She was a looker, looking for the haunted, the hunted, the hungry, big thing that men carry like so many swagger sticks. And what made her judge a man by his size instead of the muck between his ears was Ju, Bron and Nap-the rejects of society, human derelicts, scum-bums, with rings on their ears and a hot chopper between their thighs, the no-goods who did good illegal things to a legal secretary named Carol Burgess.
CHAPTER ONE
"Was there anything further you required of me tonight, Mr. Ward?"
Ashton Ward, young at thirty-three, lean and good-looking, regarded the secretary across from his gleaming desk with much contemplation. She was not merely trim and attractive in her nubbly tweed two-piece with its brief pleated skirt. She was incredibly sexual. All blonde and beautiful in a cool, aloof way, her horn-rims much in evidence on the tip of her upturned nose, she was ... all body. He always knew it when she was in the room.
"I don't think so, Carol." The junior executive paused. Was it possible to risk another glance up that perfect profile-stilt heels, high calves under the straining dark-seamed nylons, the thighs swelling lushly at the skirt hem, breasts blatant in their rocket-launcher bra? Why, that skirt hung so true to her behind that the pleats divided just where she did. He could see the very cleft of her can ... but just then her skirt stirred with a self-conscious swing, and he found his eyes finding hers. "There's just the Zeltenfuss will."
"Of course."
Of course. She was engaged. In any case there could never be any "interfering" with office staff. She took the neat, beribboned packet and crossed to a far filing cabinet. As she bent with braced knees to release the catch, he felt his groin engorge. The blood leaped with her lunge. He saw the tension of a stocking-top, the glint of a snap, a portion of creamy thigh. Then she had slid into a lissome crouch to replace the document. In doing so, the stuff rode high up her thigh. Carol Burgess brushed her hem back as she returned to her employer.
"Is that all, Mr. Ward?"
"There was one thing, Carol."
"Yes, indeed."
Ashton Ward coughed uncomfortably. He never felt at ease in front of their chief of secretarial staff.
"You know how it is, here in Roxborough."
"Yes, Mr. Ward?" One immaculate eyebrow raised.
"It may be a city of half a million, but it's still a small town in essence."
"All the advantages of a big city with none of the disadvantages of a small town," echoed his secretary briskly.
"Exactly. Well, yes, there's been this sort of kind of pressure, you see, around the office, I mean, among your, er, secretarial staff. It's got something to do about the possibility of wearing trouser ... that is, pants suits to work."
Carol was amused by the man's awkwardness, but she did no more than smile.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to wear them to work, Mr. Ward. A skirt is far more feminine."
"I know. But some of the girls ... the very young ones, I mean ... well, I suppose it might not matter if the material, that is the stuff, didn't prove too tight over the ... the, ah, posterior ... by which I mean, the back of the, uh, lap...."
"I understand perfectly, Sir," she said with demurely lowered eyes.
"I mean, they might even be more, ah, sort of decorous than some of the, the...." His voice faltered.
"I'll have a word with Maureen," she said, flushing, her quick smile becoming sterile. "Goodnight, Mr. Ward."
"Yes, I'll lock up, Carol. Have a good weekend."
"You too, Sir."
Out in the main offices she tidied up her already spotless desk, donned gloves, and slung her bag, of the matching beige-brown of her suit, over one wrist. A young girl in a clingy little mint-green mini was running a comb, rather ineffectively, through sleek black locks and checking her eye-shadow.
"All set?" Carol asked.
"My! The old ogre really lets us off early when you get to him, doesn't he!"
"Let's go."
"Why not?"
"With a bit of luck we can beat the traffic."
"And that's not the only thing I'm going to beat quite soon."
Ignoring her colleague, Carol waited for the elevator, descended the thirty-eight floors in silence, and came out in the garage where a boy in dungarees brought up her car. The two got in, and the younger of the kind stretched out with a sumptuous stretch that drew her apology of a skirt right up her front. Carol looked hastily away. They engaged with the first of the cars hiving for the throughway ramp.
"Ouf! Friday night and I can't wait to get it."
Again Carol said nothing, staring sternly ahead. She doffed her glasses and dropped them in her bag beside her. After a minute they were on the throughway west.
"I'm practically flushing already."
"Please don't talk like that, Maureen."
"What's the matter? You got a date tonight, Carol? What do you do with yourself anyway? Jesus, I'm feeling sexy. I haven't had it for two whole nights and days and I know the moment I walk through that door Rod's going to, well, live up to his name." She giggled and sighed and spread her thighs. "Thank God."
Carol glared ahead. "I said don't talk like that. Or I'll stop giving you these rides home." After a moment she added, "I hear you've been pressing for pants suits in the office again. Knowing you, I'd not be surprised if you came to work in a jump suit that might have been painted on you and nothing else."
"Why not?" The girl asked it with lethargic curiosity.
"As it is, your minis are much too short," Carol continued in the same scolding tone of voice. "Heavens, you can hardly sit down, in those ... those rags. Wilkinson and Kimbers happens to be a serious law firm, Maureen, with some respectable clients. Do you think they want to see most of a girl's ... that is, a girl's anatomy whenever they come in for a consultation?"
There was a pause, then Maureen said simply, "Yes."
Carol tsked.
Maureen said, "I know they do. That man from Boston this morning went out with a tool stiff as a poker...."
Carol hurried on, "I've seen a handkerchief rather larger than what you've got around your lap, young lady, and I rather think ... that underneath ... you don't wear too much, either."
"Why not say it, sweetheart?"
"Oh, you deserve to be spanked."
"It might be fun. No, I don't wear panties. Right on. I wear flippy little minis that show my butt and I bend over a lot and don't give a damn and I get solidly screwed on an average of ten times a week which, allowing for an eight-inch organ averaging a hundred thrusts per session, means a penetration mileage of sheer silky cock of about...."
"I said stop!"
Carol meant it. Her heart was pounding. There was silence for a while.
Then Maureen said, "Gee, Carol, you sure are tight. What's with you, anyway?"
"I'm all right, thanks."
"You sure are. You've got a stunning figure. I'll bet your breasts are incredible. I wish I had the like. Nature missed out on me in that respect, while being generous elsewhere. But I mean, you're twenty-three, four. Like, don't you ever ball?"
"My private life's my own affair," Carol almost shouted. Dusk had settled in and she felt feverishly for the light switches.
"Doesn't Tom give it to you? I know I would, if I were in his place."
"Of course not. We're only engaged."
"Well, I like to be fucked," said Maureen, settling back comfortably with a hand on the inside of each sinuously beveled thigh, "which is to say penetrated by the erect male organ, throbbing with blood and dying to spurt. And pretty soon I'm going to be."
"SHUT UP!"
She all but screamed it and there was silence between them, then, until Carol drew the car off the throughway.
"Christ, I'm dying to come."
Usually she left Maureen at the corner of the little township where she had a one-floor apartment. She herself had a little more than fifteen miles to Rotherhead, where she roomed with a distant cousin, a dark girl older than herself named Thea. She had tried living in the city for a while, but the proximity of others bothered her. Subway or bus rides made her nauseous. Maureen was smiling, her loose sure body leaning toward her. The girl's easy acceptance of sex troubled Carol's puritan mind and left her tense, yes-"tight", waiting for the little minx to leave.
"I'll bet a trip with you...."
"Goodnight, Morry."
Then in a controlled, steady tone, her foxy face lightly smiling, Maureen began-"Honey, let yourself go. For Pete's sake. You've no idea how much fun the world can be. So all right, my skirt is too short. But my can's cute, everyone says it is, and Rod generally ends by jamming it up me from behind and in twenty, oh," she gave a troubled glance at the wafer of her watch, "say thirty minutes, I won't have a skirt on at all. I'll be lying sweating on my back with my knees up to my chin with a lovely gristly cock up my guts crowding into me and filling me to the gills and sending me absolutely bullshit as it slucks up my twat. Darling," she slipped very close as she asked it, "have you ever had the feeling the damn thing is squirming up your throat practically, with his balls on your clit, and the universe exploding in slow motion, everything turning into the sun...."
Carol Burgess sat like a rabbit before a swaying snake, mesmerized. Her mouth hung open, slack, her aghast eyes of melting mauve fastened on the slowly smiling, gently talking face in front of her. The elderly couple passing by, and making for their car in the opposite vacant lot, must have supposed the pair earnestly discussing the niceties of hairdos or perhaps some charity dinner.
"Squirting gouts of gism...."
Maureen took hold of Carol's spectacles and pensively placed them on her own nose. She stared slowly at her senior.
"Why, they aren't prescription at all. I believe you wear them simply for show, Carol."
"Go ... please go," came the whisper.
"When the whole heavens open and it's like molten lava in your loins and your clit ... Carol, open your mouth and, yes, just close your eyes for a second. I'm absolutely raving sopping down there. Please."
For a second Maureen's soft, little lips rested languorously on Carol's unresisting mouth. The eel of a tongue dived in and played with gums and tonsils. Carol gasped, then sat, or lay, behind the wheel for a good ten minutes, eyes closed, shaking, after Maureen had gone; then the car leaped up the road with a belch behind and a long protesting yelp of scalded rubber.
CHAPTER TWO
It must have been longer. For it was dark now. She couldn't see her watch properly, driving, and the car clock was on the blink anyhow. Carol Burgess sat flushed and tense behind the wheel, her strong limbs curiously leaden.
STOP ... YIELD....
Under the absolute injunctions she followed the riverless bridges, pylons and derricks gesturing to her right. The faces of oncoming drivers were as tense as hers. Halfway to Rotherhead the exits and entrances, the over-and underpasses, fed their flux of traffic onto the southward-bound pike. What would it be like, she suddenly wondered, to do what that damnable little minx Maureen advised, and let go, and simply drive and drive and drive? America, land of the beautiful....
SUPPORT ... FREE ... LIBERATE....
She tugged at her skirt behind, driving as she always drove, sitting on her panty girdle rather than her skirt. If she sat on her skirt these days it always seemed to hike, and at stoplights male eyes looked in, and pedestrians could see down, and damn, damn, damn!
She bit her lip hard. That Maureen. It was all muddled together, confused and confounded. She had to get back and shower and change. Tom would call for her at ten-he was always late Fridays-and they would go out and see a movie and then eat some place, she had loads of time. Time to cool off and calm down. God, she needed to.
It had brought it all back. The years at Bryn Mawr. The initiation evening at that awful sorority party-she physically winced at the memory ... her parents' death in the air crash over Dakota, the lack of burial. The business of the will, of which Ashton Ward had been the executor and which had after all, like a second death, brought her here to Roxborough, Mass. "In trust until you marry ... your father was, ah, a good man, Miss Burgess, and I am pleased to tell you a generous one ... when you marry, you'll be a rich woman. Until then you have enough to support you adequately, I believe...."
The comfortable phrases rolled through her mind as she drove over this characterless, swampy land. When she married ... this time she bit her lip almost to blood, squeezing shut her eyes a second. Married. Maureen. The Zeltenfuss will. That first job she'd tried in New York. That terrible night when, when ... just where the hell was she?
For she wasn't on the right road, that was for sure. Oh glory, this was all she needed. By rights she ought to be approaching the tired gas stations, and impermanent diners, auto-body shops, motels, which announced the outskirts of Rotherhead-and the ocean beyond. But she was in a dismal tundra, almost deserted, a naked marshland with low hills rising up against the dark. There were few cars about. She drove to an intersection and peered ahead.
Almost instantly, half-blinded by lights in her mirror, she heard a klaxon bellow like a bull. A vast barge of a Buick swept by, a small man in spectacles leaning across and yelling out the window at her-"Move the lead in your ass, lady!"
She was lost.
She decided to drive on a while and ask at the first gas station that came up.
But none did. The depressing landscape was curiously deserted. A few barns hulked here and there. She felt irrationally alarmed, oddly aware, as she sat, of the lumpy lozenge of her sex in the seam of her strongly split legs.
She had never felt so conscious of her vulva area. If only she ... then the wheel sogged as she made a bend uphill. A quick flutter in her chest. She hauled off into a shoulder of muddy grass. She had a flat.
Squatting beside the near right wheel, Carol cursed in the dark. It was a soft expletive, followed by a whistle. The punctured tire had folded like so much paper. There were no lights about. She put on her spectacles as she stood up. Good grief. She never could change a tire in daytime, let alone the dark. And she didn't have a flash.
Perhaps a car would pass and help. But none came. It was as if the traffic had been switched off for the night. With her key she sprang open the back, saw the spare lying there, and reached in for where the jack was supposed to be. Her right glove came up, covered to the wrist in grease. She cursed again and fumbled. Some of the grease had got on her good suit. But the jack wasn't there. She took off her gloves and took off her glasses, placing them in her purse. Then she looked around despairingly.
She was in an area of what seemed to be farmland. Her lights showed a small lane leading off ahead. About two hundred yards further was a straggle of long low buildings. From one of these a yellow flicker was coming. Some farmer enjoying his evening meal, she supposed. She locked the car, leaving on only parking lights, and started down the bushy lane.
Almost at once she succeeded turning an ankle in the slushy mud. She ticked in irritation. There had been heavy summer rain in the vicinity of late and the whole lane seemed to be muddy and sloppy. Standing on one leg, she tried to recover her high-heeled shoe from the squishy slime with her right toe, almost made it, then lost her balance.
She tried to wipe her sole off on the back of her other shoe, but it was hopeless. When she got her shoe back on, she was squelching in muck and ick. She teetered down the side of the lane slowly, like a tightrope walker, to where the window of what seemed to be a barn kept up its intermittent flashing. The low of a cow came distantly to her. "Oh!"
She was standing in a groove of muddy water over her left ankle now, and then suddenly, with a little stifled wail, she found herself sliding straight forward, her legs going under her until she sat down fully with a wet thump smack in a trough of mud.
The stuff was wet, cold and clammy, and not only, when she stood up, did she find it had gotten all over her skirt but it had somehow managed to wet her right stocking to the thigh-even her girdle felt oozy. Relinquishing some of her caution, she now walked more quickly to the golden-glowing window ahead.
It was a long low shack toward one end of which she made her way. There seemed to be a lot of garbage around and one pile of refuse consisting of old mattresses, broken wheels, discarded stoves, the like. She saw the outline of a huge rampant motor bicycle, its high handles leather-tasseled. She drew tackily toward the window and looked in. It was an entire second before she fully understood, then she gave a sudden hiss of indrawn breath.
The room was long and untidily comfortable-looking, leading to a disused fireplace around which were grouped some chairs. To one side, on a low torn sofa, lounged two figures both in jeans-one a girl, one a boy in the act of passing a loosely rolled cigarette from which the girl lengthily drew, then laughed. She was a tall, pure-faced brunette whose long straight hair fell in sweeps over her tight purple shirt. The youth looked about twenty-four or five, with long curly black locks and a villainous scar running down the left side of his lean white face. But it was not the people who primarily hypnotized Carol Burgess where she stood-it was the source of pulsing light.
This did not come from the low lamps-although two of these were on-but from a small movie projector which was throwing on a tripod screen a brutally colored image of ... of what? Carol first asked herself. The side of some granite canyon ... an undersea grotto? No. She knew. A penis in turgid erection was being slowly sucked by a delectable blonde.
Carol caught her breath. It couldn't be, but it was. Even as she watched, the camera panned close, and she saw the firmly gripped root of the member as the girl coned it up tautly for her eager mouth, drew it in between young red lips until its knob indented one cheek, half overhung with thin fair hair, then winked in complicity at the camera.
Pornography! Carol had never seen any, had heard about such movies from Maureen once-until she'd stopped the talk. For a second longer she watched with bated breath and slowly churning vitals as the lovely lips seemed to drink in the glistening cylinder and then release it lovingly until the teeth could be seen gently caressing the bloated corona, causing a furious jerk of the gristly piston ... she was about to turn in horror when she heard a groan.
Looking over the window sill, she could see another sagging sofa, and what she saw there surpassed belief. At least of hers. A young ox in jeans and loosened poncho top reclined beneath the girl with booted legs spread. He was blond, with sandy curls above a tanned bovine face, whose glazed eyes-like those of some dying bull-were fixed now on the raftered ceiling. Between his legs knelt another girl in jeans, most of whom, for Carol, consisted of flowing titian hair as she bent over the most prodigious prick in erection that Carol had ever considered imaginable, let alone real. He it was who had groaned, and understandably so.
For the scene on the screen was being enacted before her. The redhead's slobbery lips were massaging that amazing pole, up and down, down and up.
Then it all happened at once. The big boy groaned beneath the window sill, Carol was just about to turn, all muddy as she was, when there came a feathering of air behind her, completed by a sudden thuck! A knife gleamed, quivering in the light from the room, inches from where she had held the wooden window frame for support. She stared at it disbelievingly for a fraction of a second before she was jumped.
The man seized her in a grip of total strength. One grimy hand went over her mouth, another suddenly had both her wrists in a vise-like grip behind her back, into which a knee most painfully dug. She tried to struggle, tried to scream. She could not even turn. In panic she felt she could barely breathe.
As she writhed like some landed trout, she realized she was staring at an extremely cute little kid, a blonde teener in what seemed to be a tank top with jeans below who had just retrieved the knife from the window and was looking at her with intense interest.
"Feeling horny, were you, honey?" she said in a lightly accented guttural. "We don't go for eavesdroppers around here, you know."
Carol was forcibly marched into the house. Knees bumped into her buttocks when she tried to wriggle free. A light went off-the projector, and a light went on-above her head.
"No shit. So you were right after all, Bron."
"I thought I heard a cry out there."
Curses, the stamping of boots, girls' voices.
"Gee, just when I was getting head."
"Helen'll do it again, I don't doubt."
They crowded around Carol as the one called Bron, whom she could not see, still continued to hold her in this aching vise of a grip, gagged by his hand, wrists effectively manacled in a rock-like hold behind. Only her dewy eyes roved wildly, like those of some captured animal.
"Hey, hey, hey," said the girl who'd been smoking on the sofa and who clearly had no bra beneath her purple shirt, "get a load of this. See what Uncle Bron's brought in out of the dark."
They had been eating, it seemed, for Carol was held in front of a table containing dishes and a pitcher of wine, off which the titian-haired beauty took an olive as she advanced to the fray.
"Honey, are you for real?"
"A real empress," said purple-shirt.
"A nosey one," said the chick still holding the knife.
Struggling, in panic, trying to kick, Carol felt the knee drive up under her again. "Take it easy, empress."
Gagging, she emptied one nostril. Terrified, she saw it on the knuckle beneath her eyes before he twisted his hand and pushed it in her mouth and locked his palm over it again. She retched for breath.
"Jesus, snot!"
"A snotty bitch."
"Yeah, that nose is so high she risks bumping it into someone's face, y'know it."
"What say we give it a tweak?"
The blonde from outside nipped Carol's flaring nostrils hard, between finger and thumb, and held her so. The grip around her mouth did not relax. Suddenly she realized they could suffocate her.
Her face went scarlet ... then a darker hue.
Someone said, "She's got to be a clit ... come off fifty-five like that...."
Carol lurched, breathless.
"You going to be a good girl, we let you go?"
It was the teenybopper blonde in the tank top who said it. Carol managed to wag her head, held in two grips as it was.
"Well, don't try anything funny ... empress."
Released, she collapsed in a clatter on the board floor. She was aching and half sightless-but she could breathe.
"Hey, this empress dirtied herself behind."
"Yeah, smell like shit to me too."
"The female of a pig is a sow."
"She's got to be fuzz, Ju, and you know what you do wid them."
Carol found her feet. She made a blind, ragged dash for the door. Two paces and she was caught, held again from behind, this time by scar-face. He could hold her wrists just as hard. Desperately, total terror possessing all her person, Carol fought for air. Breath to fill her lungs and scream with-loud.
She had gotten some of it, but no scream emerged, only an anguished grunt as the boy holding her bent her over the low table where they'd all evidently been eating, bending her head forward by the short swinging crop of her pale blonde hair and forcing her face into a high mound of still-warm spaghetti, anointed with an oily red sauce. He held her so, until panic again possessed her and she twisted her face into the mush, trying to breathe.
"Thought you said you'd be a good girl, empress."
He let her up, her face greasy and sauce-stained, strands of the pasta around her neck. She was breathless and panting. He let her up and he let her go, and she stood and faced them. This time she knew she was beaten. This time she knew sheer fear.
"Welcome to The Tribe," said the boy with the scar, and it gave a livid twitch, almost independently of his cheek, as he grinned a lot of gold.
"Please," she whimpered suddenly, imploring their smiling rank with her soft eyes, "please."
"This is Andy, Andrea." He indicated the purple-shirted girl whose fabric nipples were bursting. "Helen of Troy." The titian Venus. "That's Ju, short for Julius Caesar and also 'cos he's Jewish." Under the sandy crop the tan bony broad face gave her a stare so lost, so animal that it was almost spiritual; there was not simply a bulge at his flies, there was a rock-hard barrel flagrant up one side of them.
"Please," Carol heard herself saying over and over.
"Me, I'm Nap. This here, the chick going through your bag, empress, is Trudi the baby." The girl had her back to her. The separated cheeks of her little buttocks were so clearly defined in the Levi's Carol could see the kid had no pants on. She thought of Maureen. The girl turned.
"There's no search warrant here. Unless it's up her twat...."
"Like to find out,Ju?"
"And how!"
"Please," Carol got out breathlessly. "I had a flat tire. Out on the road up there. I'm not some policewoman in disguise. This is all some terrible mistake. Please don't do anything to me. My name is Carol Burgess and I'm a law secretary in Roxborough. You could get into a lot of trouble if you molest me. I came here for a jack."
There was a wave of laughter.
"A jack and a dick!"
"Every clit gets a dick."
"The empress here wants a jack, Bron, dig that!"
"Please," she said, "please." She was very frightened indeed.
"We can do anything we damn like to her," said Trudi, grinning and clapping her hands together.
"I need help. Please. I just came to your farm...."
"Stand out there," said the one called Nap. "Hey, I forgot to introduce you to Bron. Empress, Bron. Bron, the most imperial broad ever to grace our li'l community of love."
He was a little smaller than she expected, after the way he'd held her outside, but otherwise altogether recognizable. Someone she expected ... from her soul. He was older than the others, but just as powerful and masculine in appearance. A man who could clearly handle a woman. Thick wavy hair grew low on his forehead; his mouth was long and sensitive, his face darkish and intense. He wore the same skin-tight jeans as the others, and a poncho of blue material with something on the back, it seemed. His eyes were obsidian, boring into her. She stood before the rank and Bron was the only one not grinning. She realized she was shuddering and quivering all over.
"This can't be for real," said Helen of Troy, smiling and shaking her head.
"Lift your skirt," said Nap.
She hesitated, mouth open. There was a long silence. Suddenly she found Bron's eyes more than merely on hers. It was as if they were in hers. Inky black they bored into her mind, and she seemed to have seen them all her life. He did not look at her lower body, only at her eyes, and his eyes said one thing-Do it. Nervously her fingers twitched the hem.
"Right up," Nap said. "Waist-high."
"Wheee-eeee!"
As she flushingly obeyed them, trembling to her marrow, knowing she was sinking further down into the mud and mire each second, she heard the wolf-whistles of the girls as if from a distance. Bron was still staring at her.
"I don't believe it," said Helen. "Those girdles are practically prehistoric, aren't they? And four snaps each leg, get that!"
"I'll bet she's a fake blonde underneath all that gussying."
"What, no slip, empress?"
"Let's see her turn roun' and touch her toes."
"Got a detachable crotch, does it?" Trudi asked in a business-like tone.
"Yer-yess," Carol heard herself answer, through chattering teeth. Bron's eyes were like a touch on her most intimate skin. Trudi was coming forward briskly. Carol closed her thighs, still keeping them high, thinking absurdly of an adage of her college days-high hems, low morals.
"Ten bucks it's a black bush, and plenty of it."
She ran. She ran hysterically, but she did so into someone. It was Ju and it was like hitting an oak tree. She stood up, gasping, panicked, baffled. Slowly he reached down to the table, picked off an uneaten blueberry pie and without any resistance on her part he mashed it in her face. The stuff ran down her shirt and suit. She stood there helplessly aghast.
"I thought you was going to be good, empress."
"Yeah, string her up, Ju."
She made no resistance when he told her to remove her jacket, meekly handing it to him. Now she was in a khaki shantung shirt, the pearls at her neck catching the light. Andrea was giggling helplessly for some reason. Carol found herself led to the end of the room where she had first looked in. Invisible to her then was a steel bar across the room high up. It appeared to be slung with old bike chains.
"Dig that bra!"
"And seams in the stockings, can you beat that!"
"I'll betju can."
Julius Caesar was lowering the bar by pulleys. When it was shoulder-height, he respectfully requested her to put up her hands. She did so, and he fastened thick leather wrist-cuffs on her and attached them to the bar.
"Please," she whimpered, "whatever you're going to do to me, do it, only please don't...."
"What?" crowed Trudi.
She turned aside her head. "Please...."
The bar raised in jerks. They jolted her. It was fixed so that only her toes touched the floor. She hung in a perfect Y, arms outspread, thighs tight together, head dropped, beneath the lights. Bron stood before her. Bron with a knife.
Her body quivered. "Please," she said; she was sweating profusely.
He undid two buttons of her tight blouse. She felt the steel on the skin of her chestbone. He placed the blade under the brassiere. Suddenly he slit their divide, and the two cups sprang apart. He swiftly reached in back and cut the bra clean off her. It was all done in a flash. Her great breasts thrust suddenly, gratefully outward, her nipples prodding thumb-like at the fabric. The loosely hammocked gourds jounced visibly.
"Wow!" said one of the girls.
It was cute little Trudi. Andrea and Helen of Troy were laughing and chuckling around the table of food.
"Some knockers," said Ju.
Bron felt her with sensitive thin fingers. Her head snapped back. "Yeah," he said in a clear cultivated tone, "nice and meaty on the undersides. I like that." She realized it was the first thing she had heard him say. She moaned when he rolled them as though she had no feeling at all. Indeed, he might have been a butcher testing meat. "Tough nipples, too. Really big boobs. They'll sag on you later, sister, if you don't do some exercises."
With a friendly pat under her right tit, he went behind her. Carol closed her eyes. He was undoing the catch on her skirt. Gently he slid it down her unprotesting legs, over her feet, and discarded it. She tried to forget she existed; she shut her eyes, she shut her mind. For it was happening. He was easing her panty girdle carefully over her full, fleshy hips and peeling it off her like a second skin, together with the stockings which he did not bother to unsnap. She hung before them naked from the waist, or a trifle below, where her shirt-tails ended. Trudi let out a war-like whoop.
"Black as night. What a bush! Get a load of this, you two. It curves up like a fan. Bet she's hairy right through."
Helen had come back, holding something in her right hand, Carol could not see quite what because she was trying to keep her eyes from opening. But she could not shut her ears.
"Honey, what a lovely bushy twat. And such nice firm fat lips. Really worthy of an empress."
"Wonder if empresses have arseholes," said Trudi thoughtfully.
"No," Carol gasped quickly.
"No what?" said Trudi, as if seriously puzzled. "No, they don't have arseholes or no, they don't like to be asked if they do?"
Helen interrupted, "They have imperial arseholes, crinkly amber with a lovely soft silken lining."
"Well, we can always see, can't we?"
"They certainly have arses," grumbled Julius Caesar. "Wow!"
When Carol felt her big cheeks parted by the prying fingers, she cried out and gave a sudden swing on her straps, doubling up her knees as she did so. It was the worst thing she could have done. Trudi's finger easily found the anus and slipped into it. With a shriek Carol straightened, clenching her buttocks, and the finger jammed in to the knuckle. She stood arched, agonized, purple-faced with disgusted degradation and moral abasement. The finger gave a worrying little investigation, withdrew with an audible plop, then was wiped clean on her shirt behind. Carol was nearly crying.
"Yes, she has an arsehole," said Trudi.
"I want to fuck her," said Bron.
"Me too"-from Ju.
"I found her, I fuck her. Come on, maybe she's not fuzz after all. I'll fuck her in the cunt and fix her car for her and see."
"Fuck you, Bron," said Trudi disconsolately, "You were just about to fuck the shit out of me out there."
Ju consoled her-"Bron can fuck the fuck out of fucks like you any time, you dumb twitch, but the fucking fuck of the fuck is that he don't get a fuck like empress often."
"How do you know she isn't cherry?"
"Find out and see!"
"NO!" Carol screamed.
This time the worrying finger was wiped off on the front of her shirt.
"She's been screwed," Trudi proclaimed.
"And will be again quite soon," said Ju, making for the pulley release.
But just then Carol felt her breath taken away. Something hit her under the apex of the ribs with a strong whooshing slush. It was followed by shrieks of girlish mirth.
Inspired, it seemed, by Julius Caesar's dunking of their captive's face in soft, squashy pie, Andrea had gone to the kitchen and come back with a veritable pile. The second one, flung by giggling Helen, caught Carol squarely in the face and oozed and dripped down all over her breasts as she gasped.
"Cut that out," Bron growled from the side.
But the girls would not be done out of their ammunition. Laughing and chortling, they hurled the soft blueberry pies at dangling Carol, until she was stained gooey from face to sex.
"The scarlet empress."
"Bring her over here."
Let down, limply led to one side of the furnished barn, Carol heard Helen crooning in one ear-"You are a piller, I hope, honey. Bron doesn't go for dropping bastards about the place." And when Carol nodded her head dumbly, the other crushed up some blueberry goo between her legs with a giggle-"Lube it up for him, empress."
"Stand here." Bron was standing with his legs astride, facing a side-wall, with arms akimbo. His jeans were at his ankles and a belly-high erection bobbed at his groin, awaiting her. The monster of his manhood was strong, plum-headed and quivering slightly as if it longed to get at her. Carol closed her eyes faintly at the sight, holding to Helen for support.
"Please, you don't have to do this to me."
"Why not?" said Trudi roughly. She was arranging a mirror on the floor so that Bron straddled it with his legs-more sickly than ever, Carol saw there was one facing them on the wall, too. "In The Tribe we like to see all forms of happiness in detail. Gee, Bron, that's a beauty you have on tonight."
Carol closed her eyes once more, avoiding sight of that cobra-headed engine bobbing before her.
"Please," she tried, "oh, please, please, you don't have to do this...."
"What?"
"Per-possess me," she said faintly.
"Honey," Helen said in a genuinely perplexed voice, "he ain't going to possess you. Bron's going to screw you, baby, and with him you feel it right behind the eyeballs."
"Count yourself privileged, empress."
"A memento of The Tribe."
Ju was standing, facing her, his back to the wall mirror, holding out his ham-like hands.
"No, this way," he was instructing. "Bron likes it from the back."
"Nice and deep."
Carol shuddered, seeing herself obediently turn her back on the menacing emblem, then gasping aloud as its blunt nose bumped into a buttock, warning her of its great swinging weight.
"You going to act up?" Ju was asking. And she shook her head, parting her legs widely as he indicated, giving him her hands in front, aware of the haired seam of her sex, deeply sliced and quivering like a puppy, pouching back between her cheeks.
She was in a sweet agony of apprehension, she had never known anything like it before. Her body pulsed, her mind teemed and raced in vain. As the huge blond hulk started bending her down, she turned back her head-"Please. Get it over quickly," she begged her tormentor in a shaky voice.
"What you mean?"
"You know what I mean," she said tersely. "Make it ... quick."
"Bron's no rabbit."
Ju gripped her head between his knees or, rather, between the top of his boots just below-her ears and nostrils felt crammed with boot polish and grease combined. Her wrists he held, forcing her right over in this brutal grip.
She could still hear the Greek chorus of their bacchanals behind, however.
"Now, Bron give you jack," Nap said.
"Do her," said a girl.
"Do her good, Bron. Do her right up, man."
She braced her knees tensely.
Then she felt the firm prod of his thumbs, one on each sturdy junction of buttock and thigh, parting her there as he grasped her pelvic bones. He held her so hard, she couldn't bend her knees. She was all shuddery like a mare in heat. Her quim was quaking.
"Set nice and low. Means a deep dip, Bron."
"Gee, man," said a girl, "she must be really getting to you. Never seen you with such a hard-on."
"I swear it gets bigger every time."
"She's going to feel this one."
His thumbs slid down and split her center like a plum.
"She's wet!"
"The empress is aching for it!"
"Oooooh!" she cried.
For it was true. To her utter total shame, besmeared, degraded and soon to be wholly debauched-bent over while some mindless easy rider stuck her from behind like a pig-she had to acknowledge that her insides were going molten.
She looked down into the Wagnerian depths of the mirror she was bestraddling, and she saw in dim mists of tidal feeling a vision she seemed to recognize.
She saw herself upside down, from beneath, her trapped face scarlet and contorted, her breasts hanging hugely nippled in their now-soiled shantung shirt, her strong upper thighs parted and, against the light, her stretched sex almost obscenely haired as it waited to be speared.
Aimed at the shaggy wound of her awaiting labia, the darkly gleaming barrel, heavy with blood, inched closer. Solicitously Bron pushed her shirt up her sweating back, tucking it under her armpits; he nuzzled her gently with his cock-head, then suddenly he skewered her.
CHAPTER THREE
"Ooooouuuuuuhh!"
The thrust seemed to sluck up her belly. In the mirror she saw the glistening pole withdrawn, nuzzle, then slide home again. A silent steady pistoning began, when all at once she knew she wasn't breathing, and from beneath, upside down, she saw that part of herself that was not herself buck to his lunges, hungrily, heard her own thin wail as the underside of the gnarled organ rubbed at her clitoris, and then she clung like a clam, shuddering and gusting, lightning volting her very loins.
"She's come," he said. "The randy bitch!"
"She can't have, already." Helen's fingers felt under Carol's belly. "By God I believe she has."
He started a long steady reaming of her cunt. She panted to withstand it, watching the glib outline of the immense shaft plowing slickly into her in the mirror, her lips gripping the gorging meat as if for life, and she knew she was going to ... She cried-"Christ! Finish. Do it. Noooowww!"
"She's coming again."
"Out of sight, she is!"
Feminine fingers fled over her wrist, found the pulse which bounded like a plucked guitar string as she came in an endless cloudy dew of sheer shuddering rapture. She had never known its like.
"Right on. She came."
"What did I tell you! She's still practically squirting like a geyser. I can feel it on my prick."
The hand held her wrist. Andrea's voice said, "You can't fake it, honey. I did time as a nurse before I dropped out. See if you can go another."
"Stand her up, Bron," Helen said curtly. "I want to see her face. Also Ju needs head."
"You can say that again."
The young giant released her. Without stopping his steady pumping in and out, Bron reached over and secured her in a full nelson, his strong arms slipping under her moist armpits, his hands clasping behind her neck. Julius Caesar, joining Helen, unzipped his straining fly.
It was almost more exciting seeing her face in the frontal mirror. For it was unrecognizable. Smeary, swollen, streaked with tears and grease, a strand of spaghetti over one ear, and all the color of beet, it was the face of a wanton, a harlot. A panting hussy, cambering her loins for deeper and deeper drives of her penetrator's appalling prick. She came again, moaning like a cat.
Her fingers kneading Ju's Roman bludgeon of a prick, Helen bent and murmured, "Getting right up you, honey?"
From the other side a girlish hand gently cupped Bron's bulging ball-sack as he now mashed his crotch squashily into her pussy. She sucked in breath as he continued to cudgel her. Then all at once the fetid stranger in the mirror opened her drooling mouth. A voice-her own-called back in a gasp:
"For God's sake, come! Please. Squirt. Shoot. Get it into me." Her teeth were gritting. She could feel the eel-like thing in her loins swelling in final fury of desire. "Bron. Come! Give it me. All. All."
She saw her throat muscles straining, her breasts slung sideways, straining at the fabric, as Helen cried, "I need two hands for this," and ducked laughing to Ju's enormous engine. "Like jacking off a moon shot."
Bron's face was close to hers as he held her, and in a controlled low voice he said in her ear:
"I'm going to give it you on the fourteenth stroke from now. I want you to start coming on the tenth and squeeze all you can with your whole cunt."
"Yes, yes, anything, Bron."
It happened as he ordered. As she came, he continued to drive ever more rapidly in and out, until she felt she was going out of her mind. She wailed with joy as he swelled and shot, holding it there in blissful rapture, and then he continued plowing her pitilessly for a minute. A grunt beside her, a curse from Helen, and she was vaguely aware that Ju shot off, spattering her back and ribs with swift hot licks. As Bron withdrew from her, she collapsed to her knees, weeping with newly discovered joy, and shame.
"Good trip, empress?" said Helen, licking her fingertips like a cat after cream.
"Oh, God," she said stupefied. Bron was wiping himself on her stockings.
"I told you she shat her pants," said Trudi, looking at her girdle.
"Where are my things? Let me get out of here."
"Now don't go and feel guilty about it, empress. You know you came."
"Six times," she moaned hollowly.
Somehow she got into her soiled girdle. Somehow she snapped high her nylons, donned soaked shoes, took her jacket from admiring Andrea.
"Feel nice and fucked now, empress? You looked lovely from the back."
"You certainly looked as if you were enjoying it," said Trudi with a new light in her eyes, and she handed Carol her purse. "Sure gave Bron quite a ride."
"Aw, we're just a community of love," grinned Nap, jerking his scar. "Of love and peace."
"Any time, empress."
"Yeah, come and ball." That word....
"You ain't felt nothing till Julius sends you to the moon and back."
"Comes out of your ears."
Bron was by the door. He was holding a steel instrument. A jack. He merely chucked his head toward the door. He went through first. She followed him without a word.
Outside in the dark she paused. She was still shuddering all over. She stood there in her tweed two-piece and stared at him, as if trying to devour him. She did not want him to go.
"We'll fix your flat," he said. "Come on."
She said, "Are you satisfied, now that you've raped me?"
"It was good cunt," was all he said. "You grip good. Come on."
As she followed him up the muddy path, she knew in her soul that she would do anything this man ever wanted.
"How does one join your gang ... The Tribe?" she asked, picking through the puddles.
"Nah. You wouldn't have the guts."
He plodded on, squelching in his heavy boots, mindless of her discomfiture. Suddenly he stopped and turned, frowning.
"Uh. One thing. Sort of forgot. I like to mark my meat."
"What do you mean by that?"
He nodded his head to one side again and she found herself following him off, on suddenly firmer ground, into a dark deserted glade.
"I won't mark you much," he said gravely. "Just to 'member me by."
"I'll remember you, Bron," she said huskily.
But he was cutting a bough, trimming a long, leathery switch of ash. He put away his knife Mid tested the switch. He lashed a tree trunk with the tough limb and it made her blink.
"Three," he said.
She understood.
"With ... with that?"
He nodded. "See if you can take 'em, empress."
"Across the ... behind?"
"Come on," he said impatiently. Be thrashed the air again.
"What do you want me to do?" She would do anything he wanted her to do.
"Jus' stand there and bend over. Jus' with your hands on your knees. I like them nice and relaxed, for this."
She hesitated, then took up the pose, a curiously humiliating one, she found. He twitched the skirt up her back with the tip of his stick.
He paused. "Nah. I'd forgotten. Take 'em down."
In the thick night silence she hooked thumbs in her girdle and eased it down over her plump, full hips to where it hung in ignominious wrinkles at her knees. She bent again. He raised her skirt.
"Is that what you want? I'd have thought you'd done enough to me for one night."
"Over tighter than that. Good. Now relax. Let 'em hang."
The wavering wand coldly touched her shrinking skin. He was taking awful aim, she knew.
"Is that about right for size?" she was beginning sarcastically to say when the air whistled behind her, was sliced in two and a resonant meaty rap resounded in the clearing.
"Ach!"
At first the pain seemed bearable. It was a broad lashing stripe, given with all his strength, a drench of flame that seared her skin beneath. But for a second or so she thought she could bear it.
Then the true travel of the welt came to her. She hissed unbelievingly, yet held her stance.
"Christ!"
He made her wait a long time for the second stroke. Her thighs quivered and she could feel his spend oozing down the inside of one. She could feel everything, even to the slight stiffness of one nylon where he had wiped himself on it.
"Oauw!"
Searing agony whipped into her. She whined, jerking up, catching herself and bending again with an imploring look back at him-and his eagerly vibrating wand.
"Come on, right over. There's one more."
"Bron, please ... I've never been ... you don't know how it ... oh, God, how it stings...."
He gave her the last before she was ready, and gave it really hard and low; it drove across her and drove up under her, jacking her straight as a scalded cat. Grasping at her buttocks, she hopped speechlessly a second, then with a squeal she slipped and sloshed in the mud at his feet, writhing helplessly a second.
Lying in the cold slush, she looked up at him. He had totally mastered her, she knew.
"I tole you, you couldn't take it," he said, tossing aside the stick with a shrug.
"Please, Bron, I tried ... only you ... so hard...."
"You wait till you get a dozen. Any chick breaks our rules gets it. Come on." He cocked his head once more. "Let's fix that flat."
She found him standing by the rear wheel when she finally got herself together and reached the car. The jack was in place. She was totally beslimed, her suit ruined.
Evenly she leveled with him. "Well, are you satisfied? That happened to hurt a very great deal."
"Nah. With an arse as thick as yours, you din't feel a thing."
"I did, Bron," she said with a sob, "and I did in there just now. You ... know how to fuck a woman, don't you?"
She had said the word.
"You really put it up me."
She couldn't believe she was saying these words. He yawned. "Fix the flat. I'll tell you what to do."
"You mean ... I have to do it myself?"
"Sure. I'm tired. Spend all day long fixing elevators, in town. It's Ju who runs the farm. If you do it right, I'll give you a reward."
Ten minutes later, sweating and short of breath, Carol looked up at him. She knelt and looked up at him-adoringly.
"Nice work, empress. Open your mouth and I'll give you your reward." She did so and he spat in it, and she obediently swallowed.
"Bron...."
"Yeh?"
"Was it good for you? I mean, if you want any more ... we could ... now, in the back...."
He was slouching away from her, laughing. She was alone.
"You'll keep those marks for a day or two, empress," was thrown back at her from the dark.
And then she realized the best thing was to wrap her raincoat tightly around her and get in and drive back the way she'd come. Nap had mumbled some instructions. She sat behind the wheel on her whipped chubbies which were still hot and heavy with pain, and she drove in a curious detached calm.
She let herself into the apartment. There was a light under the crack of Thea's door, but Carol half-ran to the bathroom, doffing her raincoat en route. There she flung off all her muddied and befouled clothes, then she started to run a bath. Suddenly she saw herself in the mirror.
Her face was flushed, her eyes dilated, mouth oddly vacant in appearance. She had wiped most of the smears off on a Kleenex when parking the car, but her body was still sticky and marked with already hardening mud. She saw her sex as if it belonged to another being, pulpy under crusted pubic hair. She turned quickly.
Three weals marked her behind, the latter two he had given her low and crossing on the right where they turned into hot dark ridges, lumpy in feel. She ran her fingers over these velvety symbols, crooning softly to herself, "Ah my beauties, you got it all right, didn't you just!"
She half-flung herself into the steaming water. She was already toweling herself when Thea walked in.
CHAPTER FOUR
The bathroom was warm and steamy, and Thea, a tall, willowy brunette lounged in the doorway in a pale silk shirt and veloured toreador pants of a fire-engine red. They fitted her well-fed hips without a crease.
"Tom called. Told me to say he'd be early. Has booked a table at La Croisette. Okay?"
"I guess I'll just be able to tolerate it," said Carol, cocking an eyebrow at the name of Rotherhead's swank bay restaurant. "What do you think?"
She held the towel up awkwardly in front of her nudity, always unsure of herself with her cousin Thea. The towel was too small to cover both pubes and upper deck alike. She tried to grin reassuringly.
"Gee, you look sumptuous tonight, Carol. Sumptuous and scrumptious. I know if I were Tom...."
"We decided to wait," she broke in hastily, flushing even further.
Thea's wry eyes strayed. She saw the pile of soiled clothing near the wash basket.
"Hey, you been wading among the Gardarene swine or something, darling?"
"Practically," Carol ruefully admitted.
"What happened?"
"Oh, I got a flat ... "
"On the throughway?"
"Somewheres off it, actually. An awful muddy shoulder. Heavens, I slipped and fell."
"That's fantastic."
Thea's dark eyes were still roving, and suddenly Carol clutched and ducked. For Thea could see over her shoulder into the mirror and what she would see there would be a pair of chubby buttocks, barred with bluish weals. Hastily Carol dropped her towel and twined it around her waist. Beaded with moisture, her broad breasts thrust forward demandingly. Thea contemplated her friend and roommate's upper body. After an interval she said, "You know something. They're incredibly beautiful."
"You think so." Carol cast her eyes down in some confusion; her nipples stood up ramrod stiff, heavy and turgid-looking. The slabby mounds gave a flashy shudder as she did so. "I ... thought of doing some exercises."
"To keep them up, you mean?" Thea nodded. "Good idea. They must be heavy. You do have a perfect pair. Frankly, you shouldn't wear that kind of bra. Let them hang easy."
"I thought of...." Carol broke off in confusion, remembering the cold touch of Bron's razor-edged knife.
"Thy cup runneth over, honey, and then some. I know that if I were a man, I'd find it tough to keep my hands off you. By which, of course, I mean these. Gad, you're beautiful, Carol."
"Thank you."
"You look different tonight."
Carol was about to say she felt different when the taller girl suddenly cupped a breast, the left, lifted it a little just as Bron had and let it give its juddery bounce on release. Carol half-gasped, half-giggled.
"Please!"
"What a mound. And not the slightest sign of sag. Do you think it's heavier than the other one?"
"How should I know?"
"Let's see." Thea, testing the right dug in similar manner, gave a whistle-"So incredibly thick. Your chest really stands right off you, baby."
"Thank you, Ma'am." Carol tried a curtsey, but she was growing more and more confused.
"What would Playboy pay for that pair? Not to mention the bagpipers of this world."
Carol was about to ask what a bagpiper was, when Thea frowned and said, "Are your nips always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like this, silly. Engorged and plummy-looking."
"Thea ... please...."
"Sentry-stiff and big as bullets. Yum-yum."
Her curious smile made Carol feel embarrassed; she had no idea why she was standing riveted here like this, steaming and beaded with moisture, while Thea devoured her with warm eyes and then she was leaning forward and giving the leathery stub of gristle on Carol's left bubby a long hard-drawn lick.
"Thea!"
"Wow! Your kids are really going to know they've got something in their mouths when you plug them with that!"
Carol stood in unresisting, panting silence a second, then with a look of smiling complicity, Thea approached again and this time laid her teeth gently over the bud, slowly extending it a second before letting it go.
"Ooooh!"
But it came out as a gasp of pleasure rather than of protest. Thea openly winked.
"You need milking, baby." With which she turned abruptly on one slippered heel, giving her friend's toweled posterior a hefty spank. The whack made Carol wince.
"Hey!"
She watched Thea's high round bottoms moving off under the material. Elasticized and snug as gloves, her slacks were always special. Hardly Mr. Ashton Ward's choice of office garb.
Back in her own room Carol turned, before dressing, and gave her derriere another appraising stare. Was it true she was all that beautiful? Then why hadn't ... she caught herself on the thought.
Very slowly she bent forward and again let the squash of twat show through the bisected buttocks. Again she stood up abruptly, shaking her head, almost mindless for a moment. What had come over her suddenly? It was then she found, searching in her purse for a Kleenex, that her glasses had somehow been broken. She tossed the two pieces in the trash can and, standing in a robe, tried to decide what to wear for Tom. Some of these hems could do with shortening, that was for sure.
She wore white. A short clingy little cardigan shirt that had her standing and staring at herself again, before the mirror-round-rumped, springy-titted, strange-bellied. It was only when the doorbell rang that she realized she had failed to put on her bra. Tom's eyes flicked over her hungrily as she went to him, swinging her bag.
He was young-younger than Ashton Ward-with a boyish face that broke easily into a smile and a tumble of thick, pleasantly brown hair. He worked for a real estate firm in the bigger town and had been dating her steadily for more than a year. They were going to get married-sometime.
Slipping into his Triumph sports car, Carol gave an "Ouch!" To his questioning glance, she laughed-"These bucket seats of yours weren't exactly made for my ... bucket, I fear."
They ate peacefully at the gracious eaterie which was slung out over the waters of the harbor. Tom loved French wine and spent, as he willingly confessed, far too much on it.
Afterwards they strolled out into the cool night air, and he kissed her quickly by a big billboard saying TRUTH AND SOUL ... THE REVOLUTION ... Leaving the car where it was, they walked hand in hand up the narrow side-streets of waterfront Rotherhead to The Frille, a cellar disco where they liked to dance and just sit listening to the general cannonade.
"Funny thing. Coming back tonight," she said wonderingly. "I lost my way."
"Off the throughway? You can't have, honey."
"I did. Somehow or other. I've never done that before. Found myself out in some farm country with a flat."
He said, "I was out that way two days ago. Some guy wants us to find him a farm. The usual story. New Yorker wanting out of the rat race."
"I'll bet," she said, head ducked.
"About the only place we've come up with so far is one where a bunch of hippies...."
She gave a gasp. Tom pressed her hand, adding, as if consolingly, "They're okay. Matter of fact, it's an all right bunch. Run a real tight farm. They just don't want to sell. I can't blame 'em."
Carol teetered down the cellar steps. The din inside smote her almost physically. The smoke was thick. In the purple dark couples moved like so many somnambulists. Tom took a table in back.
An hour later the place was jammed solid. They were dancing in a hug. Carol lay against his firm lean-bellied body, her cheek to his. She was gazing half-consciously at the drummer when she realized what was bothering her. Tom's breath was warm, and somehow faster, in her ear. Suddenly she knew he was hard. By pressing forward slightly, she could feel the length of bone on her belly, the swollen head pulsing thickly. Her chest panted and shook. She was sweating against him. With a sighing moan she pressed to him, seeing nothing of the drums, the blaring mike, nothing of the room at all, only the full length of male penis sliding into a channel that held it tightly, contracting over its wet slow-stroking barrel until it spurted and burst and jerked and jetted into her....
"Tom ... darling...."
He was almost supporting her weight as she said it.
"Let's go."
Outside he held her sweat-glistening body, and he kissed her pulsing neck and arms, and then his mouth was alive on hers and her tongue scurrying into it in desperate response.
"Oh, darling ... do you want ... as much...?"
Though he, too, was breathing harshly, he was frowning and his young face seemed years older.
"Carol, are you serious? You always said you wanted to wait."
"Yes, yes," she said miserably.
"Until ... we were married."
"I suppose ... yes."
"You've never been like this before."
"Never so randy, Tom?"
After a moment his jaw muscles twitched. He said, "We're going to live our lives together, Carol darling. I'm not going to spoil anything for you by taking advantage ... one night ... it was your idea to wait. You remember what you always said about promiscuity? That it simply lessened intensity. Well."
She hung on him slackly a second, then dumbly nodded.
"Let's go back."
She started walking to the car park.
CHAPTER FIVE
The week that followed felt like a century to Carol Burgess. She tried to occupy her mind in office work, but there was always Maureen to take back home after it was over each evening. Morry of the continual sexual yearnings. She and her Rod.
But somehow things settled down again, or seemed to. She was the same cool, efficient law secretary going about her chroes as ever. Perhaps she had simply never lost her way at all. The whole nightmare of mud and slime ... and sperm ... had never happened to her. By now the weals had almost entirely faded from her backside. They were only a thin faint brown on the right. Carol had observed them nightly. And never again had Thea been anything more than the distant cousin of before. Yes, it had all been a dream.
Only occasionally was Carol's mind caught, as if by the breath of memory-something once in the paper about a commune, a youth-cult, and one morning when Maureen had greeted her entry into the staid offices of Wilkinson & Kimbers with a wolf-whistle and the comment-"Hey, look who's into minis now."
It was true. She had shortened her dresses. She had also changed her bras. Furthermore, she had for some reason failed td replace her useless broken glasses. It was one night after she had dropped Maureen late that she knew.
She deliberately turned off the throughway to search for The Tribe. She felt sure she could find the way. She drove and drove. Twice she got out of the car to inspect side tracks, leading to small farmsteads or homes. But she had lost all trace of Bron and his band.
Then she panicked. Every evening for a week she tried to find where she'd been publicly violated and degraded and abused-without success. Another week went by. She began to feel tense and lost. She had to find him. Had to.
Once on one of these forays she got off on an overpass south, and after another fruitless search of several miles, she pulled in to a trashy diner. It was dark and the low shack blazed light invitingly. Carol parked her car behind it, in an area of stinking garbage pails and discarded oil cans, locked it firmly, then got out. She had on a briefer than usual little rayon acetate thing of a sage color, and her body gave shuddery tremors through it as she walked. Then she saw the bikes.
There were four of them, great gleaming monsters with thick splayed saddles and gaping exhausts-and two of them dripped Indian-type tassels from their high handlebars. Carol froze, riveted to the oily ground.
No one was around. There was music from some juke box in the diner. She went up to the nearest beast, a rampant tiger, and ran a hand over its leather pillion-warm! A thrill coursed slowly through her body, she felt a spider on her spine, her hair fell across her forehead, her mouth slacked ajar.
And a man's voice said-"Looking for a ride, sweetheart?"
She whirled. A guy and his gal were grinning behind her, both in the ritual uniform of boots, jeans, poncho jackets. They were both young, good-looking and relaxed. The man swung his leg over the big BSA and kicked the bike off its struts. The girl, a trim brunette already tucking her hair under a wildly painted helmet, continued to grin at Carol-"Going to be a sticky ride for me. We'd jus' been balling in the bushes, if you want to know."
Then she, too, had swung a leg and placed a saucy butt over the back of the machine, which suddenly roared into scalding, deep-lunged life-'ROOM ... VAROOM.
Carol noticed that some animal tail hung furrily from the pillion in back, directly beneath the tightly stretched buttocks upon it.
VROOM-VROOM!
With a mischievous smile and parting wave, the girl gave it a seductive stroke under her as the bike bounded off, lurching at an angle for the highway. As it came under the lights in front of the diner, Carol saw that the word embroidered on the girl's poncho back was, simply, US. It was speared diagonally with a lightning flash. Wearily she turned back to her car.
And then she froze.
He was there.
He was there, gauntleted, holding a Stars and Stripes helmet under the crook of his right arm, short, tough m tight jeans, totally masculine. His thick wavy hair was stranded on his forehead, and she faintly got out, "B-Bron?" He was motioning her to his bike.
"Yours? I thought ... I was wondering."
He said sharply, "You want it? You don' want it?"
They stood facing each other a long instant, then she nodded. She slipped her bag over her arm and slowly, tentatively, put one leg over the pillion of his massive machine. She lifted the little pan of her skirt behind and sat down, feeling the indentation of the leather against her crotch-warm and reassuring.
At once his muscular tapering back was before her, his legs were working, she felt the soft thuddy contusion as he freed the bike, then suddenly, with appalling power, it broke into exciting sound. ROOM ... VOORRRMMM ...!
Then it was as if a carpet had been pulled from beneath her, and with a cry she clutched him. The wind tore at her hair and eyes, making them smart and sting. She saw the road come up one side, perilously close, as he laid the bike to the turn and then they were roaring down the straight.
No exhilaration she had ever known came close to this. She could hold him to her, face at his shoulder, as the wind tore tears from her grateful eyes. How long, or where they were going, she did not know. She took it all with intoxicated, avid acceptance, and when finally they turned off somewhere and stopped-it was as if the silence itself were deafening. She eased her parted thighs off the pillion, shuddering.
The outline of some deserted building nearby.
"Oh, Bron," she said huskily.
He was helmet-less, hands on hips, facing her, and his ink-black eyes were fastened on the center of her body.
"Let's see it," he said.
"See it?" she echoed dully. "You mean ... oh yes."
For he had given that nervous impatient jerk of his head, spilling hair on his forehead, and it was all the language that she ever wanted. Placing her purse primly on the pillion, she raised the hem of her skirt. Her legs were together.
"Right up," he snapped. "Come on. All round. Now get them apart."
She obeyed, proud of her length of leg, of her lush, leonine surge of thigh up to the pretty sheath of lace-edged coffee-colored panties she was glad she had chosen this day. Then suddenly like a striking snake, his hand flashed out, hooked in the waistband of her panties and ripped them off. It was done in a flash. The stuff lay in a meek pool by her right foot.
"You wanna go with me," she heard him saying tersely, "you go without panties, unnerstan'?"
"Yes, Bron."
The shudders of apprehension were beginning in her soul, spreading to her loins. She was glowing molten all over. Just his touch did it. The touch a his eyes.
"Now, let's really see it," he said. "Spread wider'n that and push it out, so's I can see it good. Come'n, arch back. You ever seen a burley queen, empress?"
She never had, but she did her panting, adoring best to please him, thrusting out in obscene open display the moist nudity of her fat-bushed quim. She moaned as he ran fingers over the well-downed, overripe egg of her sex, and he nodded with a tsk.
"You ever crop it, empress?"
"No, but I ... if you wish me to, Bron...."
It was going fast for her this time. The rush of sheer animal joy at seeing him again was almost too much.
"Yeah, yeah. Clip it down some. But not too far. Not so's to be prickly. We don' want a crew-cut, do we?" he said with a sudden infectious grin.
And urgently she responded, "Anything you say, Bron."
"I like to see the lips of a big twat like yours, got it?" He chuckled as he fingered open the flanges with one hand and then flicked up her clit. She moaned in earnest. He whistled at the size of the already slippery morsel, tweaking it till she writhed-"Some beauty you got here, baby. Now turn roun' and let's see if you still got my marks. Nah. Faded. Like I tell you." He started kneading her buttocks. Even in the night air she was sweating. "Bend forward, empress. Good."
He felt her, fingers testing and probing the sturdy halves of her ass, and then judging the resiliency of the flesh under the very butt of her cunt. She endured it all, resting hands on knees to hold firm. All at once she gasped-he was going to do what Trudi had done.
She felt his firm third finger pause at the pucker of her anus, and she groaned a muffled "Noooo!" Then it had slid up the sleeve of her rectum, worming and worrying in.
"Br ... ooooooh!"
The finger thrust in to the knuckle.
"Ow!"
"Stand up," he said.
She did so slowly, scarlet of face as he kept the penetrating finger right up her-she found herself close to his breath, trying to hold her cheeks apart behind to ease a little of the pressure.
"You want it, empress?"
She nodded, dumbly again.
He said, "You wan' it with Bron, you do what he says, right?"
"I'll do anything you say, Bron."
"Then kneel down, empress."
She did so at once, releasing herself from the finger with an audible plop! Only to find herself hauled erect again by the hair at her nape.
"Oauu! Please."
First he carefully wiped his finger on her skirt.
Then he said: "Listen, I say kneel, I mean kneel, empress. Like do it, see. When I say do something, y'do it. Now this time hit the dirt so's I can hear it, dig?"
Carol did so, with a thud that traveled through her marrow and made her being ache. Her ears sang. And the song ended in a whisper of zip.
Bron was before her, spraddle-legged and commanding; his boots and jeans were all before her face, and as if aimed at her eyes rose the half-erect shaft of his amazing manhood. Beneath it his testicles hunched, haired and tight. Loosely he clubbed her face with the growing organ.
"Get it hard," he ordered harshly. "Come on."
She gazed aghast. She bent close to the phallus, until her hair brushed its cyclops eye at the tip.
"Suck cock," he said impatiently.
She continued to stare, and stare, until his hand rocked her head. The cracking slap half-dazed her.
"Hey com'n. We don't have all night."
"I'll ... I'll do my best," she summoned up bravely.
She approached the blood-hard bludgeon on shuffling knees. At the next touch of her swinging hair the lust-filled column stiffened, bobbing. It was inches off her nose. Never, in her wildest dreams, had she ... then with a panicky gulp, and close-shut eyes, she plucked up courage and took the head between her lips.
Fish-eyed, it leaped like a fish at once. It escaped her sucking mouth, and she captured it again to Bron's hissing curse.
"Lick it all, empress. I want it sucked, unnerstan'? Get down on it now."
Slowly she began to slobber the shaft. Up and down, over the twitching tip and down to the balls again. The lashes of her eyes beat, her blonde crop tumbled forward.
"Bring it right down!"
The heavy lump grew bloated in her mouth, lurched, gagging her. She swirled her tongue around the tough deep ridge of the corona, feeling the thing respond livingly, beatingly. Her tongue laved the enormous column. It began jabbing into her mouth, and she looked up through glazed eyes, gratefully, as she heard Bron's first groan. Of pleasure. She was giving him joy.
"Head ... bitch...."
As she pursed her lips into a tight ring of membrane for him, he began to fuck her mouth, holding her by her scruff. Tears, drawn by the ride, spurted suddenly as he used her so-bumping the back of her throat till she feared she would retch and vomit. Protectively she grasped the root with her right hand, coned it up, flicked it with her tongue, teethed the underbelly, as Thea had teethed her nipple half in jest.
Carol was amazed at herself. She was becoming an expert. Indeed, her other hand was straying behind Bron, feeling between the athletic rounds of his buttocks. He yanked her erect again.
"That's enough. It's hard now."
"It ... c-couldn't be much harder, could it, Bron?" she gasped, staring at the belly-high erection, ridged and gleaming. She swallowed, then in a voice she couldn't recognize as her own, she whispered-"Give it to me, Bron. Please. Fuck me with it, hard."
"Get over the hog," he ordered.
She went to the bike and bent over it from the side.
"Nah, nah. Over the back. It's firm. Get right down on it and stick your ass up, empress. Not on your legs, lie right down on it. Like so."
She stretched out, face down, her hands gripping the shocks, her belly and breasts on the great chrome mass of the tank. He adjusted her so that her pelvis was tipped up by the saddle. He pressed down on the small of her back, till she gasped, nuzzled the fringe of her cunt hair a moment, then sheathed the full length of his fat stiff sausage with a ferocious bend of his knees and slucking drive into her moist warmth.
"Bron! F-f-ffff...."
She could not say it, coming almost at once.
But he continued to ream her; he speared that jutting hump atop her snowy thighs as if he wanted to slice it in two with his prick. She came in floods, groaning with lust. Her slicked tunnel clenched the muscular member, and now and then he would hold it exasperatingly at the very entrance to her vagina, gathering himself and then with a grunt slamming into her, his thighs slapping loudly on her ass.
"Oh, God, fuck me, Bron. Give it me ... please ... cream, come, spurt...."
He was furrowing her hot tight depths, her elastic lips dragging over the entire length of his throbbing phallus, impaling her to impossibility, gripping her hips now and fucking ever more rapidly. She lay in a frenzy, squirming and tightening, and suddenly the tightening started the slow boiling of that young telegraph pole in her belly. She cringed as she felt him swelling, and then he was bursting into her guts in thick hot gouts of boiling jets.
She remained draped across it for minutes after he had left her. She was aware of him unscrewing something near her, and she stood up unsteadily, panting. She pulled down her skirt. He was busying himself at the front of the bike. She felt fucked through and through.
"You ... going to take me back now?"
"Yup."
She drew near him, then kissed his arm.
"Thanks, Bron. That was incredible heaven. Do you always do it from behind?"
"Always," he answered, frowning at the handlebars, "never fail."
"Bron. Couldn't I? I mean ... just occasionally ... come out and see you at the farm?"
"Join The Tribe, y'mean?" He laughed outright at that. "You couldn't take it, empress."
"Yes, I could."
"Why, you couldn't even take the initiation, baby."
"Oh, Bron, I could try." She nudged him. "Haven't you forgotten something?"
"What?" He had wiped himself on her panties and now, having rezipped himself, tossed these away to one side.
She said with a smile-"You haven't marked me, Bron."
What he had been unscrewing had been the bike's long steel antenna. He swished it through the air. It made a sound that took all Carol's strength away.
"I ain't forgotten," he said. "With ... that?" she said sickly. "Jus' a reminder."
"It'll cut me."
"Nah. Only mark you good. Andrea's had fifteen wid this. You wanna make it with me again?"
"Yes," she said fervently. "Then bend over."
She swallowed and stiffened. "How many, Bron?"
"Four," he said. "An' I give you 'em low, so they'll show when you bend down, in a dress like that. You'll remember me."
She would. Forever and ever. This time he made her bend double, touching her toes with knees braced back, another humiliating posture in the cool deserted dark.
He aimed, the steel feeling icy on her parted butt. She could feel the gooey ooze of his come from her cunt. Then all at once that slow sound, as of ripped silk, in the air behind her-thack!
The whippy rapier wrapped itself around her agonizingly. It was like a white-hot lash behind.
"Christ!"
She stamped, but kept bent over.
The second was even lower on the thighs. The third forced a mewling whine from her throat. He let her absorb its excruciating sting, fatty tremors quivering up her legs and cheeks.
"Somethin' wrong?" he asked.
"It happens to ... h-h-hurt," she gasped.
"Nah. You ain't felt anything yet, empress."
"Please. Please ... hit me higher, Bron."
He laughed and gave her the last full-blooded lash. It jerked her straight as before, speechless with pain, and this time on solid ground she hopped and pranced with unspeakable agony, grasping at her lower cheeks. "Oh ... au ... aieeee!"
She ran and hopped, till the unbearable pain began to recede. Then she modestly pulled down her skirt over the four thin hot bars she could feel just under her butt, and she rejoined him where he was placidly replacing the antenna.
She stood silently, then said, "I didn't cry out, did I?"
"Nope, but you got up before I said you could."
She gingerly straddled the pillion again, at once feeling gism ooze from her in the splayed position.
There was the same quick mad ride back, and she was standing by her car behind the diner.
"Bron," she said steadily-he was gunning the motor and she was not sure he could hear her, "could I ... you can have me whenever you want."
"Sure, empress," was all he said, and then he was sliding the bike from the yard, grinning. She waved to him hectically.
"Stop. Where do you live? Any time ... please!"
In the car she reached quickly for some Kleenex and stuffed them rapidly under her.
CHAPTER SIX
"Phew! That elevator. It stuck again." Maureen swung into the offices of Wilkinson & Kimbers with a pouty little flip of her pleats. "If they don't get it fixed."
"I'll talk to Mr. Ward about it," Carol said, frowning at her typewriter.
And Maureen double-took.
"It can't be ... it isn't ... you have to be kidding."
For Carol Burgess was soundly ensconced to her secretarial chores, clad in what appeared to be a navy-blue jump suit-a flagrant one-piece with bells, flagrantly hip-hugging on the saddle of her seat, all of a warm thin wool stuff that moved tantalizingly over Carol's most womanly proportions. All of which caused gaping Maureen to draw close-and gape.
"Gee whiz, you did it!"
Carol shrugged. "I suddenly realized how ... sensible pants would be for office work."
"How ... sensible of you," Maureen said, musing.
She stood beside and above her senior and stared at her as if she were another person. She leaned forward to erase an error on a letter, and her stomach made a visible feline motion under the stuff, while the tips of her splendid breasts strained huskily at the cloth-her left nipple appeared to be trying to penetrate the golden C embroidered there.
Maureen moved closer. Her friend's thighs were parted like solid columns, and at their juncture she was certain-looking down, she was sure-she could discern the material molding the fatty furrow of her sex. Carol was not merely sexual this morning, she was animal, and unafraid. Maureen wolf-whistled once more.
"Do you come any nuder naked, honey? Or simply wrapped up? Gee, I'd give anything for those...."
"Morry, there are these calls to make right away, if you would."
"Anyhow. Bravo you. I mean it."
Carol glanced up. "It wasn't so hard."
"I have a feeling it's going to be ... hard," Maureen impishly retorted, taking the memo pad from her office mentor, "on someone not a million miles from here." And she chucked her little heart-shaped chin in the direction of Ashton Ward's door. "Wow! Did you paste that jump suit on, baby, or merely spray it?"
"I swallowed a pill," Carol replied gravely. "And it grew."
"I'll say." The girl stood there staring, a smile increasing on her knavish little face, her pert skirt quivering slightly where it hung from her muscular little bottom. She had just discerned the indentations of stocking tabs on each of Carol's spread thighs. Her breasts gave another springy judder.
"I decided to defy the ogre-as you call him, Morry."
"Darling-you defy gravity." And as the girl pranced off, skirt swinging, she flung back, "I have an idea he's going to enjoy it."
He did. Ashton Ward was far too shy to comment on his head secretary's choice of clothing, but when Carol sat demurely taking dictation beside him, she saw the growing bulge at his groin as she heard the increase of his "uhs" and "ahs".
"This is, er, in-ah-reference to the new California probate...."
Head ducked forward over her pad, the cap of her blonde crop swinging, Carol sat with thighs together. As she wrote, the fleshy melons of her breasts expanded, squashed together in fabulously suggestive little stirrings; at the apex of her bursting thighs, under the great beach of her belly, the chubby apricot of her furred sex made an illicit, furrowed mound so purely sensual that it made Ashton Ward's right leg cross quickly over his astonished left.
"If you'd just put, ah, these contracts, in the uh...."
Carol bent over the file drawer. Her backside broadened gloriously as the stuff moved over it. Later, she found she wanted a book from one of his top shelves and needed to climb the runner ladder in front of him to get it. Her heavy spheres balanced symmetrically in their casings of soft fabric, and she wondered if he could see that she wore only a garter belt and tightly tethered dark nylons underneath. The four snaps to each thigh studded the stuff as she finally stood before him.
"They're having trouble with that elevator again, Mr. Ward."
"I know. I've asked the management agent to get it fixed." Ashton Ward was red of face and bright of eye. "That's all for the moment, thanks, Carol."
She paused. "There was one thing."
"Yes?"
"I did wonder. I mean, I hope it was all right for me ... to...."
"Perfectly in order," came the gruff reply.
"I suppose I should have asked your permission before coming to work in trousers."
"Whatever you do around here is okay with, ah, us. You know that by now, Carol."
"Yes, but ... I suppose I could wear a jacket suit, if you prefer."
"Anything you wish."
"You don't think ... it's too ... over the...?"
"I said it's all right," he almost shouted, running a finger inside his collar.
"Well," she sighed as she gathered up pad and pencil, "they're more covered up than what Maureen thinks she wears."
Or are they? She wondered as she walked to the door, conscious of her young employer's eyes on the slabby churnings of her cheeks as they bounced against each other with her high-heeled motion. From the door she tossed an amused glance back at Ashton. The junior executive had his head in his hands.
That evening as they waited for the elevator, Maureen said, "Hah. Here it comes. What goes down has to come up-isn't that the golden rule?"
"Applicable to young execs ... on the rise, do you suppose?" Carol replied with a smile.
Maureen's eyebrows arched.
"With what you haven't quite got on, I'd imagine so, luv."
"I like my pants to fit," said Carol.
"They fit," Maureen said firmly. "That jump suit dimples where you dimple and creases where you crease, too, my dear."
Her eyes were vacant, staring into the distance. A distance where she again failed to find them. Him. Again after dropping Maureen off, she sought out the side road. She could never seem to find the farmstead where it had happened to her.
She had changed. In lunch hours now she would walk the big city streets pantyless. She bought shorter skirts, even dared once to wear a thin muslin shirt against which the upturned areolas of her marvelous breasts pressed like Alpine peaks. As the wind toyed with her rayon gabardine hem, she had to hold down her sides. She sat down. All her. aching flesh said-Bron, Bron, where are you?
She wore pantyhose only once, thinking it cheating. She wore a tiny tight black cincher with four tabs to each stocking. The snaps pressed into her when she sat; they indented just where he had wealed her.
Pleats were riskier, more daring still as her striding made them swirl above her stocking tops. But she chose them more as the days went by and there was no sign of him at all.
Men followed her in these promenades. She became aware of the power of her body in a new way. There was a pride in the balancing of her pressed spheres under the moving material, the jaunty jut of her breasts in front. Once, when she had been down to the green at lunchtime in hopeless search for a leather-tasseled motorbike, she returned up the set of steep stone stairs that led to the business district.
She was aware of a man behind her, at several steps distance, and she knew he could see up the swell of her thighs to the bareness of white above, where the bulge of fat folded and unfolded as she climbed. At the top of the stairs she turned and coldly confronted him, "Enjoy the view?"
The man, a dark-hunched figure with the eyes of a blackjack dealer, hastened away in such confusion that she laughed outright.
Yet another time, when it happened on an overpass, the man was young and good-looking, hatless and carrying a paper. He had followed her leisurely pace, and she had waited for him in the breeze on the overwalk. She had on a brief bell-shaped blue velvet mini, with the tiniest of straw-colored slips beneath. The soft stuff moved like a caress over her heated flanks.
When he drew abreast, she accused him similarly-"Having a pleasant day?"
"Very, thank you." He stood unruffled, grinning, then he added, "Perhaps a trifle 'airy'."
Taken aback, she recovered, to respond smile for smile, "What did you expect? Feathers?"
"I expected a natural," he said.
"But you got a hard-on."
"A beauty," he said. "Any assistance given in the reducing process would be highly appreciated."
But she turned from him and retraced her steps, smiling at her new-found bravado with men. He was not the one she was seeking, by far. And he went his way, shaking his head, whether in surprise or in appreciation she couldn't be quite sure which.
"What a switcheroo!"
"Some butt."
"Geez, get that broad with the knockers." Dark-browed construction workers munching hero sandwiches on a sidewalk.
She remembered, she remembered. STOP ... GO!
Being hauled out of a warm bed the night of the initiation and following the curly headed Senior down the darkened passage to a lot of melodramatic shushings. Collecting three other rather frightened-looking frosh en route. Tapping on the oak of the "bum room" door as if the Virgin Mary might be behind it. The virgin....
In the strong sun she sat on a park bench and crossed her knees with a silken seamless rustling, and the men crossed and recrossed before her mind.
They had all thought it rather silly. Out-of-date. Merely medieval. Surely no one seriously did anything to anyone at sororities these days?
In her Rotherhead room during the evenings she would stand before her mirror and stare at herself with a smile that was no longer sterile at all, and then she would place a second long mirror between her feet. And she would stare down at the same sudden perspective, of her darkest, deepest self. Twin-calved, strongly curved into the knees, stockings taut, full thighs, the underside of sturdy, deep-creased buttock yielding to the forested furrow in front-once she even squatted till she could see her nerved anal rosette, she had even surreptitiously dilated that dark collar with her own finger once, to recapture the sensation, but it wasn't ... his finger. More often, with a slight gasp, she would drop the licentious little parachute of whatever mini she was wearing and stare at the thickly fatted mound, its seam bulgingly visible now.
Thea surprised her once, through a half-open door on a Friday that she was preparing to go out with Tom.
"Don't worry, you look gorgeous," Thea had hastily surmised. Carol had been startled. But Thea had not come in. Only one comment had amusedly followed-"Darling, I do believe you've clipped it!"
"A ... a little," Carol had gasped in confusion. "You ... l-like it?"
"I'd have to be nuts not to."
But it hadn't been like that in the long, ill-lit and under heated "bum room". Carol had stood in the line of four frosh, all prudish New England girls shivering in nighties or pajamas-no robes had been allowed them. From the table in front, where the senior girls of the sorority sat, a blinding bright light shone on the aspirants.
"Pledge Burgess. Stand out."
Carol had shuffled forward stupidly to the table. She had on a pair of softly flowered pajamas. The president, invisible behind the lights, spoke in a snappy mannish voice that Carol presumably thought was "steely".
"What are you?"
"Scum, Your Majesty." The ritual answer was faint.
"Take down your trousers, scum. No, just undo the knot and then shake them to your ankles. Go on, move."
"Waggle your fat ass, scum."
"Shake that snatch!"
"Christ, you always been as hairy as that?" came another cold tone from further down the table. Carol flushed hectically.
"You were asked a question, scum," came a voice from the opposite end, and Carol recognized the Dorm Matron's voice, an athletic girl from Dakota with crisp dark hair called Madge Wright.
"I ... don't know ... I suppose so."
"Turn round and touch your toes," said the president.
"Hurry up!"
"Right over, scum."
"Don't worry," said the president slowly as Carol blushingly obeyed-one of the girls in the line appeared to be half-crying already. "You need have no shame. You aren't human, yet. You are merely scum."
"Right over tight, rhinie, and show us your scummy twat."
There was dead silence for a minute as Carol bent double, back to them, the bright light playing up her shrinking thighs and clefted buttocks-and thickly fuzzed slot. Her catechism was to begin, she knew, and the sooner it was over the better.
Then a voice said, "Have you sucked cock, scum?
"No-no," she responded weakly. The words had a shocking sound in the big bare room, full of classy girls.
Another asked, "Come on, have you gone down on a man's prick?"
"No."
"You must have jerked a date off."
"No!"
"No what?"
"No, Your Majesty."
"Felt a boy?"
"No," she answered quickly and miserably. There was a titter of laughter at her quavering voice.
"You're not asking us to believe, are you, miserable scum, that you've never once in your futile life ever slept with a man?"
"I ... I ... if you mean ... I have slept with, that is, gone to sleep beside my ... father ... in the...."
The laughter turned into exaggerated squalls.
"So you say you're virgin, scum?"
"Yer-yes!" Hectically. "Your Majesty."
"It will be checked presently and verified. Both holes, I assume, is your claim?"
She didn't know what to say, still doubled over as she was; the girl waiting next in line was sobbing now.
"Well?"
"I ... Majesty...."
"Ever been buggered?" cried one. "I ... I ... don't know what...." There was more laughter.
"Drunk spunk?"
"NO!" she wailed.
"President," came a voice. "I believe Pledge Burgess is blinking. Did we give permission for...?"
"Yes, I do believe the poor thing is just about to cry."
"Matron Wright," the president's voice asked slowly and sarcastically, "I had understood that Pledge Burgess had conducted herself in a lady-like manner and was ready for initiation."
Sickly, Carol heard the scrape of a chair, the click of heels. They gleamed close in her vision and not far away hung a honey-colored paddle, inscribed with the sorority's letters.
"Stand up," said Madge Wright and, Carol did so. "Stand up with your hands behind your neck and lean slightly forward. A little more."
She was placed in profile to the table. Chuckles sounded around her.
"A perfect pair."
"Perfect for burlesque."
"Incredible they should be virgin."
"They won't be soon."
THWACK! The hard wood swatted her buttocks. Blistering agony made her gasp and jerk. "Oh! Ow!"
Two, three, four ... The other waiting pledges looked on in appalled consternation. "Picture of an improving scum."
"With a nice red tail."
THWWWCKKK! Five. "AOW!"
Titters from the table. To which Madge Wright was walking slowly back. And from which another voice was cooing softly as wretchedly she rubbed Carol's scalding seat, "Now that your tushy is a trifle warmer, come and get your little aperitif."
A cocktail glass held up. Amber liquid.
"President's best sherry," one laughed. "It'll put you in the mood for our special of hamburgers in castor oil, with a side helping of sperm."
Carol watched, then began crying.
"Drink it all up, rhinie."
Urine! UGH!
Later, lying on her belly in bed after just about the longest hot hard shower she had ever taken, Carol tried to obliterate all the idiotic humiliation and nastiness of that occasion from her mind. In retrospect now, she considered it the most loathsome, bar one. The unspeakable-in New York. Upper Manhattan, actually.
Light sliced the darkness. Someone slipped in and closed the door behind her. Carol sat up.
"Who?"
"It's me, Madge. Madge Wright." The figure flitted to the bed. Carol felt a quick boyish kiss. "Just wanted to congratulate you on getting in. And kind of say ... well, I'm sorry if I laid on rather. We're all as happy as sandboys to have you a member now."
They were sitting together on the bed in the darkness, Madge barefoot in sweater and bermudas. Carol said, "It's all right. And thanks."
A hand held her side. "Let me put something on those sittybillies for you. They must be kinda warm." for you. They must be kinda warm."
"No, really. It doesn't...."
"Come on," replied the older girl. "Where's your cold cream, baby? Truly, it'll help."
"In the bathroom. But please...."
A light flicked on. She heard Madge Wright running hot water, then padding back to the bed carrying cream and a steaming Turkish towel.
"Lie flat, baby. Go on," she murmured throatily as Carol protestingly obeyed. "I'll take down your...."
"No. It isn't necessary."
"Oh, come on, we're practically in the dark here. And since I did much of the damage. Ouch. Your right sitter's a real beet."
Then those appalling exquisite moments as Madge's strong and expert hands ran over the oiled rubbery surfaces of her beaten buttocks, soothing her with hushed-out caressings-"Relax, baby, just relax!"-rubbing the cream into her and Madge's hard insinuating thumbs running under her, causing an arching of the loins....
"Not there. Please! You don't...."
"Relax!"
Sliding easily up to the edge of her mons, moistening the well-downed crease and slipping into the cushiony velvet of her inner lips.
"Madge, don't!"
"Let go. Let it happen, babe."
"No."
Suddenly she knew it was going to happen. Whatever. Straining to her elbows in final protest, she realized that of its own accord her body had arched up her glistening and hotly inflamed buttock area so that the massaging hands were sliding up under her, the groove at the bottom of her belly was a wet red satin slice and the stubby sentinel ensconced at its apex was being vigorously rubbed by two....
"Oh ... oh, no. I'm, I'm ... Madge, you're...."
Then she exploded. Rocking spasms, a hiss of bliss, very violet lights and the hot towel massaged under and over her when she collapsed. She collapsed with her face into the pillow, gasping. A thin tongue had run up the buttery crease as she had lain there. Disgusted but unmoving. Madge was repaying the scum buss in kind.
"Leave me."
Tiptoeing feet, a light turned out. "Silly girl," she heard. "Why don't you let yourself enjoy it?"
Crying into the pillow for minute after minute. The most degrading moment in her life. But one.
The new Carol Burgess laughed at herself in the mirror of her room at Rotherhead now, trying to eke her contours into a brief brown mini. The phone rang.
Tom. She had to put on panties for Tom, she hectically, crazily thought. Where were her ... she seized the jangling instrument, skirt hiked half around her waist as she tumbled on the bed for it.
"Darling!"
"Hi. How's my favorite empress?"
That made her pause. Then she said:
"At the moment buck-naked from the waist down. And I do emphasize the buck."
"I can believe it." He paused. "Want to go out tonight? I could pick you up in an hour."
"Sure." They chatted some-Tom was still unsure of her new self, she knew-then she put in unconcernedly: "Hey, you know you mentioned that farm run by a bunch of hippies or something. I have a friend in the office wants to do a photo story on that. Where were they at exactly, Tom?"
"Hell, it's hard to find. Some side lane. But I have a pretty good idea they've moved on, those kids. Left it to some agent to handle."
The shock lashed at her loins-just as hard as that ghastly telescopic antenna ... she hid her disappointment as best as she could.
She felt cold with anxiety when Tom came to fetch her, and they passed one of their slowest evenings together in months. She left him with a peck.
But it was Friday three days later that it happened. She didn't find Bron; he found her. Right in her own office building. Outside Wilkinson & Kimbers, no less.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Wow!" said Maureen, coming into the office with a steaming cup of eleven o'clock coffee. "Talk about the undressing eye. Guy out there practically looked right through my skirt and back."
"Shouldn't prove difficult," Carol said amicably, her typewriter chattering merrily before her.
"Want some? Or have you had any lately?"
Carol shook her head. "I'm awash with coffee as it is, thanks. Who was it gave you the trouble?"
"Ach, some repairman. They're fixing that antique of an elevator, at last."
"Oh. Well, let me have the Benstead brief as soon as you're through with it on the Xerox, would you, Morry?"
"Sure thing."
Carol bent her head to her machine. Then slowly her cheeks suffused. Her porcelain eyes darkened. Elevator. Repairman. She stood up abruptly.
"Guess I will try to catch that coffee trolley, after all. Danish is my weakness. To hell with the fat belly." She patted it. "Better hurry."
Carol was breathing deeply as she slung her bag over one wrist and walked out. She had on a trifling plaid tunic, with braces over a blue shirt, that merely emphasized the full flesh it covered. The hallway was empty. She was breathless with beautiful, tensing apprehension as she approached the elevator. Under the slip of skirt her bare buttocks churned turgidly, crossed by the black straps of her garters.
The elevator was under repair, its doors open. A man crouched in the well, on its roof, pumping some coupling with a grease gun. In stained sweatshirt and rock-hard Levi's he looked up at the figure standing there. She was standing there so that he could see up the strong sheen of thighs to where the opaque bands of coal-hued nylons were hauled to the snaps and the alabaster flesh began; then a movement of the skirt showed him the spongily solid undersides of the richly fatted spheres beyond.
"Hello, Bron," she said faintly.
He looked at her balefully.
She turned and took a step closer, standing over the sill of the well. She raised the hem of skirt in front and he saw the purse of her pussy, a long thick oval fig sliced to his delight.
"I clipped it a little for you," she said in a low mutter, almost of anguish. "Do you like it, Bron? It lies flatter like that. Doesn't it?"
There was a sound and she walked quickly to the ladies room.
She could barely breathe. She stood before the mirror, red-faced, perspiring. Quickly she dabbed perfume from her bag under her arms, at her crotch. He would be waiting for her, she knew.
"You're going to be fucked," she said to her reflection. "Oh my, yes," she added with a nod.
Fuck-a harsh, dirty word she had been brought up to abhor. Her breasts were pounding, pulsing, her nipples taut.
"You're a big girl now, my beauty, and you're going to be screwed. From behind."
For he would be waiting for her; and he was.
At first she was puzzled. The lobby was empty, silent, no one in the elevator well. She was about to walk on, back to the decorous lettering from another world saying Wilkinson & Kimbers when her wrist was yanked in a greasy grip. In a skelter of teetering heels Bron pulled her after him down a side passage.
There was a broom-closet there, she knew. Old Irish janitors stocked their stuff in it.
"Bron! You can't. Not here," she hissed desperately.
The door opened. He pushed her in, closed it quietly, and threw the inside lock. It was dark but for the thread of light seeping under the crack.
"You're crazy, Bron," she whispered. "Someone'll come. We can't possibly ... let me go."
He did. He was dropping his jeans. The place stank of wet mops and old floor wax. Her eyes grew accustomed to the half-light. There was a sink, some shelves, old newspapers and rags."
"Bron, do you realize I work here ... I'm ... I'm...." She glanced down, shivering with sex. "Oh, God."
Then, as if moving of their own volition, her hands tucked up her skirt, slowly and solicitously, rolling and tucking it into her braces. As she did so, with that imperious and impatient movement of his tossing locks, he stepped closer. Her underbelly squirmed as she felt the great sulky hardness of his silky cock. Its snub end nudged her.
Slowly her seeking hand came out. Slowly she palmed the ball-sack, heavy in her grip. The staff was swelling steadily now as she touched it. Long as her hand, it angled up in angry bobbing power, navel-high, blood-hard.
Half-mocking, her hot breath whispered in his ear: "What! You mean to say it hasn't been getting enough from Andrea? Not to mention Helen, or that cute little Trudi. Ow!"
She was half-thrown against the wall, and she balanced herself back to him in the celebrated dog position, legs spread, palms on the damp wall, head level, ass out.
He lost no time. A dollop of grease or wax from an open can was unceremoniously rubbed up into her biding crease, and she gasped back a protest-"You don't have to do that.
It's ... lubed ... r-r-ready."
He thumbed open the lobes of her prominent labia. The knob was lodged at once.
"Oooh ... ah, God, Bron, it's blisssss...."
On the very first plunge he gave her, she felt her sex gripping his virility, as if independently of her will, and she spent in rapturous shudders. He did not pause, gaining depth with each stroke up her slickening sleeve. Christ, he was stiff today! Her body undulated backward into him, butt squirming, half-loving, half-fearing the steady skewering of her guts. Oh God oh God. He was growing bigger, getting deeper. One leg came up, but it increased rather than alleviated her desperate impalement. Eeeee! A fist thrust in her mouth to keep her from crying out-her own.
"Bron," she pleaded, turning her face back, staggering to gain better foothold for his lunges, "Bron, I've got to ... let me suck it for you ... please. I'll be dripping all day with ... uuuuuhhh!"
This time the orgasm thrashed her, till she wriggled feverishly, scratching on the peeling walls as if they were a prison.
"Please ... oh mercy...!"
Limp after the orgasm, a resounding one that shook her to the depths, she realized he had, if anything, only gotten deeper in. He gave her no pause, jolting her with his relentless rooting, slucking into her steadily till his tough groin met hers and the quick kick of his strongly throbbing head made her almost literally climb the wall.
"Give it me, now, Bron. Someone will come."
Someone has, she thought half-hysterically, as she heard her own muttered hissing.
"Spend, please. I ... I ... I...."
Ducking to a sudden thrust she seemed to feel in her lungs, she saw her own quiffed lips dragging and sucking thirstily, greedily, at the great sliding shank.
"I can't, I can't...."
Her knees were going. He slipped out. Cursing.
She recoiled back to the wall, palms on its soiled surfaces. She stared at his glaring cock. The half-light caught it as he advanced, the cunt-wet surface gleamed; the whole cylinder seemed to swell and seethe with gism.
"Bron, listen. I work here. I stopped wearing panties for you, darling, don't you see. Please. Let me suck it off for you. I swear I'll swallow it all ... all your spunk. I'll leak into my skirt if you don't. Oh, my God." She shuddered as again the nodding prong nudged into her undercurves while his hands made her tit tips bulge out behind the shirt. "It's so ... and ... hard, huge. If you don't ... soon, somebody'll ... please let it go in my mouth."
She was about to kneel, when those incredibly sinewy hands of his caught her, one under each bare buttock, and she was lifted to the level of his furiously purpled and demanding glans.
"Oouuuh!" She bit a stifled cry as, releasing her, he let the big dick sink into her quim like so much butter. Her legs clenched around his back as she sheathed him. She grasped his neck in her arms, biting on it in ecstasy. Now she was plugged, rammed and utterly, deliriously jammed, given over wholly to the ruthless gouging by the great greased tree of his manhood.
A frantic fart escaped her. She hid her head in shame as he pumped his piston up and down, for the two first fingers of either hand were puckering her anus helplessly open, and he was swelling to distension, about to go off and give it to her, and her fists were pounding on his back while fierce whispers escaped her lips-"Spend, Bron, squirt it into me, please. I can't go on like...."
He was taking it out. No! In blissful, unspeakable bliss he balanced her high, no more than the edge of her lips clenched to the knobhead; a sweet second he waited there, boiling, then with a groan he slammed his whole length into her and she was all cunt as her thick, silky lips milked the spewing gusts of liquid fire he shot inside her.
Some endless century later she was on her knees in front of him, licking the limp cock, sleek with her come and his semen. He wiped it on a rag, and she kissed his knees, then in the purity of total abasement she put her head on the gritty floor and put his booted foot upon her head. Girl Friday, the adoring. The fucked. From in front. To a finger up her anus.
She had but the faintest of ideas where she was, who she was, till in the half-dark she felt him yank her to her feet by an earlobe. He chucked his chin, a signal to turn. She did so, weakly plucking at her skirt-but his hands forbade her. His hands made her bend forward slightly. He was fumbling with something hanging from his belt.
Then she was protesting and turning in earnest-"Please Bron-not here ... you can't ... I'll...."
The pair of pliers he took from his belt was solid and shiny. They felt cold on her skin. The cringing skin of her slightly bent, quiveringly fatted right buttock sphere. With finger and thumb of his left hand he plucked out a bud of flesh, held it, then pinched it in the pincers.
"Waaaaa...."
At first he did not use undue pressure. Then gradually Carol rose to the tips of her high-heeled shoes. Pressing shut the pliers, he gave her right cheek a long screwing pinch, twisting and turning the flesh in his grip from one side to the other, till she fought at his hands with her own, clenching her teeth forcing back the blood-curdling scream.
She staggered back, breathless, realizing it was only after he had released her that the true white-hot fire of pain consumed her. She hopped miserably in front of him-"Christ! You don't have to do that to me, Bron."
But his gesture told her-The other cheek.
Wretchedly she leaned, to get it over with. This time he placed the pliers flat to her cheek and took a longer stretch of skin in its appalling grip. "Hhhhh ... aiiieee!"
She flung a hand to her mouth. She tugged herself out of his grip, moaning with the tearing burn of the terrible pinch.
"All right, now you've marked me, as you put it ... "
But her knees went to water. His held-up fingers said-Two. Two more!
"No!" She was almost panicking by now. "Bron, you don't ... I can't be expected to take any more. Don't you know I'm a respectable secretary." She half-sobbed the protests as her disobedient body obeyed him, turning, slowly bending, further over as he indicated, hands behind her back. Shudders rippled the insides of her thighs as she offered her bare ass to him, parted, aching, perfect.
"Right under the cunt," he muttered behind her.
"No!" she whispered in a disbelieving plea. "I'll scream."
He paused, went to a shelf. A wet rag was stuffed into her mouth. And afterwards, recollecting the horror, she knew it was a cleaning rag.
He held her hands in his left, in the same vise-like grip with which he had first held her; she was bent ignominiously over, with her head by her knees, unable to straighten, unable to collapse. The pliers in his right hand probed.
"Nnnngg!"
She tried to close her thighs-too late. The serrated jaws had taken a deep bite of her right labia; it squeezed her to a flame of sheer agony there, until she kicked and stamped. Then the screwing wrench began.
"Uinnnng!" She really thought she was going to vomit.
He drew it out for an endless minute, two, while a whine came from the depths of her gag. Then he let go and took her on the left, even closer to the quim.
When the waves of shattering pain had drawn their purple curtains from her eyes, she realized she was writhing like a cut worm, kneading her injured chubbies like so much molten dough.
"You ... you...!"
To her horror she saw he was hard again.
"If you think I'm going to...."
But he was holding the door open a fraction. Light sliced like a blade.
"Get going," was the second, and last thing, he told her.
"I can't...."
A shove assured her she could.
No one was in the corridor at that moment, or they would have seen a big blonde law secretary running for the ladies room, holding herself under her rucked mini as if a horde of hornets had just been unleashed on her ass. The pain was at its uncontrollable worst after Carol had slammed the john door and the blood started beating back into the four hard blisters on her arse. She paced and twisted, ducking and rising on tiptoes to try to ease the pain.
Finally, somehow, she straightened her attire, wiped herself, urinated strongly and lengthily, then stood before the mirror in the empty rest room. Somehow, too, she felt hot with more than merely aching pain. Pleasure was compounded with what she felt in her shuddering thighs. She was shaking like a mare in heat.
Quickly she turned and raised her flip of a skirt. In the middle of the right buttock was a swollen black pea of pain; that on the left cheek was straighter in outline. She had to bend to see the raw purple welts he had inflicted under her overhang.
She started walking to the office. It felt more like tottering.
In the elevator shaft Bron was working his grease gun with a cheerful whistle. A recent rock hit. She paused and looked down at him. She wanted to ask him where he lived, but she was so furious and shaking with pain she did not. She turned and slipped into the office. Where she remained uncomprehending for a moment.
Without looking around, Maureen said, "Have a good Danish?"
"What? Yes. Oh well, a trifle ... filling."
"They can be." She added, "It sure was a long one."
"It sure was," said Carol dryly.
She sat down gingerly to work, lifting her skirt and sitting on her still flaming flesh. A telephone went. She did not understand. She stared at her scratched nails.
"Mr. Edward Wilkinson, please. This is a Mr. Richard Packer from New Orleans specking."
"Mr. Packer, I'm afraid Mr. Wilkinson just stepped out of the office for lunch ... Might I take a message?"
"It's all right, thanks. I'll call back."
"Thank you, Mr. Packer."
A half hour later the pain had subsided and she could type the letter over for the fourth time. A stocky figure was standing in front of her.
"The Benstead brief, baby." It was Maureen. "I'm all through with it."
Carol frowned, taking the folder. For a second their eyes met. Carol had a sudden irrational desire to push back her already slippery typist's stool and say: I've just been fucked. Royally rogered up the all too eager twat. I came four times and am leaking gism like a sieve, if you must know.
"And the ogre would like to see you."
She let Maureen mince off, surreptitiously wiping at the indentation of her saddle seat with a Kleenex. Then she went in to see Ashton Ward.
"I've been sitting so long, it's nice to stretch my legs."
She took dictation with her broad thighs pressed very close while Bron's come slid slowly and tackily down the backs of one laddered stocking. If there was anything to file, she would do it facing him, for a change.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The days passed in a stupor of summer.
When Carol realized she had again lost touch with them, she felt frantic with frustration. At work she would bite her lips frantically. Even on the neat office seat of the impeccable law firm, her eyes would slit in reverie, her breathing quickening, the skin of her abdomen seemed to tauten. She would have to catch herself quickly, not to let the others notice anything unusual-the new glow of living on her, as if someone held a flame behind her flesh. She had seen a picture like that once. A Bellini virgin. She laughed-then almost sobbed.
There was something in her now that was totally detached from her mind. This eager hunger so hunted her that there were times when she would have to get up quickly and make for the John. And if there were no one there, she would look accusingly at the curves of her lovely body under the fall of some thin stuff and stroke a palm over her soft quiff and glare at her image in anguish-"You need to be fucked, woman, and you know it. You've had about the best there is and you want some more."
This furious need and inner seeking began to obsess her. It was a hundred times more demanding than she had imagined. If only Tom ... but there was their promise, one to the other ... she began to defer her dates with him now.
It was at night she knew she was crumbling. She would lie naked, sweating on the sheets in her dimly lit bedroom and see only a man's huge and throbbing prick lusting to cram itself into mouth or cunt. She jerked in anguish, striving not to give in, not to feel her lips ecstatically clutching the fat slick cylinder pistoning in and out, with the touch of hairy testicles on the lower cheeks of her ass.
Once, biting the sheets, there had been the fingers, strange and helpless creatures, disturbing and caressing, flicking up the nubbin of her clitoris until her eyes popped and she jacked straight, squirming, crying out in an ecstasy of self-hatred-"My God, you're masturbating!" But it was too late. The spasm took her. Her hips throbbed and jerked as hands tore at the rumpled sweaty sheets.
She sat up later and stared at her treacherous cunt; a bubble formed as she spread her legs.
"You bitch! You're foaming! Oh, God."
She went through her work like an automaton, driving Maureen back each evening, saying little, putting her off and then seeking the nonexistent side road. Again it was no good. Then one day she called up and said she couldn't come to the office. Was "Indisposed". Ashton Ward was all commiseration.
It was a humid, steamy day. Carol lay in bed, trying to read on increasingly sticky sheets. In the afternoon she slept. She awoke with pulpy lids, half sealed with sleep, then she washed her face and came back and lay heavily naked on the bed again. The curtains were drawn. Only a filmy light filtered in.
"I love Tom," she said to herself dismally. "But I am Bron. The two have nothing to do with each other. I shall marry Tom and be happy with him. I could never marry Bron, nor he me. Bron is simply in my being, as the rocks are part of the earth."
In the anguish of her yearnings, the fever of her supplications, she remembered that night in New York. The cocktail party, a tall young man with fair hair and urgent laughing eyes. He had gotten her drunk. Later he had dug his prick into her pitilessly, but without feeling for her-she had scarcely felt her membrane split. Had been surprised at all the blood. The worst experience in her life.
Thea was standing by the bed.
Carol jerked and pulled up a sheet, but the flamingo-like brunette restrained her. She must have slept. It was dark in the room. Soft lights lit the passage outside.
"What time is it? I...."
"Sweetie, aren't you feeling well?" Her cousin put a hand on Carol's forehead. "Hmm. Poor love. Let me take your temperature."
"It isn't necessary."
Carol reflected this was the second time the woman had seen her naked. She also reflected, as Thea went out of the room in a supple glide, that a pair of tartan trousers couldn't be worn any tighter. Then Carol thought that it was a little odd that such a lovely girl never seemed to go out with men.
Hot, her body swollen in feeling, Carol tried to truss herself up in a sheet. She looked down at her bush. It was moist. Squeezing up the cowl of flesh at the top of her vagina, she saw her clitoris, shiny, red, engorged, thick as a pinkie. She felt as if the touch of material alone would make it go off in her present state. She was lying on her right side, her flank golden, when Thea came back in.
She held a small thermometer, and she had taken off her shirt. Wide coppery coins crowned the horn-like curves of her freely swinging breasts.
"Thea, really." Then she added, "Really you needn't, I...." Then in another tone, half-sitting, she exclaimed, "No really. Not rectal. I can do it, please."
Thea, coming closer, merely smiled. "It's greased good," she said softly, "just relax, baby."
Before Carol could refuse the proffered help, one long thin hand had raised her thigh, and Thea had speared neatly between the cushiony fat of Carol's buttocks. "There."
Carol felt the cold worm of the thermometer slide up inside her.
"I'm sure I haven't...."
"You are hot though," Thea murmured, keeping the instrument up her and fondling her body with the other hand. When probing fingers found the ready wound of her gash, Carol jerked her knees up with a gasp-"Uh." In doing so she lost the thermometer. With a giggle Thea replaced it.
"With you, honey, there's no danger of getting it in the wrong hole!"
Carol was aware of the slice of her sex pouching back between her drawn-up legs. With a last attempt at dignity she said, "I can easily do this myself, Thea."
"Yes, but it's much more fun having it done for you."
Thea sat on the bed beside her.
"You have a darling little hole."
"Please," Carol protested, drawing her knees up even further.
"No, truly. It's very crinkly and sexy. Don't you realize it's part of a woman, too?"
"I've never...."
"What? Come on. Don't be so tight. Let yourself go for once, sweetheart."
"I don't know," Carol said, burying her face between her fleshy arms as her cousin started to stroke one pendulous breast. "It's just that here I am naked in front of you...."
"And I'm not, you mean? That can soon be remedied." There was another giggle, a rustle of cloth, and Thea was nude beside her. She had strongly curved thighs and a small but thickly curled bush-it was evident that she "clipped" too.
"There. Now relax. You're a very sexy woman, Carol, and I have an idea you know it. Someone around here has been wearing rather revealing skirts of late."
"Your slacks aren't exactly concealing."
"They say I have a cute can. Think so?" Thea showed it and Carol said, "Who's they?" Then she was being bent over, and the thermometer slid out of her insides with a little liquid wriggle, and Carol giggled then and said, "Oooh. It's kind of like being goosed."
"Only nicer, eh." There was a quick lick of a tongue around the ring of rubbery muscle, and Thea stood up, saying, "What it means to have a sexy sphincter." She cleaned her instrument on a Kleenex, examined it, then shook her head. She looked down at her cousin with amusement. "You're not sick, angel-pie. Just hot."
Carol, drenched in sweat, seemed to see everything through a steamy, rosy haze. As if hypnotized under Thea's now-avid stare, she stretched very slowly out on her back, legs straight. Even more slowly, as if moving under heavy water, she parted her leaden limbs.
"Would you like me to relax you, baby?"
Carol mumbled thickly, "Massage?"
Thea gave an irritable shake of her head. She seemed to collect herself to say, "Ask no questions, hear no lies. Listen, honey, you and I, we live our own lives here, right? That was the agreement, wasn't it? Okay, so I don't ask who's been giving you those lovely marks across the seat, just as you don't inquire why I bring my girl friends home late at night. I don't believe in hypocrisy, Carol darling, and I might as well tell you right now I'm absolutely dying to kiss your you-know-what. I think you'll enjoy the ride."
Carol moaned and closed her eyes. She raised her knees, and suddenly Thea's head was between her thighs, her hands kneading Carol's bursting breasts.
For a second she felt the small quick mouth pressed to her thick lips, then an eel was diving in her depths. She writhed and groaned, arching her pelvis up under the caress. Suddenly she cried aloud, as once, twice, thrice, the coarse tongue flicked up at the underside of her standing clitoris.
"I'm coming ... Theeeeaa...."
The tongue seemed to lash the little elongated nub of flesh, following her contortions as the spasms arched and opened her lubriciously. Her quim seemed to give way in panting jerks of seething ecstasy.
She grabbed the sleek little inky head to her center as she spoke, felt the tongue lap like a puppy's as her juice still flowed. When at last she lay like some stranded fish, heaving on the bedsheets, she seemed to see Thea's tense, slender body kneeling between her legs through a cloud. Beads of sweat covered her body.
There was, as Thea had said, no point in any hypocrisy now. She tore the wet rag of sheet she had been biting from her mouth and with a groan she tossed her head and asked, "Did you get an awful lot of cream?"
Softly, through bedewed lips, Thea said solemnly, "I've never seen so much. But then, I've never seen anything approaching a clit as big as yours. Has it always been like that?"
Carol's wet head rolled on the pillow. "It's just that I've been feeling this frightful ... lust lately." She laughed apologetically.
Thea nodded solemnly. "I know you have, baby. It's suddenly hit you. And when it comes this late, it hurts. I know it. You were hung-up so long. Maybe it was what happened to your parents that did it. Well, I don't know whether it's because someone welted you across the ass, whatever it was, you've woken up. And now you can let go, honey."
"But isn't it wrong to ... to be kind of, well, craving for it ... like this?"
Thea laughed. "Oscar Wilde, one of my own species, said it-the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Let go, relax. Enjoy the body that was given you."
"That's what Morry's always saying, at the office. Oh, Thea, that was such utter, perfect bliss you gave me just now."
"And don't go asking yourself if it's better or worse than with a man. It's neither, it's different."
"It certainly sent me up the wall."
"And right now I'd say you were real ready for another climb. Look."
Thea freed the already stiff red clit from its lair. Pressing it pleasantly between finger and thumb at the base, she made the pencil of gristle stand up angrily, shiny with its sheen of love-dew. Hissing with ecstasy, Carol was fascinated by the size of the flower in her valley.
"Oh, my God, it's ready, all right."
"Isn't it." The red finger seemed to throb as Thea squeezed it tighter.
"The way you licked under it like that...."
"Reach you?"
Carol groaned an answer. She pushed her cousin's hand away. "Good grief, I'll swear I'll come again, just with your ... your ... oh, Thea, do you mind, I...."
Thea laughed. "All you needed, my good girl, was glandular relief. And you're going to get some."
Opening wider, Carol grinned lasciviously. They had gone too far. That naughty little male substitute of hers had finally betrayed her. She decided to give in and, as Thea said, relax. But as the dark head descended over her once more, she caught the overlapping locks. "Thea. Do you mind?"
"Course not," came the irritable mumble in reply-an impatient mumble, also. "I've always longed to go down on you, Carol, if you must know."
"But, but-don't you want it, too?"
"Afterwards, you can do to me what I am doing to you. And then some." With a giggle she added, "And if you don't want to sixty-nine, we can at least fifty-five."
A resounding radiance of joy filled Carol's form. She chuckled as her ebullient buttocks began to move up lewdly to the questing tongue. Fifty-five. Route Fifty-five. That was where it was. Was at. "She's got to be a clit ... come off Fifty-five like that...." STOP GO YIELD. She wanted to weep and laugh at once. It was where they were. The Tribe. Hers. She had found them at last. For fifty-five was where she had taken the wrong road. Or was it really the right one?
Tomorrow she would go out there and see.
CHAPTER NINE
"Well, look who's here."
"The empress!"
"Clean as a pin an' twice as beautiful."
She stood on the sill of the shack uncertainly, smoothing her flaring little cocktail frock of stone-hued velours. Her smoky stockings caught the light. Instinctively she pressed her thighs together, tongue running over her dry, half-parted lips. The scene was almost the same as it had been ... that first night.
"Hello, empress." It was Andrea who came forward first and rested her soft lips on Carol's. "Welcome back, honey. You look good enough to eat."
"And then some," said Nap. His scar gave a twitch. He, too, was the same. They were all wearing jeans-even Julius Caesar, reclining on the same sofa under the same light, frowning heavily over a paperback-all except Andrea. Tall and lovely she had on the purple shirt of yore. But that was all.
"Hi, Andrea," Carol said. And then there was silence.
"You sure shortened your skirts some, empress."
When she felt her hem raised from behind, Carol made no move.
"And this time," said Trudi's accented voice, "she ain't shit her pants, either. Mainly, 'cos she's got no pants."
Lovely, lanky, yet well-befleshed, her titian hair cascading down her poncho, the girl she had first seen bowed over Ju's immense member undulated softly over and kissed Carol tenderly.
"Thanks for stopping by, honey," Trudi whispered in one ear. "You more or less saved my bacon. Stick around a little, could you?"
"Hello, Helen of Troy," Carol said with a smile.
Then the silence wore on. They were all looking at her, gauging her. She became aware that none of them was in any sort of natural pose. Ju reclining on his royal divan, squinting at her through glazed eyes, paperback thrown aside-there was something exaggerated about his total lethargy, too. Nap with feet astride. And of course, Bron, black eyes boring into her from across the room and across the table. It was he who spoke first.
"What you want, empress?"
"What you think she wants, Bronny boy?" cracked Nap.
Trudi said, "You stick around here and you're liable to get screwed, sweetheart."
"Anyone lovely as you," Nap said, moistening his lips.
Andrea laughed-"Darn right. Bron's been dying to hump snatch like you gave him ever since."
"Cut it out," he snapped.
"Come on, Bron, you know it's true. You been mooching about like a...."
"Shut up!" Bron wanted her.
Still standing very straight before them, holding her great body poised in the tense silence, she said softly, "I came ... that is, I wanted to. I need to ... come back. I wanted to see you all again. I'd like to join your thing."
There were gasps of overdone incredulity.
"You're kidding."
"You ... empress!"
"Aw, come on!"
There was another long silence, broken by Trudi, who, moving around Carol's body, lifted her skirt in front and said musingly, "Y'know, her stockings are held up by themselves. No adhesive, nothing."
Their eyes dropped to where the tops of her nylons bit into the creamy fat of her thighs. Their eyes moved upward to the furry ledge of her mons beyond.
"She's clipped it, Bron."
"Clipped it good."
Stepping in front of her, a visible twitch at his fly, Nap said hotly-"You really want to join The Tribe, empress?"
"Yes," she said simply.
Someone laughed. Helen of Troy shook her head sadly and said, "Poor kid."
"I could," she came back swiftly, "really I could. I could help you all. I could live here ... and cost you nothing ... and help with the farm."
There were further sarcastic titters from the assembly.
"You know how to milk a cow, empress?"
"No, but I could...."
"Learn?" Helen completed wistfully. "Me, I forgot to milk the cows this morning. Slept on. Too bad."
"It ain't good for the cows," Julius Caesar sleepily explained. He stretched and yawned and yawned and stretched.
"Mama spank," Trudi said, still behind her. She was behind Carol's behind, into the division of which she insinuated several fingers, saying in a hot hiss, full of dislike, "You been fucked, you little bitch, and you come back for more, that it? You wait till you been buggered ... regularly."
"Let's get it over with," said Julius Caesar.
"Yeah, bet she don't last the first part of the initiation, Bron."
They were moving some chairs and moving around, and Carol all but panicked. A gulp of apprehension swept its sweet lava up her loins as she looked at them clearing the space in the center of the room, under the hanging lamp, festooned with peace signs.
"I want love and, and ... friendship," she began, trying to interrupt them, "and to be free in the way you people...."
Bron was standing before her.
"Can you suck cock?"
"Yes," she said emphatically, her face flaming despite herself. As if he didn't know.
"Then kneel down here. Hands behind your back."
She hit the boards.
"Okay, Andy."
Five feet away lithe Andrea dropped likewise to her bony knees and shot Carol a smile of libidinous complicity as she too clasped hands behind her seat.
"Yum, yum," she said as Bron positioned his crotch directly before her. Then Carol was wholly occupied with the thrust of Nap's groin, inches off her own center of vision, his fly tight and lined one side with a leaden cylinder.
Somewhere between the two, small sturdy Trudi, self-elected mistress of ceremonies as it seemed, said in a voice full of such stern pomposity it was almost comic:
"Now listen, empress. You want to join The Tribe you gotta be able to suck cock and suck it fast. When you can blow Bron in two minutes flat, you'd be doing all right. Andrea here's a real silky sucker, a genuine pro; she can suck sperm out of stone and then some."
"I once tried on some statues in Rome," was the moody reply. "No dice."
"It made a great picture, though," grinned Nap, loosening his bulging fly. "In Firenze, too."
"So that's why Michelangelo's David has a perpetual erection!"
"When I say go," went on Trudi sternly, "You both start sucking, understand. If you can make Nap spurt spunk before Andrea gets the splash-down from Bron, you've passed, empress. And you can move on to the second part of our initiation. Which is fucking, or rather being fucked. But I tell ya, you gotta work. Use that tongue and teethe him in front a little. Nap and Bron will put their hands up as they come. One thing-no swallowing."
"Shit," said Andrea, who had been licking her lips voluptuously during this harangue. "Can't I swallow, at least? You know how I love the stuff."
Trudi consulted her colleagues; Helen and Ju had their arms around each other. The short girl nodded her blonde head bleakly.
"Only if you get him to go off first, Andy. Otherwise, hold it all in your mouth. Don't forget the baptism, eh?"
"Okay," said Andrea.
Carol felt a tug at her hair.
"'Member, no hands. Just mouth only." Trudi was saying. "And hold every single drop. One swallow ... I see you swallow once, empress, and you've lost. Got it?"
Carol nodded dumbly. Her eyes were riveted to her right, to where Bron's animal organ was hanging, half-distended, in front of Andrea's face. His jeans were at his knees. She was swirling her tongue greedily around her lips, murmuring, "Mmmnn ... oh baby, I can't wait."
Bron was sliding the sleeve of skin over the column of flesh which rose and thickened instantly. The plump fish-shaped head of his knob was aimed directly at the girl's now avaricious eyes, a viscous drop oozing from its slit. It was firm and ready to be swallowed.
"No cheating, Bron," laughed Ju.
Andrea gave a little wriggle of impatience and Carol saw the ripe, fruity rounds of her buttocks beneath the shirt-tail on which she held her clenching hands.
"Nap does, like, this rather gusty gism, empress," Helen was meditatively saying, "Has these special tubes connecting with the urethral...."
"Oh," said Carol, for a club of flesh had struck her face.
"Talking about milking, empress," Nap said, and he wasn't smiling. Carol gasped.
Under her moist mauve gaze the boy's prick was a sulky shaft, slick-skinned and in total erection. Broadly headed, it was circumcised, with a pronounced brown line and bluish veins down to the taut hard ball-sack. The column pulsed as it nudged her nose.
"You're lucky, empress, I'm feeling real horny tonight."
"She'll never beat Andy," said Helen, shaking her red head a trifle wistfully. "Ready?" asked Trudi coldly. "Am I ever," said Andrea.
Carol's cloudy vision measured the male member gamely. It looked ready to spurt sperm almost instantly. Nap spread his legs, to lodge it closer to her mouth.
"Well, empress?"
Absurdly Carol thought of the sorority. Initiation. The test. More absurdly she thought that less than an hour before she had been sitting in a law office taking dictation. A booted toe butted her ass.
"Well? You set?"
"I ... I suppose so," she heard herself say. "Both ready?" said Trudi sternly. "Okay. Suck cock."
And an animal tried to crawl down Carol's opened throat. STOP ... GO....
She choked and gasped at the size of the intruder in her mouth. She tried to swallow, and instantly the fleshed column leaped, began to move in and out through her suctioning lips. Half-consciously she gathered saliva and ran her tongue over the coursing girth of Nap's strong cock. She tried to block its thrusts with her tongue, her breath harsh as the thing butted the roof of her mouth, then the back of her larynx. Her nostrils flared. Hard thudding prods drove mercilessly at the back of her mouth. She moaned as the heavy shaft all but made her retch. He was hurting her more than had Bron.
"Christ ... that's it, empress." She felt Nap clamping one hand in her hair, shuddered at the touch of haired groin and balls on her chin.
"Chee, she sucks good...."
"Not so fast as Andy, though."
Carol coughed and nearly spat the monster out. Nap lightly cursed and laughed above her, insinuating his swelling knob into her pursing lips again.
Hunched, feet astride, Bron stood expressionlessly, the root of his raw, beloved cock angling up sharply from the lazy sack of balls. Andrea, flushed in the face, was steadily sliding her lips up its glistening length, down and up, up and down. Every now and then the head indented her cheek, and her small ass wriggled under the flap of purple shirt.
She remembered the first vision she had had here.
"Underneath, sweetie," Helen was whispering beside her now, "flick him with the tip of your tongue and he'll...."
Nap grunted. Carol laved the fatty underbelly with her tongue and it squirmed in instant response.
"Christ!"
Nap gripped her by both ears. She wanted to yelp; the thing simply couldn't grow any bigger than this. The prick was seething along its length, growing to a boiling pause-when everything happened at once.
"Now!" the boy cried, raising both his hands from her head in exultant triumph.
Carol literally retched as the cock-head wormed halfway down her throat, coughing and trying to draw away from the rigid pipe. Hands went around her throat, under her chin. The small cold hands of Trudi, who was hissing-"Don't swallow ... hold it, you idiot...." And the thick fluid struck suddenly in hard hot pecks, the cock still stiff, then jerking furiously along her tongue and the sides of her cheeks as it coated the whole of her mouth with salty slime. It seemed to go on and on, spurting, then slithering out wetly, Nap and Helen and Trudi all grinning like mad as she clamped her lips, teeth chattering, holding the gism in her violated mouth.
"Hey ... well done, empress. You won."
"Nap tickle your tonsils good, sweetie-pie?"
"Come on, Bron, you can shoot now. Empress here has a mouthful. Do a good one for her, man."
Still kneeling, Carol saw Andrea's head moving mesmerically up and down the saliva-wet shaft, sheathing the column in her hair as she went rhythmically down. Once she too deliberately winked with her left eye, like that girl on the screen, then Bron grunted, stamping his boots and jerking his groin into the girlish face. Clam-like, the red lips held to his lunging organ as Andrea let the man spurt off without swallowing. They laughed and grinned as Bron stickily withdrew, and then Andrea rose. They watched her as with a look of intense concentration on her face she approached Carol with bulging cheeks.
"Open your mouth, empress," said Trudi in a more friendly tone, "good and wide, and mind you still don't swallow any."
"Sneezing it out's not allowed, neither."
Slowly and circumspectly the lovely Andrea bent over Carol's proffered mouth and emptied into it her load of Bron's thick come. She kissed Carol's open lips deeply and wetly and when she withdrew, a strand of the stuff hanging from her grayly coated tongue, she smiled and said, "You lucky so-and-so."
"Now gargle it, empress."
"Gargle it good."
She had her eyes fixed on the light overhead, the source of life, the signs of peace. For Trudi was pulling back on her hair. Her mouth coated with the salty scum, Carol saw flashing signs and smiling faces; they were around her, laughing and talking. Slowly rotating the load of gism around her mouth, she began to gargle.
"I tole you she win."
"You bastard, Bron, you were holding back, that's what it was," Andrea said.
"Nah. Napoleon too horny, that's all."
"It wasn't my fault. Her tongue was like silk. Jesus, but she'll make a juicy fuck."
"Fer Ju, man, fer Ju."
"All right," said a girl's voice, and Carol felt her dazed head being lowered. "That's enough. Now spit it into this."
A small pewter chalice was held under her drooling chin. She sneezed once, then retched slightly as she emptied her mouth of its burden of male sperm. They laughed as the driblets dangled. Pray God she wouldn't vomit.
"Don't worry, you won't cat," said a voice from behind, as if reading her thoughts. "Now put your hands above your head."
She was skinned of her dress. She knelt naked in the center of their smiling ring, her breasts heaving, sacrificial. Someone was standing behind her. Bron was standing behind her. They were all clapping their hands and stamping their feet around her.
"I baptize ya," Bron was saying in a solemn voice that sounded a long way away, "in the name of freedom and joy and peace an'...."
"And liberation," Trudi breathed close to Carol's head.
"Close your eyes, sweetie," said Helen of Troy, "it's coming. And in the eyes it stings."
"An' liberation an' ... an'...."
"Beauty," chorused Andrea.
"Beauty most of all."
"Nothing will ever be distasteful to you after this, empress. You'll be queen of the moon."
"Yeh, Hecate herself."
"An' joy and beauty," Bron was intoning. "Everything will be beautiful, empress."
"You'll be able to indulge in anything."
"No guilt," came Julius Caesar's almost surly voice. "Nuthin'." Then she felt it.
Slowly but surely the chalice was tipped, and the still warm spew began to slide down her blissfully uplifted, waiting face. She wrinkled up her eyes at its volume, which her own sputum had clearly increased. The gluey gism began to ooze all over her, and for some reason she started to cry and swell its rivulets with thick salt tears, but they were of happiness and peace.
"An' I baptize ya...."
Someone was rubbing the stuff in her hair. Another hand made sure the glutinous stream bathed one tit, then dribbled to her belly. She languorously opened lazy eyes and smiled as she saw a female hand rubbing some more in her bush-hairs. A tickle behind caused her to chuckle as the chalice was tipped at the small of her back, so that the last salt scum could trickle down the pit of her peach-cleft. She held her cheeks open.
"Now you're one of us!" Trudi said, holding her hands, beaming.
"But you mustn't wash it off for a day and a night, that's the rule," said Bron sternly.
Carol stood up, bare but for heels and stockings, her body loose and sure under its coating of male emission. They looked at her smiling and waiting.
"I won't wash it off for a week," she said with a great voluptuous grin. It spread cake-like over all her body. "Isn't there any left in that thing for me to drink?" She took the goblet from Bron, held it high, cried, "To the Tribe-to us!" and drained what little was left. They clapped when she had finished.
Andrea came forward first. Licking an already drying scab of the stuff off one breast, she said, "Now you're all nice and spunky and spermy."
"And ready to be fucked," Carol added decisively.
"Do you really wan' to be stuck now, empress," Nap inquired solicitously, "or wait till after dinner?"
"What's wrong with both?"
They clapped again. Carol felt total ecstasy. Someone started pouring coarse red wine. She gulped and gulped. She wanted to feel saturated inside as well as out. Bron was drinking. They were all spearing wet tossed salad out of a wooden dish.
Napoleon came forward with a piece of avocado on a fork-"Mind if I flavor this first a little, empress?"
"Be my guest," she said, and duly stood with feet apart while the boy parted her pussy and dipped the wick of his morsel within her before eating it. Andrea, now entirely naked, was hitting the strings of a guitar rather inaccurately, hair flopping before her face. Carol found herself standing in front of Julius Caesar, his poncho opened on his great bronzed chest.
"Well, Ju," she murmured bravely, "are you going to make me feel it right behind the eyes?"
His glazed bovine gaze bored into her, unseeing.
"Uh. I guess."
"Remember now. I want to have it spurting out of my ears by the time you've finished."
"You'll feel it, empress," he said with a slow grin. "You feel it good."
"Yes, I suppose I will, won't I?" she said, staring down at the tree trunk sprouting up his jeans from his crotch. She drew down the zip, and suddenly her belly crawled in apprehension and new ecstasy. The soft-layered, steel-hard member popped out, into the lap of her palm. It was not so much long as gigantically strong, muscled as some olive tree, the head a very bludgeon, flared bluish and shiny with pumping blood. Carol closed her eyes. Her mind felt smothered, lost.
"Yes, a girl would feel something up her, I imagine," she got out at last, "with that." She felt faint. It was going to go up ... her. "I saw it once before, you know, Ju," she tried to say in some sort of chummy manner, "through the window that first time. But I'd forgotten."
Helen of Troy put a slim arm around her. "Isn't it a beaut?"
Carol looked at the blunt head, assessing its girth with bated breath. The collar of the corona was a terrorizing and delectable ridge, slackly massive on the sinewed stem.
"It's so wide, and thick," she whispered. "Won't it ...?"
"Hurt you?" said the girl. "Uh-huh. Not until he gets into the womb, at any rate. It's at the end ... I've never actually counted," and her grip on the knot of hairy balls made the organ pounce and pulsate in Carol's palm, "but he does like these dozens of spurts. You feel drenched."
Carol bit her lip. "Am I to be done ... in front, or from behind?"
"On the altar, silly. This is the pleasure test. From in front. Real deep."
Carol yielded her grip and the gnarled colossus sprang belly-high at once. She looked at it steadily. A cobra ready to strike.
"It's a lovely thing, Ju. I'd like to draw it some day. I hope I make you enjoy it. Don't worry if I squeal. I'm sometimes tight at first. Get it real deep into me."
"I will," he assured her.
She returned his stare. "I know you will. Fuck me, Ju," she said simply. "I will," he said again.
"Fuck me as you've never fucked a cunt before."
She turned back to the table, shivering. Nap and Bron were pulling something into the center of the room. Andrea was distantly singing, chanting the same lines over and over.
Trudi, who had now also wholly bared her buttocky little body, gave her a sensual smile as she poured half a pint of wine for Carol to swallow.
"You're going to be plugged, empress, right up to the hilt."
"And, oh, beyond." Carol rolled her eyes. "Would somebody please put some butter or something on that beast before it goes up me?"
"Be glad to," laughed Andrea, hastening to oblige.
"Is that the altar?"
"Moroccan," said Trudi.
Carol looked at it. They had drawn a low leather table into the center of the room. It was tasseled at the sides and perhaps five feet in length. Long enough to take a reclining female torso. Trudi squeezed her hand.
"All yours, empress."
Jeans at his ankles, Julius Caesar stood with engine rampant at one end, the bluish glans now gleaming with the dollop of butter that Andrea had put on it, before returning to her guitar.
With half a sob Carol ran forward and lay on her back on the leather, legs wide, feet back, parting her person for impalement by the largest male member she had ever imagined in her lustiest dreams.
She shut her eyes. They clustered close. She was aware that both Bron and Nap were hard again also. Then, when she opened her eyes, she saw the glib undersides of a girlish ass directly above her; squeezed together and plowed in the vicinity of her own nose by a fair-haired seam of girl-sex, belonging to none other than Trudi, who had straddled her legs across Carol's face. "What ...?"
Trudi bent forward. Her little face was red. She chuckled as she spoke-"Sorry for the close-up, empress, but Bron's going to spear me from the back while Ju pumps you. We believe in all senses being stimu ... aaaaah!"
For Bron had already straddled Carol's recumbent body at the waist and, strongly parting the sturdy globes with his hands, had presented his engorged and slippery sausage to the slick purse of Trudi's pussy. He aimed once, then skewered her. The girl, gasping, braced her parted legs as her hands dropped down to her knees and Carol had the sight, inches off her eyes, of plump male cock pistoning into the ring of flesh that was Trudi's receptive twat.
"Aaah ... Brooo...."
"'Member?" Nap was saying from one side of the altar. "She was jus' going to get that the night you arrived, empress. This way your sense of sight...."
And sense of smell she wanted to interject, but Helen of Troy was saying, "Only hope she don't want to pee after she come."
"Christ, I forgot that."
Suddenly Carol sat up abruptly, bumped a buttock, collapsed with a "No-unggggh!"
It had begun. She had felt Ju nuzzling the head of his cock at her, then he lodged the broad buttered knob snugly in her lips. With a slight motion of his hips that spoke of his immense strength, he slucked it into her in a short jab. She wanted to scream, but the hair of Bron's balls was in her mouth. Her undulation of recoil only lodged the monster deeper. "Uh ... please!"
"Relax, baby," Helen called softly.
The music of the guitar beat on.
Nap said, "Jesus, Helen, you frig sweet...."
Ju hunched over her spraddled crotch and began to fuck her with slow powerful strokes that lifted her off the altar.
"Enough ... aaaagh!"
She tried to writhe off the rod, wailing as it sank into her clenching depths. No more, no more! The rooting of the mammoth prick began to jolt her through and through.
Above her head, before her eyes, the pressed spheres of Trudi's ass dimpled each side with her panted squirmings. Bent as she was, the rectal divide was no more than a scalpel-like incision. Through dazed eyes Carol saw the filmy skin of Bron's tough prick as, cunt-wet, it speared the girl's fair mat. Musk was in her nostrils, her mouth gaped, her chin felt the haired bump of ball-sack upon it. Oh Christ, oh God....
Hunching like a dog, Ju had now grasped both her buttocks in cleaving hands, lifting her hips off the leather hassock as he began to feel the first swelling glory of her cunt's responding suction.
"Ooooh ... uuuuuh," Carol cried, shivering to his pounding. Her legs entwined behind his trunk-like back. Her head turned from side to side, her hands reached down and scratched and clawed.
"Christ, Ju," Helen said in awe, "you can't get any deeper'n that."
Small cries, sharp yelps. A purple cloud before her eyes, canopied by Trudi's sturdy thighs and arse. Bron bowed, too, the hungry snake of his organ stiffening and fattening as it lunged for dear life into the pillowing slice of flesh. Suddenly Trudi cried out. Carol's eyes had been closed. She opened them to see that Bron had slid out and was gripping his rigid pole at its root, aiming its pulsating length at her. It jetted. One spurt hit Carol's right eye, then he was ejaculating in streams over her face and the still greedily bobbing rump above it.
"Bron ... you...." Trudi howled back, half-demented, then suddenly, with sucking breath, she held Carol's head and mashed her seeking, abandoned twat all over her face in frenzied bumps and grinds, groaning lewdly. Carol gasped for breath, beslimed beyond belief. She raised a protecting, quivering hand, but then her cunt yielded to the rasping of the cylinder it had been receiving, and she shot off in a heavenly lubricating spasm.
Then Julius Caesar really started to fuck her. "Ju ... you ... it'll split me...!"
The tendons of her thighs stood out as her legs fell back, and the two men held her arms. It felt wide as a wrist, long as a forearm in her convulsing guts. And now it was throbbing, expanding ... she shrieked as the tension of the erection seemed to press at the pit of her ribs. The cheeks of her ass were being pulled apart, the boy's saliva drooled to her navel. It was Nap being jerked off by Helen on her as she ... a flame shot up, she felt crammed to the gills, then her arms flailed and beat at the sides of her bed as he spurted. Once, twice ... three, four, five . .'. ten times and more, each gust of his joy making her body lurch and convulse violently. Finally, as she lay limp an era later, the pucker of her quim when he withdrew gave her another sweet moment of ecstasy.
There was peace in the room.
The lights were dimmed.
Carol lay, legs spread, mouth agape, eyes dazed, every orifice of her body, so it seemed to her, exuding come. A small trim figure knelt softly at her side. Her face felt caked.
"Now you had Ju, empress. You passed again. You milked him real good." Carol answered slowly, as if speaking to a child-or to herself in a mirror.
"It was quite the most fantastic experience I have ever known."
"Hurt?"
"Hurt? I don't know. It was just heaven, that's all."
"Sorry 'bout the facial, really. But I didn't know Bron was going to haul out like that an' I was just coming nicely."
"You came nicely," said Carol. "Mostly over my chin."
Trudi giggled. "Feels real funny bein' frigged by a nose. 'Fraid I give you a bit of a shampoo, too."
Carol felt her hair. It was soaked. "Oh Christ," she said, "did you urinate afterwards or something?"
Trudi said, "It's supposed to be good for hair, really. Do you feel sore?"
Carol sat up a little less dazedly and looked at her still dripping cunt on the edge of the altar.
"Not in the slightest," she said thoughtfully. "It was a huge prick, but a correspondingly imperial sensation. I trust everyone present had a good time."
"A real ball, empress. Nap come on your tummy."
"I thought as much. Now I'm really well-starched for work tomorrow." She swung a leg over and stood unsteadily up. The rest had clustered around the low table and were pouring wine. "I could use some liquid refreshment. Thanks, Trudi honey." She kissed the girl lightly and hand in hand they joined the others, the males were already eating. "Pigs," she said with a smile.
"How's your mousepit, empress?"
It was Bron and he was grinning at her from over a tumbler of red wine. She grinned happily back.
"Never felt better."
Afterwards they played tapes and lay about and smoked. Carol felt supremely relaxed, warm ... released. Somehow everyone had gotten dressed, or sort of. Andrea, beside whom Carol found herself on the sofa, had her shirt back on, and Carol had been lent a pair of snugly fitting jeans by Helen of Troy. Her breasts still swung proudly bare, however. Spermy gourds. Trudi had lit a small log fire. When Andrea passed her the joint, Carol inhaled twice, slowly, and the world slowed and went soft.
"If it's your first time, that's all," Andrea counseled. Then suddenly she said, "Uh-mnh."
"What's happening now?" Carol asked drowsily.
Trudi came to their end of the room, grinning like a Cheshire cat. She had on a simple black tank top, close-fitting and just covering her mons.
"Oh my aching back," she said, planting herself between them on the sofa.
Carol sat up. The three boys were in a huddle at the other end of the room. Helen seemed to be pleading with them, then finally she shrugged and turned. The three jeaned figures slouched through a loose frame door into a side room. Helen, wearing a leather cyclist's poncho, peaked cap and micro-mini, came and slumped into a seat in front of them.
"Christ, how I hate it," she said sulkily. "Helen's going to get hers," Andrea murmured to Carol in the moody silence that ensued.
"What do you mean?"
"She forgot to milk the cows," Trudi put in, mischievously grinning.
"It's bad for the cows," Andrea remarked.
"It's going to be worse for Helen's ass," said Helen then, giving it a slabby pat as she sat. "Jesus Christ, why do they always have to do it after dinner?"
"Cheer up," Andrea consoled, leaning forward. "Try to think-jus' a hot oil burn."
"Just about eight oil burns, if you ask me. You don't," she added on a gulp, "imagine they'll give me ten?"
"That'll be democratically decided," said Andrea sanctimoniously.
"We're really a very disciplined group, you know," Trudi said to open-mouthed Carol, after another long silence in the room.
"Yeah. Like we get disciplined!"
Carol sat up. Her throat was dry. "Do you mean to say ... because ... I mean that Bron ... that Helen's going to be whipped?"
"Corrected is a better word," hushed Trudi.
"Beaten on the butt," bitterly supplied Helen, hunching forward.
"After pleasure there has to be pain."
"Yeah. You passed the pleasure test, empress. You got the pain one coming."
Carol said, "But you...." then she broke off, with parted lips.
After a stillness between them Helen gave Carol a long and level stare. "You might as well know, honey. Like Andy says, it's all damn democratic. They toss for who's to do it. You bend over a sort of trestle and two of them hold you by a shoulder and an arm and then you get it on the fanny. Bare. The instrument's a length of styrene hose, not much wider than a pencil, but hard as hell." Suddenly the girl shivered and hugged herself. "Gee, I hope it isn't Bron, he always hits so low. I can take it, if only they'd cut you across the full of the fanny. Oh, hell, let's get it over."
Abruptly light knifed into the room. Bron stood in the distant doorway and a lean black snake dangled at his side.
He chucked his head.
Helen faced him, her defiance looking suddenly very thin. One hand went behind her, caught itself, then smoothed the side of her skirt.
"She's all ready for you, Bron," said Andrea, "and feeling nice and wibbly-wobbly in the lovely south."
"Git," Bron said, chucking his chin again. His slim thong swung.
Ducking her head and folding her arms in front of her, Helen walked quickly to him. Halfway across the room she stopped, looked back, took off her cyclist's cap and sent it spinning to the waiting girls.
"I shan't need that, I believe." Trudi caught it and put it on her head at a jaunty angle.
"Te morituri," she said with a sigh.
Helen looked very small. Her hands went to the zip of her skirt.
"And I don't think I shall shortly be needing this either."
"In there," said Bron, giving her a push to the door. "We ain't got all night."
"The trouble is," said Andrea when the rickety door had closed on them, "that's just what they do have. If his timing's on Bron can space to three a minute and still keep you at a peak of pain." She looked at Carol, sitting dry-mouthed in the absolute silence. "The pain gets to its worst about fifteen, twenty seconds after. The first is hell, the second blue murder and...."
"I know," Carol said bluntly. "He gave it me with a branch."
"Ssh, let's listen. See if she breaks by six." Trudi was growing more and more excited beside her, running her hands up and down the silken insides of her thighs. "Relax and enjoy it, empress."
"But isn't it ...?"
"Don't say the word," cut in Andrea.
"Oh, come on," said Trudi, licking Carol's earlobe and putting a sturdy arm around her, "cut out that crap. If there was more of this sort of thing in the bedroom, there'd be less on the battlefield."
"That's for sure," said Andrea. "If only the President would take it out on the First Lady, instead of all that Asiatic peasantry."
"There's no brutality, empress, blood and stuff. It won't kill you." .
"It tends to make it rather uncomfortable on the back of a Harley chopper for a few days, however," Andrea opined gently.
"Ah, come on. Don't you feel more alive, listening?"
It was true. Carol felt her pulses strangely pounding, sweat seeping down from her armpits.
"And look at this." Trudi unflanged Carol's shining clit. "Shocking."
"Sssh." It was Andrea who said it this time, finger to lips. Some growls had sounded from the other side of the flimsy door.
"What a long time it's all taking," Carol whispered in the all-enveloping silence.
Andrea rolled her eyes. "All sorts of preparations."
In her other ear Carol heard Trudi's mushy murmur-"Legs nice and wide apart, head down on the lower end of the trestle, Ju and Nap each holding one arm and one shoulder, the cheeks nice and firm and round waiting for it, cunt underneath, brown hole showing, and then Bron ... ah!"
She bit her lips. A thin wisp of sound, a slice of air, a rap-such was what came to the three watching and, with bated breath, waiting.
"Oh, God," said Trudi, stretching her legs straight out and frigging her love-button.
"Bet you can't come twice," said Andrea, smiling.
Carol listened. Her skin cringed. The silence was so entire-then again that little snap ... so intentional a sound! Oh God, it must hurt appallingly.
"Two," said Andrea calmly.
The pauses between the lisping cuts were, indeed, some twenty seconds, Carol estimated. Then after the fifth the silence endured.
"She's clenching," said Andrea as a man's voice growled.
"I got ... extra for clenching," panted Trudi in her ecstasy. "Oh, Christ, if only she'd yell once."
"I got extra for farting," said Andrea. "It wasn't fair." She turned to Carol. "You have to keep it spread right out for them, and tilted well up."
"I see. So's they can get right under it, I suppose."
"Where it's tenderest," agreed Andrea amicably. "Ah ... six!"
Two more snaps, then another long wait. A sound like a kitten strangling came to them then.
"Jesus!" gasped Trudi. "I can't wait ... I...."
Nine ... ten ... the thin cracks were punctuated, respectively, by a moaned "Oh" and a shouted "Ow!" Trudi's legs were thrashing. Another long pause. The eleventh elicited a stifled cry, the twelfth a long wail.
"A dozen," said Andrea.
"A butcher's," cried Trudi as another stroke fell, and she stretched like a harp-string, spending deliriously. "Christ, if only they'd let us see her."
"You will," said Andrea solemnly. And they did.
With the light streaming behind her, Helen of Troy stood arched in a speechless bow of pain, clad only in her poncho and grabbing her buttocks. Her face writhed slowly up, she stood as if fighting for breath; then the waves of pain broke on and flooded her body, and she did them all a dervish dance, including her three aggressors who had come to the door to watch. Trudi stretched to the mermaid in her depths again, breathing out an indrawn, "Jesus, what total shit."
"Like wow," said Andrea. She stood up and went over to the wounded girl who, recovering rapidly, was no more than gasping and rubbing now. Fruity bluish weals streaked both buns, and she looked back and down in disgust.
"You didn't have to hit that low, Bron," she chided. "Now it'll be days before I can wear that bikini at the beach again."
"He really didn't have to hit that hard," Andrea agreed, studying the lurid weals. "Honey, come to mother. It's all over now."
Still breathing like a runner at the end of a race, Helen gracefully collapsed on one end of the sagging sofa-"Won't someone fuck me please. Quick."
And someone did.
It was Bron, of course, who leaned over the lovely wealed Venus and, gently holding her arms back in his favorite full nelson, he skewered her with his ever unsated manhood. Almost as soon as the greasy pole had slid in and out a few times, Helen emitted a telltale wail of joy and drew up a leg.
"It's total heaven just afterwards," Trudi said. "Some kinda crucifixion of the sun, like."
"It's total heaven at any time," Carol conceded with a chuckle. Bron fucked beautifully. Easy easy rider. It was a pleasure to watch and Carol watched it with her soul. Once, laughing, she said, "As I can't help you milk right now, I'll help you tomorrow, Helen."
She did. The cowshed was still dark as she watched the girl's hands wring out the udders, making them spurt with strong hard pings into the pail. Helen had a cushion on her stool. She tried to teach Carol how to do it but without much success. Carol had on jeans and a borrowed sweater. When they had put all the pails ready for collection, the two girls enjoyed breakfast together, before the rest of The Tribe came down. Never, thought Carol, had ham and eggs and coffee tasted so good as in this country shack in the wilds, with the winy air around them.
She lit a cigarette and looked across at Helen through pleasure-hazed eyes.
"You know, I'm so grateful to you all. I used to be ... tight. About things, and people."
"Come any time, honey," said Helen, pouring more inky coffee. "And I do mean come."
"I shall never forget being screwed by Ju like that. Incredible. It went on and on and on and on."
"And in and in, I'll bet."
Carol laughed richly. "To think that I couldn't talk of it once. Admit it to myself, I mean. Did that whipping really hurt?"
"Intensely," Helen said dryly.
"Still?"
The girl moved pensively. "Some. Not really."
"But it was good for you after?"
"Oh, yes, out of this world to be screwed just as the pain is dying down. Fantastic. But it's an acquired taste, and I don't advise your acquiring it, sweetie."
"I think," Carol said slowly and reflectively, "I'm going to park a turd. A nice big one. Then I'll be on my way back to work."
Not really believing the words, she walked out into the sun and made for the twin outhouses beyond the cowsheds. She found Nap coming out of one, zipping up his fly. They exchanged morning greetings.
He lingered around her. "Feel good, eh, empress?"
"Never felt better," she assured him.
"Y'know, I mean ... like ... ," the scar twitched as he looked down, hooking his belt with his thumbs. She smiled. "Like, guess I'm the only one who hasn't got to have you yet, empress."
"In the mouth, Nap," she reminded him. "In the mouth, baby."
"Nah, I mean...."
Suddenly she laughed outright. "Oh come on, I'm one of you now. You can fuck me whenever you want to, you know that."
"Like now?" he asked hesitantly.
"Why not?" She grinned broadly. "If you're feeling big enough."
"I'm big enough." He grinned gold.
She led the way into a side room off the main dairy. Smiling still, she shucked off jeans and sneaks, then sat on the edge of a plank table. Then she lay back and brought her knees to her ears. She was doubled into a ball, a sphere split in the center by the pulpy pleat of her delight.
"Get in there, Emperor," she chuckled as he dropped his jeans and unleashed his bobbing pinion of a prick. "Let a mere girl know what it feels to have a crowbar up her guts after breakfast."
He gave her a long, slow, squishy reaming, concluding with a jolting orgasm that drove her bodily up the table. "Ouch!" She herself only came thrice. When she climbed down, he still seemed hard and oozing.
"Could go through you again, empress."
"No, one's enough, thanks, Nap. It's a lovely way to wake up in the morning."
"I'm going to ask Bron if I can be the one to bugger you."
She frowned as she pulled up her jeans. "Does that really have to be? I mean, isn't it ... the anus ... I don't think I could...." , The boy grinned, shaking himself into his jeans. "Yeah. Way we do it. Y'have to, empress, if you wanna join. A tradition, you might say."
"Ugh," said Carol, shaking her head.
She was sorry she had the car when it came to say goodbye to them. She would have preferred to go booming down the freeway clinging to Bron's denimed back. As she left them, indeed, she saw his bike's great iron lungs and ape-hanger bars, festooned with leather flyers.
"I'll be back," she assured them, waving from the lane.
She would be. She knew it.
She walked off on high heels, in a borrowed pair of pantyhose and her little velour dress, with its sweet surplice-line neck. Behind her desk her body would be caked and dry in feeling. But it would be new.
CHAPTER TEN
She rode the river of life.
Outlaw under some miniscule mini, she high-heeled through the lunchtime throngs, her big dugs beaded with sweat and almost jostling ahead of her. Her body breathed anew. Especially if she saw blue denim, or sniffed burnt rubber. Her cushioned hips provoked bold stares.
She went back to them at the dead of night and at high noon. Sometimes she helped with the chores on the farm, often she assisted Andrea in the kitchen.
Once, a week or ten days later, Maureen called over, "It's for you, Carol. On twenty-two."
She picked up the instrument-"Mr. Ward's secretary speaking."
She frowned into the mouthpiece.
"Yeah. Like I say. Be by Gippie's at five."
And after a second she said slowly, "Very well, Sir, I'll see to it that Mr. Ward gets the message. Surely."
That evening she excused herself early to Maureen-was to be seen wandering, bag over one shoulder, to the bar where the glittering raked choppers collected as if drawn by some imaginary magnet. It was here Bron, too, liked to go. Bron was picking her up in person. She felt suddenly insanely proud. Who cared if anyone saw Carol Burgess, prim and proper law secretary, swiveling her lush hips behind the man with the big bike and vrooming fishtail exhaust?
There it stood in the evening sun, his steed and hers, apocalyptic as ever, gaudily fringed and febrile. Bron was by it.
His helmeted head cocked back-"Get over the nag." And he kicked the hulk off its struts.
"You pirate," she grinned.
And then there was the insistence of the wind, as they took off up the roads like some blown ember in dizzy flight. The leather boss nudged at her mound. Crazily she wondered if she came best on a Harley or a Triumph-she'd have to put it to Andrea or cute little Trudi one day.
She spent the night at the shack, and then didn't see them for a week. Tom took her to the Frille. They decided on an early marriage date. She felt the young sausage of his engorged prick through his trousers as he kissed her goodnight outside her house. Underthumbing the growing organ, she whispered gently, "Why have we waited so long, darling? I want to feel this up me, or whatever else you have in mind."
"You'll feel it up you honey," he said, tearing his lips from hers.
The next day she gave a month's notice to the law firm. She felt very stable and sure all of a sudden.
They decided to vroom out on two bikes and a VW bus to the far side of the Rotherhead bay late one evening. There was an isolated narrow neck of sand. On the deserted beach the boys made a fire, and they cooked fish and drank wine while Andrea played her guitar under the moon, the hair dripping over her eyes.
Screeching back behind Bron, Carol was aglow as the snorting monster hurled through the night like a loosened star. Her eyes leaked lovely tears, her teats were whipped by the wind, she writhed into the man, her belly lewdly trouncing into his back as he put the bike to it.
Once, after work on a Friday, she joined them for an early evening picnic. The sun was still low on their private beach, and they bathed naked and drank wine and loved. They all decided to go for a walk. There, on a little spur of sand that went into the sea like the back of some fossil alligator, they found a girl reading alone. The low sun lanced up the pebbles of her bronzed supple spine as she lay on her stomach in a pale bikini, reading beneath a wide straw hat. They gathered around her, whistling and commenting.
"Dig this twitch."
"What an ass."
"Hey, Bronny baby, like to get your hands on that!"
"Maybe put something up it, kinda."
"Whatcha reading, twitch?"
She was a studious girl with glasses and soft hair, her jeans and sandals folded neatly at one side. At first she tried to ignore them, then Carol found herself nudging the bather with a booted toe-"Hey, twitch, hear the question? Well-brought-up girls answer when someone speaks to them."
"'Specially someone like Bron."
Suddenly Carol bent down and whipped the book from off the girl's nose; she looked disgustedly at its title-"Kierkegaard. No shit."
The girl sat up. "Please," she said, holding one hand out for it.
Then suddenly she was squirming. She yelped as Bron's knife bit through her brassiere and he yanked it off; she huddled arms over breasts with the beginning of a real fear that sent Carol's blood spinning.
"I don't know what you think you're going to do," she said in a calm, upper-class accent, "but you're un-likely to be able to get away with anything here."
"You cherry, twitch?"
"I shall scream." She said it less certainly.
"Yeh, all you like. Ain't no one here to hear you, honey," Trudi said in a consoling tone.
And then she twisted again with a stifled shriek because Nap's knife had expertly sliced through her bikini bottom at the side of her right leg. The boy held it high to their cheers, and Andrea sniffed it approvingly. In the center of their circle the girl now huddled solemnly, saying nothing and wrapping her arms around her.
"Go away," she said and then she said, "Oh, my God."
For Ju had released the giant lump in his jeans, and the enormous member stood softly bouncing before the terrified eyes of the startled girl. Carol took the already rock-like cock in one hand.
"Dig country dick, do you, twitch? I recommend it."
"NOOOOOO!"
The girl ran. With a sudden dart she ran nude into the sea in panic, her lithe tanned little body jiggling like mad, tits dancing.
Ju caught her, of course. Perhaps she had hoped he could not swim or something. Anything was better than being stared at by all those knowing eyes. Ju caught her with the water at his waist and he held her under so long the grins fell from the watchers' faces and they shouted to him-"Hey, hey, Ju, ya'll drown the twitch!"
He let her up, sputtering and helpless, and evidently he had entered her from behind, judging by the trout-like leap and sudden scream and then, as he lumped her, the flappings at the water like some stranded turtle. With the flow of the surf they caught occasional glimpses of the gnarled phallus plowing in under squirmy ass-cheeks. She flailed back and tried to scratch him, but each time he would duck her till she quieted, then he would resume his rooting. The little kid was being jolted like a sack. They stood and applauded his lusty rhythms.
And then the girl must have feigned lifelessness, for with a quick buttocky wriggle she got somehow out of Ju's grip. Speechless, panting, she ran with the last of her strength down the strip of sand into the sun's low rays. They all ran after her, laughing and cheering.
Ju caught her first, his carroty crop flaming in the light, tripping her easily flat on her face in the sand at the last swirls of incoming tide. She did not move as they all came up, one of her granny glasses broken. Her body panted limply.
Nap looked at the trunk of Ju's stalwart, readied prick-"She not cheery then?"
"Nah." Ju canted up the hips of the unresisting girl as he knelt behind her, his calloused palms under her belly and pelvis.
"You ought to bugger her by rights," said Trudi disgustedly, looking at the crinkled rosebud of the anus. The young body was wet and sandy, and Carol put her foot on the back of the long brown neck, pressing the face into the sand, as Ju aimed at the glistening vulva, a surprisingly large plum. He split it in a thrust. The body writhed and then was gloved on him.
"It's like fucking a log," the huge lout complained once, then he was grunting gout after gout of gism deep into the huddling flesh. As he did so, the girl reared back and a long wail came as if from the depths of the sands themselves.
"Do believe the silly twitch come," said Helen curtly.
The girl made no move as the man left her, nor did her sobbing form stir as they all departed down the beach. She lay like something washed up by the tides, strewn with foam and sperm and seaweed. The last they saw of her was the absurd cartwheel hat floating on the ocean.
"Well she got hers," said Carol proudly.
And it was that night she asked if she could pass the pain test.
It was much less unpleasant than she had anticipated. She had to stand in the center of the room with two full wine glasses in her hands. Each member of The Tribe was to give her a stroke with the hose, making six in all, and she wasn't to let fall a drop-on pain of failure.
The girls hardly hit her at all. But the three ringing swipes that followed seemed to cut through her tenderest fat. Bron's measured stroke, in particular, made her bend her knees and mewl with pain. But she came through ... and had to agree with Helen of Troy that there was something to be said for mixing pleasure with pain. Especially when the prick was Bron's.
The last part of her initiation wasn't pleasant at all, though.
It took place on an evening when there was a lot of giggled shushing and secret confabulations at one end of the room. Finally, she was told to go into Andrea's room and wait there.
Andrea came in after ten minutes in her usual purple shirt and nothing else, carrying a canister and some thin red rubber tubing. Carol lay on the bed on her side; she had on a tiny Gibson frock that barely covered her hips, but had long sleeves with lots of lace at the cuffs.
"What's going on now?" she asked as the girl set down her paraphernalia.
"Darling, beloved empress, you do want to join The Tribe?"
"You know I do."
"Completely?"
"Completely."
"Well, there is the final test. They've ... decided it should be tonight."
"How decent of them," said Carol bitterly. She paused then and drew up her knees, strength suddenly draining from her as glorious apprehension flowed in like andrenalin. "Do you ... I mean ... is it really possible to take one up the rectum?" The last of her degradation-liberation was upon her, and miserably she knew there was no avoiding it. She had to go right down the line to the ... end.
Andrea, bustling about, fixing her canister to an overhead shelf and attaching to its tap the red rubber tube, only answered absently, "Remember I'm the nurse. Leave everything to me. I'll stick with you all the time."
"How kind of you," Carol said sarcastically.
After a second she added, "Does it hurt?"
Andrea dropped to the bed and put an arm around her.
"Listen, love, the only thing to do is relax and let it happen to you; don't make it hard for yourself. Have you ever had a rectal examination?"
"No," Carol said definitely.
"Mmmn. Okay, well it doesn't exactly hurt, but it makes you feel very stuffed up. You feel you want to go, and you can't. Did you ... have a bowel movement this morning?"
"Yes."
"A good one?"
"Perfectly satisfactory, thanks."
"Fine." The girl stood up. "Well, here's what we do. I'm going to clean out your gut. You won't have any supper-at least only a liquid one from the rear. I'm going to start off with a nice high colonic...."
"An enema?" said Carol in surprise.
The other nodded cheerfully. "The first one's a few pints of rather warm soapy water. I want you to hold it at least ten minutes then shit to your heart's content. You don't have to go outside, you can do it in the bucket over there, I'll see to everything. The second one will have some turps in it ... "
"The second one!" Carol sat up straight.
Andrea smiled roguishly. "Oh, we're going to have you clean as a whistle by the time we've finished. When you've recovered from that, I'll rinse you out two or three times. You just see, you'd be able to drink the last one I put up you it'll be so clean."
"I have no desire to, thanks."
"Nor need you." She put up a testing hand and felt the side of the canister. "It's fairly hot, but it won't hurt you."
"How do you know?"
"We might as well get on with it, eh, empress. Would you get into the knee-chest position, please?"
"What's that?"
Business-like, efficient, Nurse Andrea positioned Carol on her knees on the bed, chest right down along it, her head on her hands. The skirt hardly had to be raised off her back. Then the cold greased tube was entering her anus-like Thea's thermometer.
"Relax, baby. You have an adorable bunghole."
"I believe you enjoy doing this, Andy."
The water coursed into her. The tube was fed in until it was all swallowed. It didn't hurt and after it was over Carol lay back, sweating.
"I look pregnant," she said.
Andrea massaged the enema up into the top of the colon. "Tell me when you want to go."
"I want to go now."
"Well you can't."
"I've got to ... it's...." Carol gave a wriggle.
"Put your legs up on the wall."
"It's ... coming down," she wailed.
Suddenly she flung her legs over the side of the bed and reached the bucket in a run. Crimson-faced she straddled it and let fly.
"I said ten minutes, empress," remarked Andrea primly. "For that you'll have another."
"Christ."
Trudi and Helen came in. With the tube feeding more water up her insides, Carol looked back-"The lamb being prepared for the slaughter. Who's the lucky ram?"
They were silent.
"Well?"
There was a pause, then Trudi said slowly, "I believe ... they all three want to try you out for size, empress."
Carol struck the bed in anger. "That's unfair. Anyway I can't possibly be expected to take Ju there."
"You'd be surprised."
Helen consoled-"You do have such a delicious brown hole, you know, sweetie."
Finally, when the operation was completed, and Carol had funneled the last of the clear water out of herself into the bucket and lay exhausted on the bed, Andrea approached with a glass of cloudy liquid.
"There's this rather nasty medicine to take now, honey," she said gently. "But it won't take effect for at least an hour."
"Won't take what effect?" asked Carol suspiciously.
Andrea looked at her seriously. "It'll make you want to go. When you feel it doing so, let me know."
"There is, of course, nothing for me to 'go' with."
"Exactly," came the purr. And Carol lay back with a curse, realizing the whole program would mean that her colon would be nicely clenching the greedy pricks put inside her.
A millenium later Andrea led her forward to the "altar". Carol still had on her Gibson dress. Heels. No stockings.
"You can't possibly all stick me," she said hopelessly as she saw Nap's prick unleashed, stone-hard, ready, its vertical eye oozing a gray glob in joyous anticipation.
"Lie down here, sweetie."
"You will grease me, won't you."
"Natch."
This time she lay on her tummy with a small hard cushion under her hips, her legs spread very wide. Solemnly some Vaseline lubricated her anal bud. The cypress tree of Nap's erection was aimed at her. She sank her head with a gulp. Andrea's head was at her ear-"Relax. It'll feel big at first, but less as it goes in."
The bobbing prong was at her hairy goove. Then, raised, its head suddenly lodged itself inside the sphincter ring.
Carol gargled, "Nnnngh!"
"You'll want to go, but you can't go," Andrea whispered beside her.
A suffocated sound escaped Carol's mouth as the boy lurched in; she felt stunned and full up as it slunk slowly up her guts. She closed her eyes, her body bathed in sweat. She felt jammed to the core, then suddenly he was buggering her, his thighs smacking audibly into her hips, the coursing girth grew greater, the column rose and throbbed within her guts.
Then suddenly Andrea was hissing at her-"Shit it out ... try to shit it out now ... he's coming...."
A great furious gripe took her colon as she tried to expel the monstrous intrusion; one soundless, arching pant escaped her, then Nap bellowed his ecstasy as the syrupy stuff poured up, into and all through her. A last massive spring and muscular thrust and she felt more perfectly impaled than she had ever felt in her life. It was, indeed, the extreme sensation.
After Nap had withdrawn with an audible plop, she lay slack on the altar, drooling and oozing from her anus.
Trudi was dabbing her brow with a cold towel.
"It takes a lot of practice to be able to come with a buggering, empress, but you might get it the third time."
"You sucked that load just lovely, honey," Helen said, patting her bottom.
"Christ sake, get me a drink," Carol said. "If I'm to take another."
She was to. And later on, she did. Finally she even took Julius Caesar, who was half-standing, scratching at the leather altar, spitting and trampling. She had come through. Now she was a full member of The Tribe. There was nowhere further to go.
And indeed there came the day, two weeks later, when hearing nothing of them for a matter of ten days or so, she drove out to the farm. It was six o'clock and the shacks were all deserted. She wandered around them in a sunny daze, less alarmed or even surprised than she had expected. It was as if they had never been here. The Tribe had flown.
She closed her eyes to the evening air. The force of the air seemed to glow on her skin. She turned and retraced her path to her car. Perhaps it had never happened. Perhaps they had never been.
Two nights later she was eating with Tom in Rotherhead.
"You know that farm you told me about...."
"Which one?"
"Somewheres off Route Fifty-five."
He smiled and shook his head over his wine. "Those hippies, you mean? I think they finally sold. At least I heard they cleared out. Crazy bunch."
"Yes," she said wonderingly, "a crazy bunch." Then suddenly she took his strong hand and squeezed it against her right breast-"Tom, let's get married. I love you, and now I need you."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Was there anything further you required of me tonight, Mr. Ward?"
Carol stared steadily across the desk at her employer; it was the last time she would look at him so. She had had to pull her body into the little royal-blue rayon skirt that just covered the opaque part of her pantyhose and little more. These spidery items were of a smoky hue. The ensemble was topped by a wide striped tie, hanging from a white, starched collar. She had wanted to look stunning for her last day of work with Wilkinson & Kimbers, and she knew she had succeeded. Ashton Ward's eyes glowed at her as he smiled.
"Ever since you left off your glasses, Carol," he began, "you, ah...."
She waited for him to complete the sentence, but he broke off.
"They smashed," she said simply, letting her unbrassiered breasts give a fatty judder. "Was there anything else you required?"
The young executive smiled. He shook his head in wonderment. "After all this time ... I can't, uh, truly believe it. That you're leaving us, Carol, I mean. Of course, we're all very happy for you, getting married now and, ah, but we're losing our best worker. You're going to be hard to replace."
"I said I'd look in occasionally, to help the new girl, if need be. Maureen knows where everything is." She could not contain a smile at the thought of the little mini-skirted imp waiting outside. "Anything more before I leave tonight?"
There was silence between them a moment. His eyes dropped, running down her long nyloned legs to the high black glace heels which braced back her calves so winsomely.
"Of course you'll be coming into your money now, Carol, and I'll, ah, see to it that all that kind of thing goes smoothly for you and, naturally, Tom. You can call me any time. I, er, just before you go, that is," his eyes strayed uncomfortably again, "if you could get me down Branks versus Georgia again. It's the third volume from the left up there."
"Surely, Mr. Ward."
She could with difficulty repress a smile. The room was virtually paneled with books. These reached to the ceiling and were provided, for access to the top volumes, with a little library ladder, running on a brass rail at the top. He could have picked down the case himself, of course, and Carol had gotten the message the third time he had asked her to fetch it for him in a single day. She stepped delicately up the first shining rungs, her legs audibly rustling. "Careful now."
She could have gone higher, to the top, but she chose to pause about halfway so that she would need to make a good reach. She made one-and knew it was sheer calendar art.
"This one, Mr. Ward?"
Her hose was spinnaker taut and she made sure that in reaching for the massive volume her flip of a skirt was drawn well up her butt; from beneath, where he sat, the man had a ringside view of her lovely lower cheeks, set gloriously close, their deep division apparent-she had pulled tight the pantyhose before entering.
"The, ah ... yes, to the left. The next book, Carol."
His voice sounded shaken. She contrived to wriggle the book free with effort, setting fatty shudders aquiver in her hind portions which she squeezed once, then let hang relaxed, knowing he was now positively feasting on those symmetrical twins of her undercubs, so full and fleshy, which once Bron had owned-and marked.
"Yes, that's the one, thanks." He said it with relief.
She came down the ladder very slowly, miming apprehension, careful to see to it that her skirt stayed hiked; she could feel the springy firmness of her buttocks moving silkily against each other, arched them out so that they spread nicely apart, then with a short stifled wail she tripped and stumbled back, collapsing with a laugh in his lap.
"Heavens! How did that happen?"
"You all right, Carol?"
"Of course, Mr. Ward. It was nothing. I simply tripped. Silly me." She sat with full weight on him for a second, then rose slowly, adjusting her skirt. It was as she had suspected. Her young executive was hard.
They were smiling at each other now, as she adjusted her tie. Finally she said, "That all?"
Once more he lowered his eyes. His face was deeply flushed.
"There's the ... I mean, I've finished with the Seckendorff probate."
"Already?" Then her hand had accepted the file with a brief, "Surely."
She crossed briskly to the far filing cabinet and bent sharply over, releasing its lowest drawer. Again her skirt rode swiftly up. For a full thirty seconds she remained so, in profile to him, then three-quarters; finally, searching through the file with an amused smile she slowly turned in the silence. A twist of her shoulders, a camber of her so lush loins against the well-braced legs, insured that almost all her skirt was off her seat. Ashton Ward could see the sumptuous spread of his secretary's lower person in total, jacking detail-the broad meaty buttocks and columnar thighs intersected the visible slice of feminine fig. Carol moved her thighs slightly. If he wasn't poker-hard now, she knew, he never would be.
She stood up slowly and turned and faced him.
Softly she said, "Was there anything else you wanted, Mr. Ward?"
He was looking confusedly in a drawer-"There's ... there's ... this thing...."
She came forward slowly, dousing a wall light as she did so. He didn't appear to notice. He was holding out to her a slip of paper, the heat almost visible behind his eyes.
"There's ... I mean, as a recognition of your...."
She saw a check. A row of figures. Her mauve eyes melted even further.
"Oh, thank you. You shouldn't have."
"It's ... from the firm. In recognition of ... I mean devoted services...."
She stared at him steadily.
"May I ask a favor before I finally go?"
"Of course."
"Give me a hug."
"Why, Carol."
Smiling awkwardly, he stood up and, tall, lean, almost angular in build, he enfolded her in his arms. At first she just let her lips lie on his, then suddenly she mashed her mouth against him, worrying out a vigorous tongue. He recoiled at once, but she held him to her and then he took her in a clasp, returning the sexual kiss in kind. For a long minute they stood so, and she felt the pole of his prick vertical against her belly. Slowly she reached one hand down and drew it in a caress up the underside of the member; it gave a leap at her touch and he half-wrestled out of her grip, shocked and flushed.
"Carol, please...."
"Are you quite sure," she said huskily, "there is nothing more you want of me, Mr. Ward, before I leave?"
He chewed his lips in silence. Then-"Carol, this is ... I mean...."
"Would it make it any easier if I did this?" she asked, moving to the door and locking it.
"And," she went on, dousing another wall light, "perhaps this?"
"Not to mention this?" She smiled as she snapped the window blinds down; he was looking so sheepish and schoolboyish somehow. He had been spending all his adult life proving that Wilkinson & Kimbers were pillars of rectitude.
"This is ... Carol, please...."
With the same teasing smile she stood before him. She cocked her head a trifle, letting her blonde hair hang loose.
"Or would it make the problem more penetrable if I did this?"
She flipped up her skirt, thumbed down her pantyhose, then bent over the desk. She bent over with both elbows on its shimmering legal surface, arched up her pelvic portions and braced herself on parted legs. Ashton Ward had full before him the center of her person, close-set under the well-splayed cheeks of purest white.
"Carol," he tried once more, but he did so feebly now.
"Come on," she coaxed softly, "You know you've always wanted to. And if you wanted to, why shouldn't you?"
"But ... but ... I mean Tom...."
"It won't hurt him."
"Carol, this is incredible...."
"Give it me," she said. "That's, if you want to."
She was rewarded by the whisper of his zip and the rustle of his pants descending. Then he was in her and, with surprising strength, well up her.
She was drier than usual at first, and she ooohed and aaahed a bit until she started lubricating. Edging up, he gave her long slow screwing reams that seemed to drag at her clitoris as he extracted. She was suddenly in heaven.
"I'm sorry ... excuse me, Mr. Ward, I'm ... oooooh!"
She fairly wriggled on the muscular member as she came, and he let her do so with it hard up her, holding her so as she spasmed. Reciprocally she began bucking, her arse opening in yearning clenchings of his cock, almost tossing him off as her tight channel gripped and sucked him. He took her in total silence, holding her firmly in his hands and making sure she had her buttock-basin arched up high so that she felt the whole slick length of him ramming ... on and on and on.
"Please ... if you ... that is, give it to me now, oh, God, I'm coming again, I'm sorry, but I'm ow...."
Her mouth seemed full of paper clips. He seemed to be getting harder and higher up her; Suddenly the phone went. She reached for it instinctively.
"He ... who?" she gurgled as the prick continued to piston in and out of her. She tried to come to reason. It was a client. "No, I'm afraid Mr. Ward's in ... in a ... yes, in conference ... it's very hard ... he'll be out shortly ... I hope ... tell him you've called...."
The phone call did the trick. Ashton Ward boiled and came in sudden shuddering gouts that seemed to lash her entrails. She was lifted bodily off her feet by the onslaught. After he had withdrawn, she lay a second on the desk-top, draped dramatically across the blotter, then she stood up and reached for a Kleenex from the dispenser. She did not want to embarrass him. Like a good secretary, she placed the Kleenex handy for him, adjusted her hose, tugged down her skirt and took her check with a grateful smile.
"Carol, I ... I mean, I've always...."
"It was very aggreeable for me, too, Mr. Ward," she said in her best no-nonsense tone. "Thank you-for everything."
Outside Maureen was waiting in the same mint-green mini she'd worn that evening so many moons-centuries-ago.
"All set?" asked the foxy-faced steno. "Did he kiss you goodbye?"
Carol looked about rather dazedly a moment.
"I guess so. I mean, you could say. Yes I guess I'm ready to quit good old Wilkinson and Kimbers."
"Bully for you," said Maureen.
Outside, the elevator was a while coming.
Carol looked steadily at her friend-"You wouldn't have a spare pair of pantyhose, would you, Morry?"
"Uh-uh." She swung her sleek black locks. "Your length maybe, but not the correct cup-size in rear. You'd split your seat in mine."
As she drove her car out of the garage for the last time, Carol glanced with affection as well as amusement at her young friend. So many transformations had taken place-and nearly all of them in her. Nearly all of them for the better, too. She felt looser, surer ... happier to the soul.
But as they engaged the pike, she shifted uneasily.
"Pass me a Kleenex, would you, Morry."
"Sure." The girl got one from the glove compartment and watched in surprise as Carol put it under her skirt and sat on it. She laughed.
"I'm oozing."
"The curse?" asked Maureen considerately. "I've a Tampax."
But Carol shook her head, staring into the thinning traffic ahead.
Maureen laughed and said without reflection:
"Well, if it's male semen, I'll gladly gulp it as it comes out. I love the stuff." She ran a tongue over dry little lips. "Lovely and salty."
Carol drove in silence. No longer was she shocked. After a minute she said, "Well, it's coming down all right. He did such a hell of a lot."
Maureen double-took, open-mouthed. Finally she squeaked, "Carol!"
"Oh, he's been letching over me for years, you know that. Why not let him, for once?" She chuckled creamily. "To each dog his day."
The younger girl gave a strangled scream of protest-"You can't possibly mean ... I mean, what I'm thinking you mean . .'. it's just not...."
But Carol was nodding. "Yes, I let him have his piece. All puns intended."
"Ashton Ward!" positively wailed her companion.
"Sure. He gave me a good long fuck."
"It's impossible."
"It happened."
"In there ... just now...?"
"Right up here," said Carol, giving her leaky twat a tubby pat. "I bent over the desk like a good girl and let him go right in. Do you know," she turned, as if discussing some problem of cooking or makeup, "I've come to like it best from the rear."
"I've come to love it from everywhere," gasped Maureen, wriggling up closer on the wide seat as Carol continued to drive noncommittally on.
"No, but I think it's more natural like that. Better penetration. After all, it's the animal position."
"Heeeey! Hold it a minute. You're making no sense at all. You can't really be telling me that Wardy ... like, in there just now ... you, you ... let him screw you? The ogre?"
Carol merely nodded gravely. "If by screw, you mean inserted the erect male member up my only too ready feminine vesicle, you're correct. I virtually invited him to. The motion wasn't a screwing one, though. Mostly long plunges in and out. And mostly in."
"It's impossible!"
"Why? I knew the poor chap was dying for some glandular relief. Chiefly in my guts."
"You're incredible!"
"It was a splendid fuck. And a good thick prick."
"Aren't they all!" gaped Maureen.
"Well, some are thicker than others," frowned Carol, remembering Julius Caesar.
But Maureen stared and stared at her mentor in silence, gazing at her in a new way. "Well, for pussy's sake."
"Also for peter's."
"Well, I never. Was it ... really good?"
"I thought so. The reason I'm so leaky now is that he shot so damn much. I didn't exactly count, but there must have been eight or nine final strong spurts."
"One for each inch."
"You might say."
Carol turned and grinned at her equally smiling friend.
After a minute she added, "I hope I dry up some. Tom's going to have me shortly, and I don't particularly want him to feel someone else has just been in the nook. He likes it lubed, but not all that."
There was silence between them for a while, then the younger girl said quietly, "You know what I said. I mean just now." She frowned down for a second, and Carol suddenly realized it was Maureen who was the embarrassed one in the car now.
"Yes. Go on."
"About swallowing it, I mean. I really love the taste. It makes me feel randy as hell. Carol ... would you?"
"What?"
"Let me lick you off! Please. You've been the best friend to me lately I've ever had, and I owe you for all these rides and I mean ... oh hell, there's nothing I'd like more in the world than, than to suck you till you spent."
Carol looked dead ahead.
"I'm afraid you might get a taste of executive come."
"I don't care. I'd love it." She was fingering up Carol's tiny skirt. "Please, please. I can hardly wait. I'll bet I can make you come floods in a minute.
You just see. May I?"
"While I'm driving?"
"Why not?"
There was another long silence, then Carol turned a broadly grinning face toward her friend.
"I think it would be a magnificent idea," she said softly.
As she eased out of her hose, Maureen knelt up happily on the seat beside her.
"Heavens, I'm going to have to be an acrobat to do this."
"Not with my clit, you aren't." And Carol shifted forward on the seat.
In a second she was hissing, and then she was spreading, and then she was coming. She just had time to flip the turn signal, before the sleek little head came up and a small tongue reflectively licked wet lips.
"Thanks, Morry. Hope I didn't drown you. That's the first time I've come while driving."
"I'll say. You certainly do a lot."
"Taste okay?"
The head nodded-"Definitely salty snatch."
"Well, that's made it much much worse," said Carol, swinging her car toward the usual stop. "I really am a mess down there. Do you think ... might I just stop by at your place, to freshen up?"
"Of course."
At the small frame house Carol followed the churning skirt of Maureen's mini. In the large friendly living room Maureen cried, "Let me get some beer."
"Not for me," Carol said quickly.
"Then you can shower."
She disappeared somewhere and Carol walked around the room. From one photograph a handsome smiling half-bearded face looked out. She was about to sit down, when a new access of ooze slipped from her central person. She laughed, remembering the day her body was caked with come and sperm. What years ago that now seemed. Soon she would be all Tom's.
Bending, she hooked fingers into her pantyhose and eased them down to her knees, glancing inspectingly at the lush wet seam of her well-haired twat. Suddenly, between her legs, she saw a tousled figure standing at the doorway of what seemed to be a bedroom behind her; it was the face in the photo. It was grinning, too, and in much the same white T-shirt. The only thing was, he wasn't wearing anything else. And his prick was stiff. He was fingering it like a flute.
Deliberately she let him see her bent, with her skirt hiked high, and then she slowly peeled off the rest of her hose, replaced her shoes, dropped the wisps of nylon into a wastebasket, and only then did she turn.
"I don't believe we've met," she said, smiling from a flushed face.
"I'm Rod," he said, grinning.
"So I see," she said. She looked meaningly at his thundering erection.
He grinned even more broadly, scratching his russet head without any embarrassment.
"I'm afraid it's always like this after an afternoon nap."
"I'm sorry we surprised you."
"I'm delighted I surprised you."
"It ... seems to have had its effect."
He smiled ruefully. "I always was an ass-man."
"All too much of mine, I fear," she smiled. "However, I'm sure Morry will be back to take care of things in a second."
"She told me about you." He ambled awkwardly into the room toward her, stifling a yawn. "I hope you won't mind my saying she didn't tell me what a lovely quim you have."
Carol shook her head. "Much too mushy, I fear." She held up her flap of skirt and showed him the swollen, gism-smeared mound. "You can see for yourself."
"I certainly can," he said admiringly.
"I've just been done, actually, and then Maureen insisted on licking me off in the car."
His eyes gleamed. He came closer. She shook her head in an amused way.
"It's no good. I have to meet someone. I couldn't possibly let you cream into me, but if you want to slide that shank in and out a few times just to warm it up for Morry...."
"That would be very friendly of you," he said.
She supported her ass on the arm of an ottoman and he fucked into her at once. No sooner had he started driving than there was a cry-"Good God!"
Two beaded beers in her hands Maureen came in from the kitchen. She stood stock-still.
"I see that you two have made acquaintance."
Carol burst into laughter. "It's all right, Morry, I was just getting this little space shot," and she patted the swinging spear, "ready for your love-nest. Really."
"But, Carol ... I ... this isn't you ... I just don't...."
"Oh, stuff it, darling, pass me a beer and let this Hercules give it you from behind, like I said."
Maureen looked at her straight of face. But the boy needed no second bidding. In a moment the trim butt of the junior sec was over the ottoman arm and he was fucking into the soft slice of her lips.
Carol watched the cunt convulsing as it gripped the glistening meatus. In and out, out and in. A great need was in her. She couched the hairy ball-sack in one hand. Maureen's buttocks were taut and silky. She saw the tea rose blemish in the valley between, the ringlet relaxing sensually as the hips squirmed and spread. Suddenly she whispered-"Bugger her, Rod."
"No!" Maureen arched back. "Carol. You can't ... you haven't been...."
"Oh, of course," she said casually. "It doesn't hurt, it only makes you want to go."
And now the full width of the glans was dimpling the anus; it funneled entry and lunged in. A short scream of pain and protest and the prick was half-buried in the bowel. The girl gasped with back bowed-"I can't ... it's tooooo big...."
Carol's senses went blue-black as the smeared cock drove into the inner pink, withdrew, ringed with a collar of rubbery white.
"Goodbye, children," she said softly then and, without taking her shower, ran full-tilt to her car.
To Tom, to Tom. To Tom and Jack and Dick and Rod....
Only one odd thing happened between her and happiness then. Letting herself into the house, she found a girl sitting reading an old Vogue in the living room. Friend of Thea's, she thought, smiling brightly at her. And then she froze.
The girl who stood up shyly and said, "I'm Cathy Keir," was the one Ju had raped on the beach.
Carol stared and stared and stared. Finally, with a deep flush, she said, "I think we've met."
The girl frowned, still smiling. "I don't think so."
"It was on ... that beach ... beyond the bay."
"That's where I go bathing often," said the girl cheerfully. "I didn't think anyone knew of it."
Carol stared miserably around. Yes, the same silly straw hat. The kid must have recovered it from the sea, then. It lay on a book. She half-rushed to the side-yes, Kierkegaard.
Through bitter lips she got out, "Don't you remember three bike boys one evening ... three girls?"
She shook her head. "I don't think I do, no. I've always had the good fortune to be alone there."
Carol said with a kind of desperation-"You were lying, reading this book there. Weren't you, weren't you? And you ran into the sea and a big boy with sandy hair caught you there and raped you and fucked you on the sand till you...."
But the other looked solemnly, uncomprehendingly back.
"Not me, I'm afraid. This is some fantasy. I think you must have been dreaming. I'm a friend of Thea's."
"I'm her cousin. I saw you raped."
"No. You didn't." After a long silence the girl said, "I've never had sex with a man. And I'm afraid that's a matter of record. Verifiable at any moment."
"Sorry, damnit, sorry." And turning on a heel, Carol beat at her head and her body and half-ran to her room from it all. She had been dreaming, indeed. Yes, yes, yes, she must have been dreaming all her life.
