He slipped his arm around the girl's shoulders, and said:
"If you were the personnel manager, the prestige of the job would require you to live in one of the houses on Daisy Hill."
She glanced at his hand nearly touching her breasts.
"Daisy Hill-that's where the department heads live."
"That's right, you would be a department head," he answered, slipping his hand over her breasts.
She stood quickly and walked over to the window.
"Mr. Mason, I believe I know what you're leading up to, and I'm not that kind of girl."
"What kind of a girl are you? One who's out of a job, nearly broke, with a mother and two young kids to feed? You could be the type of girl who enjoys having her own car, nice clothes, and the entire mill looking up to you--. I'm not going to waste time or words. I want you, and I either get what I want, or you don't."
Taking the girl's shoulders in his hands, he continued:
"When I said I owned the company, that means you too. I'm offering you an opportunity to be somebody, but not for nothing. The minute you tell me you'll take the job as personnel manager, you belong to me ... "
CHAPTER ONE
Norman Mason stood before the large window in the living room and gazed out on the lawn. The window had exactly eighty-one panes, he should know, he had counted them many times. Had the window not been so tall and wide, it would have reminded him of a jail cell. He hated this window nearly as much as he hated Negros and Jews. Who should be more qualified to know their inner thoughts than he. Yet, it was because of this hatred, he now controlled the town and owned three-fourths of it. He was general manager of the Byron Cotton Mills, having risen to this position after the timely death of its founder, seventy-six-year-old John Byron. , He looked at the girl seated across the room. He despised what she was, a Jew, but his sadistic mind quickly developed a desire to have this gorgeous body to play with. There was no expression on his face as he stared at her, causing the girl to look away from him several times.
Just like a Jew bastard, can't look a man in the eye, he was thinking, then looked through the window at the stream of water flowing down the drive. He liked the rain. It gave him a feeling of security.
Born and raised in Atlanta, he grew to manhood believing that most all Jews were rich and the
Negroes were born to be persecuted. It never entered his mind that the Jews he knew were extremely poor and the blacks did the persecuting. The battleground was bounded on the north by Memorial Drive and Georgia Avenue on the south. In this four mile area, the enemies lived one or two streets apart. It wasn't unusual for him to be caught after school by several Negroes who demanded money.
"Give me a nickel, mother fucker," one of the Negroes would demand.
"I ain't got no nickel, nigger," he replied.
The Negro called him a liar and pushed him against a wire fence. Many times he was called a mother fucker while pleading poverty, finishing up with a cut lip or a swollen eye. When he arrived home he would get his butt eaten out because he let a black bastard get the best of him.
Norman usually had his revenge while hiding in an alley until a Negro passed, male or female, child or adult, made no difference to him. He would have made a great pitcher on a ball team. His aim with a half brick couldn't have been more perfect if he had walked up and laid the brick back of their heads. Their pain, wiggling around on the ground, gave him deep satisfaction.
There was a reason for his hatred of Jews too. It was when he was twenty and working for a large department store, he was fired as a deliveryman, so that all drivers would be Negroes. The department heads in the store were Jews and the owners were Jewish as well. Because most concerns were Jewish owned, he'd left Atlanta, and, hitchhiking he had made his way toward Chattanooga.
Norman had jumped from a truck in Sumter, fifty miles from his destination. He stood looking at the large cotton mill and the houses on both sides. They were company owned, and most of the business firms in the town were leased by the company.
He found employment in the mill as a sweeper until he met Aggie, John Byron's only child. They met secretly until she became pregnant, then were married. The old man messed his britches until he found out his innocent daughter was in the family way.
John Byron soon accepted him and found him an opening in the receiving department. Promotions naturally came rapidly until he was in charge of personnel. This position gave him the opportunity to have the revenge he had vowed when a child. Slowly at first all Negroes were discharged for any reason.
When the old man died, he assumed control of the business, ousting the general manager who was Jewish. Only one Jew was left in the mill, a clerk typist. This morning she'd received her notice.
Norman's wife Aggie and their daughter were on a three-month trip to Paris. At the death of the father she had assumed the role of president. Now that Aggie was out of town, he alone had complete charge. Turning to the girl, he said:
"I don't usually discuss business in my home. Since you did come through the rain, I had no other choice but to invite you in. I don't know why you've come to me, our personnel manager discharged you."
The girl twisted her hand nervously.
"I've been with the company five years, and I don't know why I was discharged."
Norman walked over and sat on a large chair. Crossing his legs, he looked at her large breasts, then down to her legs. He wanted her, and he had noticed her on several occasions when he'd visited the general office. He'd inquired about her and checked her file. She was Deborah Mae Bulloch and lived with her mother and two sisters in a company owned house. From her salary twenty dollars a week was deducted for rent. Her father was deceased, and she was the lone support of the family.
"I understand your father was Jewish," he said, drawing his eyebrows together.
"No, sir. My grandfather was Jewish and my grandmother was Greek."
"Do you speak Hebrew?"
"No, sir, I don't know anything about Jewish people," she replied, puzzled. "I knew some Jewish girls when I was in business college. They were real nice."
"They were nice to you because they were either stealing you blind, or you were dishing out money to them. Don't misunderstand me, there's not a prejudice bone in my body. If I speak disrespectful of someone, I'm stating facts, not ill feelings. There have been good Jewish people, but my friend Adolf separated them from this cruel world," he replied, grinning at the girl.
"I'm sorry I invaded the privacy of your home, but I couldn't get to see you at your office," she said, changing the subject, then added, "The personnel manager wouldn't tell me why I was fired."
Norman looked down at her and walked over and sat on the sofa.
"Come over here and sit by me so we can communicate better."
The girl was a little afraid. She sat at the end of the sofa.
"I'm not going to bite you, little one. You're further now from me than in that chair." She smiled weakly and moved closer to him. "Why was I fired, Mr. Mason?" Norman rubbed his hands together, staring at her breasts, causing the girl to feel uncomfortable again.
"Just how badly do you need a job?"
Shaking her head, she replied:
"I don't understand what you mean."
"You know that when an employee leaves the company, they must vacate the house they live in for the one who will take their place. It isn't necessary for the company to explain to anyone why they're discharged. We hired the person and have the right to fire them without explanation. I understand some of the men are talking about organizing a union, but it will never happen."
"It isn't right to take a person's job and not let him know why."
Norman moved closer to the girl and took her hand.
"I had you fired, Deborah, because I believe you deserve a better position with the company. Shall we say the personnel manager?"
The girl gasped, holding her hand to her mouth.
"The personnel manager?" she asked. "What about Mrs. Morgan? She's been manager of that department for years."
"Mrs. Morgan's getting old. We need young blood."
He slipped his arm around the girl's shoulders, and continued:
"If you were the personnel manager, the prestige of the job would require you to live in one of the houses on Daisy Hill."
She glanced at his hand nearly touching her breasts.
"Daisy Hill-that's where the department heads live."
"That's right, you would be a department head," he answered, slipping his hand over her breasts.
She stood quickly and walked over to the window.
"Mr. Mason, I believe I know what you're leading up to, and I'm not that kind of girl."
Norman took a cigarette, lit it, and sat back on the sofa.
"What kind of girl are you? One who's out of a job, nearly broke, with a mother and two young kids to feed? You could be the type of girl who enjoys having her own car, nice clothes, and the entire mill looking up to you. I'm not going to waste time or words. I want you, and I either get what I want, or you don't."
"What about your wife? You surely couldn't do this to her."
"We'll leave Mrs. Mason out of this. If it will help your feelings, there isn't any love lost between us. I screwed her; she got pregnant; we got married, and now I own the company."
Taking the girl's shoulders in his hands, he continued:
"When I said I owned the company, that means you too. I'm offering you an opportunity to be somebody, but not for nothing. The minute you tell me you'll take the job as personnel manager, you belong to me."
Deborah looked at the floor, thinking of her mother and sisters, then back up at him. She forced a smile on her face.
"When do I take over?"
"You've already taken over," he replied, holding her in his arms and pressing his lips against her mouth.
Holding her hand, he led her up the stairway and down a long hall, to his bedroom. Once inside the room he again took her in his arms. Their lips met, and his tongue forced her lips apart. His hand grasped her breast and felt her tremble. He stripped down to his briefs and fell on the bed with a sigh.
"I love the rain. Somehow it gives one a feeling that the outside world can't get to him," he said, rubbing his hand over the bulge stretching his shorts.
She felt a vague twinge of sensuality beginning to gnaw at her loins. The sight of his overly large penis hidden beneath the cloth set her senses working.
"How about giving me a rubdown? There's nothing so stimulating as having your shoulders and back rubbed by soft hands." Then he frowned a bit. "There isn't anything less sexual than to feel a damp dress against a dry skin. Suppose you remove your dress. Then you may rub me."
She took her dress off and watched his eyes widen as he gazed intently at her breasts.
"You Jew bastards really have the breast works. Come on, take the bra off and let's have a peek at those tits."
She stared at him for several seconds, then turned her back and removed her bra. This was no ordinary man who had a hard-on and wanted relief. He was hate; everything around him was hate. She was facing a book case and noticed the books stacked neatly were about the Nazis and Adolf Hitler. Over the book case in a glass frame was a flag of the Nazi party.
She knew she should dress and run from the house. Not only was he evil, but he would sooner or later cause her to hate. Not the Negros and Jews, or anyone in particular, but hate is contagious. There were three reasons she would have to submit to this depraved man: her mother, ten-year-old sister Ellen, and Lavern, thirteen. She turned and faced him, expanding her chest. He was on his back, grinning.
"Come over here and go to work on me, bastard."
Deborah bit her lips as anger flashed over her, then she climbed on the bed, straddling him. Her strong fingers went to work kneading the muscles of his back and neck. She felt the contact between his butt and her cunt. She wanted to feel his weight pressing her down on the bed. She too could hate. She hated herself for having a desire for this man.
"Roll over, and I'll do your chest," she told him.
Norman rolled on his back and grinned again when she slid her butt downward to keep from sitting on his balls. Taking her hips in his hands, he pulled her upward and onto the lump made by his prick. The potential of this position occurred to him. She felt a slight stirring against the crotch of her pants, and said:
"Unless I'm wrong, I'm afraid I'm creating more tension than I'm relieving."
He laughed, reaching up and clasping both her breasts in his hands.
"You little Jew devil, you've been trying to make it happen."
She flinched a little when he squeezed too hard on her right breast.
"Please, that hurts. I'm not a Jew. And if I were, I wouldn't be ashamed of what I am. Most of the Jewish people I've known are really nice."
His face turned crimson as anger covered him. Giving her breasts a hard squeeze, he held them in a tight grip.
"Hereafter when I ask you what a Jew is, you'll tell me all Jews are tight-wad bastards."
She became frightened and quickly caught his hands, pulling them from her breasts, and jumped from the bed.
"I don't want the job, and I don't want any part of you," she cried, reaching for her clothes.
Norman quickly was on his feet. Grabbing her, he turned her around, giving her a hard slap across her face. He was wild with rage.
"You listen to me, you little bitch. A few minutes ago you accepted the job and became my property. When I tell you to do or say something, do it."
She was in fear, holding her hand against her burning cheek. One moment she was afraid and hated this man, the next a burning feeling covered her. Her body trembled, and she threw her arms around him, crying:
"What's happened to me? I want to belong to you!"
He pressed his mouth against her quivering lips and gently kissed her. Then his mouth pushed hard against her, and again his tongue was in her mouth. Their bodies were against each other, sending one charge after another over them. He led her back to the bed, then knelt and removed her pants. His fingers slowly caressed the hair around her vagina. He stood and laid her on the bed. Kneeling on the floor beside the bed, his tongue moistened the lips of her vagina. The sensation of her pussy being enclosed in his mouth sent shivers of lustful pleasure shooting over her body.
Deborah had formulated categories for different kinds of sexual intercourse. A couple could make love in which there was give and take. In this case there was no giving on his part; he took. Then the woman could be a stone statue with the man pumping away. She could never do that, because, since childhood, she had known she was overly sexed. There also was the way the couple worked each other to the extent they fucked all over the house, starting in the bedroom.
"Oh," the girl groaned, opening her thighs.
She reached down and rubbed his head with a small amount of pressure, in an animal-like vigor.
His tongue was now passing her clitoris, causing her to arch herself, driving him deeper into her. With one hand he pushed his shorts down his legs and stood up to completely remove them. He gazed down at his large prick. A faint smile came on his face, and he walked over to the bed, pushing the girl's body over. His mouth went to the nipple of her breast while his hand pressed down on her cunt.
"Get on top," she whispered, reaching out for him.
Her entire body felt aflame when his finger entered the wet cave. He toyed with her clitoris, then shoved his finger deep within her pussy.
She moaned once, pushing her cunt and causing his finger to go deeper.
He leaped on her with a speed and agility which she found surprising, but it added to her overheated body. Already slippery from the oils of her cunt, his instrument slid easily into her, and the weight of his body pinned her against the bed.
"You're going to be fucked as you've never been fucked before. I knew when I saw you typing away in the office that your ass was going to belong to me."
She moaned and nodded her assent, not missing a movement in her effort to bring relief to her tortured body. She could feel the head of his prick bouncing against her womb and wondered how much more he had to give. She hadn't observed the length of his rod, but the size filled her cunt to capacity.
Feeling herself about to cream his prick, she pulled him closer, sucking his tongue as if it were a lollipop. She shrieked out a frenzied scream. His prick had rubbed her clitoris far beyond the point of endurance. She felt her flesh knot, then suddenly dissolve in a blinding sheet of ecstatic sensations, sending orgasmic vibrations against his body.
It seemed to her that he was eager to rip the skin dividing her cunt and ass. His drive was powerful and nearly as quick as a jackhammer. She tried to keep her screams muffled by keeping her lips around his tongue. She continued to shriek and now was sobbing as the tremors pounded and her hips were bouncing up and down.
Norman arched his body a bit so he could lean down and fasten his mouth onto her left breast. She was squealing deliriously as his tongue worked over the hard nipple, then he sucked as much of it as possible up into his mouth. He tried to hold back, but his volcano exploded.
"Oh, I'm fucked out," she suddenly cried, tightening her vaginal grip for one last draw on him.
He lay on her for a minute before rolling to one side, still sucking air into his demanding lungs. His prick had wilted after his blast into her. He looked over at the wet hair around her pussy, then, turning up his nose, got off the bed.
"It looks as if the rain has about stopped," he said, glancing out the window, surprised it wasn't dark.
He went into the bathroom and bathed his prick, returning soon to pick up his shorts off the floor.
He was dressing while she entered the bathroom. Always when he accommodated a girl and filled her pussy, he would send her on her merry way. She followed him downstairs and watched him mix their drinks.
"It's just been since the old man died that I know how to mix a drink. We had a butler and a maid, but I talked Aggie into letting them go."
"I'm not used to drinking, and I hope it doesn't show on me when I get home," she replied, sipping the beverage.
"Why don't they call you Debbie? It's much easier to say."
Taking another sip, she stared at the glass.
"I guess it's because I've always insisted that my name's Deborah. I like the name, but I don't like Debbie."
"All right, Deborah, I want you to go now. Tomorrow, report to my office, and you'll have the pleasure of watching old sister Morgan nearly piss her pants when I kick her out. You're a good piece of ass, kid. Take care of it, and you'll go a long way. I found out the only way is to cash in on anything you have. Me, I have good looks, plus a dick you love to touch."
Deborah stood in the doorway, smiling at him.
"There's one thing you forgot to mention about yourself; there's not another like you," she offered, as her parting words.
CHAPTER TWO
Later, Norman fixed himself a sandwich and consumed several bottles of beer, then went to bed. The rain started again, and he wondered if the girl made it to her house without getting wet. He was tired, not only from the battle he and the girl had won, but it had been a tiring day. Several men had brought a petition signed by the employees, asking for the right to organize. They must have thought him a damn fool. Give them the right to tell the company how to run the mill? Too, he had listened to Mrs. Morgan cry about how unjust it was to fire Deborah when she was doing a good job. It had become necessary for him to demand that she carry out his orders or she too would be leaving Sumter, seeking employment. Sleep soon drove his thoughts away, and he was again in Atlanta.
He was standing idly in front of his house when he saw them approaching from the project. The surroundings were familiar and the terror present. There were five of them and no one around to protect him. He wanted to cry for his mother, but that would show them he was a sissy. There was no way out. He had to accept what must be.
"Hiyah, mother fucker," the fourteen-year-old Negro greeted him, showing his pearly white teeth.
"Hi," he managed to half whisper.
"I heard you got a big peter, mother fucker."
"Make him show his peter, Pete," a smaller Negro called out.
"Naw, we don't want to see mother fucker's peter. We'd rather see his sister's pussy. Your sister done got a cute pussy on her, ain't she?"
Norman was trying not to show his feelings.
"Why don't you go away, nigger, I ain't doing nothing to you."
He looked up the street and saw his sister Margaret coming toward them. Why did she have to come home at this time? She was standing by him looking puzzled at the Negroes.
"I done told you his sister had a cute pussy," the older boy said, snatching her dress up.
Margaret pushed his hand away, and another Negro pulled up the back of the dress.
"Look at them legs. Boy, I sure could slick leg her."
Norman took a swing at the smaller Negro. "Leave my sister alone, nigger," he screamed, his fist landing on the boy's nose.
He remembered his mother's rushing out the door, screaming at the Negroes, then yelling for the police. He could remember being knocked to the sidewalk and hitting his head on the cement. His mother was leaning over him while Margaret stood and cried. He was now on his bed and Margaret on a chair.
"You sure did hit that nigger that pulled up my dress. His old black nose was red with blood," she said proudly.
"I did?" he asked, surprised he had stood up to them.
Margaret walked quietly over to the door and closed it. Returning to the chair by the bed, she whispered:
"Norman, that nigger said he'd like to slick leg me. What did he mean?"
"You're too young to learn."
"I'm not, either, I'm eleven, and you're only twelve. I know what it means to fuck, but what would he do if he slick legged me?"
Norman tried to laugh, but his cut lip hurt.
"You know that little Jew girl that lives on the corner of Glenn and Capitol Avenue? I was playing in the field across the street from her house, and she came over there. I took her pants off and played with her, then I tried to fuck her, but she cried. So I slick legged her."
"You mean Rosa Ginnsberg? She ain't but five years old. How could you slick leg her?"
Norman laughed, in spite of the pain in his lip.
"I put my peter between her legs and told her to close them tight. That feels really good, only it made my legs tired stooping down to her.
"Suppose she'll tell?"
"I don't care if she does. I'll say I didn't do it. Who's going to believe a Jew?"
"Will you slick leg me."
"No, you're my sister."
"Why does that matter? You heard that nigger say I got pretty legs."
Norman felt between his legs. It was beginning to get hard.
"You really want me to?"
"If it doesn't hurt. A man at the picture show took me up in the balcony and tried to put his in mine, but it hurt too bad."
"That's because yours is too tight. Look at this," he said, pulling the sheet back showing his penis.
Margaret giggled and reached over to touch it. "I've showed you mine, let's see yours," he said.
She pulled her pants down and raised her dress. "That Jew girl's crack was as long as yours." The door opened, and their mother began screaming at them.
Norman sat up in bed and looked out the window. The rain was falling hard against the panes. He sat on the side of the bed, thinking of his dream. It hadn't happened that way. Margaret had tried to keep from showing him her cunt, but he'd forced her pants down and rubbed her crack, and his mother had entered the room, after having heard her cry.
He had seen Margaret once since she'd married and moved to Florida. He laughed a little to himself about thinking that his mother was actually going to fly through the ceiling when she'd seen their privates exposed to each other. Getting out of the bed, he lit a cigarette and sat on a chair near the window.
Many times when he had delivered parcels for the department store, it had been necessary to go to some Negro's house. It had made his blood boil to see the beautiful homes occupied by those who should be in a white man's kitchen. He'd really wanted to blow his stack when the female occupant would smile, tip him a quarter, thanking him for delivering her purchase. There should be a law to make niggers and Jews live in slums and people like him in the pretty brick homes. The white sons of bitches were responsible. If they had stuck to their color, the nigger would still be saying "Sir" to the whites. He returned to his bed and closed his eyes, hoping the dreams of his past wouldn't be repeated.
The next afternoon he sat in his office, quite pleased with the reaction from Mrs. Morgan, after she'd been notified to vacate the house she occupied. She couldn't have been less shocked if he'd had his prick in his hand when she'd entered the office. He enjoyed her tears and pleadings and thought about making this discharge procedure a daily routine. Jobs in Chattanooga weren't too hard to find, but many of the employees were born and raised around the mill. Their parents had worked for John Byron and felt secure, in their jobs. Others who came from Rome, Summerville, and other places, were causing the employees to become restless over having a union. He had kissed old John Byron's ass many times to get where he was, and no group of men were going to take away the power he now held.
"Come in, Faulkner," he said, when a knock was heard on the door.
Paul Faulkner, a small, mouse of a man, entered. He grinned at his employer.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Mason," he said, holding his cap in his hand.
"Well, what's the mumbo jumbo and grips of the workers now?"
"Well, Mr. Mason, I overheard the men talking about Deborah Bulloch not being here but five years and making personnel manager. They don't think it's right."
Norman encouraged the man to be his stool pigeon, since having become general manager. The men often wondered how their employer knew every move they made, but they suspected that one of the workers was ratting on them, but which one they didn't know.
"Sit down, Faulkner, let's smoke a cigarette," he said, throwing the pack across the large desk.
The man sat on the chair next to the desk and lit one.
"How's everything at your house? The wife and those two cute kids? Let's see, I believe Billy's three and Susie five, right?"
The man grinned, nodding his head. Then he frowned, and said:
"Mr. Mason, I don't like to complain but I don't think the foreman in the weaving department should've cursed me like he did this morning."
Norman pulled a lever down on the intercom, and said:
"Mrs. Coleman, bring me the file on Ralph Bowen. I believe he's in the weaving department." Pulling the lever up, he looked at the man. "I believe in treating people right, and I won't tolerate anyone being mistreated."
The man nodded his head, agreeing with Norman, as the secretary laid the file on the desk. Glancing over several pages, Norman said:
"I see that Ralph started with the company the same way I did, as a sweeper. He was promoted into the receiving department, then after three years was made foreman of weaving. I guess his job's gone to his head a little. Maybe we better send him back to unloading cotton. I'd like to make you foreman, Faulkner, but it wouldn't work. Those bastards would know right away that you thought enough of the company to report wrong doings in the mill. However, just keep up the good work and in due time you'll receive your reward."
The man mashed his cigarette in the ash tray, then stood up and backed toward the door.
"I'll keep my ears and eyes open, Mr. Mason," he said, closing the door behind him.
Picking up the telephone, he dialed and waited until a voice came on the wire.
"Tom, this is Mr. Mason. I'm going to send Ralph Bowen to your department. I want you to put him on the unloader ... Yes, that's what I said. I'm transferring him back to receiving."
He went into the reception room. Walking over to the window, he looked down on the yard where a man and woman were talking between the fence.
"Who is that talking with Faulkner?" he asked his secretary, motioning for her to come to the window.
"That's his wife," she answered. "His wife! That child?"
The secretary nodded her head and returned to her desk.
"She's his second wife. The first Mrs. Faulkner ran away with a salesman, leaving him and the two children, about a year ago. Later he married this girl. She's practically a child. I believe Mr. Faulkner told me she was sixteen or seventeen. He married her at a place called Villownow, that's between LaFayette and Calhoun, back in the mountains."
Norman watched them for a while, then winked at his secretary.
"I should become better acquainted with my employees, especially their wives."
Later that afternoon Norman sent for Paul
Faulkner. He waited until the man was seated, then reached in a desk drawer and picked up a bottle.
"Do you drink, Faulkner," he asked, pouring liquid into a glass.
"No, sir. I used to drink, but since I married Edith, she made me quit."
"I'm glad to hear that. Since you were here this morning, I checked your file, and I was surprised that you weren't making but eighty-five a week. I don't know how you make it, after everything's taken out. I feel it's right that I give you a raise. You're loyal and faithful to the company, so starting Monday, you'll have a fifteen dollar a week raise. To do this, it'll be necessary that I transfer you to the evening shift."
"Mr. Mason, that's swell of you," he said excitedly.
"The raise still doesn't give you too much take-home pay. I've been thinking about employing someone to take care of my house and cook dinner for me each evening. You know it's bad to have to eat out every night. I've been told that Mrs. Faulkner's a wonderful cook, and, with the added income, you'll be doing well."
"You mean you want to give Edith a job cooking?" he asked, bewildered.
"Oh, I know she has her hands full with the two children, but there's no problem there. We have a day nursery here in the mill, and it would only be for about six hours a day. She could go to work when you do, and you could drop her by my house, and I'd drive her home after picking up the kids at the nursery."
"I don't know, Mr. Mason. Edith's a pretty good cook, but she just is seventeen, and she ain't never worked out."
Norman drew his eyebrows together and looked straight at the man.
"Mr. Faulkner, I need a housekeeper and cook. However, if you feel you don't want your wife in my house, that's a different story. I'm sure there are others who could use the extra money and would be glad to help their boss."
The man twisted his cap around in his hands.
"It ain't that, Mr. Mason. I just thought maybe Edith wouldn't want to work out."
"You wear the pants in your house, don't you, Faulkner?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, then I'll be expecting Mrs. Faulkner to start her duties tomorrow afternoon at three. Suppose you take the rest of the afternoon off. I'll drop by your house about eight this evening, and your wife can go with me to my house, so I can show her where things are. She won't be gone long, just to get acquainted with her duties. Naturally, if that's all right with you."
The man nodded his head slowly, then stood and walked toward the door.
"I'll see you about eight, Faulkner," Norman said, grinning at the man.
That evening Norman took a hot bath and dressed. All afternoon he kept thinking of the beautiful young girl married to a bastard like Faulkner. He had only seen her face, since her husband had been standing in front of her. With a doll face, long black hair riding on her shoulders, she could have holes where her breasts are supposed to be and still look good.
It was a while before he found the house next to the Baptist church. Straightening his tie, he knocked on the door several times. Faulkner opened the door, stepping out onto the porch.
"Good evening, Mr. Mason," he said meekly, pulling the door shut behind him.
"Well, good evening, Faulkner. Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"Sure, you can come in, but I don't think it's a good idea for Edith to work."
Norman took out a cigarette and lit it, allowing the smoke to trickle from his nose, before he answered. Taking the man by the arm, he walked to the edge of the porch.
"I'm disappointed, Faulkner, not because your wife isn't going to work for me, but disappointed in you. I thought we had it understood that I was to pick up Mrs. Faulkner this evening, so that I may instruct her as to her duties. Now, you tell me you don't think she should work for me. That's all right, Faulkner, I see no reason for us to discuss anything further."
"This won't stop me from getting my raise?"
Norman laid his hand on the man's shoulder.
"What kind of man do you think I am? Certainly you'll receive your raise, just as I promised. I'm a man of my word."
"Thanks a lot, Mr. Mason. I know you're a man of your word."
Norman turned to leave, then, looking back at Faulkner, he said:
"I'll bet they're going to be a mean bunch of men."
"Who, Mr. Mason?"
"The workers in the mill, when they find out you've been playing the part of a rat, running to the boss. Well, good night, Faulkner, pleasant dreams."
Norman walked slowly back to his car and stood looking at the man on the porch. He waited a few moments, then opened the door of his car.
"Mr. Mason," Faulkner said, running toward the car.
"Yes, Faulkner?"
"You didn't mean you'd tell them I've been informing you on things?"
"You know I wouldn't do that. However, if I did accidently let it drop to the wrong person, I certainly would apologize to you."
"Mr. Mason, those people would kill me."
"I don't think they would go that far; break several bones; yes, that's possible."
"You can't do this to me, Mr. Mason."
"Suppose you take a drive up to LaFayette and get yourself a milk shake. I think I should discuss your wife's working with Mrs. Faulkner herself."
"No, Mr. Mason I can't allow that."
Norman looked with disgust at the man.
"Look, you little sawed-off pimp, don't tell me what you won't allow. Get your ass in that Ford and drive up to LaFayette, or Ralph'll know before tomorrow that you, not me, had him demoted to the receiving department. Ralph isn't going to think too kindly toward you."
"Please, Mr. Mason!"
"Good night, Mr. Faulkner, I must return home. I have a phone call to make before Mr. Bowen goes to bed," Norman said, getting into the car.
"No, Mr. Mason, don't go. I'll drive to LaFayette."
"You'll drive slowly?" Norman asked.
"Yes, Mr. Mason, I'll drive very slowly."
Norman sat watching the man back the car and drive toward the highway.
"Mrs. Faulkner, you have a treat in store for you," he said, knocking on the door again.
Edith Faulkner was pretty without makeup, but when she often used the lipstick she kept hidden back of the commode in the toilet, she would stand before the cracked mirror, admiring her beauty. She hadn't wanted to marry Paul, because he was old enough to call Daddy, but the opportunity to leave the valley around Villownow had finally persuaded her. Now that she was in Sumter, she could see people, even if their clothes were loaded with lent, and their black hair was nearly white with the stuff. Paul had explained to her that he had two darling children, but little had she realized that they were two brats. He didn't want a wife to love and make over in bed. He wanted a housekeeper and a place to discharge his cum. She was pleasantly surprised when she opened the door, and the General Manager of the mill stood smiling at her.
"May I come in?" he asked, displaying an air of importance.
She nodded affirmatively, standing aside for him to enter.
"Your husband had an important business trip to LaFayette, and he told me to make myself at home."
Edith nodded her head approvingly, watching him sit on the dirty sofa. Little Susie stumbled into the room, wearing only her panties, with Billy behind her. Edith left the room and returned with clean pants for the small girl.
"These kids are something else. I no more than wash one pair of britches than they've gotten them filthy again."
"I'm sorry you aren't going to work for me, Mrs. Faulkner," he said, glancing down at the opening of her dress as she leaned over to change the girl's pants.
She looked up, surprised, and sat for a moment with her mouth partly opened.
"Work for you?" she inquired, puzzled.
"Yes, didn't Mr. Faulkner mention to you that I wanted to employ you as my housekeeper?"
"No, he ain't said nothing to me. What do you mean, your housekeeper?"
"Well, since my wife's away for several months, I need someone to cook dinner and keep the house clean."
Edith looked toward the door and mumbled under her breath:
"That no good son of a bitch." Looking back at him, she smiled. "How much money would you pay?"
"Well, that depends on what you do. Naturally, the more you do, the more you earn."
Slipping her dress up several inches with her arm, she said:
"I'll admit I've been living in the mountains, but I think I know what you have in mind. Sure, I'll take the job. Anything beats sitting around here wiping kids' butts a dozen times a day."
Norman walked over and took both her hands and slipped them around his neck.
"It was my thoughts to get you in more peaceful surroundings, but I don't know if I can wait," he whispered, placing his lips on her cheek.
"My papa has a cow, and when she gets het up, she don't care what the surroundings are when the bull's turned loose with her."
Norman kissed her lips, then her cheek again, while holding the small breast in his hand.
Leading her over to the couch, they sat, still locked in each other's arms. Their lips met, and his tongue shot into her mouth. He could feel her hand touch his leg, then start crawling like a worm down over his erection. He cut his eye at the two children watching their every move.
"Suppose we move to another room where there's more privacy," he suggested, pulling her to her feet.
Edith gave the girl a furious look and led the way into the bedroom, closing the door behind them.
"Does this go with the housekeeping?" she asked, her hand squeezing his rod.
"All eight inches," he replied, reaching down to remove her dress.
Edith felt embarrassed when she unsnapped her brassiere.
"When he asked me to marry him, I was promised pretty clothes and everything. Look at that damn rotten bra. I've had it over a year. He hasn't bought me a rag of clothes. What he does with all his money, I don't know," she said, lying on the bed with her arms stretching out for him.
Norman slipped his trousers and shorts off and lay beside her. Taking his prick in her hand, she sighed, and said:
"This is what I thought I was getting when I got married."
Several times Edith had tentatively put her tongue to Paul's prick and licked around the head. He had acted disgusted with her and had said that respectable people just didn't do things like that. She hadn't wanted to be respectable, she'd wanted to do what the girl had done in a novel she'd once read. The girl had taken as much of the man's penis as she could. It had sounded to Edith like fun, and she'd wanted to try it. She was now seized with erotic impulses and also excited by the fact that this wasn't Paul, but instead his boss.
She looked over his penis, taking his balls in her hand and rubbing them gently. She slipped her lips over his prick, tasting her first real cum-smeared rod. The salty, musky taste set her nerves on fire with desire, and she eagerly gobbled the rest of his prick.
Norman groaned and rammed his prick as far into her mouth as he could. His nerves were on edge feeling the warm, wet tongue wallowing over his rod. He thought about having her finish the act, when suddenly her mouth left his prick.
She grasped the throbbing prick in her right hand and circled the dripping head with her fingers. She began stroking up and down with her fist, in an effort to give him more pleasure. At the same time she drove the fingers of her left hand into the opening of her cave, inserting all four fingers in a quick jab, stretching her cunt open, bringing the palm of her hand against the aching clitoris. The ensuing wave of primitive pleasure caused her to want more of this long straight prick in her mouth. She worked her mouth around his dick, forcing the head against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, sucking it as hard as she could.
Norman watched the blissful look on her face and realized that she wasn't doing this just to get a job, but intensely enjoyed the feel of his dick in her mouth. He felt her teeth slide over his prick and for a moment was fearful she would actually eat the skin from around it. He wanted to come, part of him wanting to delay the action, but his balls began to ache to release the churning juice. He pulled her head tighter against him, thrusting deeply into her mouth. The shuddering throughout his body allowed it to jet with almost atomic force into her mouth.
She gagged, but didn't pull away, because of the pressure of his hand on her head. She swallowed and swallowed again. She was sucking hard now, drinking every drop she could drain from him.
He was drained, exhausted, having had every bit of sperm pulled from him by the suction of her lips. He forced her mouth from his still semi-hard prick and smiled down at her.
"I loved it," she murmured.
He lay for a few minutes watching her gasp for breath while he compared the two girls. Deborah, big bubbies, swell ass, and a damn good fuck, but a little off on sucking him. Edith, practically a child, with small tits, but marvelous with her lips around his prick. He could fuck Deborah when he needed beauty, a body to stimulate his desires, and Edith to strain his balls, trying to grasp every drop into her mouth. His blood seemed to turn to ice water when he glanced over and saw the little girl standing in the doorway. He quickly turned his back to the girl.
"Susie's watching us," he whispered.
Edith raised up and looked at the child, making a face.
"What to hell do you want?" she asked.
"Papa said for you to put me and Billy to bed."
"Tell him to put you to bed, I'm busy," Edith replied, lying back down.
Norman waited until the child left, then left the bed and dressed.
"When do you want me to start working for you?"
He looked over at the girl and grinned.
"I'll have your husband drop you off at the house on his way to work tomorrow afternoon. I'll be there to show you where things are," he replied, going out the door.
"Well, Faulkner, did you enjoy your shake?"
The man was sitting on the sofa, and he replied, without looking up:
"I didn't get one, the drug store was closed."
"You're a good man, Faulkner; it won't be long before you're a department head. Starting tomorrow you're on the evening shift, so report to work at three, and drop your wife off at my house."
Paul raised his head and stared at the man.
"Yes, sir," he answered, watching Norman walk out the door.
Paul waited until he heard Norman's car drive away, then entered his bedroom. He looked at his wife lying naked on the bed, then slipped off his belt.
"You've been a bad girl, Edith," he said, walking slowly toward her.
"You ain't going to whip me again, are you?" she pleaded, frightened.
"I done told you when you're bad, you get a whipping, just like Billy and Susie. Now turn over on your stomach, I have a right, because your pa told me to make you be a good girl."
"Please, Paul, I ain't been bad. He made me get naked, but he didn't fuck me, honest, he didn't."
"I know what he did. I peeped through the keyhole and saw his pecker in your mouth. All you did to mine was to lick it a few times."
Edith jumped from the bed and dropped to her knees before him.
"I'll suck yours-please don't whip me."
"You're going to suck mine just like you did his, but after I whip you. Now get on that bed."
Edith slowly stood and lay again on her stomach. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow. She heard the swish coming through the air and felt the burning pain each time he laid the belt across her naked back. She counted each stroke to herself, something she had done each time he'd whipped her. He stopped on seven and threw the belt onto the floor.
"The idea of taking Mr. Mason's pecker in your mouth and letting my little girl watch you!"
"She wasn't watching until you sent her in here. I didn't know she was there."
"Makes no difference. Are you going to put mine in your mouth now?"
Edith forced herself to a sitting position and tried to smile.
"It's my wifely duty to do what you want," she answered, reaching over and taking his small prick in her hand.
"You ain't going to work for him, is that clear? Do you understand?"
"I understand, but will he?"
CHAPTER THREE
Norman's office was a large room on the northeast corner of the mill. It was necessary for visitors to go through the general office, then through a door to his secretary, before being admitted. Here was the sanctuary he had dreamed about. A desk barred off one corner of the room. When someone came in, he sat behind it like a magistrate at the bar. Three walls, excepting door and window spaces, were lined with books he never read. They had been collected over the years by John Byron. His swivel chair took most of the space behind the desk.
He didn't enjoy going into the mill with all the noise and lint. He could feel eyes in front of him, at his back and sides. From the beginning they resented an outsider coming into their town, marrying the daughter of the mill president, then taking over the operation. Negroes who had faithfully worked as sweepers, drivers, and other minor jobs, were slowly disposed of for flimsy reasons.
This was founders day. Each year a day was set aside to celebrate the opening of the mill, thirty years ago. On this day there were celebrations with street dancing, apple-baking contests, and other forms of amusements. However, this year Norman decided to break tradition and have a picnic and barbecue at Lester's old mill, seven miles south of town. The company would provide the barbecue, brunswick stew, and refreshments, and, as usual, the employees had the day off with pay.
Norman arrived about two hours after the games started and sat in his car watching the men play baseball while the women under the trees supervised the children. Taking a cigarette, he pushed in the dash lighter and waited until it popped out.
"Hello, Mr. Mason," a voice said, walking up to his car.
Norman turned his head and smiled at a young girl holding onto the car door.
"Well, hello, young lady. What might your name be?"
"Don't you know me?" the girl asked, blowing a bubble from the gum she was chewing.
"How could I forget such a beautiful face? Have we met before?"
"I don't guess so. I'm Deborah's sister. She's the new personnel manager at the mill."
"Yes, I know. So, you're Deborah's sister? I heard her speak of you and ... er ... what's your sister's name?"
"Ellen. She's ten, and I'll soon be fourteen," she answered, sucking the bubble back into her mouth.
"Don't do that, it irritates me. I don't know anything more sickening than to see a kid blow that nasty stuff into a bubble and let it pop all over his face. Is your mother here?"
"She wanted to come, but we don't have a car."
"You mean your mother's home by herself and no one offered to bring her to the picnic?"
"Mama's kind of funny. She won't ask anybody to take her places. Deborah and Ellen and I came with Preacher Dossett and his wife. Mama said she'd rather we get to go."
"When I have a picnic, I want everyone to come that wants to. Let's surprise her and go get your mother."
The girl's eyes opened wide, and she asked:
"You mean in your car? Gosh, I've never ridden in a big car like this."
Norman reached over and opened the door.
"Well, you're going to ride in one now. Get in, and we'll have your mother at the picnic in no time."
He drove up the dusty road until he came to the Chattanooga Highway, then turned right. Several times he looked over at the girl, then down to her legs. She was unusually pretty, with long black hair like Deborah's but with smaller breasts. Large breasts must not be inherited, since the girl's weren't any larger than a full-size lemon.
Lavern kept a steady chatter going as they drove toward Sumter. It had been years since he had played with a young girl. Several times while delivering for the department store, he had found the opportunity for a little titty feeling or leg rubbing with a pre-teen child.
Lavern asked him a riddle, then gave the answer, causing them both to laugh. He used this as an excuse to drop his hand to her leg, for a moment. The soft, warm flesh excited him, and he began to formulate a desire to do a little feeling and perhaps taste her tongue before picking up her mother.
"Have you ever seen my holise?" he asked, turning down a side street, after passing the city limits sign.
"I've seen it from a distance, but not up close."
"I left my movie camera at home by mistake, so we'll drive by and pick it up. This'll give you a chance to see Blackberry Hill. That's what Mr. Byron named the house when he had it built. I guess he took the name because they had to clear away so many blackberry bushes."
Stopping the car in front of the house, he sat for a moment, giving the girl an opportunity to see the outside.
"Come on in and you'll get a better view of the town."
The girl followed him up the steps, then stood on the porch, looking down onto the highway that divided the city.
"That's the mill over there to your right, and if you'll look over this way, you can see where you live."
"You look down on everybody from up here," she declared.
"That's exactly what I do," he replied, inserting the key in the front door.
The child was enthralled while looking around the large living room. Walking up to an electric organ, she pressed several of the keys.
"This is pretty, do you play it?"
"I play a little, but not enough to give a concert. I can pick out several tunes such as Way Down Upon The Swanee River, Dixie, and other pieces. Would you like to hear me play?"
"Oh, yes," she answered, and sat beside him on the bench.
Norman turned the switch and waited a moment, then with two fingers on his right and three for the chords on his left, played Dixie.
"That's the National Anthem. Some of these nigger-loving college presidents have banned this glorious song from the campus. They can keep it from being played, but they can't wipe out what it stands for-everything that's white and American."
"The Star Spangled Banner is the National Anthem," she corrected him.
Norman again laid his hand on her exposed leg.
"That song stinks; it's ugly, and unless you're an opera star, no one can halfway sing it. Why in the hell don't they make God Bless America, or even Dixie the real song that stands for America?"
Taking the girl by her hand, he led her over to the sofa and sat.
"Want to know something."
"Yes, sir."
"You're a beautiful girl. I wish I had someone like you for my girl."
"You have a girl ... Ella Mae, your daughter. I've seen her several times at school."
Norman looked at her, smiling, then held her hand.
"I like you."
"I like you too, Mr. Mason."
"How about you being my girl."
"How can I be your girl?"
"It's very easy, this way," he replied, taking her arms and slipping them around his neck.
"Okay, so I hug your neck. Does that make me your girl?"
Norman pulled the girl against him and buried his lips against her mouth. Pushing him back, she looked surprised.
"You shouldn't do that, Mr. Mason."
He again grabbed her in his arms and held her while his tongue probed against her closed lips. Pushing her down on her back, he knelt beside the sofa, holding the struggling girl, and again attempted to push his tongue into her mouth. His hand rubbed her small breasts, then down her dress. Taking the hem of the dress, he pulled it above her pants.
"Please, Mr. Mason, don't do this to me!" she cried.
His passion was building fast as his hand slid up and down the girl's leg, several times touching her vagina. The girl continued to struggle, crying for him to let her up.
"Stick your tongue out and leave it out. I'm going to tickle it with mine," he ordered, giving her tender breasts a hard squeeze.
The girl stopped struggling and just lay, looking up at him, in fear.
"Please take me home."
"I'll take you home when I get through with you. The sooner you cooperate with me, the sooner we pick up your mother. Now stick your tongue out and breathe through your nose.
Lavern pushed her tongue out and closed her eyes, feeling the tip of his tongue brushing against hers. His hand returned to her legs and rested on her vagina while his finger worked under the pants, feeling the small patch of hair. He sucked her tongue up into his mouth, then pushed his into her mouth. His finger entered the hole and gently massaged the clitoris.
Lavern lay quietly as tears rolled down her cheeks while his finger probed inside until it found an obstruction. Pushing his mouth away, she looked at him, pleading:
"Mr. Mason, I didn't think you'd do this to me. Please, let's go get Mama."
Norman picked the girl up in his arms and started toward the stairs.
"Put me down, I won't go up there with you," she screamed, while struggling to free herself.
Walking down the hall, he entered his bedroom with the girl beating him in his face with her fist. Throwing her onto the bed, he leaned over, giving her a hard slap across the cheek.
"Listen to me, you little Jew bitch. I know all about your grandparents, who were Jew bastards.
I swore years ago that someday I'd make the Jews pay for stealing from me, and that's what I'm doing. You're going to pay a small part of what they owe me."
The girl lay on the bed, nearly in hysterics, as he again raised her dress above her pants. She offered no protest when he pulled them down her legs and threw them across the room. He knelt beside the bed, curling the hair around his finger, then began rubbing the lips of her vagina. He placed his lips on her leg and licked down to her knee, then back to her pussy. Getting to his feet, he looked down at her, and demanded:
"Get off that bed and take those clothes off."
Norman grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
"Do you take them off, or do I tear them off?"
She reached down and slowly pulled her dress over her head, holding her hands over her vagina.
"Don't be ashamed of your pussy, it's the best part of your body, unless it's these," he said, un-snapping her small bra. "Mmmmmm, this is good."
Taking one of her breasts in his hand, he slipped his lips over the tiny nipple. His hand slid over her butt until it found the crack, then he pushed his finger in. She bit her lips as his hand forced the dry tissues aside until his finger was completely submerged in her ass.
"I've got to use the bathroom," she sobbed, wiping the tears from her cheek.
"What do you have to do?" he asked, grinning.
"I've got to pee," she half whispered.
Taking his finger from her butt, he pushed her toward the bathroom.
"Will you please let me do this alone?" she cried, sitting on the commode.
"This may sound unusual to you, little girl, but I receive a sensation not only watching a woman piss, but also the feel of the warm stuff over my hand is sensational."
She stared unbelievingly at him when he took her hand and held it in the commode.
"Now cut loose," he ordered, holding his hand close to her cunt.
"You're mad! Crazy mad!" she screamed.
"Go on and do it, or I'll run my finger so far up in you, it'll tear your womb out."
While she urinated on their hands, he again pushed his tongue into her mouth.
Leading her to the bed, he pushed her roughly down and removed his clothes. Standing naked before the girl he held his penis in his hand.
"This is what Deborah enjoys. A nice big beautiful prick in her cunt."
She wasn't crying now, she wouldn't plead again. She felt helpless, and as soon as she'd satisfied his passion, they would leave. Would he permit her to leave and tell the sheriff what he had done, or would she ever see Mama, Deborah, and Ellen again? She was a good girl, and he was the only man or boy that had seen her naked. The girls at school often told stories about boys and what they enjoyed doing to girls, but having never had a date, she didn't know how he would do it except put the big ugly bone into her.
"Take it in your hand," he ordered, walking up to the bed.
She held his prick, staring fascinated and half frightened at it.
"Now, I'm going to do you a favor, I'm going to let you suck it," he said pushing his prick against her mouth.
Lavern tried to turn her head away, but he held it, his prick trying to force her lips apart. Holding her nose with his fingers, she was compelled to open her mouth to breathe, and he pushed it in.
"Now suck it," he ordered, reaching down for her breasts.
She lay looking up at him, then pushed her head back and forth, feeling his prick throbbing in her mouth. She felt nauseated and wanted to throw up, but couldn't. She continued sliding her lips up and down his penis until he withdrew and lay beside her. She closed her eyes, knowing that in a few moments he would tear away all innocence. She waited, knowing she would feel his weight pushing down upon her.
A warm tongue entered her pussy and began tickling the limp clitoris until it became hard and started quivering. She wanted to lie still, but something within was forcing her butt to rise from the bed, pushing her cunt against his mouth. Opening her eyes, she looked down at him until suddenly his mouth began to ravage her pussy, sending a wave of chills followed by shocks over her. Her breath was now becoming harder as her nails dug into the palm of her hands. She wasn't being torn apart, there was no pain, but marvelous sensations as he ate away at her cunt.
She was rolling her head from-side to side, biting her lips, trying to extract the juice in her that had begun to roll. If it would just come to the surface, she wouldn't have this tormenting feeling. Then it stopped when he pushed himself into a sitting position.
"It's been so long since I kissed a virgin pussy. You were marvelous," he said, laying beside her, taking her into his arms.
"Why did you make me pee on our hands?" she asked, looking into his eyes.
He laughed a bit, then replied:
"When I was about twelve years old, I played with a little girl's pussy. One day when I was tickling her, she cut loose and pissed on my hand. I thought I was going to be mad at her, but it gave me a peculiar feeling. Later, when I was playing with her again, I made her do it on both our hands. I don't know what it is, but warm pee coming from a cunt drives me wild. I tried drinking it one time, thinking that would be thrilling, but it made me sick.
"Are you going to put that in me?" she asked, nodding toward his prick.
"Not this time, maybe later. I just wanted to play with you and do a little pussy kissing. I have a date tonight, so I have to save myself to satisfy the cunt I'll have on this bed."
She became angry, not at him, but herself. Suddenly she wanted his rod in her, and she wasn't frightened any more. She was warm between her legs, and something inside seemed to cry for release.
"Please put it in me."
He shook his head, laughing.
"You are a 'please' girl. One minute please don't do this, then the next, please do it. I'm sorry, you'll just have to use your finger now. Perhaps next time you come with me, I'll really give you a going over."
Norman pushed himself from the bed and began dressing. Looking down at the girl, he said:
"I'll leave you alone for a few minutes while you relieve yourself with your finger. Don't take too long, because we must get Mama and take her to the picnic."
Norman closed the door behind him and went downstairs to wait for her. She lay looking at the door, then dropped her hand to her vagina. She didn't want to do this, but she was nervous, and her cunt began to itch. Slowly at first she rubbed the lips and allowed her finger access to the inner walls. She was breathing harder now as perspiration rolled from her forehead while her finger tore into her pussy.
She groaned and rolled on the bed as she rubbed faster and faster. She felt it coming. Straining her legs, she tightened the lips of her vagina around her finger. It was coming now, the relief from the torture she had suffered was boiling to the surface, then she exploded. Holding her finger in her pussy, she looked toward the door, and said aloud:
"If that ugly thing between your legs feels as good as my finger, I want every bit of it pushed way up in me."
Lavern was dressed when the door opened and he entered the room with a rifle in his hand. She looked at the gun, afraid for a moment, then up at him.
"Don't be frightened, little one. I'm not going to shoot you. I want you to look at this bullet and tell me what I have carved on the brass part."
Lavern took the bullet and looked questioningly up at him.
"That's my name on it."
"That's right, this bullet has your name carved on it. It'll never be used if you' keep your mouth shut, but open it about what happened here, and I'll send it into that head of yours. You wanted me to fuck you a few minutes ago, but I wouldn't. I'll send for you one day very soon, and I'll expect you to come to me. I want to be the one to open you, so keep some hot pants boy's dick out of you."
Norman stopped the car in front of the house and laid his hand on her leg.
"You have beautiful legs, honey. Each night when you change into your sleepers, just look at them and say that very soon Mr. Mason will be between them."
"Before we get Mama, I want to ask you something. Is it possible for a person to kiss her own pussy?"
Norman laughed out loud, squeezing her leg. "No, but it is possible for your sister to kiss it for you."
"Deborah would never do that, but maybe Ellen would," she replied, with anticipation.
CHAPTER FOUR
Norman sat in his office, just doing nothing. The picnic had been a success. Lavern's mother had been happy about going to the picnic and had kept praising him for having been so thoughtful. He really had been thoughtful. Giving her thirteen-year-old daughter a blow job was an afterthought. She had wanted him to fuck her, but he'd turned down a young piece for what he'd had last night. Bertha was his old standby. He had met her when he'd been a sweeper in the mill, and they'd hit it off right from the start.
Bertha accepted sex any way she could get it, except a normal piece. She often said that women who turned their ass up at a man just for him to have a place to drain his cum, was the shits. She enjoyed the whip and often pleaded with Norman to tie her hands to the bed post and lay the leather to her ass. The feel of a whip against the flesh gave a sensation she looked forward to, from one ass whipping to the next.
Her visit to Blackberry Hill had been a washout for him. She'd been half drunk when he'd admitted her to the house. This had irritated him, but through pity he'd agreed to have a session with her. They'd stripped, and he'd looked at her nude body, unbelievingly. She had shaved it clean, not a speck of hair could be seen. It was repulsive to look at. It didn't look like a twat anymore, more like a dead clam. She held it open, and, through curiosity, he looked at it like a child examining another girl's hole. The more he looked the less interested he became. He concluded that after all, there was nothing to it except the hair, and that made it mysterious. When he looked at a girl with her clothes on, even a bathing suit, he imagined all sorts of things. When he got a look at it in the raw, that was something else. He accommodated her with the whip, but that was all. He didn't even receive a kick from laying the leather against her butt, only anger that his mouth had been against that dead-looking jelly fish.
Reaching for a letter on the desk, he read it again, then picked up the mike and started to dictate, when he heard loud talking outside. Walking over to the window, he looked down on the yard. A crowd of people was outside the fence talking and shouting something he couldn't understand. The door opened and his secretary entered the room.
"What's that all about?" he asked, pointing toward the crowd.
"They've gone on strike," she replied, with a sigh of resignation.
"On strike? What're they striking about, higher wages?"
"No, Mr. Mason, that's only part of it. A few minutes ago one of the men came to the office and handed me this list of their demands."
Norman took the paper from her hand and walked back to his desk to sit down. Looking over the demands, he said angrily:
"They demand the company recognize their union." Glancing over at his secretary, he bellowed, "Hell, I didn't know they had a union. Fifty cents an hour raise, sick leave, seniority, and two weeks vacation with pay."
Wading the paper up, he threw it across the room.
"They pulled this crap once before and sent me a demand that they be allowed to organize a union. I told them then there would be no union, and this crap they're pulling won't change my mind. How many have walked out?"
"All of them except the security guards," she answered, still looking out the window.
Picking up the telephone, he dialed and waited until he heard the gate guard answer.
"Burns, this is Mr. Mason. Lock the side gate and come to my office right away."
Norman paced the floor until the guard knocked on his door.
"Come in," he yelled, then went back to his desk.
"Burns, I want you to go out there and tell those people to come to the cafeteria for a meeting. I'll be down there in about ten minutes."
The guard nodded his head and left the office. Norman stood by the window and watched the guard hold up his arms and begin talking to the workers. Several looked up toward the office and began walking back into the mill. A smile came across his face as he went back to his desk and picked up the telephone. He placed a call to Rome, twenty miles to the south, and waited until a voice answered.
"This is Norman Mason calling from Sumter. I would like to speak with Mr. Ballinger." He waited, then said, "Frank, how are you? I have a little problem here at the mill. I'd like for you to send every man you have available for guard duty. I have a strike on my hands, and I need some help. I want the men armed with a pistol and a shotgun. Get them here as soon as you can ... I think you're right, Frank, you come too."
Placing the phone back on its hook, he grinned and left the office. A few minutes later he entered the cafeteria, nodding at several workers as he walked to the platform and waited until the noise had subsided. He began speaking slowly:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm glad to see the evening shift is also present. Their being here leaves no doubt in my mind that yesterday when you were enjoying the picnic and a day off with pay, you discussed walking off your jobs. The English would say that wasn't exactly cricket. You have sent me a list of your demands. You want fifty cents an hour pay increase. All right, I'll bow to that demand. You work hard, and I feel you deserve better wages. You want sick leave. You already have that, so there's no sense discussing it. Vacation with pay is out; lowering your rent from twenty dollars a week to fifteen is out, and the company's recognizing your so-called union is out. The company has operated for years without a union telling us what we can and cannot do. Right now you're demanding a union of your own, later you'll demand that the AFL-CIO come in. A bunch of Yankees from the North dictating to this company is a lot of hogwash. It's now ten-thirty, and I'm going to be generous. You may talk among yourselves until after the noon hour, then I expect to hear those machines running. If they aren't, consider yourselves out of a job. I'll close this mill down so tight it'll take an atomic bomb to pry open the gates. You have my answer to your demands. Now, I'm giving you a demand: Start those machines immediately after that lunch hour or get out; you'll no longer be employed by this company."
Norman walked from the platform and out the door while everyone stared silently at him. Returning to his office, he sent for the four guards.
"Gentlemen, I want to give you the opportunity of staying on the job or joining the others. If you stay, you'll be under the supervision of the Ballinger Detective Agency. If you're loyal to the company, I'll see that you won't lose anything for your loyalty."
"Mr. Mason," one of the men spoke, "I have to live with these people. They're my neighbors. I want to be loyal to the company and I need the job. At my age jobs aren't easy to get, but I can't cross their picket line."
Norman smiled, and asked:
"Is this how the rest of you feel?"
The men nodded their heads.
"All right, gentlemen, I understand the position you're in. I'm asking you to do this: when the lunch hour's over and the workers haven't gone back to work, lock the gates and go home. If you have no part in this strike, your jobs will be waiting when the strike's over. I don't know how long the strike will last, perhaps a few days or several weeks, but when they're out of money, the mill will operate again."
The men shook Norman's hand and returned to their gates.
Later that afternoon, the workers were still milling about the front gate, swapping stories and kicking pebbles about the ground. The Ballinger men arrived and were stationed with shotguns around the fence. This irritated the workers, and they shook their fists at the guards. Norman remained in the office for a while, then left by the rear gate where he'd parked his car. He looked neither to the right nor left when he drove past the workers who stared at him with hatred in their eyes.
Turning to the left, he drove toward Chattanooga until he came to Trion. He wasn't going any place in particular, just riding. He wasn't thinking of the strike, this didn't bother him. The workers would return when their bellies were empty and all credit at the company commissary was cut off. His thoughts were on the time he worked for the department store. They had a union, but it wasn't worth a damn. If an employee complained about an unjust situation, the business agent would remind him that he was lucky to have a job, and that was the end of it. He was helping to pay a son of a bitch's salary to tell him how lucky he was to be working.
The department store was air conditioned, but not the receiving and delivery departments at the warehouse. In summertime, the large sliding doors were left open, and hot sultry air covered the employees. In winter it was necessary to leave the doors open to load and unload the large delivery trucks. Several times it was necessary for him to either deliver or pick up things from the store. Each time a floor walker or department buyer, who naturally was a Jew, would embarrass a clerk by calling her attention to some petty mistake. He wished he could have stomped the bastard's guts into the soft carpet floor.
An idea came to him as he turned off the paved road, onto a dirt one and drove east. Why not create several jobs at the mill and employ some Jews as foremen, then fire their asses for stealing something he had planted. It would be heaven on earth to expose them in front of the entire mill. He could employ an assistant treasurer, and since the mill usually cashed its own checks for the workers, there could be a shortage. Money planted in the assistant's desk would give him an opportunity to ride high and low on some Jewish bastard.
He kept meditating to himself until he saw a country church. Turning off the dirt road, he stopped the car under the shade of a large oak and sat looking at a dilapidated sign nailed to the front of the building:
UNION BAPTIST CHURCH established 1898 Rev. James Caughton Pastor
He left the car and walked upon the small porch of the church. The front door hung loosely on rusty hinges. Pushing the door open, he looked inside, smelling a musty odor. He could hear a young girl singing as he walked down the aisle. Opening a door to a room on his right, he watched a Negro girl about eleven years old sweeping the floor while singing. He stood listening to the child sing until she looked up and jumped, a little startled, at seeing the man standing in the doorway.
"Lord, but did you scare me!" she said, trying to regain her breath.
"I'm sorry I frightened you. I was listening to you sing. You have a good voice."
"Well, thank you, sir. I like to sing."
She reminded him of his sister when she was the child's age, except this girl was black. She was a pretty girl. He glanced down at her small breasts pushing the faded cotton dress forming a mole hill on each side.
"What is this, a nigger church?"
Shaking her head, the child continued sweeping, and replied:
"No, sir. It's white. I get fifty cents to sweep ever Saturday, but tomorrow my mama's going to take me to Chattanooga, so I'm doing it today."
"Don't you go to school?"
"Sometimes I go, and then again I don't. Papa says it ain't no use going to school if you're a girl, because when you get married, you won't need schooling."
Norman rubbed the outside of his trousers, looking at the tan legs. Since becoming a man, he had never touched a child. He'd heard that a black girl has a twelve-year-old twat from the time they are born until they reach six. He continued squeezing his prick through his trousers, wondering if he could get it in a small pussy. The fling he'd had with Lavern the day before left him hot and bothered. With Bertha he hadn't even master-bated while beating her ass with the whip.
"You aren't very tall. How old are you?"
"I'll be about twelve in December."
"Do you have a boy friend?"
"No, sir."
Giving his prick a hard squeeze, he took a step toward the child.
"Just keep on squeezing that thing, Mr. white man, it ain't going to do you no good."
Norman laughed, pulling the zipper down and reaching inside his fly.
"Don't tell me you haven't ever had any."
"I ain't going to tell you, because it ain't any of your business," she replied, sweeping under a table.
"If you haven't had any, how do you know what I want to do?"
"I know what you were squeezing, and it must be hard, or you wouldn't squeeze it. Anyway, whites don't do that with blacks."
He zipped up his pants, grinning at the child.
"If I gave you a dollar, would you pull your pants down?"
The girl stopped sweeping and stared at him for a moment, then said:
"I wouldn't let you see what I got for ten dollars. You're white, and you ain't got no business talking to a child like this, white or black. How would you like for a black man to offer your child a dollar, like you did me?"
Norman laughed at the child, then took out his wallet.
"Here, this is for being a good girl," he said, laying a dollar on the table.
The child picked the bill up and looked at it.
"Thank you, but I don't want your money. If you are hard and want to put that in a hole, there's a white girl up on the mountain who'll take it," she said, handing the bill back to him.
"How do you know?"
"That trash will take on any man for a dollar-white or black. I heard my brother say he gave her a dollar, and it was good,"
Norman asked the girl to direct him to the white woman who screws black or white for a dollar. He left the church and started climbing the mountain in back of the building. Following a path winding through the underbrush, he walked for a while until he saw the house in a clearing. The roof was patched with wood shingles, and the windows were stuffed with paper where the panes had been broken.
He saw a woman standing beside an old wood stove in the front yard. She was a blonde, dressed in a faded cotton skirt. She carried a baby in a crooked arm, its head under her waist. The mother moved about, poking the fire, shifting the rusty lids of the stove to make a greater draft, all the time the baby was nursing, but didn't interfere with the woman's work.
He was close now and could smell fat back frying and baking bread. He came close to the stove, keeping his eyes on the woman. She was more girl than woman, moving about the stove with preciseness and gracefulness in every movement while the baby sucked away on her small breast. Then the door to the house opened, and a young man came out, followed by an older man. To his surprise they were dressed in new blue jeans with the brass buttons shining. They were sharp-faced men and looked alike. The younger had a stubble beard, red to match his hair. The older's was gray.
"Afternoon," said the older man. His face was neither friendly nor unfriendly.
"Good afternoon," Norman replied.
The girl kept to her work, without looking at them. Norman again glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the two men.
"We're fixing to have our supper. You ate yet?" the older man asked.
"No."
"Well, sit down with us. We don't turn nobody 'way from our table, do we, Luke?"
The younger man grunted and walked over, taking the baby from the girl's arms.
"Thank you just the same, but I'm not hungry."
"You live in these parts?"
"No."
"Don't talk much, do you?" the older man asked, sitting at a table under the tree.
"I didn't come up here to talk."
The older man grinned, nodding his head.
"How'd you hear about Nellie?" he asked, looking at the girl.
She wiped the hair from around her eyes, looking at Norman.
"I ain't ate yet," she complained.
"Never you mind, this man ain't got time to wait till you fill your belly. That'll be two dollars," he answered, holding out his hand.
Norman extracted two bills from his wallet, handing them to the man, and followed the girl into the house. They passed through the front room on to the back. She closed the bedroom door.
"You picked a hell of a time to get a hard-on," she complained, unpinning the safety pen on her blouse. "I won't get much to eat now."
Norman watched the woman disrobe while sitting on a cane-bottom chair. Her body was clean except around the nipple of her breast where the baby had been nursing. It was wet with saliva. In spite of nursing a baby, her breasts were round and firm, and her legs were perfectly proportioned to her body. She could have been a high-school girl, but was a whore for Negro and white alike. He unzipped his fly and took out his prick, holding it in his hand. The size made no impression on her as she lay naked on the bed.
"You going to play with it or put it in me?" she asked impatiently.
"You know that nigger girl who sweeps the church down there?"
"Yeah, I know her. Why?"
"Would you believe I offered her a dollar for some?"
"I believe you."
"You aren't surprised I wanted to screw a nigger child?"
"No, I ain't surprised. It makes no difference to me. You going to screw me so I can get something to eat?"
"How long does it take one of those nigger boys to fuck you?"
She frowned at him, then asked:
"What has that got to do with you screwing me?"
"I just paid two dollars to fuck you, but I don't want it. I just want to talk with a white girl who'll screw a nigger. I'll give you another two dollars just to talk."
"What do you want to talk about."
"You. How you got started fucking niggers." The girl jumped from the bed, reaching for her clothes.
"You go fuck yourself. It ain't none of your business who screws me. I ain't your woman."
Norman watched her dress, then followed her to the front porch.
"Those no-good bastards done eat all the grub and gone after a pint," she complained, picking the baby from its wooden crib. "If you just wanted to talk, why couldn't you have talked while I ate?"
Norman took her arm and pulled her inside the house.
"I said I wanted to talk, and that's what I paid my money for. Put that baby down somewhere," he ordered, pushing her toward the bedroom.
The girl laid the baby on the bed, then turned and faced him.
"All right, talk fast, because when you've talked two dollars worth, you get out."
Norman pulled a cane-bottom chair over by the bed and sat.
"How long have you been a whore?"
Shrugging her shoulders, she replied:
"I don't know, since I was ten or eleven, I guess. What the hell do you care for? Are you a preacher?"
He laughed at her, then pushed her down on the bed.
"I guess the old man's your father, but who's the young shit ass?"
"He ain't no shit ass, he's my brother Luke."
"What black bastard does the baby belong to?"
"No nigger. It's either Pa's or Luke's, I don't know which."
"Do you like for a nigger to screw you?"
"It makes no difference, a pecker is a pecker, to me."
Norman stood and took the girl by her arm, pulling her to her feet.
"I don't like niggers, and I don't like white girls who fuck them. I don't care how many white men tear up your ass, but I'm going to teach you what color your skin is."
She didn't see his hand coming at her, but felt a jar against her head, and she was on the floor.
"You son of a bitch, why did you hit me?" She screamed at him, pushing herself from the floor.
He caught her arm and continued slapping her across her face. Grabbing a handful of dress, he tore it from her body.
"You dirty bastard, who do you think you are-God?" she screamed, trying to fight him.
Norman held both her hands, and answered:
"I am God. I'm God Almighty. I became God when I took on a bitch as my wife. I control people's lives, make them beg and plead for a crumb of bread. Do you know who God is?" he shouted in her face. "God's the almighty dollar. With it, I am God. Without it, I'm one of the many who crawl, begging for a handout from God. They believe in a God in the sky while I know the true God: money, money, do you hear me, you dirty whore?"
Fear was on her face. This was a mad man, and she was helpless to ward off the blows he was inflicting upon her. She fell to the floor again, and he dropped down beside her, beating her with his fist. She tried to cover her head with her arms. Her mouth was now bleeding, and she thought she would strangle as the blood filled her mouth.
Standing over the bruised girl, he pointed his finger at her, and said:
"I'll be back, if I hear you've been fucking niggers again. Tell your father and brother that God will have his vengeance on them, later."
She heard him walk through the front room out on the porch. Pulling herself upon the bed, she fell beside the baby who lay sleeping.
"I'll kill that son of a bitch someday," she murmured, closing her eyes to rest.
CHAPTER FIVE
There wasn't any reason to go to the office since the workers were on strike. He lay around the house reading a novel, then walked out on the lawn and watched Faulkner, whom he had employed while the strike was on, cut the grass and weed his wife's flowers. The postman brought him a letter from Aggie with a short note enclosed from his daughter. They were flying to Switzerland the next day for a week to see the breathtaking scenery. She wanted to see the Alpine snow-clad peaks, mammoth glaciers, and crystal lakes. Secretly he wished she would fall into the lake. He wouldn't have to knuckle under to her every whim, if that happened. The mill and town would belong to him. He had come a long way from the dirty street a few blocks north of Georgia Avenue he called home to the mansion he now occupied. On one side was a family of Dagos with two teen-age kids trying to drown the other out with a ball game on the radio and a phonograph on the other.
Edith was in the house using the vacuum cleaner. Norman laughed one day and told her he had the cleanest rugs in the state. When the housework was finished and his dinner on the table, she would get the vacuum cleaner out and work some more before he drove her home.
Deborah came every night to discuss with him something about the office. Several nights they concluded their business in his bedroom. He was looking forward to her visit this evening, because he had conceived several things he would have her do to stimulate his sex organ. Stripping naked, sucking over her body, winding up with an old-fashion screwing had become monotonous to him. Several times he glanced at his watch, then grinned to himself when the chimes announced she was at the front door. The sun was still an hour in the sky when he opened the door. He was surprised to see Lavern instead of Deborah.
"Hi, Mr. Mason," she greeted him, smiling.
"Well, hello, pretty girl. What brings you to Blackberry Hill?"
"Deborah couldn't come by this afternoon because she came home sick to her stomach. I was supposed to call you on the telephone from the commissary, but I just thought I'd come up here, instead."
"Come on in," he answered, opening the screen door.
"I can't come in, Mama told me to come straight back after calling you."
"Aw, come on in and let's have a glass of apple cider together," he insisted, taking the girl by her arm and leading her into the living room.
"Those people sure are mad at you. This morning I went by the mill, and a man yelled at me and said there goes the sister of a scab. I told him to step to hell, then some woman said wait until Aggie gets back and finds out what Deborah's been doing with her husband. Deborah told me never to tell you, but somebody put a broken-down baby carriage on our front porch the other night. A sign on it made me mad as the devil. It asked, 'When are you going to have Aggie's husband's baby?' "
Norman stared in silence several moments at her, then went to the telephone and dialed a number.
"Ben, this is Mr. Mason talking. No more credit to anyone who works in the mill. That includes the office force who refused to cross the picket line ... I don't give a damn how much their kids need milk, I said cut out all credit!"
He slammed the receiver back on its cradle.
"Was that the commissary?" she asked, surprised.
"Let's see if they still are in the mood for practical jokes. Those no-good bastards will be crawling on their hands and knees before I'm finished with them. If I'm not mistaken, the two grocery stores' leases will be up for renewal at the end of the month. I don't want to forget to pay them a visit in the morning and see if they won't cooperate and cut off all credit too."
"When you get mad, you are mad," Lavern said, sitting on the sofa.
"That's not all they have coming to them. One more move on their part, and I'll have my attorney throw them out of the company owned houses. Hell, they aren't hurting me. I can live comfortably the rest of my life without opening the mill, while they starve," he replied, going into the kitchen.
A few minutes later he returned and handed the girl a glass of cider.
"I'm sure glad Deborah didn't walk out with the others. Mama has to get another wheelchair. Hers is about to fall apart. Deborah said when she gets paid Friday, she's going to buy me a new tire for my bicycle."
Norman kept his eyes on the girl while she chattered away, forming a plan in his mind. He'd had plans for her sister, but Lavern would do just as well. They were both pretty girls, and there was the possibility this child was a virgin. He watched her drain the last of the cider from the glass, then took the glass and set it on a table and sat beside her.
"About a month ago I was looking through a Sears catalog and saw a real pretty wheelchair. You could run it like an automobile. There were two wheels in front and one in the rear that guided the chair. If your mother had a chair like that, she could press a button to go forward and another to go backward."
The girl's face lit up, and she asked:
"Wouldn't that be wonderful for Mother? She could drive it down the ramp on the front porch and ride up and down the sidewalk. Gosh, I'll bet one of them costs a lot of money."
"I would say a little over a thousand dollars, but I think your mother deserves something like that."
"You mean you'd buy one for her?"
Norman reached over and took the girl's hand.
"I wouldn't buy it, but you could."
"I don't understand. I don't have any money."
Norman slipped his arm around the girl and pulled her closer.
"You have something that could get you the money."
Lavern looked at him and grinned.
"Oh, I know what you mean. If I let you do that with me, you'll give me the money to buy Mama the wheelchair."
"I don't think you quite understand, or you put a high price on what you have to offer. I'm not going to give a thousand dollars just to tear your little twat up. Let's make it a business proposition. I'll see that Mama has the wheelchair, and I'll throw in a new bicycle for you. In return, you'll sell me your body, from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet."
The girl looked in dismay at him.
"Sell my body? I don't understand."
"I've always wanted to really own a girl. You let me own you and do anything I want to, and the bike and wheelchair is yours."
"How do you mean own me? Just like you own a dog or cat?"
"That's just about it. I wouldn't expect you to leave your home and live here, but you'd come to me when I wanted you. In plain English, you'd be my slave to do and say anything I order you to."
"I don't know anything I'd have to do except get naked and let you do it with me," she declared, with a half laugh.
"I don't want you to say yes, then later tell me you didn't understand what it meant to be a slave."
Lavern shook her head, frowning.
"I don't know about that. I saw a movie one time about a man on the desert who owned girls, and he beat them with a whip. Does that mean you could beat me if I were your slave?"
"That's right, but who'd want to beat on a beautiful body such as yours? When you were a little girl and did something wrong, your mother punished you. It would be the same way with me. If my slave disobeyed me, then I'd have to punish her."
"Gosh, it gives me a funny feeling inside just thinking about it. How long would I have to be your slave for the wheelchair and a new bicycle?"
Norman's penis was straining against his clothing as he stared with sinister eyes at the child.
"Shall we say for twelve months? You could take anything for twelve months, especially with a new bicycle. We'll take your mother to Chattanooga Saturday and buy the wheelchair, and you can pick out any bicycle you want."
The child's eyes seemed to dance when she thought of the new bicycle.
"All right, I'm your slave," she said gleefully.
"Not so fast, honey. You'll have to give me your word on it. Now repeat after me: I promise and give my word that from this minute on I'll be your slave for twelve months."
Lavern repeated after him, then he continued:
"I promise that my body will belong to you, and I will obey anything you tell me to do or say."
Again the child repeated after him.
"Does that make me a slave?"
"It does, but you must be a serious slave, because this isn't a joke. Let's go upstairs," he said, taking her by the hand.
"I can't today, because I've got to get back home."
Norman stared at the girl with a frown on his face. Looking up at him, she nodded her head.
"I forgot I was your slave. Okay, let's go," she said, standing.
Norman led the way up the steps and into his bedroom.
"Slip your clothes off, but leave your pants on," he ordered, removing his shirt.
Lavern grinned a little and pulled her dress over her head.
"Now what, Master?" she asked, still grinning.
Norman slapped the child across her cheek.
"I told you this wasn't a joke, so don't ever speak to me in that tone of voice."
Lavern was shocked as she rubbed her cheek.
"You didn't say you'd slap me for just talking," she declared, trying to fight back the tears.
"Get those damn clothes off and be quick about it!" he ordered looking angrily at her.
Lavern quickly removed her brassiere and threw it on a chair. Taking her into his arms, he kissed her lips, then her cheeks.
"When I asked you who owns you or who owns any part of your body, you'll say my master owns me. Do you understand?"
She nodded her head, feeling a little frightened.
His mouth bruised her tender lips as he pressed against her, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She could feel his penis pushing against her leg which eased her fears and caused a warm feeling to cover her. Pushing her away, he looked up and down her, then reached out to clasp her left breast in his hand.
"Whose titty is this?" he asked, staring into her eyes.
"Yours," she mumbled.
Again he slapped her across her cheek.
"You will learn to say, my titty belongs to you."
"I didn't know!" she screamed out at him. "You stop slapping me!"
Norman took her arm, tightening his fingers, and pulled her against a wall.
"Hold your hands high over your head. You'll stand that way until you beg me to forgive you for talking back to me," he said, walking over to a chair and sitting.
Lavern stood holding her arms over her head, watching his every move. She was now frightened and knew he was capable of doing anything to her. She wanted to leave and tell him where he could stick the wheelchair and bicycle, but knew escape without his consent was impossible.
He had slipped his trousers off and sat with his penis in his hand, rubbing it. She wanted to plead with him to permit her to lower her arms. Tears came to her eyes as the aching in her arms increased. How much longer she could hold her arms over her head, she didn't know.
This was a new thrill to him. The thought that she would have to submit to any torture or indignities he might order gave him a sensation. Her breasts were standing straight out, and he could see the small mound of hair pushing against her panties.
"Please let me put my arms down," she cried, tears running down her cheek.
Walking over to the dresser, he opened a drawer and took a clothes hanger out. One end of the wire hanger was wrapped in gauze with the stick and curve cut off. Walking back to her, he showed her the hanger.
"If you have never been beaten with a clothes hanger, you've missed something. I got my ass beat when I was fifteen with one, because I screwed a little six-year-old girl between the legs. The daddy and grown brother caught me in their basement and made me take my pants down while they whipped me with one of these. It makes your ass feel like a blowtorch is burning against you. You disobey me one time, and I'll use this on your cute little butt. Now you may put your hands down and take those panties off."
Lavern dropped her hands, working her fingers to get the blood flowing into them again. Again he put his arms around her and shot his tongue in her mouth. For several minutes he held her, pushing his prick against her leg. Pushing her roughly onto the bed, he lay beside her, taking her breast and inserting it in his mouth. There were no warm feelings as she'd had when she'd first gotten naked and his prick was pushing against her leg. She felt nothing except nausea. She closed her eyes when he crawled on top of her and rubbed his penis against the lips, of her pussy. She felt his weight pressing down and received his tongue in her mouth when she felt it against her lips. Deborah had talked to her about how it would feel when a boy stuck his pecker in her vagina. There would be a sharp pain, then it would be over. His prick was slowly being pushed into her, forcing the walls of her cunt to stretch, then found the obstruction. He pushed hard against the hymen but it failed to give. Several times he used short jabs, hoping to break through.
"Damned if you haven't got the toughest one I've encountered," he said, giving his prick another thrust downward.
Lavern bit her lips, throwing her head from side to side, in agony.
"Oh, take it out please, it's hurting," she cried, each time he thrust forward.
He gave a hard thrust, sending his prick against the skin, tearing it apart as the girl uttered a muffled scream with her fist buried in her mouth.
"Whose pussy is this?" he asked, lying down on the girl and starting to pump.
"My pussy belongs to you," she sobbed and lay still, thankful that the excruciating pain was over.
There was no passion in her as she wiggled her butt, hoping for a quick discharge from him so she could go home. There was no good feeling inside her, now that she realized what it meant to be his slave. This she would have to endure for twelve months. Not for the bicycle and wheelchair, but she knew it would be impossible to refuse him. She knew there wasn't anything he wouldn't do if she failed to obey. She couldn't go to the police, because he already had shown her a bullet with her name on it. She was trapped and would have to accept whatever torture he wanted to inflict upon her.
She was glad when he buried his mouth against her lips and began sucking her tongue, because she could feel his prick throbbing. He lay on top of her until every drop had drained, then pushed himself from the bed. Going into the bathroom, he washed his prick and returned, grinning down at her.
She sat up, looking at a small stain on the sheet.
"You didn't bleed half as much as I thought you would," he said, reaching for his trousers. "Now, get dressed and get out."
CHAPTER SIX
Deborah sat listening to the hi fi, trying to enjoy the cool breeze flowing through the window. The house was nicer on Daisy Hill than below where hardly a faint breeze could be felt. It was autumn, and the trees were beginning to turn from a dark green to brown, yellow, and even purple. She enjoyed this time of year more than winter or summer. Usually it was cool enough at night for a blanket, but the day had been extremely warm.
She left her chair and turned the records over,. after the last one dropped on the turn table. She had a collection of albums. She had built the cabinet herself before coming to Sumter a few years before. She'd left ample space for a large collection of records, even if it was only half full. She enjoyed the Strauss waltzes better than any, but Lavern wanted the records that had the loudest noise to them. She usually left the room when Deborah was playing the classical music. Along with Strauss, she had records of Chopin, Victor Herbert, and Tchaikovsky.
Lavern entered the room, drying her hair with a large towel and wearing nothing but her panties.
"Dry my back," she requested, stooping down so Deborah wouldn't have to stand.
Deborah was fascinated at her sister's breasts, something she had seen hundreds of times. Tonight, they were as a magnet drawing her eyes to the tiny nipples. She couldn't stop herself from briefly thinking how nice they looked. Women simply understood each other better than men. There was no reason for her to be thinking along this line, she just was, that's all. For a moment she regretted that women couldn't marry each other and have children. She didn't dare dwell on the thought, because she would start thinking she was a lesbian, lusting after her kid sister. Then she thought, what would be wrong in that? She wasn't a lesbian, she knew that, but if she were, so what? Homosexuals aren't hurting anyone. If two men enjoyed living together as if they were married, that was their business. The same for lesbians.
She felt terribly uncomfortable rubbing the towel over Lavern's butt. Why this should cause her to feel this way, she couldn't understand. She gave the butt a light slap, throwing the towel into Lavern's hands.
A few minutes after Lavern went into their room, she turned the record player off and entered their room. Her sister was sitting up in bed, looking at a health magazine showing men exhibiting their muscles while wearing very little.
"I don't know what you get from looking like a sick kitten at those pictures," Deborah said, slipping her skirt down her legs.
Lavern didn't reply and waited until her sister had climbed into bed beside her.
"Look at this big hunk of meat. Man, I'll bet he has a pecker under those shorts that would come out the other side of a girl."
Deborah slid under the sheet, making a disgusting sound with her lips.
"Why do you talk so ugly? You never hear Mother or me talking that way. Since you were seven or eight years old, you've talked dirty. When you get mad with someone, it's 'kiss my butt,' 'stick it up your butt,' and things like that."
"I never said kiss my butt, I said kiss my ass and stick it up your ass," she corrected. "Anyway, there are three kinds of people in this world. One who talks ugly, but never does anything wrong, then the one who does ugly but never talks dirty."
"You said three, what about the third person?"
"That's me, I talk dirty and do ugly every chance I get."
Deborah laughed a little and turned herself facing Lavern.
"I think you're more talk than anything else."
"Oh, yeah? Well, I think you're the second person; you don't talk ugly, but I'll bet you can wiggle that ass of yours."
"Lavern, that's enough of that kind of talk. Cut out the light and let's go to sleep."
"Deborah," Lavern said, ignoring her sister's remark, "you told me it would hurt when a boy sticks his thing in a girl the first time, but does it hurt every time?"
"What're you trying to do, trick me into saying I let men do that with me?"
"Aw, don't give me that crap, Deborah Bulloch, you've been fucked, and there's no use denying it."
Anger flew over Deborah, and she sat up in bed, saying:
"I've warned you about such language, and if I have to beat the starch out of you, you're going to stop. I don't go around letting men do things like that with me."
"What about Mr. Mason? Don't tell me you became personnel manager because you were so qualified. Bull shit, you don't know beans about that job. The difference between you and me, you screw and lie about it, but I won't lie."
"What do you mean, you won't lie? Has Mr. Mason done anything with you?" Deborah demanded to know.
"I didn't say Mr. Mason had, .but that doesn't mean I've never done it. I've got feelings between my legs the same as you. What's so wrong about doing something about it when you get hot pants?"
Deborah laid her hand on Lavern's arm, and said:
"Honey, you're at a dangerous age. You don't know enough, and yet you know just enough to cause you to want to experiment, and that's wrong. You're supposed to wait until you're married before you do such things."
Lavern looked at her, puzzled.
"Why? Why should I wait until I'm married to enjoy it?"
"Several reasons. It's the law, and also it's wrong, unless you're married."
"Now what does a piece of paper and some hard-dicked preacher saying a few words have to do with right and wrong? A little piece of legal paper changes right from wrong. That doesn't make sense to me. I think everyone should have a right to enjoy a get together if she's married, single, old, or young. Mamie Tidwell and I went to the movie one Saturday and sat in the balcony. A little boy and girl were sitting in front of us, and a man sat down beside the girl. I saw him put his hand under the child's dress and feel her. We didn't watch the picture from then on, because they gave us more fun watching him play with her butt."
"Didn't you go tell the manager and have him call the police?"
"Hell, no. Why should we get the man in trouble? That kid was enjoying what he was doing, so why should we stop their fun?"
Shaking her head, Deborah sighed, and said:
"I don't know what's going to become of you. Your values on right and wrong are way off. I believe you and Mr. Mason deserve each other."
Deborah kept glancing at her sister, trying to keep her mind on their conversation. Her eyes were being drawn to the child's breasts as if a strong force controlled them. The flimsy material of her nightie was pasted to her jutting young breasts by the film of perspiration. She could see the smooth legs and the outline of her panties. This frustrated her. She looked at her sister's face, then back to her bust, to her exposed navel, then again at the outline of her pants. She knew what her cunt looked like, because she had watched it grow from a tiny slit to its present size with a mound of hair covering the inner parts. She wanted to spit on herself for having this feeling, but it had come on her while rubbing the child's back and around her well-formed butt.
She wasn't a stranger to the art of being a lesbian, having been baptized by an experienced woman while she was only fifteen, and again when she was sixteen. Off and on her mind drifted back to the two women who had used her body and in return given her a few moments of lasting thrills. She again looked at Lavern, and a frightening feeling came over her. Her hand was on Lavern's breast. The child sat, looking bewildered while Deborah's hand was kneading away on the soft muscles.
Quickly withdrawing her hands, she tried to smile, but couldn't.
"I'm sorry, Lavern. I don't know what made me do it," she apologized.
"You must be a long way out. We were discussing getting a piece, and the next thing I knew you were squeezing my titty. I have to admit it felt good, even if it was your hand doing it."
A strange feeling was hovering over Deborah. She sat up in bed and slipped her arms around her sister, and kissed her. This sent a chilling sensation over Lavern, and when Deborah's tongue penetrated her mouth, her hand automatically dropped to her vagina.
"I'm going to have to do it to you, Lavern," she said, slipping her gown over her head.
Lavern watched her sister, shocked by her actions, yet enjoying every move Deborah made.
"Take your P.J.'s off," Deborah said, her breath coming harder.
Lavern pulled her tops over her head, then slipped the bottoms and her panties off at the same time.
"What're we going to do?" Lavern asked, sitting naked on the bed.
"You enjoy talking ugly, so I'll tell you in plain words: I'm going to fuck you."
"Are you a nut or something? You can't fuck me without a dick."
Deborah again put her arm around Lavern and clasped the small breast in her right hand. Gently she mauled the muscles and rubbed her finger over the nipple. Lavern was sighing quietly when her sister's tongue again entered her mouth. Deborah felt she was a stumbling fool, consumed by a desire she couldn't control or direct. She'd had to touch the flesh, feel it in her hand. A wave of terror passed over her. If she taught Lavern what she had learned from a more experienced woman, would she be instrumental in causing her sister to become a lesbian. Fear alone pulled her hand away from the breast, but not far enough. She moved her fingers down to the hair and began scratching gently around the vagina.
Lavern had lain on the bed, looking at the hand that was now rubbing the lips of her cunt. Then their lips met again, tentatively at first, soft and exploratively. Their tongues were now waging war against each other, their lips sucking in the sweet saliva. Her finger penetrated the walls of her own pussy and were rubbing the clitoris that had become firm.
Deborah shifted her body and was on top of the unsuspecting girl. Again the soft, adolescent lips parted, and their mouths were fused together, impossibly linked in a passionate kiss. She lay pliant beneath her, their breathing heavy as Deborah increased the pressure of her mouth against her sister's lips. Deborah's finger had failed to find the barrier she thought would be there. Lavern hadn't lied, only said that Mr. Mason hadn't screwed her. Had she really said Norman Mason hadn't penetrated her body, or skillfully avoided the answer to keep from lying?
Deborah's thoughts were now on Norman's overly large penis. Surely it couldn't penetrate such a tight pussy in which her finger had played a moment before. The lips of their vaginas parted then were glued together, rubbing back and forth. She felt Lavern quiver beneath her as they joined their bodies.
Deborah tried to remember what the two lesbians had done with her, and felt awkward as the inside of their vagina lips rubbed back and forth.
"What is this called, Deborah?"
"I don't know, let's not start trying to examine sex closely. You start analyzing why we do things, it'll take all the romance out of it. You know it feels good and so do I. While it's good, let it remain good."
"You love me, don't you, Deborah."
"Certainly I love you. You're my sister, aren't you?"
"That's not what I mean. You love me more than a sister. I saw the way you kept looking at my titties. There was a new kind of love in your eyes."
"All right, I have a different feeling than just being your sister. Please don't talk any more, and let's enjoy what we're doing."
Deborah watched her sister under her. The girl's expression reported she was in exotic torment as they rolled with each other in unison, planting heavy wet kisses on each other's lips, cheeks, and ears. Lavern had never imagined anything like it. The agonizing twist of their bodies, the fervent writhing of their torsos, were out of the world. They were both out of control, each feeling nothing but animal lust that had to be satisfied. The low groans escaping Lavern's lips stopped for an instant, and she could feel the young girl's vagina push upward against her. She knew Lavern had had a release, but not the ultimate release she wanted her to have.
"Hump it, honey, hump it hard," Deborah whispered, gasping for breath.
Lavern's hand reached over her sister's butt and found the opening to her hole. She tried to dig into it, sending additional tremors over the girl as she pumped away, trying herself to receive the satisfaction she knew was forthcoming. The young girl's groans were now growing in volume, and Deborah was forced to stop long enough to hold her hand over Lavern's mouth.
"Quiet, honey, Mama'll hear us."
"I can't, I've never had anything to feel this way before," she replied, giving her finger a thrust into the tight ass-hole.
"Oh, Christ, oh, Christ," Deborah groaned.
"I'm finishing, Deborah, I can't hold back," Lavern cried, as she felt her orgasm coming.
It ended as it had begun, in slow, twitching slides, as their walls, glued together, refused to move again. Their lips were joined, and, as the climax hit the older girl, she opened her lips, allowing her saliva to seep into her sister's mouth.
They remained locked in each other's fervent embrace for several long minutes before slowly and reluctantly parting. Deborah struggled to get off the bed and lay looking down toward the young tender body she had raped with all the pleasure and torture their pussies could give them.
Kneeling on the floor by the bed, Deborah's hand fondled the wet hair around her sister's cunt. She had everything of a woman, yet it was developed like a child. She touched every part of Lavern's body, then took her foot in her hand and kissed its sole. She wanted to put the toes in her mouth, for no apparent reason, she just wanted to. She sucked on the big toe, then let her tongue slide over the foot and up the calf of the leg to her thigh. She hovered over her vagina again, then worked her tongue over her stomach to her navel. Her tongue dipped into the small round hole, then crept upward to the round, firm breasts. There she kissed, sucked, and nibbled. Her hand slid back down to the vagina. It was open and wet, eager for an entrance of anything hard and straight. Her finger entered the cave, while Lavern's demanding hips moved in a semicircle against her hand.
Deborah could feel the convulsion within her while her floodgates opened and her passion began to pour forth in a tidal wave of pleasure. Her sister gave one groan nearly too loud, then slumped back against the bed clothes, sighing and gasping.
"You're sweet, Lavern, the sweetest sister a girl could have."
Lavern smiled up at her.
"I thought I loved you, but now I can't seem to get enough of you against me. All big sisters should love enough to share their knowledge with their younger sisters."
"Don't you ever do this with Ellen, she's only ten and wouldn't understand," Deborah warned.
"Don't get that crap into your head. I've seen that little hot pants gouge herself several times. I'll bet if I stuck my tongue into her little pussy, she'd have a duck fit. Don't worry about me doing that to Ellen. I rubbed her slit one time for her, and she followed me around for a week, begging me to play with it again."
Deborah went into the bath adjoining their bedroom, shaking her head slowly. Times were changing so rapidly. A few years ago, she wouldn't have permitted either of her sisters to see her in the nude. Now she was seesawing her young sister who in turn would teach Ellen, regardless of the warning she had given her. Stepping into the tub, she turned on the shower, looking down at her vagina. A hairy slit was priceless if used right, and her slit had given her the title of personnel manager, when her capabilities wouldn't have gone beyond a typewriter.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Saturday morning, Norman parked his car in front of Deborah's house. He sat for a moment, looking down upon the town with a feeling of triumph. How little had he known when he'd jumped from a truck that had stopped for gasoline in the town that someday he would practically own it.
It had been on a Saturday morning when he was cleaning the rest rooms that he'd met Aggie. He had mopped the floor and was cleaning the mirror over the basin in the ladies' room, when she'd entered.
Thinking she was one of the employees in the office, their conversation concluded with his inviting her to a movie that night. She agreed to meet him "at the drugstore at seven o'clock, since her father wouldn't approve and she would have to sneak out of the house.
Aggie wasn't pretty but was lots of fun to be with. It wasn't until one of the other sweepers had seen them together and joked with him, saying he was courting the boss's daughter, that he realized the door of opportunity was opening for him.
They had made a date to go swimming the next Saturday. He didn't see Aggie again until they met at the creek. He hitched a ride with a man who was going near there, and he waited an hour before she arrived. His eyes opened wide when he saw the sports convertible she drove. Pretending he didn't know who her father was, he told her she must've sunk several weeks pay in order to make a down payment on the car. She had laughed and said it wasn't hard to raise the money.
It wasn't until they had several dates and was parked in the Chattahoochee National Forest, that he expressed his love for her. The night ended when he opened her vagina with his overly large penis. Driving toward Sumter, she told him she wasn't one of the girls who worked in the office at the mill. She was the daughter of the president John Byron. It mattered not to him who her father was, he had expressed his love. Later, when she became pregnant, they were married secretly in Rome. They confronted the old man with the fact that there would be three living in the big house instead of two. Aggie not only dominated her father, but held the reins over Norman too. He was willing for his wife to wear the pants as long as his pockets were loaded with money.
This morning he was taking Lavern to Chattanooga to buy the wheelchair and also a bicycle. They had agreed they would tell Lavern's mother that she was going to help him take all the books in his office down to be dusted. It would be a happy surprise when they returned with the chair for her.
He gave several light taps on the horn and waited until she came running out the door. Deborah stood on the front porch and waved at them as they drove off. It was necessary to tell her about the trip, and she wondered why she hadn't been invited to go. Watching the car until it turned the corner, she couldn't help but think that beneath all the hate there must be some love, or he wouldn't be so thoughtful of her crippled mother. While washing the dishes, her thoughts took her back to the night before when she had introduced Lavern to the art of being a lesbian. The child hadn't admitted nor denied that Mr. Mason had screwed her. She dismissed the thought from her mind that a grown man would bother a thirteen-year-old child when he had her at his command.
"Who's my girl this morning?" Norman asked, after they were on the Chattanooga Highway. "Me," Lavern answered.
They drove in silence, passing through Trion and were driving up Taylor Ridge, before he laid his hand on her naked leg. She was wearing a white halter and shorts which added to the beauty of her shapely body.
"Whose pretty legs are these?" he asked, sliding his hand up her thigh, allowing his finger to push the cloth into her crack.
"Everything I have belongs to you," she replied, then added, "I sure was sore the next day in school after you fucked me, but I'm all right now."
Driving through Rossville, they crossed the state line and entered Chattanooga.
"I've been to Chattanooga once when I was about five years old. My father took us three girls with him when he came looking for a job. We lived in Rome then."
Norman ignored the girl's statement, saying:
"When we're finished buying the wheelchair and bike, I have to see a man on business. This man is a professional strike breaker, and I want him to send some workers in so we can start the mill to operating. Mrs. Mason wouldn't be happy when she returned and found the mill closed down because of a strike."
He parked his car on the Sear's lot and entered the store. Looking at several chairs, they found the one that was pictured in the catalog. The saleslady demonstrated the operation of the chair.
"What do you think?" he asked, looking at Lavern.
"Mama would love it," she answered excitedly. "We'll take it," he agreed, reaching for his checkbook.
Lavern found the bicycle she wanted and became so excited she would liked to have ridden it back to Sumter.
Later, he stopped the car in front of a large hotel and got out.
"Why're we stopping here?" she asked.
"I have an appointment to meet this man I told you about, so I figured you'd want something to do. You can watch television while I'm gone, then we'll go back home."
Lavern looked back at the wheelchair and bike.
"I'm glad you came in the station wagon. We couldn't have gotten the chair in the trunk of an automobile."
"That's why we came in the station wagon. Before we show it to your mother, I'll have Mr. Faulkner put it together so she can get in it after the shock wears off."
Norman had called on the telephone and reserved a room for himself and daughter. He tipped the bellboy for opening the door and bringing ice to the room. Turning to Lavern, who was looking out the window, he walked up and put his arms around her. Their lips met, and he could feel her push herself against him. For several minutes he held her in his arms, their bodies weaving in, out, and around. He wanted her now, but the time for his appointment was near, and this could wait until he returned. Then he would take possession of this young tender body that belonged to him. He pushed himself away from her and looked down at the bulge in his trousers.
"This had better go down before I leave the room," he said.
"Maybe you want me to cause it to get soft."
He again took her in his arms and kissed her lips, then entered the bathroom and bathed his face.
"I won't be over an hour, baby, then when I come back you can raise it again for me. Don't play with yourself and get tired out, because we have some fun in store."
For a while Lavern watched the cartoons on the television, then looked out the window. Walking over to the door, she went into the hall and strolled down to an Exit sign and stood looking at the traffic below. They were eleven stories up, and the cars below looked like toys darting back and forth.
"Hi ya, chick," a voice behind her said.
Turning around, she looked into the face of a young man who could have been mistakened for a girl. His hair covered his shoulders and was almost golden in color.
"Are you a hippie?" she asked, looking suspiciously at him.
"Nope, I'm not a hippie. Just because I wear my hair long doesn't mean I'm a hippie. What are you looking at, something interesting happening below?"
"No, I was just watching the automobiles down there."
"This is my room. Do you want to come in and see Lookout Mountain?"
Lavern hesitated a moment, then replied:
"I don't think I'd better. Mr. Mason might get mad if he returned and I was in your room."
"Aw, come on, you're safe with me. Besides, you're too old for me to have any thoughts but honorable," he said, opening the door to his room. "Look toward that window, you can get a good view of the mountain."
Lavern slowly walked into the room, staring out the window.
"What river is that?" she asked, pointing.
"That's the Tennessee River. It flows south around Signal Mountain, Chatanooga, then winds its way around Lookout Mountain. Here, look through these and you may be able to see the cable car going up the side of the mountain," he said, handing her a pair of binoculars.
Lavern looked through the glasses for a while, then laid them on a table.
"I'd better get back to my room. Mr. Mason may come back, and he wouldn't know where I was."
"Don't go now, let's turn the radio on and dance," he pleaded, turning the switch as music filled the room.
Taking her into his arms, he attempted to slide his feet over the floor.
"I can't dance," she protested, trying to push him away.
"Aw, come on, I'll teach you to dance the snake. There's nothing to it. Stand in one spot, lift your heels off the floor, gyrate your pelvis in time with the music."
He shot one leg in between Lavern's and, without losing time to the music, used his upper thigh to rub against her vagina while his chest raked back and forth across her small breasts. It was a slow, teasing motion, with his fingers locked around her back and his cheek against hers. Lavern broke out in a light perspiration, and she felt if the music didn't stop" soon, she didn't know what would happen. It was the most agonizing feeling she'd had in a long time, and she didn't want it to stop. As his lips moved against her neck and down to her shoulders, his teeth took teasing bites from her flesh.
His hand touched her butt, and she felt her vagina becoming damp as she pushed against his hard prick.
"What did you mean when you said I was too old for you?"
"Oh, nothing. You wouldn't understand."
Their bodies continued in rhythm with the music sending hot flashes over Lavern. This was an unusual boy, not anything like the young-men in Sumter. She knew from the feeling against her pussy, he wanted to do it with her, but he hadn't made a move to touch her breasts with his hand. What little she had seen or experienced, that was usually the first move toward a piece.
"Come on, tell me, why did you say I was too old for you?"
"Well, to begin with, you're about fifteen, and I'm eighteen. Normally that would be about right, but not with such as I. Now you've asked me and I guess when I tell you, then you'll run from the room ashamed you even talked with me."
"I wouldn't do no such thing. I like you. You're a very nice person."
He pulled away from her and sat on the bed.
"I'm known among the do-gooders as a child molester. The worse type of degenerate, pervert, or what have you. I get my kicks looking at little girls' panties or going into a public toilet watching little boys pee. Oh, I like to tackle a girl my own age once in a while, but the urge to make a kid is my specialty."
Lavern sat on a chair across from him, and asked:
"What do you do to a child?"
"Nothing much. I've never actually hurt a kid in my life, just felt of their twats, love them up some and show what I have."
"I think you're pulling my leg."
He laughed a little, then answered:
"No, I'm not, but it's a good idea. I fooled with the wrong kid in my home town, and she told on me. They were going to send me to prison, but my father, being a big shot in town, agreed to send me to a hospital for treatment. That's what I'm doing here, waiting for my father. He sent me to Chattanooga until arrangements can be made to get me in a hospital."
"How old was the child you bothered?"
"She was about nine or ten. I didn't hurt her, just did it between her legs. She got as much of a kick out of it as I did, but I'm the one they blamed. I have a horse, and she enjoyed riding him, so one day she asked me to take her for a ride. We rode out through the woods. I felt of her naked legs while she sat in front of me on the horse. She took my hand and placed it between her legs, so I knew she wanted to have some fun. She told her big sister, and sister told Mama, and Mama told the cops. They couldn't find a mark on the child where I had hurt her. The little devil liked it so much she begged me to do it again when I got through. Did you ever have a man play with you when you were small?"
Shaking her head, Lavern's voice trembled a little.
"No, I didn't." '
He walked over and took Lavern by the hand, pulling her to her feet. With his arm about her, his hand dropped to her leg. Their lips met, and his tongue probed the inside of her mouth, sending the message over her quivering body.
"You're sweet. I want you," he said, walking her backwards to the bed.
"No, no," she muttered, when he pushed her gently down onto the bed and sat beside her.
His hand slipped up and down her leg, then his finger pushed under her shorts and touched her pussy. She wanted to push him away but didn't have the strength: The dancing and his story about fooling with the child had added fuel to the burning fire that Norman had created while kissing her before he'd left. She knew she wanted him to do it with her, and to fight him off would only delay the pleasure awaiting her.
He kissed her again, then reached under the body and unsnapped the halter and brassiere, removing them, then ran his hand over her stomach.
"I'm not a child," she whimpered, when he pulled her shorts down her legs.
"I'm glad you aren't. I couldn't do to a sixor seven-year-old girl what I'm going to do."
She lay feeling helpless that she had wanted him to get her naked and give her the pleasure she knew would be as thrilling as she anticipated. He looked at her vagina, curling the short hairs around his finger.
She adjusted her position on the bed and smiled at him, lowering her head to see his erection when he stepped out of his shorts. His penis wasn't as large as Norman's, but her eyes widened, waiting for the tormenting pleasure coming her way.
Lying beside the girl, he took her hand and placed it on his prick. Her eyes were still open as he did so. He didn't tell her to do it, but watched as her lips covered it, and he felt the first hot, wet pressure.
She slid her lips up and down, wetting the length of his prick, then she clasped the base in one hand. This wasn't an innocent ten-year-old sucking him; she had to be experienced. It was agony and pleasure, as intense as he had ever had from a child. He watched as she slid her mouth down almost to the base, her lips touching the hand holding it. He knew in no more than an instant or two he would ejaculate, and it wouldn't be fair to her. She had given him pleasure, and it was nothing but right that he return the favor.
Taking her head in his hand, he pulled her away from his prick and crawled on top of her. This time there was no hesitation on her part. Her fingers guided his prick to the entrance of the vagina, then she pushed upward, waiting for his penetration. She could feel herself oozing wetness as his prick slowly pushed into her cave. There was a small amount of pain, but it soon ceased when the walls of her pussy stretched for the welcorned guest. His movements were slow and easy at first, but as the agony in his balls increased, his performance became more rapid.
"Oh, if you were only a child and could take this beautiful piece of meat!" he exclaimed.
"I am a child. I'm only thirteen."
This thought added to his pleasure, and he drove his prick harder with each thrust he made. He could feel her pussy twitching and milking his prick, and for a moment lay still, allowing her to milk it. Again the thrusts began sending them both nearly out of their minds with delight.
"Tell me you love my dick," he whispered.
"I love your dick. I love your dick," she gasped, pulling his mouth against hers, allowing their tongues the fight they were now demanding.
He twisted slightly, and he knew that she understood he was going to shoot his load into her. The short spurts of fluid popped from the tip of his prick and hit against her womb as she-felt the burning sensation of her climax. He rolled off of her and knelt above the girl who was watching his penis slowly fall to a boneless piece of meat.
"You sweet, sweet child. I couldn't have enjoyed it more if you had been only seven instead of thirteen. Your teacher must've been an expert on jazzing."
"What's jazzing?"
"Fucking. Haven't you ever heard it called jazzing? That's what my old man calls it. He always said I should be ashamed of myself trying to jazz a baby just ten years old. Do you want to know how I started giving children good times?"
"I don't think so. You shouldn't think about kids in that way."
He pushed himself from his knees and sat on the side of the bed. Laying his hand on her vagina, he worked his finger against the lips.
"I enjoy thinking and talking about my conquests. The first time I even thought about fooling with a kid was when I was fourteen. The music teacher at the school was a homosexual. I took piano lessons since I was six and played in the orchestra. I was over at his house one day, and he started rubbing around my prick. I didn't want him to do that, even if it was getting hard. He tried to kiss me, but I wouldn't let him. That's when he asked if I ever played with a little girl. When I told him no, he called his stepdaughter in and told her we were going to have some fun. That eight-year-old kid didn't even ask what kind of fun. She took her shorts and shirt off and got naked. He taught me how to kiss her pussy and how good it felt when he went down on me."
"Where was her mother? Weren't you afraid she'd find out?"
"Aw, shucks, no. I went over to have my peter sucked, but he wasn't home. Would you believe before I left that house, his wife had me in bed screwing her? That was the fuckingest family I've ever seen."
Lavern couldn't understand why the passion was building up in her again as he related one child molesting act after another. She wanted him again, but knew it would soon be time for Mr. Mason to come back. Getting off of the bed, she started dressing, casting her eyes at the nude man sitting on the bed. A few minutes later at the door she looked back at him, and said:
"We had a good time together. Good luck to you, and perhaps when you're released from the hospital you won't want a child anymore."
He laughed at her, and replied:
"Don't worry, chickie, where there is a man to molest a child, there's always one waiting to be molested."
It was over an hour before Norman returned to the room. Lavern wasted the time between television and thinking of the boy in the room down the hall.
Norman finally entered the room, elated.
"I'm sorry it took so long, honey, but I've accomplished my business. They're going to have twenty workers at the mill Monday morning to start things off. Then later, as many people as necessary to operate the mill. I'll show those dumb bastards they can't walk off their jobs."
"The time passed fast," she said, walking over and sitting on his lap.
She was still excited, in spite of the screwing she had received from the boy. Her fingers walked through his hair, then she pressed her lips against his mouth.
"What got you so hot and bothered? Have you been playing with this while I was gone?" he said, slipping his hand between her legs.
"Of course not. Why would I play with myself when I knew you'd soon be here?"
Pushing her from his lap, he stood and walked over to the bed and opened a paper sack.
"Look what I bought a few minutes ago. I passed a pawn shop and saw a vibrator in the window and immediately thought of you. Get naked, and I'll show you how to fuck yourself when I'm not around."
Lavern stared at the vibrator with its round rubber cap, then removed her clothes. Lying on the bed, she opened her legs after he pushed the plug into a wall socket. Placing the edge of the rubber cap into her cunt, he turned on the motor. She jumped a little, then settled her butt back on the bed. She eased the vibrator over and around inside her slit. She angled the side slightly up and slipped it partially against her clitoris.
"Oh, Mr. Mason," she cried excitedly, feeling the impact of the oscillating machine against the most delicate nerve, "this is better than really fucking."
Norman watched the child hold the machine, pushing the rubber in and out of her pussy, then removed his clothes.
"It can't be as good as this," he said, lying beside her and taking the vibrator from her hand.
"Put it in me or give me back my machine fucker!" she cried, rubbing her vagina.
Norman crawled on top of her, and before he could guide his prick, she grabbed it, shoving the head into her cunt.
"I felt sure the machine would work you up, but didn't think it would drive you out of your mind."
Lavern made no reply. Throwing her arms around his body, she groaned as the big prick dug deeper into her pussy. The walls stretched to their fullest, but gave her pain as he drove the head deep against the womb. The pain mixed with the thrill was driving the girl into outer space. Her ass oscillated and bounced up and down. Her teeth bit into the flesh around his titty, leaving marks as she gnawed over his body. She felt the throbbing of his prick and pleaded for him not to finish. He held it as long as he could, then shot his load, feeling a drawing sensation from his balls to his ass.
"That's enough, baby," he said, slipping from the bed. "I'll keep the vibrator at my house, and when you come over, you can fuck yourself as long as you want to."
"That'll be for hours," she replied, going to the bath to cleanse herself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Monday morning the strike breakers arrived at the mill. Norman went over the large building explaining the different ways the mill had been operating. Since nearly all of the workers were experienced, it took less than an hour. He had to drive over a tremendous stretch of the state, even into Alabama, before he found anyone who would agree to cross the picket lines with bales of cotton. The mill had enough on hand to operate for about a week, then, if no new cotton arrived, it would have to shut down again.
He was tired when he finally sat behind his desk. It had been a hectic weekend. He had stayed with Lavern for over an hour, watching her mother ride up and down the sidewalk on her new electric wheelchair. Then Sunday the day was spent trying to get cotton for the mill. The striking workers shook their fists and several threw rocks at the strike breakers, but little damage was done. The guards were at their posts with shotguns protecting the property. A deliver, on the finished product had been made several days before the strike, leaving very little in the delivery department. Norman was still in command of the town. Two freight truck lines that were non-union agreed to not only deliver the cotton, but also pick up the finished boxes of cloth to be delivered to the wholesalers in the North.
Deborah was not only the personnel manager, but was now acting as his secretary, since no other office workers dared to cross the line. She entered his office and waited until he turned on his swivel chair.
"Mr. Mason, the guard at the front gate called and said Gerald Carter wanted to come in and see you."
"Gerald Carter? I can't place him," he replied slowly, then said, "All right, tell the guard to let him in."
He waited until Deborah opened the door and announced the man who was waiting in the outer office.
"Come in, Mr. Carter. What can I do for you?" Norman asked.
The man stood holding his hat in his hand nervously trying to gain courage.
"Sit down, Mr. Carter, there's nothing to be nervous about. I'm still Mr. Mason, the general manager of the mill. Nothing has changed about me. I'm not a big bad wolf."
The man eased down on a chair to the side of the desk.
"Mr. Mason, I know you'll think I've got a lot of guts coming to you like this, but I have nowhere else to turn. Davy-that's my little boy. He's five. Saturday his little tricycle went into the road and was hit by an automobile. He's in the hospital now, and the doctor said he should be moved to the Baptist Hospital in Chattanooga. He gave me some big word about what was wrong with Davy, but I don't remember it. It's something to do with his brain. Mr. Mason, I don't have the money to send my boy anywhere."
Norman sat looking at the man for several long seconds, then said:
"You know the company has its own insurance, but there is a clause that states that if the person insured terminates his employment, the policy is no longer in force. You people walked off your job. In my book that means you no longer work for the company. I realize you walked off in protest, but if one man had walked off, he would've been immediately fired. The fact that all employees walked off together doesn't change that at all. I wish I could help you, but we have to go by the rules of the insurance company. I didn't write the rules, you men did, before I ever heard of the company."
"Couldn't the company loan me some money and take it out of my pay each week when the strike's over?"
Norman reached for a cigarette and lit it, allowing the smoke to flow through his nose.
"The Byron mill isn't in the loan business. I'm very sorry about your little boy and trust he'll be all right."
The man stood and walked slowly toward the door. Looking back, he said:
"Isn't there any way I could get the money from the company? My boy may die if he doesn't receive the proper attention."
"Mr. Carter, I'm not an unreasonable man. I want your child to have the best medical attention, but I can't go against the company rules. I'll tell you what I'll do. If those people out there who curse me every time I drive by them will come back to work, we'll forget this unpleasantness ever happened, and I'll see your kid receives the best money can buy."
The man shook his head and walked out the door.
Norman sat thinking of the Carter child for a few minutes, then picked up the telephone. Dialing a number, he waited until a woman announced the Sumter Hospital.
"This is Mr. Mason. Let me speak with Dr. Wainwright."
Mashing his cigarette in an ash tray, he was tempted several times to place the receiver back on the hook. Another weapon had been handed to him to keep control of the town. If the child should die, it would be on the hands of the employees and not him. He had agreed to their wage demand, what more could they expect. Now that a child's life was at stake, would it be a Mexican standoff between the company and the workers?
"Dr. Wainwright, Norman Mason speaking. You have a patient in the hospital-David Carter-who was struck by a car Saturday. What's the story on him?"
The two men talked for several minutes, then Norman said:
"Doctor, this must be confidential. I don't care how you handle it, but no one must know I talked with you about the child. Send that kid to the hospital in Chattanooga, and I want the very best care for him. Around the clock nurses, if necessary. Spare no expense, but save that child if possible. I'll personally take care of all charges, but no one must know it."
"I know it," Deborah stated, standing in the doorway as he hung up the phone.
Norman shifted his position, feeling uncomfortable.
"A good secretary doesn't listen in on her boss. Besides, what was I to do? I can't sit here comfortably in my office while a child dies because his old man's broke. If you open your mouth to anyone, I'll beat your ass from here to Chattanooga and back. The doctor said the kid will be sent to the Baptist Hospital in the morning. Maybe those bastards out there will see the error of their ways and go back to work."
Taking out his wallet, he handed the girl a twenty-dollar bill.
"Take time off from work and go to the florist and buy the largest bouquet of flowers and take them to the hospital for that kid. Sign your name to the card. I won't have any part of it."
Deborah threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth.
"I knew that under that tough layer of skin was a heart of gold."
He rubbed her ass several times and grinned up at her.
"Under this tough layer of fabrics is a hard tough dick I'm going to give you, if you don't get out of here."
She kissed him again and left the office.
Early in the afternoon he left the office and drove to Paul Faulkner's to pick up Edith. He blew his horn several times before she came to the door.
"I can't work for you," she called to him. He left the car and walked up on the porch. "I don't understand. Why can't you work for me?"
"That son of a bitch in there said if I work for you, he'll take me back to Yillownow and divorce me."
Norman pushed the girl aside and entered the house. Paul was sitting on the sofa smoking a cigarette and pretending to be reading the paper.
"All right, Faulkner, what's the big idea about Edith's not working for me?" he asked, standing over the man.
"Mr. Mason, it just isn't right for a man to let his wife go to bed with another man."
"Who in the hell said anything about Edith's going to bed with me?"
"I know what you were doing in there that night you made me drive to LaFayette."
Norman stared at the man with contempt.
"You said it wasn't right for a man to permit his wife to go to bed with another man. I think you're right, but you aren't a man. You went back into the mountain and found a little country girl. You promised her that she would be another Cinderella, but you "failed to wave your magic wand. Instead of having a prince for a husband, all she got was a job as a maid for your kids, and a slop bucket for you to drain yourself in."
"You have no right to talk to me that way." Norman thought a moment, then said: "I guess you're right, even a rat has feelings. I'll get another housekeeper, and you can keep your maid and slop jar," he answered, walking to the door.
"Thank you, Mr. Mason. I knew you'd do the right thing."
"Yes, I'm going to do the right thing." Looking at Edith, he continued, "When you're ready to walk out on this heel, I can always find something for you."
Edith ran into the bedroom, shouting: "Wait for me, Mr. Mason, I'm walking out now!"
"Edith, you're my wife," Paul declared.
Edith returned with a suitcase tied with a rope.
"No, Paul, I've never been your wife. Mr. Mason's right; you don't want a wife, you want a housekeeper for these shitty brats."
"What am I going to do? I have a job I have to work at when the strike's over."
"Let me correct you, Faulkner. You had a job. Under the terms of your rent agreement, you have ten days to vacate this house," Norman said, leading the girl out the door.
Norman started the car engine as Paul ran out the door.
"What about the workers? You aren't going to tell them I informed on them?"
"No, Faulkner, even a rat deserves a fighting chance to run for his life."
In spite of the elegant surroundings, Edith had a look of faint uneasiness. She sat on the edge of the bed sipping a drink, and watching him undress. He stripped down to his briefs and fell onto the bed with a sigh, flopping over on his stomach.
She quickly removed her clothes and lay beside him.
"You won't have to waste time warming me up, I've had this big thing," she said, reaching down and taking his half-erect prick in her hand.
Then she pulled his briefs off, throwing them across the room. She held his balls in her hand and leaned over, kissing both of them.
He lay quietly, enjoying her tongue licking between his legs, when the telephone disturbed the quietness. Reaching for the phone on the night table, he answered without disturbing Edith who now had his rod between her lips.
"Mr. Mason, this is Paul Faulkner. It you'll make my wife come back to me, I'll share her with you."
Norman smothered a laugh when he heard the man's voice.
"I'll tell you what I'll do. You get in the car and come over to my house, and we'll discuss your wife's going back to you."
"I'm not going back to that son of a bitch," she spoke up, then quickly put his prick back into her mouth.
"The front door's unlocked, so just ring the doorbell and walk in. I'll be waiting for you."
Taking her lips from his rod, she declared:
"You may be the king, but you can't make me go live with him."
"You don't have to live with anyone you don't want to. I thought we would have a little fun at his expense. When he gets here, there are several things I want you to do," he said, trying to keep from laughing as he related his plans to her.
Twenty minutes later Norman slipped his trousers on and waited at the top of the stairway until he heard the chimes ring out.
"Come on up, Faulkner," he called, when the man entered the house.
"Gosh, Mr. Mason, you have a pretty house," Paul said, when he reached the second floor.
"Yeah, it's nice. How would you like to be a foreman when the mill starts up again?"
The man looked surprised, and answered:
"Oh, gosh, that would be swell. Me a foreman, telling others what to do! You mean you might give me a job as foreman, and I wouldn't have to move?"
"That's right, Faulkner. I think you're made of foreman material. First, you have to learn how to take orders before you can give them. I'm going to put you to the test. Right now you're a candidate for the foreman's job. If you obey every order I give you, then the job is yours. However, if you fail one test, then out you go."
"Don't worry about me, Mr. Mason, I know how to take orders, and I'll make you the best foreman in the mill," Paul replied excitedly.
"I know you will. The test now begins. Inside this room is a beautiful girl with gorgeous titties. I want you to get naked out here in the hall, and if you can watch me screw this doll without getting a hard-on, then you're the foreman."
"Why do I have to get naked out here?"
"Now how do you think I'll know if you have a hard-on or not, unless you're naked?"
Paul grinned and nodded his head.
"I guess you're right. You've ordered me to get naked, and I know how to take orders."
Norman bit his lips to keep from laughing in the man's face. He opened the door and stepped aside for Paul to enter first.
"Edith!" he cried, in surprise. "What're you doing naked in this room?"
"Well, you've passed the second test, Faulkner, you haven't a hard-on yet. Now just stand over here by this window and watch me tear Edith's ass up," he ordered, slipping his trousers off.
"Mr. Mason, I want to be foreman, but do I have to watch you screw my wife?"
"Forget she's your wife. Look at these tits. Have you seen anything so pretty?" he asked, slipping the nipple between his lips.
Paul stood looking down at his prick hanging limp.
"You're cheating, Faulkner. We can't have a foreman who cheats. You must watch with interest while Edith and I show you what a man does when he fucks."
Pushing the girl back down on the bed, Norman crawled on top of her. She quickly grabbed his prick and inserted it into her vagina.
"Oh, Mr. Mason, shove it to me!" she cried.
He began with slow, long thrusts, then as her breathing became heavy, his motions picked up speed. Her legs were now wrapped around his body with her ass toward her husband. She had forgotten they were not alone, and each thrust sent a power through her causing her to cry out with pleasure. Their bodies rolled back and forth, with Norman on top, then on the bottom.
Paul watched the two on the bed wrestle and could see Norman's rod slide in and out of his wife's cunt. Several times he glanced down at his prick to be sure he had no erection. The job as foreman was his great ambition, even if he was forced to watch his boss screw his wife. He would prove he was capable of taking orders, and as foreman it would be his time to give them.
They had forgotten for a moment that Paul was watching them as their boiling pot began overflowing with the love juice. He held her tightly, and buried his tongue in her mouth as the lava began boiling to the top and spilling into her cave. Looking over at the man, Norman said, as he pushed himself from the woman:
"Well, it looks as if you'll be a foreman soon, Faulkner. There's one last test you must pass, then you've got it made. All right, Edith, let's see if your husband deserves you back as his wife."
Edith crawled from the bed and walked up to her husband, slipping her arms around his neck. Her tongue tickled his lips, then slid over to his ear and began to probe inside. She pushed her pussy against his limp prick and began sliding her body back and forth. Her tongue slid down his neck to his chest and gently nibbled on his tits while her hand reached down and took the limber piece of meat in her hand.
"Oh, you're so good," she murmured, as her lips now made a wet track over his stomach, then she slipped his peter in her mouth.
He could feel the passion begin to rise in him and attempted to think of other things except what she was doing. It was unfair for Mr. Mason to degrade him by putting him through such tests. Her wet tongue felt so good wallowing around his half-erect prick.
"Don't let it get hard, Faulkner," Norman cautioned, trying to keep from laughing.
He looked out the window and tried to concentrate on the job as foreman, while his pecker slowly became hard in her mouth. She continued sucking the small prick up in her mouth, then pushed him from her and cried out in delight:
"His pecker's hard! Look at it, Mr. Mason."
Norman shook his head slowly.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Faulkner, you'd have made a good foreman, but you've failed the test."
"Does that mean I don't get the job and will have to move?" he asked.
"I'm afraid so, Faulkner, but you did try. I like a man who'll try, so I'll tell you what I'll do as a consolation prize. You can live on in the house, and when the men return to work, you can have a job as a sweeper."
"That's what I've been doing," he replied.
"At least you didn't lose all. You've still got a job as a sweeper."
A few minutes later Paul was dressed and walking down the stairs. He could hear them laughing in the bedroom.
"Someday I'm going to get a gun and kill that man," he said aloud to himself.
Norman and Edith lay in the bed while he stroked her breasts.
She held his prick in her hand, and said:
"I never saw such a man in my life. If anybody had screwed my mother, and Papa found out about it, he'd have killed them both."
"Paul isn't a man, he's a jellyfish."
"Yet, sometimes when a man is pushed too far, he ceases being a jellyfish and becomes a man."
CHAPTER NINE
Norman was standing by his office window watching the strikers walk back and forth in front of the main gate. He took a squint at the weather and heaved a sigh. The damn sun was beating down with no rain in sight. Those bastards outside should be gelded between the legs.
One fat woman he saw made him sick to watch her. She was carrying a sign saying the mill was unfair. He could imagine her drawers must smell like dead fish and turned up his nose, trying to forget the filthy sight. His secretary knocked on the door, then entered the office.
"Mr. Mason, there are three men and two women who want to see you. They say they're the committee for the strikers."
"Send them in."
He watched the door open, keeping his eyes on the five workers as they stood around his desk.
"Did you want to talk to me about something?" he asked, pretending to be arranging papers.
Ralph Bowen, a large, heavy man stepped forward.
"Mr. Mason, this committee came to ask you if you won't reconsider Gerald Carter's request for money so his kid can be taken to the hospital in Chattanooga."
"Why don't you good people who have nothing else to do chip in and help your fellow worker?"
"You know, sir, that we don't have any money. Our families have hardly enough to eat as it is."
Norman stared out the window for a moment, then said:
"When you're ready to go back to work, gentlemen, we'll discuss the Carter child, but until then, I have work to do."
Picking up a letter from his desk, Norman sat back on his swivel chair and pretended to be studying its contents. Looking up, he asked:
"Was there something else you wanted?"
"Is that your final answer?" Ralph Bowen said.
"Mr. Bowen, I gave my final answer yesterday.
I'm busy, and in a nice way I'm asking you people to leave my office."
"If we call the strike off, will you help the child?"
"We can discuss that when the strike's over."
"All right, Mr. Mason, we would've suffered out the strike, but not at the expense of little Davy Carter's life. We'll go back to work, starting with the evening shift."
"Do I have your word on that?"
"You have our word."
"Unless you have the authority to give your word, there'll be no future strikes, or mass sickness layoffs, it's no deal."
"The workers instructed us to agree to anything to save that child's life. You have our word. There will be no future strikes or anything against the company."
The door burst open, and a man in his late fifties ran into the office.
"We don't have to agree to anything. Gerald called my house and said someone who has a heart has made arrangements for Davy to be taken to the hospital in Chatanooga with all the bills paid. You can take your damn insurance and money and ram it up you!" he said angrily to Norman.
Ralph slowly shook his head.
"We've already called off the strike and given him our word. You win, Mr. Mason, the evening shift will report to work on time."
Norman grinned, then looked seriously over at the other man.
"So I can ram the insurance and money up me? Well, here's something for you to ram up yourself. This afternoon you'll receive a notice you have exactly ten days to vacate the house you're living in, and you're fired."
The man turned pale and looked down at the floor. Ralph Bowen again spoke up:
"Mr. Mason, I apologize for Carl's actions. Our nerves are pulled tighter than a fiddle string. I'm sure he wouldn't have said that under normal conditions. We all would appreciate it if you would overlook what's been said."
"All right, Mr. Bowen, the remark's been forgotten. I'm not an unreasonable man. Anyone can talk to me about anything. There's a small matter that must be settled once and for all. Some wise guy with a warped sense of humor has been making remarks about Deborah Bulloch and me. Miss Bulloch is a fine girl and because of her hard work and loyalty to the company, she was promoted to personnel manager. Any more tricks such as putting a baby carriage on her front porch and the perpetrator will be dismissed as well as having hell beat out of him by me."
The committee nodded their agreement and left the office. A few minutes later Deborah entered, breathing a sigh of relief.
"I'm glad it's all over with. What did you say to them? They all practically bowed as they passed me and tore the muscles in their mouths, smiling."
Reaching up, he pulled her down onto his lap. He clasped her breast in his hand, and replied:
"I told them that these were my tits and that I'd suck on them any time I want to. I also informed them that you have a better twat on you than any .of them."
Deborah kissed him on his lips feeling an erection beginning to rise.
"I don't believe anything would keep this down, even if you were dying," she said, thrusting her butt down against his swollen prick.
He laughed, pushing her from his lap.
"We can't let old Mr. Dick get too hard. I've screwed more since Aggie's been out of town than the years we've been married."
A solemn look came over Deborah.
"What are we going to do when Mrs. Mason gets back? I can't come to your house and tell your wife I'm there because I'm twitching."
He laughed again and started for the door.
"I might just transfer my secretary to the personnel department and bring you up here sol won't get horny for the other maidens in the office. I'm going to be gone the rest of the day. I'll inform the guards and strike breakers I won't need them any longer. I'll send them a check for the entire week. That should soften their hot butts for being laid off so soon."
Norman didn't want to go home, and there was no reason to sit around the office all afternoon, so he decided to just ride. The strikers had left the mill, and those on the evening shift were probably preparing to return to work. Things would be as they were before the strike, and Aggie would be pleased with him for the way he handled everything. It had really been a break for him that the Carter child's life depended on being transferred to the hospital in Chattanooga. He drove south through Summerville, and for no special reason took State Road 114 toward Cedar Bluff. It was about ten miles out of Summerville where he saw her standing on the side of the road with her hand raised for a ride. Stopping the car, he leaned over and opened the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked the girl, as she got in.
"Birmingham-that's where I live."
He looked suspiciously, and inquired:
"What're you doing on this road? From Summerville your best bet would've been toward Men-lo to the interstate."
"That's right, but it's against the law to thumb a ride on an interstate. I guess I could've waited at a ramp for a ride, but I like this way better."
They rode for a while in silence, and several times he glanced over at her. She was about twenty-five with red hair and small breasts. Deborah had caused his prick to rise, but it was back to normal, and for a change he wanted no part of sex.
For some strange reason, country churches fascinated him. He enjoyed drinking from the deep wells and walking through the church, imagining the different people who came to worship. They saw a church, and he slowed the car down and turned off the road.
"Why are we stopping here?" she inquired.
"No special reason except I'm thirsty. Usually there's a well in the back of the church."
She remained in the car and watched him walk around the building, then got out and followed. He had lowered the bucket into the well and was now drinking from it. She waited until he finished drinking and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She followed him into the church, watching while he explored each room. Handing him a slip of paper, she said:
"This is your license tag number. I have another copy down here under my bra. I want you to give me twenty dollars and take me to the next town, or I yell attempted rape on you."
He stared unbelievingly at the girl.
"You want twenty dollars from me or you start screaming rape?"
"You won't miss it. Anyone who can drive a Continental can well afford to donate to the cause, and the cause is I need the money."
"Suppose I refuse, then what?"
"I hitch a ride to the next town and tell the sheriff what you tried to do. This church will make a perfect location for the attempted rape."
"It looks as if you have the advantage of me. If I don't shuck out twenty bucks, you scream attempted rape, and who'll believe I'm an innocent victim?"
"Not even your wife and children," she added, holding her hand out.
She failed to see the fist coming at her, but felt the pain against her cheek and side as she fell against one of the seats.
"That's going to cost you an extra fifty, you no-good bastard," she screamed, forcing herself from the seat.
Norman grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into an adjoining room. Throwing her down onto a kindergarten table, he said angrily:
"All right, Miss Bitch, you want to play games, we'll play. Get off that damn table and get your ass naked. I'd have probably fallen for a sob story, but this type of crap is for the birds. One move from you to refuse to do anything I tell you will automatically be asking for every bone in your body to be broken."
The girl was now frightened and pushed herself from the table. She looked at him for a moment and pulled her short dress over her head. Her slip and bra were of the best quality, and it surprised him how clean she looked. She stood naked, trying to keep her hands from shaking. She had taken several men this way, but never before had one turned on her. Usually they were glad when she got out of their car. They knew a charge of attempted rape would be hard to beat, plus the scandal to their families.
"How long have you been pulling this racket? Accepting rides then threatening the driver with prison if he doesn't fork over the money?"
"A little over three months," she said.
"Is the take pretty good?"
She nodded her head without looking at him.
Taking her shoulders in his hand, he pushed her against a wall, then ordered:
"Raise your hands over your head as if you were trying to touch the ceiling. Now you just stand there until I tell you that you may lower your hands. If you drop your arms one inch, I'm going to beat hell out of you."
He sat on a chair and looked at his watch, then turned his eyes toward her. Her back started aching, then her arms began to tire as she stood glaring at the man sitting at the small table. A few minutes later she began to plead with him:
"Please, Mister, I can't hold my arms up any longer."
Again he looked at his watch, then replied:
"Honey, you haven't been standing there but six minutes. You've still got nine more to go."
"I can't; I've got to lower them," she said.
Norman stood and walked over to the girl and pulled her pants down her legs.
"Ever had the bad disease?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I'm going to fuck you in a minute, and for your information, I have a bad case of gonorrhea. I don't know anyone who deserves my sharing this disease more than you. You may put your arms down any time you wish, but when you do, then we fuck."
She kept her arms in the air for two minutes longer, then dropped them to her sides.
"I couldn't hold them up any longer. Please don't do it with me," she cried.
Norman stood and began slipping his trousers off.
"You wouldn't want me to be selfish and go back on my word. Take your pants off and lay that scrawny ass on the table and prepare yourself for a good fuck, with all the trimmings."
The girl made a dash for the door, pulling her pants up as she.ran. Catching her by the arm, he threw her down on the table. Giving her several slaps across the face, he reached down and tore her pants from her, then took his prick out.
"Please don't do this to me. I'll do anything you ask, but don't give me the bad disease."
He lay on the girl and attempted to put his prick into her slit. Closing the lips of her vagina, she attempted to beat him off. Norman grabbed her hands and pushed them over her head, holding them on the table with one hand. Taking his prick in his hand, he pushed it against her vagina.
"Open that pussy or I'll tear it open with my hand," he warned.
She relaxed and felt the walls of her cunt stretch as he shoved the penis deeply within the cave. Releasing her hands, he began pumping away with long, hard thrusts that sent the bone up to her womb. She was tight, and shortly began a slow movement of her ass. Then the movements began to increase in speed, and her butt began flopping against the table. He could feel the milking effect the lips of her vagina were giving as she lay with her eyes closed. This was the second man who had penetrated her vagina since her husband had deserted her for another woman. She needed this prick, even if it did mean a dose of gonorrhea. The other man had given her the twenty dollars she'd demanded and another ten to let him have some.
Several times he felt the girl climax, then placing his hands on the top of her head, and pulling himself closer against her body, his hot sperm spurted inside her cunt. He immediately pushed himself from the woman and stood grinning down at her.
"You gained more than you anticipated. A good fucking plus a good old-fashion dose of the bad disease. You have my tag number, so drop by and see me, if you decide you need another big dick rammed into you. Perhaps by then I'll have another disease I'll share with you."
She lay on the table, holding her hand to her cunt, watching him put his trousers on.
"Aren't you at least going to give me the price of a meal?"
Norman looked at her, shaking his head slowly.
"I didn't know you were hungry, honey, or I'd have fed you some meat and cream." Then in anger, he said, "I wouldn't give a bitch like you a scab off my dick!"
Driving back toward Summerville, he laughed aloud, thinking of the worry he would cause the girl, thinking he'd given her the bad disease.
CHAPTER TEN
Sunday morning Norman attended the First Baptist Church and took his usual seat, fourth row from the front. This gave him a view of the entire congregation and too the pastor often looked at him when making a point in the sermon.
The mayor, chief of police, and the three-man council also attended the church. The mill workers preferred to worship at the Temple Baptist located on the top of Daisy Hill. He would rather have attended the worker's church, but the elite of Sumter had their own pews, and Aggie insisted they become members there.
Many times Aggie had argued that whom their daughter associated with would be the type she'd marry. If he had his way, he'd have said to hell with the church and stayed in bed.
The Reverend Benjamin Closter was always the star performer, leading the congregation in prayer, any announcements that failed to make the bulletin, along with the prayer of thanksgiving for the offering that paid his salary. There were two men whose asses the pastor seemed to take a great delight in kissing: Brother Mason and his honor Mayor Robert Palmer. Several attempts had been made to ordain Norman as a deacon, but he had declined each time.
Ten-year-old Mary Sue, the pastor's daughter, always sat on the fourth row, and if possible next to Norman. While the pastor was delivering his sermon, they would play fingers. He taught the child to fold her arms with her hands beneath them and then rub each other's fingers.
This game passed off the time for them. She also enjoyed using her arm to slip her dress up and watch him take several quick looks before she pulled it back down. She would straighten the dress, making a curve out of the action, exposing her panties to him. Those on her right side were usually occupied with their own thoughts, or listening to the sermon, and failed to realize a game of peek-a-boo was going on between a man and a child.
This morning he felt a daring move on his part was in order. Dropping his hand on the seat, he eased his fingers slowly to the girl's exposed leg. She jumped a little when she felt him touching her. The game had started too late, and it was time for somebody to join the church.
Mrs. Palmer, the mayor's wife, was the kind of woman who wouldn't do her own housework. She had to have a hired girl all the time. It was hard for her to keep help, because the country girls who worked for her resented being called a maid in front of visitors.
Louise Shaefer was the only girl who had remained in the mayor's home for any length of time. She hated the attic, where she slept, being called the servant's quarters. It wasn't dusty up there, but had the sharp-pitched underside of wooden shingles for a ceiling. Only enough loose boards for an iron bed and table for the flooring.
Louise was a beautiful girl, with breasts large enough to attract attention, but not vulgar. Several times Norman had dated her, not counting Deborah and Lavern, she threw the best fuck of anyone in Georgia. The mayor felt many times a slight erection when she served the food and her leg accidentally touched his hand resting on his knee. He would have enjoyed slipping up to the attic and being relieved of his semi-hard erection, but his wife was a light sleeper.
It was nearly midnight when Norman left his house and drove his car down the long driveway. The Sunday night movie had been a Dracula picture and had left him with a hard-on when he'd watched the Count hypnotize the girl and carry her away to his castle. Dracula needed to suck the girl's blood for survival, but Norman visualized him sucking her cunt.
All the girls with whom he had lain would be asleep and it wouldn't be safe to try and awaken them, especially Deborah, whom he wanted most. He could pound as loudly as he wished on Bertha's door, since she lived on the edge of town. He didn't want her baldheaded pussy, so decided he would honor the mayor's maid for relief.
He parked his car down the street from the house and quietly climbed the back stairs. He
I'll rapped softly several times on the attic door, before a half-asleep girl opened it and looked surprised at him.
"Mr. Mason, you shouldn't be up here!"
"I need you in the worst way, Louise. Let me in."
"Mrs. Palmer's a light sleeper, and I'd lose my job if she knew a man was in my room."
"I'll take off my shoes and tiptoe to your bed. I've got to have a piece of ass."
Louise was afraid to argue any longer and unlatched the screen door. He slipped his shoes off, leaving them on the steps and went into the attic. Taking the girl in his arms, he gave her a long kiss, feeling her breasts against his chest.
"Take my hand and let me lead you, because there are only two boards to walk on. Be as quiet as you can. Their bedroom's right under us," she warned, leading him across the loose boards to her bed.
Norman held his hand out, trying to find the bed post in the dark. Sitting on the bed, he slipped his trousers and shorts off, then again took the girl into his arms. Their tongues met, and her cunt was pressed tightly against his hard prick. Reaching down, he pulled her gown c r her head and gently pushed her down onto the bed.
"You want me to get on top?' she whispered, when he crawled on the bed beside her.
"Yeah, straddle me, then you can put it just where you want it, deep as you please."
She knelt over him, with one knee between his leg, and looked down at him and took his rod in her hands. She was wide awake now, and the fullness of his prick was beginning to light the flame under her pot. She smiled as she squeezed it affectionately and then inched up so that her hole covered it.
Slowly she placed the tip of his penis against her vaginal lips, moving slightly, teasing for a moment. He placed both hands on her shoulders and pulled her down as the huge prick began stretching the walls of her cave. With one complete and full gesture, she forced herself down, and, as she did so, he pressed his hands on her shoulders, and both of them remained motionless. Her eyes were closed as if dreaming, her teeth clenched, and he now slid his hands down over her ass and inserted his finger in the hole.
"Ride," he said. "Ride this studhorse to death."
Slowly, like a train easing out of a station, she began to tilt her hips, swaying from side to side. It was good, in spite of the fact he was screwing a woke-up pussy.
They churned together, body against body, forming one writhing animal lost in the blinding storm of forbidden passion. They weren't aware that the old bedsprings were creaking under the extra weight. Their delight ended too abruptly when he failed to control the hot lava that was oozing to the head. Their lips were joined together and their tongues were stabbing each other, when the first spurt hit against the walls of her cave. She fell off of him and lay on the bed, taking his half-erect penis in her hand.
"Oh," she said, "you wonderful thing! How could a bone as large as this give a girl such pleasure?"
He watched by the moonlight as she stroked it gently, smacking her lips. She leaned over and kissed it as she might have kissed a doll, nuzzling it with her head and lips. Exhausted and drained, they remained naked for almost a half hour.
He reached over and tickled her hairs. He felt her hand cup his balls, causing his half-hard penis to rise again to full stature. This time he got on top and waited until she held his penis at the entrance of her cunt. He gave several short jabs, sending his prick about a half inch into her.
"Quit doing that," she whispered, with a laugh.
"Quit what?"
"Quit poking that thing at me. I want all of it at once."
"Say please," he teased.
"I don't say please to no man for him to screw me."
He held both her arms pinned to the bed, and said:
"I'm going to piss in your cunt, if you don't say please."
"All right, damn you, please! I know you well enough to know that you would do it."
"You ever have anyone piss in your pussy."
"Hell, no, and you'd better not," she warned. "You know Bertha Williams, don't you."
"Yeah, I know Bertha."
"She shaved all the hair from around her cunt. The next time I start to screw her, if I can't get a hard-on, I'm going to piss right in her baldheaded pussy."
His body shook with laughter as he lay on her, his prick fully inserted.
"Did you come here to laugh about pissing in a girl's cunt, or to fuck?" she asked angrily.
He soothed her with his lips and started gaining speed with his prick. She groaned a little and threw her arms over his body and began working her ass up and down. The climax wasn't long in coming. They strained their legs, enjoying the full sensation as his cum passed the sex gland, spraying her insides.
She got up to pick up a towel and dry his prick and to wipe herself. She again placed her hand on his penis, then realized how exhausted she was. Her hand dropped to her side, and they dozed off to sleep.
He awoke an hour later and looked at the sleeping girl at his side. She was on her left side, and the round breast hung loosely against the other one. Sitting on the side of the bed, he reached down for his shorts, then rose slowly to his feet.
His legs felt as if they were made of rubber and wanted to give way under his weight. With all of the desire drained by her, with a totally complete orgasm, he still had a mental vision of her ruby red lips kissing his prick with such affection. .
He slipped his trousers on, reaching into his pocket, extracting a ten-dollar bill. A whore never did appeal to him, because the commercial part ruined the sexual feeling he had. He wasn't paying for the tail, but wanted to show his appreciation by laying the bill on the small table.
Norman lit his cigarette lighter and strained his eyes to find the two boards he had come in on. The lighter became hot to his hand, so he blew it out. First he struck his head against the rafter, and for a moment nearly lost his balance.
He felt the board give as he dragged his feet to keep from stepping on the wood laths. Again he bumped his head, and, as he stepped back, his foot left the board and stepped on the unfloored part, but he caught the overhead rafter as his feet pushed the lath against the plaster, sending several pieces down on the mayor's bed.
"What was that?" he heard the mayor's wife ask.
Again he struck his head, and both feet landed on the laths, sending him down to the oversized bed, between the mayor and his wife. A shower of plaster and broken laths landed on top of the three occupants of the bed. His knee had caught Mrs.
Palmer in her belly, knocking the breath from her.
Norman jumped from the bed and ran into the hall, hearing the mayor cursing and asking where she had put his shotgun. Once outside, the small pebbles cut into his tender feet as he continued running for his car. He waited a moment before starting the engine and looked at the lights in the bedroom and also the one that had been turned on in the attic.
The scratches on his legs were beginning to burn as the perspiration ran down them. He knew he could get his shoes later, after everything quieted down. Louise would probably declare that an intruder must have entered her attic room and fallen through the ceiling.
He started the engine and backed a half block before turning on his lights, and drove toward home. He heard the siren of the police cruiser racing to the mayor's house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The entire week had been a hectic one for Norman. Getting the mill running smoothly again had required that he spend as much time in his office as possible. It was Thursday afternoon, and his regular secretary had taken her place in the outer office. He sent for the personnel manager, and, until the door to his private office had been closed, he looked over several files on the workers. Turning on his swivel chair, he grinned up at her.
"You failed to bring file twenty-four," he said, reaching up and pulling her down onto his lap.
"I don't understand. What is file twenty-four?"
"I was mistaken, you brought them," he said, giving her breasts a pat. "I was sitting here thinking a few minutes ago, about us. Aggie and my daughter will be returning home soon. That's going to make it a little inconvenient for us. How would you like to take a short trip somewhere? Say, spend the weekend on Lookout Mountain?"
She sat staring at him with her mouth hanging open.
"You mean, you and me spend the night on the mountain?"
"Why not? That is, if you can get away from the house."
"Oh, I could get away without any trouble. I could tell Mama I was going to spend the night with Aunt Mamie, she's my daddy's sister who lives on Signal Mountain. They never did like each other, so she won't do any checking."
"She won't question why you're going?"
"No. I've visited her several times, and Mama didn't seem to mind."
"Then it's settled. I'll make reservations at the Skylark Inn and we'll have a swell time. I'll pick you up at the bus station in LaFayette right after the Greyhound from Atlanta pulls out. That way, no one'll be the wiser. You buy a ticket to Chattanooga, but be sure you leave the bus in LaFayette."
Deborah kissed his lips several times, then returned to her own office.
The air was beginning to have the feeling of fall when he parked his car alongside the Skylark Inn. It had been a clear day, and before the sun set they could see the country for miles. The Inn was situated on the side of the mountain, not far from the incline, the cable car that climbed one of the steepest parts of the mountain.
Deborah felt a little guilty when she watched him sign the register as Norman Mason and wife. The clerk gave them an understanding look, then tapped the bell for their luggage to be taken to their room. Norman tipped the bellboy generously, then slipped his arms around her and gave her a long, lingering kiss.
"We're going to have so much fun," she said, after he released her.
Walking over to the window, she looked at the little town of St. Elmo, far below. He put his arms and pulled her closely to him.
"I saw a play one time at a theater in Atlanta called St. Elmo. It was all about that little town during the Civil War. Would you believe I had to do without lunch for a week, to save enough to buy a ticket? I've always liked the theater. I've even wanted to be an actor."
He walked to the bed and sat.
"I'd have made a good actor. God knows I've had to put on a performance just to exist, since I was a child. I attended a school not far from my house, and in those days we had what was known as 'Bank Day.' Every Tuesday we brought a nickel or a dime to school, and the teacher made out a slip, and the money was deposited in my name at a bank. This taught kids to start saving early. I had five dollars saved when I quit school to go to work.
"I was appointed by the teacher to take the large sealed envelope containing the money to the principal. As I walked down the hall I started thinking how much money I had within reach. I turned around and hid the money in the basement and returned to my class. Later, the principal sent for me and asked where the envelope was. I told her that she was out of the office, and that I had put it on her desk. It didn't take but two hours for them to find the money and crucify me. The principal was a Jewish woman, and what her ancestors did to Christ was a picnic to what she did to me. Instead of giving me a lecture on honesty, she made an example of me. Every teacher and child in that school knew what I had done. The kids called me a thief and made my life miserable. To make my day complete, she sent a note to my old man who beat hell out of me. The envelope only had about seven dollars in it, but you'd have thought I'd cleaned out the Federal Reserve Bank."
Deborah looked in sympathy at him.
"All that happened years ago. You can't go through life with hatred in your heart."
"Hell I can't!"
She saw his anger was causing him to lose control of himself and sat next to him on the bed, holding his hand.
"From what you've told me since I first lay in your arms, you must've had a rough time when you were a child. How did you gain all this wealth and control of the mill? I know you married the boss's daughter, but you must've had something inside you to be able to run things the way you have."
He put his arm around her and lay back on the bed, pulling her down beside him.
"Deborah, my education is limited, so I've had to substitute something for that. The best education a man can have is based on two things: memory and hate. I've never known what it means to love someone or to be loved. When I do try to forget the past, I dream, and what damnable dreams I have. It's always when I was a kid and had to fight to defend my right to live in this world. It tickled the shit out of me when Aggie informed me I had gotten her pregnant. I saw the way opening for me to at last live like a human should. When we got married I made a vow to myself that I would do anything I wanted to ... kick anyone who got in my way. Money brings power, and the piece of ass I got from Aggie one night has given me that power. I control the lives of hundreds of people, and they bow to my every command." She kissed him on the cheek, and said softly "You poor darling, no wonder there's so much hate in you. You said no one loved you, but what about your daughter?"
He laughed a little, then stretched out across the bed.
"Ella Mae's a Byron, pure and simple. She hasn't one Mason trick in her skinny little body. Several times I tried to play up to her, but she had the same cold attitude of her mother. I couldn't care less if some black bastard rammed his dick all the way up her."
"You don't mean that, Mr. Mason."
"Like hell I don't. The kid's a product of a hard dick and a hot cunt. I wouldn't be surprised if one of those French bastards hasn't already torn her twat open."
"You know that isn't so; she's only about eight years old. Now, what man would want a mere child to do it with?"
"Me, that's who. Did you know I actually got one up for a ten-year-old child last Sunday? That kid did everything but ask me to drop one in her. Go on and silently call me a bastard. I'll admit it, I am a bastard, but who made me one? The stinking Jews and black niggers. What the Jews didn't steal from me, the niggers beat hell out of me and took the rest. If my old pecker gets hard for a baby in her crib, that baby's a fucked duck."
Fear came over her as she watched his eyes blaze as he talked. Laying her head on his chest, she said:
"Let's don't think of the past. We have two wonderful days ahead of us."
He reached down and pulled her beside him, pressing his mouth down on her lips. His chest pressed against her large breasts, sending a wave of passion over him. He pulled her dress up and worked her pants down her legs and crawled on top.
"I want it too, but can't you wait until we get undressed?" she complained, feeling her pants begin to tear when he pulled them from her feet with rough hands.
"What difference does it make, so long as my long John drives into your cave of joy?"
He plowed into her and pulled back to slam hard his now-throbbing dick deeply within her. His roughness and her dry cunt hurt each time the walls of her vagina were parted, and his prick wasn't denied the thrill it was seeking. It was as if his prick took command of her cunt and was demanding entrance at all cost.
"I'm fucking you, you little hot-assed devil," he grunted in her ear. "I'll fuck you this time so you'll never want to lay with another man. I'll split your insides open."
She was breathing hard, and gasped out loud:
"Yes, do it, tear me open. How could I get this hot in such a short time?"
She began to feel the release start to slide out of her. Each time she had a semi-climax she didn't know she had that many orgasms in her. Each one seemed to drain her thoroughly, and yet each new hard thrust of this rod started a new rise to pleasure. Again she cascaded to supreme pleasure, but his hard, demanding prick wouldn't stop. She attempted to keep her legs around his body, but the strength was rapidly leaving her. She became fearful that again and again he was attempting to kill her by fucking her to death.
"Oh, please, I can't do it any more," she cried, as the thrills increased and she felt a surge of another tidal wave begin to wash through her.
He continued his drive deep within her, the end of his prick hitting hard against her womb. He had given her all of his prick before, but never with such a drive as now. Then she felt relieved when his prick started spurting inside her and he stopped pumping just to let it drain. He lay for a long time on top of her and nearly dozed off to sleep.
Pushing him off, she sat up in bed, holding the stuff in her vagina, and went quickly into the bathroom. Returning to the room a few minutes later, she smiled over at him as he lay breathing through his mouth. She sat on a chair and watched him sleep.
In his dream he was at the church picnic. The food was delicious, and he couldn't remember eating so much fried chicken at one table. He watched Mary Sue go down to the barn, and then the young people's director followed the child. Looking around, Norman saw the kinfolks beating their gums about. He was an outsider, and it was time for him to leave. Instead of going to his automobile, he walked straight toward the barn. He opened the barn door quietly and stepped inside. He could hear a faint noise in the loft. Climbing the ladder, he peeped over at them, sitting on a bale of fodder. Her arms were around the director's neck, and he could see his hand under the child's dress. She was now standing. The director took off her dress and looked lustfully at the yellow panties. His hands stretched the elastic and pulled the pants down around her ankles. Laying the little girl down on the fodder, he watched the man take his prick out and begin to stick it into the small slit.
His own prick was now hard, and, holding onto the ladder with one hand, he unzipped his pants and took out his penis and started playing with it.
"That" hurts," the child cried, in a whisper. "Take it out; I don't want to do this."
Norman continued playing with himself, watching the drama unfold in the loft.
"Don't take it out, pour it to her," he whispered to himself, watching the man's prick slide slowly into the small cunt.
His penis went limp when he saw the man stand and pull the child to her feet. Blood was pouring from her small pussy, then he looked at her face. The child wasn't Mary Sue, it was Ella Mae, and her tear-stained eyes were pleading with him for help.
"I'll kill the dirty bastard!" he shouted, as Deborah jumped quickly to his side and began shaking him.
Opening his eyes, he stared at her, without seeing her.
"Please, Mr. Mason, you were screaming as loud as you could," she said, shaking him again.
He sat on the side of the bed.
"Oh, my God, when will they cease?" he said.
"When will what cease?" she asked, slipping her arm around him, pulling his head down on her lap.
"She was bleeding; he tore her poor little pussy open. First it was Mary Sue. He had his finger in, then he raped her, and it was Ella Mae," he mumbled incoherently.
"No one was bleeding, you dropped off to sleep. It must've been a bad dream," she said.
"I'm not going to church any more. I must never see her again."
"Who, Mr. Mason?"
"A ten-year-old child whose mother should teach her not to show dirty men her ass. I'm going to take a shower. Maybe I can wash away the memory of that dream," he replied, going to the bathroom.
The next morning they visited the tourist attractions on the mountain, rode the incline to the town below and back up again. In the afternoon, Norman was tired and decided to take a nap. He was glad when Deborah said she would sit on the patio and look out over the town below.
Several times he wished there were pills to be had that would give a person extra strength and semen so that any time the urge came to him he could screw twenty times a day if he so desired. That was one mistake the good Lord had made when he'd placed sex glands in a man. Three or four times a night and all strength is drained, but the desire to continue is still there. He would be a millionaire over night if he could make a pill or something that added to a man's zest. Women could be still all night, hot or cold and be screwed, but it takes something to raise a hard-on.
Deborah sat looking over the terrain, when a man approached her, and asked:
"Mind if I sit with you a few minutes? My sister drags me to this mountain every year for a vacation, and I much prefer fishing in Florida."
Before Deborah could answer, a woman walked up and looked at him.
"I thought you said you were going to hike through the woods with me this afternoon."
He looked down at Deborah, smiling:
"See what I mean? Not only must I be on top of this mountain, but she wants me to be a dog and heel beside her. May I present my sister Helen Boatwright, Miss ... er ... or is it Mrs.? "
"It's Mrs. I'm Deborah Mason. Do sit down."
"Run along, sister, I much prefer relaxing here than walking the trails," he said, sitting on a chair opposite Deborah.
The woman shrugged her shoulders, smiling at Deborah, and left.
"That's what I call an obedient sister."
"Don't let her fool you. She really didn't want me along. She's met some fellow down here from the North and naturally they want to be alone and not have a brother tagging along."
"Evidently you're Mr. Boatwright," she said.
"Forgive me for not introducing myself. No, I'm not Mr. Boatwright. That's my sister's name for the time being. She's recently returned from Reno where she released number three from the well-known hook. I'm John Knight, but my friends call me Johnny."
"Three marriages should cause a girl to want to forget about men. I know if I got burned once, I'd certainly think before leaping into matrimony again."
"She didn't get burned. All three of her husbands were darn nice guys; it's how she's put together."
"I don't understand."
"Since this is a modern world, men can be more outspoken without any disrespect, so I'll be blunt. My sister's a nymphomaniac. That is to say, a man can touch her arm, hand, or any part of her body, and she's ready to go to bed with him. I know I should be disgusted with her, but she is my sister. Now me, it takes a beautiful girl, or I don't give the second glance. That should be complimentary to you." He smiled. "I've given you several glances."
"You are very blunt, Mr. Knight, but I like for people to express themselves rather than talk around a subject. I happen to know what a nymphomaniac is, and it's very unfortunate a person is that way."
"You're not?"
"Certainly I'm not."
He looked over at her for a minute, then said:
"You may not be a nympho, but I can tell you're of a very affectionate nature. Being a little more blunt, I'd say you are very passionate."
Deborah felt her face flush and tried to laugh off his remark.
"I will say that there isn't anything modest about you. Since we're reading imaginary tea leaves, I'll read your character."
The man lit a cigarette, offering Deborah one, and blowing the smoke from his nose, said:
"That should be fun. All right, you read my character in the tea leaves, then I'll read yours."
She studied him for a few minutes, then stated:
"You're a man who's wealthy, a bachelor, and regard women as play toys to discard when you grow tired of them."
He laughed aloud.
"All right, Mrs. Fortune Teller, I'll read your leaves now. You're right about me. I am considered well to do, financially, and I'm a bachelor. I do enjoy being with the opposite sex, married or single. Now, tossing them aside, is another matter. Your tea leaves say that you think I want to lure you to my room, but you're mistaken. To prove my point, what do you say we follow my sister and take a hike together?"
Deborah frowned a bit, but answered: "I don't know, my husband's taking a nap, and if he should awaken, he wouldn't know what to think."
"Aw, come on, we won't go far, and the walk will do us both good."
Deborah stood smiling at the man.
"I can't be gone long," she said, as they left the patio and started walking south.
They walked slowly, admiring the leaves that were turning from green to a golden yellow and brown. They found a large rock extending over the embankment and sat to rest. He took her hand and looked into her eyes.
"You are a beautiful woman, Mrs. Mason. It's too bad you married so young, before someone else could've been in the contest to win you."
"I'm not so young. I'll soon be nineteen, and then twenty. Before long I'll be middle aged."
He glanced down at her legs, then back at her breasts, and a strong desire came over him. Quickly grabbing her in his arms, he pressed his lips tightly against her mouth. She tried to push him away, but he continued holding her and forced his tongue into her mouth.
"Don't do that!" she screamed out at him, pushing him from her.
Again his arms were about her, pushing her down onto the rock. His lips sought her mouth, then kissed over her face, sending an uncontrollable flame over her as she fought against his attentions. She felt his hand pulling up her dress, and her pants were being forced down. Deborah pulled his hair and attempted to beat on him with her fist, but he was too strong for her.
He knelt over the struggling girl, holding her arms down against the rock, while his tongue forced her lips apart. His face had changed from one of kindness to a wild man, as he pinned her arms down with his knees. His hands quickly opened the front of her dress and pulled her left breast out. He gazed excitedly at the titty, then slipped his lips over the nipple.
She ceased to struggle and lay watching his mouth devour her breast. The suction of his mouth sent lightening over her, and she could feel her vagina becoming wet. His actions were those of a mad man as he tore at the fly of his trousers, in an attempt to take his penis out. She looked wildly at it, and knew she wanted what he was going to do. She opened her legs and allowed him to insert his prick into her hole.
Power was his, he knew, and it gave him a feeling of a superman over the helpless girl who was staring up at him. His actions had slowed a bit now, and he slowly began pushing his prick into her vagina.
The first touch of his penis left her trembling with passion, and she threw her arms about the man when his tongue again entered her mouth. He wasn't tongue kissing, but sucking her tongue up into his mouth. She felt the roots of her tongue strain, and for a moment was afraid it would be torn from her mouth. Then he became desperate, unable to control his movements, he began pounding his body against her.
She could feel herself close to coming several times, but held back until she would feel him shooting his load, then she would climax. Her heart sank when she felt his prick begin to spit one spurt after another, and she knew it was over. She lay looking at the man with sweat pouring from his forehead as he pushed his prick back into his trousers and stood over her.
"Was it as good as you expected?" he asked, grinning down at her.
She pushed herself to her feet and screamed out at him:
"Good as I expected? You talk as if I wanted this to happen!"
He took her hand and kissed it, and, with a sly grin, said:
"I read in your tea leaves you wanted a good screwing, so I accommodated you. Isn't it better all of a sudden than the old-fashioned way of working a good piece up?"
"If I tell my husband what you did to me, he'll kill you!" she shouted angrily.
"That's right, you and me both. Now, shall we continue our hike or go back to the patio?"
Deborah turned and started walking toward the lodge, then stopped and looked back at him.
"There's one thing I didn't tell you when I read your tea leaves. I said you were a bachelor, but I should've said your father was a bachelor too."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Norman received a letter from Aggie saying she would arrive back in the States on Friday week. He wanted to have one more fling before settling down to the routine of being a married man. A vacation had been the farthest thing from his mind during the summer. There wasn't any sense of going to the mountains when all around his home was nothing but mountains and valleys.
On Wednesday afternoon, he sat on his desk trying to figure a way for either Deborah or her sister Lavern to go away with him for a few days. Both girls were prime targets for his passion. Since he had taken Deborah three times to once with Lavern, he wanted the youngest of the two girls. Several times his thoughts turned toward Florida and its beaches. If it were possible for him to have both girls, the exhibitions of asses by the females on the beach would give him new life, and he could accommodate Deborah and Lavern better.
Deborah was excited when he had his secretary send for her and he related what was on his mind. It wasn't exactly his intentions to invite her mother and Ellen, but when he saw the girl had misunderstood his meaning when he used the expression, "Y'all take a weekend trip with me to Florida," then naturally y'all included Mama and Ellen. Mama was elated over getting out of the house, and a trip to the Sunshine State was what she needed. Mr. Mason was a wonderful man whose only thoughts were helping those less fortunate. That was what she said to Deborah when the good news was given her at the dinner table that evening.
Day was beginning to make its appearance behind the ridge when Norman parked the station wagon in front of their house. Little Ellen was the first one to greet him, and he kept his eyes glued to the tightness of her shorts revealing the crack of her ass.
"Hi, Mr. Mason, I thought you'd never get here. We've been up since four o'clock, getting ready. Mama fried some chicken and made deviled egg sandwiches for us to eat on the road," she said happily.
Norman put his finger to hi lips, and whispered:
"Don't talk too loud, honey, we don't want to wake the people up next door. Tell me one thing, are you comfortable in those tight shorts?"
Ellen looked down at her shorts, and replied:
"I told Mama they were too small for me, but she said I should save my good ones for when we get to Florida. Can I sit in the front with you?"
"May I," he corrected.
"Sure you can, you're going to drive," she responded, looking at him, puzzled.
Norman gave her a light tap on her butt while walking beside her, then stopped and watched the child skip happily. He was bewildered at his feelings when his hand touched the small round butt. What caused a tremor to come over his body with the mere touch of a soft young ass? It had happened several times sitting next to the pastor's child, but he could analyze that. The kid was a hot-assed little bitch, and he enjoyed pretending she had something he wanted. At the moment he wasn't sure it was a game of pretense. As he walked upon the porch, giving the child's butt a once over, he decided before this trip was over he was going to find out if he was a candidate for the title of "Child Molester." The thought that raced through his mind was what the child could have that he wanted? No tits, a hole only large enough for piss to seep through, and a mouth too small to get a fourth of his prick in. Dismissing the strange feeling as ridiculous, he opened the screen door and greeted Mama who was waiting to be taken to the car.
They stopped long enough to have a late breakfast, then once again the station wagon passed most of the automobiles on the interstate. Crossing the Florida State line, they pulled into the Welcome station for a rest and free glass-of orange juice. Norman couldn't help but laugh to himself when the pretty girl behind the counter handed him a cup of juice containing two small swallows of the liquid.
"I hope they can spare this frozen orange juice. We can buy this stuff anywhere. Why can't they serve fresh juice that isn't eighty percent water?" he mumbled to Lavern, watching Deborah wheel Mama toward the ladies' room.
A few miles down the highway they turned left toward Jacksonville. Around three o'clock they passed through Daytona and crossed the causeway to the beach side.
"Is this where we're going to stay?" Ellen asked excitedly.
"No, honey. I just wanted to drive down the beach and see the hippies. We're going to a place called Coronado, about twenty-five miles south of here," Norman replied, glancing down at the child sitting beside him.
Mama had stated that the back seat caused her to be car sick and insisted on occupying the front along with Ellen who had wormed her way up front at the Welcome Center. Norman felt that the old woman was going to be a pain in the ass. From the usual meek, appreciative, handicapped woman, she was slowly demanding more of what she considered her rights.
Their cottage was about a mile from the business of the town, facing the Atlantic Ocean. Norman stood on the screened front porch watching the cars and motor scooters ride slowly up and down the beach, dodging scantily clad bathers. The young people had donned their bathing suits, and he appointed himself the one to apply the suntan lotion on their nearly nude bodies. It was a good feeling to rub the girls' backs and legs in the presence of Mama. He grinned a little to himself when he saw her frown as his hand became careless and applied the lotion too close to their cunts. Rubbing the stuff on Ellen's legs he tried to have a feeling, but he could've been rubbing his own legs, for all the feeling he got. Feeling relieved that he didn't have a tendency toward being a child molester, he followed the girls across the warm sand and into the water.
Later that afternoon, Mama insisted that if the automobiles could travel over the hard sand, her wheelchair should. Deborah finally agreed to accompany her down on the sand and walk behind the chair, in case it should become stuck in the sand. Norman was tired after the long drive, and fighting the waves with three young maidens left him ready for a short nap before they drove to the supermarket. Ellen insisted on sitting near the water and building a sand castle, leaving Lavern still in her bathing suit, watching television alone.
Becoming tired of television, she decided to take a stroll down the beach. Several times she stopped to watch several young people glide over the waves on a surfboard. Becoming weary of walking, she sat on the sand, watching a lone boy glide to a stop as the fin of his board struck the soft sand bottom. He saw the girl sitting alone and walked toward her, pushing the hair back out of his eyes.
"Hi," he greeted, laying the surfboard on the sand.
Lavern smiled up at him, nodding her head. "What about a swim?" he asked, dropping down next to her.
"No, thanks, I've already been in the water."
"Where you from?"
"Sumter, Georgia. Where are you from?"
"Well, shut my mouth and call me sweet potato if you all ain't done gone and be a Southern girl," he said, attempting to mimic a Southern drawl.
Lavern looked angrily at him and stood glaring down.
"I don't think that was very nice. If you Yankees think we Southern people are so stupid, why in the hell don't you stay in the North where you belong?"
The young boy sat speechless, watching the girl walk away. Jumping to his feet, he ran and caught her by the arm.
"Wait a minute, I didn't mean to upset you. I was only trying to make a joke. You Southern broads sure are sensitive. Come on, give me a break and accept my apology."
Lavern turned and glared at him.
"I'm not a Southern broad, I'm a Southern girl. You damn Yankees may not have any respect for the Northern girls, but I advise you to at least pretend you have respect for our girls, or some boy may just pull out that long hair of yours and stuff it down your throat," she said, attempting to pull her arm free.
"Wait a minute, I didn't mean any disrespect. I just opened my mouth and found my foot in it. Come on now, say you'll forgive me," he urged, giving her a smile.
Lavern smiled too, and said:
"All right, Yankee boy, no hard feelings."
The boy looked at her breasts and thought to himself as he felt his prick beginning to get hard, I don't have hard feelings now, but time will tell.
They had been sitting on the beach over a half hour when a dark cloud began rising over the ocean. Feeling several drops of rain, Lavern got to her feet, and declared:
"I'd better be getting back to the cottage."
"You'll never make it before the rain starts. I live in a trailer just over that sand dune, so let's wait out the rain .there."
"Oh, no, you don't! You aren't going to get me alone in a trailer with you," she said, laughing.
"Darn, if you Southern chicks aren't suspicious people. Just because I invite you to the only home I have, you think I'm going to rape you."
"Well?" she said, still laughing a bit.
"Okay, so I did have something like that in mind, but I promise I won't lay a hand on you. You'll be safe as if you were in your mother's arms."
The rain began to fall in large drops as he took her hand, pulling her up the sand dune. The trailer was small and was built to be used as a camper. Beside the trailer, a late model Plymouth was parked. He quickly unlocked the trailer door as the rain came down like a flash flood.
"One thing about Florida's weather, if you don't like it, wait a few minutes and it'll change," he said, sitting on a couch next to her.
They sat, feeling foolish, looking at each other without a word spoken. Then he took her hand, and said:
"Would you believe I'm a virgin?"
"You're a what?" she asked, feeling shocked at his blunt statement.
"I'm a virgin; I've never done anything with a girl."
"How old are you?"
"I'll be nineteen this coming March. What's that got to do with my being a virgin?"
"I don't know, except I've never heard of a boy virgin before. What happens when you go out with a girl?"
"I don't go out with girls. You're the first girl I've wanted to talk with. Usually when a girl gives me a come-on smile, I ignore her."
"Did I give you a come-on smile?"
"No. I couldn't have seen your smile if you had one when I first saw you. I don't know why, but I just wanted to talk with you. Then I made you mad right away. How old are you?"
Lavern thought a moment before she answered:
"I'm sixteen going on seventeen."
"That's what I figured you were, about sixteen or seventeen."
Lavern again looked suspiciously at him.
"You aren't one of those ... er ... er ... those things? You know the kind that don't like girls but like boys?"
"You mean, am I a queer? I don't guess you could call me one. I've known several of those things, as you call them, and they were darn nice guys."
Lavern saw his feelings had been hurt and leaned over, giving him a kiss on his cheek.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I've never really met a person who was a queer. I guess they're all right. There's a boy in Sumter who's nearly like a girl, but no one believes him to be a queer. People tease him, and some of the boys asked him if he sat on the stool when he had to urinate. I think that's awful of them."
"I don't guess I'm a queer, even if I have been in bed with one. That's really about the only sex I know."
"You mean you let a man do ... I mean, why would you want ... heck, I don't know what I mean. You don't seem to be ashamed of doing things like that."
The boy looked pleadingly at her.
"I don't want to be like this, but every time I get up in the air, that's all I know to do, find somebody that'll do that with me. I need someone to teach me how to love a girl, even if I don't do anything else."
"You don't know anything about making out with a girl?"
"Honest, I don't. That's why I'm so shy of them. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but will you please teach me how to make love?"
"You mean just like that?" she asked, snapping her fingers.
"I don't know what I mean. I have no sisters or brothers to explain things to me. I'm ashamed to ask another boy. Please help me," he pleaded.
This was a new experience to Lavern, and she could feel the warmth beginning to build inside her.
"All right, I'm going to teach you what girls like and what they don't. Now, put your arms around my neck and press your lips against my mouth. First, wet your lips with your tongue."
He slipped his arms about her neck and pushed his mouth against her lips. Taking his hand, she laid it on her breast, then pushed him away, saying:
"Now don't get any funny ideas because I put your hand on my breast. Girls like for boys to touch their breasts, but not squeeze as if they're milking a cow. Now, when we put our lips together, open your mouth and put your tongue just inside mine, and my tongue will gently touch yours."
"Why?" he asked innocently.
"I don't know why, it's just the first step to making out."
Their tongues met as he laid his hand against her breast again. She was beginning to feel she was on fire between her legs as he held her in his arms. His fingers walked slowly over her breast and under the halter, fondling the small nipple as their tongues wrestled with each other. His hand left her breast and rested on her leg. This added to her already burning desire for him to take her. She wanted to push him away and declare school was over, but felt unable to raise her arms from around his neck. His finger was under her bathing suit and gently rubbing the patch of hair over her pussy.
"Just hold on a minute," she managed to say, trying to push him away. "You aren't supposed to do that."
"Please, I've never done anything like this before, don't make me quit. I felt your hole and it was so soft and warm. Please let me."
"If I let you do that, you won't take it from me?"
"Take what?" he asked innocently.
"Go ahead and feel of me," she agreed, thinking she had a baby to contend with.
"May I take your bottom down so I can feel of you? I've never seen what a girl looks like."
Nodding her head, she lay back on the couch, watching him awkwardly jerk her bottom down her legs. He looked curiously at her cunt, then worked his fingers up and down the lips. Inserting his finger into the hole, he began tickling the hard clitoris, sending waves of passion over her. Looking over the side of the couch, she saw him playing with his prick with his other hand. She smiled to herself, wondering if that was the way he'd always received satisfaction. Looking up at her, he asked, in an humble way:
"Will you please let me try doing it the way other boys do?"
Lavern didn't reply and watched as he lay on top of her and attempted to find her hole. Slowly inserting his penis, he pushed it in about a half inch, and asked:
"How should I do it? What's the best way to really get it in?"
Lavern felt she was the master of the situation which inflamed her more.
"Just push it in as far as you can, then take it nearly out. The longer the strokes the better it'll feel."
She almost weakened when she felt his prick stretch the walls of her cunt and dig deeply into the passageway. The sensations were incredibly erotic as his prick pried its way deeper into her love tunnel. He let his prick rest there for a moment, fully imbedded in her body, and then backed away, pulling it nearly out. Again he gave a terrific thrust sending the rod with great speed to the bottom.
Lavern had left the world and was floating through space. She could hear herself cry out:
"Oh, give it to me! I want more! I feel it all over my body!"
Her words trailed off into a series of incoherent cries, while his pile driver continued to try to escavate the base of her pussy. She tried to speak, but each time he shoved himself against her, bringing his balls up against the gaping mouth of her cunt, her words would fade into oblivion.
A steady stream of scalding like sperm shot through his prick like a rocket, spattering inside her body. It was surprising delight as she gave one last twitch, holding him with a death-like grip. He removed his prick from within her and knelt over the girl, as several drops fell on her wet, sticky hairs.
A few minutes later Lavern slipped the bathing bottom back on and smiled understandingly as the young man expressed his appreciation for the knowledge and experience. He watched her walk across the sand dune, then burst out laughing.
"It works every time," he said aloud to himself. "Just pull the virgin act, and it gets their cunts in an uproar."
Norman was awakened when Ellen allowed the door to the room where she and her mother would sleep, to slam shut. Leaving his room, he sat looking out the front window at the different girls when the child entered the room wearing her shorts.
"Have a nice time?" he asked, when she walked up to him, laying her hand on his knee.
"Yeah, but I'm hungry," she replied, drawing circles with her finger on his leg.
He once again felt the desire to touch the child's leg, and reached down and set her on his lap, dropping his hand to her naked leg.
"When Deborah and your mama come back, we'll go to the store and buy something to eat."
Ellen looked at his hand on her leg, then laid her hand on top of his and began pulling it up and down her leg.
"I like that, it feels good," she said, now using both hands to guide his.
"You're my girl, aren't you?" he remarked, giving her a kiss on her cheek.
The child could feel something hard under her butt and pressed her body down so she could feel the erection. Several times on the trip down, his hand managed to accidentally touch her butt. She pretended ignorance of what he was doing, but knew he was feeling of her. She enjoyed playing the innocent child while a man or woman tactfully felt of her. Bessie Stillwell at school explained that a man had taught her about the use of her toothbrush against her crack, and it felt good if the bristles were soft. Several times while guiding his hand on her leg, she pulled his finger against her crotch. She was thinking maybe Mr. Mason would take her clothes off and make her feel good, like the man did to Bessie.
He quickly pushed the child from his lap, when he glanced out the window and saw Lavern walking across the lawn to the cottage.
She smiled at them and went into her room to change into her clothes. Ellen had walked outside where some children were playing.
"You meet all kinds of people on the beach," Lavern said, dropping down on an easy chair.
"Yes, I guess you do. What freak did you run into?"
"I met a male virgin."
"You met a what?"
"A male virgin. An eighteen-year-old boy who didn't know beans about making out."
"You volunteered your services?"
"I didn't volunteer anything. I did teach him how to kiss, and things like that."
Norman began laughing, causing Lavern to become upset.
"All right, so I taught him what I knew, and he was very appreciative."
"I'll bet he was. That gag is nearly about as old as the ring gag. A boy has a girl who won't come across, so he planks down thirty-five or forty dollars for an engagement ring. Naturally, they can't get married until they finish high school two or three years from then. Papa and Mama are so happy that daughter is engaged, they trust them to the utmost. The young people are left in the house while her parents go to a movie, thus saving him the expense of either a motel or a drive to the woods. Something usually happens just before graduation to cause the boy to become angry, and he breaks off the engagement. Maybe he'll get the ring back and maybe not. For thirty-five dollars, he's had free cunt, free room rent, and often a hot meal prepared by his not-to-be bride. Honey, did that guy plead with you to let him have a little so he'd know how to act on a date?"
"That son of a bitch! I'm going to set fire to his trailer tonight," she vowed, standing and walking back and forth across the room.
"Don't let it worry you, honey, you're just a child yourself. Just remember there are thousands of tricks for boys to use to keep from going to the trouble of working a girl into his naked arms. All you're out is a piece of ass and your pride is hurt a little too. Speaking of a good piece of ass, don't go to sleep when you get into bed. After Mama and the rest are asleep, come to my room, and I'll give you more tricks to watch out for."
She looked shyly toward him.
"Mr. Mason, you surely wouldn't do ugly things to an innocent little child?"
"The way I feel right now, I could tear little Ellen's ass up, then jump over on you, then Deborah."
"What about Mama? You wouldn't leave her out of the fun?"
"I guess poor Mama's pussy's so dry, it would feel like two sheets of sandpaper going in."
"There's Mama and Deborah now," Lavern said walking past him and giving his prick a squeeze. "That's for tonight."
Norman turned up his nose at her, and said:
"I'd better go and lift her into the house. I think I'll give the girl a thrill and ram my finger into her cunt."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Deborah was indeed a wonderful cook and would make some man a good wife; that is, if Norman didn't screw her to death before the bridegroom had a chance at her. Ellen had followed him over the store, insisting that hamburgers, French fries, and a coke would be the ideal dinner for everyone. In spite of her insistence, they had pork chops, green peas, mashed potatoes, and sliced tomatoes. Even Mama, who had complained of a backache, agreed it was a wonderful dinner.
While the others were watching television, Deborah walked down to the beach with Norman for a breath of fresh air. The moon cast a silver streak over the water, and there was a soft sound of ripples from the low tide. She slipped her sandals off and waded in the coolness of the water.
"Isn't it wonderful to be in Florida?" she said, as they strolled down the beach holding hands.
Every fourth or fifth wave washing ashore caused him to jump aside to keep the water from covering his shoes.
"I have a sister somewhere in this state. The last I heard from her, she was living in a little town called Ponce De Leon. They must have at least a half dozen tourist attractions claiming theirs is the fountain of youth."
Norman led her to a secluded place where it was several blocks between the motel they passed and the next one. Sitting on the ground, she dug her toes in the warm sand. He slipped his arm about her and sat gazing up at the many stars in the sky.
"A penny for your thoughts," she offered, looking up into his eyes.
"I'm sorry, I guess I allowed my thoughts to wander. I can't help but compare my life now and when I was a kid. My poor old mother had to scrape the bottom of the cookie jar so my sister and I could have twenty cents each for our school lunch. Now I'm paying nearly a hundred dollars for two nights and two days to sit on my can and watch the stars in the sky."
Deborah leaned over and kissed his cheek, her breasts rubbing against his arm. Throwing his arms around her, his tongue quickly entered her mouth and began to probe.
"Why, boss, that was so sudden! Do you sweep all your personnel managers off their feet this way?" she asked, teasing.
"Only when I have a beautiful one."
They clung to each other, and his hand forced its way down the front opening on her dress and clasped her breast.
"I can't get enough of these," he said, taking her left breast out and slipping his lips over the nipple.
Her breathing was coming harder when she whispered, hardly opening her mouth:
"Fuck me. Fuck me now. I've wanted to since I felt this wonderful thing when we were swimming. I saw Ellen watching us from a distance, but I couldn't help it, I just had to hold it in my hand."
She was tossing her head from side to side, looking up at him with passion-glazed eyes. She shrieked with joy when she felt him push her back onto the ground, pulling up her dress with one motion. His hands trembled so she knew he would tear her pants off before he could pull them from her legs. His prick was out, and he was straddling her, then he pistoned his prick back and forth before pushing it into the hole. Then suddenly she knew just how alive his dick was when he gave a hard thrust, sending the head down to the pit of her cunt with one motion. She was now excited to the breaking point, her flesh highly sensitive with his prick leaping in and out of her as if it were drilling for oil.
Deborah was being buffeted by one storm of sensuous thrust after another. She loved his dick, the hairs that covered its base and the heavy balls that kept flapping against her ass as he powered his rod, seeking the precious oil waiting to be pumped to the surface. This was no ordinary fuck she was receiving, but the best kind with no preparation to cause either to become worked up. Their movements were spontaneous, and threw gasoline over a small burning ember within them.
Norman continued working his prick madly back and forth, whipping it in and out with lightening-like strokes, until he collapsed on her as his sperm shot one glacier after another over her in-sides.
"My God, what a piece of ass. I'm fucked to death," he groaned, gasping for air.
Deborah held his cheeks with both hands, and said softly:
"I love you."
Wearily he looked down into her face.
"What in the hell did you say?"
"I said I love you. I didn't know it was possible for hate to turn into love."
He pushed himself off of her with difficulty and lay as if prostrated on his back, looking up at the moon.
"Maybe this last piece has affected my brain, but I don't understand what you mean."
She raised herself on her elbow, looking down into his face, smiling.
"I only said that I loved you."
"I thought that's what you said, but what was it you said about hate? Do you love me and hate me too?"
She kissed his lips, then again on his cheek.
"When I came to your house that afternoon, it rained so hard and you screwed me, I really thought I hated you. I didn't want you to do that, but I wanted the job you offered me. Now I wanted you to do it with me because I've fallen in love with you."
He forced himself in an upright position and looked intently at the girl.
"Deborah, I've never fucked a girl in my life I didn't have to pay for it one way or the other. When I was a kid I got a great charge out of fucking a small girl between her legs. We called it slick legging. I even had to pay for cracking my rocks between the child's legs. My juice ran down her leg and got on her socks. Her old Jewish mother discovered her little five-year-old daughter's socks loaded with cum and made her tell how it got there. My old man beat the hell out of me and wouldn't let me out of the yard for three months. I fucked my sister, and Mama found out about it and gave me a tongue lashing every day, twice a day for over a year. You had something I wanted, and it didn't matter to me what it cost. I intended having your twat, so I fired old Mrs. Morgan and gave you the job."
"What about my mother, did you buy her that electric wheelchair so you could screw her?"
"No, I can honestly say, I haven't wanted your mother. I wanted you, and I paid for it with each time we fucked. You say you love me. I'm sorry to hear you say that, because love and a good piece of ass just don't mix. I'm sorry, Deborah, but that's the way it is. I don't love you, and if I did, I wouldn't know it was love. I've never loved anyone, not even my parents. We've had a good thing going, so please don't spoil it by trying to bring romance into our sex lives."
She continued looking down at him with the smile on her face.
"I knew you didn't love me, but for some reason I wanted to tell you that it isn't all sex that makes me want to be in your arms."
He stood and, reaching down, took her by the hand, pulling her to her feet.
In the darkness a small form could be seen running from them toward the house.
"That's Ellen," Deborah declared. "I wonder how much she saw."
"Perhaps nothing, but if she did see us, she knows now what a good piece of ass looks like in action. I don't know about you, but that was the best we've had together."
Entering the house, Deborah looked over at the child suspiciously while Ellen kept her eyes glued to the television. She waited until the child looked her way, then motioned for her to come into the bedroom.
"Was that you down on the beach a few minutes ago?" she asked, kneeling before the child.
Ellen nodded her head and started giggling.
"I saw you down the beach, then when you got up and started walking toward me, I ran back here."
"What did you see?" Deborah asked, looking the child in the face.
"Nothing, because it was too dark to see if he was kissing you."
Deborah breathed a sigh of relief and kissed her sister on the cheek.
"Want to know a secret?" she asked.
Ellen nodded her head.
"I kissed him," she said, laughing with Ellen. "I got a secret too."
"What's your secret?" Deborah asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Mr. Mason does this," she replied, rubbing her hand up and down her little butt.
"You mean he rubs your behind?" she asked unbelievingly.
"No, he doesn't rub my butt, just touches it once in a while."
"Honey, he doesn't mean anything by that. He just gives you a pat on your rear end."
"Bessie Stillwell told me that when a man touches your butt, that means he wants to take your panties off."
Deborah became annoyed at the child, and said:
"You shouldn't pay any attention to whoever Bessie Stillwell is. Mr. Mason wouldn't give a thought to you if you were stark naked. Now someone as old as Lavern could be a different story. Don't you ever let me hear you say that Mr. Mason rubs your behind again. That would make him angry, and he wouldn't ever speak to you again."
Ellen sat grinning at her sister as she left the room.
"I know the difference between a pat and a butt feel," she said softly to herself.
Deborah was breathing heavily, and Lavern could hear her mother snoring in the next room as she walked quietly through the living room and opened the door to Norman's room. She stood for a moment looking down at the sleeping man, then raised the sheet and slipped into the bed beside him. For several minutes she lay waiting for him to make a move."
"Hey, wake up," she whispered, shaking him.
"What's the matter?" Norman asked, sitting up in bed.
"Nothing's the matter. You told me to come to your room after the others were asleep, so here I am."
He tried to focus his eyes in the darkness, and mumbled:
"Hello, Lavern. Nice day."
She looked at him in disgust as he lay back down and drifted to sleep again. Pushing her hands under his shorts, she took his limp prick in her hand and began playing with it. She continued skinning it back and forth until she felt the bone become hard. Pulling the sheet back, she unsnapped his shorts and laid them open and looked with wide eyes at the long straight pole sticking up.
His prick began to wilt somewhat, so she touched the head of it with her tongue. Then she slid her lips over it, wallowing it around in her mouth. She felt the first small drop of juice overflow on her tongue and continued sucking until he attempted to sit up in bed.
"What in the hell are you doing in here?" he asked, when she removed her mouth from his prick.
"I'm doing what you told me to do. I'm in here, and I want to do something. I don't care what."
"Oh, go back to your bed, I'm dead tired."
"No, I won't," she said softly, and pulled her gown over her head. Straddling the man, she eased her cunt down and over his prick, guiding it into her hole, and sat gently down, driving it slowly into her.
There was a small amount of pain each time she lifted her body, then pushed it down over his penis. She clinched her teeth and, using her hands, kept her ass whipping his balls each time she pushed her cunt down on his prick.
Several times she felt herself come, then as her passion became greater, her actions began to speed up, churning to a feverish pitch.
Norman opened his eyes and smiled at the girl and pulled her down against his chest. She continued pumping away when their tongues met, exchanging the sweet saliva from one tongue to another.
"How much more can I give?" he said, trying to have an early climax.
"I want it all," she replied, misunderstanding what he meant.
"You're getting it," he replied, as his prick in one desperate effort rolled his cum over the head of his prick and into her pussy.
"You finished?" Lavern declared, surprised. "I haven't even gotten started."
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't do anything else. A man can take just so much fucking, then he has to let his battery recharge, and it takes more than a few hours to get a full charge. Go on back to bed, and I promise the next time we fuck, I'll make you shoot the juice a dozen times to my one."
Lavern slowly crawled off the man and reached down for her gown. Pulling it over her head, she returned to her room and lay beside Deborah. Sitting on the side of the bed, Ellen laughed to herself, and declared:
"Who wants to watch television when my sisters give a better show than any movie star?"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It had rained on them all the way from the State line until they passed through Rome. It hadn't been the trip he had planned. It was true he'd screwed Deborah and Lavern and rubbed the child's ass, but that could've been done in Sumter. He'd helped get Mama from the station wagon and into the house and had accepted their thanks and driven home disgusted. As far as he was concerned they could give the entire State of Florida back to the Spanish and let the Indians have it.
Norman remained at his desk each day after the other office workers had gone home. It was finally Thursday, and a telegram from Aggie informed him she would arrive home on Saturday. He left the office and drove by the commissary and picked up a few things he wanted for dinner, then left a list with the manager for grocery stock so Aggie wouldn't complain because there was nothing in the house to eat.
Edith finished dusting the house and was in the process of starting the dinner, when he arrived home. Changing his clothes, he sat in the den reading the Chattanooga paper. It was while he was eating that Edith came from the kitchen and stood looking at him.
"Paul was here this afternoon. He wanted me to go back to him and promised that he'd be good to me and wouldn't give me no more whippings."
Looking up at her in surprise, he asked:
"What do you mean, no more whippings? That no-good bastard didn't beat you?"
"Yes, he did. He said he had a right to use his belt on me the same as he did the kids. He said he'd buy me some pretty clothes, and I could go see my folks once a month, if I wanted to."
Norman leaned back in his chair and picked at his teeth.
"With all those promises, maybe you'd be better off if you went back to him."
"I don't know. He said I'd have to stop working here for you. I don't want to do that. Anyway, I like it here, because there're so many pretty things."
Pushing his chair back, he left the table and took her by the hand, leading her into the den and down to the sofa.
"I've been waiting for an opportunity to talk with you, Edith. You remember when you took this job, I explained that it was only until my wife and daughter returned from Europe. Well, all good things have to come to an end. Mrs. Mason and Ella Mae will be back Saturday. I could find something for you to do at the mill, but it wouldn't pay very much. I believe it would be best for you to go back to your husband or to your father and mother."
Tears came into the girl's eyes. "Can't I stay here and work for you? I'd do anything Mrs. Mason told me to do."
"I'm going to have a hard enough time explaining why a beautiful girl is now personnel manager instead of old Mrs. Morgan. Aggie isn't going to fall for my needing a housekeeper and cook, especially when she sees your little doll face. I tell you what we'll do. You have the house looking real good, so today and tomorrow you won't have to work, and we'll spend the time in bed."
She smiled a little as Norman put his arms around her and pulled her against him. His hand toyed with her breast, then pulled the zipper down, exposing the pearly white chest. His lips kissed the titty several times, sucking it up into his mouth.
Edith watched him as his mouth went from one breast to the other, then laid her hand on his head.
"If I have to go back to Paul, will you make him let you do this to me?"
Norman sat up and took her into his arms. He kissed her cheek, sliding his tongue across her face and nibbled on her ear lobe.
"I'll fuck you any time you want me to, and if you want to, we'll make Paul fuck his fist while he watches us."
Edith giggled.
"Paul's sure scared of you. I wish he was scared of me that way. I'd make him let me whip his ass the way he did me."
Norman stood, pulling the girl to her feet.
"It's all in knowing the magic words. I'm going to give you these words, and the next time he doesn't jump when you speak, use them on him. Paul's been a real stool pigeon for me and tells every move the workers make. He's been the reason five people have lost their jobs. Now, here's your ace card to hold over him: Paul reported to me that the foreman cursed him in the weaving department. That only cost Ralph his job as foreman, but the salary as an unloader in the receiving department only pays about half what a foreman gets. You know this now, so just threaten to tell Mr. Bowen that Paul was the reason he was demoted."
Norman reached down and pulled the girl's dress over her head. He continued undressing her until she was completely naked, then led her up the stairs to his bedroom. His freedom would be over Saturday, and he intended to get all out of the girl he could in the next two evenings.
She watched him strip and smiled at him when he walked toward her, holding his large prick in his hand.
"This is what you cry for," he said, pushing the head of his dick against her vagina.
They kissed, and his hands made a path over her breast and down to her stomach. He knelt before her and, for a moment, looked at her cunt.
"How could anything be so damn good and look like this?" he asked, taking his hands and opening the lips.
He kissed her pussy several times', then inserted his tongue into the slit. The tip of his tongue touched her clitoris and tickled it, then he began licking the walls.
Edith was moaning and wiggling her body back and forth, then sideways. He always made her feel good. His lips made a suction, drawing her pussy into his mouth as his hands squeezed the soft ass.
Standing, he laid both hands on her shoulders, pushing her to her knees.
"Hold it in your hand and tell my handsome dick how much you love it," he said, in a demanding voice.
She clasped the prick in her hand and said: "I love you."
"Now slip it in your mouth and show me just how much you appreciate my prick fucking you."
He could feel the drawing pains clear to his backbone. She wasn't just sliding her lips back and forth; she was using a suction that seemed to pull his insides out. She was gasping heavily now, her eyes barely open and attempting to mumble such words as "good" and "more." He became annoyed with her more than thrilled by his own indescribable feeling. He attempted to pull his prick from her mouth, but her lips pressed harder, and she held on to the base with her hand. Pushing her head away, he watched as she lay on the floor on her back with outstretched arms inviting him.
"What in the hell were you trying to say? Mumbled words irritate me."
"Come to me and I'll tell you," she teased, still holding her arms out to him.
Norman knelt beside her and looked into her face. She must have looked that innocent when she was nine or ten. He looked at the slender legs and wondered if some mountain hick had felt of them and slick legged her the way he had done so many times when a child. He tried to shake these thoughts from his mind. He had tried sex many ways since having become a man, but never on a small child. The mere thought of taking a child's panties down seemed to inflame him, and he would think about something else.
He lay on Edith, and her hand immediately grabbed his prick, trying to find her hole. After rubbing the head of it through her hairs, she finally stuck it in. Her chest heaved and her fingers dug into his back. He thought her breathing could be heard throughout the house. She came, lubricating his prick with the warm oil. Roughly he rolled her body over so that now she lay on top. She jerked violently against the internal pressure but didn't seem to have the strength to free herself from the demands his prick was now taking.
Her once-tight cunt was open, wider than it had ever been before.
He felt it move, slowly at first, from the very depths of his testicles. It began creeping along the complicated tubing, then, as if the dam had burst, he let it fly with one last thrust upward, feeling the cum trickle down over his penis. He lay there for several moments savoring the sweet odor. Finally, gradually, his strength returned, and with a great effort he was able to push her off, her body rolling over onto the floor.
She looked at him, then began to cry.
"You can't let me go now. I've got to have someone to fuck me the way you do. Please tell me I can stay on. I'll work for nothing, just fuck me."
Norman wearily shook his head while washing his prick in the bathroom. Throwing her a towel, he said:
"Edith, let's not argue about something that's impossible. I've got two other girls, plus a bitch who enjoys having her ass whipped, to satisfy. If I weren't married I still couldn't continue the demands your hot ass makes upon me. Mrs. Mason will probably want her twat torn up when she arrives home. Get up and get your clothes on, and I'll drive you home."
Edith turned over on her hands and knees and pushed herself off of the floor. He looked at his watch and was surprised that it was after eight o'clock. She zipped her dress up and walked up to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He kissed her gently, then opened the door and jumped back, looking at Paul with a pistol in his hand. For several moments they glared at each other, then Paul began waving the pistol, ordering him back into the room.
"What the hell are you pulling?" Norman demanded, and started to step toward the man, when he heard the hammer being cocked back.
"I'm going to kill you, Mr. Mason," Paul announced calmly.
"Wait a minute, Faulkner. Even if you don't have the guts to kill me, that thing could accidentally shoot."
"It won't be an accident, Mr. Mason, and my name is Mr. Faulkner. Say Mr. Faulkner!" he screamed at Norman.
"All right, if that's what you want. I thought we were friends enough for me to leave off the Mister."
"You're a thief, Mason. You stole my wife from me and also my manhood. You've made me crawl like a snake, allowing you to fuck my wife in my own home. That's all over now. I'm a man again."
Norman began to feel afraid while looking into the wild eyes of the man.
"Mr. Faulkner, if you'll just listen to me for a moment. Sure, you can shoot me, but you lose everything if you do. Your wife said this evening she was going to go back to you, and I planned on making you a foreman."
Edith backed over to the window and stared horrified at her husband.
"It won't work this time. You know what the men said to me tonight while I was trying to do my work? They said, 'Hey, Paul, can't you do your homework without the boss helping you out?' Then another cock-sucker yelled across the room that I wasn't much of a man to let the boss use my wife as a play toy. That's when I suddenly became a man and made up my mind to blow your shitty guts out."
"It won't make you a man to shoot me when I'm not armed. At least give me a fighting chance," Norman pleaded.
A smile broke across Paul's face. Walking backward to the door, he turned the key, locking it, then switched off the lights.
"I'm giving you a fighting chance, Mason. I want to see you run around the room like a cornered rat. You can't see me any more than I can you. I'm going to start shooting when I hear you move. Crawl, Mason, crawl like a rat!"
Norman dropped to the floor and began moving toward the bed table where he kept his revolver. His eyes strained, trying to see the man who had moved away from the door. Reaching down, he removed his shoe and threw it across the room.
"That won't work, Mason. I'm not going to waste a shot shooting at something you throw."
Edith stood by the window with her fist doubled up in her mouth. Her body trembled with fright, and she was sobbing.
"Please, Paul, don't do this!"
Norman moved slowly on his belly until he felt a table leg. He could faintly hear the man's footsteps making a circle slowly around the room.
"I'm coming for you, Mason," Paul shouted, then jumped quickly against another wall.
Norman raised his arm, his hand feeling up the leg of the table until it rested on the metal drawer pull. He pulled gently, and the drawer moved a little. A loud noise exploded when the drawer made a scraping sound. The bullet passed over his head and went into the bed post. Again he pulled the drawer and attempted to shove his hand into it. Another shot fired, and he fell face down on the floor. His back was burning, and he could feel his shirt sticking against his skin with blood.
"Did I hit you that time, Mason?" Paul called out.
He lay for a moment, then forced himself to a sitting position, straining his eyes to see the table. His hand again slipped up the table leg and into the drawer, touching the cold metal. Grabbing the gun, he rolled over onto the floor as another shot exploded. He was now on his stomach, pointing the pistol around the side of the room. In the darkness he saw something move and squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet into the glass of the dresser.
"Oh, ho, you found a gun, did you? Now we're even, Mason, I'm a man just like you," Paul said, with a wild laugh.
Norman again squeezed the trigger, and for a moment breathed a sigh of relief when something fell to the floor. Forcing himself to his feet, he staggered toward the door, when a bullet ripped through his chest, sending him backwards to the floor.
Edith screamed when she heard Norman fall, and made a dash for the door. A bullet tore into her back, throwing her against the door, then she slid to the floor.
"All right, Edith, I've killed the bastard," Paul said in triumph, switching on the light.
Norman was lying on his side with the gun pointing at the man who stared down unbelieving at the dead girl on the floor. Slowly turning, he raised his gun as Norman again squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet through Paul's head.
Norman dropped his head to the floor and stared over at the man who had fallen across his wife. He knew he was bleeding internally and attempted to crawl back to the table for the telephone. His back had become numb, but his chest seemed to be on fire. Several times he wiped the blood from his lips and continued to crawl across the room. His hand reached out for the telephone cord, then he rolled over onto his back.
"Mama, Mama, it's bleeding," he cried, holding up his cut finger.
His mother wiped the blood away and put a bandage on the small cut.
Norman opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. He had dreamed again. He was in Atlanta and had cut his finger. This was no dream, he was actually bleeding to death, and his arms couldn't reach for the telephone.
"Mama, Mama," he muttered, gasping for air.
He tried to keep his eyes open, because he would never open them again if he didn't. How does it feel to die? These thoughts kept racing through his mind. He heard the downstairs front door open and a voice calling out to him.
"Norman, are you home? It's me-Aggie," the woman called. "Ella Mae, run up to Daddy's room and surprise him."
He could hear the child's footsteps as she climbed the stairs. Now she was in the hall walking toward his room. The doorknob was turning, then it stopped.
"Mama, the door's locked. I can't get in," Ella Mae called.
"Let him alone, Ella Mae. He must've had a little too much celebration, knowing I was coming home. Let him sleep it off, we'll see him in the morning."
Norman tried to force his arm to move so he could crawl toward the door.
"Uh, uh, uh," was the only sound he could utter.
Ella Mae turned away and started walking toward the stairs.
"Mama, let me wake him up. I want to see Daddy," she pleaded.
"You can't wake him when he's had too much to drink. I'll sleep in the guest room tonight."
Norman lay staring at the gun three inches from his fingers. He tried to stretch his arm until the tip of his finger touched the metal. Pushing with his feet, his body moved an inch or two and his finger was now on the trigger. The light was beginning to grow dark as he used all his strength to try and fire the pistol.
The little Jewish girl pulled her little dress up and was laughing at him.
"Hi, mother fucker," the Negro boy said, showing his white teeth.
He handed the Negro woman her package from the department store.
"Thank you," she said, tipping him a quarter.
"You're no longer the general manager, you Jew bastard!" he shouted, sitting in the older man's chair.
He wanted to scream as thousands of lights were turned on overhead, shining into his eyes, then the dreams were over.
