In William Shakespeare's immortal As You Like It, he noted, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players..."
The Unwilling Actress places the spotlight on a stage where the players reveal the many roles in life they aspire to. It is a setting that finds a young ingenue who comes to realize that the world of greasepaint, scenery, and make-believe is more to her liking than reality.
Beautiful, talented, and misunderstood by those nearest to her, Celia lives only to play the dramatic parts on stage that will free her from the drab and dull life in the real world. The other inhabitants of this fantasy land share her enthusiasm for this means of escape.
The theatre, as some form of dramatic expression, can be found in every historical period and in every part of the world. In nearly all cultures, what happens on the stage reflects what has or is happening in the society of the area or era represented. The ancient Greek plays described the communal life of that time. During the Puritan influence on history, theatres were officially closed. Ibsen, Tolstoy, George Bernard Shaw and others used the stage to deal with the social problems of their times via their works.
And now, Bella Dietrich, with her unusual penetrating perception of the motives behind the facade and inner workings of today's men and women, has written a scathing in-depth story dealing with role-playing in the Twentieth Century. The author, a lifetime student of the interpersonal relations between those who love and those who hate each other, leads the reader into the intricate patterns of human emotion.
As the curtain is raised on this drama, the foibles of the characters come into focus-the small town hard-working accountant who is trying to save his money in order to start his own business, the little rich girl whose only talent is identifiable by a dollar sign, the political performer fighting for power with his only negotiable asset, the disillusioned Vietnam veteran, and the dedicated thespian.
In this richly tapestried setting filled with contemporary theatrical fledglings, The Unwilling Actress tells the real story of those who strive for a life in the theatre and of those who fail to understand the drives and needs that motivate these gifted and fragile human beings.
Celia lives only when she has donned the mask of the theatre-whether it be the tragedian or the comedienne. How many of us do this in our daily lives without the trappings of the theatre? And how many of us wish that we could don the disguise of another person to achieve our goals in life?
These questions can only be answered by our readers.
This marks the third Dietrich novel to be published by Dansk Blue Books. We believe it also marks the first time that the drama of today- the frustration, search, and quest for identity that is sweeping the world-has been so forcefully told via the ageless vehicle of the theatre.
The Publishers
Chapter One
The warm spring air fanned the leaves of the old elms, and they swayed above the intricate roofs of the two Victorian houses set wide apart to form a small park between. The park needed little transformation to become an outdoor theatre for the annual Shakespearean production of The Peabody School of Dramatic Arts.
The folding audience chairs had been set up in a wide crescent around the playing area which backed up to the path leading to the former servants' quarters that now served as dressing rooms. Celia Brown carefully powdered her throat and expanse of snowy bosom displayed by the low square-cut neckline of her costume. Her hand was shaking a little.
It was more than just the usual tenseness before a performance. That was a tenseness she welcomed, for it was an occupational hazard that once lived through usually presaged a good performance. This was a nervous excitement that bordered on the edge of hysteria, and it was caused by Webster McCullough.
The way he'd looked at her a while ago when he'd come to the dressing room door... as though he could devour her on the spot. His piercing blue eyes behind his glasses had missed nothing... Celia's polished pecan-brown hair that swung around her heart-shaped face like a bell, her wide almond eyes that tilted up at the corners, her delicate little nose and curved mouth that quirked up in faint mockery. His eyes had assessed and caressed her luminous white skin from her wide brow down to her slender throat to the mounds of her breasts, barely covered and pushed up by the boning of the costume till they were lifted and pressed upward as if in invitation. Even where she was covered she felt naked under his eyes, as though he could see her narrow waist and curved hips and long thighs under the heavy rose brocade.
Celia had seen a decisiveness suddenly tighten his good-looking face. A muscle twitched in his firm jaw. He reached out one arm and circled her corseted waist and pulled her to him fiercely, his lips against her ear. "I'll be parked around the corner. Come to me as soon as you can. I can't wait much longer, baby."
"Web... please. There are people all over the place."
"Hurry and get through this damn dress rehearsal. I want to get you alone... away from everybody." His lips had burned a quick brand just under her jaw and he was gone.
She'd watched him stride down the path, dodging actors and props and bushes. Her real nervousness had started then, for he looked and acted like a man who meant what he said. The quiet easy charm that he usually wore like a jaunty feather had turned to armor plate in that brief moment. He looked like a man about to do battle who had no doubts about his ability to win.
Until now Webster McCullough had looked like what he was... a serious young businessman, a C.P.A. who was on his way up. He was a shade above middle height, with thick wavy blond hair and blue eyes that varied in temperature from hot to cold in a flash sometimes, but were usually controlled to a moderate setting. The long hours of sitting he offset with arduous gym hours that had built powerful muscles on his shoulders and chest. His glasses only added to his seriousness and made him look older than his thirty-one years... but his easy disarming grin counterbalanced them.
But now he looked different to Celia... so different she was a little frightened. But the fright was threaded with shivering strands of excitement that raced through her veins. She knew that a change was coming in their relationship, and most probably tonight!
She shaped her lips again with the lip brush dipped in rosy rouge. These last three months had been the best time of her whole nineteen years, and she didn't want things to change. Not yet. It was too perfect. She wanted to keep it that way.
It was still a miracle to her that she was here in Dallas... living alone and away from her parents in Waxahachie. The thought of their dreary little hardware store and equally dreary neat white frame house with the starched priscilla curtains could still give her the shakes. Their life was as circumscribed as the ledgers her father pored over and as inevitable as the false friendliness her mother exuded on customers. Work, gossip, church, lodge, family reunions, gardening, TV, and sleep. Their early to bed and early to rise existence Celia dreaded more than loneliness or death.
She'd hated it so fiercely from her early childhood that she'd thought for years that she must be adopted or else just a born freak. Her only defense had been the slow shyness and bookishness her teachers had liked.
First books and then movies had shouted out other worlds to her... worlds she could never reasonably expect to inhabit. And then it had happened. She'd been in a school play! Her own world and her identity in that world as George and Opal Brown's daughter had disappeared and she could at least briefly enter other worlds in other bodies, with other feelings. She could be somebody else!
From that moment on she had lost herself in plays and in acting. In high school, she'd been so good at pretending that she stood out in almost frightening intensity. Even Mrs. Goodman had been a little in awe of her uncanny natural ability.
After high school, two years of college had not satisfied her or given her what she wanted. A small teacher's college had not taught her anything about acting she didn't already know. All the other classes were so boring she couldn't even bear to listen to them.
Finally, in desperation, she'd gotten Mrs. Goodman to persuade her parents to let her come here. She knew the Peabody School was not the ultimate. It was an impoverished, slightly talented, old maid's hold on culture and art. Esther Peabody was never much of an actress herself, but she could choose and direct the people who were genuine actors. Many of her students had gone on to better things. One was even a movie star of some fame.
And so the best three months of her life had begun. Celia had found a job in Highland Park across from S.M.U. She was a clerk of all work in a college dress shop during the day, and at night she rehearsed and read and went to classes at Peabody on a scholarship.
Even now she knew that her father would never have permitted it had Miss Peabody not been so obviously genteel and refined. Celia roomed with two other girl students on the top floor of one of the old Victorian houses in a large airy flat that had its own living room, kitchen, bath, and three bedrooms. It was perfect for Hilda and Rosemary and herself.
"They're all whores... those damn movie stars. Pick up any paper... you'll see!" Her father was fond of shouting, but Esther Peabody was so completely a lady and so quiet and modest that he'd reluctantly let himself be persuaded. Celia knew, however, that one slip, one suspicion that she had conducted herself in any way other than circumspectly, and she'd be dragged home to wither and die in Waxahachie, Texas.
She bent forward to the mirror to lengthen the dark lines at the corners of her eyes. Her full rounded globular breasts almost tumbled out of the top of the costume. If her father could see her now, for instance, he'd get so angry he'd threaten to kill her.
If he knew about Webster McCullough, he wouldn't just threaten... he would! Her father's idea of a date was to sit in the parlor and drink lemonade! She'd had so few of even those dates through high school and college that she couldn't even handle them very well.
But then, men had not really interested her that much before Web. Men! She'd never really known any men. They'd been pimply boys! Web was too old for her, she supposed. But he didn't seem old. He just seemed like a man. A real man.
There was Bullock Brand and Patrick Flanner, and they were men too, but they didn't seem that way to her because she worked with them in plays all the time. They were students, involved in her work, and lived right downstairs. They'd come barging up to borrow the peanut butter or put a light bulb in for you. Well, they seemed more like family. That was the way theatrical people were. They lived together whether they did, in fact, or not.
Satisfied at last with her makeup, she stepped back to get a full-length view of herself. She turned and dipped, pleased again to be another creature. Shakespeare's Helena this time. She could hear the murmur of the small crowd. An invitational audience Esther invited in hopes they'd contribute to the school... Very few of them ever did.
Celia looked critically at her creamy breasts pushed high and round above her tiny corseted waist that rose like a stem from her voluminous skirt that swept the floor. She blushed thinking of Web's eyes so hot on her. What if... if she couldn't handle him tonight when she met him later. A shiver of goose bumps broke out on her bare elbows.
His good-night kisses had gotten more and more insistent, but he'd never been... well, awful about it or anything. He'd always been kind and sweet and considerate and fun. She really didn't want that to change, and yet...
The door banged open abruptly and Hilda Norman, one of her apartment mates, came galloping in with her skirts held up in one hand.
"Miss Pea says three minutes till curtain." She stopped then, a frown crossing her narrow colorless face. It wasn't fair that Celia could look so beautiful! "Well, well, I wonder what your old Daddy would say if he could see you now!" Hilda was all of a color, mousy hair, mousy eyes and skin, tall and slender. Her only distinguishing feature was a strident, stagy, sophisticated voice reminiscent of a Noel Coward drawing room comedy.
"He'd horsewhip me... that's what he'd do, as you very well know, honey chile." Celia laughed. She linked arms with the tall girl.
"Come on, Hilda... let's knock 'em dead."
Esther Peabody stretched out her hand in greeting to Justin Garrett. She was a pretty woman in her early forties, but her hairdo and clothes were so dated she could have been any age between thirty and sixty. Long, thick, honey-colored hair was pulled into a loose knot on the nape of her neck, and deep waves framed her ears. Her clothes were invariably four precise inches below her knees, and the printed chiffon she wore fluttered about her excellent calves that were camouflaged by the awkward length. Her nails were polished in pale pink with the moons left bare. Her only makeup was pale pink lipstick that the girl drama students were sure must be Tangee natural from the dime store. She was slender and tallish, but again her clothes fit so loosely that ii was almost impossible to say whether she had a good or bad figure. She always looked like a housewife in one of the magazine advertisements from the thirties... innocuous, pretty, motherly and utterly devoid of sex.
"Mr. Garrett! I'm so delighted you could come. It's almost curtain time, but I've saved you a seat without a tree trunk!" she laughed gaily.
"I'm delighted to be here, Miss Peabody. Any excuse to see you." He brushed the back of her hand with his lips elaborately.
"Now, Mr. Garrett. Save your compliments for all those starlets. By the way, as I told you, there's a young girl playing Helena tonight you may want to use in one of your Little Theatre productions. She s charming.
"Charm, I don't need. Talent I do." he grumbled. Justin Garrett was a bear of a man, great arms and shoulders and hands and neck, looking as though he'd been mistakenly stripped of his fur. But his face was that of an aging matinee idol who constantly showed his handsome profile. Dark hair swept straight back from his high forehead and silvered becomingly over the temples above brooding eyebrows and fiery dark eyes that he flashed effectively for emphasis.
Patrick Flanner spoke to Celia with the passion of his own conviction, not just that of the character he was playing. The lights blinded him to the audience, but he could see that beautiful creature clearly. One day, he thought... one day.
"... Virginity by being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with it!" God, yes, away with it. He'd like to be the one who stormed Celia's little hymen.
Patrick was the epitome of what most people thought an Irishman should look like. Curling red hair and blue eyes that crinkled in wild laughter, pale faintly freckled skin and a silver tongue that minted words indefinitely and spent them lavishly. He knew he had the natural gift for gab attributed to his ancestors, and that's why he was at Peabody. He wanted to augment that gift by learning the timing and phrasing that only a drama school could teach him. He was going to need that training. Certainly he wasn't going to organize other people's little local political campaigns forever. He was going to run for political office himself and change the whole idiot world.
"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven..."
Patrick jerked himself back into character as he heard Celia pronounce the beginning of the famous speech of Helena.
"Bullock Brand... stop that!" Rosemary hissed in a stage whisper behind the myrtle trees and lilac bushes that served as the wings of the playing area.
"Mm-mmm-mmm," he mouthed against her bare throat, holding her back against him so his hands came from behind her to cup her barely covered breasts in the costume. He was never going to get enough of women, not if he lived to be a hundred. And he'd been so afraid they wouldn't even look at him when he'd come home from Vietnam, with his prematurely balding head and gaunt face. But it wasn't what you looked like. It was how you treated them. And he knew how to treat them. Fuck 'em! He'd been working on this one for a month, and he thought tonight might be the night.
"Stop it... it's almost time for my cue, damn you!" she whispered desperately. She couldn't even think what her first line was with Bullock pawing her. If the truth were known she hadn't really done a lick of work on her thesis since he'd moved in downstairs. She didn't really know what was so disconcerting about this one. He was certainly nothing to look at. It was those damn sad eyes of his and that balding skull over his young-old face.
"Okay, baby... later." Reluctantly he let her go. She stood a little away from him and turned to throw him a quick smile when she saw his sad face. She was a pretty thing with soft dark hair curling around her shoulders and an earnest expression in her greenish eyes. If she'd been in the movies she'd always be given the girl-next-door parts. Sort of an Ali McGraw type, but prettier with better boobs and legs. Yeh. Maybe tonight.
The dressing room was the usual madhouse after a performance. Bodices being unlaced and bras put on, slacks replacing voluminous skirts, makeup being slathered away with great gobs of cold cream and the incessant giggling, chattering, and squealing of girls after a dress rehearsal that had gone well. The same furor came from the boy's dressing room.
Frantically Celia threw on her plaid skirt and silk shirt. Now that it was over she wanted to see Web. The worry about his possible insistence had evaporated during the play somehow. Everything always seemed a long time ago when she came out of the trancelike state of playing a part. She wanted to get out before the inevitable preparations about where to go for hamburgers and who was going to ride in whose car. It was better if they just assumed she'd gone to bed, which she had on occasion.
Web saw her come rushing around the corner, her long legs twinkling under her short skirt in the angled light of the street lamp. Her beautiful breasts were jiggling from her fast walking and were clearly outlined mounds that tightened his groin. Jesus, she was a beautiful thing! Easy, he cautioned himself. You want to screw her, not marry her.
She slid into the car beside him, laughing and panting from rushing so. He pulled her against him hard and captured her soft mouth with his before she could do more than utter an unfinished "O..." He kissed her deeply and long, crushing her so hard to his chest he could feel her heart beating wildly. One soft hand touched his face tenderly, the fingertips just grazing his freshly shaved cheek while the other pushed hard against his shoulder to break his hold. She wanted it all right, but she was trying to tell herself that nice girls didn't.
Celia could feel Web's hard arms holding her in a viselike grip and his mouth bruising her lips, his tongue sunk deeply in her mouth and probing. What was the matter with him? He'd never grabbed her so abruptly and held her so roughly. Her breasts were mashed hard against his chest and his thigh was pressed hotly against hers and a strange warmth was stealing through her though she could hardly breathe. Finally she twisted her head away and gasped, "Web... please... you mustn't... I..."
"Sorry... Hell, no! I'm not sorry. You looked so damned beautiful coming toward me. I guess I... but I'm not sorry." Just as abruptly, he started the car, turned on the headlights, flipped the radio on, and pulled away from the curb.
She could still feel her heart pounding in her chest, and she felt both relieved and disappointed that she was not still in his arms. The nervousness had returned tenfold, for if he really got insistent she didn't know what she would do. She'd had to fight boys off before, but they were so easy if you just said something cutting and laughed at them. But Web was a man, not a boy. What would she do?
She leaned her head back on the seat and tried to make some kind of natural conversation. "It... the play... it went well tonight. Mr. Garrett wants me to try out for him at the Dallas Little Theatre. He used to be a Hollywood director. Isn't that great?"
"No, it isn't great. It's just that much less time I can see you... and I want to see you more, not less," he grinned.
"Maybe we've been seeing too much of each other already," she said in her strangely gritty-satin voice.
"Never," he vowed, steering with his right hand and reaching across with his left to catch her right hand and pull it to his lips. He kissed the palm softly, and she could feel the kisses travel like lightning impulses all the way up her arm. Then with his eyes steady on the road he kissed the fingers solemnly one by one. The insidious warmth was stealing through her again. She knew she should snatch her hand away, but she couldn't.
"Where are we going to eat?" she inquired as casually as she could with her hand still being kissed and fondled with his lips.
"Where we can be alone. Where there's nobody but us," he answered. And Celia shivered, not sure if Web was being ominous or not.
"Do you suppose you could spare my hand for your driving? I mean it's dangerous in this traffic," she said meekly, for the cars were flashing by like streaks and the stoplights on cars ahead were polkadots of red reaching into the distance.
"Sure, baby." He dropped her hand, only to pull her roughly snug against his hip and thigh. His hands were both on the wheel now, and she was tired. It would be all right.
Celia roused from a deep drowsiness that weighed her down like a mountain of featherbeds. The effort of lifting her own eyes and moving her body seemed too much for her muscles. She could hear Web saying something to her, and the car wasn't running any more. He was standing by her side of the car with the door open and was trying to help her out of the car.
"Come on, sweetheart. Up we go."
"Oh... where are we?"
She blinked her eyes and leaned against him to steady herself. They were parked by a patio with garden chairs and gay umbrella tables. It was pretty dark. With his arm around her he walked her to a big door with a brass doorknob.
"I don't understand. Where are we? Are we at a restaurant?"
"No, we're not at a restaurant." His arm tightened around her, and he was opening the door with a key that had a plastic number plate attached to it. "But we are going to eat."
He pulled her inside a darkened room, closed the door, and flipped a light switch. The large expensively furnished room glowed with a soft light from tall lamps. There was a round walnut table under a bay window with two deep armchairs pulled up to it. A long elaborate shelf and chest and desk arrangement on one wall held a television set. An enormous king-size bed covered sumptuously in blue velvet dominated the room. The drapes and chair coverings were in matching blue velvet. A bad reproduction of The Blue Boy hung over the bed. The thick blue carpet dragged at her heels as she walked a few steps into the room. Why... it was a motel room! How dare Web take her to a motel! Her suspicions were confirmed now!
She whirled to confront him, suddenly angry and a little frightened. "It's... it's a motel! Whatever gave you the idea you could bring me to a motel..."
He put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her with his sincere blue eyes, serious behind the glasses.
"Two reasons... you're hungry and I wanted to be really alone with you. Except for driving someplace in the car we've never been really alone together. Is that so terrible?" He looked at her quizzically and then kissed her quickly.
"But..."
"No buts. You come right over here and sit down. Your steak's ready." He maneuvered her across the room and seated her at the round table. Only then did she notice the silver domes covering steak platters. The aroma hit her nostrils. The heavenly aroma of broiled steak. He lifted the dome in front of her with a flourish. Her salivary glands started working furiously at the sight of the rare fillet garnished with buttery mushrooms and broiled tomatoes. She hadn't eaten since breakfast. She never could before a performance, and afterwards she was always famished.
Suddenly she felt very ashamed. This must have cost Web a great deal of money, and she knew how stringently he budgeted so as to acquire the capital to open his own business. He even lived in a single room and cooked over a hotplate to cut down his living expenses.
"It's... it's lovely, Web," she smiled up at him uncertainly.
"Eat your steak, woman. You're starving." She nodded and cut into the beautiful meat. Web opened the champagne and poured. She'd never even tasted it. Waxahachie drank beer, and the closest anybody there got to champagne was looking at the rich beautiful people on a movie screen. He held up his glass in a toast, just as they did in the movies, and his eyes burned into her.
"All's Well that Ends Well," he toasted her with the title of the play, but his eyes gave it several meanings.
It was a long leisurely dinner, and Web could see that Celia was completely relaxed and just a little tiddly. The top button of her blouse had slipped loose from the hole, and he could see the creamy rounds of her breasts cleaving together in a "V" of alabaster flesh. He felt his penis leap against the bindings of his shorts and pants. There was something about this particular girl that sent him right up the wall. The way her eyes tilted, the way her shining hair swung, the curve of her mouth in that kind of Mona Lisa smile, and that voice that even on the telephone could make his gut tighten. She was both old and wise and young and innocent, naive and worldly, trusting and suspicious. A paradox. He hadn't really figured her yet. All he knew was that he had never waited almost three months to lay a girl. Goodnight kisses were as close as he'd gotten, and he'd never stood for that nonsense from any girl before. He looked up from his glass to watch her mobile, beautiful face and expressive hands pouring out a funny story about the actors she worked with. Her whole body leaned toward him. It was as though she put her whole self into everything... even telling a funny story. She gave. Well, he wanted all she could give. Now.
He stood up and walked the step to her chair and lifted her to her feet. Her big eyes looked at him, wide and uncertain, and the words of her story died on her lips. He pulled her to him and bent his mouth to kiss her hungrily. She kissed him back and then tried to pull away. He crushed her to him even closer, and he could feel the delicious sensation of her big beautiful breasts mashed against his hard chest and the "V" of her legs joining and the little mound of Venus under her skirt. One hand slid down to cup her firm young buttock and his other hand held her skull through her silky hair, pressing her mouth open under his for his starving tongue. She was moaning and trying to wriggle away, but he held her fast and hard.
Celia breathed raggedly through her nose, and it wasn't very satisfactory because Web seemed to be sucking the very life out through her mouth and his hand held the back of her head so hard that she couldn't move it. Her bottom felt hot where his hard hand held it to shove her so close against him that she could feel his organ, huge and menacing against her soft little belly.
This wasn't any groping boy. He knew exactly what to do and how. Just when she thought she'd have to do something awful like trying to stomp on his toe, his hand came up and closed over her breast and his mouth slid down her throat and buried against the hollow between her shoulder and neck.
"Don't fight me, baby," he ordered harshly, his lips hot against her skin.
The terrible warmth was making her limp... yet her breasts were heaving under his hand. Her eyes were closed, and the heat from his lips against her throat sent radiant warmth coursing all through her, and her breast was blazing from his hand. Oh, she didn't want to fight him. It was so lovely in his arms... but it was all wrong. Everything she'd ever been taught said it was all wrong. How could anything so wrong and sinful feel so marvelous?
Strange fragments of thoughts that were not even really thought--just fragments, glimpses out of time-flashed across her mind. Her father screaming about actresses being whores... her mother warning her about men who only wanted one thing out of you... the panting fevered pimply boys she'd occasionally had to fight off... the trap of early marriage she'd seen her girl friends fall into... one pitiful girl who'd gotten pregnant in high school... all these things flashed in painful memory in a montage that wheeled and would not focus in her head.
A jolt shot through her so delicious that her limbs turned to jelly, for his hand had slid her blouse off one shoulder and the bra strap with it and his burning hand cupped one full heaving naked breast. It was as though she'd been waiting all her life for that particular sensation... Web's warming palm sheltering her soft vulnerable breast.
Web could feel her soft pink nipple stiffen to a closed coral bud against his palm in immediate eager response. He'd known from the minute he saw her three months ago that he had to have her and that he would! He was only amazed and scornful of his long and unfamiliar patience. She was shuddering and shivering under his hands and mouth and arms, as he'd somehow sensed from that first moment that she would. That wide-eyed faintly mocking smile was a good mask to put off innocent horny boys, but he'd had too many women to be fooled by it.
"I almost ripped that costume off you tonight... so I could touch you like this," he muttered against her open upturned mouth, his hand kneading the firm satin flesh of her heavy young breast.
"Please... please... don't," she moaned, trembling even more as his hand slipped her other white shoulder out of her silk blouse, freeing the other peaked mountain of breast. Her blouse dangled limply down her arms, and her bra hung by the straps on her elbow. His fingers traced the globes of both breasts that hung like fruits from the tender truck of her body.
"Nooooooo!" She screamed softly as his thumb and forefinger pinched her hard rubied nipple painfully and an electric shock flashed through her and something pulled inward in an agonizing pleasure between her legs. She could feel moisture dampening her pantyhose.
Suddenly her father's face, twisted in horrible anger, as it had been that time he'd caught her coming out of a movie with Johnny Benson when she'd supposedly gone alone, dominated the whole of her mind. She suddenly saw herself as she would look to her father now... breasts bared in a motel room with a man... the whole sordid unsavory picture... the small-town girl lured into a sinful vulgar fleshly hell. The greatest hell of all was knowing that if this escapade was found out, she'd be dragged home to rot forever.
A terrified sob welled up from deep within her, and she tore herself from Web's arms and started toward the bathroom to put her clothes in order and then somehow get out of there before she was further defiled.
Just as she got to the bathroom door, Web caught her from behind-one strong arm pinning her arms to her sides. The tears were pouring down her face now and the sobs rising in choking waves. "Stop acting like a child," he ordered sternly. "Open your eyes. Open your eyes and look at yourself." His hand was tenderly sweeping across her naked breasts, thrusting fully into his hand while he held her immobile in front of the mirrored bathroom. "You are a full beautiful enchanting woman. Not a naive child. You have a woman's needs and I have a man's needs. We are grown up and we care about each other. I knew from the moment I saw you, you were going to be my woman." His voice was imprinting the hypnotic words against her throat, and she could see her own breasts, turgid-tipped and fully developed, come to quivering life again under his hand that spoke a tender body language as mesmerizing as his voice.
Web kept talking softly, and Celia's sobs were subsiding as he gently removed her arms from the blouse and unhooked the bra to let it fall to her feet. He worked quickly but stealthily so as not to alarm her again. Fortunately her skirt only wrapped and unbuttoned and fell in a bright plaid pool. He caught his breath as he saw the brown triangle of pubic fleece revealed by her sheer pantyhose. The pale slender columns of her perfect legs joined to form that sacred triangle, and her firm flat belly and hips formed planes as aesthetically perfect as a da Vinci geometric drawing. His cock jerked wildly in his pants against her firm buttocks and spine. Easy, he cautioned. His hands caressed her belly and hips and thighs, feeling the perfection his eyes laved, and in the process he slid the pantyhose down till they too fell in wisps around her feet.
At last she stood naked as a marble goddess but far more beautiful, for the blood coursed under that flawless skin to tinge its white perfection with rose. The flesh under his hands hollowed and swelled in impossible curves, and he shook in spite of himself at the sight he had waited for so long. Feverishly he pulled his own clothes off with one hand as he stood behind her, holding her with his arm and letting his hand stray over her lush nakedness.
Celia felt as though she might fall, but Web's rock-hard arm and wandering hand held her both literally and figuratively. In trancelike fascination she watched her own naked body being caressed, and her eyes registered the delicious sensation her flesh was feeling. This couldn't be happening. It was a delight she had dimly imagined in her loneliest moments as being possible perhaps when one was married... but it was so far from her own experience that it seemed she was playing an impossible part with ease and eagerness. Celia Brown had never felt a male hand on her naked flesh, and she could see the muscles of his hand, the tendons, the veins as they worked in deft combination to move that delight-giving hand over her bare body. She could even see her pelvis arch as he smoothed her belly and then inched down to tangle his fingers in her pubic hair. Her own moisture was seeping damply from deep inside her to sheen her thighs on the inside just where her legs joined. Her cheeks were still wet, but her eyes stared wildly back at her, glazed in a mixture of terror and pleasure and awe. The branding heat from his hand flowed right through her flesh wherever it touched, firing some inner furnace deep in her vitals. She heard him moan deep in his throat and felt him turn her and crush her to his own naked wanting body.
"Oh... baby... God." His mouth attacked her own and she was crushed delectably against the hard hairiness of his strong male body. She felt his tongue plunge deeply into her throat and his arms clenching her painfully as though he were going to press her completely into his own flesh. Oh, yes. She could never get close enough. Her own arms crept up around his neck and she opened her mouth wide to receive him. She could feel the huge throbbing instrument of his penis, upright and rigid, mashed between them as her thrusting breasts were mashed into his hairy chest. The incredible tactile messages bombarding her brain were jamming the circuits to reason and sense and judgment.
Web fucked deeply into her warm velvet soft mouth with his tongue and his prick jerked irritably in jealousy, still imprisoned between their naked bodies. Never mind. He was going to bury his cock up to the hilt in that sweet little pussy in short order. She was getting hotter by the second and he was going to ignite that inner fire to a blast furnace. He massaged her silky warm little rounded buttocks with both hands and cupped them to lift her up to him even harder. Stooping a little, he wrapped his arms under her globed buttocks and lifted her up against him till her head was above his, still locked to his mouth, and then let her beautiful naked body slide slowly down his own. He could feel the soft flesh of her slide down against his cock, pressing the foreskin down. Oh, God! He couldn't wait. He had to stick it in her, shove it into that hot little box, hollow and waiting between her legs.
When Celia was standing again on the floor, he released her mouth and stared down at her with burning blue eyes that bored into her very soul. Sometime, somewhere, she realized he'd taken off his glasses. His eyes burned fiercely into her and she felt her whole body quake and shiver. Her fingers trembled against his mouth and she tried to speak, to communicate the volcano of surging emotion that was erupting inside her. Solemnly he kissed her fingers, never taking his hot eyes from her face.
"Oh, Celia, Celia... Celia," he sighed at last, turning his head so his jaw pressed her temple, and the image of their two bodies pressed together from head to feet sprang into view in the mirrored wall of the bathroom as they still stood in the doorway. He pressed her closer with his hands in sudden fierceness to hide even from himself the surge of tenderness that swept him.
"Look at us," he whispered. "Look how we fit together... how we were made to fit." Her eyes leaped to his in the mirror and then saw... really saw the beauty of their naked bodies twined and cleaving. His hardness against her softness, his straight leanness against her swelling lushness as they stood, belly, breast, thigh, faces together. Her eyes widened in fear and amazement as she saw his huge, thrusting, blunt-headed enormous organ mashed between them. An instrument of torture, of agony. How could it be so massive? She'd only really seen her father's when she'd inadvertently rushed into the bathroom when he was there, and it had seemed a limp, purplish obscene and rather pathetically ugly peeing instrument. The facts taught in hygiene class were not even close to the incredible fact of seeing Web's gigantic pulsing thing. Oh, God! It looked even bigger than it felt against her.
Suddenly the horror of what she was... where she was... what she'd been doing hit her with a full load of guilt and shame. She'd been able to bear her father's taunts and accusations and predictions about her insistence on a stage career all these years only because she knew she was innocent... a virgin... pure in fact despite his suspicions. Yet... here she stood naked and panting against a naked man who was obviously only after the one weapon she had against her father's anger. She'd be ruined... forever ruined. No man would ever want to marry her. No-o-o-o-o! It mustn't happen!
She tore herself from his arms and tried to pick up her clothes, now terrified and frantic to get away. Oh, why had she come out with Web at all? She longed to be with the others at some hamburger place, eating and laughing and safe.
"What are you doing?" he roared incredulously, grabbing her arms.
"Look at us," she snarled sarcastically. "Well, I looked and I saw." She blazed at him furiously. "My mother was right. My father was right. You... you just want... to..." Tears of rage and disappointment and shame welled up.
"Say it... fuck you! Yes, I want to fuck you... and what's more you want it, too! I don't even believe you! You're out of another century! A god-damned prick tease! Well, baby," he shook her, his hands biting brutally into her arms. "No woman teases me. I've waited three long months for you! You had me so goddamned hung up... I haven't even had a woman since I met you!"
"Please... please!" She wept in terror and pain. His anger hurt even worse, stabbing her heart. "No, Web... please... please let me go," she sobbed. "Don't make me hate you."
"You won't hate me, bitch! I can promise you that!" he snarled wildly, turning her around and shoving her farther into the bathroom right up close to the mirrored wall. He caught her elbows behind her back and held her captive. "Look at yourself," he thundered, grabbing her jaw and forcing her head up till her eyes lifted to the image of her naked recoiling body and part of his naked body behind her.
Celia saw her own eyes wide with terror, the eyes of a captive animal, cornered and beginning to lose hope. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her mouth hung slack and bubbling with sobs.
"You see these tits! They were made for a man's mouth." He flicked the reddened hard tips of her nipples with his fingernail. She shivered and moaned, the nipples closing even tighter to pointed hard tips that tried to turn inside out, the soft velvet flesh of the areolas clenching and darkening. "You know why they poke out like that? Because they want to be sucked and bitten and chewed till they blow up like balloons!" His hand came up to cover one white fleshy mass of roundness. "You know why that feels so good... so delicious? Because it makes your hot little pussy get all ready for my cock!" He moved slightly so she could see the huge rod poling up from his mat of blond pubic hair.
"We're going to teach you a few things, baby!" His voice was hard and unforgiving, and she could feel his anger almost palpable in the mirrored room that was full of their naked reflections no matter where she looked. The sobs still bubbled up from her chest, and they brought a hopelessness she'd never experienced before. Here in this place-this rented place of assignation-she was going to be raped and ruined forever. She sagged against his rock-hard arm that held her pinned like a calf for slaughter.
"I said... look!" he roared wildly, snapping her jaw up again. Her eyes opened again painfully. She obeyed wearily and fearfully. He could do worse than rape, she knew, if she fought him. He could break every bone in her body with those hard, expert hands.
"Now this is my cock, my prick, my tool, my meat," he stroked the length of the rigid rod with one hand, moving the foreskin back and forth until she could see that the head of the fleshy stem was oozing a thin liquid. "And it doesn't like to be teased. Made to stand up proud and proper and ready and then told it can't ram into your hot little pussy." His breath was rasping through his nose and made a tiny fogged cloud on the mirror.
She watched in horror as his hand came out and snaked across her white belly and down into the pale brown triangle of her pubic hair. "This is your pussy." He stood behind her and put both arms in front along her sides and both hands between her legs and spread her thighs slightly until she stood in a parade rest position. Celia could feel his mammoth cock pressed into her spine, and it sent pulsing messages tingling up her backbone... lewd messages that her tired brain did not want to translate but her body received anyway.
His hands moved, and the forefinger of each hand traced along the outer edges of her privates that were fringed with hair. "These are the labia majora," he grunted as his fingers slid back and forth over the swollen lips and she could see the rounded lips were moist.
"And then just inside are the labia minora." And his fingers touched the inner lips that he peeled open to her horrified eyes. She stared in fascination as his fingers smoothed up and down, and she could feel the sticky moisture lubricating her inside.
"Then right up here," he panted harshly, his eyes fastened on her box where his fingers played and stroked obscenely, "is the clitoris... your clit." His finger darted up to touch something that only looked like a fold of flesh at first at the upper end of the aperture but felt as though her whole body were electrified by the sizzling jolt that shocked through her. He'd touched her center, the very center of her being, and it buzzed like an alarm button that sent shrieks along her every nerve.
"When you were a little girl, you rubbed your fingers there, as I'm doing now, or you rocked it against your favorite doll because it felt so good." His massaging finger did the motions his voice described. Celia shook, and her hips arched forward to his terrible finger that sent such raging flicks of desire racing through her. She remembered dimly... not a doll... but sitting and rubbing her thighs together because it felt so delicious... the piano stool. Yes, the piano stool. And her mother had punished her terribly, beating her bare little bottom unmercifully with flaming hands. She'd been so sore she literally couldn't sit down, and she'd sobbed for hours in her little bed... but she'd never done it again.
This indescribable, incredibly delectable lovely feeling was what her mother had punished her for. This feeling was what she wasn't supposed to feel. It was a sin to feel this. A sin she'd never be forgiven for now... for she was feeling it... and oh God, it was so good.
"That's where it is, baby. That's it... rock it up to me," he urged. "Rock it up to me."
Web could feel her shake and watched her hips lunge forward in the grind of a belly dancer, rocking her clit up to his massaging finger. He could see the pink flesh in firm swollen lips, wet with her moisture. Carefully he peeled the flesh back until he could see the tiny bud of her clitoris, erect and quivering like a tiny gorged penis. She was moaning and wailing in spite of herself, and then holding her breath as she saw her own clitoris reflected in the mirror and his finger press the tiny button. She jerked like a prodded animal at the end of an electrified cattle prod. Web could feel his cock jerking wildly against her smooth silken buttocks. Soon. Oh, God.
The mirrors reflected the rosily white flesh of her beautiful nakedness, thighs splayed and head now and then flopping back against his shoulder, the big heavy firmly rounded young breasts heaving and the pelvis arching lewdly to his pillaging finger. Jesus! That was the fieriest, pinkest, wettest, meatiest cunt he'd ever seen. Young and tender and ready. He moved one hand up to enclose the resilient heaviness of one breast and began sliding his finger along the length of her slick furrow.
"Oh-h-h-h-hhhhhhhhh," she breathed softly as she felt and saw him manipulate her naked body, his hands tanned against her whiteness- the blond hairs standing out on the backs of them. Her breasts felt tender and swollen, and the one he held seemed to flow over his clasping fingers, kneading the tenderness. Her vulva was wet and opening like a lascivious pink orchid, spreading its petaled lips to the burning sun of his golden hand.
This was a role she could never have imagined playing. The harlot writhing to the satyr's touch, her flesh sensuous and eager and urging, wanting his hot hands to never stop their insane libidinous machinations. She watched her body play the role avidly on this tiny bathroom stage. Only her eyes told her it was herself, not a character she could hide behind. It was herself that was enjoying this fleshly hell. It was herself that was reacting and participating. It was herself. Her own flesh, her own naked wanting flesh. How could her father have known that all the time she was a whore... that under her demure, modest demeanor there raged a waiting whore who needed only the opportunity? How could he have known that the real Celia Brown was a Jezebel, a harlot, a slut, a chippy, a brazen whore?
Web had stripped her mask as easily as he had stripped her body, and she had let him, ignoring all the signs, all the clues that had warned her that this night would happen... that this play would be played.
God damn! It was worth it! It had been worth waiting for. This girl was the hottest, most luscious, erotic thing he'd ever been lucky enough to hold in his lusting hands. He wanted it now. He'd waited so long, but he couldn't tear himself away yet from watching her writhing naked beauty under his hands, in the harsh light that showed him all of her in clinical yet poetic detail. He couldn't remember ever seeing any woman in such living color and detail as this well-lighted mirrored room showed him.
His hands moved slowly over her... as far as he could reach... up and down the sensual curves of thigh and hip and waist and breast and shoulder and arms and throat and all the way back down again. The white skin was like hot satin writhing under his hands to cleave to his caressing, wandering, adventuring hands.
He'd been a god-damned fool to wait so long. He'd known she was hot the minute he'd laid eyes on her. He still didn't understand his own patient plodding building up to tonight. It wasn't like him. But now that it was here... he was going to savor every bit of it. From now on, he'd have her any god-damned time he felt like it. This was his! He was going to have it whenever and wherever he wanted it.
"God!" he groaned, and turned her and caught her to him fiercely, pressing her hot white curves into him as hard as he could and finding her mouth. He could still see her imprinted behind his eyeballs, burned in rosy color into his brain as he closed his eyes and plunged his tongue into the wet warm hollow of her mouth. His tongue fucked into her mouth ferociously as his cock beat against her belly in frantic knocks.
He tore his mouth away finally to pant, "I'm going to fuck you silly, you beautiful little bitch," catching her hand and pulling away just enough to guide it down over his upstanding prick. He watched in the mirror the visual ecstasy of her hand, her little white hand slide down his aching, bloated cock.
"Skin it for me," he hissed feverishly, never taking his eyes from the lewd image of his own springing shaft enclosed in her soft hand, the bulbous head bursting out in a purpling bloom, his hands moving to stroke her breasts to coral-tipped rounded cones.
She looked up into his averted eyes that were glued in hot blue fascination to the mirrored reflection of their naked bodies ready for fucking. She looked quizzical and afraid and uncertain. Stalling again! He grabbed her loosely gripping hand and squeezed it hard over his almost bursting cock and jerked her hand under his, guiding it fiercely up and down.
"I said, skin it!" She trembled at the returning anger in his voice and the hardened closing of his face... but she knew now what he wanted. She pulled up and down on the massive long thickness of his penis that felt so foreign in her hand. She could feel the blood coursing in it under the hot skin and see the veins striating the surface and the purple obscenity of the head with its one eye oozing. She could not imagine how it could ever penetrate her body without killing her. How could she possibly hold its enormity within the small fleshy folds he had revealed to her where her thighs joined? She knew intellectually it must be possible, for the race could only generate in this terrible, horrible act that she knew was going to be done to her.
She looked in curiosity and growing dismay at the jerking, bucking instrument in her hands, the weapon that seemed to have a life of its own, as though it were unconnected to Web.
"That's it, baby," he panted obscenely, thrusting his hips forward so it touched its sticky, lewd head against her skin. She shrank back, her skin recoiling from the feel of that ugly, beastly organ.
Suddenly she felt ill... as though she were going to throw up the contents of her steak dinner all over this mirrored bathroom and all over his naked lusting animal body. She couldn't. If he killed her, she couldn't. She pulled away from him in horror, trying to quiet her churning stomach.
"I can't... Web..." she sobbed, fresh tears pouring from her eyes.
"We'll see," he screamed like a wounded bull, reaching out and picking her up to sling her over his shoulder like a sack and marching out the door toward the huge bed. Her hands beat wildly and ineffectually against his back. She was sobbing uncontrollably and wriggling and beating at him with her little fists which he ignored. He jerked the blue velvet coverlet back and then the bedclothes. God-damned bitch! By God, if she wanted rape.... that's just what she'd get!
He flung her onto the white sheets, and her head snapped onto the pillow. She looked small and vulnerable and miserable, the tears streaking her contorted tortured face. Ruthlessly he threw himself down on her, pulling her lovely legs apart so she was spread-eagled beneath him, and dropped his head to catch one beautiful mountain of breast in his mouth.
"Agh... aghhhhhhhh!" she screamed as she felt his mouth close on her naked breast. Her arms strained against the bonds of his hands and her legs tried to scissor closed, but she was trapped, pinned down helplessly by his strong, hard body. She could feel his tongue swirling around her nipple, which had popped out in his mouth in quivering attention. Oh, no! What was he doing? She could feel his hot breath rushing raggedly through his nose against her shrinking flesh as his blazing mouth began to suck her breast in a fierce suction that sent fine needles of pleasure threading through her body. Something strange was happening to her... down there... between her legs. The nausea had fled and a sucking in-an in-drawn sensation that seemed to draw in time to his voraciously sucking mouth-replaced it. It was a feeling of longing... of loneliness... of yearning that she didn't understand.
He held her immobile and savagely sank his teeth into her nipple, knowing the pain would be a pleasure she'd scream for again. She did scream "AGGGGGGGHHHHHHH"... and arched her breasts up in the agony, her muscles ridging as her arms and legs tried to escape his cruel hands and body.
Web slid his mouth over to drink from her other bursting breast. Oh, God! Her scented flesh smelled faintly of gardenia and lemon, and he could almost taste droplets of some exotic creamy aphrodisiac flowing out of her rigid ruby hard nipple into his lusting mouth. He sucked harder, feeling the velvety tiny buds like taste buds on the end of her nipple against his tongue. Her sobs were gradually changing to moans. That's it. Moan for me, baby. The blood was pounding in his temples and echoed in his thirsting cock that pulsed fitfully.
Celia was writhing and struggling uselessly against the iron fetters of his hands and the hard weight of his hot steel body. Her breath labored in shudders through her lungs as her body arched her breasts up to his gluttonous mouth. A hot heavy golden honey seemed to flow from deep within her to her breast and out the focused nipple into his draining mouth. He drew his mouth out to the very tip of her nipple, leaving a large wet portion of her breast exposed to the air. She could feel Web's tongue lick in little trails from the base up to the crowning tip of her mountainous breast. He licked and licked both breasts all the way around till both nipples stood up in quivering wet yearning. The sobs that wracked her were easing to strange sounds like a searching puppy eagerly seeking the home flesh of its mother.
The terrible, beautiful warmth was stealing back through her anger-chilled limbs, and the fire centered somewhere in her depths under her navel was kindling and spreading. It brought a lassitude that relaxed her arms and legs and the muscles gradually eased to limpness against the sheets. A numbing blankness was creeping through her brain, and thought was shrinking out of her consciousness and only feeling was taking over her whole being.
"Fucking god-damned bitch..." Web muttered against the hot white satin of her skin, kissing the valley between her breasts up her breastbone to her throat where a pulse beat wildly in the tendoned cage. He kissed over the whole surface of her soft shoulders and the hollows of her tender young throat, up her jaw and ears, plunging his tongue into the hot haven of her rosy little ears. He could feel her shiver and shake beneath him. She was heating up again just fine... and the thought sent a stabbing shiver down his spine that dove inward to pierce his bloated balls. Jesus. He didn't want to be a bastard, but no bitch was going to treat him the way she had.
He kissed the salty tears from her temples and cheeks, over her little nose and across both fluttering ivory spoons of her eyelids. Web found her soft trembling mouth with his and bruised his lips down on hers. Her mouth responded and clung to him. Cautiously and waiting for one false move, he slid his hands up her arms and dug one arm under her to cup her buttock. Her hands and arms fluttered tentatively up to slide around his shoulders and up the back of his neck. That was better. He could feel the muscles tighten in her thighs as he lay between them, and the blood in his cock was beating urgently in a message he was sure she was receiving in the warm bowl of her belly.
"Mmm-mmmmmm-mmm," Celia heard him groan in her mouth as his tongue lunged between her teeth and probed her own deeply. She could feel the hard muscles of his shoulders and arms bulge, and he tightened his hold on her and the weight of him pressing her into the crisp sheets was suddenly a dear weight she felt she could bear forever. Timidly her hands strayed down his hard naked body. She no longer felt pinned down but protected by his strong muscular body, wide shoulders narrowing to lean buttocks. Even as she held him, naked and close between her legs she wanted to be even closer.
Web slid one hand down the silken length of her beautiful body that cushioned him so perfectly. He moved slightly to allow his hand to inch toward her mound. The soft crisp hairs were electric to his fingers, and he parted them gently to slide one finger down into the hot channel he'd already prepared. His finger met slippery, silken wet flesh, and he slid up and down the length of delicious slit, open and silkily liquid to receive him.
"Ohhhhhh... We-e-e-e-ebbbb!" she groaned and writhed beneath him. She felt again the sliding delicacy of his finger in her private part.
"Goddd... baby... stop kidding yourself! You're hotter than a pistol. I can't wait, baby... you're all ready... I'm going to put... my love stick right up in... your love nest...." He panted, catching his hard, impatient, throbbing prick and placing it in position right in the edge of her slippery vulva lips.
Her eyes opened, and the glaze of passion was suddenly wiped with fear. "Oh... Web... please... don't... stop... stop now!" The tears poured afresh from her eyes and naked terror shone once more from her face. "I... never... have... please don't...." All the while she begged him not to, her pelvis arched up to him and her hands clutched his shoulders. If ever a woman needed fucking, this one did! Web flexed his knees and tightened his buttocks and dived into her waiting, quivering heaven open beneath him. Jesus! She was so tight it was like having his cock skinned by a vise... and he was only inside an inch or two. Christ! Maybe she was telling the truth. It seemed impossible that a girl this beautiful could possibly be a virgin at nineteen in this day and age. But she had come from a small provincial town.
Celia felt hysteria begin to grip her though she had no name for the fragmented helpless feeling that made her want to scream and curse and sob and strike out. He was doing it! She could feel his great throbbing instrument forcing against her tender flesh. It was so huge! It would kill her! There'd be headlines. Her father would know that she'd finally sunk to the level of his predictions.
Her body seemed not to heed the terror that was stalking through her just from the feel of his great pulsating organ that was inside her so tightly. Involuntarily and without her permission, her pelvis ground up to him and he eagerly forced the advantage, taking her movement as a signal.
"God... baby... you're so tight... so good!" he grunted, burying his lips in her neck. "Ohhhhh... I can't wait...." She felt Web arch and lunge, and she was split! The pain was excruciating!
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" she screamed a high piercing wail so loud that he was afraid someone would come to investigate. He covered her mouth with his to stifle her. Jesus! She was telling the truth! She was a virgin! My God! Her tight little cunt was almost painful, clenched around his prick so hard and close, and something had given when he'd lunged so hard. He'd felt it. The tears were pouring from her eyes again, and she was blubbering into his mouth pitifully from the pain.
"Lie still," he commanded. "Be very still. I won't move. It's all right, baby. It'll stop hurting in a minute."
"We-e-ebb," she sobbed. "Hu-u-ur-r-rts... so... terrible... please." She'd never felt such unbelievable pain. The knife of his huge penis had sliced her in two, and she knew she must be bleeding. It couldn't hurt so unbearably without bleeding. She wondered dimly if she'd have to go to a hospital to be sewn up.
"It always hurts the first time... but it'll stop soon," he soothed, kissing her wet face and smoothing her tear-soaked hair away from her temples. "I promise you, baby. It'll stop. We'll lie very still till it stops hurting." He was still amazed that she'd been telling the truth. He'd heard that line from so many, dames who'd been at it since they were fifteen, hot and heavy. Despite his guilt, his long-denied penis jerked inside brutally, joyful at being where it needed to be at long last. A grimace of pain twisted her face and she wailed again.
"No-o-o-o-o-o-o...." Celia heard the sound come out her own throat as she felt his mammoth organ jerk deep inside her belly. It hurt so terribly she didn't know how she was going to stand it. She felt Web withdraw a fraction of an inch, and she held her breath and then caught it... anticipating more agony.
Very slowly Web pushed forward again and then eased out a bit more, feeling the hard rubbery walls of her vagina hold him in a biting grip. God! He'd never felt anything so fantastic. She had the smallest tightest little cunt he'd ever been in, and he longed to fuck into her frantically, for the pressure in his balls was almost excruciating. Suddenly he couldn't stand it. She'd pushed his buttons long enough! He lunged, hoping he wasn't tearing her too badly, but unable to stop. He had to have it now!
The pain was excruciating as she felt his huge, filling, ripping penis fucking in and out of her small helpless body. She tried to will her mind to ignore it, to erase it, to get somehow above the torture, but she felt all of it, all of the ramming, raping bull organ that ravished her.
To Celia's amazement the pain was gradually being mixed with a strange excitement. Somewhere in the hysterical, frantic workings of her numbed brain, she knew she was no longer a virgin, no longer pure, that her father's predictions had come true... she was a fallen woman... a whore. Her throat closed even tighter, and she screamed brokenly, "I... don't want... to be... a... whore...."
"You're not a whore, baby," he panted. Jesus! No whore could be as hot and tight and fucking good as this.
Her body and her mind and her heart had never been so assaulted with such conflicts and questions and unfamiliar emotions. She was never going to be the same after this night. Her whole life was being changed right now, this moment. Out of the whirling chaos in her head, Patrick's lines in the play came back to her... "Virginity by being once lost may be ten times found...." She must cling to that. She repeated it over and over in her head as she felt Web's great, huge steel shaft begin to ease a little deeper inside her.
Web increased the slow plunder into her, trying to distract his wildly eager cock until she came fully to life and could enjoy it. As he kissed her, his hand stroked her white silken skin... her breast and rib cage and curved hip and thigh. As he pulled his huge impatient prick out almost to the end, he slipped his hand between their naked bodies and found the quivering little button of her clitoris. Gently he massaged it and it rose to swift attention, erect and quaking, and she moaned and arched beneath him.
He wanted to go down on her and suck her frightened little cunt to wild orgasms, but he knew that could frighten her even more than fucking right now. As he massaged the tiny organ with his finger, he could fuck into her easier, for she was flowing fresh rivulets of fluid from deep within her.
"Oh-h-h-h..." she moaned softly as she felt the incredible sensation of his finger on her there. A fluid warmth was vibrating somehow down there, and she wanted to be closer and closer to him. She could feel his mammoth penis sliding into her, and she wanted it there now. She wanted him deeply inside her... a part of her... joined and closer... and closer. Her thighs opened wider of their own accord and her hips lifted up to meet his thrusts and it was beautiful to hold him deep in the well of her body.
His hand slipped around to hold her naked, firmly round buttocks and lift her even closer to him as he plunged into the heaven of her close-fitting vagina. The muscular walls were clasping and holding him now in eagerness, and he could begin to unleash the full force of the raging carnality of his bulging, thrusting, huge, blood-gorged cock that had been so long denied.
Celia whimpered in his arms and kissed him hungrily, her tiny tongue darting timidly at first into his mouth. Slowly she was beginning to writhe and undulate beneath him, her breasts and belly and thighs and hips arching in turn to cleave even closer to his deepening thrusts into her moist velvet cavern that choked hard on his great blunt rod. His mouth was ravenously trying to suck the sweet nectar from her ripe lips while their tongues made love in lewd fucking, back and forth in time to his hardening lunges deep into the secret recesses of her awakening body.
Web forced his hands beneath her shoulders and ran them under her to feel the smooth curves of her back and hips. He felt the raised ridges of her spine moving almost imperceptibly as she writhed slowly to him in a slow teasing rhythm. Her innocence was being overcome by the age-old instincts that flowed hotly in her blood without her knowledge. He wedged his hands under her smooth buttocks, sucked in his breath and threw his hips forward, feeling her receptive, moistly tight virginal hole accepting and absorbing his rigid prick all the way to the hilt.
"Ah-h-h-h-hhhhhh!" she screamed, but the passion had somehow edged over the pain. There was a strange pride in knowing she had taken all of him into her body... deeply into her very depths to hold him and cherish him. She was his woman. She must be a full woman and bear the pain for his sake. "Oh, God!" Celia cried out at the almost enrapturing sensation of his thick long rock-hard shaft sliding deep deep deep into the seething constriction of her vagina.
Web could feel his cock buried deep in her fully dilated, moist, clasping cunt and his balls caressing the smooth furrow between her lush white ass cheeks. The knowledge that he was the first... the only man who'd ever been inside her sweet-flowing, encasing pussy sent incredible spasms of enchanting bliss coursing through him. She was his! His very own! No one had ever plowed this field before him and he raked harder into the moist virginal earth of her beautiful, passionate body. There was nothing but the sensation of his heavy cock entombed deep inside the velvety walls of her tight young hole... nothing except the unbelievable pleasure of this wonderful, lovely girl who now wanted him as much as he wanted her.
"Ohhhh... baby..." he groaned, and Celia still whimpered at the pain-pleasure of the unexpected agony of the rubbery head of his thick cock battering the depths of her soft yielding body. Her torment now seemed to incite his passion even more, and she could feel him drive even harder into her, grinding his pelvis harshly against her tender sensitive loins, flexing the head at the apex of each thrust and raising more moans from deep in her throat. She was entirely impaled on his rampaging cock that was probing the intricate core of her secret depths. She strained up to him, knowing somehow that the pain could only be eased now by heading straight into it and not trying to avoid it... and she was right. A rapturous feeling was beginning to slowly rise in waves of a bliss she could never have imagined.
"Ohhhh... oh, darling... darling... take me... take all of me... just love me... "she begged in the throes of an ecstatic anesthesia that numbed her reason and judgment and blanked out the whole world except for the union of their wildly cleaving bodies.
Web could never remember feeling anything to equal the building rapture that her eager young body was giving him and the impassioned begging she moaned up to him only increased his ardor. She was a giving woman. She gave and he wanted all she had. Christ! He could fuck her forever! Her soft young arms were clasping his back as hard as she could and her hands were digging into his flesh and he was sure she didn't even know what her own hands were doing. Soon they'd be digging the nails in furrows down his back!
He felt her spread her lovely thighs to the fullest, giving him full access to the ravishment of her beautiful wanting pussy that he was giving the best initiation he was capable of. For the first time he began to understand the insistence down through the ages of men for virgins. It was the god-damnedest sensation he'd ever had! Knowing it was the first... and the only time this particular experience could ever happen to her... and that he was the one who could give it to her. Jesus! He was going out of his frigging mind!
Celia offered up her whole self to Web's demanding hard body that was urging her onward and upward to a universe of feeling she had never before entered. The edge of a whirling vortex was beginning to suck her in as his pillaging penis drove into her sensuous depths and the passionate moans spilled from his lips against her throat where his lips buried and his mouth blew in gusts of hot lascivious anguish. Her whole body lurched and arched up to him, straining ever closer to some holy vision, some godhead of delight that awaited her. Miraculously the pain had gone as he'd predicted, and she could accept his huge throbbing pole completely inside her soft depths with abandoned rapture. She could feel him stroke in and out of her private secret entrance with building intensity and she drove him on... her nails beginning to rake his back. There was some nirvana they were striving for... some pleasure beyond the incredible waves that were washing her ever closer and closer... a goal to be reached... unknown but ecstatic.
"Ohh... my darling..." she panted, "tell me... show me... teach me..." she begged, tremulous tears of an imagined inadequacy gathering in her eyes.
Her head was flailing from side to side and her body lurched fitfully as she shook with the unbelievable enormity of what she was feeling and experiencing for the first time. Web could tell that it was going to be all right. Her time was close. He could hold out. By gritting his teeth and forcibly holding back the threatening flood of semen that was splitting his balls he could hold out. He had to! God! He mustn't spoil it now.
"My... baby... my woman... just hold me... hang on to me!" He frantically grabbed her thighs till they clasped his waist as he fucked into her furiously. She responded and rode his pole like a dancer, clenching him with fevered arms and hands and legs, wails of unintelligible passion now spilling from her lips, her face contorted in the deep throes of the agonizing ecstasy that was opening for her. His hot wet rod fucked in and out of her clasping pink pussy with a sucking sound that was audible, and he could smell the musky odors of their mutual desire as their fluids poured and mixed and lubricated their mating organs.
Suddenly she tensed to a rigid string of muscle as she arched even higher, and Web knew it was beginning for her.
"Cummmmm... cummm... cum on baby cum with me... CUMMMMM!" he screamed just as Celia felt the vortex suck her into a blinding, exploding, whirling, igniting burst of rapture that showered stars in her head and new worlds spun off with the speed of light, colliding and exploding in sheets of light flashes brighter than any sun.
"AAAAA-EEEEEE-IIIIIII-AAAAAAAAA-EEEEEEEE!" she screamed, her body arched and pushing him with her completely up off the bed till they hung as though pierced through the loins and suspended in midair by an unseen sword. Goo-o-o-od-d-dd! It was too much. Web felt the intricate mechanism of his genitals begin to scream into the agonizing release of his own orgasm, triggered by her exploding body. Great pressurized streams of semen flew from his bursting balls to roar down the constricted channels of his rigid penis and into her blinding-hot belly and pool deep in her vitals. He could feel the pumping gusts spewing out the nozzle of his cock in spending spraying beautiful streams. Jesus!
His head drew back and the muscles of his neck stood out in cords, and he fucked the spasms of creamy sperm deep inside her receptive womb that sought to suck the very life from him.
"FUCK... FUCK... FUCK..." he screamed uncontrollably, his body carrying out the action of his words in a frantic effort to force his prick completely through her clenching, rigid body. This had to be the end of the whole damn world.
Chapter Two
It was late. The gibbous moon that shone through the diamond-paned window of the upstairs living room was glowing in the yellowish intensity of the hours leading into dawn. The moonlight flooded the big old-fashioned room. The faded chintz furniture and scarred old oak and walnut tables glowed with the light best suited to their antique charms.
On the faded Aubusson carpet in the gilded light, Rosemary Clark lay naked and golden. Bullock held her shoulders and cradled her head to his bending one so he could kiss deeply into the fountain of her mouth. His hand traced tenderly down the twin peaks of her pointed brown-tipped breasts and over her valleyed belly to the dark forest between her legs which were splayed open for his delight.
She twitched as his exploring finger touched the syrupy swollen surface of her opened pussy. Bullock could feel the shudders ripple through her again... and knew it was only a matter of time. He'd already had her right in her own bed a while ago, and it had been even better than he'd thought it would be. But seeing her in the moonlight of this room on their way back from the kitchen where they'd had grilled cheese sandwiches... he'd suddenly wanted her again as bad as before.
The green silk robe she'd thrown on to make sandwiches lay pooled in a silken mass where he'd ripped it from her. His mouth still holding her moaning, he looked down the length of her beautiful body, and he could see her shiver visibly as his finger slurped a hot slippery course in and out of her cunt that was still wet with his own cum. He felt his cock spasm to a hardening erection. Jesus! She was a hot piece.
She was the kind of piece he'd vowed he'd have when he'd been sunk up to his ass in a rice paddy with his heart pounding out of his chest as he strained for the telltale sound of a foot swishing in the grass. He'd made every whorehouse from Frisco to Dallas on his way home, but it wasn't quality ass. Rosemary was quality ass, and he was going to have all he wanted. When the nightmares came again at night and he'd wake up bathed in sweat at the sound of a twig scraping the window, he'd be able to calm himself just thinking about his own private piece who lived right upstairs.
Rosemary tore her mouth away from Bullock with an effort of will. Her whole body was tingling again and she could feel her own juices flowing once more.
"No... Bullock... no," she gasped. "Hilda and Celia could walk in... I don't know where they are... you've got to go..." She reached for the green silk robe with shaking fingers. What on earth had happened to her? She'd had a few affairs. It wasn't as if she were a child with no experience. But this sad-eyed, young-old man was tearing her apart. She didn't want to feel this much with anybody. She wanted her master's degree and independence... not a boy back from Vietnam with no prospects.
"Put that damn thing down or I'll rip it off again," he ordered. His face closed to a hard gaunt mask before her eyes. All the sadness and sweetness had gone from his eyes and they glittered menacingly in the moonlight. He wasn't a boy any more. He was a man... a man capable of anything.
"Bullock... please..." she whispered uncertainly.
"I said... put it down!" She dropped the offending robe and searched his face for a clue as to how to placate him.
"If you think I'm going to bundle this into my pants and trot along downstairs, you're crazy!" He rose to a kneeling position to wave the huge stick of his erect penis under her nose. She could see the veins standing out like snaking rivers of blood just under the surface of his enormous prick, and the blunted end oozed a drop of seminal fluid. She couldn't understand the incredible change that had happened to transform him from a loving, sensitive boy to a hard, vicious man within seconds.
"It takes more than one roll in the hay to satisfy a man who's almost had it blown off, baby," he snarled. He caught the back of her head in his hand and shoved her lips within an inch of his beating prick. The terror in her face only increased the seething anger and hurt within him. He straddled her naked figure and knelt before her as though about to anoint her with his giant sword that poled out from his hairy loins in magnificent enormity.
"Suck it for me!" he ordered... the words sending increased desire surging through his veins as he saw her soft mouth so close to the head.
"It's madness," she whispered, her hands touching his forearms gently. "They'll surely be home and see us. We... we don't want to make public love... it's too... it's unthinkable..."
"They're nowhere around. They won't be in for hours yet. Suck it, baby... now... or do I have to ram it down your throat!" He jerked her head till her lips touched the huge blunted head, guiding the hot pulsing shaft with his other hand.
"Please... please... don't make me do it... like this," she pleaded, tears starting in her eyes as she wondered what terrible things he'd seen to make him like this now.
"Now... suck it now!" he thundered, jerking her hair with his tangled fingers in the soft luxury that grew in such scented abundance.
Rosemary opened her lips to accept the Cyclops-eyed head of Bullock's massive bloated cock. She closed her eyes to blot out the torture in his face and tried to remember the sweet sad-eyed but gaily laughing boy who'd wooed her and loved her so well only an hour or two ago. She felt the velvet-soft but rubbery-hard head slip into her open mouth and heard him groan aloud in what might have been agony.
Bullock moaned at the incredible sweet sensation of his prick held in her soft lips. His face was a grotesque mask of enraged, sadistic lust as he watched the subservient loveliness of the awe-stricken Rosemary extend trembling hands to cup his balls as her mouth gingerly ovaled around the head of his prick. Her eyes were closed, but he could see a tear trickle slowly down one cheek and leave a glinting trail. The actual feel of his hot hard prick and balls being caressed by her white hands and the end of it actually inside her warm mouth against her will was inciting unbelievable lightning flashes of carnality to race through him, blinding him to everything but the chastising degradation he was forcing on her.
Rosemary couldn't understand the jumble of emotions that were tangled in her heaving breast. What had she done to make him so angry... why would he risk being seen like this by the other two girls... why had he closed himself so violently to her... why was she submitting to him like this in fear and trembling...? She didn't really know the answers to anything that had happened in the last few seconds.
Her cobwebbed brain seemingly would not function. She clung to one thought. Get it over and get him out of here. If she hurried, perhaps the others wouldn't arrive. Oh God. They mustn't! What would they think? What would they report to Esther Peabody? She could be kicked out of this good flat. It might even affect her degree. Certainly it would affect her job as a teacher. Frantically her hands began to stroke the stalk of his rigid penis, and her mouth tightened and her tongue swirled around the head in a feverish motion.
Web sat with his arm around Celia in the snug darkness of the car. There were still some lights on in the big old Victorian house, but they shone dimly as though they might be night lights.
"I guess I'm afraid to go in," Celia said.
"There's nothing to be afraid of, baby."
She looked up at him, and he could see the wide pools of her eyes darkened in the dimness. He could feel her shiver a little despite the cardigan around her shoulders and his arm holding her close against him.
"If my folks ever found out..."
"How are they going to find out?" he asked impatiently. "Don't be such a ninny. You're living in the twentieth century. People don't have the hangups about sex they used to."
Celia listened to his words and tried to believe them, but she knew her parents. Web didn't. And she knew herself. She knew she'd taken a road tonight that might head her far away from the life she'd planned for. Tonight with Web had been incredible and wonderful, but he hadn't said a word about marriage as she'd expected him to. In Waxahachie, Texas, a girl might slip and lose her virginity to a man, but it was unthinkable that he wouldn't even offer to marry her. It hurt terribly that he hadn't and the crushing load of guilt was choking the life out of her now.
Her body felt used and abused... her breasts tender and sore, her vulva raw and her insides swollen and tender. She felt cheap and vulgar and common, and she couldn't ever remember feeling like that before. All the terrible predictions of her father were coming true.
She laughed harshly and bitterly, "I guess I still have hangups, as you call them."
"You're just tired, baby. Let's get you inside. You get a good night's sleep, and you'll be fine tomorrow." Web urged her out of the car. The sound of their footsteps on the walkway sounded like those of giants in her ears. In the semidarkness of the veranda she dug her key out of her purse, glancing fearfully at the other entry door that led to the downstairs flat of the boys.
Finally they were inside the wide private entry hall with the stairway that led to the top floor. She leaned against Web wearily as they climbed silently up the carpeted stairs. On the landing he turned her and kissed her swiftly.
Web patted her comfortingly and was about to turn to leave when he froze in his tracks, his hands biting into her arms. The living, room door was open, and in the bright moonlight were two naked people-a dark-haired girl who looked as though she might be Rosemary Clark and the G.I. back from Vietnam. She was giving him the best blow job Web had seen in a long time. Christ! She was really going at it!
Celia caught her breath in a little gasp when she saw what had stopped Web so abruptly in his tracks. Rosemary was sitting naked on the carpet! And Bullock! He was naked too... and shoving his huge erect penis in her mouth! Oh God... what were they doing? Celia clapped her fingers over her open mouth to keep from crying out... and reached out one hand blindly to steady herself against the door frame. Gratefully she felt Web's arms close around her to steady her. The feel of his strong chest against her back and his arms around her waist was reassuring.
She knew they should leave... go... and leave Rosemary and Bullock to whatever animalistic, depraved thing they were doing, but she felt rooted to the spot. Rosemary was such a nice girl! There'd never been any indication that she had ever had even... well... sexual experience of any kind. Certainly not this depraved, bestial, terrible... it was too awful.
Celia watched in trancelike fascination. She could see Bullock kneeling astride Rosemary's naked seated body, his hand tangled in her dark hair as he guided her mouth over his great bull-like cock that fucked in a wet sound into her lovely mouth. Rosemary's hands cradled his testicles, and she was fondling them and squeezing them as though they were precious and valuable. Celia could see the huge wet bridge of Bullock's mammoth penis slide out of Rosemary's obviously eager mouth and then dagger home again as he groaned and ground his pelvis. It looked as though it must choke her to death, for when he sent it plunging into her mouth, it went in almost up to his thick patch of pubic hair.
Web held her tightly against him, holding his breath. Celia was so full of guilt and remorse herself she might do something ridiculous. He could feel his own prick hardening just watching the really great blow job Rosemary was doing on Bullock. Jesus! That girl knew how to suck cock! Her cheeks were bloated with the great throbbing fleshy pole of Bullock's prod, and she was exerting all the pressure of her obviously experienced lips and tongue, for that lucky guy was groaning and moaning like a happy maniac. Web felt a deep twinge in his own gut and balls, just from watching. His hand crept up to close on the firmly soft half-melon of Celia's breast... and the twinge deepened and his other hand held her even closer against him, straying down to catch her sharp little hip bone. He wanted her again just as bad as before. The sight of the two naked lovers across the huge room like actors in a pornographic movie had ignited his own powerful lust once more. Just like a movie, he thought, for he could hear the hi-fi playing softly in the background.
Her head was whirling and aching a little. Celia remembered the champagne and wondered if she'd had too much, but somehow it wouldn't matter... not with this incredible scene before her eyes. Was this what normal people did? She'd always believed that only what she and Web had done tonight was normal... and only really right in wedlock. But this... this was worse than dogs sniffing and rooting at their mates' genitals. Rosemary was trying to swallow his gigantic prick clear down her throat. She acted as though she were enjoying it... as though it were good!
Celia felt Web's hand close over her breast, and she stiffened and caught her breath. Though the naked couple were too engrossed probably to make out who was in the dim doorway, Celia couldn't believe that Web would think of anything like that while watching the debased performance. Was he stimulated by their gross, obscene behavior? Celia pulled at his hand, horrified by his callousness. Oh... if only she could wipe out this terrible night... erase it from her experience as though it had never happened. His hand only closed tighter over her bursting breast, and that breast had the audacity to swell and the nipple popped hotly into erection in his blazing palm. How could her own body keep betraying her like this? She could even feel the moisture starting again between her legs. Tears of shame and anger began in her eyes. Daddy was right. He was right. She was a whore!
Web slid his hand down Celia's flat belly to the mons pubis and cupped his hand over her tender genitals. Even through her clothes he could feel her nipple hard and excited in his hand. She was crying again and trying to get away. He knew damn well now that she'd never seen anything like the scene being played across the big room before. Well, time she did.
Watching Rosemary eating Bullock's cock with such feeling, Web knew he wanted his own turgid, reacting prick sunk deep in Celia's lovely cheeks. If not tonight, then some other time, but if she saw it here he'd have an easier time with her later.
He pinched her nipples to hard pointed tips of desire, his finger finding the groove of her slit through her clothes and beginning to rock there like a buoy. His pants were containing his newly attentive rod that shoved against Celia's buttocks like a thick sickle and vibrated with the pulse of hot blood pumping it to roaring life again.
Celia tried to will her eyes away from the revolting pagan evil scene and, breathing hard, she tried to forcibly galvanize her own muscles into moving away from the rock-hard grip of Web's arms and the titillating temptations of his hands that played over her in such tentacled abundance. His mouth was burning "O's" over her throat as his tongue stabbed and flicked flames of searing delight along her soft white tender skin above her blouse. She could feel his penis in rigid pulsing enormity pressing into her buttocks and realized dimly that it had been beating its subliminal message against her for some time.
Rosemary slid her mouth to the very end of Bullock's thick pulsating prick and sucked hard to get the drops of seminal juice from the tiny orifice. He tasted male and musky and tangy with desire. She slid her tongue then along the full bloated trunk of his massive rocky flesh pole, licking the entire length, the vein-laced hot surface from bulbous head to thick base buried in springy hair. Her hands took over from her tongue as she bent her head even lower to lick the pendulous sac of his swollen balls until his entire genitals were slickly wet with her saliva. She could feel his branding hands singe her naked flesh, throat and shoulders and breasts and sides. The silky tingling in her own pussy was increasing every second with her oral manipulations of his powerful maledom. Fitfully she ground her thighs together as she sat between his knees on the faded carpet.
"Gooooodddddd!" he gritted between clenched teeth. His anger and hurt had evaporated with the skillful sucking of his long granite prod. It was only that split second when she'd tried to reject him, he'd gone crazy, crazy mad, and the jungle and the terror had been all round him. But it was all right. Oh, God, it was all right. She wanted him. She really wanted him. She was sucking him like he was ambrosia and she was never going to get her fill. But he'd fill her. The load was increasing every second and building to an enormous pressure that made his balls ache all the way up in his belly. He was going to shoot that stream of cum down her beautiful throat and she was going to swallow it all right down into her belly.
She was so beautiful in the moonlight that he almost toppled her back to shove his powerful cock into her seeping cunt, but he couldn't tear himself away from her sucking, tonguing, licking mouth that knew exactly what to do and how to do it. He didn't let himself think about when she'd learned and from whom. Bullock Brand only knew she was an artist in blow jobs and he liked only the finer things of life and by God was going to have all he could before he died.
The white-lipped vicious anger had gone from him now, Rosemary knew, and the boy she cared for had come back into his hard lean powerful body. Her mouth on his desire-steeled prick had reduced him now to a whimpering boy who needed her draining tongue and lips like he needed breath. She was going to suck his fiery young seed right down her throat... suck his sex-starved young bull cock till the whole load came screaming out... suck his gorged balls completely dry. Oh, God, she needed it. She wanted to gag and choke on his teeming cum and swallow it furiously into her belly.
"Mmm-mmmmmm-mmmmmmmmmm!" she moaned around his pulsating huge prick in her mouth as her hands found his hard buttocks to pull him even deeper into her succubus-like throat. Everything had disappeared and faded to nothingness in her head except to serve his desperate need and her own scintillating and seething desire that surged hotly through her veins and nerves.
God damn! If Web didn't get Celia someplace soon he was going to lose his friggin' mind! Just watching Bullock getting sucked so well and so expertly while his own cock was still bundled painfully inside his pants was driving him right up the damn wall!
The tangled sensations that were meshing in gnarled twitchings of nerve endings all over Celia's body had rendered her all but unconscious. Despite the tactile assault and the numbing of her brain thereby, she stared in a trance at the writhing naked bodies in the throes of their simulated death, and Web's insatiable hands brought an image superimposed on the scene before her. The scene of their own frantic searchings in the bathroom at the motel. That terrible mirrored room that showed her the weakness of her ideals and her standards. They had been stripped from her and left her a quivering mass of fleshly sensation. The brilliant lights that had left no secrets about her own soft or Web's hard body. Adam and Eve in the chrome and mirrored garden of Eden. The fruit of knowledge-the terrible apple-was carnal knowledge, she knew now. The unbelievable temptations of the lusting flesh that she had always assumed she was immune to.
Christ! Web would like to drag Celia in there now and strip her naked and lay her out beside the oblivious couple in the moonlight and fuck her again. His hands tightened on her and he was almost ready to do it when he remembered the unholy howl she'd put up in the motel. She'd probably scream her head off till the cops came.
Celia remembered and saw in the screen of her mind again her own nakedness that Web had caressed to such a fever pitch of excitement. She could feel his knowledgeable hands at work on her now, and could hear the faint moans coming from her own mouth as she watched in horrified fascination the writhing couple across the big room.
She knew that her own hateful body was betraying her again. The warmth was flowing from her loins, from her very womb deep inside her body. Her breasts were swelling like flowers opening to the sun and yearning for the sting of his mouth sucking out the nectar. She knew she wanted the close ecstasy of his nakedness against her again, the rapture of being filled with his enormous penile member, as huge as the impossible instrument that sprang from Bullock's loins. All the sermons she'd heard as a child on the evils of lust and the temptations of the flesh she began to understand. Once that fruit of knowledge had been bitten, you wanted more and more and more.
Suddenly, when he was almost on the point of shooting his load right in his pants, Web remembered. The couch in the downstairs hall. That would do. Yes. God, yes!
He bent and scooped Celia's all but unconscious body into his arms and carried her carefully down the thickly carpeted stairs. She clung to him, her breath coming in shuddering gasps, for he'd gotten her so hot and crazy on the landing she hardly knew what she was doing.
He worked quickly and quietly, only bothering to jerk off her panty hose and shoes. Then he freed his painful, jerking penis, unzipping his pants and letting it pole out through his fly to a giant naked greedy rod that looked like an monstrous stallion's massive prod in the dim light. Celia was moaning very softly with her eyes closed, swaying where he put her as though she were a puppet that could only move at his command. He unbuttoned and let her skirt drop so that her blouse flapped around her naked hips. He caught those beautiful smooth white hips in his hands and pulled her with him onto the couch, lying on his back and drawing her astride his fully clothed body that had only his naked, purple-veined member standing up proud and forceful.
Slowly he lifted her, and he could see her sweetly flowing juicy cunt lips, hair-fringed and delectable... and just as slowly he set her opened pinkly moist pussy right on the head of his great rooster cock and let her own weight impale her on his domineering, aggressive maleness. The feel of her dripping vaginal walls closing over him like a salacious, gluttonous flower, a man-eating plant, a fly trap, almost triggered him right then. Gooooodddddd! That tight-clenching, skinning hole of hers that peeled him down so ecstatically! She hung above him like a limp doll, pierced on his strutting shaft, his hands holding up her torso by the full heavy young breasts.
Celia felt vacant and empty as though all her emotions had been so drained there was nothing left but the shell of her body that had no will of its own. All her tears had been shed, all her cries had been cried, all her illusions had been exposed. Her friend sucking on Bullock's penis while he howled like a madman, a primitive animal responding only to instinct! She could still see Rosemary's contorted face as she tried to swallow that huge jetting weapon into her throat. She could still feel Web's hands tempting her own body beyond endurance. Her whole world had shattered. The Web she'd cared for and was on the point of truly loving had violated her... the Rosemary and Bullock who'd been friends had deteriorated to lusting beasts... the ideals and standards she'd set for herself she had betrayed... her own body that housed her soul had betrayed her and she was no better than the lowliest whore. For even now she acquiesced and allowed Web to take her tingling, wanting body for his own uses.
Her brain was numb and uncaring and her body, her yearning obscene body, was responding to the point that she was moaning with sheer lust and a base passion. She had let Web impale her on his enormous animal-like organ, and she sat, abiding the pain for the reward of the soaring, sensuous, jetting pleasure that she knew would come to her if she let him do with her as he would. She knew she had come to a hell that was so beautiful she could not turn away from its enticing inducements.
Celia could feel all of Web's great torturing pleasure-giving instrument piercing her very vitals, the head of it against and pushing hard into her womb. She could feel him lift his hips, thrusting the thick stick of his penis, a fleshy rock-hard knife, up even deeper into her soft shrinking belly and her own flesh closing and clenching on its steel length with muscular fingers.
Rosemary felt the muscles of his buttocks clench under her digging fingers as Bullock slammed his raging cock into her throat like a battering ram. He was shaking and screaming like a madman. The cries of his lust overwhelmed the quiet music, and even the moonlight seemed to flare more violently.
"Suck me... love me...ooohhhhh, baby... don't let me die... love me back to life... I'm going... to cummmmmm... cummmmm in your... mouououououthththththhhh... ohhhhh, babbbbbbbyyyyyyyyy!"
She swirled her tongue salaciously and furiously around his choking enormous prick that threatened to stab her tonsils to a bloody mass of tissue. Her own thighs were squeezing and kneading fretfully, and her sticky liquid was flowing so copiously she felt it must be pooling on the carpet beneath her. Love me back to life, he'd screamed. Oh, God. Yes. Love him back to life. She opened her mouth as wide as possible to gulp a long breath and then she set her teeth tenderly in the velvety skin of his cock head and began to suck even harder.
Bullock felt the pleasure-pain of her sharp teeth bits into his sensitive flesh, and he felt the incredible machinery of his organs begin the orgiastic cataclysm of a tidal-wave climax. He tensed his ass hard and threw himself into her hot, waiting, blessed mouth that received him like a sacrament.
"NOOOOOOOO-WWWW!" he screamed, and it was the Geronimo yell that heralded a frontal attack as his bloated balls began to shoot the streams of troops roaring out the constricted passage of his cock. The hot jets of creamy, seething sperm-filled semen spewed in mighty gushes, convulsive liquid offerings boiling down her hot sucking throat.
Rosemary swallowed furiously, trying to take all the teeming blazing cum right down to her belly. She guzzled and gasped, her Adam's apple bobbing frantically to keep from drowning in the never-ending bursts of his spasms of ejaculation. Scintillating needles of delight spread (through her as she sucked again and again, sucking his balls dry and flaccid. She could feel him bucking and bucking in slower and slower thrusts as he emptied the seemingly never-ending load of his passion deep into her receptive belly.
At last he collapsed, empty and hollow and replete. He fell in exhaustion on top of Rosemary, sliding down on her till her whole body was covered with his fatigued, muscle-lax one, and he cradled her, his mouth fastening on hers to taste his own hot cum in her mouth. If a knife or a gun or an explosion found his back now, it would be all right. A quick end to his small eternity of joy was not a-bad way to go.
Chapter Three
"All right. Now let's see you move," Garrett said, sipping his cognac, comfortably half sitting with his legs stretched out on the wide lounge that served as both bed at night and couch in the daytime. The huge loft had been partitioned so that his apartment was quite private and separated from the rehearsal hall. The Dallas Community Little Theatre paid for the whole thing, and that way he didn't have to pay rent out of his salary. Once a thriving dance studio in the late thirties and early forties, with a stage and a huge expanse of polished floor, the loft had stood vacant and defunct for years until Garrett had discovered it and persuaded the Board to rent it.
Hilda stood uncertainly by the low coffee table. She looked even taller in the expensive beige pants suit. I'm not quite sure what you mean. Would you explain it a little?" She felt the nerves tighten in her stomach and diaphragm. She knew very well what she was prepared to do to get this part, but so far Justin Garrett had been strictly business, putting her through the paces, reading various scenes of the play.
"Just come through that door, walk across the room, and sit down in the wing chair." Justin knew exactly what she'd come for. It had been obvious, the way she'd arranged to sit next to him at the hamburger joint, fawning over him and hanging on his every word, her thigh pressed against his in the booth the kids had jammed into. He knew that she believed the old cliche about getting ahead in the theatre, casting couches and the whole bit. He even knew that she had told herself that she was doing it to get this part. He also knew it was a lie. She was a bitch in heat and would have manipulated anything or anybody to get laid. Well, he wouldn't disappoint her, but no part was ever given to anybody for a roll in the hay. The persistence of the myth, however, kept him well supplied with hot young flesh.
Justin watched her narrowly as she went out and then came awkwardly through the door and pranced affectedly across the room. She hadn't the poise of a giraffe. Her legs were too long for her torso, but she had good grapefruit boobs hung on her narrow rib cage. They bounced and jiggled, unbound by a bra, under the clinging tan knit top. He could see the areolas and nipples outlined. Sometimes these long narrow ones were hotter than the round soft ones, the nerves more sensitive and somehow stretched tighter on their long bodies. A pervading warmth glowed in his belly from the cognac. He felt his balls tighten, looking at Hilda's lolling breasts that looked even more round and full on her thinness.
Hilda sat down and crossed her legs, her arms on the arms of the chair and her head thrown back against the chair back, the way she'd seen actresses do it in the movies. Then she crossed her arms on her knees and leaned forward so her breasts were cleaved and the tops showed over the scoop neckline. She looked at Justin Garrett nervously. He was just lying there, his handsome, dramatic face inscrutable and expressionless, sipping occasionally on the cognac, as though he were not impressed. She felt like a slave on the block who had not pleased the best buyer. But then she knew all about buying things. It was her family's money that had bought her into Peabody and just about anything else she ever wanted except... well, the things she really wanted. Grace, poise, charm, men of higher than average quality, and a career in the theatre... a real career as a real star. That was a power even stronger than money.
"Justin," she said huskily, her pale cat eyes on his. She stood up slowly, "I want that part. I'll do anything to get it." Slowly she began unbuttoning the top of her pants suit. If he wasn't going to make a move, she'd have to.
"Tell me about it," he answered sardonically, his weight on his elbows, his back supported by the mass of deep pillows. He watched her as she slowly unbuttoned the knit top and slid it off. Her breasts were even better in the flesh, the same pale tannish color as the rest of her skin and hair. Great soft mounds of perfectly rounded flesh capped with pale brown areolas and nipples like large brown pennies. Her shoulders and arms were fragile and slender and looked too weak to support the great heaviness of her fleshy breasts.
"I want that part so badly... I'll do anything you want me to... to get it." Her brittle voice had lowered to almost a whisper, as though her breath supply were running out.
"Anything?" The one word hung in the air between them as palpable as a neon sign flashing its silent scream into the night. His eyes never left her narrow face that seemed to hollow and pale, and her eyes assured him the price was agreeable.
Hilda slid her fingertips inside the elasticized waistband of her knit pants and very slowly slithered them down over her narrow but sleekly curved hips and thighs, letting them drop to the floor and stepping out of them with more assurance than she'd had all evening. He wasn't unaffected now. He was even stiller, like a spider that has spotted its prey and waited the game patiently.
Confidence began to return a little now. Men were so simple once you caught on to them. Young, old, rich, poor. They all wanted to fuck. All the time. Any time. Anywhere. For a girl without many obvious physical assets, she'd had her share. At fourteen she'd started with the chauffeur and had progressed from there. She'd fucked most of the promising young men at her coming-out party at one time or another, but none of them had wanted to marry her and in truth she hadn't wanted to marry them either. She wanted the power that only an actress had -adulation of a whole audience-love pouring out of a million hearts at once. The kind of love she'd felt tonight wafting on waves of applause across the grass to the spotlighted Celia. Well, that naive little snip was not going to get this part. Tryouts had only been announced in tonight's paper, so Hilda knew that no one was going to get the jump on her. Tomorrow night was the announced time.
"I move better without... impediments," she whispered, skinning the skimpy bikini panties down and kicking them aside.
"Move over here," Justin ordered metallically. Hilda walked slowly toward him, feeling the air on her nakedness, trying to assess the hard-eyed director, to gauge the affect her nude slenderness was having on him.
She had nerve. He had to give her credit. Her large perfect breasts moved enticingly as she slowly undulated toward him. She did move better without clothes. Her pubic patch was exactly the same tan color as her hair. Naked, she had the kind of feline grace of a young Lauren Bacall, but it was completely hidden by her expensive but somehow unattractive clothes. The breasts were much better, of course. Justin couldn't remember ever seeing more perfect breasts. Their full perfection was even more startling against her slender body with the long, long legs. He felt his balls tighten automatically.
He'd had to do without a lot of things in the last ten years, since his blacklisting, but women were not one of them. Even away from Hollywood, his deep trained voice and handsome heavy face attracted women.
It had been a goddamned hard ten years, tramping around the country directing clods in The Man Who Came to Dinner. After the blacklisting he hadn't even been able to get a job on a skin flick or a spaghetti Western. Hollywood was a closed shop and the gossip far deadlier than in the smallest Midwestern hamlet.
Strangely enough, despite the headlines that had generated the Hollywood gossip, none of the little theatre groups he'd directed these last lean years had ever heard of the Executive Convention Center or that he had owned it. The public memory was far shorter than the industry memory. The irony of it all was that what made the industry wary in 1961 would hardly be commented on in 1971.
The important thing now was taking over the Peabody Academy. This was an opportunity that he could build a bankroll out of... a stake to go back and produce his own movie. Just one was all he needed, and he'd be welcomed back to the bosom of Hollywood.
He slid forward to the edge of the couch and reached out to pull Hilda's naked hips toward him. She stood right in front of him, and her smooth skin was popping into goosebumps. She was losing her nerve, and he could almost smell her fear coming back. Without a word he spread her thighs in a straddled stance. Still looking at the curly tan patch of hair, casually, without warning, he rammed two fingers straight up in her cunt all the way.
"That's what you came for, my dear," he whispered, feeling the warm wet walls of her vagina clenched around his fingers.
"No-o-o-ooooooo!" she screamed as she felt the fingers of his huge hand stab her, deep into her unprepared and unready hole. She was impaled on those brutal fingers like a fish on a gig, and she squirmed and tried to disengage that terrible hook from her flesh. But he held her fast by the hips with his other hand, and she could feel those beefy fingers curling inside her and she jerked with the pain. It was even worse than that damn metal cylinder that the doctor used to dilate her for examinations.
"You want to play games, and I'm rather good at games," he grunted, kneeling so that his mouth came even with one full breast, its brown eye pointing at him. He caught it in his mouth and sank his teeth into the soft pale brown flesh, flicking his tongue across the nipple like a lick of flame. His fingers jammed even harder into her tight pussy, and he began to suck the full tit like a great bear cub at its mother's dug.
"Ah-hhh-hhhhhhhh!" She could feel the pain of his teeth and the hook still in her, and she began to feel all her confidence evaporate. This was not like any man she'd known. Before she'd always felt she had the upper hand, but not now. His powerful mouth began to suck hard on her breast, and she felt the soft marrow, the central essence begin to flow out through her hard nipple.
His hand began a slow fucking into her constricted passage, the big fingers arching against her clitoris as they descended and rammed into the cringing hollow. Justin could feel that muscular-walled receptacle begin to seep its protective liquid as he sucked and tongued and bit her breast.
Hilda gritted her teeth, sucking in her breath as she did. She tried to focus her mind on an imaginary scene... herself being washed by waves of applause from a huge audience as she stood in an amber spotlight. She had to get through the pain and degradation, for she had no doubt now that it would be a debasing experience. He'd made it clear that he was the rider, the master, and she would have to obey... and bear the spur.
Garrett felt his cock twitching and swelling in great pulses inside his pants as though it were being pumped by some inner pulmotor. To his amazement, she was beginning to heat up. It didn't take much with this one, as he'd hoped. Yes, sometimes, these long stringbeans turned out to be the really passionate ones. His fingers were slippery with her lubrications. As he drew his fingers out, he let his index finger linger at her clit and massaged it briefly in a rotary motion before plunging into her again. He dug into her small round buttock with his other hand, pressing her whole pelvis into his ravishing fingers, as though he was going to ram them all the way through her slender body.
The assaulting fingers held her like an impaled effigy, and she swayed, her hands reaching out to steady herself on his great bull shoulders. Hilda could feel the hard muscles under his thin cotton shirt, muscles working as he finger-fucked her and chewed now at her other breast. She could hear his rasping breath and feel the heat from his nostrils flaming out like dragon's breath against her flesh.
"Ohh-hhh-hhh-hhh." The breath hissed out of her as she felt his burning tongue swirl around her erect nipple and his full mouth with the sneering sensual lips sucked greedily on her shaken breast. His finger lingered at her clitoris, massaging and branding a spreading scorched place in her flesh like a hot coal. It heated her loins with a building warmth. She threw her hips forward and spread her legs a little wider to receive the stabbing poker of his fingers. Hilda shuddered in spite of herself at the thought of what his cock might do to her. It would be bigger, far bigger than even his fingers ramming into her tenderness.
Garrett felt his knee stiffening. He reluctantly took his fingers from her hot, arching cunt and his mouth from her breast and stood up. His thickness contrasted with her slender-ness, but he was only a few inches taller despite the large head and heavy body. He looked at her tauntingly for a minute, his black eyes sweeping her as though he were considering purchasing her... which, indeed, he was.
"Undress me," he ordered.
"But... I..."
"Remove my clothes," he commanded again, as though she were his servant. His voice had the tone of her father when he ordered the cringing workers around, the small managers and field supervisors for his far-flung oil interests. Yes, Garrett would use just that tone to demand that an actress do as he directed.
Timidly she put out one hand to unbutton his shirt, trying to avoid his eyes and smarting from his insulting voice.
"Hurry," he demanded calmly. Suddenly she felt her anger rise like a spurt from a turned-on fountain. She wasn't his damned servant. She wasn't his to order around like a common whore. He hadn't paid for her yet. She jerked the last button free, ripping the cloth.
Damned tyrannical prima donna! She turned to walk away.
"You little bitch," he snarled, grabbing her arm and whirling her to face him. "That was a Sulka shirt."
"Yes... I know," she answered coolly. Did he think because she lived in Dallas and went to Peabody that she was a hick who didn't know a handmade Sulka shirt when she saw one? Her father had never worn anything else.
"I'll buy you another one."
His eyes were blazing and she thought for a moment he was going to hit her and spin her across the room.
"No one buys me, baby!" He picked her up by her thin arms and lifted her off the floor and threw her back on the bed among the mountainous pillows. She watched as he tore off the torn shirt and flung off his expensive gray slacks and monogrammed silk shorts. Her heart was beating wildly. She heard the heavy shoes hit the floor as he toed them off and bent to rip off his socks. Her eyes were nailed to his enormous rock-hard jutting penis that looked as thick and deadly as an ax handle. It was as huge and outsize as the rest of his bear's body with the thick mat of black hair covering his chest and growing in a "V" down his belly to spread in the pubic triangle. He looked more than ever like a great black bear, for his arms, bulging with swelling muscles, were covered with black hair too, and his hard thighs as well.
He snatched the wad of shirt off the coffee table where it had fallen. "No one buys this!" He shook the cloth at her, "Or this." He dropped the shirt to grab the pole of his thick upstanding cock and wave it at her as she lay with heaving breasts in the hollowed pillows.
She could see the veins standing out on the great blunt-ended instrument he held like a bludgeon in his hand. Even in his big hand it looked massive and threatening. One tear of liquid drooled from the glans and hung like thick syrup. A shiver of anticipation and chilling fear rippled through her as she imagined that pickaxing into her soft body. His testicles hung in the scrotum like great balls heavy with molten fire, and she could imagine the boiling vats spewing out of that huge muzzle into her belly.
He dropped to his knees on the bed and straddled her body, coming in for a close-up. He never took his blazing black eyes from her terrified face as he casually reached down to grab his huge prick again and just as casually wiped the drooling head on her soft breasts as though she were a rag. He eased back on his doubled knees and caught both her heavy breasts in his huge paws and slid that great ax handle between them until the head rested right against her wind pipe. He trust it hard against her constricted throat, still holding her breasts pushed against the thick base to form a fleshy tunnel.
"You were the one who wanted to play games, baby. Suppose you tell me just what game you had in mind... and I'll decide if it's acceptable," he said grimly.
Hilda had never felt so humiliated. He treated her like dirt. His hands were bruising her tender breasts, and the head of that enormous cock, rammed so hard against her throat, felt as though it were cutting off her breath. She could feel it beating a pulse on her naked skin and, in spite of her terror, she felt a thrill race through her loins with his hands crushing her breasts. His bare buttocks were mashing her ribs, and she felt completely trapped. She reached up one hand and closed it over the head of his pulsating shaft and moved it slightly so she could talk.
She felt the tears tighten her throat, as pressing as his penis. "I... guess... I didn't... I... don't know... I'm sorry," she wavered in little gasps as the tears came out and ran unheeded down her cheeks.
Garrett slid down her frightened body and gathered her in his huge arms, digging one under her thin shoulders and one under her little round butt, letting his hard legs enclose hers.
"Just don't ever start something with me you're not prepared to finish. Understand?" She nodded dumbly, feeling the tears sliding down her cheeks. "I'm not one of your panting, pimpled boy friends. But you'll never be an actress until a man's fucked you." His head dropped, and she felt his sensual mouth on hers, and he kissed her long and ferociously. She was trembling and shaking in his arms, but she closed her tired eyes and gave herself up to feeling this great bear of a man, opening her mouth under his and taking his thrusting tongue into her throat, sucking it in sobs and gasps.
He could feel her long narrow bones under him like a colt that needed breaking. Her big incongruous breasts were mashed into the curling matted hairs of his chest. He pushed his thighs between hers and lay in the cradle, cupping her buttocks and pulling her up to him even harder. His tongue explored her receptive mouth, every ridge and hollow. His rigid cock was pulsing fretfully in the bowl of her little flat belly.
Gradually her sobs were easing, and she found she liked being in this bear hug, sucking his hard tongue that fucked into the warm cavern of her mouth as fiercely as his fingers had into her cunt. Inside she could feel the muscles drawing in as though his great rod were already there, and the thought of his putting it there was not so horrifying. She was beginning to want it there... right up inside her, filling her void. She could taste the heavy cognac in his mouth as she darted her own tongue into his. They tongue-fucked back and forth, their breaths panting laboriously through their nostrils.
Garrett tore his mouth away at last and sank his teeth just hard enough into her earlobe for her to cry out, "O-o-o-o-o-ooooooo!" She'd do better than that when he sank his bull cock in that hot little cunt of hers.
He arched up just enough to look down the length of their naked bodies, hers hairless except for the muff of tan tangles and lean and fragile, the hip bones showing in sharp little wings, his heavy and thick and hairy with black curling hairs. "Put it in for me," he panted, his head still burrowed downward where he could see. He wanted to see it going in. Her hand came up obediently and clasped his huge shaft like a sheath. It jerked in her hand responsively.
Hilda held the enormous rod and felt it jerk. Oh God. It was so big. She arched her hips, spread her legs even wider, and quakingly began to guide the seeping head till it touched the first guard hairs of her own in-sucking pussy. She had him now... hot, panting, and wanting... that's the way she wanted him. She'd get the part all right. He was heaving the breath through his lungs like a snorting bull ready to charge. Carefully she guided it slightly down till she felt the pushing head touch her other mouth, her vulva lips that were as wet as if they'd been licked by a tongue, but it was her own inner secretions that had slicked them.
He was moaning now through gritted teeth as he watched his cock being guided by her little thin hand into her opening, moistly warm pussy lips. Justin could see her hips rotate slowly as she gently insinuated his giant pole into the very outer lips. He saw the head disappear and felt the vulva lips close hungrily over it.
"GODDDDDD!" he groaned, and threw himself into her, letting the full weight of his body thrust his aching, burning prick all the way into her waiting hot hole in one lunge.
"NO-O-O-O-0-00000000000000!" she screamed, trying to press her buttocks through the bed to get away from the tearing pain that ripped through her with the terrible stab of that enormous, great, raging cock, but she was sliced through the vitals. Her head twisted from side to side as she writhed with the terror and pain, trapped by the full weight of his massive body.
"Please... please... stop... oh... stop..." she sobbed, her hands clawing at his shoulders and then pushing on his powerful biceps in an effort to dislodge him. She'd never felt anything like that terrible incredible pain of his mammoth cock plunged into her so far that she could feel the head pulsing hard into her soft womb. How could it be so excruciating when she'd had any number of men in her short life? It wasn't as if she were a virgin. But, oh God... this was killing her. It felt as though she were pierced completely through the core of her body and that the head was going to come out the back of her neck. She'd thought she was ready... that fucking him would be so easy... such an easy way to get the part... but sweet Jesus she'd never expected anything like this!
Christ! She was tighter than even the assholes he'd had in his time. The lascivious pressure of her skinning cunt walls was clenching him to a premature climax. He didn't know how in hell he was going to hold on. Just entering had almost triggered his whole aching, lusting load right then, and he had never had any problem with premature ejaculation. Those narrow sinuous hips of her... she must be built like a greyhound inside, small and lean. He eased back and took a little of the weight on his knees and elbows. God, she was crying like a madwoman!
He caught her mouth and tried to still her as he fucked very slowly in and out experimentally. Unbelievable stabs of rapture radiated through his hungry loins as his great aching cock was alternately squeezed and released from the vise of her hot wet pussy. He could feel his belly churn and his balls swell to tight balloons that threatened to burst the seams of his scrotum.
Hilda turned her head because she couldn't even kiss him with the huge knife cutting into her very being. The sobs were blubbering out of her mouth, and a red sheet of agonizing pain was engulfing her body. She could feel him fucking in and out, and her legs were so spread-eagled now that she was getting a cramp where her left thigh joined her hip socket, and that only added to the pain through her box.
"Oh... please... please..." she sobbed, digging her heels in to try and dislodge him by pushing up with her hips. She felt their cleaving bodies rise a few inches off the bed with her supreme lifting effort, but he only clung harder and... and fucked that terrible cock deeper and deeper into her pain-wracked body.
Garrett ground his pelvis into the squirming pliant flesh beneath him, feeling her elastic sheath slip tightly, wetly around his thick fleshy rod. Her seeping vaginal walls consumed him as he raced its full length into her belly. His balls slapped with a resounding staccato sound against the round cheeks of her pale ass.
"Aghghghghghghhhhhhhhhh!" he grunted as he worked harder, uncaring now that her cries hadn't stopped but only increased and her face and hair were wet with tears. He could no more stop that driving force of his maddened cock and bursting balls than he could have given up booze or the theatre. She wanted it. She started it, and by God she was getting it! It was too goddamned bad that it was more than she bargained for. How was he supposed to know she had such an abnormally small cunt... though he realized it might be the other way around. He knew his was bigger than the average prick. Every man thought he was, but Justin knew from locker room parades that he really did have a huge penis. He knew one thing for sure... this one could never have a baby normally if she couldn't handle his prick, big as it was.
Hilda bit her lips now, praying it would soon be over... that he would shoot that load of boiling sperm into her belly and let her go. She held on to his great shoulders as her whole body was rocked with his onslaught, trying to somehow get through the pain. Her legs felt as though they were being sheared off at the points where they joined her hips, and she had to move them. She wrapped them around his waist and hoped they would stop hurting, that the cramp would leave, and miraculously it did. This brought her pelvis and clitoris higher and her slightly upturned hole into closer contract with his driving pole. Another miracle happened! The pain was eased even though he was lunging even farther into her belly. It was easier! She could even feel her battered vagina begin to respond, and the fucking into her was raising the familiar tingling sensation and radial warmth to flow. Maybe it was going to be all right.
He felt her legs wrap around his body. Her whole pussy was open to him, and her sobs begin to ease and turn to mewls and moans. Garrett grabbed her ass in his hands and pounded into her waiting hole even harder and faster, unable to stop the bubbling, grunting sounds erupting from his throat and chest as he drove into her like a maniacal piledriver. Jesus! This was the best fuck he'd had in years because she was tighter than a goddamned virgin.
"Yess-ss-ss-s-ssss!" she moaned as she rode even higher on his pole. She felt him lift her legs and drape them over his bear shoulder. She was coming to life! It was going to be all right. She rode higher and higher up the huge throbbing pole that dug at her interior like a ramming war machine. Hilda could feel the fires that had been banked come to life and begin to spark and flame.
Suddenly he slammed into her and arched his back like a great sea lion that had come up for air, harpooned through the gut, hanging in mid-air, too pained to move, hanging there immobile and mortally wounded.
"GOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDD," he bellowed, as he felt the mechanism begin, the inordinate intricacy of his manhood fulfill its function and start to peak and trigger a great tidal wave of hot life-giving sperm into her belly. The pumping of the dam began. His semen shot in scalding streams into her pooled womb as the great bleated balls sent gushes of hot liquid under pressure out of the tight constricted narrows of his huge nozzle of cock. "Je-e-e-e-e-e-e-ssssssssss!" he screamed. The hot sticky load rushed in frenzy from his swollen scrotum along the tube, the tiny close tunnel of his great throbbing, pulsing bull-like prick to the nirvana pool of her churning belly... and she took all he had into her channeled vitals. He spewed the thin hot streams into her clasping, sucking cunt that was still so tight it milked him furiously in a seemingly never-ending burst of tidal-wave orgasm that went on and on.
"Ohhhhhhhh... Godddd... baby... ooo!" Justin thought it would never end. It felt as if gallons of his very essence poured into her in huge pulsing liquid gushes. The very life was pouring out of him, and he would sleep a long time. He rammed again and again, convulsively like a dying chicken with a wrung neck, still quickening in the semblance of life. He tightened and plunged again and again... and again... and again... until finally he only twitched and gasped, clenched feebly, and fell on her with the great weight of his utterly exhausted and completely fulfilled body that only showed life through his gasping, heaving chest and nostrils.
Hilda clasped him tighter around the great bear's body, rising now on the wave of his quaking, erupting, explosive climax that sent the almost never-ending spurts of his thick hot, searing creamy semen cascading over her womb, washing her with torrents of blazing liquid that rose and gushed in the quiet pool of her belly into quickening rippling hot-springed life. Her pelvis rose like a bone-and-flesh bluff, thrust up into the air by his quaking turmoil, and her legs clasped him and rode ever upward to reach the ever-receding peak that kept escaping her efforts. She strained and clutched, her hands now on his flaccid ass as she strove to get up that treacherous height. Her nails dug and her thighs labored, first on his shoulders, then around his waist, to try and keep the rapidly shrinking rigidity of his great prick within her. But it was withdrawing... shrinking... pulling from her before she could get to that bright peak. Oh God. He was going to leave her high and dry. He mustn't! She was so close now. After all the pain and humiliation, he couldn't leave her there quaking and straining and trying and hurting now... not from pain... but from the interruption of her own so-close eruption and bliss.
"Garrrrrretttt!!!" she wailed. "Don't leave... me!..." And then she felt his shrunken prick pull out with a plopping sound. She was alone and achingly hollow... pulsingly hollow and pulsing in futile efforts on air.
"S'all... right... baby..." he sighed. "Don't... worrryyy..." He kissed her mouth feebly and then slid his mouth down her hot nakedness until he had slithered down between her legs and his mouth fastened on her dripping, oozing pussy. He began lapping up his own hot cum as though it were milk and he still a hungry cub who didn't want to waste it.
She felt his lapping tongue and arched up hopefully and moaned, "Yesssss... lick it... lover... make me... cum... hurry!" Her hands found pillows and stuffed them under her ass to give him better access to her splayed and opened cunt that was dying of malnutrition and deprivation.
His face was wet with his own cum. Justin licked and licked the warm sweetness until he could taste her secretions too, and he stabbed his tongue into her sucking cunt, the soggy hairs tickling his nose and his nostrils drinking in her tangy, woman-lusting smell. Christ! He hadn't meant to shoot so soon, but he couldn't help it. That viselike pussy of hers had milked him, and he simply couldn't hold it any longer. Jesus! This was the best fuck he'd had in years.
He was reviving a little now, and he brought his huge paws up and delicately spread her excited flesh until his tongue could isolate her throbbing erect little clitoris that stood to attention and begged his indulgence. He touched it with his wet, practiced tongue. Hilda screamed and caught his great shaggy head in her hands, shoving his face harder into her ringing, jangling, demanding clit.
Garrett sucked on the tiny pseudo-phallus, and as he sucked she moaned and writhed up to him, grinding it to him fiercely and hard, her whole body jerking in need. He lifted his head and looked at her soaking cunt, the swollen aperture outlined with wet hair, the lascivious pink folds of flesh open to him. She groaned and tried to thrust it even closer to his fiery tongue. He licked downward from the clit, throbbing and quivering, to her puckered, crumpled little asshole, the same pale brown as her nipples. He teased the tiny brown opening with his tongue,' laving it and circling it.
She felt his tongue tickling and licking at her asshole, and the salacious sensation sent her even higher toward that point in time of promised fulfillment. "Oh-h-hhhhhhhhhhh... yessssssssssss!" she moaned, and felt his hardened tongue jab into the tiny orifice and jerked at the wounding. Oh God... it had to be soon.
Justin fucked her anus with his tongue, jabbing harder and harder into the tight, muscular passage. Her head was flopping from side to side, and her pelvis jumped and writhed. The clenching little passage clutched his tongue ferociously in time to her wailing. He could feel her cunt juices flowing down to wet the crumpled anal opening.
He could tell she was getting close, and his invading tongue slid back up to her flowering cunt. Justin rammed the stiffened taster deep into her clasping hollow and began fucking it as fiercely as he'd fucked her rectum. Her rubbery wet vaginal walls milked on his probing, fucking tongue feverishly, and she was almost delirious.
"Ohhhh... lover... fuck it... ohhhh... fuck... fuck... FUCK!" Her cunt was slamming into his face as she struggled, jerked, rotated, and writhed against his pillaging tongue. All thought had left her except to keep that heavenly hellish brutal ravishing tongue in her sucking cunt until she came screaming. She was almost there. Her thighs closed around his head. She set her fingers in his black and silver hair, trying to devour his whole head with her hungry pussy.
Suddenly Garrett felt her stiffen to a rigid, screaming, raving orgasm. His hands under her buttocks felt every muscle lock in cords and ridges with her spine set in a concrete column. Her legs shot out and quivered in mid-air, and her hands clamped on his head and tried to force his face completely inside her bursting vagina.
"AHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGH-HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed, arching every muscle to the blinding explosive, bursting, careening, arcing orgasmic climax that threatened to end her life right then. The sensations were so overwhelming and unearthly that she thought she must be dying... dying in this beautiful, incredible bliss that must never stop.
At last Garrett lifted his dripping face to look at her almost unconscious face, the tan hair damp and tangled, the eyes closed, the mouth slack and open. He pulled himself off her and wearily stumbled to the bathroom.
Hilda lay for a long time, and finally her head began to function again. She could hear water running in the bathroom. A catlike ease and satisfaction crept through her as she stretched her limbs in exultation. She washed herself in makeshift fashion in the tiny kitchen, looking around with a proprietary air. The part was hers. She knew it.
Dressed again, she lit a cigarette and waited. At last Garrett came in. He too was dressed, in loose slacks and a burgundy silk robe with an ascot tucked in the neckline. His silver-streaked black hair was in the familiar swept-back mane. He looked more than ever like a Hollywood director. He carefully took a cigarette from the onyx box on the table and inserted it in the holder and lit it as though she weren't even there.
"When do rehearsals start?" she smiled smugly.
"I'll call you a cab," he answered, turning to the desk and picked up the receiver.
Hilda flew to his side. "Mr. Garrett, I said when do rehearsals start?" The panic poured from her strident, affected voice.
He put the receiver back and turned to her patiently, as though to explain something to an idiot child.
"Tryouts start tomorrow night. I haven't cast the part yet. And besides, I have more important things in mind for you."
"But... but... you said... you promised..." she spluttered, outraged and beginning to boil inside.
"I promised nothing," he answered coolly. "You assumed. I have never yet cast a part from a supine position." He picked up the receiver again and turned to dial.
"You... you bastard!" she screamed. All her hopes, all her plans!
"I told you I have more important things in mind for you." He started to dial, and Hilda grabbed the phone and flung it to the floor. It crashed with an abortive ring.
"More important to whom? To you!... not to me!" She was shaking with rage and a fury that threatened to empty her stomach right there. She wheeled and threw on her trenchcoat and grabbed her purse.
Garrett calmly put the phone back on the desk. "I'll call you tomorrow when you've returned to the realm of rationality."
She knew that with every word she screamed her chances of ever getting a part with him were dashed, and her father had made it clear he would never send her to New York until she had made it locally as an actress. But she could not stop the stream of filth that poured from her mouth in her agony of disappointment and frustration.
Hilda ran most of the eight blocks back to Peabody, her breath and her tears coming in spurts. The spring air chilled her wet face. How could she have been such a fool... such a blithering fool? She wanted to slap that smug, sophisticated, sneering face of his until he fell dead. She wanted to kill him... to maim him... to ruin him. And one day... she promised herself... one day...
She ran up the front steps of the dimly lit house to the veranda, wiping her cheeks on her scarf. Her cork-soled sandals made no sound, but her heart was beating so loudly it felt as though it would wake the whole house. She stopped in front of the door to dig in her purse for the key.
Among the makeup, wallet, bank books, notebooks and kleenex, she finally found it in the bottom. Her hand stopped just before she inserted it in the lock. Through the etched glass pane of the door, between the old-fashioned curliness of frosting in a curve of clear glass, she saw a couple on the hall couch.
My God! It was Celia... that little snip Celia! The bitch Hilda knew, without Garrett's telling her, would get the part... her part. She put her eyes closer to the glass so she had an unimpeded view. Hilda held her breath and looked.
Celia was half naked, seated on a fully clothed man, seated right over his obviously naked cock and riding him in a wild bucking fucking. Hilda scarcely breathed at all as she watched the modest, the naive, the innocent Celia thundering down on a huge prick that was slicing right into her cunt. The Celia who could make a whole audience want to throw their arms around her in love and adoration. The Celia who had every man in sight defending her and protecting her... as though she were a saint. Some saint!
Web felt the naked hot walls of Celia's pussy squeezing him with what seemed like hundreds of muscular fingers as he fucked up and down wildly, making the springs of the couch creak faintly under him. Oh, Jesus! He was getting close. He was getting so close! He could feel the soft rubbery head of her womb give and depress as he thrust up hard into the wet, slippery, blazing hot depths inside her belly. His hands ran over her naked thighs doubled around him, and he clutched the smooth white flesh, kneading its fresh tenderness. They went up to her breasts that bounced and jellied in his hands, her bra pushed up over them, the silk shirt unbuttoned and flapping around her silky hips. There was something even more salacious about lying here fully dressed with Celia partially covered by the opened shirt and fucking into her hot receiving, clenching brown-haired hole.
Celia's head hung and her breasts were propped by Web's hot covering hands. She clutched his forearms through the light sports jacket as though they were reins and she was riding to a victory that was almost in sight. She was leaning into it as she bucked up and down on the saddle of his hips, impaled with every motion on his driving, thundering, beating penis, and the sound of hooves, feverishly increasing the pace, was ringing in her ears. With every upbeat of that saddle with its stab into her belly, she met it head-on with a plunge of her shaking body, straining on to the finish.
"Ride, baby... fuck... fuck harder... cum on... with me... Fuck!" Web grunted, his breath heaving out of his chest in near sobs as he arched his pelvis up, driving his near-bursting cock straight up to the hilt inside her churning belly. Her hair was swinging wildly around her face, and his hands were bruising her breasts in maniacal spurring fury.
Hilda pressed her eye right up to the glass in an effort to see who Celia was fucking so wildly. The top of a blond wavy head was all she could see, and a sports jacket and gaping slacks where his cock thrust into Celia's pussy. Web. It had to be Web. The accountant... the staid cool young businessman. Hilda could see his hands with the blond hair holding and squeezing Celia's breasts. Her own breasts ached, just looking; they felt lonely and yearning.
She'd always wanted to watch, and now was her chance. But, oh God, she didn't realize it could do this to her. She felt her own recently ravished pussy igniting again and clenching inward on itself, beginning to pour out moistness. Oh Jesus.
As she saw them straining higher and higher and could even hear their muffled moans, Hilda felt an unreasoning jealousy and fury attack her gut. That little bitch-poor and from a common, vulgar family-had everything Hilda wanted. The power on the stage, the beauty that mesmerized people, the grace and poise, and now... she even had a highly desirable man who'd probably marry her. Hilda even imagined that Celia had got to Garrett first and fucked him into giving her the part. Oh God! It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair!
She'd find a way. Somehow she'd find a way. Her mind raced as her eyes watched and her own hand came out to press under her trenchcoat to her knit-covered crotch. Celia's parents! Of course. That was the one thing she trembled over... the possibility of being yanked home by her Victorian, prosaic, protective, watchdog parents. Well, Hilda had found the way. She'd get Celia yanked home if it was the last thing she ever did. With Celia out of the way, Hilda was confident. Rosemary wasn't that good, and there was no one else in the little theatre group who could do it.
They rose in tandem, meeting on the upbeat, and their bodies banged together, bone on bone, as their fleshly organs that fitted so perfectly together sawed in and out in abandoned fucking. Celia screwed herself up and down Web's hot rigid pole in a wild salacious dance, her body straining every muscle... up and down and in and out and around and around.
Every thought had flown from her head, and her one glimmer of consciousness was fastened on the scintillating sparks that sent such blazing bliss into the depths of her aching belly. It filled and emptied, filled and emptied, with his raging, bullying, raping cock. She gave herself willingly to this boiling inferno, the depths of a lusting hell for which she knew there was no redemption. Her weak and naked body, her whore's body now, was quenching her very soul, and there was only the completion, the fulfillment of her base and ignoble and pliant senses.
But it was not the theatre or theatre people or the acting out of other lives and other emotions that her father had thought would bring her to these depths... it was her own yearning, pleading, giving, aching, lusting, flesh. The fault was her own. Her own-and she must bear the consequences.
Suddenly she felt Web dig his powerful hands into her smooth, silky hips. He threw his jerking, rigid steely-spiking maleness into the very core of her being, as his hands dragged her even farther onto his naked flesh rod that stabbed into her soft womanly womb.
"BAAAABBBBBBBYYYYYYYYYYY!" he screamed, lifting his saddled hips straight up so she was impaled on the arrow of hot pulsating prick that began to gush a scalding stream into the very secret recesses of her lurching belly. As it hit her vitals with such pressurized force, she felt her own organs begin to flood the fountain of his hot probe with a rush of blazing excessive, orgasmic fluid... the pleasure-pain that she had ridden so hard to attain. It was a wide and beautiful plateau of emotion and sensation that drained the very life from her.
They struggled on the peak-clutching, screaming, convulsing, crying, panting, and clenching each other in the agonizing ecstasies and celestial raptures that enveloped their bodies and souls as they clung together, almost frightened by the force and intensity of their shared experience. Their two beings twined and joined in a cataclysmic union that seemed to shake the very earth until it trembled on its fragile axis.
Chapter Four
Hilda put down the receiver quietly, with satisfaction, without saying goodbye, without identifying herself in any way. She patted the homely black instrument. It had served her well. She looked up from the chintz chair to see Rosemary and Bullock walk sideways together into the wide sun-flooded living room. They were locked together in a long kiss, and their arms were twined around each other. Bullock's hand was swallowed up in the low peasant blouse that Rosemary wore.
At last their mouths broke away and they looked at each other long and deeply. That bastard Bullock. He hadn't looked at her that way last night when she'd gone to him in her need. Hilda had given him a crazy story about being locked out. He'd probably been up here all evening and had just come down the back stairs when she arrived. The look he was giving Rosemary now would explain why he'd been so adamant about keeping quiet and the perfunctory fucking he'd given Hilda on the kitchen table.
Well, just wait till the cast party. She'd show Rosemary. And Celia. And Bullock. Especially Celia. Hilda smiled to herself in anticipation. Garrett was a bastard too, but there was no denying he was a smart one. She knew that handling the arrangements for the cast party was only a consolation prize, but what he didn't know was that she was going to wind up with the part, too.
Celia toyed with her cheese souffle and salad. The bright sun pouring into the corner booth hurt her eyes, and her heart felt like a concrete rock in her breast. She knew her humiliation would be final and complete if she pressed Web further, but she couldn't stop herself.
"I thought we... I... mean... it's usual..." She faltered, swallowing the huge lump in her throat and looking down at her food to hide the tears that trembled on her lashes.
"You thought we'd get married. But you knew all along that I'm trying to open my own business. You knew I had no intention of marrying yet." He threw down his napkin in irritation. The silence was so thick and cloying he couldn't breathe. He grabbed a cigarette and lit it, looking out over the restaurant at the lunch crowd.
"I guess... I thought... circumstances could...sometimes change... that maybe you'd want..." Celia stopped, turning her head to look out the window as though she were intent on something in the parking lot. Her hand covered her eyes from Web, and the shining hair swung forward to cover her cheek.
"Look... what we had was something you wanted, too. I wasn't the only beneficiary, you know. And I'm perfectly willing for things to continue as they are... but I'm not ready to be tied yet. And I don't think you're ready for it, either. Live a little. Have some experiences."
Celia slid her huge dark glasses on and blew her nose discretely. She looked up at him then with the darkened glass obscuring her eyes completely. She tried to smile, but her mouth trembled and her lips would not function. "I think I've had all the experience I need."
Before he could stop her, she slid from the booth and made her way swiftly out the restaurant door and into the bright Texas sun. When the door swung shut behind her to hold in the cool air, he could still see her retreating figure behind his eyes. He ground out his cigarette savagely, and only then did he see she'd tucked a dollar bill under her plate. Web left it for a startled waitress and walked quickly up to the cashier and placed the right amount with the check. He slammed through the door into the hot muggy interior of his car, gunned it into action, and squealed the tires as he turned out of the parking lot to go back to work.
Celia had no real memory of how she got through the afternoon at the shop, waiting on customers, checking invoices, doing the unit control books from yesterday's sales slips, changing the window display. It was all a blur, and her stomach was a knot of pain.
By the time she got home after work her head was splitting and her insides still churning. Nausea was sweeping her. She fell into the smaller bedroom that was hers, threw her bag on the marble-topped bureau, and collapsed on the heavy white bedspread. Over and over the scenes played behind her closed eyes, rolling and changing, superimposing and montaging.
Was it only yesterday that she had been Celia Brown, budding young actress, good daughter, diligent student, working girl? Her world had collapsed, her body changed, her heart broken, and her hopes gone forever. She sobbed then, and the tears poured out in sheets. She wanted to die.
Celia woke to a pounding that echoed in her head. Wearily, she struggled from the bed and opened the door, leaning on it for support.
"Celia, baby!" Patrick held his arms wide as his Irish grin. "Have you forgotten the tryouts tonight?"
"I'm not going," she mumbled.
"But you have to. You're sure to get the part... Hey, baby-what's the matter?" He took her by the shoulders and bent a little to peer into her face. It was tear-streaked and the lipstick was gone. Her eyes were puffed and swollen, her hair uncombed.
She shook her head. "I'm just tired," she sighed. "And don't call me baby."
"Well... never mind, Tender." He held her chin in his hand and looked over her face. "All that pretty face needs is a quick wash, a dash of lipstick, a comb through your shining crown, and we'll be off."
She felt her throat close again. Patrick was being so kind. He'd dubbed her "Tender" almost from the day she arrived but, she realized, he only called her that when she seemed to be in distress. "I can't, Patrick... I'm sorry... you go on."
"I'll do no such thing." He pushed her before him down the hall to the bathroom. "Now, if you want me to wash your face for you, I can do that, too." She shook her head and tried to smile, and he bowed out the door.
Celia still didn't see how she could possibly manage to go, but she washed her face anyway and that felt a little better. Slowly she brushed her hair and, fingers shaking, stroked on pale lipstick. The mirror showed her the same Celia she'd always seen, except for the puffiness and some fatigue smudges under the eyes. How could she look the same? How was it possible to look the same as she had yesterday... when so much had happened, so much ruined, so much felt and thought, so much gone? She could never ever be the same again... that Celia was gone forever. "Mirror, mirror on the wall..." she murmured, and she saw herself in the mirrored room with Web's hands sliding over her naked flesh.
The words hung in her head like some awful dooming banner proclaiming her hopelessness.
Patrick was pounding on the door and yelling. She opened it.
Despite her protests, Patrick took her to a small restaurant near the rehearsal hall for chili. It tasted good, for her lunch had been left almost untouched. The tortillas were hot and buttered, and the chili left stinging bites on the tongue. Patrick, with his mimic's charm and inexhaustible fund of stories, soon had her laughing in spite of herself.
Celia looked around at the patrons. They were working people, teenagers, tired housewives, a few lonely old people... the cross section that she supposed Waxahachie was, too, but it had never looked even this interesting to her. It had never seemed to have even this much color and variety... and she realized that probably one way or another she would soon be back there for life. Entombed.
The night sky was punctured with a few stars. It was warmer than it had been after dark for the last week. Celia leaned against Patrick and was grateful for his arm around her shoulders as they walked along the deserted sidewalk under the old elms. She was so tired... so terribly tired.
"I still say Garrett was a bastard tonight. A first-class bastard. He didn't make anyone else stay and do one scene fifty times over. He was trying to break you!" Patrick said solicitously.
"No... I think it was just me. I just couldn't seem to get it right. I knew I shouldn't have come. Too much has happened all at once."
"Look, Tender. You're the best actress in the city of Dallas, and don't think Garrett doesn't know it. You got the part, all right. It just makes me furious the way you had to get it."
"I felt like such a fool. Standing there crying. I don't know. I just couldn't seem to stop."
"Hell, anybody would have cried with the going-over he gave you!"
Celia looked up at Patrick, and somehow his words made the tears start flowing again. She could still feel the sting of Garrett's tongue-lashing.
"Hey, it's over now. You don't have to cry now." He squeezed her closer and kissed her hair near the temple. He steered her into the quiet park without her even noticing. Her eyes were on her feet. Patrick found a path that led down to the trickle of river and the dammed-up lily ponds. His favorite bench was there, backed by a walled partition so it formed a private little three-sided cabin with a picnic table in the center.
He'd known ever since he knocked on her door and dragged her out this evening that something very shaking had happened to Celia Brown. His instinct, the strange intuitive thing that made him know when to press the advantage in a political campaign and when to hold back, told Patrick that now was the time to press Celia Brown. She was as vulnerable now as a snail without a shell, a newborn bird without a mother. And during the tryouts Justin Garrett had softened her up even more.
Patrick sat down on the bench and pulled Celia down, too. With his back braced against the partition and his desert boots on the picnic table, he put her feet up and turned her against his chest as though she were a child.
"Now, suppose you tell old Father Flanner here what's troubling you."
Celia lay with her legs along the bench and her head and shoulders tucked against Patrick's chest. For the first time, she began to feel as though someone cared that she was miserable. The intense searing emotions that could only be that shaking to a nineteen-year-old girl came pouring out of her in a great sobbing flood.
"Oh... Patrick... I'm no good... I've ruined... everything... forever..." The hurt came out in a chest-heaving pain that wracked her. Patrick soothed and rocked her, holding her tight against him as though she were five years old with her small world shattered.
In the dark she could feel freer to let go, and Patrick let her rave and sob and cry, smoothing his hands down her body gently in monotonous sliding motions. He could feel the tenseness gradually begin to ease from her as he caressed her from shoulderblades and neck to waist and hips and thighs to calves.
Even before her broken words and phrases and sobs made it clear to him what had actually happened to her, the line he spoke in the play to her every night kept ringing in his head like a message... "Virginity once lost may be ten times found..." He'd help her find it ten times over!
The smooth sinuous curves of Celia's lovely body under his hands, so close and warm against him in the warm dark, with the frog's croaking so near at the water's edge, sent a hot thrill chasing through Patrick's veins. It was like the power that surged through him when he knew his words were swaying an audience, bending them to his will. His hands were now wielding that hypnotic power over Celia's lovely body.
Very softly, as her words began to fail and the sobs to ease, he recited poetry to her while his hands continued to work their soothing magic. Snatches of The Rubaiyat, The Prophet, the Sonnets, Rossetti, whatever he could remember.
Celia lay cradled against Patrick's warm chest, almost soothed to sleep now by his voice and his smoothing hands and his lips kissing her face and hair in the pauses between the words. Lovely words that comforted her, warm kind hands that eased her. They would walk home soon, she told herself, and she could sleep and blot out the last terrible twenty-four hours. Such nice words Patrick spoke... how kind he was...
It seemed quite natural when his lips found hers and his warm hand slid down her throat and slightly inside the neckline of her dress to her shoulder. He caressed the tender, sensitive skin around her collarbone. Patrick's mouth went from her lips to her cheeks and both eyelids and temples and ears and jaw and throat and back to her mouth. His lips were very gentle and tender. She smiled faintly to herself in the dark, remembering that he called her "Tender."
It was so dark that she couldn't see his face even when she opened her eyes, so Celia kept them closed and felt the kindness in his voice and warm jaw and chin and cheek and lips and hands. The frog talk in the background and the faint rippling sounds of the water were reassuring in their monotony.
Patrick eased his hand to the front zipper of Celia's dress, his voice reciting again and his mouth kissing, and he slid it silently down. His hand went back to her throat and started its slow descent to her breast, her full voluptuous breast that he could still see creaming out in round ripeness above her costume last night. He worked very carefully, for he mustn't terrify this soft little unshelled snail. She might melt away.
Celia sighed, so close to sleep now that it was an effort to keep the consciousness from drifting away inside her head. As Patrick's lips found hers again, his hand closed over her breast so softly that at first she was hardly aware of it. There was only a comforting warmth where there had been none. A soothing comforting warmth that flowed through her veins when she was so close to sleep and when she was so tired and...
"Poor little Celia," he crooned in a whisper against her opened mouth. Then he slid his lips down her throat as his hand rounded and cupped and caressed her breasts through the thin net bra. Growing bolder, his hand dipped deeper inside her opened dress to slide down her rib cage and over her naked belly above her bikini pantyhose. The firm young skin on the bowl of her little belly was warm satin under his exploring palm and fingers. His hand communicated to his excited brain by touch what she looked like, and he could see her white silken curves in his head.
Celia's mouth opened under Patrick's as he kissed her more firmly and insistently. She was warm and snug and comforted until his warm hand slid under her bra and touched her naked nipple that popped instantly alive and rigid with anticipation. Suddenly she was aware of what he was doing... of what he had been doing!
"No... Patrick... no!" Instantly she was alive and conscious and protesting as she tore her mouth away and tried to sit upright. Celia felt herself being pressed down again under his now hard hands that restrained her and held her. Oh my God! He'd been seducing her the way Web had... and her traitorous body had responded!
Celia strained and fought to get away, but his mouth held hers with his tongue now forced between her teeth deep in her throat. His hard muscular arms pinned her flailing arms and legs, and he held her like a slippery writhing fish. No! No! But he locked her to him in the vise of his arms, and she began to whimper deep in her throat.
Despite her fighting and struggling, Patrick knew he would catch the fish, for he had the advantage now and he was going to force it. Still holding her down in his lap with his arm and hand and mouth, he slid his hand up her dress to catch the top of the bikini pantyhose. She slithered and writhed, moaning as he tried to strip them down.
Celia could feel what he was doing and knew his strength far exceeded hers. She was almost choking on his hard tongue that fucked relentlessly into her mouth, and her breath was coming in painful sobs through her nostrils. She knew in the very marrow of her being that he was going to win, that he would have his way, would do with her whatever he wanted, and she would be helpless to stop him. Oh God. She remembered how kind he'd been, and she'd been such a fool to trust him. It was true! Men only wanted one thing of a woman... and one thing only! They'd do anything to get it... any dirty underhanded, deceitful thing!
Even as she raged and fumed inwardly, she also knew deep within her that her body responded, wanted it, participated... that it was not totally the male responsibility. Her own lusting flesh helped the rutting male. Her despair was overwhelming. She was ruined forever and would be buried alive in the mediocrity of Waxahachie, Texas. Suddenly, there seemed no point to anything. If Celia Brown died now or further besmirched herself, it could not matter. The damage had been done.
Patrick was still working at her writhing hips, and he pulled his mouth away to catch her heaving breast with the bra slipped up above it. He could see it now, for the moon had escaped from the cloud cover. That beautiful white full life-giving breast shuddering in the moonlight. With a deep groan, he bent his head to it and tasted her silken flesh in his mouth.
Celia felt his wet hot mouth close on her breast as he drew the nipple into his sucking throat. It was that blessed degradation that sent a deep interior ambrosia flowing through her and out into his drawing mouth. Oh God. What did it matter now? She was crying hopelessly, for she could feel her nipple hard and quivering in his mouth and she wanted it there.
A sudden rage swept through Celia that shook her even harder than the crying and the sobbing. She caught his head somehow in her hands, pressed it to her flaming breast for a long moment, and then tore it away. "Let me up... just let me up for a moment." Celia managed to struggle out of his grasp and stand, feeling the fury harden her like molten lava cooling.
She leaped up on the picnic table and began tearing her dress off and her bra and her pantyhose that were already hanging on her thighs. The rage had seized her, and she sobbed and cried and tore off her clothes like a madwoman. A shaft of moonlight came through the trees and bathed her in its golden spotlight.
At last Celia stood naked in the soft light. Patrick swallowed and choked! He had never seen anything more beautiful as she stood in the eerie light like a vision of some unearthly beauty, and he was frozen in awe for a long moment. The convex and the concave, the hillocks and the valleys, the secret hollows. She stood on that improvised stage, carved by the light like a living breathing goddess!
Patrick could see the amazing complexity of arms rounding into shoulders that gradually rounded and swelled into the full heaviness of her ripened breasts. They were rose-tipped and proud, upright on the slender stem of her ribs, that narrowed to her fragile waist and then swelled so gradually to rounded hips and long perfect thighs that swept down to beautifully boned knees and on to rounding calves and delicate ankles and feet. He knew now what being stunned meant, for he was stunned, excited, and a terrible urgency was building in his already fully aroused loins.
If it was a role she played on her stage in the spot of the moon, she could never have a better audience. Patrick knew too well how he could be affected by a truly great performance. It was what was going to make him a public figure to be reckoned with. He was going to change the whole damn crazy world by just such tactics... giving the people some drama, some emotion, some conflict that raised the blood in their sluggish veins.
Celia looked into the darkness to Patrick, still crouched like an animal ready to pounce, and the blinding hot anger was still in her. "There!" she screamed scathingly, her legs planted apart, hands on naked hips. "Isn't this what you wanted... what you all want... the only thing you want!" Her hands came up to cup her breasts to him in offering, and then she ran them down her smooth belly and down her wide standing thighs. "Well... here I am." Her arms were flung wide and her head was thrown back. "Just waiting for you!" A sob caught her, and it was as though she'd taken an arrow or a knife through the belly. She crumpled slowly down, sitting in the pool of her clothes with bent head, shaking in the infernal depth of loneliness and despair... a living statue to the hell within the heaven of the human spirit.
The frogs croaked questioningly, and Patrick moved then. He leaped up to gather her quaking, hopeless naked body in his arms. The feel of that naked girl in his arms, pressed to him so close, and the power of her as she'd stood there, tightened his throat feverishly to smother his pitying sympathy. Oh God, this was a night that would persist in his memory until he died.
Patrick was so moved by the little drama she had played that he was caught up in it too. "You're the dearest, sweetest, loveliest..." He kissed her deeply and fiercely, his hands moving over her silken curves like sensors, shoulders, back, arms, legs, breasts, belly, throat. She lay quiet and did not fight now in his arms. Celia let his hands stray wherever they would, and Patrick felt they could never feel enough of her smooth, warm nakedness. Her body still convulsed in little jerks with the easing sobs, but her nipples popped out eagerly in his hot palms to hard burning little poker tips of fire.
Celia could feel Patrick's laving hands and hungry mouth urging her helpless body back to life with expert ministrations. She could feel his hot hands warming her and coaxing her tired flesh. She let him do what he would. It could not matter what befell her body now, the hollow shell, the empty prison.
One hand around her back and the other hand cupping her fully firm mound of breast, his mouth sunk on her yielding one, Patrick awkwardly removed his shirt except for that one arm. Leaning, he pressed her down until she lay stretched on the table like a marble effigy in the moonlight. Quickly he shucked the rest of his clothes and lay down beside her. His huge upstanding jerking prick looked like a thick murderous weapon against her soft passive whiteness.
Catching his breath at her naked loveliness, he leaned on one elbow and looked his fill down the length of her incredible beauty. Everything was fashioned for his delight... the firm hills of her white and rose breasts, the sloping plain of her waist dipping to the shallow valley of her belly, the dense forest of her mons pubis, the long round ridges of her thighs that joined at the gates of heaven. He hardly knew where to start in his explorations. Whatever he had done he had done it right, for there she lay... the beautiful creature called Celia Brown... all his!
An insinuating tingle undulated up Celia's inner arm, the tender sensitive skin licked by Patrick's hot tongue from her elbow to her armpit. She shivered and her breath caught and held as that tongue continued around her armpit and down the little hollow and up the steep mountain of her breast to the summit of her nipple and the tongue and mouth claimed it for Patrick. "Ah-h-h-h-h-hhhhhhhh!" She felt the soft surrender come out her own mouth as his hand circled the base and his hot mouth sucked and worked at the peak. The tongue chased maddeningly around it and then over the aching sensitive tip, and all the while the lips were powerfully sucking.
Patrick felt a surge of power thrill through him, the power that was him, for he had brought her to this complete surrender. His cock was jerking wildly against her naked hip as his mouth ravished her breast and his hand held the soft flesh up to his hot starving mouth. Lungs were pumping ragged breaths through his nose and her breast was heaving under him, rising up to him.
Moving to the other neglected breast, Patrick insinuated his head onto her arm and it circled his head, pressing his face into the soft pillow of her rising breast, the nipple in his mouth. He lay sucking contentedly as though his belly were filling with the nourishment it needed. His hand fondled and caressed, feeling the soft contours of the other breast, the hip, the waist, the belly, and the long sleek thighs.
Celia gave herself to the racing streaks of lewd excitement that darted like quicksilver through her veins and nerves. She was being both drained and emptied... filled and surfeited by his ravishing hand and succubus mouth. Her arms and hands clutched his curly red head to her greedy breast that arched ever closer to the warm wet titillations of his bold aggressive tongue and lips. A poignant drawing in of her vaginal walls sent a yearning, wanting, pleading sensation pulling through her whole belly and abdomen.
Kneading and smoothing and squeezing the pliant flesh under his fingers, Patrick's hand scouted cautiously down her firm belly to the crisp pale brown forest growing densely on her mound of Venus. He inched ever downward until his fingertip touched her aperture at the upper end and found the soft velvety flesh damp and moist. A little further and it became wet with the dew of her love juice, slick and slippery and honeyed. His sliding finger stroked back and forth, tracing the whole narrow furrow that was preparing a way for his burgeoning rod, opening and greasing his way into the secret passage.
"Oh-h-hhhhhh... sweet... ohhhh... God," groaning, Patrick rolled half onto her yielding body and kissed over her throat and shoulders and breasts and down her ribs and belly, covering her body with saliva-wet warm-lipped kisses until he reached the little triangular curled mat of hair. He kissed that too, and the tender skin where thighs joined trunk. At last he lay between those beautiful trembling thighs and gazed at the folds of pink flesh, gleaming invitingly in the soft light. The lips were swollen and sopping, drenched and bathed in the lubrications that seeped from deep within the recess to spill a hot sticky mantle of fluid over her pussy.
Celia could feel his hot breath searing her privates, but she was still floating in the glow of his hands and kisses, encased in a globule of warmth like a drop of oil that floated on the surface of deep water. Nothing but the warmth and lassitude and delicious feeling of ease and yearning was important. Suddenly she felt a searing blazing poker-hot probe rake her vulva from bottom to top. She arched and screamed, her scorched flesh rising, "No-o-o-o-o-!" Oh dear God! What was he doing? The globule was broken, and a thousand sparkling droplets separated and became her jangling nerve ends.
Raising her head, Celia looked down to where Patrick lay between her opened thighs, his hands pressing her even wider to a split, and she saw his head dip and felt the flame lick along her slit again. God in heaven... he was licking her privates... licking her vulva... her pussy... her snatch! She thought she had sunk to the depths of degradation before when Web had brutally showed her the weakness of her own rutting body before that terrible mirror, when he'd taken her brutally and left her blood on the sheets, when she'd watched Rosemary sucking on Bullock's penis and Web had taken Celia again and she had ridden him like a slut... but this... this was depraved and sick and lewd and perverted! She knew that Lesbians did something terrible, but she had never questioned or asked what it was... not wanting to know what sexually sick people did to each other. Celia could not believe that Patrick could want to do what he was doing!
Celia was frozen in hypnotic fascination and horrified disbelief as she watched his head dip again to her splayed flesh... her own flesh that she had never seen so close in its entirety as he did now. A moan came out her throat as she felt his hard tongue dart inside her opening like a hummingbird stabbing its beak into a flower's center. Whimpering, she tried to edge away, but his hard hands clenched her buttocks, turning her even closer to his stabbing tongue that was sending electric shocks at regular intervals zigzagging through her whole body. "No-O-O-O-OOOOOOOOOO!" she screamed, and arched her back, her head falling back to blot the perverted scene from her eyes... but the insane licking and plunging continued and she was trembling like that ravished blossom.
"Mmm-mmmmmmmmmm-mmmmmm," she heard Patrick groan, his hot mouth now exploring her swollen, quivering slit in its entirety... licking, kissing, sucking, stabbing... until she felt herself a mass of reacting tissue that paid no heed to her feeble brain's horror. Her treacherous, traitorous, villainous body liked all the sick, insane, maddening, lewdly degrading, demoralizing, tantalizing things he was doing between her legs.
Patrick licked and kissed and tongued the whole pulsating pinkness of her hot swollen-lipped cunt that he held up to his voracious mouth, for his palms supported and held her mooned ass cheeks in his hands. His little finger traced down the crack between her rounded buttocks to the tiny crumpled bud of her asshole. Celia arched her whole dripping opening pussy to his rampaging tongue that sank into the milking, quivering, clenching meaty walls of her secret hollow. She was going out of her mind, and he'd hardly touched her quaking little clit yet! This was one hot nineteen-year-old almost virgin!
Licking along the hair-fringed lips, Patrick insolated the erect tiny pseudo-phallic clitoris with his tongue, and he thought she was going to flop completely off the table! "Ahhhhh-ggggghhhh!" she screamed, catching his head in her hands, grinding her pelvis up to his pillaging tongue, and throwing her thighs even wider.
Jesus! Just touching her shaking little clit did this to her! Patrick closed his lips around it and sucked the tiny organ hard into his wet mouth, savoring the hot rutting woman smell and taste of her dripping, excited, screamingly alive arousal. It was obvious her lover boy hadn't gone down on her and initiated her properly. The thought sent prickles of lascivious anticipation up Patrick's spine, and his cock jerked sympathetically. God! She was going to come right off the pad! With renewed enthusiasm he sucked even harder on her erect clit that throbbed in shivering convulsions. The cries that spilled from her throat had scared the frogs into silence.
"Ohhhhhhhhh... ahhhhhhhhh... nooooo... oooooooo... pleasssssssseeeeeeee Goddddd!" Jolts of rapturous ecstasy were hurling through Celia's weakened body like lightning shafts through a night sky, and she thought the whole world must be igniting from the sheer celestial bliss that coursed through her. She heard screams and blubberings and wailings emit from her own lips, and her consciousness was slipping away into some black void. Without her knowledge, her hands pressed Patrick's face into her aching hole, for she could never be close enough to that ravaging mouth.
Sucking hard, Patrick's teeth began to set gently around her maddened clitoris, raking it and biting it. Celia was flipping and flopping and grinding his face into her soaking, milking, blazing suctioning cunt, her ass reaching higher and higher. He rocked his face and tongue in and out and began a frenzied fucking into her hot soaking fleshy depths.
Suddenly Celia's hands raked his skull, her fingernails leaving narrow furrows in the scalp. Her hips raised completely in mid-air and she screamed, "AAAAAAA-A-A-A-E-E-E-E-E-E-I-I-I-I!" Patrick continued his crazed tongue-fucking of her opened pussy, tasting her orgasmic juices pouring into his hot mouth like lazily erupting lava.
The insane, unearthly infinity of wild pleasure that filled Celia's loins was fusing the stars into planets, and new worlds were being born. Eruptions were occurring, and flowing molten energy from deep within her belly was running out in rivulets of rapturous, raving sensual pleasure that was an ecstasy which was bringing unbidden tears to her eyes and closing her screaming throat. There was no room for breath, and she would surely die.
Still clutching her convulsing clit in his mouth, Patrick scrambled around, bringing her thigh over his head. While she was still in the death that is life of her orgasm, he had to get his prick into the haven of her hot mouth or he couldn't stand it! He turned Celia's all but unconscious body quickly and guided her mouth down over his huge, bloated, long-suffering cock. He pushed Celia's unheeding mouth down till he thought he was going to shoot the whole load right then! The skinning sheath of her hot cavernous soft mouth over his ramming pole was almost too much!
Wearily he lay back and pulled her legs apart again and jabbed his tongue, hard and slick with her cum, deep into her palpitating pussy that was still screaming in a dying ecstasy. Patrick felt her choke on his thick thrusting shaft that was jerking for release and oozing mightily. He reached and shoved her head back down again over his naked needing cock. "Suck it for me. Tender... I'm going to make you cum again... cum with me... suck it."
At his lewd command, Celia roused enough to realize that her throat was crammed with a fleshy rod and that there was a strange sticky tangy taste in her mouth. She opened her eyes to see that the base of his great thick lusting penis was protruding from her own mouth... just as she'd seen Rosemary's mouth almost cover Bullock's enormous thing. There were red hairs almost touching her nose, and Patrick was raising his hips and stabbing her tonsils. Mewling sounds, muffled and unintelligible, came from her own still pulsating pussy! She was lying on top of his hard body, and his face was sunk again into her flesh, and she could feel the stiff tongue fucking into her still-dripping hole. Oh God! This nightmare of depravity would never end!
Celia's hips were grinding down of their own accord, and with one orgasm not quite gone she could feel the next beginning to raise and prepare for the race to even another enchantment. How could it be possible? Her churning belly proclaimed the dying spasms of one, and her insatiable hole was already trying to push close enough to Patrick's masterful tongue and mouth to seek another orgasm. Oh, there was no doubt now. She was a slut, a demented, depraved, raving slut!
Patrick lifted his hips to shove his raging, demanding, blood-gorged organ into Celia's lovely soft wet mouth and then let it slide partially out as his butt lowered. He fucked it in and out several times to give her the idea, while he fucked her dripping cunt with his own stiffened tongue. A splurge of delight roared through his taut nerves as he felt her mouth begin to take hold and suck on his throbbing, aching, needing prick. His balls clenched as he felt Celia's soft mouth tighten and suck inward on his pulsing, jerking penile member. Pulling his mouth away for a second from the hair-fringed lips of her pussy, he breathed urgently, "Suck it, baby... that's ittttt... suuuuuuuccccckkkkk... oh yesssss... suck it!"
Lips ovaling around the throbbing obscenity, Celia sucked it like a mammoth straw, drawing it hard between her teeth and lips, feeling the blood beating through its blue-veined length. Hearing Patrick's lusting harshly ragged words, she sucked the quaking length as far into her throat as possible, almost choking as it touched her tonsils and filled her mouth so completely. She could feel his face sunk deeply into her wet vulva again, and he made a slurping sound as he tongue-fucked her open furrow.
To her amazement the sticky liquid oozing from the head of his massive penis tasted strangely exciting, muskily male, and smelled a funny rank but aromatic and not unpleasant scent. Celia tasted the masculine piquancy, the tang of his pungent genitals, and unreasoningly, wild tremors of delight went coursing through her.
Not knowing how it was done, Celia let her instincts guide her. They were reliable guides, having come from millions of forebears who indulged in the pagan rites of fellation and cunnilingus long before her. The ancient blood memory told her what to do.
She ravished her warm wet tongue upon the upstanding villainous instrument, brushing and grazing along its base and wide underside to the coroneal ridge, protruding from the thick foreskin, qushing and playing with it in lapping caressing strokes. Sliding her tongue back down its enormous thickened length, she licked the wrinkled sac that held Patrick's testicles in heavy weights. Celia could hear deep groans coming from his chest, muffled by her swaying, mashing slit that ground down on his working face and burned her whole pubic area with fiery lashes. Oh God! She didn't care! She didn't care that she was a slut engaged in the foulest of debaucheries. She wanted it never to stop. She, Celia Brown, wanted it!
Patrick could feel his swollen cock being ravished and washed and laved and licked and sucked, could feel it flow along the inner roof of Celia's strange mouth. He moaned and moaned from deep in his chest into her splayed cunt. He thrust his tongue with renewed excitement between the warm fleshy folds-heard her gasp around his nudging pole-begin to suck the head feverishly. Oh Christ! There was nothing in the world as mind-blowing as 69! He sucked and fucked into her, and she swayed and bucked around his face and drew his cock agonizingly deep into her sucking throat.
Her cunt flowered open even wider like petals peeling apart, and her secretions covered his mouth and chin while he sluiced her hole with his saliva. Patrick could feel her muscles hollow and then contract as he plunged ever deeper, burrowing into her dripping pussy with wicked slices of his tongue. Celia churned and writhed above him in an obscene desire-driven dance, her little rounded ass sashaying wildly. She was going to cum again with him!
Patrick could feel the bursting dam of his balls barely holding as Celia chewed and nibbled and licked and sucked on his gargantuan cock that sawed insanely in and out of her inexpert but fervent mouth. Oh, Jesus! He could feel the prickling tingling rising fermentations in his gut, and he rammed his butt up, driving the piston of his rod ever deeper into her laboring throat. Celia's soft thighs were clenching him viciously, and he could feel the wet flesh slip around his tongue as if the hair-lined vaginal lips were going to completely consume his tongue.
The thought of shooting his boiling cum into her hot pink mucous-wet mouth was almost driving him out of his friggin' mind! He began to suck and tease her clitoris unmercifully, finally biting the little tender love button as she lurched and writhed above him. Guttural unladylike moans spilled from her too-filled mouth as she worried and pulled and drew on his bursting, jerking frantic prick. Celia was mashing the gluttonous, devouring pussy against his face, and she pulled savagely on his penis with ever-increasing speed.
Then suddenly Patrick could no longer hold his maddened, churning screaming volcano. He felt the rush of sperm begin to burst along its narrow tube just as Celia stiffened above him and screamed around his bursting cock, "AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGH!" She twisted and wrenched wantonly above him, her teeth biting into his releasing prick and then sucking furiously as the hot shooting jets of his semen soared into her hungry mouth.
"I'm...I'M CUUUUUUUMMMM-MMMIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGG!" Patrick tore his mouth away from her juicing pulsing palpitating cunt long enough to scream out his agonizingly ecstatic climax. His great cock was swelling even larger as his convulsing ejaculation poured the streams of boiling, gushing, molten sperm deeply into her swallowing, sucking throat.
Celia groaned as she sucked, and her Adam's apple flew up and down rapidly as she feverishly attempted to control the rushing, steaming squirting flow. It was an unending torrent that pumped from deep within his belly into her hungry, eager mouth.
Her back was arching, and she bucked wildly, her body quaking uncontrollably, and Patrick could feel the flood of sticky lubrication spread warmly over his face and down his cheeks. Celia thrust deeply over his spewing prick and took it to the hilt into her laboring throat as her own gyrating body mashed and ground down and rotated over his sucking, ravaging, fucking tongue.
The vengeance of his endless spasms of streaming liquid, thick hot sperm drenched her gullet. She frantically swallowed the creamy eruptions deep into her belly. Her lips clasped in a ring around his jumping penis, and she twirled her tongue around the throbbing head and sucked and sucked until at last there was no more and she felt Patrick's cock begin to slowly deflate slightly in her mouth.
Wearily he reached down and pulled her limp body around, and his mouth found Celia's, hot and sticky with his cum as his was full of hers. They kissed and tasted their own residues of heaven, and at last fell exhausted in a sprawl of arms and legs, and the frogs let out one sleepy croak.
Chapter Five
"Sister?" Celia winced, and her heart pounded so loud she was sure it must be transmitted through the receiver she held to her ear. Why did her father always call her "Sister?" Her mouth was dry, and she hadn't even been to the bathroom or brushed her teeth yet. She gripped the phone, one arm locked at her waist to hold her robe closed.
"Yes, Daddy."
"Are you all right? We haven't heard from you this week."
"Yes, I'm fine, Daddy. I've been working hard." That was true as far as it went.
"Your mother and I are worried about you. I wish you'd give up this drama business. It'll never make you any money. You can bet your life on that!"
"But, Daddy... we've been all through that. I guess I have to try."
"We're just worried sick about you. Mother didn't sleep all night." Celia held her head and fought for control. Last night. Oh God. Last night. If her mother had really known what went on last night!
"I'm... I'm sorry, Dad. Look, I have to get to work. And I have a performance tonight. I'll call you in a couple of days... okay?"
"I hope you know what you're doing, Sister. You've got a good home right here, you know... long as I'm able to work. You think about that. You hear?"
"All right, Daddy... yes, I will. I've got to run now. Give Mother a kiss. I'll call you soon. Goodbye now." She heard his admonitions and farewells fade as she slowly replaced the receiver.
Dully she stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door. She reached for her toothbrush and saw her sleep-flushed face in the mirror, smudges of fatigue under eyes, a crease on one cheek where she'd buried her head in the pillow sometime during the night. Mirror, mirror, on the wall... oh God!
There wasn't any question in Web's mind but that he'd been a bastard. But then there were several things he'd done in the past that he wasn't exactly proud of, and none of them had ever eaten him the way this had.
She hadn't called, and he knew she wouldn't. Celia had just walked out of his life when she walked out of that restaurant yesterday. God. Was it only yesterday?
He squinted even with dark glasses against the bright morning sun as he walked up the steps to Peabody for his appointment with Esther to go over the books. The bitter truth about the financial state of Peabody was going to be a blow to her, too. He looked across the little grassy park to the upper floor of the ornate house where Celia lived.
He pressed the bell and ran his hand wearily across his forehead, still looking at the top story of the house. He wasn't used to sleepless nights, and he wondered how many of them he'd have from now on... how long it would be before he could like himself again... how long he would see that lovely, trusting, giving face inside his head?
"This is quite a blow, Web... as I guess you know. I knew Peabody was... well, it's always been a struggle... but I just didn't realize it was this bad." Esther leaned back in the brown velvet chair with a sigh and sipped her tea.
Web walked with coffee cup in hand from the sunny bay window with its profusion of potted palms over to the marble fireplace. His blue eyes were serious and worried behind his glasses. "I'm sorry, Esther, to have to be so brutal about it... but the facts are there. It's inevitable, and I guess, in a way, overdue. You'll lose Peabody. You have to sell. You haven't any choice."
"There is one choice I haven't told you about," she said slowly. "I just had an offer yesterday. I don't quite know what to make of it. I'm quite confused about it." Esther took a deep breath and pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve. She told him then as best she could about Garrett's offer. A partnership. He wanted half and was willing to put up a sizable amount of capital, but she knew that it didn't amount to half of what the property was worth.
The thing that bothered her was what Garrett wanted to do with the school to get it on its feet financially. It didn't seem to her that selling-package tickets to visiting conventioneers and their wives (a ticket included seeing a performance and an invitation to a cast party afterwards) was such an earth-shaking money-making idea. What did cast parties have to offer businessmen and their wives away from home? There was something Garrett wasn't telling her... or else she was just being dense.
Esther didn't tell Web about... she still couldn't think about it without blushing. Justin Garrett had made passionate love to her. She still couldn't believe that he wanted her, pleaded with her, was so gallant. All these years after Brian died in China. Privately she told herself that she had taken the "veil" when Brian went. And she had, except for those infrequent but terrible times when she was so nervous that she abused herself.
But Garrett's lovemaking had confused her so after the offer for the school. She was so afraid they were connected... that she was being a typical eager old maid. Mostly she was afraid of the incredible sexual feelings that Garrett had aroused... the feelings she'd kept so carefully in check.
"I agree that his offer is most probably far less than you can get for the buildings alone. On the other hand, you have to decide if keeping the school is that important to you. Financially you'd probably be better off to sell."
"But... the school has been my whole life, Web. I don't want to give it up unless I'm forced to." Esther felt as if everything were forcing her, the dwindling funds, Garrett, Web, her own body and most of all her own foolishness.
Web's jaw tightened, and his hands gripped his briefcase as he sat at Esther's desk listening to Hilda's threats. That bitch! That incredible bitch!
"You see, Miss Peabody, she's a terrible influence, I'm afraid. Celia looks so innocent, and she is good on stage. Everybody knows that. But my family just wouldn't continue to support the school if I leave... and I can't stay if that... hussy stays. I don't like to carry tales... but I just can't stand it any longer." Hilda put her teacup down on the low table and took a flat envelope out of her large purse.
"But surely you're mistaken, Hilda. So far you've only hinted at some questionable behavior of Celia's. I couldn't expel a girl on the strength of rumor."
Hilda's head came up like a shot, and she moved to stand in front of the desk, the envelope in her hands. "I have damning evidence." She looked straight at Web as she said it, her eyes narrow with venom. He could hear her saying the words he knew were about to come. Somehow she'd found out about him and Celia!
But instead of speaking, she opened the envelope, took out several large glossy photos, and handed them to him. For a moment he stared in bewilderment. The photos were of a naked and very seductively posed woman. But the woman was not Celia, as he had momentarily expected... it was Hilda herself!
The bitch! So that was her game! She had no real evidence with which to blackmail Celia, so she was trying to seduce him in order to get what she wanted. Well, she wouldn't get away with it. He had to get her out of here, and fast.
He tried to calm his hammering pulse. "Since I'm Miss Peabody's accountant, as you know, I handle a lot of things for her. It seems to me this is a financial matter." He rose, stuffed the photos into his briefcase, and walked around the desk to Hilda. Web took her arm in an almost brutal grip. "Miss Peabody's terribly busy this morning, and I believe that you and I can discuss the preliminaries, and then we can present our findings to her later."
Hilda pulled back and sputtered, but Web held her firm, looking straight into her hard eyes. Somehow he got her out the door, where they almost collided with Justin Garrett. He walked right in as though he owned the place already. Web loathed him on sight.
When they were in the living room of the flat, Web's first inclination was to shake Hilda till her teeth rattled out of her head, but he knew that wouldn't get any more information out of her. He was still shaking at the outrage of her attempted blackmail with Celia as the pawn.
Celia wanted more than anything to be able to continue at the school, and it was his own cynical use of her that had given Hilda the ammunition. Well, by God, over his dead body!
Now, when he needed to be cool, he knew he was more out of control than he'd been for years. His belly was churning with fury at himself for putting her in such a spot, and murderous anger at Hilda. Besides-Celia's sweet trusting beautiful face kept chasing around behind his eyeballs, and it was tearing his guts out.
"Now suppose you tell me just why you have this burning desire to get rid of Celia," Web said grimly, sitting on the arm of one of the chintz chairs.
"Because I want to go to New York," Hilda answered coolly from the couch, lighting a cigarette, and blowing the smoke out through her nose.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
She raised her eyebrows and explained impatiently, "My rather provincial father will not send me to New York unless I make good in the theatre locally first. Celia has gotten every part I needed... including the one Justin Garrett just gave her last night... after a quick roll in the hay, I'm sure."
Web fought to keep from hitting her. "Would you care to explain that remark?" he asked through tight lips. Hilda got up and walked over to him until she was standing right in front of him.
"I saw her... downstairs with you... fucking you right on the couch in the hall!" she hissed, her eyes blazing.
To keep himself from hitting her and knocking her all the way across the room, Web grabbed her bare arms above the elbows, and started to shake her, standing up abruptly. Hilda moved instantly into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist and set her mouth on his. Web could feel her big breasts mashed into his chest and her hands straying down to his buttocks and pressing him into her.
He pushed her away roughly. "You're a damned spoiled brat! You... you ought to be spanked until you're black and blue. You're a goddamned jealous spiteful bitch!"
Hilda stood where he had pushed her, her breasts heaving and her eyes fixed on his in a wide stare. Her hands were fumbling with the buttons on her sleeveless dress. "I just want my share." She pulled her dress off her shoulders and let her ripened full breasts spill nakedly out, the pale brown nipples winking at him. "That's all... just my share, lover..." She let the dress fall to her feet slowly and kicked it aside. Her eyes never left his face as she skinned the bikini panties down and very deliberately dropped them on her crumpled dress.
Web stood panting, confused as a bull in the ring who has been tormented beyond his understanding. He didn't know which way to charge. He only knew he had to wipe that sneering smile from Hilda's face... somehow... some way. Even her big perfect breasts sneered with their pale brown eyes, and her pubic patch undulated faintly with a tiny movement of her hips. Despite his fury and outrage and terrible guilt over Celia, he felt his prick push up inside his pants to attention. The sweat popped up on his forehead, and not just because the morning sun was getting higher. That bitch made him feel like a boy... an ineffectual boy!
He grabbed her hand and pulled her roughly to him and crushed his mouth down on hers, shoving his tongue brutally between her teeth, his hands catching her round little ass and cramming her snatch against his hardened cock that had begun to rise the moment her dress had started to come off. Goddamned amoral bitch!
Her hands were all over him... unbuttoning his shirt, prying his belt loose, unzipping his pants. He felt like a freak in a sideshow... as though she were unveiling him for a crowd of suckers and was going to reveal that he had two cocks or something equally unreal. He tore his mouth loose then and shoved her away so hard that she fell a few feet away and lay there, panting and looking at him with those malevolent, predatory cat eyes.
Web tore his clothes the rest of the way off, glaring at her and daring her to make a move. At last he stood naked, his great pole strutting out in a giant erection from his hairy blond loins.
"You want your share, bitch... well you're going to get your share!"
Hilda lay on one elbow where she had fallen, watching him as he came toward her. His massive and almost instant erection fascinated her. The enormous vein-laced shaft swayed and bobbed as he came toward her, prick first. Something in his face had changed, and she could tell she no longer had the upper hand. A stab of fear thrilled through her.
Web reached down and pulled her to her feet, pointed her toward the couch, and slapped her naked buttock as she went. His hand print glowed on her pale skin like a red glove with the fingers stretched wide in terror.
"You'll get your share, all right! I can promise you that. It may not be exactly the way you planned... but you'll get it, bitch!" He threw her on the couch, and she looked up at him slyly through a fold of tan hair that fell over one eye.
"Turn over!" Web stared down at her naked body with the big perfect firm breasts. It was as though all her real meat had been concentrated in those full fruits, for she was so thin otherwise that she was almost skinny.
He grabbed her narrow hips and pulled her ass high with her head sunk in the sofa pillow and her knees bent. The puckered little brown asshole between the orbs of her ass was completely exposed, every tiny crinkle showing in the bright morning sun pouring into the big room. Web's anger was still hot and hard in his belly, and he looked his fill, savoring the thought of putting his hard prick into that tiny defenseless aperture. Grunting, he kneed up behind her on the sofa. He grabbed his aching rod with one hand and touched the thick blunt head to the soft little pursed-mouth asshole.
"W-what... what are you doing?" Her head came up, and she looked around at him, her pale tan hair hanging limply as though she were a scrawny Brahma cow.
"Giving you your share, bitch!" He shoved forward with no warning, holding her hips to keep her from slipping away.
"No... no, you cant! Not in my... oh, no!"
"I can... and I will," he grunted, pushing forward again, for her virginal anal orifice was so tight he hadn't even managed to get inside. He reached down between her spread thighs and ran his finger up her slit to get some pussy juice to lubricate her asshole. He dipped his finger between the hair-fringed lips of her moist cunt, watching her hips and buttocks jerk from the erotic intrusion.
Web smeared the slippery lubricant over the crinkled tight little hole of her rectum. He did it several times before grasping and dipping the head of his pulsing prick between the dewy lips, and then nuzzled it tightly again up against her stretched anus.
Then, without benefit of mercy, he thrust forward, and there was an agonizing pop and stretching, and she twisted and screamed, waggling her bottom to get free of the torturing instrument. "GGGGAAAAHHHHHH!" His strong hands held her hips viselike and strained his hips forward obscenely. Web felt the murderous grip of the muscular walls of rectal flesh slowly giving way before his ramming. God damn! It was the tightest possible hole imaginable!
Hilda was suddenly terrified as an unbearable pain ripped her. He was ripping her apart back there! She'd be split wide open, she realized in sudden horror, her round buttocks beginning to thrash insanely. "Oh... Oh God...!" she choked, unable to restrain the tears of agony. The torment was unbelievable, and she'd never be able to stand it.
"Here comes your share, bitch!" Web panted, throwing his thick throbbing shaft into the persistent, rubbery flesh until at last, with one final buttock-flattening lunge, he ground it all the way inside the hot constricting depths of her lewdly stretched rectum. His strong hairy pelvis smacked solidly into the softness between her upturned rounded buttocks, his balls swinging hard against the spread lips of her pussy. She was impaled to the hilt on his punishing solid flesh rod of prick.
She was screaming piteously, "Oh God... please... no... oh, please... don't... you're killing me...!" The tears were pouring down her face, and sobs wracked her as the searing, excruciating pain tore into her defenseless body. Hilda was not used to pain and did not know how to cope with it or get through it. She'd die... right here... split apart and bleeding! Oh, why had she gotten herself involved with this maniac? Why and how?
The vengeance Web was wreaking on her cringing body was doubly sweet, for his lust-maddened cock was getting a lascivious and unbelievable pleasure in the bargain. He watched his rigid ravaging prick disappear into the tight ovaled hole between her raised mounds, disappear entirely until his hairy loins were locked against her ass flesh. As he drew it out slightly, the pink ridges of anal meat pulled out too and then were forced inward again as he shoved it in with a mighty thrust. He grunted and his breath came faster and faster.
"Oh... oh dear God!" The agonizing shock and tearing pain were too much! "Ohhh... it's tearing... ohhhhh... STOP! Please STOP!" Hilda wailed and moaned and screamed, waggling her bottom to try and pry the tormenting, terrible weapon from her flaming, pain-ridden asshole.
Suddenly Web was rhythmically sawing in and out of her gripping hole, his panting increasing as he watched the salacious sight of his own angry lusting greedy cock fucking into her tiny recoiling rectum. The massive steel-hard rod raced in and out of her clinging anal passage from the tip of her now stretched asshole to the very depths of her belly.
The pain was eating into her, and the thought of the brutal sodomizing was both terrible and strangely exciting. The forbidden entry was a powerful aphrodisiac if she could somehow bear the flaming, scarring hurt... but, oh God!... how?
Web was losing all sense of reason, clutching wildly at her hips and digging his fingers brutally into the tender flesh of her thighs as the slaving, salacious feelings of his throbbing swift sword stabbed and lunged savagely into her upturned forbidden hole. He sent it digging into that cringing pink flesh like a sharp knife slicing, cutting, and the thunder in his balls that slapped her naked cunt was building to the scalding rise of a huge boiling vat.
God damn her! She was going to use Celia... well, by God... he was using her... using her like the bitch... the jealous, vicious bitch she was! Web gloried in the using, the punishing, the brutal sodomizing of her asshole. He jabbed even harder, watching her moan and writhe and plead, her hands knotting into terrified fists, the tendons standing out in cords as she struggled to bear the pain, her pain-maddened head flinging from side to side, the tan hair tangling and swinging and matting with her tears and the sobs wracking her like small earthquakes.
Hilda flailed and moaned and sobbed, and in her writhing her hips moved back to meet his thundering onslaught and she found it lessened the pain. Gasping, she tried again to push back as he lunged into her sore and tender flesh, and again it eased and brought a strange flicker of excitement, a new sensation. Soon she was pushing hard against the rigid ramming thickened shaft, and she waved her ass lasciviously back against his solid thrusts.
That goddamned bitch! She was beginning to enjoy it! She was shoving her ass back onto his driving, pounding cock... enjoying the lustful sodomizing, reveling in the depraved possession of her asshole. Web drove it harder, ramming her unmercifully, the throbbing great mass of his solid flesh pole racing brutally into her stretched hole, his hands holding her hips still.
By an enormous effort of will, he suddenly stopped with his huge cock sunk all the way into her narrow belly. It jerked inside her, and he saw the grimace of pain twist her face. "Now..." he grunted, "Now... tell me what else... you've done... to get rid of Celia... Tell me!" She was sobbing again, and her hands stretched out in claws of pleading. Web wrapped his arms under her belly and clenched her ass even harder and deliberately jerked his cock viciously inside her cringing depths. "Talk, bitch... now!"
She told him then... everything... sobbing out the bits and pieces of her treachery... the insurance of her several plots to get Celia removed from Peabody permanently. The sweat was pouring from Web's face in his effort to listen and keep her talking and still restrain his raging deep-sunk prick long enough to get the story.
"That's all... I swear..." she sobbed. "Please... please..." Web released her belly then and grabbed her hips and pulled his outraged shaft back, drawing it almost out and then, with a groan of relief, slamming it into her in a frantic fucking. Jesus! He had to finish it now. He couldn't hold on another second!
Pulling her spherical cheeks apart suddenly, the sweat pouring from his head and face, he pumped furiously into her stretched hole, her punished flesh clinging to his thick cock as he withdrew and disappearing again as he rammed it forward. Hilda's warm sucking asshole was extracting the very marrow from him, and he fucked into her hot depths ferociously to get it over. His balls were ready to shoot. He was almost there!
In his lust-driven craze, he was only conscious of getting there, ramming to the finish, and his tripping point was so... so close! He gasped and plunged in ravaging strokes that speeded up to a maniacal pace, groans spilling out his open mouth and a great shaking paroxysm of debasing lust building in his belly and loins.
Suddenly he tensed and arched, slamming into her so hard he almost lost his balance. "G-A-A-G-G-G-H-H-H-H-D-D-D!" he screamed, his strong loins jerking convulsively against the flatness of her upraised buttocks, and a great flood of hot, swirling sperm poured deep into her rectum, filling her quaking belly almost to the bursting point. Web shoved and shoved as the spurts of creaming semen gushed spasmodically into the clenching depths... a seemingly unending stream jetting out in pulses in the black recess of her belly.
He hung above her, panting and letting his heartbeat ease. His buttocks clenched and unclenched, straining the last few spewing spurts of his flaccid balls. At last he was dry and empty, limp and spent. Wearily he pulled his shrinking cock from her, and it came out with a cork's sound, popping out of her backside. Still taking his breaths in deep shudders, Web stumbled up and across the room.
"No... you bastard... you can't leave me like this!" Still kneeling but with torso raised, she was spitting out the words at him in a snarl. She rolled over and spread her legs, lifting her hips to thrust her opened pussy at him, wet with his cum that had drained down to it. She clutched her breasts in an agony of un-fulfillment. "Come here and fuck it... come fuck me... you can't leave me like this."
Web ignored her and, still almost drugged with the aftereffects of his mighty orgasm, started pulling on his clothes. He found his glasses and gathered his briefcase. She was moaning and spouting foul obscenities at him and arching her cunt up feverishly. Dressed now in pants and shirt, he gathered his jacket and shoved his feet in his shoes without socks, stuffing them in a pocket. He paused briefly at the door.
Hilda was finger-fucking herself and still screaming at him. Her pelvis was elevated and her fingers madly sluicing her own pussy with a sucking sound, the pulsing hair-lined swollen flesh almost palpitating visibly. Web turned, went out the door, and stumbled down the carpeted stairs, with Hilda still screaming out her filth at him.
Chapter Six
Celia folded the stack of sweaters mechanically, the coolness of the glass-topped counter contrasting with the soft warm feel of the wool. Body of the sweater face down, the sleeves crossed over the back, and the whole thing then doubled in half... one on the other in a neat stack, their edges even. Her life had once been like that, neat, planned, in sequence, no overhanging edges. But now it was a tangled, raveled, untidy turmoil, and there was no way to put it back as it was.
Sometime during the day, as she went through the motions of waiting on customers, clearing the fitting rooms, writing sales slips, polishing the glass cases, she had come to the inevitable conclusion that she would go home to Waxahachie. There was nothing else to do.
The sound of her father's voice had rung in her head since this morning; the ache over Web only increased; her shame over Patrick last night... any or all of these could have sent her home. But it was Hilda's call at lunchtime that had made the decision final. Peabody must not collapse as a school because Celia had depleted the available funds by taking a scholarship. Hilda hadn't wanted to tell her, of course, but had to when Esther, dear sweet soul, just wouldn't.
Sighing, Celia slipped the folded stack of sweaters neatly into the case. She supposed there was some kind of job in some kind of awful little dry goods store in Waxahachie that she could get. She'd have to. The rest of her life would be spent there.
The little back terrace was brilliant in the sunshine, and Esther could feel the heat of the sun through her thin batiste blouse on her shoulderblades. Everything sparkled, the white stones under her feet, the leaves of the trees, the grass beyond, the china and glassware on the old pink linen-covered iron table. Justin leaned across the table and took her hand and kissed the palm.
"Just trust me, my dear Esther. Hilda and I have made all the arrangements. The cast party will be a good sort of tryout for what we'll be offering later to the bored executives who come to Dallas on conventions."
"But I've never really gone to the cast parties much before. That's for the young people."
"Tonight, my dear, you'll get closer to your students than you ever have before... I promise you."
"All right," Esther sighed, pushing her doubts away. Her hand was tingling from Justin's warm palm. He'd enjoyed the lunch she'd made. The sun was warm. Her whole body still felt contented and expansive from the lovemaking behind the shuttered blinds of her cool high-ceilinged bedroom. It was foolish to keep nagging at him with her silly doubts.
The water in the big old-fashioned tub, ensconced on high tiptoe-clawed feet, was getting cold. Patrick leaned forward, turned on the hot water tap, and lay back, nursing his beer. The door banged open, and Bullock came barging in, whistling. He stopped short.
"Hey, old buddy. Didn't know you were here." He grinned at Patrick's immersed body, noting the hot water tap still running. "What you trying to do... boil your balls?"
"Just bring their temperature down to roughly that of boiling water, chum."
"Good session last night, huh?"
"Too good to let you know who with."
"Ah... you friggin' politicians are all the same... selfish." Brand turned to the toilet and took a leak.
Patrick leaned forward slightly, shut the tap off with his toe, and slid back, taking a gulp of beer. He wished the hell Bullock hadn't come in. He had some hard thinking to do, and fast.
"Guess what I did today?" Bullock paused for effect, zipping up his fly. "I got a job. I am now employed at the downtown office of the Unified Insurance Company. Start Monday."
Patrick twisted his head to peer up at him. "Sounds like you got it bad for Rosemary and you're preparing to become a solid citizen." Lifting his beer in a mock toast, Patrick said casually, "Speaking of solid citizens, I've been asked to run for city council."
"Jesus! That's great! Just what you've been waiting for! Goddamn! Congratulations, you bastard!" Patrick gave him a wet hand to shake.
"There's only one problem. Money. It has to be done right... and it takes money. I know. I've been running other people's campaigns. Know any likely banks or rich widows?"
"Shit, man, you got one right upstairs, and she's not even a widow."
"Who?"
"Hilda. Didn't you know her old man was in oil? She's got money coming out the ass."
"That doesn't mean she'd give it to me."
"If you can give it to her... if you know what I mean... she'll shell out, I think," Bullock said, remembering his quickie with her in the kitchen. "She's up there now, getting things ready for the cast party after the show tonight. Why don't you go try and give her a hand?"
"Good thinking, Brand. I may just appoint you to the public works commission," Patrick laughed, tossing his beer can at the wastebasket and missing. He grabbed the soap and began scrubbing vigorously.
Celia leaned forward to the makeup mirror in the dressing room, trying to steady her hand to do her eyes. Her face was pale and wan and exhausted, and her stomach was clenching. "The show must go on" was not a tradition she wanted to carry out now, but she must.
"Here you are, honey," Rosemary called as she came into the dressing room carrying a white paper bag. She pulled out a carton of vanilla milkshake and set it on the dressing table along with the cold creams, jars and pots of rouge and base and eye pencils.
"I don't know whether I can get it down or not. It'll probably come right back up."
"Try anyway. It'll give your poor tummy something to chew on besides itself." She began stripping off her slacks and shirt and putting on her costume. She looked at Celia as she changed. Poor little thing looked done in.
"You'll forget all about being tired when you get out there, honey. You always do. The audience is filling up fast. Looks like a good crowd."
Celia nodded dumbly, sucking on the straw, and felt the slow thick coldness hit her grateful stomach. She had to get through tonight somehow... some way. The thought of facing Patrick on that stage suddenly occurred to her... followed by the thought that Web would not be there. Oh God! The mess she'd made of everything!
"Looks like Hilda really knocked herself out on getting things ready for the cast party... for a change, I might add." Rosemary pulled a stool up to the mirror beside Celia.
"Yes... I guess she did."
"Come on, honey. Get with it. Those screaming bit players will be here soon, and you know how crowded things get in here. This is their big night, you know. Not the play... the cast party. Most of them only do this for the parties." Rosemary slapped on base and stroked it over her face until her skin was covered like a mask.
"Maybe we all do...." Celia said strangely, staring at her own stiff partially made-up face. Rosemary caught her eye in the mirror and looked at her queerly. Celia picked up the eyeliner and began to put on the rest of her mask. As it went on, she began to feel a little better. Celia was receding and Helena advancing... a gallant, virtuous heroine... a virtuous lady.
Chapter Seven
The party was already under way when Celia climbed the stairs. The laughing, shouting, and squealing had begun. The music was winding up-around and through the voices-the high wandering poignant Elizabethan recorder and lute music they had used as background music for the play.
Celia felt herself pulled into the middle of the room as though she'd been caught at the edge of a whirlpool and sucked into its center. Bullock put his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. "Darling, you were magnificent!" She was passed from one set of arms to another, kissed and praised and squeezed and lionized. The euphoria of opening night had worked its magic, and all the hard work had reaped its reward. Everyone was a little high on sheer excitement.
Someone handed her a cup of punch. It was icy and tasted like limeade. She drank thirstily. Celia felt her tiredness begin to be forgotten, or at least to be not important anymore. It was a wonderful feeling to worry and work and slave and somehow pull a play together with a group of people who cared about doing it as much as you did. When it had been done and was an accomplished fact, you simply had to celebrate. You had to let go and admire what you'd done... together.
Hilda came swishing through from the kitchen holding a platter of cheese and cold cuts to add to the already overflowing table. Pale gold lame flowing pants slithered around her ankles with a matching full-sleeved blouse and a brown velvet bolero. She looked quite New York and almost pretty, Celia thought.
"You did all this by yourself, Hilda? I really feel guilty about not helping you."
"Quite all right. You did your bit out front. You were divine, you know."
"Thank you, Hilda. And thank you... for... calling me today."
"I know it wasn't my business to," she lowered her voice, "but I just thought you'd want to know."
"You know I would. I... I wouldn't do anything... to willingly... well, drag the school down. It's been too good to me. I'll never be able to repay what I've had... from everybody."
"Have you told anybody you're leaving?" Hilda asked, lighting a cigarette.
"No... I just thought I'd rather quietly slip away. I'll finish the play and get packed this week, and then I'm going," Celia said sadly.
"Then this will be your goodbye party, too. It doesn't matter that no one knows but you and me. Maybe it's better that way. So... let's live it up. Here, let me fill your cup." Hilda slid through the crowd with Celia's cup. It was goodbye. The real goodbye. Celia felt her throat tighten, looking at all the gay crazy people she'd worked with these last three months. It wasn't really they who had spoiled it... no matter what her father might think. It was her own ignorant eagerness... her own traitorous body. But home in Waxahachie... there wasn't much chance that it could happen again. It would be dull, but she'd be safe, at least.
The music had taken over, and bodies were bowing and dipping and swaying to the courtly melodies that had been popular in Henry the VIII's time. No one was very good at the unfamiliar dances, and they were a little wobbly by now... but that only made it all the more uproarious.
Esther was having a terrible time in the kitchen with Justin. She felt his hand close over her breast as he nuzzled her neck. Whatever was the matter with him... or for that matter with her? It was all she could do to push him away, for she felt gay and giddy and would just as soon his hand stayed there, but it would never do in front of the young people.
"Stop that, Justin."
"What's the matter, Miss Pea... this old man bothering you?" Bullock laughed, grabbing her around the waist and kissing her passionately. Esther pushed at his hard young shoulders, but she couldn't seem to get a grip. Her hands kept pushing him off. He wouldn't let go. Finally she gave up and just let him kiss her. She found herself kissing him back. He was such a sweet boy. So like Brian.
When Bullock came up for air, she felt his mouth slide to her ear. "You look prettier than you ever have tonight." Esther smiled sleepily, her cheek pressed to Bullock's. Justin had been right to make her leave her hair down and put on a little more makeup. She felt prettier than she ever had. Bullock was fondling her hair that fell in golden waves almost to her waist, caught at the back of her neck with a black velvet bow.
This would never do. She was the teacher... the head of the school. Gently she pushed Bullock away. He almost fell, but steadied himself on the kitchen counter. "Are you all right?"
"Better than ever," he grinned at her with his sad eyes. "Just this punch. Wonder what old Hilda put in it? Has a kick like a mule."
"Why don't you ask her? She's right over there," Esther giggled, for she could see Hilda deep in conversation with Justin. Tonight Esther loved everybody. Even Hilda, who'd tried to make trouble for darling Celia.
Patrick twirled Celia around his hand to the music. She dipped gracefully, and he brought her up close to his face. Celia felt his arm close around her waist, which wasn't part of the dance at all. That came a lot later in history. Centuries later in Vienna.
"You're not doing the dance right, Patrick."
"To hell with the dance," he said thickly. He pulled her closer. "I just wanted you to know that I'll never forget last night. Not in a position to do anything about it... but I'll never forget it."
"Have to forget it." She pulled the long flowered skirt free of her heel and leaned against him.
"I just tole you I wouldn't. May not have the money, Tender, but you got everything else. And I won't forget last night even when I'm governor of this fucking state."
"Hear, hear! Everybody! Time for charades!" Hilda announced from the center of the big living room. The bodies moved back a little and began to applaud.
"Hey, cut the music."
"Thought we'd been playing charades all the time," Rosemary giggled.
The room was quickly cleared, chairs pushed back, tables jammed in corners and lights turned off except for the barrage of candles Hilda had lit around the room. The couches and chairs were overflowing. The rest of them sat on the floor, with cushions and laps propping up heads and elbows in comfortable sprawls. Celia found herself with Patrick behind her on the floor. He was smoothing her tired back with his hands and massaging her neck and down her spine.
The hangers-on had long since left, and the core of the school were left. Garrett watched the proceedings with amusement and satisfaction. That bitch Hilda had done a good job. She was no actress, but a damn good procuress, and things were going to work out fine. They were all pretty drunk now. That limeade stuff she'd stirred up had done the trick. It tasted so mild and hit so hard, since it was mostly good vodka.
Charades... strip charades! That was a good one! Playing charades had become one big charade. There was hardly a strip of clothing left on anyone, and hands were already hardening tits and cocks everywhere he looked. Amazing what people would fall for if you gave them the chance.
He watched Hilda get lazily up from where she'd been lying in Patrick's arms and step over people and cross the room. She put the needle back on the record player. Her big apple-pear breasts were shadowed in the candlelight, perfect and ripe. She began to writhe and sway to the music, her gleaming hips and legs in the lame pants grinding lewdly, making her look even more naked than if she'd worn nothing at all.
Patrick rose and took the lead. They danced a fertility rite as old as man, circling and dipping and swaying and shaking their loins in mock fucking. Finally his hands clasped her hips, and he began slowly sliding her pants down her writhing hips to the beat of the music. At last he succeeded in stripping her completely and skinned his jockey shorts off. Their two naked bodies began again the obscene dancing, and it was the rutting animal that showed in the flickering candlelight. Patrick's great jutting cock stood out in lusting attentiveness from his hairy red loins, and Hilda's thighs were gleaming on the inside where her lubricants had oozed and been spread by the dancing.
Celia had known long ago that she should have quietly slipped away, gone to her room, and locked the door. She'd felt funnier and funnier all evening. The room kept going round and round, and she was almost sick a couple of times. But this was her farewell party, even though they didn't know it. The last time she'd be here to laugh and dance and be a part of Pea-body. The living tomb of Waxahachie awaited for the rest of her life.
It had seemed funny at first. Every time someone had not been able to guess the title of a book or a play that was being pantomimed they lost a piece of clothing. It had been hilarious until she suddenly realized that everyone was almost naked. They seemed to have stopped playing now, and Patrick and Hilda were dancing without any clothes at all. But then they were rather beautiful in the candlelight. It was like an ancient rite or something. She closed her eyes, and the room spun again.
When Celia opened her eyes, Bullock was lying with his head in her lap, and her lap was only covered with her bikini panties. She reached for her clothes just as he reached for her, and she felt his mouth close on her breast and suck hard. "No-o-o-o-o!" she hissed as quietly as she could, feeling the by-now familiar tingling radiate from her breast and pull some inner strings inside her pussy at the same time.
Did men never think of anything else... wherever they were, whoever they were with? Did women only react to whatever man happened to be handy? She tried to push him away, but she was so tired, so terribly tired. Celia remembered that Bullock was Rosemary's... or should be. Where was Rosemary? she wondered dimly. She tried again, and succeeded in breaking his mouth loose from her breast that was on fire now from his hot sucking mouth.
"Bullock, please don't... where's Rosemary?"
"Gone to the bathroom. But s'okay. Look... it's a group grope."
He turned Celia around so she could see that there was a naked girl in the corner with her legs spread wide seated on a guy's lap, and she was bobbing up and down on his rigid prick. Her mouth was turned to the side, however, and another guy was fucking in and out of her mouth as he stood with lewdly crouched legs.
Patrick was dancing around with Hilda clinging to him, her arms around his shoulders and head and her legs wrapped around his waist, and it was obvious that his cock was sunk up in her spread cunt. Patrick's strong arms sup-ported Hilda's small round bottom. Their mouths were locked, and he swayed and bounced faintly to the music.
Bullock laughed. "It's what we used to dream about in Vietnam. God, if those poor devils could see this!" He slapped his naked hairy thigh, laughing insanely. "Hot damn! Look at Miss Pea." Celia turned to follow his eyes.
Horrified, she saw her beloved teacher, naked and panting, lowering herself on Garrett's naked erection. Esther's hair had come completely loose and swung in long gold waves around her shoulders and down her back. Without her clothes, she looked at least ten years younger, for her naked full breasts were firm and her hips taut and smooth.
Wherever Celia looked there were naked bodies now, pressing, kissing, sucking, fucking. Under the sinuous music was the sound of gruntings and groanings and little squeals and moans. By twos, by threes, by fours. And she had thought she was a whore! If this was the norm, then she was an innocent! They were all fucking as casually as if they were alone!
Bullock grabbed her again and sank his mouth on hers in a hard kiss, his tongue immediately pushing past her teeth to fuck deeply into her throat. Celia knew she had to get out of here... and she tried to struggle, but he held her fast. She'd have to wait her chance. His hard arms were too much for her in this exhausted state. She went limp to try to preserve her strength, and immediately his hands were thumbing her nipples erect and hard while he fucked her mouth feverishly.
Celia knew she was depraved now, for Bullock's mouth and hands felt just as wonderful on her body as Web's and Patrick's had. But then there seemed to be a lot of other depraved people, too... at least in this room. They were draped all over the couches and chairs and sprawled all over the Aubusson carpet. This was her last chance to feel any man's hard mouth or caressing hands. She began to kiss Bullock back.
Rosemary held onto the doorframe as she made her way back into the living room. She paused and tried to locate Bullock in the dim light. Her loins tightened at what she saw. Even Miss Pea was riding Garrett on the couch like a madwoman, sliding up and down his pole in a frantic hip-shaking dance! Finally she found Bullock with his head propped on a pile of pillows and Celia on all fours, her breasts dangling over his mouth, as he sucked first one and then the other. Lying there, his lower body was unattended. Rosemary made her way to him and took his rigid upthrusting shaft in her warm hands, and he immediately thrust his hips up to fuck into the warm curled palms.
Celia turned her head to see who had joined them on the floor. It was Rosemary! She must have shown the dismay and shame in her face, for Rosemary said, "It's all right, honey. We're all together tonight. Bullock's a good man." She giggled obscenely, leaning down to lick the turgid head of his cock she held in her hands. "He'll probably bring you off just sucking on your tits."
Celia could do nothing but nod, for Bullock sank his teeth in her hard quivering nipple. Fire shot like a jolt through her body, flaming out to sear through her middle. A strained, "Oh-h-h," came out of her mouth as her head snapped back and the muscles in her neck stood out. She knew the whole world must have gone mad. Here she was with her breast in Bullock's voracious mouth and Rosemary was working on his cock. Her roommate, Rosemary! But the sucking mouth blotted out any moralistic thoughts, for her honeyed essence was dripping into his pulling, drawing mouth in great thick droplets. Celia slipped her hands under Bullock's balding head to pull his face even deeper into her swollen breast.
Garrett drove his hips up hard, shoving his almost bursting pulsating cock deeper and deeper up into the slick throbbing heat of Esther's greedy, long-starved pussy. She was cumming again! She'd had three orgasms already! God, that woman had been saving it for years, but when he'd finally turned her on, there was no stopping her! His hands clutched her grinding hips as he began to reach for his own climax. Jesus! It was so close now, but he wanted to bring her off one more time... and this time as he shot his own burden of hot thick cum deep into her belly.
"Cum on... cum on, sweetheart... cummmmm!" he urged as his hips began to lift them off the couch in faster and faster poundings. Her lewdly contorted face was straining, and wails were spilling from her lips. "Oh... yes... oooooo... so close... yessss..." she cried softly, her eyes rolling and her hair swinging down around her breasts in frantic waving strands.
Suddenly she stiffened above him and dug her fingernails deeply into his heavily muscled fore-arms, and she pushed down over his huge blasting rod with all her might, her head wagging from side to side in a pantomime of No though her mouth opened and she screamed, "YEEEEEEESSSSSSS!"
Garrett let out an answering bellow as he felt the dike give and his own hot streams begin to shoot up the constricted tube of his throbbing cock and the long-awaited flooding began. "G-o-o-o-o-o-o-od-ddddd!" He pumped furiously, bruising her hips with his great hands as he pounded her sopping pulsing pussy harder and harder to contain his tidal wave that was roaring in a mighty rush out of his body and into the high secret lake that was her belly.
Esther was a limp and useless thing, almost unconscious now from her multiple orgasms that had taken her on a magic carpet ride of pure sensual pleasure. She hung twitching with reflexive spasms above Garrett's great hairy body like a doll with a broken mechanism inside that now had to be moved manually. Sleep. She only wanted to sleep.
Finally Garrett pulled her limp body off his deflating prick and let her roll onto the sofa, sliding out so she could lie on her back. She was so tired she was already asleep. He'd have no trouble convincing her now about the convention business. The rakeoff from the Chamber of Commerce alone would be a pretty penny since the number of conventions would increase so rapidly. He'd seen it work in Hollywood, and this was an even more ingenious variation of the theme. Garrett and Peabody... the Masters and Johnson of Dallas... only it would be a cleaner operation.
Patrick's legs had finally given out and he had lain Hilda down on the floor, keeping his cock sunk into her wet cunt that was about ready to explode. As he kissed and bit her ear-lobes, his hand found a pillow to shove under her narrow hips for a little elevation. She was moaning incoherently, but he knew how to translate "Please... do... don't... goooood... yessss... oh, lover...." She wasn't much to look at except for those fantastic tits. Jesus! What tits! But she was tall and had a good slender shape for clothes. The right makeup and hairdo at Arden's, and the public would call her elegant and restrained. That was good enough for a politician's wife. She had the money, and that was the one prerequisite. The rest they could change and mold.
Patrick dug his rigid, blood-gorged probe expertly into her tight, hot, swollen and sopping cunt. That sucking slit of hers was drawing fiendishly already at his aching balls, trying to trigger him. She was pretty expert herself. Her cunt-sheath was tugging his tingling, turgid prick like a damned milking machine, the fingered walls of muscle squeezing and squeezing. He could feel Hilda's damp vaginal hole absorbing and accepting eagerly all of his long, thick shaft into the depths of her channel. It made a slight sucking sound. Those cuntal muscles were working overtime on the rigid, meaty length of his wildly throbbing cock. Jesus! He couldn't hold out long at this rate... not after that crazy fuck-dancing they'd done.
Clutching her rounded ass cheeks in his hands, Patrick wormed his finger to the puckered asshole. Her juices had already wet the opening as they'd trickled down from her dripping pussy. He began pushing at the tiny crinkled orifice with the tip of his finger. It resisted fiercely, the muscles tight and hard. He was going to make this one cum like she'd never cum before. After all, he had to be better than the rest. He had to get at that money. Suddenly he stabbed his finger into the tight little hole, and she arched and screamed, which only rammed her palpitating pussy deeper onto his lunging spearing rod. Hilda yelled, "Yes! Fuck me in the asshole too. Fuck it good while you fuck my pussy!... please... fuck..." she panted and begged. Patrick needed no urging, but her frantic salacious words incited his fevered efforts even further to a straining mind-bending try. He rammed his finger viciously into her rectum, and the muscle ring suddenly gave and he was fucking her twice! Twice at once, filling both her holes with himself. He could feel the thin membranes between his slicing cock and pillaging finger... and it felt as though they might meet at the peak of a screaming climax. Establishing a rhythm, he slammed into her muscular holes that sucked him in a wild frenzied action. Her hips ground up to absorb his cock and then down to capture his fucking finger up her asshole. Oh, Jesus! It wasn't going to be any sacrifice to marry this much money.
Celia's breasts felt as though they were being chewed up in the crazed machinery of Bullock's tongue and teeth and sucking mouth. The nipples were fiery little coals that burned into her depths, causing her pussy to flood heavy sheets of fluid that trickled down her naked thighs. The fire was there too, burning and wanting and sucking in on itself in frantic muscular writhings. Oh God! She was going mad. Her belly was aching with physical pleading for release.
Suddenly she felt her thighs being spread, and she moaned hopefully. She looked down under her still-crouched body and saw two great hairy paws spreading her open. She watched in tranced fascination as a huge black and silver head slid face up between her opened thighs. An enormous bloated red tongue licked out in anticipation of tasting her swollen, dripping cunt that was right over that salacious face. It was Garrett! The brute who'd made her cry... who'd humiliated her before Patrick... trying to break her at the tryouts. Her opened pussy tried to cringe away, but the huge hands caught her hips and pulled her wet-mouthed vulva right into the leering face. Ball lightning struck inside Celia's belly and loins as she felt that lascivious tongue touch her clitoris. The stupefying electric shock sent her breast even farther into Bullock's lusting lascivious mouth.
Garrett dug his sweating palms into Celia's delectable little ass cheeks and pressed her meaty, firm young cuntal lips to his starving mouth so his upturned animal face could feed at the trough of her pussy. Celia struggled to close her thighs, but it was hopeless. She only implanted his ravaging mouth deeper into her vagina and could feel the thick tongue plow into her sensitive flesh. He was scouring her ragged pink edges of genital flesh with that hard pseudo-penile member by running it in frantic circles and flicking at the clitoris until it was a throbbing, tortured bud of quivering screaming need.
She groaned pitifully as he pushed his face in deeper and the full length of his snaking buried itself in the flushed and flowing walls of her young pussy. Somehow Bu11ock's draining mouth on her breasts had prepared the way for this sadistic maniac who was barbarously raping her vagina with his thick twisting scalding tongue. By sheer coincidence, Bullock's now hardened sucking mouth was establishing a rhythm with the foraging tongue in her pleading privates. Her body was vibrating like a plucked string between the sucking mouth at her breasts and the fucking tongue in her pussy. The vibrations set up a ringing through her veins that was driving her mad!
Bullock could feel Rosemary's soft, slippery, meaty, juicy cunt-flesh against the head of his raging cock. He opened one eye to peer around Celia's fully swollen breast in his mouth and saw that Rosemary was squatted over his loins. She was holding his blunt-nosed prick, sliding it back and forth, in the outer lips of her slick and slippery cunt. Oh Christ! If this was his reward for Vietnam, it had been worth it! God damn! If this was passed out for serving there, they wouldn't be able to keep the whole friggin' male population from enlisting! This was a soldier's fantasy... an impossible dream come true. Even when you were dreaming it... up to your ass in mud and blood... you knew it could never happen. But it was happening to him!
"Oh-h-h-h-hhhhhhh... deeeeeeaaaaarrrrrrr... GOOOODDDDDDD!" Bullock heard Celia scream, her head thrown back. The cords in her beautiful young throat were standing out in ridged straining. Her hands caught Bullock's shoulders. She pushed inward on them as hard as she could to try and somehow contain the ecstasy that was building in her young body. This caused her beautiful white mounds of breasts to jerk upward, pulled by the pectoral muscles that lay under and above them. The firm nipple budded even harder against the roof of his mouth as her hands dug into his shoulders and the other firm round globe in his kneading hand jerked in throbs. Oh God! Shit! What could ever top having your mouth stuffed full of tit and your cock impaled in a sliding, sheathing, milking, sopping, meaty cunt!
Patrick looked up briefly to see Esther Pea-body just standing, arms limp, eyes glazed and head slack right over Hilda's contorted, wailing face. He hardly recognized her... for she was naked... the ugly clothes gone and not a stitch to cover her voluptuous milk-white body. Her hair hung in rippling golden rivulets to her waist, and her snowy fully ripened woman's breasts poked pink soft nipples through the strands. Esther was looking down at him as he fucked into Hilda's lurching body. It was as though she were in a hypnotic trance, uncomprehending, in a daze of unaccustomed alcohol and more unaccustomed sex. Patrick's eyes were drawn like a magnet to her curly golden fleece so close above his head. "Kneel down!" he commanded, and she dropped to her knees instantly as though he were the mad Rasputin and she would gladly kneel before his saintly altar.
He pulled his finger reluctantly from Hilda's clenching asshole, without missing a stroke, into her sucking, clutching cunt. "Spread your knees wider." He addressed the golden-haired triangle, and obediently Esther widened her kneeling stance. Patrick could see the flushed pussy lips, moist and gleaming, come into view. Leaning on his elbows, he reached up and caught Esther's smooth snow-white hips and pulled the gilded fleece he sought into his questing mouth. His tongue shot out and stabbed into the downy mat and deeper into the syrupy slick meat of her defenseless pussy that she offered to him so willingly.
"E-EOE-EEEEEEEEeeeeeee!" came out of Esther's slack mouth as she felt a burning jolt stab through her body. It was a delicious nightmare, and she would wake to find her genitals all wet and swollen. She would have to relieve herself furtively beneath the covers and then scrub her terrible tempestuous and abused flesh until it was raw. Soon now, she would wake and find the rippling rapturous sensations in her throbbing secret hole were only a figment of her tortured dream life. But right now she was going to enjoy it and pray that she didn't wake too soon as she always had.
Esther's hands came out involuntarily, seeking the cause of her beautiful dream, and felt what in her dream was the curly head of a man. Her fingers sought farther. She could feel his jaws and cheeks and eyes, but the mouth was clamped onto... onto her vulva. It must be his tongue that was charging her sensitive flesh down there! Oh God! Don't let it stop, she prayed... and she pressed that blessed head deeper into her vitals and felt the rigid tongue licking and laving the very center of her being.
Patrick smelled Esther's flowing love juice, and the heady scent raced from his brain to his long rapier prick that sliced faster and faster into Hilda's gyrating cunt. His tongue tasted the musky woman taste of the pulsing, sucking walls of Esther's golden-haired pussy. Oh Christ! The closest he'd ever been to an orgy before was when he and Jack Amon had dated twins and fucked their choices in twin beds at a motel. But this... this was a fucking orgy... it was blowing his mind that was already fogged with alcohol.
"Ahhhhhhh... GGAAAAHHHHHH... UUUUHHHH!" Hilda was snorting like a maddened young bitch under him, and her head was tossing back and forth on the carpet between Esther's spread thighs. Patrick could feel Hilda's thighs wrap around his waist, and her frantic thin hands dig lust-spread fingers into his hard lean buttocks as she strained for her climax. He could hear the slurping, sucking of his burgeoning cock expanding even more now and slushing into the fevered jungle-dark moist tunnel between Hilda's clutching clasping thighs. She was climbing him like a crazed cat, and he rammed it to her greedy pussy in time to his sucking, stabbing, swirling tongue in Esther's blazing-warm awakened cunt.
Rosemary rode high and mighty on Bullock's huge slamming prod, his lusty hips thrusting her up and down like a merry-go-round, only this was an even better feeling than the hard saddle of the painted wooden horses of her childhood shoving against her tingling pussy lips. For protruding from this saddle was that frenzied grandiose cock that sliced into her sopping passage like a hot knife through butter. She could see Celia writhing above Bullock's sucking mouth and kneading hands and Garrett's buried face that was tuning her snatch to the high-pitched scream of a giant orgasm.
Everybody was getting theirs except poor burly Garrett, beheaded by Celia's clutching thighs, his naked prick thrusting up like a huge vein-laced pillar from his hairy black loins. Rosemary reached out and grasped his hairy leg and tugged it toward her. He seemed to know without looking what she wanted, and he began to inch his body over toward her, like a big walrus flipping along.
Rosemary marveled that she had been so terrified of someone seeing her with Bullock the other night and here they all were... fucking together... however and with whoever they wanted. She'd been behind the times... the sexual revolution was here... and now!
Garrett could feel the strange sensation of sliding around so Rosemary could reach his aching cock while his head was still imprisoned between Celia's frantic thighs. His mouth simply turned under her soaking fevered cunt, and his lips became parallel with her vaginal lips. He found he could then slide his tongue from side to side out of his mouth as though he were eating the watermelon the Dallas peasants were so fond of. God! This one was juicier than a watermelon! Her sticky-slime pussy dew was dripping down his chin and into his sucking mouth as he ate her reddened meat with gusto.
Bending over Garrett's now accessible loins, Rosemary could see that the four of them formed a human fucking chain. Her cunt was stuck on the fence post of Bullock's hard prick, Bullock's mouth was on Celia's big mountainous breasts, Celia's pussy was mashed over Garrett's raping tongue and his huge, monstrous cock was now in Rosemary's mouth. Dear God! She was glad she hadn't decided to try and fuck this enormous gigantic king of cocks! Trying as hard as possible, she could only get about one-third of its length inside her mouth. She lay down toward it, sucking the hot, throbbing, thick pulsing pole while she still bounced up and down on Bullock's jabbing prick that sent such incredible sparks up through her aching pussy. She was so close to igniting and sparking out!
A mighty thrust of Bullock's hard loins did it. "GAGHHHH!" she screamed around the choking hot prick as she felt Bullock's broad red-hot poker skewer into the aching needing flesh of her cunt, deeper than ever. "Ah... ahhh... aghhhhh..." she groaned in anguish... and her body stiffened over his impaling flesh stick, feeling the great spasms shake her whole body and her vaginal walls squeezing and squeezing to milk his hot rod... to trigger the milky cum from his balls. She let Garrett's cock slip from her mouth. She could no longer pay attention to it... needing everything she had to finish the wracking orgasm that was shaking her to the roots of her hair.
A chain reaction set in then. Rosemary could see it happen from her high seat on Bullock's cock that suddenly rammed into her with the force of a freight train, hurling the speeding iron spike into her belly, and from it came the first boiling steam of his semen, gushing deep into the dark tunnel of her still-convulsing belly.
"JEEEEEEEEESSSSSSUUUUSSSS!" He screamed, pulling away from Celia's weary breasts and throwing his head back into the pillow, the great cords in his muscular neck standing out like ropes. He was humping now in time with the spurts of sperm that hosed out of his bursting cock in a spasmodic rhythm.
Celia felt Bullock pull away from her chewed and tortured breast. His scream, coming so close after Rosemary's, told her they had reached their zeniths and were hanging in that brief promised flight, soaring into space. Celia felt her own orgasm beginning, her clitoris rolling on Garrett's practiced tongue like a hard seed whose time has come to open and pour out its promise to the sun. The daring tongue threw itself into her supercharged tiny battery of life and suddenly tripped the light switch, throwing out a series of impulses that flowed through her body to charge and illuminate every raw nerve end in the whole intricate feminine organism. There was no recalling the demons that had first been unchained inside her with Web's initiation. They were loose and raving now, unleashed by the ceaseless licking and sucking of her naked clitoris, which now spread sparks that burst into uncontrolled flames to devour her.
"AHHHHH... GOOOOODDDDDDDD!" she screamed out her tormented rapture. Her loins, shamelessly aroused and blotting out all reason, jerked spasmodically and moved her clitoris in a circular motion against the roughly divine texture of Garrett's outstretched tongue. All that mattered on the face of the globe were the salacious shafts of pleasure being propelled through Celia's flesh like tiny fire needles that pierced her in all directions and through every cell.
Garrett thrust the thick wet arrow of his tongue into the quivering vagina, absorbing all the sticky cum juice he could. It flowed profusely over his nose and chin. The milky outpouring drained too much volume for even his greedy mouth and spilled down in drops onto his hairy chest. He savored her young juice, but his own naked cock was unmouthed by Rosemary's screaming climax, and it was clamoring now for immediate relief.
He couldn't think of a better place to put it than in the quaking, soaking tight young cunt he'd sucked to such violent bliss. Garrett's strong arms reached up and pulled the childlike Celia off his wet sticky face and down over his great thick hairy body. She was still quivering and shivering, but her body was weakened.
She clung to his chest like a frightened kitten.
Reaching down over her bare-mooned ass, he guided his huge throbbing unsatisfied cock into her spread-open palpitating pussy that still pulsed faintly in the afterglow of her orgasm. Only the head was in, but the sensation of her viscous young meaty cunt lips was incredibly delicious. He'd bring her off again while she was still limp from her first cataclysm. She'd get a taste of his pole... his hot giant pole right up into that greedy little cunt.
Gruntings and groanings and mewlings were going off all around him, punctuated with climatic screams of filth and obscenity, but Patrick had stretched his own blasting out and had made it last as long as possible. His balls were ready to erupt through the skin sac if he didn't let go soon. There must be a gallon of thick creamy semen stored in those rocky vaults, and he couldn't last... much... longer.
Esther was raving like a madwoman, her head lolling from side to side, sending waves of golden hair tossing like the mane of a lust-crazed mare. She willed her beautiful nightmare not to end. She wouldn't be able to stand it if it ended too soon! She tried to stuff the head between her aching thighs into her quaking, clasping cunt hole, to devour its maddened tongue that sent such delight arching through her sex-starved loins.
Hilda had come off twice, and still Patrick lunged into her sopping slit, still hard and rigid as an iron blunt-ended club. Her pussy still glowed warmly, and she squirmed and rotated her pelvis around his stabbing shaft because she might just bring it to life again before Patrick gunned his motor. A tiny rising twitch gave her hope, and she ground it up to him a little harder.
Patrick could taste the flowing juicy cuntal secretions in the back of his throat as he tongue-fucked Esther in time to the now vicious digs of his prick into Hilda's hot tight flesh that was grinding up to him again. Both pussies were milking him at once, Esther's on his driving tongue and Hilda's on his dynamite stick. Oh Jesus! There'd never been anything like it! Not even Cicero or Caesar could have felt anything more depraved or lascivious than this!
Suddenly Esther mashed his head into her writhing, gyrating belly-dance-grinding pussy so hard that he thought he'd lose his breath, but he managed to keep his nostrils free except for cunt hairs. "AHH... AHHHHHHHHHH... AHHHHHHHHHHH..." She chanted a climbing wail so inhuman that Patrick felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His cock seemed to rise too, and swell to monstrous size inside Hilda's seething cunt. Esther was getting a lesson from a prize pupil that she'd long needed to learn, and Hilda was getting a man who could hold out long enough to satisfy her voracious, amoral pussy that only wanted to fuck and fuck and fuck!
Patrick rammed it into both sets of cunt flesh with furied abandon and suddenly choked and burbled his own too-long restrained tidal wave. Like a long wave of applause with the faces going on and on, like human wheat stalks, they moved in ripples by his power. The power was surging out now in great gushes, and the roar in his ears was deafening. He pumped it out freely, and the thick sperm-laden cum fluid spewed out in great roars to echo inside the absorbent cunt-flesh. On and on he spent his all, his gifted tongue not forgetting that Esther still moaned that he not leave her too soon.
At long long last there were only a few spatters of applause, and he felt his cock, weary and exultant, pulse a few more jets of dying power, and he was still. Esther had fallen away and lay senseless a few feet from his open-mouthed curly red head.
Chapter Eight
Web parked his car in front of Peabody, slamming the car door behind him. He couldn't remember ever being so frustrated... sitting on that damn highway while they cleared away the rubble and glass and twisted metal of a terrible and spectacular wreck. He felt sorry for the poor sons of bitches who'd been in it... but he also was impatient as hell with the slowness of the Highway Patrol, wreckers, and ambulance crew.
He ran up the stairs two at a time. The music was still going, so the party must still be swinging. He stopped in the doorway as cold as if a bullet had caught him in the gut. The light was dim with only the candles, but not too dim for him to see that the whole place was covered with naked bodies! Naked bodies every place you looked... all over the chairs, the chintz sofas, the faded carpet... a goddamned sea of naked bodies! He wiped his face, hanging on to the doorframe. Jesus Christ! It was a goddamned orgy!
A closer look revealed that the naked bodies were fucking! In every conceivable possible way that man had devised-and the apes before him! They were fucking all over the place! He shook his head to clear it, but it didn't go away. They were still at it. Twosomes, threesomes, foursomes. Web had never seen anything like it in all his life, and he thought he'd seen enough that nothing could ever shock him now... but he was! Shocked and amazed and, in some weird offbeat way, stimulated.
He saw Rosemary come out the kitchen door on the far side of the room and pick her way to where he stood. She was as naked as the rest of them, and the only one who wasn't fucking. She walked right up to him and held out her hand.
"Like a bite?" She held out a curled pink shrimp. "I got hungry." She waved her hand behind her at the sucking, moaning, fucking, wailing bodies.
Web shook his head dumbly, staring at her naked white body as though it were a photograph, but he could see she was breathing as her round mounds of breasts rose and fell.
"Like to join the party?" She caught his hand and put it on her naked breast. His cock just automatically jerked and rose reflexively.
"Wait a minute. You can't go in there like that. It wouldn't be decent." Before Web knew what was happening, she'd jerked off his jacket and was working quickly at his belt, zipper, shirt, buttons, and tie. He helped her, not bothering to question the logic of her argument.
He rammed past Rosemary before they got to his socks and shoes... but he was unaware they were still there. Web peered into the gloomy room, stepping over bodies and peering hard at every female head. His stupid goddamned cock was poling out now as hard as the rest of them.
Then suddenly he stopped. Celia was there... as he'd known, really, from the moment he'd stepped into this inferno of lust she would be.
Celia was caught like a beautiful butterfly on the pin of that goddamned Garrett bastard's cock... impaled as he, Webster McCullough, had impaled her downstairs on the couch. She was doing what he'd taught her. Doing what she hadn't even known existed until he'd taught her! But goddamn it to hell! Celia didn't have to be such a fucking quick study! She didn't have to sit there fucking up and down and riding that prick's hot cock!
Just looking at her little round ass, the cheeks all firm and round and proud, bouncing up and down, sent his anger up to the top of his head and it was about to explode! Celia's little puckered asshole came into view as she rode forward. A tiny kiss-pouted crinkled hole. She wanted fucking so bad she even had to have that old fart's cock up her cunt... well, he'd show her what fucking was. By God, he'd ram it to her good and see how well she liked fucking!
Her brain was so numb now that she didn't react very fast... her tortured body hurting so bad with the pain of Garrett's damaging, huge, punishing prick that she wished she could die... so when she felt a body behind her, it took a while for it to register. She had no idea how long that body had been there. She just wished futilely that it would pull her off this cutting instrument and put her bruised body to bed.
Celia kept pulling up, hoping to ease the pain of Garrett's invading giant's tearing prod that stretched her beyond the elastic capacity of her hurting insides. Suddenly she felt something probing at her backside. Something hot and hard was trying to dig into her rectum, and hard hands were pushing her over so she could be rammed. Oh no! Not there! No! She couldn't stand any more pain!
"You want to fuck, baby! Well you're going to get fucked like you've never been fucked before!" The words were snarled at the back of her neck, and she could feel a hot breath rasp out the terrible words. To punctuate their lewdness, the hot flesh rod stabbed into the outer edge of her anus. She screamed and tried to pull away, which only impaled her further on Garrett's huge throbbing shaft that he was pressing up into her belly.
Web shoved his bull-maddened prick farther into Celia's tiny virginal asshole and watched her fall forward onto Garrett's chest. He wanted to punish her for what she'd done to him... was doing to him right now, with her tight little pussy, that had not known another prick but his until tonight, filled with that phony bastard's cock. Web drove again mercilessly into the inflexible ring of muscle inside her asshole, never backing off this time, but forcing his raging penis.
"NO-0-O-O-OOOOOOO!" Celia screamed, her hands tearing into Garrett's chest hair and twisting and pulling them out. Garrett only batted her hands away with one huge paw and pulled her farther forward by the wrists until she was stretched on the rack that pulled her tortured body tighter and tighter, both orifices now full with two separate cocks that threatened to come together inside her fragile belly.
The reluctant ring of muscle had finally given, and Web strained forward, driving hard and panting and groaning to distract and yet focus on the throbbing fleshy rod of his pole sunk to the hilt in Celia's asshole. "Back it in to me," he snarled, clenching her naked white hips with both his powerful hands.
Celia tried to obey, her sobbing head hanging on Garrett's heaving chest, and then her numbed brain, that had recoiled in horror and left her agonized body defenseless, grasped the sound of that voice. The voice that belonged to the huge penis that was fucking her backside so pitilessly... it sounded dimly like Web when he was very angry. Feebly she twisted her head and forced her wet, glazed eyes to open-and it was Web!
The pounding cocks raced into Celia's lax body, Garrett's in her tight almost virginal pussy and Web's in her till now completely virginal asshole. Her terrible sobbing and moaning only incited Garrett's hot pole to stab harder. Jesus! She was tight and good and putting on a hell of an act. God damn! He was going to get rich off this one girl alone.
Web tried to turn off his ears... to concentrate on the feel of the salacious debauchery of fucking Celia's asshole while she let that bastard fuck her pussy.
"Race you to... the finish line..." Garrett panted, grunting and shoving upward into the deep recesses of Celia's belly. Web saw red as clearly as if Garrett's hand had reached up to wave a flag in his face. He drove into Celia's clenching rectum fiercely, feeling the rubbery walls milking him and forcing him closer and closer.
By going completely limp with the agony and pain, Celia felt a twinge of something. She couldn't be sure. Willing her twin orifices to suffer the rampaging cocks that thundered into her, Celia held her breath and waited a moment. The pain was mixed with something else! She caught her breath and waited again. Oh God! The pain was going!
"Come on, baby... pound it back to me!" Web grunted out between clenched teeth. Celia nodded dumbly and clenched her eyes shut and shoved backwards as far as she could. Oh God! It was a miracle! The terrible, wracking, degrading, perverted pain was almost gone, and a searing, tingling, tantalizing pleasure was creeping through her ravaged membranes.
She tried to do the same with Garrett's enormous, choking, filling prick that was pounding into her with increasing fury-and found it worked! Oh God! Soon she was catching on to the strange rhythm of two pillaging penises. First forward and then back, meeting them as they plunged into her pleasure-giving body! She was delivered!
Riding the crest, she bucked back and forth, feeling the lascivious, libidinal rapture replace the pain entirely. Her cunt was alive and sucking now on Garrett's huge cock, and then her asshole, which Web was fucking into so hard and furiously, only added to the showering needles that began to stab into her body with pricks and nicks of pleasure. The rack was a rocking ride now that drove her faster and faster to some inexplicable nirvana that only her body, coursing with an ancient knowledge that had nothing to do with her training or her thoughts, knew about. She let it happen and was only a passenger. Web and Garrett were the drivers, and they made a masterful team... in perfect harmony now and fucking hard to bring her to her destination.
Garrett reached for her bobbing breasts as Web's hands dug into her white hips, and they whipped her with them to the victory... cock in cunt... prick in ass... almost nose to nose inside her desire-ridden flesh.
And suddenly it changed... and it was she who rode them, spurring their laboring members with her muscular walls of tight-sucking flesh. She wanted it all! She wanted to be the star! It was her show! She bucked and backed and rose and fell, and they did not speak but only heaved their breaths through their laboring chests as she milked them, obediently fucking into her with all their strength.
Suddenly she felt the power, the strange power inside her body like the breathless wave of silent, pregnant emotion that rose from an audience when they waited so still for what you would do. It was holding the whole world in your hands. She paused at the peak of her rise, and she could feel them both hesitate and wait for her signal... their breaths suddenly wadded in their chests... and then she was cumming!
Celia stiffened for that one breathless moment that was forever. The hot flood of her orgasm started. The climax and the roar of the crowd was in her ears, and she was rolling to heaven on the wave of blazing, gushing, rising, cresting, billowing, crashing, churning cum that boiled into her sucking body.
Celia was sunk on Garrett's chest, her breasts held in Web's warm limp palms, for he had fallen on her back and she was sandwiched closely between the deflating cocks still sunk in her exhausted body and the heaving chests, one beneath and one behind... panting out their approval. With her eyes closed, she thought she could hear the sound of soft clapping! Slowly Celia realized they were surrounded by the cast of players. Their performance was being acclaimed, and she now had another role to play.
