smelled expensive strolled by.
And she didn't have long to wait until he did. That person turned out to be the man who was keeping her right now. Keeping her very well, too. And this penthouse was no pumpkin shell.
She reached her hand out and took her velour robe off the hook. She slipped it around her body letting the lapel fall open a bit. Her breasts strained against the material, the slight scratchiness causing her nipples to erect a bit.
Checking her make up, she flicked on the ring of bulbs that surrounded the mirror. Dexter would be here soon. Maybe he would. His hours had been a little erratic lately.
But that, too, suited her fine. He was, after all, a man with oil on his hands. Lots of it. And he had to work for a living. That was fine, as long as it saved her the trouble.
She hated work. Only problem was, that Dexter was beginning to feel like work.
In the beginning, he had been wonderful. Plucked her right out of that crowd at the museum and asked her to come to the party with him afterwards. It was a party for those who had made a donation to the museum, so Gwen knew the man had money.
She put on her best charm, he put on his best manner, and the two of them had had a grand time. He had asked her out. Begged her to come to a hotel with him. Whispered lots of tantalizing things in her ears. She wouldn't have cared what he said by then. She wouldn't have cared if he'd read the Dow Jones stock report into her ear.
This man was a millionaire, and she wanted him. Hook, line and sinker. Her catch of the day. Her two hundred pound marlin. The bait had been dangled and fish had bitten.
Of course, he was married. That was a bit of a bitch. But he and his wife had practically nothing in common. Except their two college-age children. The son was two years older than Gwen.
And the fact that his wife's father had financed Dexter's early oil ventures. The two of them had long since gone their separate ways, sexually speaking.
She preferred the sanctity of her bedroom and her social circles. Dexter preferred the company of young, nubile girls with gigantic breasts and hot, embracing cunts.
Dexter swore to her that his wife didn't count for a thing as far as their relationship was concerned. She was a nothing. A cipher. He lavished Gwen with expensive gifts to prove his point. Jewelry, furs, clothes, a car. Powerfully persuasive evidence of his undying and exclusive love.
And, within four months, Gwen was set up in her penthouse suite. The one she sat in now, staring idly out the window into the park.
"Katrina," she called in her sexiest, purringest voice. She always used that voice, whether she was there with Dexter, or alone with the servants as she was now. "I'd like a glass of sherry brought in now."
The Dutch maid padded into the kitchen and did exactly as Gwen ordered. That was one of the real advantages of being rich, Gwen's favorite advantage, really. People always did what you told them to do. They were afraid of money. All people were.
She found it difficult to imagine that Dexter feared money. He had so much of it. But he probably did. Somewhere in the world, there were men with more money than he.
A little chill ran through her body when she remembered that she was about to meet some of them. The two of them were planning an ocean voyage. Dexter's yacht. The one he had purchased from the Canadian navy, had refurbished and had never used until now.
They had planned to leave in two weeks' time. The Indian Ocean! A place that had, only a year ago, been just a speck on the map. As had so many other exotic places. And now, she would be going there. Sailing halfway around the world on a luxury yacht.
Gwen grimaced a bit in spite of herself. She had found herself wishing, just idly wondering, what a cruise like that might be like without Dexter. Naughty, naughty. She shouldn't have such thoughts. It wasn't conducive to staying rich and powerful.
Katrina bowed low and presented her with a glass of clear, sparkling dry sherry. She took it and held it up to her lips. She sat back in the white leather settee and brought both her feet up onto the seat. Her robe flopped open and she could look down and see that hot honey triangular patch between her legs. The one Dexter had been so anxious to get into. She had let him, too. Let him? Hell, she practically pushed his face down there the moment they were alone.
But she had had to. The man was an adroit businessman, a powerhouse. But when it came to lovemaking, the man was strictly blue collar. His rates ranged from A to B and back again.
That had left Gwen rich, but slightly horny. Who was she kidding? It had left her a lot horny. Horny enough to lay her head back and let her fingers rest against the lips of her magical, beckoning cunt.
She traced a delicate circle around them, feeling them vibrate and quiver to the touch. She pulled them apart and out, far enough to feel the effect of the stretch. How she would love to have a long, pulsating big dick run aground up inside there. A lean, hungry young dick, not an old, slightly-flaccid, tired out one capable of only the most average activities. One like Dexter had.
The thought made her lick her lips and hold the glass of sherry up to them again. She held the glass down and tipped it directly over her outstretched pussy slit. She shuddered a bit when it ran inside, warming her already glowing cunt up just a bit more.
She set the glass down and fell to the work of rubbing the amber liquid around and around the rims of her pink, throbbing pussy lips.
She drew her knees up harder and stuck her two middle fingers into the tight, wet, warm hole. She let them ride in and out as gently as possible, observing the magnificent build-up of slow, overwhelming arousal.
She opened her robe lapels a bit and looked down. Her nipples were riding hard against the material, feeling the benefits of the passion surging up from down below.
She grabbed the sherry glass again and tipped it. It splattered a few drops down onto her rigid nipples, which she worked in and around with her free hand.
How many times had she masturbated in the last six months? A hundred? More? This pouring sherry on herself, this was new. But there had been other variations.
Jerking herself off with the handle of a leather riding crop, rubbing up against her fur coat, diddling herself with a cucumber, and getting herself wildly hot to the point of multiple climaxes simply by aiming her cunt at the jet spray of her whirlpool bath.
And still, not much satisfaction. Damned little, actually. Except the most obvious way. Temporary relief. But relief was relief. She didn't care how she had to spell it just now.
She needed it just now. She found her cunt with her third finger and pried it in. It stretched her hole enough to add a fourth. She continued to squeeze her nipples and using the sherry as a kind of lubricant, work them to a stiff peak of hot, turgid passion.
Freely pumping her hand in and out of her cunt gave her a mild kind of high. A sweet little rush. She closed her eyes and felt her fingers jerking in and out of her cunt, getting all juiced up with a layer of sweet cunt honey and sherry combined.
She let her legs flop out a bit and arched her back up hard to catch the beginning of a glorious rushing orgasm. Harder and harder she pumped, sitting up a little to take more of that hand inside her.
The harder she pumped, the firmer the grip her orgasm had on her. Now, as she plunged nearly her entire fist up her wet; writhing hole, it was close to engulfing her.
"Ooooh," she said aloud as she tweaked her nipple hard under her hand and pounded down on to her fist in a surging, stirring orgasm. She twisted her head back and forth, trying to fight it off, trying to hold back a bit. Wanting it to last a little longer.
But she was spending herself. Giving in to the sweet beckoning aroma of her cunt, and the wholesale manipulation of her climax. The one that now had her in its grip.
"Gooooooood," she said, rolling her body from side to side, gulping up more of the hand's sweet offering.
She let her head fall back over the end of the settee, viewing the whole room upside down as she fought to regain her breathing pattern. As she did, a familiar set of feet presented themselves to her. Feet that, even upside down, looked scary and officious. Rich feet.
"You might have waited for me," the man said, grinning a slight, evil little smile. She had wanted him to come by. But not while she was in the throes of a mighty orgasm.
One that did not include him.
"I love to watch you get off on yourself, you know," Dexter said, coming to the settee and plopping his rather large and heavy rear end down on it, "Lord knows, I get off on you."
As much as he hated to admit it, it was true. Dexter Bililo had met the nymphet of his dreams. She wasn't everything he could have wished for. Not exactly polished or socially-aware. But a girl with the hottest set of tits and the warmest, most inviting little twat within memory.
And persistent! That had appealed to him, too. She wanted him and she hadn't been afraid to go after him. Most people were in awe of his money. They deferred to it. She had the balls to reach up and grab for it. Not politely. Gwen Chapman had never stood in line.
But she knew what she wanted and she went after it. She was a woman kind of like himself, in that way.
"Take off that thing and let me look at you," Dexter said, sitting back and drawing one are up along the rim of the settee. He had collected beautiful art objects all his life and he loved admiring them. Gwen was no exception. She was a living piece of sculpture that he was proud to own.
Gwen had been caught red-handed. There was no use trying to worm out of this one. She would have to disrobe for him and lay there and do whatever he had asked her to.
Fortunately, so far, that had not included anything kinky or out of the way. Just boring, so far. Hum-drum, slow and boring. Even having Dexter suck her pussy, which he loved to do, was becoming drudge.
It wasn't that the man was totally unattractive, though he was by no means a Greek god. But he was so slow and deliberate. There were no rises or dips to his love making action. It all took place on the same level. And after a while, she had grown dreadfully weary of it.
"Mmmmm," Dexter said, leaning over a little and spreading her cunt lips with his pudgy, jeweled fingers, "the lips I love to kiss."
That was another thing that bothered her. He never even tried to get her hot, just pigged out on his own passion. Whatever he wanted to do, he did. Like in his business.
He hadn't even kissed her when he sat down. Just flopped down and rolled over on her. Like a beached whale.
He had blubbery lips, too. They used to feel full and good sucking away at her pussy, even if they weren't particularly skilled. But now, they just felt like a guppy breathing next to her pussy. Opening and closing its fish lips, gasping and gasping for the breath of life. How dull. How uninspiring. How very like a whale.
She could feel his hot, halting breath zooming in on her wet, still quaking hole. She let out a little sigh that she hoped would encourage him.
It made him stiffen. His spine straightened out and he came springing up to a sitting position.
"Gwen," he said, staring straight ahead as his nostrils flared out a bit, "I don't want you to manufacture arousal with me. If it isn't the real thing, you know, I can sense it."
They'd had this discussion before. Dexter didn't like her faking sex. And he was perceptive. He knew when she was faking orgasm, too. That had been tricky. She had had to fantasize like crazy.
There was one little thing that had helped, though. Dexter had a large color photo of his two children in their bedroom, on the wall over the bed. Sometimes, if the lighting was right, Gwen could see up to that photograph.
Dexter's son was named Hank. And though she had never met him, she found herself often fantasizing about him. Especially when she and Dexter made love.
He was a lean, handsome youth, about her age. With big broad athletic shoulders and deep grey eyes. Rugged looks. Outdoorsy looks. Not the kind of corporate board room looks his father had. Perhaps someday he would have them, but now, in this photo, he looked like a forest ranger.
She would close her eyes as Dexter pumped his stubby thick dick in and out of her, huffing and puffing and sweating himself to a climax. She would close her eyes and imagine that Hank Bililo, not his world-renowned millionaire father was fucking her.
That, and the simple friction of Dexter's tool in and out her cunt usually were enough to propel into the rich, willing freefall of a hearty climax.
"I'm sorry," Gwen said, sitting up and patting her lover on the arm, "I'm a little restless today."
"Well," the big millionaire said, reclining back and reaching in his vest pocket," I think I may have something that might help alleviate that."
He pulled out a small jeweler's box and set it on the glass coffee table.
"Oh, Dexter," Gwen said, excitedly. She loved gifts. Especially jewelry.
"Calm down," the big man snorted, "you don't even know what it is yet."
Gwen dove for the box and opened it greedily. She pulled out a long chain of diminutive gold links, peppered every few inches with diamond studs.
"It's beautiful," she said, "is it a necklace?"
"No," Dexter said, smiling proudly, "a waist chain."
"Great," she said, standing up and slipping her robe off. She let Dexter admire her gorgeous nude form as she lashed the thing around her tiny waist and clipped it shut.
"Nobody will ever see it but you," she said with a sly wink, "but that's fine. I'll let you look anytime you like."
"I'm afraid you're wrong there," Dexter said, reaching in the humidor for a big, thick Havana cigar, "we're going on a cruise, remember?"
"So I'll wear this with my bikinis," she said, turning to admire the flashing diamonds in the mirror over the fireplace, "you'll still be the only one to see it."
"Wrong again, dear," Dexter said, patronizingly, "we're going to have company on our little cruise."
"Oh," Gwen said, half in anxiety and half in relief.
"Yes," the big man said, lighting his stogie with a big silver table lighter, "Hank is coming with. My son Hank."
CHAPTER TWO
In person, Hank Bililo looked more like an Olympic shot putter than a forest ranger. Gwen could barely keep her eyes on the Indian Ocean.
Not that it wasn't a shimmering jewel of perfection. As much of a jewel as the diamond clusters she wore at her neck, around her waist and in her ears. But the scenery couldn't compete with Hank.
She tried everything to keep from being too obvious about staring at him. She wore dark glasses, low brim hats, eye patches to keep out the sun. But still, she could not help casting sidelong glances at him every time he bent over to pick up a rope or adjust the rigging.
Something about the way his muscles kept rippling. The way his dark, wavy hair hung over his high, serious forehead. The way his massive tree trunk legs glistened in the tropical sun. And the way the bulge in his crotch heaved to and fro when he steered the yacht hard to starboard.
Dexter seemed to be fairly content to stay below deck and read his annual reports. He had brought one of his secretaries along. A Miss Norwalk. Gwen had to hand it to her. She was the most perfect secretary she had ever seen. Even bouncing along on the waves of the Indian Ocean, she managed to keep her glasses on and a pencil over her left ear.
Fine with her that Dexter stayed below deck. But there were those times when he came above to check on her. And he usually found her checking on Hank. She brought a collection of lurid, revealing bikinis which she managed to wear as thought they were nearly falling off her. Lots of suntan oil helped them to slide off the tops of her breasts whenever Hank looked her way.
She liked the way he looked.
But as humpy as he was , he seemed to show little or no interest in her.
Gwen combed her long streaked blonde hair out and wondered how the hell he could miss noticing a golden girl like her. She had done everything but trip on him and grab his schlong to keep from falling.
Probably thinking of his dear old dad, she thought, stepping out of her pink see-through bikini late one afternoon. She looked in the mirror and observed how her tan had deepened since the cruise began. She had the appearance of a young dark-skinned girl, almost Semitic herself. If you looked only at the skin outside the bikini.
A thin bathing suit shaped triangular patch of whitish skin surrounded her downy blonde pussy bush. The effect was neatly balanced by two circular white patches surrounding her huge rosy nipples.
She sighed and remembered that French women on the Riviera often went around without their bathing suit tops on. Maybe that would do it, she thought, stepping to the closet and picking up a clean black bikini off a hanger.
She tossed the brief stretchy top on the bed and stepped into the tiniest of bottoms. She snapped the thing onto her hips and grabbed a big, fluffy towel. Wrapping it around her tits, she stepped out of the cabin and made her way for the stairs leading to the deck.
She paused long enough to hear the rhythmic tapping of Miss Norwalk's pencil on her steno pad outside Dexter's office cabin. And she heard the low sing-song voice of her husband dictating a letter or some sort of correspondence to his dear, reliable secretary.
"And so, in closing, let me assure you that Sheik Ali Blundi is prepared to deliver the sum in question upon receipt of the goods ... Sincerely...."
Dexter's voice droned on and on ... evidently, he was hard at work. All to the good, Gwen thought, swinging her ass hard from one side to the other as she ascended the cabin steps leading to the main deck.
Hank was there all right, standing with his back to her under the bright sun of the Indian Ocean. Sky blue waters danced everywhere and the main sail billowed out full and taut in the high breeze.
"Afternoon," she said, sauntering past him. She wanted to make sure he saw where she sat. After all, if she was going to put on a show for him, it had better be in his line of vision.
"Good afternoon, the hairy hunk of beefcake shot back to her. He was quick with her, courteous but proper.
That would never do. Never, if she were going to seduce him before tomorrow night. That was when the yacht would dock in Yemen, and Dexter and she would fly off to some rendezvous in some palace with some Sheik or another. She had met a few of those sheiks already.
Dark, swarthy distrustful looking men in her opinion. Of course, they were wealthy. Rich as sin. So, she had tried being friendly to them. Even flirting a little.
But they had shunned her friendliness worse than Hank had. They seemed to have no communication with women whatsoever. She had never seen one of their wives without a veil on. And of course, they had never spoken to her when their husbands were around.
Their men talked to them like they were animals. Ordering them around cruelly, snapping their fingers for them to come and go like trained dogs.
Gwen found herself wondering what life would be like if she were one of those trained dogs. What must it be like to live in a harem behind the palace walls. She had heard that many of those women, who were wives of the sheiks, had been sold to them by their fathers.
The idea appalled her. She never related that she had sold herself to Dexter Bililo, or that she performed much like a trained dog to his mastership. And today, she was a very unhappy trained dog. One who was looking for a new playmate.
She found a smooth, empty place on the deck and looked around. Few crewmen were anywhere in sight. But there was Hank. And Hank was what she wanted to attract. She stepped out of her gold sandals and unwrapped the towel from around her tits as slowly as she could. Then, without even looking to see if he was watching, she threw it down on the deck and lowered herself onto it. She glanced around for a few moments and then snapped her fingers in disappointment, as though she had forgotten something.
"Hank," she called, trying to look as nonchalant as she could, considering her tits were jiggling as the waves bounced the vessel up and down on the choppy water.
"Yes," the young gorgeous hunk said back to her, without seeming to so much as glance in her direction.
"I seem to have forgotten my suntan lotion," she said, arching her back and sticking her golden knockers as far out in his direction as she dared, "do you happen to have any on you?"
"No," the solemn voice shot back, "but I'll send Raoul down to get you some."
That wasn't quite what she had in mind. But she found herself watching helplessly as Hank strode off to find the crewman.
A minute later, she felt a cold hard tube of oil hit the towel next to her. She looked up to see Hank blocking the sun.
"There," he said, matter-of-factly, "that ought to do it."
"Would you...." Gwen paused a moment before finishing. She was playing with fire and she knew it. "Would you put some on my back? Please."
She felt Hank drop to his haunches behind her and she handed him the tube of gel. She winced as the hard, muscled hands splayed out across her back and made man-size deep swirls all over her erogenous zones.
Her cunt was pounding so loud, she thought Hank might hear it.
Where had this big galoot learned to apply suntan lotion? In a health spa? Maybe he had worked his way through M.I.T. as a masseur.
His hands probed and pushed at her backside, working their way down, down toward the edge of her bikini bottom. Then up, up daringly high onto her shoulders, and down a little in the front.
Her clit banged a rhythmic little tattoo as it filled with blood and pushed her chattering cunt lips apart. Thank God he wasn't going that far. He would know just how hot he was getting her. Hot hot his presence was making her feel.
Her nipples grew hot, hard and outsized with each succeeding finger probe.
"Mmmmmm," she uttered, unable to stop the hot feelings welling up inside her. They were everywhere now, running all through her brain, creating havoc. Making her less and less able to control her movements.
Out of her left eye she could see his hairy massive inner thigh as he leaned into her, pressing the oil into her body.
Without even thinking, she whirled slowly around to the front and tossed her head back, arching her back hard enough to bring her ass cheeks up off the deck.
"Now my front?" she said, not even daring to open her eyes.
A hot, surging hand blazed down on top of her left breast. She felt it burn back to her spine. The man pressed her tits as hard and searchingly as he had her backside.
"Oh, Hank," she found herself saying, as she flopped back on her elbows. She spread her legs apart and reached one hand up to a soft, wavy lock of hair that had fallen onto his temple.
"You're driving me crazy," she called up to him, half-hoping the wind would whip her words off in the opposite direction. What was she saying? What was she doing? She was risking a lot, talking to him like that in broad daylight. Aboard his own father's yacht. His father who was her lover. His father who was keeping her in the style she had dreamt of being kept in all her life.
"I've got to see you alone," she called, her words wringing out in a tortured strand of vowels and syllables, "I've got to or I'll...."
"There," Hank said, pulling his insistent hand off her ripe tits, "that ought to keep you from getting burned. Don't stay out too long, though. We don't want you getting sick."
Gwen could think of nothing nicer than getting sick and having Hank as a nurse. Her luck, though, it would probably be Miss Norwalk. Yuk.
"Thanks," she said, shading her eyes with her hand and staring up at him. He towered above her like a colossus.
"Don't mention it," he said, dutifully smiling and waving as he turned on his heels and headed off toward stern.
Gwen felt a little sick feeling rotating in her guts. What the hell was she supposed to do anyway? That Hank was just too much. He was too fucking yummy to have around and not try to seduce.
Oh, yes, there was Dexter. Her darling millionaire guide and keeper. Her big fish. He demanded a lot of loyalty from her. More than she could ever manufacture.
That was the one thing he seemed to insist on. Complete fidelity. A tall order from a man who was married himself, but then he was footing the bills. Bills for diamonds and bills for yachts.
Ocean cruises didn't come in cereal boxes. The man was paying thousands for the upkeep of her penthouse apartment alone. Never mind her bills to the furrier, the couturier, the beauty salon.
And all of it would still be bearable, too. Even Dexter's insipid, shallow lovemaking. If only, if only it hadn't been for Hank. First, his picture hanging there on her wall, mocking her whenever she lay in Dexter's arms and tried to match his sweaty, hoarse groans with cries of sweet adoration.
And now, here he was in the flesh. To tease the living daylights out of her.
And he didn't have to do much to make her ache with longing. Just strut around in those tight white shorts and chest-hugging T-shirts. Christ, he looked like an 'after' shot for a body building course.
Again, her cunt throbbed. Her nipples took to pulsating in tight hard circles and her clit rode high up in between the curtained veil of her pussy lips. And she sat, waiting. She turned her face full into the sun and hoped to hell the sun might fry her brain. Fry it past any knowledge that Hank Bililo existed. Or that she wanted him. Wanted him with every fiber of her being.
Dinner was excruciating. Not that the raw oyster, champagne and chauteaubriand weren't tasty. They had been prepared by the finest chef on the high seas, but Gwen wasn't tasting the food. She was tasting Hank Bililo's tongue in her mouth.
She dawdled with her cocktail fork long enough to get Dexter's concerned attention.
"Aren't you hungry, dear?" he said, dabbing his napkin to his mouth. The man's manners were impeccable, she had to give him that. If only she could get the teensiest bit aroused by him, she might be able to recoup her flagging appetite.
"Uh, well," she said, knowing that she had begun it badly, whatever it was she was trying to say. "I'm just a little tired. All that sun."
"Yes," Dexter said, reaching for his champagne glass, "Miss Norwalk told me you tried going continental today. Sunbathing in the demi-buff."
He chuckled a bit and sipped his drink slowly.
So, he knew. His adorable secretary had spied on her. She saw her lying out on that deck, under full rigging, dressed only in her bikini bottoms, her tits turned full sail to the wind.
She wondered how much he knew. What other tidbits had Miss Norwalk cast him that day?
Did he know she had let Hank put his hands all over her boobs? Or that she had practically begged him to. Thrust her knockers into his face and insisted on it?
"Yes," she said, swallowing a morsel of a bread and attempting to chew it. "I thought if I couldn't go to the Riviera, why not play like it?"
It sounded incredibly stupid, coming out of her lips like that, but she had to try something.
"I know you're disappointed, darling," Dexter said, shaking his heavy, sober head back and forth, his spectacles riding down onto his nose, "but I think you'll love Sheik Ali Khassi's palace. It's one of the most sumptuous in the mid-east. More of a resort than a palace, actually. There's a huge oasis inside the palace walls. And his wine cellar is better than that of most European gourmets."
Count on Dexter to make the cruise sound inviting. She hated wine, she hated the desert, and she hated Arabs. She had never met Sheik Ali Khassi, but the prospect wilted her.
One more fat Arab to oppress her. One more oil magnate to make her feel like part of the woodwork. Those men just stared their hook noses down at her and dismissed her out of hand.
They had all, every single one of them, looked at her tits, her ankles, her ass, and never said a word to her. They interrupted her during conversations, made her sit at a special table with their wives during dinner, and looked at her disapprovingly whenever she opened her mouth.
The fact that they held the balance of the world's oil in their palms of their sweaty, opportunistic hands really revolted her. And the fact that Dexter had any truck with them at all turned her off, too.
She tried not to think of it. Tried to erase the idea completely from her head that her jewelry, her furs, her apartment, the blonde frosting in her hair, were paid for by a man who earned his money doing business with these Semitic goons.
But she couldn't be bothered with such things now. Hang the price of oil. Screw the suckers in the gas lines. This was her life. She wasn't one of the middle class. Or, rather, she hadn't been one for a long time. And she was never going back.
She had Dexter Bililo to take care of her. American oil consumers were just going to have to shift for themselves. Anyway, she was having enough trouble as it was, trying to fight off the effects of having Hank Bililo sitting across from her.
Where the hell had he gotten those dreamy, bedroom eyes? Not from his father, that was certain. She looked askance at him once, twice, maybe three times during the evening.
But she had to watch Dexter. That man hadn't gotten to the top of the heap and stayed there for the last twenty-five years knowing nothing. He was as sensitive as a plant tendril. He could hear through concrete walls and he had eyes in the back of his head. And whatever he missed, his precious secretary would pick up.
She had to be careful, or she would end up on a desert island. Dexter would dump her in the ocean if he thought she was cheating on him, even thinking of it. He had made it abundantly clear. He had no time for two-timing women. He had all the time in the world for her abject devotion, but nothing less. "Sherbet?" Miss Norwalk said, passing her a little plate of orange ice.
"No thank you," she said, feeling as though she would vomit if anyone set one more piece of food down in front of her. Even the smells were making her nauseous.
"Come, come, Gwen," Dexter said, raising his voice just a decibel.
But Gwen knew when he did that, that he was growing impatient. Something he saw in her look, or could he just read her mind? Something she had done to displease him. She tried not to let anyone notice that her knee was shaking under the table.
"All right," she said, faking a lousy little smile.
She wished she hadn't. A fake smile looked worse than an out and out denial. Dexter was sure to see that she was bluffing.
Once more, and for the final time that night, she stole a look across the table in Hank's direction. He was chatting with the first mate over weather conditions, wind velocity, wave heights.
Everyone was talking now. What time they would dock at Yemen. How many people would be there to greet them. What Sheik Ali Khassi would do to impress them. And how many millions the dear old sheik had.
Nothing of interest to Gwen. She snapped her eyes shut once, twice, and again felt the surging in her cunt. Felt her pussy lips hover next to each other, then start their insane chanting. That non-stop banging and pounding that would force a long hot stream of juice to come gushing out of her pussy and get her even hotter.
Fuck. There was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all. Just sit there and be a good girl. At least until the cruise was over. And Hank went on his way. Back to M.I.T. and into the arms of some coed or college widow. Somebody who probably didn't have the least little appreciation of what a truly exciting man he was. And someone who was free. Not someone who was a slave to money and power the way she was.
That last thought stuck in her head like a shovel in a grave. And the worst of it was, it wasn't even her money and power. It was Dexter's. The man who now leaned over toward her and placed his grubby, money-grabbing hands on her thigh.
She felt him press his elbow into hers and leer into her face.
"I hope your appetite picks up later tonight," he said, coughing a little after his words.
She knew what he meant. He expected a bedroom romp with her later. A long, arduous session in the bed chamber. One in which she would be expected to perform like a porn starlet on Spanish fly.
One in which he would demand she bathe him, suck his cock for three or four hours, masturbate herself for him for perhaps another hour or two, then lie under him, panting and thrashing in hot, unbridled passion, until he came three minutes later.
Oh, joy. She dug her fork into her sherbet angrily as she thought of how she could hardly wait.
The gold and icy glint of her jeweled wrist caught the cabin light and sparkled into her vision. It was perhaps the most beautiful bracelet she had ever seen. And on that night, sitting at that captain's table, jostling around on the Indian Ocean, waiting for the cheese course, she was perhaps the most empty, hollow and joyless person in the world.
Dexter's lovemaking proved no less an effort than she bad projected it would be. He undressed her with his hot hands and sucked her everywhere until she faked orgasm. It wasn't faked, exactly. She had Hank's image in her mind's eye when she shot off.
That was fortunate, since Dexter would have known otherwise. He was the most incredibly shrewd old man she had ever known. He could tell when she was faking orgasm, and she dared not do it.
Bathing him was no less a pain in the ass.
He insisted she lick him dry with her tongue. And that was a chore. Then, he lay on the round bed in the center of the lushly-appointed cabin bedroom and forced her head down his cock for what seemed like a year.
Actually, by the clock it was only forty minutes. Dexter's cock was wrinkled, sweaty, and unbelievably huge. She had always wondered how such a pipsqueak of a fat slob could have such a mouthful for a dick.
He forced her mouth open with it and shoved it inside her throat. Then, he gripped her shoulders like handles and pumped her head down onto his dick so hard his balls banged her lips black and blue. He humped his hips harder and harder against her tiny ring of a mouth tunnel.
Before he came, he called out to her in loud, halting phrases. Phrases she hoped to hell weren't carried across the lower deck where Hank's cabin was.
"Fuck that dick," Dexter said, ramming his huge knob down, down into her throat.
"Suck my cock, Gwen," he moaned.
"Let me stick that thing down that wet hole there."
"Swallow my rod."
"Suck my, dick, baby."
"Oooooooooh. Oooooh."
He let out a wild, ear-shattering cry as he shot a heavy, hot load of spunk down into her mouth. It felt like a bucket of hot sea water washing down her in whirlpools of angry waves. She swallowed his load in spite of herself.
"You come now," the man said, yanking his still hard pecker free of her mouth and lying back.
He always insisted she did that before he fucked her. He would lie back on his mountain of pillows and beat his big, ugly dick while she tore furiously at her cunt lips and fantasized about some man violating her. Preferably Hank Bililo.
Gwen sat down on the bed and spread her cunt lips apart with her fingers. She aimed her pussy toward Dexter, the way he ordered her to. Thinking hard about Hank made them juice up and the slippery liquid coated her hot, pink clit till it buzzed like a high wire.
She wiggled a couple of fingers into her pussy hole flopped her legs out far enough for Dexter to get a choice view.
Then, she pulled one of her enormous tit mounds to her mouth and tongued her nipple to a stiff, turgid peak.
That always got Dexter hot. Watching her get off on herself. She wished it got her hot. And if she'd been doing it for Hank, it certainly would have.
Hell, she'd have to dive into the ocean to put out the fire if he were anywhere in the vicinity. Dexter reached out a limp, hairy arm and grabbed the champagne bottle out of the bucket. He tipped it into a glass and handed it to her.
He often did that as he watched her. Drank and belched and beat his meat at regular intervals.
From where she lay, she had a good view of his plump, pendulous balls. They were enormous cushions of hairy rotund flesh. She had to look away to keep from throwing up. She had them shoved down her throat less than five minutes ago. Shoved so far down she couldn't breathe.
In fact, she thought idly, as she continued fingering her pussy and plying her nipples into her mouth, Dexter had held them down there a little longer than usual. He had stuffed his cock into her mouth a bit ruder than he normally did, too.
Was he trying to punish her for something? Trying to tell her that she had misbehaved in some way? Or was it just her imagination. Was she imagining the whole thing out of guilt? Guilt because she had thought of little else beside Hank Bililo since he climbed aboard ship.
She must be careful. She had to be careful. It was vital. Dexter was the slyest fox of them all. He would pick up one extra flutter of an eyebrow. A single goosebump. A skipping heartbeat.
The man had radar, for Chrissakes. But as she licked her lips and went down onto her nipples, bringing them to a stiff erection, she knew she couldn't stop thinking about Hank. In fact, it was becoming painfully clear to her that there would be only one way to wipe him out of her mind forever.
And that it would have to take place soon. Tonight. Before they docked in Yemen. Before the cruise was over.
Gwen dug her fingers into her pink gash and made hasty circles with them. Whipping them around and around furiously she eyed Dexter with a hot, lusty grin.
"Mmmmm," she purred like a hot tigress," I'm getting off just watching you pull your prick. Do it some more, let me see."
Dexter took a firm grip on his mammoth meat loaf and yanked it smoothly up and down in long, lasting strokes.
He wound his hand around his cock top and jiggled it until a low groan escaped his lips.
Gwen could see the mean, ugly under vein protruding through the flesh on the side of his cock nearest her. It was pulsating like a conga drum.
She ground her hand hard up into her cunt and tweaked her nipple with her teeth. She began a fast, thrusting motion of tiny non-stop strokes in and out her pussy channel. The juices of sex flowed out the hole and warmed her hand.
"Oooooh," she said, "I'm gonna come for you. I can't stand watching you another second unless I do."
She flipped her eyes closed a moment and saw Hank standing there. Standing there with a full erection. She could tell by the big bulge of his white shorts that his cock was stupendous. Stupendous and hard constantly. A thing that would never recede or diminish. A pillar of strength. One she could wrap her legs around, soothe herself on, climb over, cling to, inhale into her being....
"Oh, God," she called up to the ceiling.
Dexter was sitting on her now, placing his prick tip flush with her spongy, wet cunt lips. Thrusting his whole dick down inside the hot pink chamber, forcing himself into her with both his hands.
She had to pull her hands out so they wouldn't get caught in there, too.
She felt the hot, hard prick stick ram her cunt savagely. It stuck down inside her and whirled around. She knew she couldn't open her eyes.
She knew it because Dexter would be riding her, not Hank. Not the man she loved and craved, but a pale, horny imitation.
An overweight, undersized, bespectacled man with insistent, ink-stained hands. A man who was shoving his prick into her up to the hilt, not bothering to ask her if she wanted it. Not asking how she felt or what would please her.
The full impact of his dick inside her acted like a skewer. She released some of the muscular hold she had around it and opened her cunt to the wide, hard pole that penetrated her.
Dexter pounded his punishing pecker hard inside her. He whipped his dick up and down, full length, letting her see the juice-coated, slightly-hooked man pride glistening in the soft light of the cabin.
He battered her mercilessly as she thrashed around on the bed, trying to escape him and trying to suck up more of his mammoth prick inside her to distract her from thinking the thoughts that wouldn't stop pursuing her.
Like a possessed thing, she shouted, screamed, banged her fists against his chest, feeling his raw pecker strike her core like a hard hammer.
"Oooooh," she cried, desperately close to coming, "Ooooh, Hank, fuck me, Hank. Oh, God, fuck me, Hank, Hank, Hank...."
She shot off a string of orgasms that collided one on top of each other.
She tossed her streaky blonde hair around and around, beating the man fucking her with her fists.
Dexter pounded his big ball bat prick into her and gripped her hard with his knees. He wasn't going to let her get away. Not until he had finished coming. Even if she did call his son's name while he was fucking her.
He reared up onto his knees and pulled his wet, cock out of her with a loud, impudent smack.
"No, no," Gwen shouted out, as she felt the hot, angry fluids of his jism spew into her face and all down her tits and belly.
"Lick it up, now," Dexter said, forcing her head down onto her body.
It was a ritual she loathed. Not that she hated eating his come. It was something she wouldn't have minded, would have relished, if only he hadn't been so forceful about it. Shoving her head down like that. It was demeaning, degrading, and it made her feel like a slave.
"Eat my come," Dexter ordered calmly, "eat it all."
He reached up and hooked his horrid hand around the champagne glass and tipped it up to his lips.
He held her head firm in his hand as she licked the remnants of the creamy goo off the tip of his dick and down his still hard and throbbing shaft.
"Let me go," she said, shaking herself free, "I'm done, please let me go."
Dexter released his hand and looked at her with dead, ghostly eyes.
"Go in and wash up," he said, " and bring the basin out when you're through."
Washing Dexter up afterwards was just another little ritual of their lovemaking. She didn't mind it. At least it meant that he was through, for the time being anyway.
She felt a little lighter prancing into the bathroom. At least, she hadn't blown it. She had come for him. Come rather strongly, too, as she recalled. Some of it was a bit cloudy, because she was thinking of Hank....
Suddenly she stared stock still into the mirror. And it rolled over her. The wave of shame. That roller coaster of regret and horror. What had she said while Dexter was screwing her?
Whose name had she called in the throes of her ecstasy? Not Dexter's ... oh, no, it had been Hank. She had called Hank's name. Loud enough for the crew on main deck to hear it.
She froze to the spot and felt the little trickle of come and passion juice flow down her thigh. What had she done? Worse still, what would Dexter do about it?
Dexter Bililo held the champagne glass to his lips and paused. He was a man who made decisions. Not in haste and not in anger. But calmly, surely, and most of all irrevocably.
He tossed back the contents of the glass and filled it again. He was going to miss her. Mistresses, really good ones, were hard to come by. He had searched for someone like Gwen for years.
Almost gave up thinking he would ever find her. Now, he would have to find another. And his life would be somewhat emptier until he did. But, it could be done. His busy schedule didn't permit a lot of playing and shopping around, but he was connected. He had friends who could help him.
Dangling the empty glass between his fingers, he gave out a little sigh. Stupid bitch! She had gone and messed everything up. He would have given her the world on a silver platter.
Now, he would have to reverse that process. He would give her head on a silver platter for being so conniving and stupid. For being such a cunt. Not that he had plans to murder her. That was illegal. Even he was not above the law. Well, not that particular one.
But she would have to go. And soon. Before he flew back to the United States.
A little cry of pleasure escaped his lips. "Ha!" he said sharply.
"Yes?" Gwen said, bouncing back into the room. She had managed to put on some make-up and a phony expression of happiness. A pretense that nothing was wrong.
"I was just thinking," Dexter said, as he lay back and felt the warm wash cloth wipe over his spent dick.
"Yes?" Gwen said, hoping she didn't sound too much like a lackey.
"How delightful it will be to see Sheik Ali Khassi again. And I expect he'll be entertaining us lavishly."
"That's good," Gwen said, smiling a little pained smile, "I'm looking forward to meeting him," she lied.
She hoped she hadn't met this particular one already.
"Of course, he'll have a splendid dinner for us," Dexter said, like a peacock on a throne.
"Good," Gwen said, still acting as though nothing were wrong. Nothing in the world.
"Roast lamb, dancing girls, an orchestra, the whole bit, most likely," he said as the girl swabbed his balls cautiously.
Gwen tossed the still warm cloth back into the basin and stood up to return it to the bathroom.
"I hope you like the climate there, dear," Dexter said.
Gwen thought she detected a note of sarcasm in his voice. Or was she becoming oversensitive. Maybe from having spent so much time with Dexter.
"Oh?" she said, as she stood in front of the sink, pouring the soapy liquid into the drain.
"Perhaps we'll stay there a while...." Dexter took in a long stream of air and made what Gwen thought was an especially long pause, "or perhaps some of us will."
As the words left his lips, Gwen saw the porcelain basin slip out of her grasp and crash into pieces against the marble well of the sink basin.
CHAPTER THREE
The hidden fortress of Sheik Ali Khassi's palace was breathtaking. A vast oasis sat in the inner courtyard, surrounded by grill-worked walls with parapets, towers, and winding steps. The entire place was a bizarre dream. Like something from the Arabian Nights. Slippered servants rushed around obeying their least little whim. Cockatoos, myna birds and parrots flew around the aviary that sat next to their bedroom. A waterfall rushed earthward next to their balcony.
Gwen would have enjoyed the scene considerably more if only she hadn't been so damned nervous.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Her teeth chattered even under the hot spell of the wicked desert sun. And she lost her appetite completely. Even for roast lamb and fine wine.
"You're not looking well, dear," Dexter said to her one night, after an especially grueling dinner.
Gwen swore there was something gloating in his voice. He sounded like a billy goat and he looked like a troll. She fumbled for her wine glass with a trembling hand and held it to her lips.
At least this Sheik let her sit at the table. He was different in a few other respects, too. He spoke to her. He called her by her name. He treated her as though he might have some inkling that she was a human being.
And, she had noticed that he stared at her body. If only she had felt like showing it off. Hank ... Hank ... her mind wandered again. To the look on his face the second day they were in the Sheik's company and he left them.
He had decided to fly back to the states early, though Gwen had no idea why. Or, was it that she didn't want to think why he had.
Gwen picked at her date bread and cast a sidelong glance into the corner. There were about a dozen women sitting on the floor in a circle. Sheik Ah Khassi's harem. Their faces were covered with black veils and their bodies looked as though they had been draped for a funeral.
Evidently, they had their meal first. Or maybe they ate later. Maybe he fed them on the table scraps leftover from the main meal.
Possibly, after the company retired to the huge portico sitting room, these women crawled up onto the table and scarfed whatever was left. Like a bunch of vultures.
Nothing in the place seemed right to her anyway. Though she had a vague sense that it had nothing to do with the environment. Dexter had spoken to her, as he always had, but with a slight edge to his voice.
Their sex escapades continued unabated. In fact, Gwen was quite sure that they had stepped up. The man became amorous even in the afternoon now. Insisting that they have a little nap together before dinner. After the long meetings he and Sheik Khassi and Miss Norwalk and other robed and hooded Arabs would hold. And before dinner.
Which was usually served late. Later than Gwen would have liked, considering that the interim time was spent with Dexter. The desert surroundings seemed to have given him a little extra ooomph in his lovemaking. He was now humping her like the devil himself two and three times in an afternoon, as well as the usual round of sucking, masturbation, and whatever else was on the menu.
That afternoon had seen him nearly crazed with passion. He had worked himself to the heat of excitation by tying her up to the bed with a long silken cord, formerly used to hold back a drapery of the guest bedroom window.
It hurt. Having him ram his hard dick into her for forty-five minutes hurt, too. But the worse pain, the worst humiliation came from the fear of not knowing what he had in mind. Had he heard her call Hank's name out when she was coming that day? If so, what did he intend to do about it? Why hadn't he just punished her there and then? Hog-tied her and whipped the stuffing out of her? Taken away her credit cards? Sent her back to the states with a chaperone? Beaten her bloody with the help of the crewmen and abandoned her on a desert island?
Why was she here and why was he being so damned sweet to her? Sweet with a little sour mixed in? A sour she could only detect if she listened and watched very carefully. Other than that, and to the outside world, they appeared the picture of happiness.
"The food does not interest you?" Sheik Ali Khassi said, leaning over low enough for his long, pointed chin to practically touch his plate.
"Oh, yes," Gwen said, vapidly, "it is very good."
"I hope, so," the swarthy man said, waving his hand around in a wild gesture Gwen couldn't comprehend. "I want you to be happy here."
"Sheik Khassi is an excellent host," Dexter said, staring daggers at his wife, then relaxing into a smile, "and he is especially anxious that you like his hospitality."
"The grounds are beautiful here," Gwen said, her mind snatching the first thing she could find to compliment him with.
"Thank you," he said, bowing low again, "Bedouins that we are, here, we try to surround ourselves with beauty."
Gwen didn't especially like the way he looked at her when he said, 'beauty'."
Something about the ways his eyes twinkled. As though there were gas jets in them. She loathed Arabs no less on this day than she ever had. And she looked forward with bated breath to the moment Dexter would finish his business here.
"I'll be sorry to leave you, Sheik," Dexter said, tossing his brocade napkin up onto the table, "I've enjoyed our stay immensely."
"So soon friends must part," the man said, making a little salaam with his hands.
Gwen couldn't stand all the ceremony. The way those greasy Arabs operated. Salaaming with one hand and probably kicking their wives and servants in the ass with their foot at the same time. Lord only knew what this man was doing with his free hand under the table. She was glad she wasn't sitting next to him.
Sheik Khassi clapped his hands together sharply all of a sudden, making Gwen jump out of her seat.
"Looks like the ladies are leaving us," Dexter said in a hushed voice into her jittery ear.
Gwen watched the action in the corner. A lean, funny-looking old man with a bald head came running in and began pulling the women up to standing position. He seemed agitated as he scurried around collecting them all, fussing in that strange language that always made Gwen think these people were swearing at each other.
"He's an odd little fellow," she said, watching him kick one of the women in the behind, "he acts like their father."
"Yes," Dexter said, lighting a huge cigar with a long match from the center of the table, "he is odd. But he's not their father.
He's their eunuch."
"Eunuch?" Gwen said, shooting him a questioning gaze.
"A servant who's in charge of the harem," Dexter said, calmly, "and as such given special privileges. In order that he won't abuse them, the Sheik has had him ... fixed."
"You mean ... sterilized?"
"That's humane, Gwen," Dexter replied, taking a swift toke of his cigar, "our little friend there has had his cut off."
"Oh," she said, making a mental note of one more reason why she hated Arabs.
"So sorry our business will be concluded tomorrow," Gwen heard Sheik Khassi say to Dexter,' "I'll miss your company. But I rest content in the belief that where bargains are concerned, I got the better of you this time."
With that, he turned and smiled broadly at Gwen. She felt a surge of revulsion at the look on his swarthy face. Those sharp pointed teeth. The black, sullen eyes.
But something about the timing of that smile that made her blood run cold. Why had he mentioned bargain and chose to smile at her in the same breath?
She felt her fingers and toes seize up with cold even in the warm, stuffy interior of the dining hall.
"Shall we adjourn to the portico?" Sheik Khassi said.
The man was the soul of hospitality all right. As he said that, he stood up and crossed to Dexter. Then, he pulled the man's chair out and led him off. Gwen sat in her place and fumed.
Fucking male chauvinist pig, she thought. Helps Dexter up and leaves me sitting here.
Her glance fell to her plate, still full of untouched food and she noticed a little blue box sitting to the right of it. The side where Dexter had been sitting.
Jewelry, perhaps, she thought. Dexter had decided to forgive me for that unthinkable outburst two nights ago. Her hand struck out greedily and she lifted the box up. She stopped a moment and clutched it tightly. No. Dexter was definitely not in a mood to be giving her gifts.
He had been too biting in his comments to her the last two days. Perhaps he was giving her an empty box to mock her. To tease her. Or maybe some cruel piece of cheap, costume jewelry to show her what he really thought of her.
Without debating further, she snapped the little box open and blinked in amazement. A diamond. A beautiful sparkling rock of a stone glittered back at her.
So all was forgiven. She let out a sigh of relief and pulled the diamond out of the box. It was connected to a ring. Too small for any finger. And it had a break in it. Possibly an earring. But why only one? She dug in the box to see if there might be a mate when her fingers touched a slip of parchment note paper.
Pulling it out, she saw there was writing on it. The inscription read, "Gwen darling; I would have gladly worn this ring through my nose for you. Now, let's see how you like it."
The shivers began again. In earnest this time. Gwen folded the note and clutched it between her fingers. She stared up and found the room nearly empty except for a few servants, some of whom were clearing the table.
What the hell was Dexter saying to her. Whatever it was, it made her want to jump out of her skin. A lot of good that would do. A lot of good trying to run would do either. She was in a palace, surrounded by a high wall. In a foreign country. With no friends, no family, no money, and no knowledge of the manners and customs of those around her.
Trapped. That's what it felt like. It was as though she had awoken and found herself gripped by blue steel teeth. She was trapped and she had no idea how in the world she was going to get out.
She stood up. Perhaps just running for the door, she thought. Maybe I should just take my chances on foot. Her hopes dashed to the floor even as the thought came out of her brain. A fat chance she had against the desert out there. She would die.
Her only way out was through Dexter. Where was he anyway? She walked over to one of the servants and asked him.
"May I please go with my husband?" she said, "where has he gone?"
The servant went on about his business as though she wasn't there. She shouted, stomped her foot, threw a glass against the wall. Still, no response.
What the hell, she thought. She could go find him herself. He couldn't have gone far. Did he say the portico? That must be around somewhere close by.
She struck off on foot, walking down the echoing marble hallways toward the sounds of voices. She found a long, winding stairway, lit only by open torches. Her feet led her down, down into the depths of it.
She emerged into the garden and heard the waterfall, the cry of birds, the sound of voices and music. At least she had found the place where they were.
She parted the thick layer of palms and headed toward the source of the sound. She would find Dexter and explain everything to him. Of course, she would have to lie, but she could, if called on to do so. Hadn't their life together been a lie? Hadn't sex with Dexter been a deception right from the start? She could do it then. That proved it.
She would find him and tell him that Hank had ... had raped her. That was good. He had taken advantage of her and she didn't want to tell his father. Dexter would believe her. He had to.
Opening the last of the palm fringes, she stepped into a tiny circle of light.
The women were there. The veiled little horde that Sheik Khassi called his harem. She glanced around quickly for the men as she heard the music stop.
The odd little fellow stepped up to her and spoke to her in that strange, hostile tongue. She ignored him and broke through the circle of darkly-robed women who had begun to titter and point at her.
"Where's Mr. Bililo?" she said to the eunuch, as though he were a bellhop.
The man eyed her eerily and pointed to the ground.
This schmuck was only a servant, anyway. What did he know. Again, she tried to make herself heard. "Where is Sheik Ali Khassi?" she snapped, "I demand to speak with him."
"Ali Khassi," the little fellow said in a high-pitched whining voice.
"What the hell are you telling me?" Gwen said, glaring with wild eyes at the ornery little jerk who stood in front of her.
"He's telling you to sit down and shut up," came a voice from the musician's circle.
Gwen turned to the little enclave and searched their eyes. Which of them had spoken English to her.
"Please," she said to all of them, "if one of you can speak English, tell me what's going on here."
"Me," said the tabor player. He set his drum down and stood up.
Gwen held her breath as he approached her.
"Shastik Khadik," he said, introducing himself and holding his hand out. "I'm sorry to meet you under such unfortunate circumstances. I'm a musician. I've worked in the states. That's why I speak English. But none of these others do. You're wasting your time talking to them."
"So how do I find my escort?" Gwen said, feeling her temperature rise in spite of herself.
"You won't find him," Shastik said, looking her straight in the eye. "He's gone into the secret gardens of the palace. They're well-guarded. Nobody is allowed in there. Only the Sheik and his business cronies."
"So what am I supposed to do here?" Gwen said, her rage mounting, "chit-chat with a harem while a eunuch reads me bedtime stories?"
"If you want some advice," the musician said, sitting back down onto the ground and retrieving his instrument, "you'll relax and learn to live with it."
"I don't have any intention of living with it," Gwen said, wishing she could shake off the feeling of doom that gripped her round her throat.
"Then you're gonna be a mighty unhappy lady," he said, hauling his little drum into his lap and crossing his legs around it.
"Why?" Gwen said, piercing his eyes with the look from hers.
She stood stock still when his answer reached her ears. The answer she had feared. The one that unlocked the storehouse of knowledge and closed the door to her freedom at the same time.
"Because you're part of the harem now," he said, his voice falling off," ... you're one of them."
He pointed to the giggling circle of women. The ones in black with the veils over their faces. The ones bobbing and weaving in the cool breeze of the palace courtyard. A place she had been banished to. A place she was now imprisoned in.
And for what? For crying out the name of her lover's son while he was jacking her with all the passion of a store dummy? She turned her face to the night sky and let out a string of curses.
They must have offended someone. The eunuch came over to her and pulled her into the circle. She felt the brush of hands clutching her dress, her nylons, her legs.
She felt herself swept through the circle and pulled by her hands, her wrists, her hair. She was being pulled somewhere, she had no idea where.
Suddenly, someone pushed her and she fell back onto a soft, springy pile of cushions. She saw a striped tent affair where the ceiling should be.
Some kind of tent, she thought to herself, something with a tent in it. Maybe a circus.
She heard herself scream, heard herself speaking strings of protests in English. But beyond that, actions and words, sights and sounds and sensations all ran together.
A strap slipped down over her shoulder. A cool hand glazed against her bare breasts. A sea of black faces and dark eyes danced in front of hers. The flickering torch light played grotesque shadows every which way in front of her.
The sound of ripping material, giggles, the feel of fingernails, the gnawing sensation of being pushed and pulled, rolled, and picked at.
"Stop, stop," she said in a final burst of coherence. The rest was a blur. It would have been a blur to anyone who spoke English. Gwen was making no sense at all. She was hysterical.
She screamed in pain and horror. Someone was undressing her. Someone else was applying a flame to her nostrils. She felt the click of metal in her nose. She crossed her eyes and looked down in shock. A blinding glitter flashed back at her. Diamonds? She loved diamonds. What the hell was this one doing under her nose.
But the pain of her nose told her something else. The diamond wasn't under her nose. It was in her nose. Someone had snapped that savage little diamond ring into her nostril.
These weren't human beings she was dealing with. These were barbarians. She screamed and kicked, only to feel herself held down firmer and firmer by a dozen pair of soft, fluttery hands. Again, sensations crept all over her body.
This time, they were sensual ones. She thought of Hank. She imagined that he was touching her, holding her, feeling her up harshly, with rude, searching hands.
In her delirium, she saw him tweaking her nipples, fingering her swollen clit, stuffing fingers and tongues and God knows what else into her pink, gaping slit.
"Hank, Hank," she called up to the billowing tent roof, "Hank, oh, Hank...."
Her cries were met by continued giggles, fingernails knifing her like hot, pointed blades. And finally, the black waves parted a little and she sat up to feel an icy cold splash of water hit her face.
"Oh, shit," she roared. It brought her to her senses that splash of water.
It also made her hopping mad.
She looked up and saw the odd little bald fellow standing there staring down at her. His face was oddly moon-shaped. And smooth. As though he'd never shaven. His mouth puckered a bit. He looked a little like a picture of a gremlin she had seen in a storybook once when she was a child.
"Don't touch me," she said, defiantly. But the words hung loose in her mouth. She had a sense that they would have no impact whatsoever. She had a deep, overwhelming feeling that her word held no sway in this place. That no one cared a damned about who she was, what she thought, or how much money she spent every month at Zimbel's fashion boutique.
The gimpy little man hobbled toward her and held out his hand. She sat up and spat in it.
An evil look crossed his face. He hopped up and down and emitted a string of harsh sounding words that sounded more like vile curses than anything Gwen had ever heard uttered in any language.
Two women snatched her hands on either side and yanked her in opposite directions. She saw them lash her wrists to tent poles on either side of her. And she felt her feet being spread open. The remaining shreds of her designer underwear were unceremoniously torn off her body. She was naked now. Naked and scratched and bleeding and dehydrated.
And she was angry. Angry and burning up with the fever of rage. Maybe being tied up and beaten would help her get her mind off it.
For she assumed that she would be beaten. For having spat on the little man, no doubt. For having wounded the little castrated pixie's pride. Who the hell cared, anyway? What about her pride?
One of the black-swaddled women waltzed up to her and stuck her fingers down her throat. She had to restrain herself from biting them off.
Again, she was beset by a storm of intense poking, prodding fingers and tongues. At least they felt like tongues.
Ugh! She thought to herself. How vile! These women are tonguing my body. How filthy and Arabic. How disgusting. If they really wanted to do some good, why don't they tongue my clit.
"Owwwwww!" she shouted, as one of them rudely dunked her fist into the stretched out sore and bleeding hole that her cunt had become.
The little man came toward her now, unbuttoning his pants. She giggled and spoke out loud.
"Oh, I can hardly wait to see what you've got under there! I know you haven't got a thing, so it should be very...."
Her words broke off as she stared down at his torso. A huge, jagged scar criss-crossed his crotch where his cock should have been. She heaved and gagged from the nausea she felt just looking at him.
How barbaric! If these people would cut a man's cock off, what would they do to her? If her hand hadn't been tied up, she would have forced it down her throat till she barfed.
She watched as the nausea mounted a continuing attack on her. Her eyelids fluttered and tried to close, to shut out the impending scene of horror. But the giggling women of the harem held them open fast with their sharp, pointed fingernails.
"Buzzi Yunam khi," the eunuch said in his shrill, infantile voice. He snapped his fingers and pointed toward one of the high polished wood chests in the tent.
Two of the women scurried over to it and came back holding something in their hands. The bald little eunuch backed up against them and Gwen watched uncomprehendingly as she saw them lace something around his mid-section.
When he turned around to face her again, she saw what it was and her heart skipped a full beat.
It skipped half an octave by the time the full impact of what she was looking at hit her brain.
The man had been strapped into a gigantic long red leather dildo. An impossible ten inches, maybe more, Gwen was too faint to think clear enough to measure it with her eyes.
At the tip and all along four sides, weird-shaped projections stuck out in profusion. Rubbery things that looked like fingers, toes, cigars, stars, crescents, and tusks.
The thing had an obscene shape to it altogether. A kind of deep hook that dipped down, then arched up, up toward the sky.
"Oh, God," Gwen screamed out into the night. "Oh, no, please...."
The tears sprang from her eyes in huge torrents. She tossed her head around wildly fighting the approaching inevitable fate she knew somehow would be hers.
"It can't be," she said, still trying logic out in this God-forsaken place. "It can't be...."
The little man with the monstrous prick tied to him strolled around, modelling for the women who giggled and pointed and jeered at him.
"Sahdi, khomu dormi," he said, pointing to Gwen and making a little tilting motion with his hands. "Sahdi, sahdi!!"
He seemed very agitated now. Gwen felt the strap of her right wrist and her right ankle loosen simultaneously. Then, just as she realized what was happening, she let out a wild, animalistic yell.
They were flipping her over onto her stomach. That insane little eunuch was going to penetrate her with that dildo weapon. And he was going to do it in her ass!
"Stop, stop," she wailed, beating off her attackers with her one free fist.
It was useless. She was strung up again. This time, her left side hung down, nearest the floor and her right hand and ankle were tied up to poles that allowed her whole body to dangle sideways. Her whole frame was now hanging at right angles to the ground.
She felt a busy, business-like hand grease up her ass hole. Then, hungry little mouths with sharp teeth began tonguing her again. Sucking her tits, biting her nipples. Nibbling at her raw, stiffened clitoris. Circling round and round her thick, throbbing cunt lips. Biting her thighs, licking her belly.
Then, atop all those sensations came one spear of well-aimed pain. Aimed straight up her ass hole. She was impaled on the thick leather stick with the countless prickly things all over it.
Her ass hole turned to a live volcano of pain as she writhed screaming and cursing until someone stuck a silk veil in her mouth.
The hot poker dick weapon swirled and pounded inside her cunt like a savage storm at sea. And her bung hole, like a helpless dinghy was buffeted back and forth; a tempest tossed derelict churning into mincemeat as the crazed thing drove her to the brink of insanity with pain and hot, rumbling passion.
For passion she did feel. But never so acutely. Her mind leapt out of her skull and projected eerie pictures on the tent walls. Pictures of Hank, rubbing oil on her beckoning big breasts. Pictures of Dexter cruelly taunting her. Pictures of herself, picking out last year's fur coat. Tipping the chauffeur. Applauding opening night curtain call of a Broadway play.
And the unstoppable heat up her bung hole pressed up and up inside her. The raw penetrating rod that was banging her to a pulp, disemboweling her. Making blood run out of her brow along with the sweat.
"Aaaarrrrghhh," she cried, biting down on the scarf. The pain ripped into her guts and spilled out into her vagina. A chain reaction of driving orgasms swept over her body, blackening the scene around her and blackening the little point of light still shining out dimly from her brain.
* * *
MORGAN'S PANTY RAIDERS
CHAPTER ONE
"That was Exit Seventy-six," Lindy said, turning her head around as far as she could to catch the backside of the highway sign.
"How could it be?" her friend Karen said back to her, trying lute crazy to focus all her attention on the cement and concrete strip in front of "Horner's Crossing" isn't for another ten miles."
"Well, something's fishy," Lindy said, pursing her lips and trying to open the folded up map again.
"Will you check that map again?" Karen said, depressing the accelerator and casting a quick glance skyward. The sun had begun to set. It would only be another hour or so of daylight.
"Whoever folds these things is an idiot," Lindy barked, half-opening, half-ripping the map apart.
"Just get us to Horner's Crossing and skip the editorializing, okay?" the pert redhead Karen shot over to her dizzy girlfriend.
Lindy Sykes wasn't the stupidest girl in Bayard Senior High, but she was definitely a contender for the crown. Having lived across the street from her for seven years made her an expert on the subject.
She had actually been there the day Lindy tied her gym shoelaces together. Not to mention the time she laid newspapers down on her mother's freshly-painted bedroom floor so the dog could walk across the room.
Her mother was reading "Orphan Annie" off the floor for a year afterwards.
But she was a loyal friend, even if she was a dip stick.
"You wanna look at this?" Lindy said, holding the billowing tattered piece of map up in the air.
"How can I, noodle brain?" Karen said, shaking her head in near disgust, "I'm driving."
"Oh, sorry, Karen," Lindy said, biting her lower lip.
She wanted to remember little things like that, but she often forgot them. She often forgot her phone number. Not to mention her schedule of classes, her homework assignment, and the fact that she couldn't swim.
She once jumped into a public pool in ten feet of water just to get her bathing suit wet before she remembered that little bit of info. No matter, though. She didn't drown. Instead, she met Jayce Van Poole. Jayce was a jock. A lifeguard.
He had pulled her out and given her mouth to mouth resuscitation. And she hadn't even stopped breathing. Maybe he didn't want to take any chances. Or maybe he wanted to get his hot, round tongue down her succulent sweet mouth.
A lot of guys did. Lindy was not only a dumb blonde. She had the body to go with it. A stacked little teenager. At seventeen, she had a calendar girl figure good for any month of the year. Her tits were hot, round, high and upward pointing. Her nipples were tiny eraser tips of perfection. Her waist was small and huggable. Her lithe hips scooped out just enough to look hot, but not enough to make her look hippy. And her legs were long, muscular, lean and shapely.
To top it all off, she had an adorable crown of blonde hair to match the one on her head decorating her pussy. It allowed the natural shell pink color of her pussy lips to peek through, but it covered her mound well enough to prove she was a natural blonde.
"Well, why don't we just pull over," she said, thinking her logic impeccable.
"Why don't you just find that little dot on the map labelled Horner's Crossing and read me the two numbers on the squiggly red and blue lines next to it??" Karen asked.
"Karen, it's got to be up here somewhere," Lindy said, poking around on the flimsy map paper.
"I know it is," the red haired girl shot back, "but I don't feel like driving around all night looking for it."
"Twenty-seven," Lindy said, proud that she had found a number anyway. She hadn't found Horner's Crossing yet, but that would come in time.
"There is no road number twenty-seven around here," Karen said, feeling her patience slip away like the remaining daylight. "Are you sure you're in the right state?"
"That does it!" Lindy shouted, throwing the map down. Sometimes Karen Stewart made her furious, even if she was her best friend.
"Wait a minute," Karen said, her attention being drawn from her spoiled, stupid friend to a green sign on the right of the road, "what does that say?"
"Lufton, four miles," Lindy said proudly. She could read road signs, all right. No doubt about that.
"Lufton?" Karen said, rolling the word around in her mouth, "Lufton? Never heard of it." She put the brake on slowly and steered the car off onto the soft shoulder.
"Sometimes these back roads can drive you crazy," Lindy said, crossing her slender arms over her ample chest and glowering.
Karen didn't dare reply. She was too tempted to add what was currently driving her crazy.
So why the hell had they taken this little used road, anyway? The one with the squiggly droppings of black tar all over it? The ones with the cracks and the crooked road signs too sparsely placed along the way.
To get away for a weekend, so they thought. They weren't looking forward to going back to school in the fall. It was to be their last year. That made them both incredibly nostalgic, though they had no idea what for.
And her father had given her the car. That was a rare honor. He had also told her to stay off the main highway. That was an express condition of him letting her drive his heap in the first place.
Then, too, the girls had never been away from Billings Falls for a weekend alone. They had both scored summer jobs that summer and they had saved up enough. Working girls always deserved a little vacation once in a blue moon.
This was a good spot. Lots of lakes. A cave that had been opened up for tourists. And one more thing. Yes. Jayce Van Poole. His family had a summer home up here and he was there for the weekend.
They wouldn't be able to stay with him, exactly. Not with his parents still living. But he had told them about a little resort called Eva's Cottages near Horner's Crossing. It was less than five miles from where he lived. And it was going to be cozy. Very cozy.
Maybe as cozy as the three of them had already gotten that summer.
It started out so innocent. Jayce had dragged the drowning little blonde Lindy out of the water and breathed down her throat, then dried her off and asked her out.
She went, gladly. He was definitely the hottest thing in pants that had hit Billings Falls since the Elvis Presley concert twenty-three years previous. The fact that he lived way out of town, was working there only for the summer, and had blonde streaked hair and a sports car made him that much more desirable.
Lindy had a good time with him, too. But though she was a stacked little hunk of heaven, she was no brighter in the back seat of a sports car than she was in gym class.
There were entirely too many things she didn't understand about sex. Or boys. It was just too confusing and difficult for her tiny little brain to process.
Petting with Jayce Van Poole had driven her into a tizzy of perplexed sexual desires. How come he stuck his tongue out when he kissed her? He hadn't done that on the side of the pool. What was that rock hard bulge in his pants that she felt when he pressed her to him? He was too old to have stuffed tinker toys down there.
Their make-out session fizzled after ten minutes. She called it off abruptly, pleading stomach ache.
Jayce had his tongue so far out for her, he had to tuck it back in to drive home. They waved farewell at her door. She, promising to meet him again tomorrow night. He, to nursing a set of aching blue balls.
If she hadn't been the hottest foxiest little cunt he had ever seen off a movie screen, he wouldn't have bothered picking her up the next night. And if she hadn't insisted on pain of never speaking to him again, he wouldn't have let her best friend come along.
"Please, please, come with us," Lindy begged her friend before their second date. "I can't stand it without you there. I'll go nuts. I don't know what to do. I don't know anything about sex. Every time he tells me he's getting hot, I tell him to turn the fan on. Help, please, Karen, ya gotta. I can't go through with it alone."
Despite her better judgment, Karen went along. She doubted anyone else at Bayard Senior High ever took their best friend along on a date, but then nobody ever had a best friend like Lindy Sykes. She was a walking sit com.
They stood on the corner together. Lindy in her red shorts and white blouse. The one that made her tits look like two small boys were fighting inside of it.
Karen stood at attention in her rather conservative jeans and halter top.
Not that tight pants and a halter top were really right wing, it was just that next to Lindy, everybody looked a little subdued.
Karen wasn't ashamed of her body, either. Her tits had really started to perk up and she was looking forward to getting a few catcalls her senior year. Her hips had started to fill her jeans in an impressive rounded out way, and her legs were nothing to sneeze at.
She was a trifle embarrassed by the fact that her cunt hair was coming in red. Not that she minded that so much, but it wasn't coming in red fast enough. Her thick cunt lips showed all too plainly beneath the sparse fringe of downy pubic frosting.
"There he is," Lindy said, pointing to the green sports car screeching down the street.
As if she needed to point him out. Nobody else in town drove a sports car. This guy was obviously a visitor from out of town. Maybe another planet.
"Hi, Jayce," the girl called gaily from the safety of the curb.
At least from that far away, he couldn't reach out the driver's side and swat her. In case he was angry. Angry that she had brought someone else along on their date.
It did seem odd to Jayce. But he felt fairly game. After all, he was young, blonde, though it was with' the help of some peroxide and lemon juice, horny, and eager. Two for the price of one was not a bad prospect. He only hope he had strength enough for two, in a crunch. Or anywhere else, should it come to that. He pulled the car over and stepped on the brakes. The obedient vehicle came to a fast, silent stop.
"Hi," he said, smiling up to both of them. "Can I give you two ladies a lift somewhere?"
They didn't call him Mr. Suave for nothing.
"Jayce," Lindy cooed, sliding into the front seat next to him. She had to slide in next to him, so there would be some room on the passenger side for Karen, "this is my friend, Karen Stewart. She'll be a senior next year, too."
Jayce did his best to smile warmly at the cute little redhead that hauled her ass in next to his date. He didn't care what grade she was in, but he couldn't stop the demons of worry from plaguing him. Would she or wouldn't she? From the looks of her hair color, only her hairdresser knew for sure.
"I know you two are going to get along just swell." Lindy said, throwing her hands together in glee.
She was faking it a little, but personality had always been a strong suite with her. Maybe if she bubbled over like a tar pit, the two of them would at least try to get along so as not to disappoint her.
"Where you two wanna go?" Jayce said, gallantly.
He was hoping maybe a drive-in, the cemetery, a lonely country road. He knew lots of those, having just driven in from the country.
"How about Snooky's?" Lindy piped up, a little too brightly.
Karen let out a groan and tried to wiggle her buns down into the tiny space left for them. It wasn't especially comfortable riding so high up off the seat, wedged in between the door handle and Lindy's chain link bag.
She was already starting to resent being here. Why the hell had she come anyway? To help a friend out. A very dim bulb of a friend. Okay, Lindy had a good heart, but she was weak-kneed. Weak-brained, too. Why couldn't her best friend be valedictorian of Bayard Senior High, instead of its prize dunce?
And, if she was going to be entirely honest with herself, she had to admit that she wasn't just along for the ride to hold Lindy's hand. Secretly, she was hoping for a chance to hold something else. Maybe Jayce's hand. Maybe Jayce's....
Her thoughts were interrupted by Lindy nudging her. Nudging was too soft a word. The girl was sticking her in the ribs with her fingernails.
"Look who's parked in Snooky's," Lindy said, her eyes glowing like two beacons from twin tower lighthouses.
Karen glanced into the brightly lit drive-in restaurant. Dozens of cars were swerving around, braking fast, skidding onto the asphalt.
Girls in tight pants and boys in tighter pants were milling around, looking in each others' car windows, trying to talk, share a smoke, score a pick up, make a little time.
The dance of the sexes. The strangest mating ritual of all. High school students making time. It thrilled Karen all right. Thrilled and repulsed her. She liked guys, okay, but they scared her a little, too.
"Those guys over there on bikes," she said, pointing excitedly toward a huddle of huge black, shiny motorcycles, "that's Morgan's Panty Raiders."
Karen sat up and felt a little chill rush down her spine. Morgan's Panty Raiders! She had never seen them this close. Only speeding in V formation through town, just ahead of some traffic cop.
Or rumbling their huge, nasty bikes around a race track she happened to be passing on the highway. If her father was driving at the time, he would shake his head sadly and tell her, "Karen, don't you ever let me hear of you going anywhere near that gang of hooligans. They're no good. They're scum. They shouldn't be allowed to mix with good, normal people. They're a scourge to society."
That's all she had ever heard of Morgan's Panty Raiders from her father. Of course, he called them the Morgan Raiders. He never said the word, 'panties' in public. She doubted that he ever even said it in private.
She absolutely could not imagine her father in bed with her mother. How she ever came to be conceived was a total mystery to her. Like Stonehenge or the Bermuda Triangle.
All the kids at Bayard knew who that gang was. And the stories about their exploits proliferated. It had never occurred to Karen and Lindy or to any of their little friends that the stories about the gang of bikers might be myth. They clung to each of them as though they were stories written on stone tablets. Believed every syllable ever uttered about them. Nurtured every ounce of gossip.
One story had them raping the mayor's wife. Apparently, she had had them in for milk and cookies one night and they took advantage of her. That's why the mayor always saw to it that they were chased out of town whenever they showed their faces.
Another story had them kidnapping girl scouts and raising them to be biker's molls. Whole troops of them, apparently.
Still another tall tale circulated the rumors of the bikers' strange initiation rites. Like they made their new members get tattoos, milk snakes, go over Billings Falls in an inner tube. It wasn't so easy to get into Morgan's gang, so the stories had it.
But the tallest tale of all, though it was also the most persistent one, and it that the guys in the gang had a real thirst for girls' panties. Especially hot, nubile, nymphet girls. Preferably high school seniors.
They would get a hold of these panties however they could. Often, employing some ingenious methods of laying their hands on them. They, would steal them off of clothes lines, out of swimming pool lockers, and even ... horror of horrors ... off the bodies of young girls themselves.
That was reason enough not to go near them. Word had it that they used the panties in their rituals, maybe sucking them until they swooned into unconsciousness from the powerful aroma. Possibly they snorted them, along with the white noxious powder they inhaled through straws into their noses.
The stories went on and on. No crime seemed too beyond them. No sin too unthinkable.
For some odd reason, here they were now, at least some of them, parked in Snooky's Drive-In.
"Jayce," Karen said, trying to point out some of the topographical points of interest of the town to his attention, "do you know about Morgan's Panty Raiders?"
"Sure do," Jayce said, pulling his car into a stall as far away from the motley crew of bikers as he could find a spot.
Apparently their legend had spread far and wide. Jayce came from a town almost forty miles from Billings Falls. And he had heard of them, too.
"Do they ride up your way?" Lindy said, wanting to look at Jayce but unable, for some reason that really bothered her to take her eyes off the surly bunch of bike gang members.
"They live up that way," Jayce said, "or supposed to, anyway. Some people have sighted them, or say that have, squatting in an abandoned barn. They live like animals, you know."
"Really?" Lindy said, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. She wished the whole thing didn't sound so romantic. But it did. Something about the rootless, carefree life that really got her fantasizing. It was foolish, no doubt, but she couldn't help it.
"That's disgusting," Karen added, "I'm glad they don't live around here. Bad enough they come barreling through here every so often. The mayor finds out they're here, there'll be trouble."
Lindy's eye roamed over to the gross mass of bodies in tattered leather and silver studded jackets with greasy T-shirts painted with random rainbows of colors and dotted with patches. They looked so grand to her. Like gypsies. She often closed her eyes and thought about going out with one of those guys. It made her cunt wet just imagining it now. Living clear out of town in an abandoned barn. Riding a motorcycle. Letting your hair blow around. Getting a tattoo on your thigh. And then there were those big, hulking bodies. The hairy, smelly variations of sizes and shapes. The rippling big bulwarks sitting on top of those tight, black shiny bikes, speeding down the interstate.
Her mind's wandering fell off as she looked up and saw Jayce smiling at her. What was she doing? Here was the humpiest, blondest most beautiful hunk of meat she had seen all year sitting next to her. Why was she dreaming of these filthy delinquents tonight? But then, she had never been bright.
"How about a chocolate shake?" Jayce said, digging into his pocket.
"Sounds good," said Karen.
He hadn't asked her. Oh, well, he thought, if you have two chicks along, the bill will probably be doubled. That's one of the hazards of having two for the price of one.
The three of them managed to get through their shakes together rather well. They exchanged bits of information about high school football, basketball, and hockey.
They were such good friends.
By the time they finished slurping the sweet goo in the bottom of their plastic containers, the three of them had become quite compatible.
And Jayce found his attention wandering to other things. Like the sharp upthrust of Lindy's stretch top. He had to restrain himself to keep his hands at his sides. He also had to adjust his weight from one ass cheek to the other, to permit his cock a little extra room. It had begun to demand it.
He hoped he could these two girls out somewhere before ... the word 'two' stuck in his brain and vibrated there, like a tuning fork. What the hell was he doing with two girls, anyway?
And who was this little bitch sitting next to him? What was she thinking when she brought her friend along? He hadn't invited her. The blonde, yes, but not the redhead. Sure she was a cutie, but he hadn't even had a chance to look at Lindy's tits, let alone have to try and get her to put out while humoring a friend.
It might have been nice for him to check with him first. And maybe, just maybe, this little twat didn't even sex in mind. Maybe that's why she brought her friend along in the first place. To keep him from getting next to her. A chaperone. Maybe that's what the redhead was doing here.
A sea of resentment tossed and pitched in his head. What the hell was he going to do now?
Slowly, a little calm settled in. These were two adorable chicks. Why not give them the acid test? It had worked before, in a similar situation. Well, sort of similar. Only he hadn't been with two girls. Just one.
One he had wanted to put out for him. So, after spending over two dollars on her and driving her all over town, he simply parked on the first lonely, unlit street he could find and leaned over and popped the question.
"Do you fuck?" he had said that night. He grinned a little when he thought of the prospect of asking two girls the same question. He pitched their empty shake containers into the garbage and started the car up. The rest was all downhill, he figured. So why the hell were his hands shaking?
"Where shall we go now?" Lindy piped up.
Karen felt like sinking down into the seat. She always came up with the wrong words at the right time.
"How about Billings Falls?" Karen said. She hadn't really considered saying it, but there it was.
Jayce cramped the wheel around so fast in that direction, the two of them slid over into him.
"Wow!" Lindy said, "a man of action."
Jayce smiled to himself, pondering that they didn't know just much of a man of action he was yet. But they would soon find out.
Billings Falls was no less dark and noisy than it usually was. But, it happened to be a choice spot. Secluded and idyllic. A pastoral little waterfall surrounded by a few scrubby trees and lots of rocks. The rocks were dotted with graffiti and pock-marked with beer cans, but what the hell. It would suffice.
Jayce pulled his car up to a spot off the little road leading back into the woods and turned off his car lights.
He didn't want to seem over eager. He also wondered how he was going to make out with both of them at the same time. Well, solutions usually presented themselves. "Bright night," Karen said, glancing up at the stars and shifting in her seat.
"Cause of the stars," Lindy said, in what seemed to her a perfectly logical response.
Karen found herself wishing she were home watching Brady Bunch re-runs. And, if it wasn't for the fact that everything Lindy said about Jayce Van Poole had proved true, she would scuttle her butt out of that car right now and scram.
But he was cute. And, she was dying to lose it. She didn't care if it had to be to the date of her best friend. And really, what better company could you pick to hold your hand than your best friend? If only she were a little brighter.
Lindy cleared her throat about fifty times and moved a little closer to Jayce. He was one side of beef all right. Bulky and humpy and smooth and developed in all the right places.
She stared openly down at the bulge in his crotch. She wondered if she should just go right ahead and put her hand there. Probably she should, since she couldn't think of anything to say just then.
She shot her friend a thoughtful glance and moved a little to face Jayce. She dropped her hand to his thigh and massaged it a little with her fingers.
That made the lifeguard fairly wither in his jeans. It felt so good and hot to have a girl's hand on his body. Especially this girl. This adorable, sexed up looking blonde.
But there was a fly in the ointment, maybe.
"How well do you two know each other?" he said, raising his hips up momentarily.
He was going to have to give his cock a playpen pretty soon. It was getting too big for the crib.
"We're best friends," Lindy said, licking her lips and aiming her hand toward Jayce's crotch wad. It looked so delicious, lying there pumping. It gave the appearance of being a basket of goodies.
Karen moved over to watch just how much of an ass her friend intended to make herself. Also, to learn how it was done. "What are you doing?" Karen whispered delicately into her friend's ear. "I'm touching it," she whispered back.
For some reason, the thought that she was sitting next to someone who was sitting next to someone who had a hard on gave her a warm rush. Her cunt lips began to dance a little jig, and her clit felt ripe and heavy with the blood of arousal.
"Well," Karen said, thrilled just to be close to the action, "give it a little feel up for me."
"Why don't you join me?" Lindy said, a little too loudly.
Jayce heard her and coughed enough to spit up blood.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, the warmth of the girl's hand burning back to his ass cheeks. "But maybe I could interest you girls in a threeway."
"Huh?" Lindy said, pressing her palm against the guy's thick, pulsating wad.
Karen had no idea what he was talking about either, so in this case, she was as dumb as her friend. She shook her head sadly as Lindy shot her an expectant glance.
"Threeway?" she said, feeling a little bolder than her friend.
"If you two would like," Jayce said, playing his ace, "we could all three join in the ... uh ... fun."
"That would be nice," Lindy said, throwing caution to the wind. Her pussy was already too hot to handle anyway. Besides, there was no one in particular she was saving it for.
"How about you?" Jayce said, leaning over as best he could to see the girl on the far side. His cock prevented him from getting a full view of her.
"Sure," the trapped teenager shot back.
Her virginity was getting to be rather cumbersome anyway. It was going to have to go, and it might as well be tonight.
"Why don't we all get in the back seat?" Lindy suggested cheerfully.
"Okay," Jayce said, grandly, "hop back. But be careful about getting your sneakers on the upholstery.
The back seat of Jayce Van Poole's sports car was not appreciably larger than the front seat. But it was the idea that mattered.
"Who wants to go first?" Jayce said, praying it wouldn't be him.
"Couldn't we both go at the same time?" Lindy asked, her big eyes blinking like headlights. "We are best friends."
"Uh, sure," Jayce said, feeling for absolute certain that he was biting off more than he could chew.
His cock pulsated and rocked his whole frame back and forth. The delicious build-up, the sweet throbbing. He didn't want to lost it too soon. He hoped his senses wouldn't be overtaxed.
"Mmmmmmm," he said, feeling his temperature rise along with his cock knob. The pressure of heat and passion rushed through his system. His dick had begun to knock back and forth, up and down, creating a mild quake under his jeans.
"Why don't we get undressed first?" Lindy said, feeling very proud of herself to have thought that up.
"Let me help," Jayce said, guiding his hand to Lindy's blouse and practically pulling the buttons off.
"I can do that," Lindy said, sounding like an office manager, "you take care of my friend."
What a little push! But it was too late now to back out. Jayce held the bottom of Karen's stretch top and her eyes met his just for a moment. They smiled. And he disengaged the knit top from around her middle. He pulled it up over her adorable pert tit tips and noticed she wasn't wearing a bra. That would make it easier. He had always had a lot of trouble getting those things off.
His glance was momentarily diverted to Lindy. She was struggling out of her bra. No small task. Her knockers were gigantic. Mountains of soft, touchable flesh. And nipples. Round, wide thick tactile turned up edible little chocolate drop nipples.
His eyes jumped back to Karen. Her tits were no less adorable, actually. High, pert, curling upward, defying gravity. With rosy red nipples that contrasted sharply to the whiteness of her redhead's ivory skin.
He didn't know which to lick first. Instead, he gathered a handful of tit into each hand and began kneading gently. He worked two of the four nipples in his midst into stiff, aroused peaks.
He longed for two mouths at that moment, but having to do with one, he sank a his eager mouth down onto somebody's nipples.
In his intense arousal, he wasn't sure whose. It tasted like Karen's. No, it was too big. Probably Lindy's. He sucked and sucked and wound his tongue around the pulsating brick red tip. It tasted hot, perfumed, delicious. It sent a spark of fire to ignite his cock to further bursts of passionate heat.
"Will somebody unzip me?" he asked, realizing that neither of his hands was free to do the job. Nor would they be free for at least another ten minutes.
Two smooth, nubile hands dived for his crotch. He felt his metal thing come sailing down, and the blessed relief of having his cock swing free of his crotch washed over him.
It was all out in the open now, he thought. His schlong made a bee-line for the car roof and held the attention of the two girls fast.
"Wow!" Lindy said, unashamedly admiring the big pecker that bobbed in front of them. "That's something, isn't it?"
Karen looked for her voice in various places inside her throat. She almost gave up on finding it, but then managed to blurt out, "yeah."
The young lifeguard's full, erect cock proved no disappointment from the curve it made when lying flaccid in his bathing suit.
The thick, slightly rounded top was more than an adequate mouthful ... maybe two mouthfuls.
His long, wide shaft was appointed with a slight left hook in it, making it an intriguing thing to watch. In fact, Lindy and Karen were already hypnotized.
"What do we do with it?" Lindy uttered, through clenched teeth.
Karen shook her head, and for the first time, felt every bit as stupid as her best friend.
Lindy reached her hand out in curiosity and pulled it up gently. She wrapped her hand around the shaft and lifted it skyward. Underneath, a huge, throbbing bluish and purple vein wound like a tentacle around it. The guy's balls were mammoth round orbs of juicy, spongy perfection.
Karen wanted to start pawing them immediately. But something held her fast. Maybe that wasn't what you were supposed to do with them.
Maybe they were just for looks. Lindy wasn't convinced. She slipped her probing hand down and grasped one of them. She felt the little ball inside it bounce around like a pinball.
"Oh, wow," she said, "I think I would like a piece of this."
"Where?" said Jayce, feeling the effects of the girl's grip on his pulsating man cock.
"Right here in the back of your car," Lindy said, wondering why he hadn't figured that out. She was the one that was supposed to be dumb.
"Why not take your pants off," Jayce suggested, trying to change the subject.
He sat and held his cock in amazement as the two nubile twins undid their respective lower garments and slipped out of them almost simultaneously. He wondered if they'd practiced beforehand.
"God, you both look good enough to eat," he said, mentally picturing himself with two mouths.
"So do you," Lindy came back "You mean that?" Jayce said, watching her slide the frilly little panties from around her hips to the floor of the car. The sight of her pussy made him ache with longing. It was so delicate and downy. So pink and pristine. And she was, really a natural blonde.
Karen's cunt was no less something to stare at in wonder. It was reddish copper in its protective covering. Lithe strands of winding, twisting hair tormented his eyes and made him look further, to the sweet little slit between her cunt lips.
It was moist and hot looking. Her pussy lips were rounded, puffed and beckoning.
He didn't know where to start.
Maybe by getting his own cock eaten. Hell, that was selfish. He would finger them, lick them, and then get his cock eaten. By both of them if he wanted. After all, he had paid for the chocolate shake and the gas to get up here.
"OOoooh," Karen said as she felt the guy's fingers press down on top of her vibrating cunt lips.
"Goooooooowwwwwd!" Lindy called up to the car roof as Jayce's warm, wormy fingers wound up into her.
The sensations the two girls were experiencing was mirrored in their faces. Jayce had only to look at them to see they were getting off. Lindy's eyes were closed in peaceful arousal. Karen's eyes were wide open in surprise.
Maybe she didn't know she could get this turned on, Jayce thought, as he pressed his fingers up inside her cunt and bent his head over her box.
She diddled her cunt with his lips, building up the charge of her arousal to an electrical shock.
"That's wild," the girl shot out, tossing her head and humping the guy's fingers as hard as she could.
"Could somebody grab my cock?" Jayce said, plaintively.
Four hands arrived promptly on the scene to bring him blessed relief.
He felt the girls' hands wending their way around and around his dick, rolling it, coddling it, patting and kneading it. They worked in tandem to ride up to the top of his hard shaft and slide down it together. It felt like a herd of butterflies were kissing his dick.
It felt divine. Worthy of the strongest, hardest, most profound erection within memory.
"That's good," Jayce called out.
"Oh, do that to me."
"Grab my cock."
"Jerk it," he whispered to them both. They were both angels, absolute angels about the whole thing.
"Pull my meat, shit, pull it."
The four gifted and willing hands pulled his dick in all directions. They encircled it completely, hiding it from view. They squeezed it tenderly, roughly, hard.
Lindy squeezed her own cunt muscles to grip a hold of the guy's fingers that now wound around inside her. Her cunt responded with rhythmic pulsations every time he rammed his finger a little more inside her, or turned them one way or another.
Karen felt her butt crack leave the upholstery as she tried to catch every thrust of Jayce's punishing fingers in her cunt. She felt her cherry pop off, and let out a blessed sigh of relief. She was sure glad to be rid of that thing.
Lindy's was harder to break, but the boy was determined. He stuck more fingers up inside her and whirled them around like blades, chopping the little hymen off from its moorings.
"Ahhhh," Lindy said, staring down at the little trickle of blood that poured out from between her cunt lips. She had no intentions of making a fuss over it. She was too sexed up to now anyway. Also, she didn't want anything to interfere with her playing with Jayce's throbbing dick stick. Jayce's cock felt jet-propelled. He sank lower into the seat, allowing the girls to tighten their grip on his mammoth, shaking cock rod. He slammed his buns down hard onto the seat, creating faster and faster friction as they obediently slid all four of their hands up and down his smooth, glistening dick.
"Oh, no," he said, feeling a hole spring loose inside his dam somewhere. He shot a load of thick, runny come out the tip of his peter and watched as the surprised looks on the girls' faces matched his own amazement.
He was near the boiling point as the last of his jism squirted Karen right in the cunt. He saw Lindy lapping it up like cream off the tip of his cock and he thrust his fingers in her harder.
"Oh, shit," Lindy said, swearing for the first time in her life.
Her hips convulsed into hot spasms of rushing orgasm. She spent her load round and round inside her wracking cunt and felt the force of it charge through her body.
She was having her first come.
Her friend, as though given her cue, joined in the celebration. She pounded her hips hard up arid down to get more and more of Jayce's wringing fingers. She let go a moment and felt herself engulfed by an over-sweeping wave of delicious orgasm that felt like a kick into space.
"Wow!" she said, uncharacteristically. She wasn't one much for words like 'wow', but this was an exceptional moment.
The three of them continued to sweat, giggle, and generally admire each others' stamina until their breath returned.
"You two are something else," Jayce said, shaking his head in surprise.
"You are, too," Lindy said, looking at him like he was a hero.
"For sure," the redhead said, feeling her pussy still quivering from the experience.
"Anybody for seconds?" Jayce said, gripping his now-rising cock and settling his buns down in between the two girls as they smiled at his man parts greedily.
CHAPTER TWO
"Lufton's up that way," Lindy said, pointing to a tree-covered hill.
"How do you know?" Karen said, trying to stay in her slender lane width, "there's no road sign."
"Just a hunch," the blonde teenager said back, smiling sweetly.
"Oh, great," Karen said, feeling herself growing just a tad impatient with her friend, "you can't read a road map, so you get a hunch. Ya know, we're not looking for Lufton anyway. We're trying to find Horner's Crossing. That's where the cottages are."
The evening dimmed another shade as the car continued on its winding little path up the hill.
"Maybe we could just pull into Lufton and ask somebody where Horner's Crossing is," Lindy reasoned. It was the best reasoning she could come up with.
"All right," Karen said, growing more than a little tired of trying to watch the road and humor her friend. Besides, she really had no idea where they were.
She careened the car up, up the winding hill that circled through the tight path of trees. She hugged her car to the far side of the road, and watched for anything oncoming. It would be a tight squeeze if anything should be heading for them.
Suddenly the drone of engines assaulted their ears.
"What's that?" Lindy said, staring around as though she might be looking for a swarm of bees to come flying out of the woods.
"Engines," Karen said, peering out the windshield. She wasn't sure from what, though.
Into their front line of vision came a dark, shiny object. A motorcycle. On it was perched a dark, hairy mountain with two black, shiny plates for eyes.
The girls blinked and there were two of them. Then four ... then a phalanx Of bikes with big, grisly bikers sitting atop them like bears.
"Oh, my," Lindy said, clutching Karen's thigh with her hands. "What's that?"
"Morgan's Panty Raiders," Karen said back, finding her voice a bit shaky.
"What the hell are they doing here?" Lindy said, her eyes widening. Then, in spite of herself she followed that with another question, "Why don't we ask them for directions?"
"Are you crazy?" Karen shot back, her fingers digging into the steering wheel.
"They live around here, so they ought to know where Horner's Crossing is at least," Lindy said, defensively, "we don't have to talk to them. Just ask directions."
Karen found herself wishing she could take one hand off the wheel just to reach over and strangle the blonde dip stick.
The two girls watched in awe as the bikers kept their formation, nearly crowding Karen off the road.
"Pull over, pull over," Lindy urged, "or you'll hit one of them."
"I wouldn't mind that," Karen said, barreling her car down in between two of the loud, buzzing bike machines.
Lindy grabbed the wheel and steered it hard to the right. She had always wanted to meet one of these biker types. And this might be her only chance.
"What the hell are you doing?" Karen shouted, as her car temporarily went out of control. She had to fight hard to bring it back, as it fishtailed back and forth onto the side of the road.
"Oh, shit," she said, braking the car. "You little bitch."
"Sorry," Lindy said, showing her sweetest, most angelic pout.
She leaned out the window and hailed one of the riders as quickly and seductively as she could.
About four of them aimed their big machines toward the lone little car.
"Let me do the talking," Karen warned her friend. Somehow she had the feeling just then that it wasn't going to do much good.
"You lost?" a big strapping giant said, getting down as he broke his rig. He strode over to the driver's window and Karen could swear the ground shook with each step.
"No!" she said, poking her friend in the butt.
"I think you are," another black spectacled monster said, joining his friend at the driver's window.
"Couple of cute girls like you shouldn't be roaming around these hills at night," the first goon said, "it's kind of dangerous."
"Why?" Lindy said, grinning at the big one. They were both big, but she had managed to size them up and found the bigger of the two to address.
She didn't know why these guys fascinated her, but they did.
"Cause guys like us are up here," the big bruiser said, "and we don't take no shit from no girls."
"Wow!" Lindy said, admiring their chutzpah.
Karen floundered for the right word to tell her friend to shut up. In the meantime, she smiled her sweetest smile to the guy next to her. And she tried to get the keys into the ignition at the same time.
A monstrous black biker, bigger than both of those guys together strode around to the front of the car, just as Karen turned the key over and stepped on the gas.
"Going somewhere?" he said, standing there like a giant with his hands crossed over his chest.
Karen would have tried to run him down, but this was her dad's car and she didn't want to dent the fender.
"Horner's Crossing," she said. Well, it was the truth anyway.
"I don't think so," the big, ugly one on the driver's side said, glaring down at Karen's body. He was chewing on a toothpick and he smelled like a brewery.
"We're not?" Lindy said, a bit perplexed.
She had her eyes pinned on big one's arm muscles. They were the size of bee hives. And they rippled like coiled up rattle snakes. 'Please let us go," Karen said in a frazzled out voice from her side of the car, "we've got an appointment, later, I mean, people are expecting us."
No response.
"We would like to stay, really," Lindy said, jumping in where her friend left off, "but like my friend says, we have to go, so maybe ... uh some other time."
Four more giants in black and silver descended on the car. Karen felt herself being lifted off, off the ground. The four were holding onto the four different sides of the car and hoisting her and her friend aloft. As well as their automobile.
They let the thing go with a thud and began rocking it back and forth.
"These aren't men," Karen called to Lindy, "they're gorillas."
"I know," said Lindy, with an entirely different emphasis in her voice than the one her friend meant.
Karen stared at Lindy. She had half a mind to slug her. The little dippy blonde was positively admiring the muscular prowess of these no-neck monsters.
"Shit Lindy," Karen said, clutching her elbows into her, "it's getting dark. These guys want us to get out of the car so they can do something to us. Something terrible. You've heard the stories. You know what Morgan's Panty Raiders are capable of."
Lindy sighed and stared out into the faces of the mutant roosters who were bouncing and rocking the car back and forth. She knew that whatever they wanted, it would be an evening well spent.
"You little nitwit," Karen cried, feeling herself getting more sea sick with each roll of the car, "you're enjoying yourself."
"No," Lindy protested. But, it was a limp protest.
"What about Jayce?" she said, hoping to stir up the girl's guilt feelings, "what about your boyfriend?"
"Our boyfriend," Lindy corrected her.
"Okay, our boyfriend," Karen said, wishing she had never laid eyes on this loony broad sitting next to her.
"What would Jayce think if he could see you staring at those guys like they were brisket of beef and you hadn't eaten all day?"
"Let's get out," Lindy said, giving up the pretense of even trying to convince her friend she didn't like this scene.
"What?" Karen said, grabbing her friend's hand as she curled it around the car lock.
"These guys aren't all that bad," the blonde girl said, slapping at her friend's hand, "you might even like them."
"Like them?" Karen screamed, "they're Nazis!!!!"
Lindy stopped and considered that a moment. Maybe that was what attracted her so to these guys. She had always been a sucker for guys in uniform.
Lindy rolled down her window, fighting her friend's hands the whole time. She only managed to get it down a crack. But it was enough for her to look out and speak to one of the broken-toothed wonders.
"Hi!" she said, as though they had just been introduced at a prom dance'I'm Lindy, and this is my friend...."
Lindy felt a hand go over her mouth. It was Karen's. No, it wasn't. It was a thick, hard, muscular hairy filthy smelly hand. It was a biker's hand. A biker from the notorious gang of Morgan's Panty Raiders. Just what she wanted.
One of the toughs ripped the car handle off, then pulled the car door from its frame. Karen gasped and shrieked until one of the biker's hands effectively cut her off, too.
"No, no," she called, "I can't...."
That was as much as she could get out.
She felt herself swept up and carried out of the car. The sun had set long enough now for it to be dark. But she could still make out the outlines of things. Like the barn that loomed up in the distance.
They were both being carried toward it. Karen, kicking, screaming, and clawing all the way. And Lindy, kicking, screaming, clawing and smiling to herself all the way.
They didn't have far to carry .the girls up the footpath toward the old rickety barn that looked near collapse.
A few scrawny chickens were scratching around the yard. Some pigs squealed and ran off as the wretched black and silver studded bikers came upon the barn. A woman dressed in similar leather and metal gear came out of the house.
"Lookie here," one of the ones with jagged teeth and tattoos on his face said, "I brought us a couple of hot young chicks for dinner."
"Opppphhhhhh," Karen managed to get out, before she got her face slapped. She felt certain they were not only there for dinner, but that they would be the main course.
All the stories that she had ever heard about Morgan's Panty Raiders danced in swirling colors before her eyes. Would they stick her in a stew pot, a limb at a time and boil her for dinner?
Would they cut all her hair off and shrink her skull while she was still wearing it?
She felt herself lose complete control and go into a hysterical shrieking fit. Somebody slapped her out of it and poured her onto a rock outside the barn door. She sat very still and rubbed her cheek. She was petrified, but she didn't want to get slapped again either.
She looked around to see Lindy sitting on the ground next to her.
"What are they gonna do to us?" she whispered, tearfully to her friend.
"Let's wait and see," the girl said, pulling on her friend's jeans pant leg.
"Either of you two chicks wearing stripes?" one of the big bowsers barked to them.
"Huh?" Karen said, sure that she hadn't heard him correctly.
"Stripes," the big, overgrown sod said, "Ya know. Skivvies, BVDs, diapers, wet ones, invisible protective shield, for Chrissakes ... panties!"
"I knew it," Karen called out, feeling her go stone cold. As cold as her extremities, which were frozen at the moment.
"They want our panties," Lindy said, standing up and pulling off her jeans.
"Will you stop that?" Karen said, trying to stop her with her hand. It was useless.
Lindy was intent on aiding and abetting the enemy. Some friend she had turned out to be. Karen blinked away the black cloud settling in front of her eyes, but it turned into a huge, hulking statue of a smelly, greasy biker type.
Just what she needed.
A turncoat friend and the hunchback of Notre Dame.
"Oh, no," she hollered as the man lifted her up off the ground and ripped her panties off. He had to tear her jeans off at the same time to get at them, but that didn't seem to present much of an obstacle to him.
He held the flimsy nylon panties aloft for the other gang members to comment on.
From the sound of their grunts, Karen assumed they approved. She didn't know what they approved of, though. And the night air had turned chilly. It whisked across her bottomless buttocks and made her cunt lips shiver.
"Here," Lindy said, holding out her own pair of candy-striped panties to the belching big smokestack of a man standing in front of her.
She had decided not to wait for the ripping-off ceremony. Karen found her behavior depressing. And, she resolved to tell her about it, too. Just as soon as she was sure the two of them would be allowed to live.
The ape-man biker grabbed Lindy's tiny set of drawers and held them high. Again, more grunts of approval.
Christ, Karen thought to herself, these aren't men. They're perverts. Panty lovers. What the hell are they going to do to us now?
She didn't have long to wait to find out.
The thick dark, grisly bear biker strolled up to her, ringing the panties around his hand in circles, as though he were twirling a brass ring. He glowered into her face and said the first coherent words she had heard anyone speak since they had been yanked from the car. Or since her friend had allowed them to be kidnapped.
"You have good panties," the smelly goon said. "I like 'em."
That made her a feel a little better. Still, she had no control over whatever might happen next and she shuddered to think of it. Lindy was sitting there looking up at Smiling Jack and grinning. As though she were in a dark theatre watching a matinee idol on screen.
"You...." the Cro-Magnon specimen said to Lindy, "your panties are good. We like them, too."
"Oh, you do?" Lindy beamed, "that's great."
Karen wanted to climb under a rock. Her friend had turned into a real slush pile. And within so short a time.
"We take panties now and fuck you for 'em."
Karen whirled her head around to see who had said that. Somebody had said it. One of the giants clad in leather and chain.
"You call that a fair exchange?" she said, wrinkling up her forehead.
"We always give something for what we take," a huge mean-looking toothless braggart warrior type muttered. "We got your stripes, now you get a hunk of cock. Man size hunk, too. Lucky chick."
With that he disengaged a piece of his zipper and hauled out his tool. It was big enough to make Karen gasp. Lindy swooned and clapped her hands together in eager anticipation.
"You," he said, pointing to Karen, "over here. Bend over."
So there were to be no formalities. Just a wham-bam and probably a no thank you ma'am for good measure."
"Mmmmmm," the giant road hog biker uttered as he bent the frightened girl over a nearby fence railing. "Pussy good."
He held his thick, gnarled hairy hand close to her cunt and began grabbing chunks of her flesh.
"Owwwww," she cried, casting an evil glance in her friend's direction. Her back was nearly broken as the caveman biker gang member and his cronies fastened her legs to the fence posts with bike chains.
"I'm gonna get greasy," she hollered as the ugly studs spread her legs further and further apart, stretching her cunt hole almost to the breaking point.
The big jerk, evidently the leader, snapped his fingers and the bikers then spread Karen's arms out and lashed them to the railing with still more chains.
The metal bit into her flesh and she felt a welling up of pain and degradation from being trussed up there in that barnyard. Just like an animal about to be slaughtered.
It crossed her mind that that's just what might happen. But, no. The massive man standing in front of her had his huge dick in his hand and was rubbing it hard.
"Oh," Lindy piped up from her seat on a nearby rock, "allow me."
Without waiting for permission, she ran to the biker's crotch and knelt down in front of him. She ripped her blouse off and stuck his gigantic cock between her huge white molded round tits. Holding one nipple in either hand, she started rubbing his schlong shaft up and down, with the pressure of her tit globes and the friction from her nipples.
Must have gotten some private lessons from Jayce, Karen thought as she lay spread over the fence staring at the incredible movie unreeling before her eyes.
It didn't take her friend long to heat up the biker ape even more. She stuck her tongue out and -rimmed the head of hard, pulsating cock weapon. The thing was throbbing and vibrating. Lindy tasted the thick, wedged tip and licked her lips.
She wanted more. She had to have it. Damn her friend. How come she was gonna get fucked and not her? She suckled, the huge dick in her mouth. It banged against the back of her throat and strained to touch her tonsils.
"MMMmmmm," she allowed, writhing her muscular lips around and around, creating a corkscrew movement along the circumference of the nasty-looking man's cock pole.
The biker let out a sigh, a whoop, a shrill yell and hopped up and down. He grabbed his pecker by the base and stuffed it further down the incredible little sucker's mouth. This was gonna be one good blow job, no two ways about it.
"Suck that dick," he ordered the girl.
"Take it all down your mouth."
"Ream my cock, bitch," he said, pushing his man cock further and further into the tiny wet hole the girl provided.
Despite herself, and not wanting to in the least, Karen felt her body temperature rising. The sight of Lindy on her knees, the tears flowing down her cheeks in her eagerness to gobble the man's gigantic fuck stick down into her mouth was a real turn-on. One she could not deny.
She even found herself wishing the big buckaroo would come over and start fucking her before he went off in Lindy's mouth, which seemed likely.
But there were other guys around. How come one of them wasn't making a bee line to fuck her? Evidently, they had to wait until Mr. Big, their leader got his rocks off. Then, who knows? She and her so-called friend might just be up for grabs.
The prospect frightened her. It also sent a chill of arousal coursing across her brain, pulsating down to her tits, and hammering into her clitoris.
In fact, she was hotter right now than if she'd been sitting under the noonday sun at the Billings Falls public swimming pool.
The big man in front of her was writhing his hips around in tight erotic circles. He held his hands at his ass cheeks and rammed his cock harder and harder down into the savage, gripping throat that threatened to swallow his prick rod.
"Oh, you suck."
"Gimme that head, bitch," he said, reaching around and grabbing Lindy by the shoulders.
He pounded his dick meat so furiously into the girl's face, Karen though he might poke his pecker out the back of her neck.
"OH!!!" he cried, "I'm gonna blow. Gimme ... gimme quick."
One of his big, burly lieutenants, the one with a jillion tattooes all over his body came running up holding Karen's panties. He stepped up to where the leader was choking and sputtering and looped the panties over his head.
"Quick, quick," he bellowed, "the other pair. Right now. I'm gonna shoot."
Someone else, another leather and metal-studded wonder sailed up and tossed Lindy's panties over the horny man's face.
"Oh, no," Karen said, seeing the man stare at her with both pairs of flimsy panties covering his head. They were thin enough so that she could see his features. He was highly aroused.
Like a bull moose in heat.
"Fuck that cock with your mouth, little whore," he cried, pressing her so hard into his dick base, the girl struck him with her fists to catch her breath.
Karen caught a glimpse of her spread buttocks as she whirled her mouth around and around, taking the mighty sized cock into her mouth all the way.
"Shiiiiiittttt!" the big leader let out as he rammed his dick down Lindy's throat and pierced the air with cries of his wild, unbridled orgasms.
He yanked his dick out just in time for them all to see a thick white row of spunk line up in the air and splatter onto Lindy's outstretched face.
She licked the cream up greedily and bent down to the ground, raising her bare little butt mounds up into the air.
"Okay," the biker king said, giving a little signal with his hands," I'm off. Everybody's turn now."
A buzzing black and metal horde of groaning, belching bikers descended on both girls. The sounds of chains and whips flailed in the air. The sounds of metal gnashing metal. Of chains severing flesh. And of young girls screaming. Screaming in horror and heat.
