Tiny little cobwebs fell apart in my brain, leaving a hazy trail of flesh images--an erect penis that grew larger until it was monstrous. But so beautiful a monstrosity! I liked the rise and fall of it, I knew that much. It was alive, much more alive than I was. It seemed to belong to me, that it should be buried in me somewhere. Warm and tight and cuddly in there. Where? Somewhere. on my body there was an itch for it. A damp itch, so familiar. "Patti," a voice whispered to my mind. "Is that your itch, Patti?"
"Yes, it's my itch. It's always been my itch. Scratch it for me."
And then the huge finger scratched my itch. The finger was as large as the giant penis.
Blackout.
I couldn't remember--only something vague about a gentle guy and riding in a car. I couldn't remember anything else, not where I was or when, but I needed a drink. Easing my legs over the side of the bed, I went through my routine, the learned pattern of words that might bring my mind into focus. I was scared of not knowing, as all alcoholics are.
"Name?" I mumbled to myself, and answered: "Patti Cooper."
I couldn't be blamed if the Cooper wasn't up to date. There had been Carter and Tanis and Landson and maybe a couple of other names I didn't know about.
"Age?" That was easy; twenty-eight, but it felt like a thousand.
"City?" That one got me, and I held my head. Somewhere on the coast, somewhere in California, but I didn't know what town.
Standing up, I swayed on weak legs and saw my purse on a table. Hands slipping off the catch, I managed to worry it open and damned near cried when I saw the money still there. Wherever I was, I could buy a bottle and make the shakes go away. I wouldn't have to corner some embarrassed guy and offer to screw him for the price of a bottle.
There was a glass in the bathroom. I put my mouth to the faucet and gulped cold water. It stayed down, so I splashed more over my face and neck. The mirror said I looked like hell--my .hair matted and my eyes puffed, lipstick chewed away and my skin dry. I drank more water and wobbled back into the bedroom.
She was standing by the bed with a cup in her hand. She didn't look like any police matron I ever saw, nor like a burly psycho nurse, either.
"You're alive," she said, and the grin was nice.
"I'm not bragging," I said, and tried again to light the cigarette, but the matches kept shaking themselves out.
"Here," She put down the cup and held a flame for me. The smoke tasted like straw from a zoo cage.
"I brought coffee," she said.
I collapsed on. the bed. The nursed looked clean and fresh and feminine. No dyke. I couldn't figure her out.
"Thanks," I said. "But you wouldn't have a drink around somewhere?"
"Not in this place. Try the coffee."
The cup jiggled and slopped over into the saucer. I gave up and pulled on the cigarette instead.
"Take your time," the girl said. "I know how it is. I was in worse shape when I came here."
"Okay, so where is here? You don't fit the Salvation Army."
She laughed. "No way. I'm Janet Wagner, and this is Hope House."
I waited, shaking inside and out.
"Hope House," Janet repeated. '"A place for alcoholics. Maybe you could take some juice instead of coffee?"
"No matron?" I asked. "No starched nurses with muscles?"
"Nobody like that. Just other alkies like me." I watched my fingers act like snakes. "You mean I can walk out, just like that?"
"If you want to, but we hope you'll stay."
My lips started to quiver and I couldn't stop them. It had been a long time since anybody was kind to me.
"I'll get some fruit juice," she said. "Just stretch out here. We're pressing your clothes. They were kind of wrinkled."
When she was gone, I stubbed out the cigarette and put my face into the pillow, wanting to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. I. guess I had used up all my tears, and I still needed that god-damned drink.
Janet came back and the cold juice helped a little, as did the vitamin pills that came with it. She even brushed some of the snarls from my hair and let me use her makeup. The flimsy nightgown was hers, too, and I thanked her for its use. I didn't tell Janet that I always slept naked; some women are funny about that.
I found out Hope House is in Pacific City, California; then I dimly recalled leaving San Francisco, heading south with some guy. Johnny, Jerry? It didn't matter. Their names never did--only their bodies, their strong and eager bodies with their hard, eager cocks.
Janet chattered on about Hope House, about how you paid your way if you had the bread, but it was okay if you were broke. You could send money when you got on your feet again.
She told me about the man bringing me in the night before, about a doctor giving me a jolt of paraldehyde before they put me to bed. I recognized that taste, still thick in the back of my throat, like ether.
"Why?" I asked.
Janet blinked. She's a small, curvy girl with a bright and open face. It was hard to believe she was also an alky. "Why are you here? You needed help, that's all. Mark said you were on the verge of the DTs when he ran into you."
"Mark?"
She put a soft hand on my arm. "You'll meet him later. He comes around almost every day. Mark's a graduate of Hope House."
I didn't remember Mark, but I did get a hazy picture of leaving the guy called Jerry or. Johnny, of trying to down soup in a cafe, of somebody talking to me. But men always talk to me. I guess they can sense what I am, just by looking.
Maybe it's something about the way I walk, or the way I look back at them.
It's something else they feel--possibly a tangible aura only males can sense from a distance, the scent of a bitch in heat. Whatever it is, they know, all right, and when they come to me, they're seldom disappointed.
I just can't let me alone. Men, not a man. They can come any size, shape or age, so long as they're male and hot. I need hands running over my body, need a mouth on my own, and oh god--how I need a man to possess me. I mean I want them to possess me all the way, deep inside. But they fail. All of them fail. Even when my hips are swinging and my legs are wrapped around them and their hard pricks are plunging into my burning cunt--they're failing.
Because in a small corner of my mind, I'm always laughing at them. Pm possessing them; they're not conquering me. You see, Pm what the shrinks like to call a nymphomaniac, but. one doctor said I have a Narcissus complex that makes me worship my body and demands that others worship it, too. Maybe so; I like my body.
I'm proud of the way my full breasts arch, how they're so firm I never had to wear a bra. I like the sleek flare of my hips, the smooth line of my back and the soft texture of my skin. My legs are very good, long and tapered, with rounded thighs that are satiny to the touch. My coloring is about like old ivory, my hair thick and long, the color of midnight, a man once said. My eyes are deep brown, when they're not bloodshot.
"How old are you, Janet?"
"Twenty-two. I know that's kind of young to be in a place like this, but I've been a full-fledged alky since my early teens. It just caught up with me recently."
Everything about this girl seemed right up front, and I liked her. "That's honest enough."
"That's something you learn here," she said. "To be honest--first with yourself, then with everybody else. Mark says it's the first step to staying sober."
There was Mark again, the guy who'd brought me to Hope House and put me to bed alone. That was something in itself. Even on the edge of delirium tremens. I must have made a pass at him. Not many men will sidestep a direct offer, given the right place and time.
I learned that much about men just after I was married the first time. Waiting as long as I did is one angle of my problem that still has me puzzled, because I was a virgin when I married Don Carter; physically, anyway. Mentally, I was already a whore, because I had been dreaming about men ever since I had my first period. But something held me back until I married.
Maybe it was seeing Dad's temporary wives around the house, watching them play coy and cute with my father, and looking at me as if I was unfair competition. They were jealous of me, of the little attentions he paid me. The last one was happy to see me get married and move out.
I guess marriage to Don began to fall apart on the honeymoon. I shocked hell out of him. There could be no doubt in his mind that I was cherry, so he was doubly shaken up at how I acted with him.
The first time he got the head of his young prick into my blazing pussy, it was as if a dam broke inside me, and my needs all came boiling out at once; the deluge damned near drowned my new husband.
We were in bed, and he was shaky when he slid in beside me, but my hand found his cock at once, and my heart was beating so fast I couldn't hear anything else. That shaft was throbbing in my fingers. I felt its strength, felt over the velvety knob of its head and knew the thrilling slippery juice that was gathering on the tip.
A man's balls snuggled into my palm, heavy and hairy and softly wrinkled, a man's gorged prick was thrusting against the skin of my trembling belly, and I went a little crazy, I guess. My teeth clashed against Don's. My tongue raced wet and hot inside his mouth. My nipples were hard and pointy, boring into his chest, and my pelvis kept surging against his in hungry little humps.
"W-waited all my life for this," I murmured into his teeth. "Oh, how I need you, Don. Give it to me--put it in me--quick, quick!"
Later I learned that my husband needed time to build up to screwing, that he liked to play with my tits and finger around. But just then I didn't care for anything but my own maddened desires. I pulled him over on top of my twisting body and spread my legs wide. Hand shaking, I steered the spongy head of his beautiful cock into the crisply, deep curling of my damp pubic hairs. A great joy leaped through me when the tip of his wet prick began to work slowly but strongly into the eager opening of my pussy lips.
They stretched, gave like elastic, but too damned slowly. I humped my cunt up at him, my knees lifting and my back arching. The head of Don's cock forced its thrilling way into my labia, then penetrated into my quivering cunt. I was tight and unused. He had to struggle to make it go all the way in. There was a moment of bright, accepted pain as the walls gave way--then the marvelous sensation of having ' a man's prick slide all the way up into my slick vagina.
Oh, it was so food! It was something I had been craving all my young life. I squirmed in ecstasy upon the meaty shaft that filled my tight snatch. My legs went up and crossed themselves around the small of his back, urging him to bury his rod ever deeper into my pussy, and I pulled him down until his balls nestled against the cleft of my ass.
There was a gentle pressure against my clit, and I wriggled to make it more, squirmed and ground my pelvis into his. Don began to stroke, to feed that adorable meat in and out of my clinging pussy, and I squeezed him tightly to me with arms and legs, trying to eat his cock up with the muscles of my vagina. My hips rolled and my fits mashed themselves flat against his chest.
"Fuck me!" I hissed against his throat. "Oh, you beautiful man--you hard-clicked lover--fuck me hard, hard!"
Maybe he hesitated, but we were both too far gone for any of his hang-ups to show just then. Don stroked his cock into me, and I responded by heaving beneath him, swinging my ass and taking every inch of that delightful prick. I came very quickly, with a white, hot explosion that screamed through my pussy and fanned outward into every straining nerve end of my feverish body.
When I bit his throat and pressed my nails into the skin of his sweaty back, Don flinched, but kept pumping away, working that hard shaft in and out of my burning hole. Gasping and moaning, I fucked him back, riding high upon his rod, then falling back so that the flanged head was just barely held inside the jealous lips of my pussy. With a sensuous, grinding movement, I gulped him all the way back into me, shuddering at the wonder of fucking, blinded to all but my own emotions and the passion that overwhelmed me.
"Baby!" he panted. "Oh--oh, baby. I'm going to--I'm coming, coming!"
I felt the first boiling drops as they squirted from the distended head of his embedded prick and splashed against my womb. I knew the marvel of a man's semen as it poured hotly into the cup of my pussy. Oh, it was so rich and creamy, so bubbly and exciting. Writhing upon his greasy rod, I came again, eyes closed and my teeth grinding almost as violently as my pelvis. It was magic and perfect and I damned myself for not fucking as soon as I had gotten big enough. There in the first orgasms of my wedding night, I was regretting the years of sex I had wasted.
We lived in suburbia, and I was the average young wife waiting for her husband to come home from the office every day. Almost average, that is, I always had a martini or two before I mixed a shaker for Don's before dinner drinks. The gin seemed to make waiting for him more bearable, and seemed to dull the edge of my sexual appetites, although never for long.
I don't think I 'did it consciously--I mean the first time I cheated on my husband. It was kind of unplanned, and maybe it was only natural for me, now that I think back on it.
George and Anna lived next door, and we liked them. My husband was working late and the silly kitchen sink stopped up. George came over to fix it.
His hips brushed. mine, and I guess I shivered. Don had been going to sleep early for more than a week, and the hunger was in me deeper and more ravenous than ever, since I knew what I wanted now. I couldn't help myself, I swear. George could have been anybody--the milkman, the newspaper kid, any male. Suddenly I was in his arms; moaning and running my hands over his back as I pressed my body hard to his.
I remember George very well, because he was the first man besides my husband to fuck me. He was somehow new and different, and excited me so that I nearly freaked out then and there. And he was willing. That's what I meant about not many men passing up a piece of ass if the time and place is right.
His tongue forced its way into my mouth and licked my teeth, making it difficult for me to breathe. I clutched at his suddenly hard prick and felt him gasp as I squeezed the massive thing. It was huge, much bigger than my husband's cock, so big that it scared me a little.
He broke my hold, leaning down and catching my wrists. "You little bitch," he said, "you need a real man so bad that you can't stand it any longer. Get your dress up and I'll fuck you."
I felt dirty, like the tramp I was destined to become. I jerked back and slapped him full across the face. He grabbed me and I tried to knee him in the balls, not fighting him so much as doing battle with myself.
Then somehow I was on the couch, watching him climb out of his pants, seeing that massive cock standing up and out like a flagpole. There was a certainty in him, a male power that turned me on completely.
"I've wanted to stick it to you ever since you moved in," George muttered, leaning to fumble at my dress. I lifted my ass so he could slip it off over my head.
Blindly, I ripped at him, caressing his heavy balls, fingering over the veined and throbbing shaft, knowing the feel and size of the head. That prick was the most lovely thing I had ever seen; so long and thick, flexing its shiny red tip, drippy with clear pre-seminal fluid that would ease its path into my cunt lips.
But George stunned me; he didn't mount me right away. Instead, he climbed on top' of me so that his hairy balls were resting upon the mounds of my aching tits, and that threatening cockhead hung over my face.
I stared up at it, afraid but not panicked. Even then, I loved prick too much to be terrified of anything one might do to me, even though I had never even thought of kissing one.
"Take it, you little bitch," George hissed. "Open your lips and take this in your mouth, or I'll just shove it down your throat."
I parted my lips, and he shoved the head of that huge cock into them. I tasted man meat for the first time, and liked it. My tongue raced around its ridge, and felt its way into the little wet slot. Within moments, my instincts took over, and I was both sucking and chewing lightly upon his cock, licking and pulling and loving every moment of it.
But George didn't follow through. He was avid for the grip of my pussy, and pulled out to lower himself upon my wiggling body. He shoved that big prick between my spread thighs, and the wet knob found its way into the eager lips of my cunt as if it had eyes. Another powerful shove and he spread my labia wide to surge that heavenly meat home inside my ready vagina. I was suddenly full, when I had been so empty, and I could feel the head of it pushing strongly against my cervix.
"You never had it like this from that kid husband of yours, baby. Fuck away as hard and mean as you want to, because I'm going to pack you so full of come that you'll find it coming out of your month."
I believed him, wondering all the time he was grinding it to me, wondering how his frail wife Anna could find room for his gigantic cock. Then there was nothing in the universe but the mighty rhythm of his fucking, only the pounding of his balls as they slapped into the heaving valley of my ass, just the marvelous, growing, swelling power of screwing and being screwed.
I came twice before he let go. I came and moaned, fell back as he continued to impale me with his huge shaft; came again just before he did, the room whirling and my heart thundering in my throat. George stiffened and rolled me up on my shoulders, his semen hissing forth like a geyser, saturating my inflamed pussy with, the magic fluid. It pumped and pumped, frothing and searing, until some of it dripped out and soaked into the couch.
Full force, I came, too. The lovely volcano went off in the vicinity of my vibrating clitoris, and its lava sprang torridly through my flesh and mind. We rocked and lurched and groaned together, and I knew very well that this would not be the last time I would be fucked by this great bull of a man.
Even thinking about it made me ache for cock so much I could have cried.
"Hey!"
I looked up.
"Hey," Janet said again. "That's something else you have to learn. Stop thinking about the past, and stop blaming yourself for everything. At Hope House, everybody learns to live for today. Just today, not yesterday or tomorrow."
"Is that what Mark says?" I asked.
Janet looked at me. "Mark, and everyone else."
I wondered about this paragon, this Mark, and made myself a bet that he couldn't keep his hands off me next time. Just recalling Don and George made me itch for a man nearly as bad as I wanted a drink. But the itch wasn't as deep, not so strong as my body's demand for ease, for the peace of just one big, strong drink. Bourbon, scotch, gin, anything that would make these damned whips and jangles stop tearing me apart. I'd even suck on a bottle of cheap wine, if that was all I could get.
Another cigarette, this time one I lighted for myself, and I glanced over at my purse where the money was. Not a bunch of money, but enough to buy a couple of fifths and try to get my head straight.
"Janet," I said, dry-lipped.
"Drink some more juice," she said. "It's mixed with honey. Please, Patti--drink the juice."
CHAPTER TWO
If these people were alcoholics, they were hiding it pretty damned well; nobody else was having the whips and jangles like me, and I sat on my hands, feeling the sick sweet film on my face while I tried to listen to what the man at the speaker's stand was saying. It wasn't making much sense.
Janet squeezed my arm comfortingly and leaned to whisper in my ear. "That's Dan talking. He runs Hope House, and I'll introduce you after the meeting."
Trying to pay attention, I focused on the gray man.
This Dan had time tracks across his face and a hard mouth that looked as if it had tasted many bitter things. Slim and erect, he wore his silver hair like an arrogant banner, but he didn't talk that way. He spoke softly, directly, and with an underlying sincerity you hear only in church--if you're lucky. Dan reminded me somehow of dad, and I looked away.
"Cunning," he said, "cunning and baffling and powerful. That's what alcohol is, to people like' us. It sneaks up on us so gradually."
I closed my eyes, and remembered...
The increased drinking helped it along, I guess. It got so I went through each day in a haze of gin and vermouth, an empty glass in the living room, a half-empty one by the bed, a full one in the kitchen. I didn't stagger around, understand--I just kept a glow on.
I needed George's screwing more as the months passed, because my husband was already into a rut: sex on Tuesday and Saturday nights, never breathlessly in the bright afternoons, never thrilling and unexpected on the couch; only properly in bed.
Don was so damned straight that he never let himself go, and wouldn't allow me to experiment. Sex had to be missionary style or not at all, and the one time I slid down to try and kiss the tip of his erect cock, he shoved my head away, telling me that only whores would do a thing like that. The son of a bitch.
Two things happened that brought things to the proverbial head: I discovered I was pregnant, and Solomon himself couldn't say who was the father, Don or George. Then I got caught screwing my lover.
Don literally stumbled across George and me, because we were spread on the floor, coiled around each other and naked as desire itself. When my husband swung open the door, he tripped over us.
It was my fault, of course. I'd teased George into ducking over from his yard while his wife was out shopping. I didn't think and I didn't much care about anything except the quivering in my thighs and the humid twitching of my pussy. I knew only that my erect nipples were hurting against my blouse, and that I needed that big, hard prick., When George slipped in the kitchen door, I backed away into the living room, but I didn't reach the couch. Whipping off my blouse and pulling my shorts over my hips, I presented my bare body to him, rolling my belly and cupping my tits in both hands.
"Come on, George--I need you, baby, need you now!"
He was grinning as he climbed out of his pants and dragged the t-shirt over his head. I hunched my lower body at him, making my dewy cunt pout up at him, and it was my turn to smile when I saw his huge prick rising, swelling, turning long and thick with its distended head enlarging, puffing in its primal hunger.
"You're really some kind of cunt," he said, "a hot ass little bitch who can't do without a hard cock for very long. Well, here it is for you, Patti. What are you going to do with it?"
"Grind it off at the roots," I said, moving toward him and rocking my hips back and forth. "Fuck you until you can't even breathe, much less raise another hard-on."
"Show me," he said, and took me into his arms, his massive, iron-hard cock pressing deeply into my belly.
My tits digging their . points into his hairy chest, I writhed against him, burning up inside my pussy, so hungry for him that I was damned near blind with passion. We sank together to the floor, and I got one leg thrown across his body. George cupped the cheeks of my ass and rolled my crotch into his, massaging his erect shaft across my pulsing mound, his heavy balls dragging softly across my upper thigh.
Reaching down, I took his rod in my hand, thrilling at the majestic feel of it all warm and throbbing, at the pure size and heft of the meaty pole that would very soon be buried to the hilt inside my avid pussy. It was still difficult for me to believe the bigness of it. My husband's cock couldn't begin to match the glory of that prick.
Moaning a little as George kissed me, I gave him my tongue and ran my teeth across his, my body turning metronome against his muscular one, tick-tocking back and forth in mute appeal as sharp ripples of urgent need shook me. Hand shaking, I guided the expanded knob of his prick into the receptive hairs of my pussy, steered it into the already wet lips so eager to stretch around it and pull his meat into the waiting depths.
George gave a little hump, and the tip of it pushed into my labia. I squirmed to force it deeper and slid joyfully down upon the thick shaft as it penetrated, as it worked powerfully into the slippery grasp of my vagina. The walls of my pussy closed around his cock, and I felt the big head reach far back to prod against the cup of my womb. It was in me, in me. I reveled at the sensation of his prick filling my cunt, packing me with that lusciously hard meat.
Stroking him on, I wiggled and heaved, rocking my ass up and down as George held on to the cheeks. Our bellies came together and clung for a moment, then pulled apart as we struggled to fuck harder and deeper and stronger. It was so damned good, so exciting, that I was blind to anything else, to everything else, not giving a damn if the house fell in and we screwed ourselves right on down through the wreckage of the floor.
"Oohh!" I gasped. "George, George, darling--feed that beautiful meat to me! Ram it up my pussy, fill me up with it--oh baby, fuck me, fuck me!"
He responded in his usual savage way, pounding his prick fiercely into my flexing cunt, reaching the end of my vagina and pulling back for another series of mighty, grinding strokes. I dug my fingernails into his shoulders and fastened my mouth to his throat, then slid it down to suck upon a nipple, chewing lightly and licking in time with the sliding rhythm of my pistoning cunt.
It was hot and slippery inside there, his cock bringing forth all my loving oils, drawing out the juices of my pussy as he screwed me. I gyrated hungrily upon that lovely shaft, making it touch all the ultra sensitive places of my vagina, making it rake over the vibrant nub of my clitoris.
The violence of our fucking made us roll across the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, our crotches slamming at each other, biting and hunching and pumping like mad.
"I--I'm coming," I moaned through clenched teeth. "Oh, you beautiful bastard--I'm coming!"
"Me, too," he grunted, matching my thrusts, slapping that hard shaft in and out of the suctioning velvet of my pussy. "Here, Patti--here it comes, you hot little cunt!"
I shivered and gasped in the throes of a tremendous orgasm, my entire body going tense and my legs stretching themselves to their full length. I felt the discharge of his semen as his cockhead loosed it in a hissing stream of thick, creamy juice. George's come boiled inside my welcoming pussy, 'bubbling and foamy as he continued to stroke, as he kept right on working that adorable prick into me.
This is heaven, I had thought, this is nirvana, and there can be nothing more moving, no emotion better. Drifting in a warm and loved somewhere paradise, I wiggled slowly on his embedded cock, loving the juicy caress of it so deeply within my vagina, happy just then as I could never be happy at any other moment.
That's when my husband opened the front door and practically fell across us when he stepped into the living room. George saw him first and stiffened out, so for one time-stopped second, we all stared at each other, my husband, my lover and me. Then George moved, jerking his stiff cock out of my pussy and leaving a trail of sticky liquid down the inside of my thigh. He rolled away and came to his feet, his big body braced for trouble.
But Don only stood there white-faced and staring, not able to believe his eyes, so George scooped up his clothing and backed into the kitchen to get dressed.
I sat up, my fingertips digging into my aching thighs, somehow angry and with a sense of being robbed, for George and I would have fucked some more if my husband hadn't come crashing in upon us. Knees spread and my pussy glistening with my lover's semen, I just sat there and looked up at Don, not even trying to cover up my naked body.
From the kitchen, George said, "Look, Don--"
And Don answered tautly, "Just get out."
I heard the backdoor slam. I climbed slowly to my feet, my nipples still hard with passion, my recent climax still rocketing through my body. Defiantly, I stared at my husband. He slapped me hard.
"Cover yourself," he said.
I licked my lips. "What for? You've seen my pussy before."
For a moment, I thought he was going to kick me across the room, and maybe it would have been better if he had, but that kind of violence wasn't in him. Don had already strained hell out of his code of ethics by slapping me.
He strode into the bedroom and I went to find the gin bottle. Nineteen years old, and I was already running away from myself, finding a welcome numbness and a ready answer in alcohol. Only then I didn't realize what I was doing, and what did Shaw say about youth being wasted on the young?
Gulping gin until it threatened to bounce back up, I staggered into the bedroom, still naked and with the smell of my lover upon my bare body. Don was throwing things into a suitcase, the perfect picture of the wronged husband. I stood there and laughed at him.
He said something about seeing his attorney, as if he actually knew a lawyer, and I said, "The hell you will."
He frowned at me. "Patti, I don't want to hear anything from you."
"You'll listen to this," I said, "because Pm pregnant and you'll never prove it's not yours."
Don collapsed on the bed and put his face into his hands.
For a split second, I was ashamed of myself, but that passed. Anger is a defense mechanism, the shrinks claim, and it was defending me then. So were about six shots of gin.
I gave him hell--blaming the poor bastard for everything--screaming that he wasn't man enough to keep a wife from screwing somebody else, that he wasn't worth a damn in bed, all the things that stroke at the depths of a man's being. And I made sure he didn't forget the baby.
Finally I ran down and started feeling shitty again. I put my hands on his head, but he wouldn't look up. I remember the gin boiling through my blood, remember seeing his light hair only inches away from my swollen fits. I pressed them against his head and shoved my body against his, standing between his spread knees.
When Don didn't resist, I leaned against him, forcing him back on the bed, and covered him with my naked body, my thighs straddling his as I fumbled for his zipper. I kept whispering to him, telling him that it was all right, that we could go right on fucking each other, that I was hot enough to handle both him and George.
I was turned on in a way that had never happened to me before, stirred by one man and suddenly wanting this other one. Don lay quietly beneath me, but his cock began to stiffen in my fingers as I played with it. Before it was .fully hard, I forced the head of it up into my dripping pussy.
There, I thought triumphantly, I had my husband's cock in me, right inside the same hungry pussy that was still greasy with another man's semen, and I was shaken by the fierceness of my emotions. Hunching down on his prick, I wiggled and ground, making it move within my vagina as Don simply lay there without moving, without even putting his arms around me.
That made it better. It was as if I was raping him, forcing him to fuck even when he didn't want to do it, and a drunken sense of power swept through me. Stroking up and down on his stiff prick, I whispered down to him, telling him how it could be for both of us and George, too.
"It'll be better for you," I murmured, "if I fuck George first, then get this sweet cock in me where it's all juicy. My pussy will be hotter for you, darling--it'll be all wet with George's come, and you'll like it more because I'll be hotter. And maybe we can get his wife to fuck you, too. Won't that be--ahh--ooh--won't that be wonderful, Don?"
Thrusting on his prick, I felt him quiver, and hurried my stroke to make him come. He did, spurting and spitting his load of semen into my gulping pussy, only minutes after I had been fucked by somebody else.
He lay there without moving, his cock softening as I whipped up and down on it to reach my own orgasm. It was a wild one when it hit, making my pussy flex strongly around his buried shaft, and I clawed at his limp body as I came.
Whispering, I said, "And I'll show you something George taught me, darling. I'll go down on you and eat your prick, just the way he made me eat his."
Don moved then, jerking his weakening shaft out of my jealous pussy and rolling off the bed, all in one savage movement. Glaring down at me, he hissed. "You no good bitch! What kind of damned animal are you? You--I--"
"You liked it," I said. "You lay there and let me fuck you."
He shuddered, zipping up his pants and biting his lips. Then he said coldly, "Never again, damn you. You'll never do that to me again."
Propped on one elbow, I watched him whip out of the room. He didn't take his suitcase. I lay back on the pillow and thought of the gin bottle, but the stuff was already heavy in my blood and I closed my eyes for a minute.
* * *
Someone was pulling at my arm. "Patti--are you all right? Do you want to go back upstairs?"
Janet's small face was intent, staring into mine, and I shook my head. "Just woozy; I'll be okay."
Somebody else was on the stand and I asked who it was. She said the guy's name was Mark, that he'd been the man who brought me to Hope House. I saw a guy in his mid-thirties; hair thinning a bit over a thin face with a crooked nose. He was tall and a little stooped, hands big and freckled as he gripped the stand.
The crowd laughed at things he said, and he laughed with them. The sign had been there all the time, but I just noticed it: "Easy Does It."
Hell, I thought, easy did it with Don, although he had to sell the house. The abortion was easy, too, just a quick knife, and Don could start the divorce proceedings. Everything was fixed, for good or bad. I can never have another child.
"Janet," I said, "let's get the hell out of here."
Stomach churning and my fade hot, I fled down the aisle between rows of folding chairs with Janet's hand on my elbow. We stumbled upstairs together while every cell in my body screamed for a drink, just one drink to ease the cramps. At the bedroom door I hung onto the knob and retched, but nothing came up.
I made it to the bed and sat down. "I need a drink."
She sat beside me and pulled my head to her shoulder, patting me on the back as if I was a child with a skinned knee. "Patti, I know how sick you are--"
"The hell you do."
"Sure I do. I've been just as sick."
"Then you understand that I've got to have a drink!"
Her eyes were very soft. "How about a cigarette?"
That stopped me. I didn't really mean to scream at her. "Okay."
She lighted it and passed it to me. "The doctor will look in on you again tonight. If you're really bad--tranquilizers and a Vitamin B shot. But don't lean on the pills. That's just substituting for alcohol, and that kind of sobriety won't last long."
I thought that nothing lasted--not the muscled hardness of a man's shaft working into my pussy; not words of love and happiness, and how damned fleeting was an orgasm so greedily sought after and so soon gone? Maybe pain and sorrow passed, too.
Before the doctor came around, I managed a shower, but soap and water didn't reach inside me, only cooling my skin while my mouth remained dusty. He gave me pills and stuck me with a needle and said to rest. The pills took hold and as I drifted into an easy sleep, somebody laughed in the living room.
CHAPTER THREE
Harry Tanis was 35 years old and managed his own ad agency. When I let my skirt creep up over rounded, nyloned knees and gave him a long, smoldering look, he gave me a job. A week after I went to work for him, he fired the other girl. That night I went to his apartment.
He was smooth and experienced, not uptight like my husband, not too eager, as my lover had been. After the first martini, he kissed me. I tasted the gin on his tongue, tasted the heat and man wetness and trembled between my legs.
We had an understanding, right off, so I stood up and shrugged out of my dress. I remember the hot light in his eyes as they ran over my lush body, touching the bare flesh as he saw I didn't wear a bra or panties. I cupped the full mounds of my firm breasts, offering their rigid points to him, then slid my hands slowly and insinuatingly over my belly, my hips, turning to show him all I had, the magnificent body I was so proud of.
"You are truly a beautiful bitch," Harry breathed, unbuttoning his shirt.
Caressing my thighs, I turned back to him, lifting my hips just a little so that my pelvis would reach out at him. Light gleamed over the thick, rich curlings of my midnight pubic hair.
Posing for him, I watched his fingers hurry through his shirt and zip off his pants. I was eager for the sight of his. cock, to see what it looked like, and I wasn't disappointed. Harry's prick was a good one, not as big as George's but sturdy and with a heavy, flanged head that was already pulsing and gathering a drop of pre-seminal fluid at its blunt tip.
When Harry stood up and put his hands on me, I trembled all over, shuddering in wave after wave of hot desire. My mouth locked into his, opening for the probing of his avid tongue and the clashing of his teeth. My fits crushed into his naked chest, their nipples digging in.
I felt the rhythmic sway of my hips begin, ticktocking from side to side in a sensuous metronome, rubbing my furry crotch into the hard shaft of his cock, trailing my hands over his muscular back and fingernailing lightly over the cheeks of his ass. We fell to the couch, tangling together in a desperate hunger, in a writhing passion that blended us body to arching body.
His hands were between my thighs, cupping my throbbing cunt, fingering through the luxurious hair to find the humid excitement of my labia. I pressed his face between my breasts. Harry's tongue darted hotly out to curl around a nipple, pulling it into his mouth so he could suck on it. Finding his swollen prick, I caressed it with anxious fingers, feeling the distended veins, the puffy head that was at once spongy and hard-cored.
"Come on!" I hissed. "Oh Harry--come on, come on. I can't wait any longer--hurry and get it in me!"
But the son of a bitch didn't. He had' me burning up inside, my love oils wetting my labia, but he wouldn't shove his beautiful hard-on into me and fill me up. He slid on down my body, his tongue flicking over my 'rib cage,. driving me freaky. Down he went, and farther yet, driving his wet tongue into my belly button, slipping it across my hip bones, nibbling at my groin until my. ass was drawing tight and my pelvis was surging crazily.
His hands were going constantly, stroking my hips, my belly, sliding around to fondle the cheeks of my eager ass. I felt his hot breath fickle down into my cunt hairs. The thought flashed through my mind that he was going to do that to me, that at last I had found a man who would treat me as he wanted to be treated.
Harry delved his tongue into my hair, down so that it touched the slippery lips of my blazing pussy. I humped against his mouth, my head spinning and my breath rasping in my throat. It was such a wild, wonderful sensation, so damned intimate, so lovely. I flinched when he inserted that gorgeous tongue into my dewy labia, and squirmed as I felt it penetrate, moving juicily in my vagina.
"D-darling," I panted, "oh, darling--I've never--nobody ever did this to me before. And it's so--so fantastic!"
Working deeply into my cunt, he felt along its walls and my lips mashed themselves against his teeth as I ground my crotch into his face. I brought my thighs together along his cheeks.
Harry ate into my flexing pussy, burrowing his face into its depths and he began to suck me, drawing my cunt lips into his mouth, cork-screwing them with his tongue. When his trained tongue probed beneath the hood to discover my clit, I almost went out of my mind. I remember pounding the couch pillows with my fists, and arching my back. I remember shivering and trembling all over my body, inside and out.
He really worked over my clitoris, thrilling it with his tongue, siphoning it between his teeth where he worried it gently. I came with a sudden explosion of raw passion, bucking and heaving against his busy mouth. It was different from coming on a man's prick, somehow more deeply satisfying, and the shock waves of that orgasm raced to every part of my nervous system.
But he didn't stop there. Snuffling into the stained folds of my oily cunt, he continued to eat, to toy with my vibrating clit, to lap and lick like a hungry puppy dog. My hands crept down to caress his hair. When I started to reach for the next climax I worked my fingers into his scalp and forced his head impossibly deeper between my undulating thighs.
I was gasping for air, my tits heaving up and down, when he at last lifted his dripping face from my inflamed crotch. He wiped his mouth against my belly and wet my rigid nipples with his lips, then plastered his mouth to my own as he lay atop my body. I realized that I was tasting the flavor of my own pussy, knowing its musky fragrance upon my tongue, and I loved it.
His cockhead poked for my wet pussy lips, nudging its way between them, and I received him gladly, my vagina aching for penetration, needing his meat deep within the gripping of my avid cunt walls. Harry's cock slipped in easily, and slid to its full, hard length inside me. I could feel the knob fumbling at the cup of my womb when I rolled back upon my shoulders and lifted my pelvis.
Rolling on his prick when it was locked perfectly into my juicy socket, I ground my crotch across his and felt his balls come to rest in the uptilted crack of my trembling ass. Oh, but it was good, good, and I tore my mouth from his to tell him so.
"Darling--oh darling, your prick is so wonderful. I love it deep inside my pussy, moving like this, and like this--ahh, Harry, Harry, my lover--fuck me hard!"
He responded fiercely, playing his pole violently into my clinging snatch, pounding it up into me with long, savage thrusts that made my tits bounce and the cheeks of my ass lurch in answer. I lifted my long legs and wrapped them around the small of his back, clamping down on him, helping him to drive his stiff rod ever deeper into my ravenous cunt.
"You hot-assed bitch!" he panted. "What a pussy--so tight and narrow--oh baby, it's just eating up my cock, biting down on the heal, and when you shake your ass like that--"
Hammering it to me, he began to rock back and forth, to swing his ass so that his cockhead felt all over the inner sheathing of my pussy, so that the shaft stroked my expanded clit and set it to thrumming.
As he sledged his meat within the confines of my velvet cunt, I gyrated insanely upon it, wheeling my ass from side to side and rubbing my crotch strongly into his, giving him back stroke for stroke, meeting his thrusts and squirming delightedly upon them.
I could tell when he was about to come, because his movements turned jerky and his legs stiffened out, his toes digging into the couch for better purchase. Hurrying in my own orgasm,. I made several convulsive humping that brought me to the same point he was, and when. Harry loosed the first jet stream of his spitting semen into my pussy, I was ready for it.
Wringing my cunt around his spitting cock-head, I gloried in the splash of his come against my cervix, came with him as more of the rich and creamy liquid inundated the quivering walls of my vagina and backed up on the base of his swollen shaft. My own climax was a terrific one, built up by the others Harry had given me with his eager mouth, and it burst throughout my straining cunt with wet tendrils of flame. When I allowed my legs to slip down from Harry's sweaty back, I knew that I had been really flicked, that Harry was a much more accomplished lover than the two men rd had experience with before.
If the shrinks are right about my nymphomania, they may also be correct about the term they have for men like Harry Tanis. They call him a satyr, a male as insatiable in his lusts as I am in mine. We made a perfect pair, both of us greedy and grasping, both needing twisted stimulations to reach new sexual heights.
We had rested for only a few minutes when Harry slid his greasy cock from the jealous clasping of my pussy and sat up to pour us another drink from the icy shaker. I welcomed the martini, and the next one, sitting beside him, both of us unashamedly naked and taken by the sight of each other's bodies, both stirred by the storm of passion we had just been through.
The shaker was empty when I slid down on the carpet and positioned myself between his spread knees. Yes, I had taken one other man's shaft into my mouth before, but I had never gone all the way with it; rd never known the spurting of semen into the back of my throat, and I craved that sensation now, with Harry.
"It's a lovely cock," I murmured, staring at its purplish head with the intriguing ridge around it, at the upright shaft and its turgid veins, the base so thick and strong where it rose from the curly nest of his hairy balls. "I want it all for myself, Harry."
"It's yours," he breathed as I brought my breasts close and fitted them around the hard pole. "Do whatever you want to with my prick, baby."
I blew warmly upon the head and stroked my fingers up and down the shaft, teasing them into his balls and back again to curl lovingly around its sturdy shaft. When I kissed the swollen knob, the male odor filled my nostrils, and I adored it, breathing it in like the most expensive perfume. My tongue played over the glans, wetting its blunt point, touching the little soft lump of scar tissue below.
I couldn't resist, couldn't wait any longer; I just had to taste that beautiful thing, and I was thankful that George had once forced his big cock into my unwilling mouth. Now I knew that it wasn't perverted or dirty. I knew that it could be wonderful. Opening my lips wide, I slipped them down over the head, curling my lips so that my teeth wouldn't be painful to him.
He quivered as I ran my tongue over his cock-head and down into the sticky little slot. I pulled it deeply, bringing it across my tongue and the roof of my mouth, drawing it back to the cup of my throat. I dipped my cheeks in as I sucked, letting them also caress his throbbing prick, before slipping my head up and down in a slow, rhythmic motion that was like fucking.
Harry took my head between his hands as he spread his legs wider, and I pushed the mounds of my rounded tits against his expanded balls, reveling in the soft scratching of his pubic hair against them. He simply guided me as I bobbed my mouth up and down, as I slid my questing tongue over every inch of his hard meat. Sucking and laving his cockhead, I would open my lips to allow his prick to stand almost freely, with only the barest pressure upon it, then suddenly draw it hungrily back into my mouth so that its tip could touch the satin cup of my throat.
I could have eaten him forever, because I was thrilled by the way he was arching his pelvis into my face, by the rasping sound of his breath and the convulsive movements of his prick. But I knew he couldn't last, so I speeded up my loving and felt his balls jerk against the pressure of my breasts.
His cockhead flexed and seemed to expand within the grip of my suctioning mouth, then the first ejaculation of semen made it spit. His come was heavy and juicy, boiling out to splash against my throat. I gulped it down, rolling my tongue around the dripping, greasy head to bring more of the delicious stuff forth. Harry kept coming, in smaller and smaller spurts of rich cream that I swallowed hungrily, the musky per-fume of it filling my nostrils, the strong flavor of his semen gushing in my mouth.
I milked him down, running my hands over his balls and up his shaking prick, trying to suck him completely dry. My head was spinning and my heart was pounding wildly in my rib cage, threatening to break out. It was a crazy, primitive feeling that raced through me now, that made my cunt quiver and my tits ache. I was owning this man, possessing him as I had never taken a man before, drawing his male strength down my throat and into my stomach where I would keep it forever.
Sighing, he fell back on the couch, going limp as his cock sagged within my mouth. Regretfully, I allowed it to slide from my soapy lips, and kissed my way slowly up his heaving belly to his nipples. I chewed them tenderly, then kissed his throat as I crawled on top of his supine body. When I gave him a sample of my lips, his opened slowly so that I could feed him the same tongue that had brought his cock to orgasm.
Not only did we spend the night experimenting, playing with each other, petting and caressing, but Harry didn't open the office next day, either.
We really fitted. We were the same kind, shaped in identical dark molds. I didn't even dream then that Harry's long and varied experience had led him to dabble in acts I hadn't imagined yet, not in my most fevered nightmares. But I was going to learn, Harry would see to that.
Naturally, because we were afraid to let each other go, we were married. I wasn't certain my divorce from Don was final, but Harry said it didn't matter--that was in another state and another life. I agreed. Certainly this new, sensuous life opening to me was everything I had ever wanted, or needed.
Our honeymoon was a whirl of mad parties, of whiskey and innuendo from an expanding circle of feverishly happy friends. Harry knew so damned many people, and some of them seemed pretty shady. I didn't meet many of these until later, when they weren't people or personalities, when they became simply bodies.
For months, that was as far as it went, a few harmless flirtations, a guy putting his hand on my knee under the table, or brushing his arm across my breast. Sure, I liked the attention, but Harry was enough for me then, meeting every wild demand of my body with hungers of his own. I felt a little sorry for the other men, the ones I teased without paying off.
I was a dumb kid, remember. I thought people were just goofing around when somebody's wife kissed someone else, when Harry patted a plump blonde on the hip, and liquor numbed everything, slowed reactions and sent inhibitions scurrying.
Maybe I shouldn't have even been surprised at what happened next.
CHAPTER FOUR
One of the guys who seemed to be always around was Hank Jorgenson, a professor of English literature. He was casual and interesting, and while his blonde wife danced, we'd talk about books and authors. His wife Lori was intelligent, too; she seldom got giggly and never sloppy. She was pretty and full bodied, her breasts smoothly filling her tasteful gowns. My husband seemed attracted to her, and I couldn't blame him.
I drank far more than usual one night, and my head was wobbly on my neck as Harry led me in to bed. Stripping me and tucking me in, he told me not to worry, that he'd make apologies to our guests. The darkened room whirled as I closed my eyes, and I hoped Hank and Lori would forgive me for spoiling the party.
Sometime later, I felt his hard body slide between the covers and I rolled over to face him, mumbling that I would cut down on my drinking so I wouldn't embarrass him again. His hands wandered over me, smooth and caressing, cupping my tits and ass cheeks, pulling my body to his in the blackness.
My head cleared a little, and I settled myself to him, fitted my thighs to his and dug my fingernails into his back. It was only a moment, a sudden, startled moment, before I realized that the man in bed with me wasn't my husband. I stiffened and pushed at the strange chest with both hands, trying to twist away from the thrusting of his hard and pulsing cock.
But it was already too late; his prick was shoving up between my thighs, prodding hard at my bushy mound, and I could feel its strong warmth, its hunger. The man held me gripped tightly, fiercely, and I opened my mouth to scream. One of his hands clamped over my mouth and his voice hissed into my ear: "Don't be a fool, Patti!"
Hank Jorgenson! Hank was pinning me to my own mattress, Hank's shaft so urgently thrusting for the entrance of my labia.
"What--what--" I mumbled against his palm.
"Shut up, Patti," he whispered. "Shut up and listen. Use your ears."
Harry, I thought desperately, Harry will come into our bedroom and find me here with his friend. But then, slowly and faintly, I heard the sounds Hank wanted me to listen for. They came echoing across the hall from the guestroom, the timed and musical noises of an agitated bed. A woman moaned in the darkness.
"That's Lori," Hank hissed. "Your husband is with her, and they're fucking each other."
My mind staggered and the taste of liquor rose bitter in my throat. I kept listening to the sounds of the bed and Hank used my stunned condition to set his cockhead against the humid lips of my pussy. He shoved it in an inch, then another, and I didn't resist.
They'd planned it, I thought, my husband, Hank and his wife. Hank was screwing Lori, and he'd sent Hank in here to me. I heard that other bed rattle and felt Hank's knob sliding up into the grip of my cunt. If that's what everybody else wanted, so be it.
Hank was a nice guy, and he had a nice, hard pole that was digging up into my not so reluctant pussy now. I wiggled as it slid home. He had lifted. one of my legs across his body, and I worked the heel of my foot into the warm crack of his ass. My cunt closed, welcoming around this new and different cock, and I ground my pelvis into his.
"I--I've wanted to fuck you for so long, Patti," he said. "But Harry said you weren't ready. Those long, sleek legs and now this blazing cunt--ahh, Patti, Patti, you're really a hot piece of ass, just as your husband said."
Squirming to him, I stroked and hunched, riding this strange prick, enjoying the new feel of it sliding in and out of the satin grasp of my feverish pussy, loving the caress of his balls and the grinding of his hairy crotch.
"They--Harry and Lori have fucked before?"
He thrust strongly into my snatch, rubbing his pelvis across mine and stimulating my eager clit. "Oh yes, many times. I've watched them. Oh Patti--such a sweet, juicy little cunt."
My husband and his wife, fucking while he watched them. The idea turned me on wildly, and I bucked avidly on his pistoning cock, slamming down on the swollen cockhead with the muscles of my wet vagina. Hank held the cheeks of my ass and I felt his fingertip sliding up into my ass-hole, probing delicately there while his stiff prick worked powerfully within my thrilled cunt.
I didn't object, so he moved it on inside the tight hole, and I discovered a different excitement, something that flashed from my anus to an erotic connection deep within my surging pussy.
Bucking on both digits, I wiggled in rapture as they slid in and out, as they felt for erogenous zones and found them. My clit swelled and vibrated. I kissed Hank savagely, running my tongue halfway down his gasping throat. If he had yearned so much for my pussy, rd sure as hell give it all to him.
Hank groaned, and his cockhead jerked in a spasmed. movement. I felt my own sudden orgasm coming, building up from behind my knees and rushing through my tensed thighs to center in the mad pulsation of my cunt, to throb against my clitoris with an urgency that couldn't be denied, couldn't be held off for one second longer.
"Baby," he panted, "oh baby--I'm coming--Fm about to let go inside your lovely young cunt--"
"Fuck me, fuck me!" I answered, biting his lips and banging my pelvis savagely into his.
I reached my climax a heartbeat before Hank came, and shivered on that magic pinnacle for a breathless moment before the. mighty flood of his semen was let loose into my searing pussy. His come was scalding, bubbling hot, penetrating every nook and cranny of my vagina, spattering rich and thick against the opening of my womb, spraying oyster-like over the flexing vaginal walls.
Gasping into his mouth, I kept straining against him, continued to grind and hunch on his embedded meat, really digging my new lover, maybe digging him even more because my own husband had sent him to me. What a way to turn on, I thought, to wake up and find a strange prick reaching between my thighs. I wondered if my husband was getting himself a good fuck in the other room.
Maybe it's old hat now, but back a few years ago, mate trading wasn't all that accepted, and that night was my initiation into a hidden segment of society, into a group of people who sought and found excitement by exchanging husbands and/or wives. I didn't fight the idea, but accepted it, as if I had been waiting for it all my life, and maybe I had been. Now I had a green light for sex, and could do just about as I damned well pleased, so long as Harry was included in the action.
I guess I went kind of crazy with Hank that night. I was all over him, taking his good cock into my body in a variety of wild positions, but neither of us went down on the other for a long time. When I turned on the bed lamp and reached for the bottle I kept close by, Hank was ready for a break and a drink, too. I took a couple of long, strengthening swallows and passed him the bottle.
"You said you watched Lori and Harry," I said. "Don't they mind?"
"Oh no," he smiled. "It adds something to their screwing. And watching isn't all, Patti--I joined them, too."
"It's even better with couples," he said.
I blinked. "Two guys and one woman?"
His eyes on mine, his prick bent now and sagging, but with a little seepage still on its shrunken head. "Do you think you're ready for something like that?"
Swallowing, I murmured, "I--I don't really know. Maybe I'd like to see Harry putting it to your wife, see how Lori screws, but I don't know if I could just--sort of mix with them."
"Sure you can," Hank insisted. "You can give way to your real feelings, just the way you did when you first felt my prick in your sweet cunt and realized that it wasn't your husband's. You can release your libido, Patti, let your desires run free and untrammeled, be as earthy and natural as you wish."
I took back the bottle and worked it over, making my eyes water but setting a new flame in my tummy. Hank made a lot of sense as he kept talking about doing exactly what I felt, so long as it didn't hurt 'anybody else. My husband thought it was okay, and so did Hank and Lori. Why should I feel uneasy about making it, then?
Something to do with the time my first husband walked in on me while I was fucking our neighbor, I supposed. And the more I thought about the idea of watching Harry screw the beauteous Mrs. Jorgenson, the more excited I got. Then I frowned. Suppose he was already screwed out, and couldn't make it again?
"Well?" Hank asked, running his fingers gently over the hard nipples of my tits.
"Let's go," I said, making up my mind. But I still got my robe out of the closet and carried the bottle with me.
As if they had been expecting us, the light was on in the guestroom across the hall as Hank led me there, holding my hand. Hesitantly, I peeped through the doorway at the couple entwined upon the bed. Her long, golden hair was draped across his chest, and my husband lay upon his back.
His shaft was sticking straight up, the head of it all shiny with his and her juices, and she was kissing his belly. Her sleek legs were drawn up, but she was lying on her side, the rounded cheeks of her ass. gleaming softly in the light.
I could see the blonde pubic hair peeping coyly from her crack, and thought again that I couldn't blame Harry, or any other man for that matter, for being drawn to this woman. She was beautifully put together, cunningly designed, slim in the waist and full in the tits, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. They had fucked many times before, Hank said. She must have felt deprived, since Harry married me, cut off from the prick she obviously adored.
My husband turned his head slightly and he saw me in the door. Slowly, he smiled, and while one hand rested upon that mass of golden hair, he motioned me inside the room with the other one. Mechanically, I moved in, still hanging tightly to Hank's hand, still clinging to the strength of my whiskey bottle.
Sinking into a chair, I stared mesmerized at the scene before me, fascinated by the sight of a lovely woman preparing to go down on my husband. Hank sat on the arm of the chair, leaning forward, but with one arm around my shoulders so that his hand cupped the sensitive swell of my breast, so that his thumb and forefinger could roll the nipple between them.
Lori was kissing my husband's thighs, drawing the glittering wealth of her hair over his groin so that his stiff prick was washed by it, surrounded by its abundant softness. She burrowed her face between his spread thighs. I could barely see how she was working her tongue into his crack and beneath the wrinkled sack of his balls. Harry was twisting slowly in passion and curling his fingers into her flowing hair.
You would think that I would be uptight, alienated by what I was seeing, that I would flare in jealousy because another woman was going down on my husband's cock. But strange emotions were moving along my nerve ends, forcing my breath to rasp in my throat. I wanted him to make it with her, wanted him to twist and heave in the spasms that meant he was coming. I wanted to see it and somehow be it, to give and take at the same time, to kind of stand aside and watch this woman who was me and yet not me.
My eyes went wise as she lifted her face and licked over his shaft, as she ran her quick red tongue up and down the expanded length of my husband's prick. I saw the white flash of her teeth .as Lori gently nipped the pole and I could almost taste the skin against her lips as she drew them up and over the cockhead itself.
"That's the way, Lori," Harry breathed. "Oh yeah, baby--I can feel your tongue sliding all over the head and uuhh--going down into the slit. Sweet and hot, baby--that's the way I dig it: wet and hot--"
Hank leaned close and whispered in my ear: "Aren't they beautiful? Look at the way she worships his prick with her mouth. I can tell you that my wife really knows how to give head, that she actually devours a man's prick."
My hand strayed over and cupped his balls; my fingers wandered over its rigid shape, but I never took my eyes from what this man's wife was doing to my husband. Now she had her hands beneath the cheeks of Harry's ass and was bobbing her head up and down, sucking his cock as she worked it with her tongue.
Hank pulled insistently at my shoulders, and I leaned his way to feel the warm bulb of his cock against my cheek. By tilting my head just a little, I could reach it with my tongue without looking away from the pair so busy upon the bed. I licked him, ran my tongue over his knob and tasted its flavor.
Just then, my husband's eyes caught mine, and he smiled. He smiled as he watched me slide my lips over another man's glans, as he saw me take another man's prick into my mouth, where I had so often loved his own. It was weird, but somehow we seemed to be connected by the acts, joined by what we were giving to others.
Lori was moving faster now, and I knew that I would never catch up. She was cuddling my husband's balls in one hand and playing the finger-tips of the other along his shaft while her red mouth sucked and slid, bobbled and pulled up. I tried to match the movements, to duplicate the action with my own eager mouth, but Hank was sitting on an angle, holding to my head, one knee hooked around the arm of the chair and the other foot braced against the floor.
Harry's balls gave a little upward leap. Lori moaned as his juices gushed fiercely into her pulling mouth. My husband was pumping his come into the lovely woman's throat, and I chewed upon Hank's cock in turn. I saw my husband's eyes roll upward, and knew that he was really spitting his semen into Lori's throat, that he was getting his orgasm good. I just kept working Hank's cockhead, sliding my siphoning mouth up and down until he came, too.
Swallowing his hot juices, sucking them along my tongue and down my throat, I stared at my . husband, at the woman with her mouth still wrapped around his prick. In some far, small corner of my mind, there was a little warning buzzer. But I didn't pay any attention to it. I drained Hank dry and let his shaft ease from my lips. Then I rinsed my mouth with a couple of big belts from the bottle, rolling the whiskey around before swallowing it.
I got drunk again. They put me on the bed with them and made me a part of the swinging, but somehow I just couldn't get myself all together for it. Oh, it was a freaky kind of fun, to lie there and play with Lori's fits while her husband and my husband took turns sticking the meat to her writhing body.
And it was dreamy to take my turn with them, feeling one cock push into my humid pussy, then the other taking its place. I enjoyed being kissed by Lori and knowing the subtle honey of her tongue against my own. I even liked it when the three of them went at me, rolling me over, kissing my mound and sticking fingers and pricks into it.
It was something out of the Arabian Nights, a fantasy land where every inch of my skin turned ultra-sensitive, where I drifted with the lotus and everything was a soft blur. I drank more, numbing that far place in my head, and sometime during that hectic night, I passed into a deep, dark sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
I was sicker than hell the next morning at Hope House. The shakes weren't so bad now, but they let me know every so often they were still around.
Janet introduced me to people whose faces were only blurs, except one woman's; she had an intense, patrician face without make-up, and she looked out of place here. Then there was a guy with scars around his eyes and a crooked nose; he was Johnny.
They said things about this being a sickness, that we all had it, and the woman with the cameo face nodded. Her name was Darla, someone said. She wore flat heeled shoes and walked stiffly.
The guy who ran the place was Dan. He was a good talker, spicing his story of his own alcoholism with quips, getting me to nod and to answer until I was unfolding myself to the human warmth of this man. I realized with a sudden shock that he very much resembled my dad.
He wasn't as handsome, not so virile as dad, but there was a certain kinship between these two men who had never seen each other, a peculiar sadness in the wise depth of their eyes, the tilting of a mouth corner, a remembered movement of a hand as it accented a point under examination.
But I didn't want to think of dad; angrily, I shut my eyes and pushed him to the back of my head, with a sinuous, jiggling young woman in a blue silk gown, the newest in a long line of transient mistresses.
It was easier to remember Harry Tanis, to sort out jigsaw pieces of my life with him, dropping them into places I thought had all healed over. Hank and Harry; Lori and me; the four of us became inseparable, going to parties and getting smashed, then coming home and swinging.
It was so damned easy, once the bars were lowered. The things we used to do to each other--like the first time I actually made it with Lori Jorgenson. Before, I had only played around with her while we shared the men, but this time it was different. We were alone in the upstairs bedroom, while the guys were watching the end of a football game downstairs.
She came to me and ran her hands under my sheer robe, cupping my breasts and fingering the nipples. "You have lovely fits, Patti."
"So do you," I said, touching hers in turn.
Lori pushed her svelte body next to mine. "We're so different in coloring, but pretty evenly matched, otherwise. You have longer legs, and I just adore the way your pussy swells out." When she said that, she stroked my mound, and her fingers tingled along the insides of my thighs.
Okay, I figured, if she wanted to play around some before the guys got here, I'd go along with her. Besides, I liked to run my hands over her body, too. She was so soft, yet firm, and her curves were smooth and silken. By mutual consent, we moved over to the bed and stretched out upon it.
My head was already buzzing from what I'd had to drink earlier in the evening, and I felt a little woozy. Before I knew it, Lori was in my arms, fitting her heavy breasts to mine and clamping her mouth to my lips. I parted them so she could slip her tongue inside, and knew a hot flash of sudden lust as our breaths mixed and our teeth raked lightly. Lori's furry vulva was pressed against my own, moving slowly up and down.
My hands trailed over her lush hips, stroking the tender flesh, learning the satin shaping of her ass. She broke our kiss and began to nibble my breasts, rolling the hard nipples around her tongue and teasing the sensitive mounds themselves. She was at my belly then, warm mouth working, her teeth nipping delicately, that enchanted tongue caressing my skin.
I spread my thighs for her and she rubbed her breasts into the torrid resilience of my pussy lips, dragging one nipple at a time across the humid lips. Eyes closed, head back, I gave myself up to the wonder of it, to the passionate probing and the thrills that were somehow forbidden, therefore much better.
But Lori started to turn her body just then, to wheel slowly around so that .her head was down and her sleek legs were near my face. They were beautiful legs, seen so closely, trim and modeled, their skin flawless and polished. Lori's long, golden hair covered my thighs with scented softness. One of her legs lifted to cross over, and my head was boxed in by her rounded and tapered calves. I was a little surprised, but stimulated, too. I had never seen another woman's pussy from so close, and hers was as lovely as the rest of her body.
When I felt the first tentative thrusting of her hot tongue parting my pubic hairs, I just naturally reached up toward hers. Kissing the inside of her thighs, I flicked my own tongue up and tasted her rich cunt hairs. A tremble shook me then, and I clenched the burnished cheeks of her ass in both hands to bury my face eagerly into her crotch.
She tasted of damp flames, of a special kind of womanhood, all wiggly and excited. Lori shoved her tongue deeply into the giving lips of my cunt, and I followed suit, probing into the clinging depths of her vibrant sheath, bathing my questing tongue in the warmly fragrant juices there.
We squirmed together, our faces nuzzled into each other's snatches, licking and groaning in mutual passion shared, sucking thirstily of our flowing oils. I drew her cunt lips into my mouth and turned them inside out, fondling them with my teeth, and when I uncovered her clit, the little darling was throbbing like some furious nubbin. I adored it, teased it, and was very soon rewarded by a spasm there, by a grinding hunch against my face which told me that Lori was coming, that I had already brought her to a deep and gratifying orgasm.
Swinging my hips, I fed my pussy into her suctioning mouth, bucking my crotch against her chin, wiggling and heaving as the terrific feelings built up in my feverish body. She dug her nails into the cheeks of my surging ass and I gasped into the sultry depths of Lori's pussy as I came with a thrilling, violent climax that shook me from head to toe.
That's how our husbands found us, locked together end to end, sighing and moaning in a contentment that threatened to burst again into roaring flames at the slightest erotic movement. I suppose that if they had been straight, average guys, they would have beat hell out of us and filed for divorces. But Harry and Hank weren't average guys, they were swingers who got turned on by just about anything sexually offbeat, and especially by acts their wives participated in.
So they joined us on the bed, and the first I knew of their presence, somebody was kissing the cheeks of my ass, and someone else was nuzzling the back of my neck. Somehow, Lori and I had gotten mixed around, so that I was now on top. She took her face from my crotch, and I lifted from her warmly pulsing body, loath to leave it even for a moment, a new kind of lust boiling through my veins.
I'll say here that I'm now more or less an AC/DC chick, a bisexual ready to make it with either a man or a woman, but I prefer them together, and if it comes down to a choice, I'll take the man every time. There's a special kind of tenderness about swinging with another chick, and it seems that only another woman can truly know all the erogenous places in a woman's body. But when I have a man inside my pussy, when I'm grinding on his strong, meaty cock, there's a marvel there, a maleness that I somehow fight against and always lose, but gladly.
Anyhow, Harry and Hank slowly untangled us from each other, and when Lori and I were on our backs, with our faces still wet with cunt juices, they mounted us. Harry slid his hard cock into Lori, and Hank put his into me.
I was all stirred up from making it with another woman, and rode Hank's good cock with enthusiasm, wiggling upon the sturdy meat as he seesawed it in and out of my steaming cunt. By turning my head, I could watch my husband screwing his wife, see Harry's powerful shaft pumping steadily into Lori's up-tilted pussy with its wealth of golden hairs caressing the slippery pole as it slid into her and out again.
But Hank fooled me. Just as I arched back and lifted my pelvis in a quick orgasm, he pulled his prick out of me and backed off. I blinked up in surprise, until Harry changed places with his buddy, and drove his greasy shaft into the vagina another cock had just left.
The rippling sheath of my cunt closed around his familiar prick, and I squirmed delightedly upon its moving length, feeling the distended head prodding my cervix.
"Two great cunts," Harry breathed hoarsely. "Two beautiful snatches for us to fuck. We're just going to keep changing over until one of us blows off into somebody."
That was all right with me, and I held my husband close as I concentrated upon trying to make him come inside my pussy, as I strained my crotch to his and rolled my ass in sensuously grinding movement calculated to thrill him most. Bracing my feet behind his spread knees, I met him thrust for thrust, wriggling on his good meat and raking the cheeks of his ass with my fingernails.
Shuddering, I hiked my pelvis and bumped it furiously, but Harry didn't come when I did. As my orgasm flashed brightly through my driving pussy, Harry held his shaft deep and waited.
Then it was Hank again, jamming his soapy cock up into my inflamed vagina, sledging it home with a powerful thrust that made me gasp. But the marathon wasn't going to last much longer for the men. Hank rolled me over on top of him and gripped the cheeks of my sweaty ass, burying his cockhead far up my vagina. I bucked on top of him, rolling my ass and rubbing my pelvis into his, feeling his prick touch all the bases, grinding my swollen clit around the base of his rigid meat.
Beside me, Lori cried out: "Oh Harry, Harry, darling--fuck me hard! Slam your wonderful cock into my pussy, Harry. I'm going to come again--again, Harry!"
And my husband answered, "Shake it, baby. Roll that gorgeous ass and eat up my prick with your hot cunt. UH--UH--UH!"
Hank held a grip on my fits now, digging his fingers into them as his body arched and he practically lifted me from the bed with each tremendous stroke. I bounced on his embedded shaft, hammered down on it and twisted it with my pussy. This time, we came together, and I knew the foaming wonder of his semen as it geysered high into my vagina, to spatter the cup of my trembling womb and flood my pulsating hole from end to end. My own orgasm shook me, exploded from my clit and thundered hotly around inside my pussy, snapping my ass-hole tight and just about stopping my heart.
When I climbed off him and his dripping cockhead left a trail of sticky fluid down the inside of my thigh, I didn't even wipe at it. I needed a drink, and walked across the room to find the bottle on the dresser.
As I look back on it now, I can see that liquor was damned as important as sex to me, even then, when I was so young and just beginning to move into a nightmare of unbridled lusts and twisted passions. A few drinks loosened me up, dulled the edges of what used to be my conscience, and made me a fun girl.
I wonder how Harry and Hank found time to do their jobs, they spent so much time with their shared wives. Nights were always an explosion of hot flesh and cold whiskey, telescoping into each other as we did, drunken, squirming, tangled nights that we tried to hold onto by drawing the shades against daylight. Or maybe we were just trying to keep our faces always in the shadow world we had created for ourselves.
Harry was the first to rebel. Not against the situation, mind you, but against the sameness of it, against the beginning boredom of the same women with the same men. It's like that with men like Harry and women like me. We have to keep reaching higher, crawling lower, drinking deeper and running faster. If we ever stand still, there might be time to look at ourselves, and we can't stand that.
So the next step was to look up some other swingers, and Harry did it. I remember the first party we went to, after agreeing among ourselves that it would be for kicks, and that we would probably come back home as we always did.
There were ten others at that house, ranging in age from about fifty to a mere eighteen, young guys, and middle aged men, barely nubile girls and aristocratic matrons. They welcomed us with open arms--and open legs, I might add.
The first rule jolted me. Newcomer wives were to be available to all men in turn. An initiation they called it. It took me four big doubles of bourbon to get my nerve together for that, to take on five men I had never met before, who were total strangers to me. You wouldn't figure that, would you? I mean, here I had been screwing two men and sharing them with Lori. I had been twice married and had another lover besides. Yet I was edgy about just opening my body to strangers I might not even like.
I guess there has always been a secret part of me that is still a little kid, all rosy with romantic illusions and dreaming of the white knight. But I drowned that little girl in strong booze and went upstairs with Lori, each of us turning into our initiation rooms.
The host came to me first, shedding his dressing gown and grinning down at me, his goodly sized cock held loosely in one hand. I felt like a whore greeting a customer, but my only payoff would be any orgasms I might be able to reach myself. Jim Courtney was a big, balding man with gray black hair on his chest and a pot belly. But he was a tender lover, and once I got over the initial shock of his prick feeling up into my pussy, I relaxed and gave him a good fucking, wiggling and surging against him until he let go with a burst of semen that was hot within my trembling vagina.
Next I screwed a kid about eighteen years old; his body was almost hairless, and his prick was thin, but long, with a knobby head that could tickle me in weird places. I don't think I even heard his name, but that didn't matter; he was a prick with a body hung on it.
The third man wanted me on top, and I obliged, fitting his hard shaft into my dripping cunt and jockeying him furiously until he let go his load. The next man was fat and furry as a bear, and he dug his fucking most from the rear, so I swayed on hands and knees, wondering between strokes how my friend Lori was making out in the other room.
Tiring, I still gave the last guy a good ride, locking my legs around his heaving back and squirming, hitting another orgasm of my own when he loosed his stream of foaming juice into my flooded cunt. If I thought I was through, I was crazy. There was still Hank and my own husband. But my fucking was only half-hearted with them; I had been thrilled by so many different cocks, turned on by new movements and reactions, and they were kind of familiar lovers now.
Eyes closed, I slumped in the old chair at Hope House and came slowly back to the whips and jangles, to wanting a drink so damned badly that I would screw for it, suck for it, rob for one long swallow of icy bourbon that would still the moths fluttering in my belly.
Janet said anxiously, "Are you okay?"
"I guess I'll make it," I answered through dry lips, "but I can't guess why."
Solomon-like, Dan sat there and looked at me. "Because you're strong; all alkies are, or none of us would live past our first tries at murdering ourselves. We alkies love ourselves, and try to murder the thing we love most."
Bullshit, I thought. I had never tried to commit suicide.
CHAPTER SIX
I had been hearing a lot about Mark, the guy who brought me to Hope House, and the next day I met him. Nothing outstanding about the man, good shoulders, warm blue eyes, a standard kind of face, ten years or so older than me.
When we sat alone in the shabby living room, I asked him why he'd taken the trouble.
"You were sick," he said, "and often one alky can see that in another."
"Hell," I said, "I'm sick now. But I think I had something else in mind when you asked me to come with you."
"Probably," he said, "but I couldn't take you to bed in your condition."
"Plenty of guys have," I said bitterly. I was suddenly conscious of the perfume rd borrowed from Janet, something fluffy and light, too young. It wasn't the musky, stirring scent that fitted me so well.
"Take it easy," he said. "You're putting yourself down harder than anybody else will, around here. That's something we all have to get past--thinking we're no damned good, that we've poured ourselves down the drain."
My hands were shaking, and I tried to decide which I needed most, a drink or this calm, self-assured man. He held a lighter to my cigarette, and I took the opportunity to brush my fingers over his wrist. Our eyes locked fore a long, breathless moment, and I knew he felt it--that stuff that emanates from me like a bitch in heat.
It wasn't something I often did consciously. It was just a part of me, the sensuous female of me reaching out to attract the male, damned near any male. But it didn't go any farther just then because Darla--she was the tall, quiet woman with the patrician face--came in and asked Mark if he'd like to take a Twelfth Step call on some street or the other.
"Sure," he said to her, and to me. "Later, Patti. Hang tough."
Darla stood there after he'd gone, not looking directly at me,, twisting her hands together. Then she said, "Can I get you something, fruit juice, coffee?"
When I lifted my eyes to hers, I knew that Darla was sensing me, too, that there was a hunger in her like that I stirred in men. This sedate woman was a lesbian, and trying hard not to show it. I said, cruelly, "Forget it, baby."
Face going pink, she turned away and left me to shake it out by myself. I thought over my chances of getting back on the street, of finding enough money to kill the tremors that were tearing me up, and decided the odds were against me. td better get some strength back, try to get straight here, before going off on another wild tangent. Besides, there was Mark, who interested me.
Did the boss-man Dan interest me, too? I couldn't shake the idea that he was so much like my father, and I didn't want to think about that, not at all. It was like thinking about incest. Belting my robe tighter at the waist, I stood up and went to the coffee pot, wishing that the spout pumped beer, instead of coffee.
"Hi," said a gravel voice. I looked around to see Johnny, the man with the scarred eyebrows and crooked nose. I said "hi" back and stood close to him while he drew a cup of his own. He wasn't Mark, but he was a man, rugged looking and strong, and he could at least soothe one of my nagging itches.
Damn, I thought, how long had it been since I had really been screwed? I had a hazy recollection of some clown fumbling with me in a motel and of a sweating guy who didn't want to do anything but eat me. It was lice being cut off from alcohol, not having a good hard prick once in awhile.
"You don't talk much, Johnny," I said huskily, brushing my hip against his. "Why are you in Hope House?"
He rolled his shoulders, a movement that seemed to go with the unconscious, shuffling pattern of his feet. "I was sick and tired of being sick and tired."
I felt his biceps. "You don't look sick. You look very strong."
He cocked his head. "Where Pm sick, it don't show. My timing's gone and my gut's soft, account of the booze. I got to find another business, and I don't know what."
"Another business?" I let him take a peep into the front of my robe, where my breasts swelled intriguingly.
"I'm a pug, Patti. Or I was. Don't it show?"
Perhaps a man would have noticed, and now the signs fell into place for me, the marks of a modern gladiator, overlapping tissues from glove wounds, the battered nose, his nervous feet and hands.
"I'll bet you were a good fighter," I said.
"Kind of. Took fifteen straight as a pro, then I got beat. Not bad, but it showed me I wasn't the greatest. I got drunk, and I kept getting drunk, and then they started to punch me all over the ring."
Picturing the blood, the brutal glory of the ring, I got even more excited, and I didn't worry any about Johnny's problems. All I saw was his hard young body, the cat grace of his gladiator's body. I saw those swift fists smashing other faces, beating them down in sweat and blood.
I pushed the hardened nipples of my breasts against his arm. "Why don't we go down in the meeting room and you can tell me some more about your fighting?"
A tiny spasm washed over him and fine sweat suddenly beaded the skin above those tortured eyebrows. Following me to the stairs, he trailed me into the deserted, darkened room, hypnotized by what I promised him. I went straight to a ragged couch and snake-hipped out of my robe.
Johnny's hands were hard on my hips, puffing my body fiercely to his, crushing me to him with a desperate eagerness. "Hurt me," I hissed, the words breaking against his teeth. "Hurt me and beat me down, Johnny--conquer me! Fuck me until I beg."
Sounds struggled in his throat as we fell on the sagging couch together, and I ripped open his shirt, yanked. at his pants. Then his smooth, warm skin was sliding nakedly over mine, his stiff cock was snugged into my hand, and my tongue ran wild inside his mouth.
He was rough, and I loved it. He brutalized my breasts with strong fingers, and I adored the little pains. When he cupped my pulsing vulva, I ground it into his calloused palm, needing to be taken, raped, mauled. It had been so damned long, so long since I had been fucked by a rain-paging, powerful man.
When I bit his lips, Johnny thrust a thick finger into my cunt lips, and I bucked savagely upon it, fighting back at this intruder, yet welcoming the combat. My hips rolled and I arched my back, snarling at him. "Fuck me, damn you! Force this hard prick into my hot pussy and fuck it, fuck it!"
But when he tried to pry open my legs, I fought him until he slapped them apart. I bit his chest and he slapped my face; head spinning, I dropped back and felt him cram his swollen cockhead into my seeping labia. They gave gladly, stretching to accept this new and violent prick that was pushing so hungrily between them. His shaft slid powerfully into my aching vagina, and the satin sheathing closed gleefully around it.
"You flicking bitch," he hissed into my ear. "You want a hard prick? You're gonna get it, all right. Here, you hot bitch--here!"
Johnny slammed it home with a wrenching motion that thrilled me, that made my fits bounce and my head rock. Savagely, he hammered his rigid pole up into my shivering pussy, raking the cockhead hard against the rippling walls, grinding viciously with the base until my clit leaped erect. In and out, he sledged that round, long piston, rodding me deep and mean, pounding it to the balls and backing off for another series of pile-driving strokes.
Against my eyes, tinged with red and in spinning shadows, the figure of a man grew, an olive crown ringing his silver hair, robe of royal purple fluttering in the wind, standing high and arrogant above the arena wall. The gladiator stumbled and fell defeated to the bloody sands; the emperor lifted a gracious, merciless hand, and turned the thumb down.
The sword went into me, the spear lanced my vagina, but I would not beg for mercy again. I struck back with the hammer of my pelvis, battering him, twisting upon the blade moving in my belly. I fucked him just as hard as he was fucking me, banging my crotch into his, squirming and heaving, wrapping my legs around him and trying to squeeze the need from his lunging body.
"Damn you, damn you!" he moaned, gripping my thighs and plowing his meat into me. "Oh you bitch--I'm gonna' come, come!"
The wild maelstrom built within me as the head of his prick flexed. I quivered around his" shaft and sucked at it with the strength of my vagina, ground at it, tried to destroy it within my pussy.
Johnny went off in me, hosing his man juice thickly into my hot and gloving hole, spewing his semen full force into the folds of blazing flesh that would absorb it forever. I felt the gush of his come, the creamy eruption that drenched my womb, and I met it with a surging hunger of my own, a ravaging barn-barn-barn of greed that climbed my feet along the cheeks of his clenched ass. I made it big, starved for the orgasm that changed the world, trembling and swiveling my hips, winning, winning it all.
Fine-stubbled, a cheek grated against my own. Something wet and salt trickled onto my lips. When I opened my eyes, the arena had disappeared, and Johnny lifted himself from my sprawling body, dragging his softening prick from the wet gripping of my cunt lips, leaving a little trail of semen along my thigh. He moved back and away. I had no words to stop a man from crying.
Jerking up his pants and jamming his shirt into them, he ran to the side door of the meeting room as I lay there in a nearly contented lethargy, in a warm blanket of completion. Johnny wrenched at a knob and plunged out into the gardened back yard of Hope House; the door slammed behind him.
What the hell, I wondered, we were just getting started, and the guy started crying, then split. I wanted him to do a lot more to me, to cram that rugged face between my thighs and eat my wet pussy. I wanted to go down on him, to pump his cock into my mouth and use my tongue on it and drain him of every drop of his semen. I wanted to be fucked again and again, until his body had no strength left in it.
But he ran out on me, like some kind of psycho, crying. But I was still all warm inside, the sharp edge gone from my passion for the moment, a man's come dissolving slowly within my vagina. Just in case, I reached down and drew the robe over my body, propped my head on a pillow and drifted, relaxed for the first time in weeks. If I only had a bottle, I thought, if I could take a few long drinks, everything would be just about perfect.
Johnny the gladiator had failed to conquer me, just as all of them had failed, in the end. Because I fought them, not really wanting to, pretending to be pliant and submissive, but doing battle where it counted, and I always won. Damn it, I always won. Closing my eves, I remembered other big rooms, where couples mixed with each other's mates, where men crawled from one naked woman to another, where women went down and. men applauded, where the most intimate sex acts were robbed of any tenderness they might have had, because they were acted out upon a stage.
I met Will Landson in the last place in the world I'd expect to find such a man in a club. His wife Elizabeth had just about dragged him there, all pumped up about outside sex saving their marriage: She was a handsome woman, but she'd reached the desperate age where romance seems to be slipping past, where she felt unwanted and hopeless. I guess it happens to most women, but they don't go searching for romance in a sex club.
Maybe Will was at a precarious age, too; it works the same for men, I've found. They start eyeing very young girls, and hold in their bellies and try to hide their wrinkles. Will was no youngster, like some husbands in the club, and there were younger girls than me available, but somehow we got together at the bar. I was usually at the bar.
He was hesitant and shy. I had to lead him upstairs by the hand. I was smashed and excited by his gray hair and wise face, by his gentleness and a hidden sensuality I could sense.
When I got him in bed, I left the lamp on, and stripped slowly for him, enjoying his embarrassment, a pressure building in me that I couldn't understand. He sat on the bed, uncertain and somewhat ashamed, and told me he had never done anything like this before, that he hadn't touched another women in more than twenty years.
"Now is the time," I said, sway-hipping over to him and taking his gray head to press his face into my stomach. I was so damned turned on that my pussy was trembling and lubricated itself before I even got his clothes off.
I got a real kick out of treating him as a child, mothering him as I helped him off with his shirt and pulled down his slacks. His skin was pale, almost as white as his underwear, and my fingers shook as I stripped away the t-shirt and shorts. Then I stared hungrily at the erect cock that rose from its nest of silver pubic hair. Silver pubic hair! It hypnotized me, made me run my fingers lightly through it, awed by its silken feel, trembling inside as if I was a virgin and this was the first prick I had ever seen.
"You you're so young and beautiful," he murmured, and I kneeled at his feet to kiss his knees, to rub my cheek along his thigh.
"You're so beautiful, too," I said. "Oh daddy, you're so beautiful."
I don't know why the hell I said that, why I called him daddy, but I moved my face in to snuggle between his legs, to fondle his balls while I drew my lips gently over his swollen glans. Will Landson had a nice, solid cock, medium-sized and with a polished head. I kissed that head over and over again, but I didn't take it into my mouth right away.
He was breathing hard, but his hands were gentle upon my hair, stroking it, treating me as if I was an impossible dream suddenly come true for him, treating me as if I was a wayward daughter that he could not resist, could not deny.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked him, willing to try anything, to make him happy, to show him I was more than his wife, younger and stronger and better in all ways.
"Please turn out the light," he said, and I obeyed, then climbed onto the bed with him and we found each other in the dark. I could feel him tremble and hear the pounding of his heart, but he didn't reach for me right away. He merely fondled, caressed, petted and stroked my flesh, lingering at the curves of my ass. His fingers delved lightly and delicately into the cleft there, flinching back when they touched my hole.
Into his ear, I breathed it hotly: "Is that what you want, darling? Is that what you need me to do for you? Do you want to screw me there?"
"I--" his voice was small and soft, apologetic. "I never did that with anyone. I always wanted to, but she--she would never let me."
In a frenzy, I slid down his body and bathed his cockhead in my mouth, made it slippery, and rolled over to make my body a bent bow, presenting my ass to him. "Come on, daddy--take it; fuck me there, in my ass. Come on, daddy!"
Quivering, his hands found my cheeks, and I felt the warmly throbbing head of his prick reach tentatively for my hole. I backed it into him, settled it where it ought to be, and pushed.
"Shove it on into me," I hissed. "Oh darling daddy, push it right on into my hole. It'll stretch for you."
Still, he was gentle, working that cockhead slowly into my ass, as if I was a precious and fragile doll he couldn't bear to harm in any way. Wiggling, I helped him, guided him, forced my tube to open wide enough, so that his glans finally slipped inside. Rolling my hips, I seated the full length of his dear cock into my ass and felt his balls come up against the backs of my taut thighs, those balls cloaked in beguiling silvery pubic hair.
Will came alive when his prick was buried into my narrow tube. He began to work it back and forth and his hands stole around to caress my hairy mound, to finger gently along the wet and aching labia as he stroked me in back. Oh, it was good! It was fantastic, and I was glad that nobody else had ever gotten around to screwing me in the ass. I was a cherry there for him, for this fabulous man who loved me so damned much.
Quivering in ecstasy, I came furiously upon his finger as he loosed his long withheld load of semen into my ass.. It flowed generously, oiling my tube, loosening it so, that his darling cock could slide easier. I didn't want to let him out, and clamped my cheeks down to hold his shaft inside me, squirming upon his buried finger, loving this strange but completely familiar man with all the warmth of my surging body.
Just as if I was normal, and could actually love.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I was celebrating my first breakfast and just topping it off with a third cup of coffee when Janet exploded into the room. Dan was having breakfast too. There wasn't much of her to be angry, but she was using every possible inch to quiver with. Hands on her hips and feet spread, she glared at me.
"The phone just rang," she said. "You ought to be interested, Patti. It was the police, and they've got a man in jail. They found the address of Hope House in his pocket."
Dan stood up. "Is it Johnny?"
"Damned right it's Johnny!" Janet shouted. "Drunk and disorderly and assault. Dan, Dan--why did you leave her alone with him? You know how he is, so how could you let this bitch get her hooks in him and screw up a sweet guy like that?"
"Easy does it, Janet," Dan said, walking toward her. "Easy, now; nobody got Johnny drunk but himself."
She aimed a trembling finger at me. "Patti helped; she pushed him into it. Tell me, Patti, was he a good lay? Did he thrill you? Tell me, dammit--was it worth Johnny being scared and drunk and all alone? Was a quick fuck worth all that?"
"No," I said, "it wasn't worth that. Nothing is. What can I do, Janet, Dan? What can I do?"
Janet choked over her answer. "Nothing. Patti. Can you make Johnny sober, just like that? Can you put back his faith in himself? No, Patti--there's nothing you can do now. You've done it all."
In my room, I felt very small and alone. Being alone wasn't new, but feeling guilty was. How the hell could I know that a quick screwing would send Johnny off on a drunk?
It was time I fled this scene; food was staying down, and vitamins, and drying out had given me a good part of my strength back. I had to go--where? It didn't matter. I had never known where I was going, anyhow. So long as I continued running, I wouldn't have time to hurt people. It was when I stopped that my actions began to corrode other lives.
As Will Landson's life had been eaten away by me.
All that first night, we drank and we made love, deeply and gently, exploring each other's bodies with great tare. I forgot my legal husband somewhere in another room, in another woman's bed, but Harry didn't forget me. Hung over, he banged on the door next morning until I let him in, and we went through some cloudy reasoning about how he didn't want me too wrapped up in one man.
But I didn't give a damn what Harry Tanis wanted. I knew what I wanted, and it wasn't my husband, nor the increasingly screwed up pace of the sex club. Now I wanted Will Landson, and I got him. I was twenty-one years old and my lover was fifty-five, but I worshipped that man and peeled the years from him like skin from an orange, revealing the sweet meat within.
Harry acted up when I filed for divorce, but Will was smart and sensible, and there was really nothing Harry could do. He'd soon find another hot little piece of mate trading material. After Will sold his business and split the proceeds with his ex-wife, we left for the coast and a new start.
I never failed to get goose pimples when my new husband put his hands on me. He could turn me on like no other man, and I guess I screwed away his newfound youth in a hurry. But it was a funny thing, I always felt a little guilty about Will, as if I was doing something completely wrong, so I always took four or five stiff drinks before laying him. They made me feel better.
Will still clung to his fixation about anal fucking, and I didn't discourage him. But I moved him along to all the other things, catching him by surprise in his new office and locking the door so we could screw on the floor; going down on him while he was driving the car; fucking him in the shower. I used the poor guy too much.
I remember the afternoon he came home from his office, where he was working hard to get reestablished, and I had been hitting the bottle all day, working myself up to a special screwing. I had on this blue silk dressing gown and high heeled pumps, and my hair hung loosely down my back. I was perfumed and freshly bathed, and this urgent need was trembling in my thighs, turning my pussy damp just thinking about things.
That bitch in the blue silk robe! Oh, I remembered her, all right. She was small and cute and her ass jiggled sexily as she walked, and her fits were high, firm and round rippled., . She moved into the house as if she owned it, and I could hear her panting at night, and saying terrible things to him when she thought I was asleep and wouldn't hear them. Sure I remember her. How could I forget that sensuous, hungry little bitch?
With nearly a fifth of bourbon warming my belly and racing in my veins, I practiced the way she walked and held my fits high, and when Will came into the apartment, I met him at the door, pushing my belly against his and lifting my lips for a kiss he hadn't meant to be so torrid. The poor guy didn't even get his dinner before I led him to the bedroom and started pulling off his clothes.
When I was smashed, I wanted him all the time, craved the touch of his prick and the feel of his pale skin against my own, but when I was sober, something nagged at me, insisting that this couldn't be right, and I always had to drown that voice of conscience with more liquor.
Will was tired, but he could always be thrilled by sex with me, as if he was turning back the clock and playing the young, horny stud again. I got him on the bed and soon his beautiful prick was rising, stiffening, its head turning a deep pink. For some time, we had been catering to his own desires, doing it anally and straight, but now it was my turn, and I went at him like a hungry tigress.
Using a skin cream, I rubbed his body from head to foot with the slippery, fragrant stuff, drawing my fingers lingeringly over his tense flesh, rubbing the nipples of his chest and caressing his belly with greasy palms. By the time I got to his crotch, there was a clear droplet of pre-seminal fluid standing on the tip of his cock, and he was trembling with eagerness.
I was naked, too, and lay down on top of him to rub the hard nipples of my breasts over him, beginning with his face and working down over his rib cage, then across his belly, fondling the aching tips into his pubic hair, that silver hair that never failed to mesmerize me.
Sliding down his slippery thighs, I parted them and pushed my breasts around his upright prick, massaging them up and down that rigid shaft and over the sticky head. I wanted to do everything for this sweet man, be everything to him, bring him to sharp and ecstatic climaxes such as he had never known before.
I kissed his cockhead and drew my tongue lightly over it, making him flinch, making the muscles of his spread thighs go tight. Raking my hot, wet tongue around the flanged glans, I licked down the shaft and into his balls, then pulled them one by one into my mouth to suck gently upon them. Will was squirming by then, wanting me to go on, but afraid to have me follow through, but I was beyond caring for his sensitive feelings.
Burrowing my tongue into his crotch, I worked it up to the tight little hole and shoved it inside, my teeth raking his soft flesh between scrotum and anus. My husband almost went crazy; he heaved and groaned, and his heels beat a slow tattoo upon the mattress. He couldn't stand that long without blowing off, I thought, so I licked back up over his balls and back up over his throbbing pole, then suddenly took the head into my mouth.
I chewed tenderly upon it, tasting its marvelous flavor, opening the little mouth with my tongue tip so that I could draw in the slippery fluid gathering there. It was so sweet, so good, and my tongue went wild, searching feverishly over his glans as I pulled his cock far up into my mouth, sliding it over the roof of my mouth and along the hot caress of my dipped in cheeks until the knob brushed against the back of my throat.
"B-baby," he groaned, "Oh baby--don't do that. You--you'll make me come in your mouth. Baby, please--"
I loved him to call me baby; it was different than when other men said it. It was possessive and tender and loving. I was his baby.
Panting around his prick, I caressed his balls with one hand and slid the palm of the other one sensuously back and forth across his tensed belly, made slippery by the skin cream. Slowly, I bobbed my head up and down, simulating the action of a vagina around his pulsing cock, fondling the head with a deft tongue. I was so glad I had learned how to give really great head, so happy to be able to thrill this beautiful man so much.
Will tried desperately to pull his cock from my mouth, but I bit down on it, and sucked so hard that he couldn't get it free, so with a great, heaving sigh, he gave up. The spongy head of his prick seemed to vibrate, then it shot forth a bubbling roar of rich semen, a creamy flood of boiling spray that spattered my throat and filled my eager mouth. I sucked it all down, swallowing and gulping, while his hands were on my head and he hunched half erect in the convulsive spasming of his tremendous orgasm.
The poor guy was shaken to his core by what I had done, by the way I had devoured his prick and downed his semen. He was drawn into a psychic whirlpool where each and every one of his moral values were being changed, and he had no way of resisting, no way of making me stop.
Blazing with lust, I kissed my way up his belly and over his chest pausing to lick his nipples before reaching up to his mouth. For a long, shocked moment, Will resisted kissing me, but I forced my mouth to his and drove my tongue between his lips, making him know the flavor of his own come.
Then I sat up and spread my legs, hunching my pulsing mound and slipping my knees up beside his heaving chest to snug them close. Staring down at my husband's pale, lined face, I felt no mercy, only a searing excitement at his helplessness and a sense of triumph at my complete mastery of him.
"Daddy," I said softly, "now you're going to eat your baby's cunt. You're going to take my pussy in your mouth and feel around inside it with your lovely tongue."
His eyes fluttered open. "Baby--I don't know how, I never--"
"It's easy," I said. I'll show you how, daddy. I'll teach you to become the best cunt eater in the world."
Coming up on my knees, I balanced my crotch over his face and moved up so that Will's head was imprisoned by my lower thighs, and I locked it there with my hands, pressing down upon his forehead.
"You'll like it, daddy," I promised. "You'll like getting your mouth inside your baby's pussy."
I lowered my crotch, brought it slowly and inexorably down until my pubic hairs were brushing against his nose and half-open mouth, against his chin. I watched his eyes as my cunt pressed down upon his mouth to cover it with humid flesh, and they were shocked.
Rotating my ass, I fed my pussy into Will's mouth, grinding it deep so that he had to open his lips, and I told him in detail how to use his tongue, that I wanted it pushed way up inside my wet vagina, that I wanted him to feel the lining all over with it. Meekly, he obeyed, and slowly, his hands crept up to fondle the cheeks of my ass, to stroke along the sleek strength of my spread thighs. That man loved me.
Pumping sensuously upon his mouth. I guided his tongue up until it played beneath the clitoral hood and found the erect nubbin there. "That's the spot," I gasped. "Oh daddy, daddy--that's the place. Tease it with your tongue, darling tickle it crazy. Suck it into your teeth, daddy--suck my cut and chew on it!"
Will got into the spirit of it then, with my cunt juices in his mouth and their scented oils turning his cheeks and chin greasy, he ate into my churning pussy. I fucked his dear face, pumping my crotch all over his face and making him thrill the cunt that was going insane with the marvelous intimacy of this act.
"Ooohh, daddy, daddy! You're eating your baby's cunt, licking up into my pussy and loving it--daddy darling--you love me, love me, and I'm coming, daddy--I--am-coming!"
The crazy feeling broke from the center of my thrumming clit and went flashing out through my flexing cunt, leaping from nerve to nerve in bright tongues of flame, lancing up into my belly and down to my ass-hole.
But still, that wasn't enough. There was no way I could get enough of this tender, fantastic man, so when the backwash of my gratifying orgasm faded within my pussy, I lifted it dripping from his panting mouth and rubbed it back down over his chest. When the cheeks of my ass touched his cock, I realized that he was stiff again, stimulated by his first oral love-giving, and I wiggled around until I could get my fingers around that beloved prick.
Inserting it into the searing, greasy lips of my snatch, I squirmed it up into my body, adoring the sensation of the hard meat as it slid thrillingly into my avid vagina. Taking his head in my hands, I lifted him so that he could suck on my nipple, feeding it to him as if he was a starving baby. The turnabout shook me, made dark forces swirl within me, for now I was the mama and he was the child, and my ass pumped up and down, around and around, forcing his rigid pole to rotate within the velvet clasp of my cunt.
For a long time, I fucked Will that way, getting my orgasm twice more, while the poor guy was still straining to rebuild the pressure within his balls. I didn't give a damn that he was being overworked; I knew only that I craved to fuck him and fuck him, to show him how much better I was than any pussy he had ever known or ever would discover. He was my daddy, my daddy, and the bitch in the blue silk dressing gown would never steal him away from me again.
Seesawing on his prick, riding him like a jockey flogs a horse to the finish line, I screwed him in a jealous frenzy, banging my pelvis violently against his, corkscrewing my ass and pounding his crotch with fierce little bumps.
At last, Will came, but with a weakened spurting of semen that only showered a few drops into my ravenous cunt. I came with him, biting my lips and moaning, shaking my ass and forcing my nipple into his gasping mouth before letting his head fall back upon the pillow. We were both covered with sweat, and I thought that Will's face looked gray, but it could have been the light in the bedroom, no more.
When he had showered, I had dinner waiting for him, but I was too interested in my bottle to eat much, and shrugged off his mild protests. I didn't even let him alone that night; high and horny, I backed my ass into him and let him play the game that was most satisfying to him. And after we came again, I got up and went into the kitchen to polish off the bottle.
I loved Will in every sense of the word, but there was this fretting inside me, the blind insistence that something was wrong. Thousands of girls had married men much older than themselves, but they weren't so fucked up about it, were they?
Patiently, Will worked at stopping my drinking, and I tried. I did without liquor for days on end, stalking the bedroom and trying to stay straight. But when he came home, I couldn't work myself up to sex with him. I think he was happy, those nights. The guy was overworked, trying to build the new business, trying to keep pace with my sexual needs. I was still screwed up, because sober, I couldn't swing with my husband, and when I was drunk, I damned near devoured him.
The unequal struggle went on for almost a year. Will called doctors in, and when their drugs didn't work on me, they in turn called in shrinks. In the end, though, it all boiled down to a battle of bodies and minds, between my husband and me.
He couldn't win. I was young and strong, with a thousand sins behind me and a million more still ahead. He was old and tired, and when he realized that he was losing, he couldn't face that kind of defeat, no more than he could remind himself of his wife Elizabeth and their two sons--both older than me--nor of the life it had taken him decades to build and me only a few short months to destroy.
Will Landson died.
The doctors called it a bad heart, and said learned things about strain and overwork, but I had another name for what had happened to gentle, patient Will Landson.
I called it murder.
Because I had killed him, as surely as if I'd run over him with a car. I had worried him sick over my lengthening alcoholic binges and shamed him when I fucked him down to a panting, drained shell of what he had once been. If it hadn't been for me, he would have still been back east, rocking along in his old business, perhaps a little frustrated, but alive.
So I did what every murderer does, I ran away. Oh, I waited to collect money from Will's estate, to make the lawyers liquidate the business, but then I ran--fast and far.
I hid in plush hotels where men were always around to console a lonely young widow. I woke up in motels and heard jokes about the hot piece of ass in room so-and-so. I always saw myself in the mirrors, so I just kept running.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I shook my purse out on the bed and sorted through the contents. There was a wallet without pictures, my driver's license, sixty-eight dollars and forty cents. Part of that ought to pay my bill at Hope House. And there was an address book, important because it held names and numbers of magazine publishers I could never remember; lipstick and loose bobby pins, a crumpled hankie, a half bottle of aspirins, a press card long revoked and some stamps.
Not much to show for twenty-eight years of life, Patti Cooper.
I'd have to make some phone calls and hope a couple of editors were holding checks for me, betting the price of long distance they were. Then Dan could tell me where to find a cheap room, and I'd wait there for the checks, if any. If not....
The pattern would start all over again. I'd wake up nearly broke and worried, trying to make a bottle last while I sweated out a short story and sent it off, drinking carefully and working hard until I had a stake. Working that way, I might keep off that insidious urge that crawled in my belly and made me squeeze my thighs together, that made my breasts swell and ache. Then there would be the big drunk, with men to ease my body and blot out its driving needs, as the liquor blotted out my mind.
She said from behind me, "That won't help, you know. You, won't find a better place to hide."
I turned to see Darla standing in the doorway, slim, and aristocratic; it was difficult to picture this older woman as an alcoholic, but she had to be. She was here "You think I'm running because of Johnny? I didn't rape him, you know."
She came into the room and the door closed behind her. "Only Janet blames you for that, and I think she's about halfway in love with Johnny. I--I understand how the need for sex can overwhelm people, at times."
Darla was a good looking woman, one who held herself proudly, but with a certain with-drawn quality, as if she was afraid of being touched. She had smooth legs and small, erect breasts and a way of carrying herself that said she was a lady. But I wondered about that. I saw something else, when I looked a little deeper.
"I have a home close by." Darla said. "If you'd like to stay there for awhile--"
I chewed my lip. That would be a break, so I said, "Why, Darla?"
"It's--it's a very empty place," she said quietly. "My husband left it to me after the divorce, and we never had children. I--I would be happy to drive you there."
We slipped out without a word to anyone, nobody ran a nose count at Hope House. It wouldn't have done any good. Alkies are. alkies, and when the mood strikes them, they'll take off if there are no iron bars in the way. It's not physical confinement that sobers us, but a mental attitude.
Darla's home was plush, hidden back among sea-blown cypress, and smelling musty as she let us in with her key. Showing me through what was really a pint-sized mansion, she talked a lot, bright and brittle and not really saying much.
I said, as we stood in the deeply carpeted living room, "Darla, you're looking at the bar."
She drew a deep breath, one that thrust her small but shapely breasts against the sheer material of her blouse. "Yes--yes, I am, and I'm looking at you, too."
That familiar tremble started somewhere deep in my belly, and I felt the flesh of my thighs go tense. I swear, I could smell the whiskey behind that mahogany bar, and my nostrils flared. I had been right. Darla was a lesbian.
"Take a good look," I said, "but how about, through a glass, darkly?"
Her small hands clenched and she went through some kind of short, severe battle within herself. Then she walked stiffly over to the bar and reached beneath it to place a full bottle of good bourbon on top. "Okay," she breathed. "I couldn't take being dry much longer, anyway."
That first drink was a hot, wet bomb going off in my belly, and I felt its warmth spreading throughout my body, stopping the shakes right away, relaxing me. I breathed the rich fumes through my nose and sighed, leaning against the bar. "That's better," I said, "that's one hell of a lot better."
She had two quick ones, and color came to her face; her lips seemed to redden, and her eyes grew larger. "You know that I want you, Patti?"
"Of course," I answered. "But first a small celebration. We're out of the lecture hall and on our own. Here's to us."
"Not us alone," she almost whispered. "I--I have two young friends, Patti. td like you to meet them; they're brother and sister, and I, well, I have to pay them, but I don't mind that. Pm getting old, and they, they're very young, and they like money."
My eyebrows crawled up, but the bourbon was already doing its good work, numbing me where it might hurt, spreading a protective layer over any kind of sensibilities I night have left. "Why not?" I said. "We'll make it a real party."
I couldn't help wondering about Darla, though. Was she AC/DC, or did she have some weird twist of her own, some deviation that made her want to watch others swing, in order to get herself really turned on? It didn't make a hell of a lot of difference, I decided, and helped myself to another drink.
She went to the phone and whispered into it, and when she came back to the bar, she was trembling. "They're coming over," she murmured. "I'm so excited; they're so lovely and so--so very sensuous; they'll just adore you, I know."
It was her party, and I primed myself for it, nibbling at some cheese crackers she put out, marveling at how my appetite was coming back, saluting myself with a long pull at iced bourbon. I didn't expect the kids that slipped in through the garden doors. I mean I didn't expect them to be so damned pretty that they hurt the eyes.
The boy was slim and golden, his tanned skin flawless and his sea-green eyes sparkling. He wore a modeled face and cupid lips. His body was sleek and narrow, and he was about eighteen years old.
The girl was a pert creature with an elfin face and short golden curls. She was a doll, a pixie whose bare legs flashed beneath her micro-shorts as she skipped up to Darla. I stared in fascination as she held up her mouth and Darla kissed her.
"There," the girl said, "I missed you, Darla. I missed you terribly."
"I know, dear," Darla said, stroking the bare skin of the girl's back. I watched the bandana halter, where her breasts were. That body was exquisite, put together in gorgeous miniature, so young and eager.
"This is Angel," Darla said to me, "and her brother Kent. They're neighbors. And kids, this is Patti."
The boy stood with his bare feet apart, his eyes fixed upon me. "She's very beautiful. I'm glad you're bringing us someone else, Darla."
I took another drink and found a cigarette. Kent got to the matches first and held one for me. I thanked him and got a little uncomfortable upon my barstool. He was so damned young, and with his sister there--for whom? Darla, or me; or both of us? That familiar tremble vibrated deep within my vagina and lifted the nipples of my breasts, turning them hard and almost painful. I had never swung with anyone this young before, and the idea was more than a little intriguing.
"I'll pull the drapes," Angel volunteered, and her brother said, "I'll undress them."
He came to me and put his hands on my breasts with such a simple, innocent motion that I wasn't even surprised. I sat with a new excitement throbbing through my body as this beautiful boy caressed my tips, weighing them in his palms and stroking the erectile nipples with his gentle fingers. As my breath caught in my throat, he unbuttoned my blouse and reached around to unsnap my bra. His eyes clung to mine, that smoky, sea-green color containing a special warmth, a special kind of knowledge.
I let Kent slip my blouse from my shoulders. He only brushed the naked tits with his butterfly fingertips, then urged me with his hands to stand up from the barstool. My knees shook a little when I did, and he was deft with my skirt, slipping it down my legs until I stepped out of it. My panties were next, and my skin seemed to vibrate as he pulled them away. I hadn't even looked over at Darla and the pretty girl. I was entranced by this lovely boy and his smooth, quiet movements.
Kent seemed to know exactly how I would react, as if he had a direct line into my emotions and had no fear that I would resist or laugh at him, or do anything to break the silken netting of this sensuous spell he was weaving. He was smiling, and I felt a quick sense of loss as he stepped back to tilt his head and stare at my exposed body. I wanted to keep knowing his touch, to continue feeling his soft hands upon my flesh.
"You're lovely," he said. "Your skin is marble white, and your cunt hair is so black. I've never had a lovely woman before, except for Darla, and I never exactly fucked her."
He climbed out of his pants. His t-shirt looked like a miniskirt, but his lovely young prick was lifting it. Kent removed that, too, and stood before me in the pride of his bare and beautiful body. His cock was long and thin, but the head of it spread like a red flower, and the balls below were covered by a beguiling fur of golden fleece. I took a step toward him, and then another, the whiskey running riot in my blood, but no more powerful than the pull this strange boy had for me.
Darla caught my arm and pulled me to a stop. Bewildered, I turned to stare at her. She was nude, too, and her body had been well taken care of, massaged and creamed and oiled so that only a minimum of wrinkles showed. Her breasts were small but nicely molded, and their nipples were dark. Then I saw her nest, and something clicked within me; her pubic hair was thick and curly, and the sheen of polished silver. I shivered, caught up in an emotion I couldn't understand.
"You should watch them first," Darla said throatily, her damp mouth working. "They fuck so wonderfully, with such intense dedication."
She drew me over to a long, low couch, and I sank nerveless upon it,. my nipples aching and a drumbeat of passion thumping within my well lubricated pussy. I saw the girl move toward her brother, and ran my eyes over the slim, almost thin shaping of her body. Angel's skin was perfectly smooth, burnished by the sun and flawless. Her mound was shadowed with only a faint suggestion of hair, obviously shaved not a month before.
She was still a girl, I thought, but she walked with a womanly grace, with that innate suggestion of sex that announced she was sure of herself as a woman and certain of her sensual power. Angel was a charming little nymphet, and for the first time I could understand what could compel a male adult to fall in love with a teenager.
Darla's breast slid across my bare arm as she handed me a glass of whiskey, and I accepted it gratefully. She sat beside me, pressing her smooth thigh to mine, and I didn't move away. My heart was thundering inside my ribs, and my eyes were fixed upon the two young lovers as they moved together and sank to the thick carpet.
Leaning close, Darla whispered warmly in my ear: "They've been fucking for almost a year. Can you imagine that? It's better because they're brother and sister--better for them, and for us." She put an arm around my shoulders and cupped one hand on my breast.
Kent and Angel were kissing, running their hands over each other in adoring, slow caresses; their mouths were open and I could see the exploration of their pink tongues. They were gorgeous together, every move they made a symphony of grace, and when Angel slid beneath her brother to open her willowy thighs, my breath hung in my throat.
She had hold of his long, thin cock, stroking it lovingly with both hands, guiding its spread flower head into the flushed cunt lips that I could plainly see. Her pelvis tilted upward as she inserted his cockhead into her labia, and Kent shoved down with a steady but gentle movement of his sleek hips.
Slowly, his shiny glans disappeared into the pink cunt lips, as they stretched to take it inside. That almost hairless pussy expanded just enough, and the length of Kent's hard shaft slid into it until his fleecy balls came to gentle rest in the crack of her fragile ass.
They writhed together, and Darla's hand played over my tit; her other hand reached between my thighs, and I opened for it, let it fondle over my pulsating mound as I stared enthralled at the way these two fucked. Their bodies meshed and blended smoothly; their mouths were locked sweetly, and Angel's ass swung in tight, graceful circles. It was like watching two sexy gods out of some ancient mythology.
Moaning, Angel began to move faster, to step up the grinding rhythm of her pelvis, and that long prick of her brother's pumped steadily in and out of the now inflamed pussy lips that curled wetly and jealously around its swollen shaft.
I watched his furry young balls swing, saw how he caressed his sister's girlish ass with his hands, and leaned forward as he seesawed quicker, as his breath rasped in his throat, knowing that he was fast approaching the sublime moment. His balls swung into the dainty cleft of her surging ass, and Kent hesitated; then his testicles jerked upward, and I could sense the driving power of the semen that hissed through his prick and went leaping from that cockhead buried so deeply into Angel's pussy.
She rocked with him, her head thrown back and her arms around his slim waist, timing her own orgasm so that it shattered all reality at the same moment his did. They were static then, a lovely statue of entwined lovers.
Darla's voice was scratchy in my ear, and her finger was deep into my vagina. "Didn't I tell you? They fuck so well, so superbly."
"Yes," I murmured, "but is that how you get your kicks, just watching them?"
"Oh no," she said, "oh no. Sometimes I join them. They're quite adaptable."
I wanted that stud. Maybe I wanted him more than I had ever wanted to screw anyone in my life--almost anyone. And I wondered how quickly he recovered, if I would get the chance to take that stiff prick into my cunt and really work it over. I wanted his head between my legs, and I actually yearned to take his lovely shaft into my mouth.
The liquor was running riot in me, and I didn't give a damn that he was probably a symbol, that he was youth while Darla was age, and I was more than halfway to her status. I only knew that I had to fuck him, and to cradle his sister in my arms. I wanted them both, dammit.
Darla was tuned in on my mind, and murmured that I could have them both, that their parents were abroad, that they often spent nights in her home while the housekeeper slept. And all the time her hand was loving up my pussy, feeling into it, slipping around inside the excitement of my satin lined vagina and teasing my clit.
Kent and Angel pulled themselves apart, and he came to his knees, his adorable cock still erect, dripping now with a creamy juice.
"I need another drink," I said. Darla took her fingers out of my pussy to bring me one. When she got back from the bar, I had stretched out on the couch with a pillow under my head. I was ready for anything, my head gone light and my body loose. I was getting smashed, and didn't much care, because that's how it felt best for me.
When she reached down my glass, her silvery-haired pussy was only inches away. I tossed off the drink in a hurry, belting it right down, and reached for her narrow hips. I felt the crispness of those polished hairs against my tits, and pressed hard into them.
"Let me do you first," Darla said, her hands shaking, swaying a little on her feet with her patrician face flushed and her lips damp.
"Come on," I said, letting her go with reluctance and turning my head to see the two standing by. They were so relaxed and natural, totally unconcerned with their nakedness, and showing only a close interest in what was going on between Darla and me.
Groaning, Darla hunkered upon the couch, parting my legs with eager hands, stroking them up over the silken knees and along the warm full thighs. She moaned again when she suddenly buried her face into my crotch and lanced her stiffly searching tongue deep into my pussy. As she ate into my cunt, licking and nibbling, I rolled my ass and blindly reached out both hands. Then Kent took them, holding my hands while Darla sucked my pussy, as she rolled its lips into her avid mouth and pushed them back with her trained tongue. She found my clit and worked on it. I humped into her mouth and closed my thighs around her head. Angel now stroked one of my hands.
CHAPTER NINE
Maybe I had known something like this before, but I couldn't remember. When I'm drinking, the past gets wiped away and there's no future to worry about, there's only the now, when I'm up and excited and my blood seems to run faster, my breath comes quicker, and there's a glow in my flesh that radiates a warmth over everything. Sure, there are times I get down and moody, but that usually comes after several hard days and nights of boozing, after I've stopped eating. But at first, there's nothing better. I feel all loose and easy, not mad at anyone, and the world is a pretty nice place.
This time, it was even better. I stretched my legs and felt the dampness left in my mound from the loving Darla had just given my pussy, and I looked again at the two lovely, sensuous lovers who were so sex oriented. My heart went out to them, and I knew a special kind of thrill because they not only didn't put themselves down for this incestuous relationship, but seemed to be proud of it. And even though some part of my head backed off from the very idea of incest, something deeper and more primeval applauded.
The edge was off Darla's desires, for the moment, and I knew she and I would make it later, maybe just the two of us, maybe with the kids participating. But I wanted the boy now, craved him for myself, and the look I gave him signaled my intentions clearly.
Kent nodded and moved toward me. His sister hesitated, then slid over to sit on Darla's lap. I held up my arms and he came into them, standing up, his adorable shaft very hard and up against his smooth belly.
"Kent," I murmured.
He stood before me as I sat with spread legs upon the couch. I put my hands around his slim, smooth body and drew him close to feel his stiff rod between my aching breasts. It felt wonderful there, so very hard and erect. I swung my upper body back and forth, rubbing my tits across it, raking the points over the warm pole, reveling in the sensation of this rigid flesh against my sensitive skin.
I wanted to eat him then, to take that gloriously young cock into my mouth and work it over with my avid tongue, but I wanted more to have him inside my body, to feel him sliding within the wet grip of my feverish pussy. So I moved back and lay down, opening my legs to him, one foot upon the couch with my knee bent, one foot on the floor. Kent drew a deep breath and sat down, his fingers playing over my thigh, looking intently into my crotch.
"You're so hairy," he said. "I can hardly see your pussy lips for all that thick, black hair. It's beautiful, Patti."
His fingers moved into my mound, feeling over its soft shape, sliding through my pubic hair to stroke the humid slot of my labia, and a long, rolling shudder moved through me. It was as if I was an offering; or a teacher. My juices were flowing, and there was a pulsing urgency in my vagina that called for gratification.
Kent pushed one finger between my foamy cunt lips, then another, feeling around inside and rubbing his knuckles gently into my hairy mound, enjoying the rich feel of my hair against his hand. Exploring the walls of my pussy, moving up and down within the dewy sheathing, he played beneath the clitoral hood and teased the clit itself.
"You're not as tight inside as Angel is," he said, "but your button is bigger and stiffer."
When he moved toward me, slipping between my expectant thighs, Kent was holding his hard, long cock in one hand, but still he didn't shove it in. Instead, he rubbed that expanded, spongy head all around my crotch, sliding it through the hair, evidently thrilled by the sensation it gave his sensitive knob. Then he fondled his glans along the twitching lips, easing it along their ready length.
"I think you have a pussy like my mother's," he whispered. "I've seen hers a few times, peeping through the bathroom door, but never up close like this, and her cunt hair is brown."
Kent pushed his cockhead gently into the opening, and my cunt shivered in anticipation; he watched his own shaft sliding into my mound, his hands resting lightly upon my hips, staring down to see his prick vanish into the clenching wetness, into the encompassing heat. When I felt his pelvis come against mine, I gave a little wiggle that seated his iron hard cock into my juicy socket, and knew the kiss of his golden-haired balls against my ass. I had felt much bigger pricks, longer and thicker, but never had I been so turned on, as by this youthful one.
Drawing this beautiful boy down to crush my hard nipples against his smooth chest, I kissed his face, his ears, his' throat. His prick moved within the muscled gripping of my cunt, sliding provokingly back and forth, tantalizing the lining, the labia, making me clamp down on it as I squirmed in utter delight. My mouth found his and our tongues met, curled around each other, exchanged slickness and warmth. My teeth raked over his and I clutched his slim body desperately to mine, hiking. my ass and rolling my hips in a slow, joyous taking.
Kent never seemed to be in a hurry; he fucked smoothly, taking his time, drawing every droplet of rapture from the experience, working his rigid pole deftly within my bubbling snatch, tickling my clit just enough. I raised my legs and wrapped them about him, clamping him possessively to me, trying to force every bit of his lovely flesh into my gulping cunt.
I never had a younger brother, and never had a child of my own, so I made him both. I fucked him and loved him so completely, giving him the flaming heat of, my vagina, crushing him to my tits, rocking his young body atop mine and keeping him there with the netting of my legs. He was mine, mine, and I made a seesaw of my crotch, lifting and dropping it in a slowly mounting rhythm, bouncing that lovely cock inside my cunt, rolling it around, biting down upon it with the muscles of my sheath.
"I--I'm going to come," he announced breathlessly, his hands reaching around to cup the cheeks of my ass within their palms. "Oh Patti, I'm going to shoot off."
Gasping, I stepped up my thrusts, grinding on his pistoning meat, hunching it to him as I felt his body go stiff in the grip of my legs. I climbed the mountain before him, reaching that sharp pinnacle of rapture before the first spurting of his semen spat strongly from the flexing head of his prick. The stream was powerful, skyrocketing far up into my vagina to burst against the cup of my womb. It was syrupy and thick, heavier than the richest cream, flowing sticky within my pussy from one end to the other.
We shivered together, and I squeezed him with my thighs, with my legs. He relaxed on top of me, while I caressed his graceful back and ran my hands down to pass them over the sleekly rounded hillocks of his ass. I felt the softness of his balls, and fingered up to where my labia clung to the base of his embedded prick.
Darla joined me at the bar, her eyes feverish, splashing a big drink into her own glass and downing it in two swallows. Her tongue rescued drops from her lips, and her smile was lazy now, self-assured. "Didn't I tell you they were wonderful? Damn; I wish I could put them both on a leash, and take them with me wherever I go."
Angel slid behind the bar and found a mild wine for her brother and herself. I watched her piquant face and the hoydenish grace of her movements. She was a darling, a breathing doll, and I wanted to pet her, to feel for myself the fragile construction of her thighs and legs and the honeyed depths of her pussy.
Angel said impishly, "Three girls and just lucky Kent? I wonder how long he could last with us."
"Long enough," her brother smiled. "I'm getting stronger as I get older."
Darla poured drinks for us, and I had a flash-back that made me look behind the bar for a dusty blue mirror, but there was none. So damned many bars, so many lonesome mirrors. Blinking, I sipped my liquor and purred like a cat as Kent's hands continued to move over my naked body.
This was a hell of a lot better than listening to some bleeding deacon moralize, I thought. Better than hearing a bunch of platitudes that were supposed to be a panacea for all the world's troubles, and especially my own. I looked into my glass and grinned, feeling my head expand and my heart swell. with love for these wonderful people who were more than friends, they were also lovers, and what fantastic lovers!
Angel was standing beside me now, warm against my hip as her brother was warm against me on the other side. Between them, I felt safe and aroused, feeling their sleek skin, the sweet shaping of their young bodies. I put my arms around them, hugged them close.
"It's all right," Darla said over the rim of her glass. "I wanted to see you with them, Patti; there in Hope House I kept dreaming of you making love with both my darlings. Some dreams can come true. Go ahead, Patti love them and be loved by them."
I moved away from the bar with my arms around them, these two burnished masterpieces, these exquisitely formed young people whose sexuality seemed to seep through their pores, as mine did. They led me to the center of the big room, and Kent brought a pillow for my head. I was theirs to do with as they wished, to be used any way they desired, and I felt good.
Lying between them, I kissed little Angel, relishing the sweet thrusting of her tongue into my mouth, while her brother was nibbling my breasts, feeling over the mounds with lips and tongue.
CHAPTER TEN
The two were gone when I woke up with a hell of a hangover, my eyes blurred with pain and my temples banging, a dirty, tacky taste in my mouth. I felt the bed beside me, but I was alone in it. When I sat up, I thought I was going to be sick, but the queasy sensation passed.
There was half a bottle of whiskey on the bedside table, and I breathed a sigh of relief. For a few seconds, I didn't know where the hell I was, but after awhile, it came back to me. I was at Darla's house, and there had been a couple of really sexy kicks. I uncorked the bottle and rinsed my mouth with the stuff. It didn't gag me, so I swallowed some and waited to see if it would stay down. When it did, I had another jolt and swung my legs off the bed.
In the bathroom, I found aspirin, and gulped three. Darla had put my stuff in there, and I found my toothbrush. With the fur off my teeth, and my bladder emptied, I climbed into the shower and soaped myself from head to foot under hot water. I even washed my hair, then got up the nerve to slowly change the hot water to cold. Shivering under the icy downpour, I stuck it out until my head cleared and I could feel the blood moving under my skin.
Toweled dry, I went naked back into the bedroom and found my cigarettes. Two drags, and I had another small drink to bring back the glow. I felt pretty damned good, really. The headache was easing, and my stomach wasn't bouncing up and down. I was even ready for breakfast. Finding a sheer robe in the closet, I wrapped it around me and went looking.
Breakfast, hell; the clock in the kitchen said two in the afternoon, so it had to be brunch. I seemed to be the only one around, so I discovered eggs and bacon and made a fair meal of them, with coffee and toast. I felt great, but I could sense the glow wearing off and knew I'd better do something about it, or I'd start that long slide into depression.
Back in the living room, I went behind the bar and mixed a Bloody Mary; it tasted pretty good, so I had another with my cigarette. By the time I'd finished it, Darla came wobbling down a hallway and went directly for the bottle. She drank from its neck, made a sick face, and put down the bottle with trembling hands.
"Hang in there," I said.
"Shit," she said, and drank some orange juice spiked with vodka. That sat better with her, and she made it to the couch with more of the same.
"Quite a night," I said. "Are the kids still here?"
She shook her head and winced. "Damned if I know. Look, darling--let me get straightened out before you ask too many questions, okay? Wait a minute, Patti; I didn't mean to sound bitchy."
"I know how it is," I said, "but I feel surprisingly good. Maybe" I didn't drink all that much last night. I keep thinking about those two, about Kent and Angel. They are really something else. I hope they come back before long."
She groaned. "Already hot to swing, Patti? Damn; I sure had you pegged right. You're a raving nympho, darling."
I lifted my glass. "And you're glad."
By the time she'd had her bath and some cold cereal, Darla was a lot happier, and there were glints in her eyes. "Hey," she said, "why don't we get hold of somebody else for you? I mean, we can bring in the kids later, if we want them. But I know how you adore a man's prick, and I think I'd enjoy watching you make it with another man, as well as an eighteen and nineteen year old."
I looked through the golden Nepenthe in my glass. "Why not, Darla? The trouble is, I don't know anybody around town. Only Johnny, and he--"
I frowned, thinking about Johnny and the way he'd fled from the meeting room after I'd laid him. Well, I hadn't twisted his arm, and I didn't force him to run out and tie on a drunk. That was his own idea, wasn't it?
"There's Mark," Darla suggested.
"Mmmmm," I answered. Mark, the guy who brought me in to Hope House, the guy everybody seemed to listen to, almost as much as they did old Dan. Would Mark screw me, then run for his life, as if he'd gotten his cock dipped into a black widow spider? Or would the sanctimonious son of a bitch try to lecture me about staying sober? It might be interesting to try. "Why don't you call him?" I asked Darla. "He might still be riding his white horse, and if he thought one of us needed his platitudes, he'd come rushing right over here."
Giggling, she marched to the phone and dialed the number without having to look it up, and I wondered how many times she had been in Hope House, how many times they might let you come back and try again.
I shook off that feeling. What the hell--I was doing just fine, and I could show that clown a few. things, if he had the guts. Darla put on quite an act on the phone; she even had me believing that she was sick and sorry, and I went back to the bar while she laid it on thick. She winked at me after she hung up.
"He's on his way. Look, I have an idea. Go on down the hall to my bedroom; you can't miss it--it's the one with all the mirrors. I'll send him down there when he arrives, and the rest is up to you."
"Okay," I agreed, the alcohol racing through my blood and making my head light.
I was under the sheet when I heard the door buzzer, and lay listening to the hum of conversation, then to the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway to the door. My eyes closed, I heard hm say softly, "Patti?"
Waiting until he sat down on the bed and put his hand on my forehead, I murmured as if I was sleepy, and kicked down the sheet to expose my body. I felt him stiffen as he saw my lush body, the soft thicket of pubic hair between my full thighs, the excitement of the nipples on my aching breasts.
He started to do something--get up, pull the sheet to cover me, something--I didn't let him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him down, covering his surprised mouth with my hungry lips and darted my hot tongue in deeply.
Mark resisted; he tried to pry my arms away, but my teeth clashed across his, and I could feel the beating of his heart, the pulsing of his blood. Squirming, I brushed my tits across his chest and got one leg over his body, damning the clothes that were between us.
"P-patti--no; you don't know what you're--"
"The hell I don't," I hissed into his panting mouth. "I want you, Mark. I need you to screw me: I have to feel your prick between my thighs. Come on, Mark--come on! Or have your balls dried up since you've been sober?"
I was tearing at his shirt then, ripping it open to bite into his broad and hairy chest, and beneath the palm of one hand, I felt his prick growing, swelling with eager blood. I had his pants down over his knees when he slapped me.
Head ringing, I stared at him, and he said, "You bitch! I don't have to be drunk to be a man. You want to be fucked, do you? Okay--you're going to be fucked, but it'll be my way!"
The mirrors around the walls and on the ceiling reflected a hundred expanded pricks as he kicked out of his clothes; they showed me two hundred hairy balls swollen in his crotch, and his hard strong thighs. He came at me like a bull, bearing the weight of his body down upon me, clamping his hands upon my breasts and hurting them. I winced and tried to slide out from beneath him; because suddenly he was scaring the hell out of me.
Tangling one hand in my hair, he slammed my head back upon the pillow, and thrust a palm between my thighs. I tried to keep them together, but he forced them apart and jammed a finger into my labia, prying them open and feeling into them. He hurt, damn him. I bucked against his hand and twisted off his finger, spitting like a maddened cat, wanting to claw out his eyes.
Who did this son of a bitch think he was, some kind of special gift to women? The hell he was; I didn't even like him. So I fought him as best I could, but his knee pried open my own, and I felt my pussy going soft and damp against his flesh. Damn it, it wasn't just because of him; it happened this way with almost any man who got that far between my legs. One touch, and I was lost, caught up in my own dark frenzy of lust.
Mark was bearing down on me, using his weight to hold me in position, clamping both my wrists in one strong hand, using his free one to steer the expanded head of his big cock into place. It moved through my pubic hairs and set itself powerfully into the slick opening of my labia. With a twist of his ass and a hunching of his pelvis, Mark drove that rigid meat home.
It pierced me like a thick lance, sliding inside my elastic cunt lips and reaching far up into the quivering velvet sheath itself. Mark's prick was long and heavy, with a beefy head that was hard as steel inside its spongy cap. I tried to lie still, to deprive the bastard of any rolling response, but my body betrayed my head and started to lurch, jerkily at first, but then picking up a slippery, grinding rhythm that was a perfect match for his own.
"Let me go, damn you!" I panted, writhing my belly against his and striking at his pelvis with my filled mound.
"Shut up and fuck," he said, and continued to pound that solid meat full length into the depths of my shuddering pussy, cramming his puffy cockhead against the trembling cup of my womb. I had no choice, no choice at all. I was forced to fuck him back, to ride his driving pole as my mind went blank of everything else except the lasciviously gratifying action of his prick.
He was a man, a male, rodding me deeply with the powerful strokes of his shaft, hammering that swollen' joint into me without tenderness, without mercy. And that was how I loved it most primitive, raw sex, fucking reduced to its basics, without frills or phony romance, just a blind, savage ramming and recoiling, a brutal twisting and wrenching.
It was terrific, and I felt a convulsion burst throughout my hungry cunt, a bright explosion that sensitized every nerve in my straining body. But still that flanged head continued to reach up against my uptilted cervix, still kept up its churning action, and I wrapped my legs across the small of his back to drag his cock ever deeper into my surging cunt.
Struggling to free my hands, I tried to get my arms around his neck, but Mark held me pinned helplessly. The bastard was forcing me to be submissive, using me as he damned well pleased, rutting upon my trapped body for his own pleasure and not even considering mine. But he couldn't control the inner workings, and I fought him with my crotch, the undulating attacks of my hairy pelvis and the ravenous suction of my pussy itself.
He pressed one splayed hand down into my groin, but I struck up at his pistoning meat anyhow, twisting upon its base, sliding up and down upon its greasy length, feeling the swing of his balls into the cleft of my ass.. .
Jerking and heaving, I came again, my inner juices flowing copiously, making it hotter and more soupy for his plowing, probing cock, vibrating the wet envelope of my satiny flesh around that knotted glans. Still, Mark didn't let go his own load; his shaft was stiff as ever, and he only stepped up the speed and power of his bull-like thrusts.
But he did change positions, by simply rolling over while his prick was locked into my clenching vagina, by simply pulling me over on top of him. He had to let go my hands to do it, but I couldn't even think of punching at him. Bracing my palms against his wide chest, I used them for balance as his shaft rose inside my inflamed cunt, as he drove it up into me with vicious strokes.
My ass jolted with every bang, and dropped back along the slidy pole to his pelvis, to his swollen balls and the thick matting of hair that surrounded them. Grooving and squirming upon that t meat, I wobbled to yet another earth-shaking climax, and the searing waves seemed to crest deep within my palpitating vagina.
It wasn't enough for Mark. He had the damnedest staying power I had ever run into, but I didn't put it down. In a frenzy of passion, I could fuck all day, and come back for more as soon as I caught my breath. My love oils foamed around his sliding rod, and I was reaching for yet another marvelous orgasm when he broke the rhythm and pulled his buttery shaft from my pussy.
But not for long; clamping both hands onto my waist, Mark rolled me over onto my belly and got my thighs spread just wide enough for him to force the knob of his cock back into the dripping lips of my steaming cunt.
Mark fed it into me from behind, hunching it to me as if I was a bitch dog and he was mounting me before the rest of the pack got there. Clawing at the twisted sheet under my hands, digging in my knees, I chewed on my lower lip and rolled my ass, ground it furiously upon his plunger, feeling the knot reach all the way up.
He couldn't keep it up forever, and maybe he thought he was humiliating me by banging me dog fashion, but I really didn't give a damn which end of me was up, . so long as I got screwed. Then I could feel the fury of his thrusts slackening, turning jerky and uncoordinated. Swiveling my hips madly, bucking against him and with my vagina clamping down upon his trapped cockhead, I hurried to reach the cresting with him, to make my orgasm touch off at the same time.
Shuddering, Mark buried his prick full length into my boiling cunt and the knob flexed, convulsed and shot forth a geyser of hot fluid as he came. His semen was plentiful, bubbling out with a foamy richness, scattering the length and breadth of my flooded vagina, hurling globules of thick cream at the target of my womb and ebbing down the pussy walls to puddle around the stem of his throbbing shaft.
At last, the stallion had come; finally, he had been weakened by the release of his pressured semen, and now he was sagging over my body, drained by the overwhelming violence of his release. So he had fucked me his way, doing it all by the method he wanted, but in the end, I had won out, as always. I was stronger now, I had taken him, possessed him, far more than he could triumph over me.
While he was hesitating, as his balls snugged tenderly against the backs of my thighs, I gave a twist that carried me forward and snapped his still dripping cockhead from the slippery glove of my slit. Mark had to put down his hands to catch himself, and I slid from beneath him and rolled onto my back, my eyes laughing up at him.
"Big man," I said. "Don't you know you can never fuck down a real woman? Come on, Mark--climb back between my legs and put it to me some more. Feed your meat deeply into my cunt and make me wiggle. Come on, baby--what's the matter?"
He sat on the side of the bed, his back to me. I watched him drag air into his lungs and let it out again. He said slowly, "A real woman, Patti? You're not a real woman. You're a cunt, a mouth and an ass-hole--just parts of a woman."
"You son of a bitch," I spat, "you sure as hell wanted me. You couldn't keep yourself from screwing me, could you?"
He stood up and found his shorts, his pants, pulling them over his muscled legs. "I had a hard-on, no more. And I'm not Johnny; I won't get all torn up because I roughed up a horny bitch who begged me for it. I won't go crawl in a bottle, because sex and alcohol have to ride together in my life. They don't, Patti. Not with me. With you and Johnny, but not with me."
I stared up at him as he tucked in his shirt. "Me? What the hell do you mean, me? I don't have to be smashed to swing with anybody, man or woman or kid. You hear me, Mark--you hear me?"
At the door, he turned. "Do you hear yourself?"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Darla said something as I followed him into the living room, but I wasn't listening to her. I was hearing the echo of what Mark said, that I needed alcohol in order to have sex. I yelled it after him as he strode out the door: "It's a lie, you bastard--it's a big lie!"
Angrily, I whirled to the bar and poured myself a double, not bothering to find ice. The whiskey burned down my throat and made a comforting little blaze in my belly. I did not have to get smashed to screw. I had done it plenty of times without ever having a drink; plenty of times.
How about just the other day, when Johnny made it with me in the meeting room? I was cold sober then, and had been for days. And before that there had been my first husband. I didn't take a drink with Don Carter, not until I realized that something was missing from our sex life; not until I had my first swinging affair with a neighbor's husband.
Or was it before? Hell, I couldn't remember. I didn't have to remember, because it wasn't true. Sure, the drinking had been heavy at the wife-swapping parties; liquor kind of lubricated things and made them easier for everybody, not just me. And my third husband never cared how much I--but that wasn't true, either. The poor old guy had done his best to make me stop, and I hadn't paid any attention to him.
It was my own damned business, anyhow. If blurring the sharp edges made it better, made it hotter for me, then why not drink? I didn't try to tell anybody else what to do with their sex lives, so why should that bastard Mark hassle me about mine?
Darla purred at my side. "He's a brute, isn't he? Mark really mauled you around, darling. I had a wonderful view in all those mirrors."
I had forgotten the mirrors. I hadn't seen anything but the blur of his face and body, and the kaleidoscope of my own whirling Mind. "Screw him, Darla. It was your idea to get him over here, not mine. I much prefer Angel and Kent."
She poured me another drink, spilling some over the edge of the glass. "Do you know what I like best about the kids, Patti? The fact that they're brother and sister, and committing incest so cheerfully. That's how I first got turned on--by my older sister. Oh, I've had a few men in my time, too, but I go for women more. How about you, darling? Did you ever swing with your brother?"
Shaking my head, I sipped at my glass. "I was an only child, and my mother died young. I never--"'
Flashing back, I saw myself reaching up on tiptoe to take a sip from my dad's glass. He thought it was cute, and so did the woman with him, that polished blonde woman with long and curling nyloned legs. Often, they used to feed me little gulps of whatever they were drinking and laugh with me when I got silly.
There were different women, and as I grew up, I could tell that some of them weren't women at all, but girls only a few years older than. myself. I liked the young ones least of all; the older ones I could take, but the girlish ones, I could hate, and sometimes did.
I finished my sentence: "--I never got a chance at incest. Come on, Darla; why don't you call up the kids and let's have ourselves a ball?"
Her grin was lopsided and smeared. "Gettin' a little smashed, darling: Guess we better wait until I sleep it off again. I--hell, you can do without fucking for a little while, can't you?"
I watched her wobble over to the couch and flop upon it, her robe flying open to expose her slim thighs and the nest of silver pubic hair. "Sure," I said, "I can do without anything--for a little while."
This time, I used a lot of ice, and found a cigarette before I walked out onto the back patio that was surrounded by trees and washed by salt ocean air. Finding a beach chair under a flowering bush, I dropped into it and stretched my legs. Darla's extra dressing gown was a little snug, but I liked that, enjoying the way it outlined my high breasts and fitted warmly about my thighs.
No matter what kind of crap Mark put out, he hadn't been able to resist this body of mine. It had turned him on so much that he practically raped me, and I liked that, too. He was simply full of shit with that line about me needing booze to turn me on. I sipped my icy drink and thought about how early I had been turned on, thought about what a miracle it was that I still had my cherry when I married Don Carter.
What was I, a dumb-ass teenager... when I hid in the closet that time, determined to find out exactly what those women and girls could do for my father that I couldn't. Very young and very frightened for certain.
It was dark in that closet, and only the little bed lamp was on when they came into his bedroom at last. Her name was Missy, and she was about eighteen years old; she had red. hair and a wiggly way of walking, and she had been living with us for about a week, I guess. I remember staring at her tits when she slipped off her bra and stood there cupping them in her palms.
Missy had big, soft tits, and I put my hand on mine, barely feeling the little bumps they made under my nightie. I hated her for having such big, round ones, when I didn't have much, because my dad came over and kissed the nipples one by one, running his hands over her sleek young body and evidently enjoying it very much.
Then he stepped back and slipped off his pajamas and I caught my breath while my heart started thundering so loud I was sure they could hear it. It was the first time I had seen his thing, and the sight of it frightened me. It was so big and long, very thick through the shaft, and his balls hung down below the veined stem, all furry and wrinkled.
Missy laughed at him, and pirouetted slowly before him, peeling down her panties and drawing one shapely leg out of them at a time, with slow and sensuous movements. The hair on her pussy was red, too. It stuck up all crinkly and bushy, with the light glinting in the tightly-wound curls.
"All ready to ride, sweets?" She always called him that--sweets. "Boy, and I thought you were an old man. But that was before I knew you, lover."
"Come on over here, baby," he smiled, reaching up for her and pulling her down upon the bed.
Baby; that's what he called me, and I didn't want him saying it to anyone else, especially not to a naked girl who had ugly-red hair between her thighs, who had fits that were too big and soft. I stared through the crack in the closet door, shaking all over as I saw him kissing her mouth and throat and her nipples.
I could see plainly as he worked one hand between her legs and began to finger her mound, and I was shocked to see one finger slide out of sight into her pussy lips. It didn't seem to hurt her any; in fact, she squirmed around on it, rolling her fiat white belly and making hunching motions.
My daddy's shaft got bigger and longer, and the tip of it turned purple. I stared at it, at the way her fingers played over the pole, over the swollen knob, then down into his balls. With a giggle, she climbed over on top of him and balanced upon her knees, just brushing the fiery tip of his cock with her pussy hair as she swayed back and forth above him.
He stroked the cheeks of her slim ass as she steered his bulb into her crotch, and I thought then that she was going too far, that if she tried to squeeze that huge thing up into her pussy, she would tear herself wide open and bleed to death, and it would serve her right.
But it went in. I watched it slip right on inside the red lips inch by slow inch, until she was sitting right down on his tummy, with every bit of my dad's big prick locked tightly inside her body.
And it didn't hurt her at all. She was smiling down at my dad, enjoying that big thing up inside her narrow pussy, and he was running his hands up and down her thighs while she wiggled her ass. I could. see when she lifted her crotch, and made out my father's prick all greasy and shiny, all but the head, which never slid out of the grip of her red-haired cunt lips.
"You've really got a prick," Missy whispered. "It's so hard and good, and it reaches up all the way. Fuck me, sweets--fuck me real deep."
She hiked her ads up and down and around at the same time, wiggling on his embedded shaft, pumping it inside her hot pussy, and I started to get itchy all over, but especially inside my own virginal snatch.
"Hot and tight," my daddy murmured. "That's the way I like a pussy, when it bites down on the head of my prick."
That sliding cock hypnotized me as I watched it move in and out of her crotch, as I saw the spread cheeks of her polished ass and the rosebud of her hole. My hand crept up between my thighs, pushing under the nightie to find the almost hairless mound which was throbbing and hurting so much, which seemed so hungry inside.
As Missy leaned forward and fed my father the nipple of her big, soft tit, I fingered along the lips of my pussy, my eyes fixed upon them in awe and in jealousy. By all rights, that should be my cunt, I thought; Missy didn't love him the way I did, and she hadn't been here all her life, as I had. Besides, he would get tired of her before too much longer, and there would be another girl to take her place, a blonde or someone with hair black as my own.
She leaned forward on him, plastering her mouth to his and darting her quick tongue inside his mouth while her breasts rubbed back and forth across the greying hairs of his chest. Her ass continued to swing in little, eager circles, grinding his big, lovely cock around inside her ravenous cunt, her greedy, greedy pussy. They were moaning together, making grunting noises, and the tip of my finger probed between my rubbery pussy lips to reach the wet softness beyond them.
I had tickled myself there before, but this time I was going to go deeper, to ignore the little pains and the big fears, and see if I couldn't find the magic spot that must feel so very .good. My breath was rasping in my throat and my little nipples were painful against the material of my nightie.
"Ooohh, sweets!" Missy gasped. "Oh, darling, lay that good, hard meat up inside my cunt. Fuck me hard, sweets--fuck me low down and mean. Jam that rod up me--oh, oh, oh!"
She shouldn't talk dirty to him like that, I thought. But the words thrilled me, because I didn't dare say them yet, and I wanted very much to hiss them into my father's ear. I wanted to feel the rapture of his beautiful, slippery thing working inside my small body. I could make him just as happy, I thought; I could make him wiggle and hunch the same way, just as soon as I taught myself how, and I was learning.
My finger was halfway up into my own pussy, and I was working it back and forth, pretending that it was his cock. Then I touched the good place, discovering my clit.
My legs went tight and my ass drew its cheeks together. I stared hungrily at my father's prick and heard Missy cry out that she was coming, coming! My finger played over the newly found nub that radiated such exquisite pleasures, and I shivered deliciously. The welcome thrills raced up my legs and across my taut belly, and I began to dimly realize the wonderful feelings that Missy was experiencing with my daddy's cock inside her.
My glazed eyes saw my dad's balls give a funny, upward jump as they contracted, but I didn't know then that he was pumping his semen up through his flexing cockhead, that he was spraying his adorable, rich come into her clenching, satin-lined pussy. It took me awhile to discover the fulfillment of having a man's semen boiling within my body.
But I was making myself pretty happy, finger fucking. Every time I stroked my pulsing clit, weird little quakes of fever rocked my body, and they got stronger and stronger. Missy and my father were lying quietly, clinging to each other, when I hit my first real orgasm. Clenching my teeth, I fought to keep my heels from banging against the closet floor, and my entire body went stiff, hot waves of passion hissing and tumbling through my contracting pussy. I went blind there for a few moments, my back arched and my finger stilled.
It was a fiery, bursting kind of climax that changed my entire life. I hadn't known it could be so magnificent, so terrifyingly wonderful, and perhaps I understood why my father kept bringing good looking girls and sexy women into our home. But that didn't make me forgive him for it.
They flicked again, this time with my father on top, and I got to see it that way. It was better, I thought, because he could work his shaft better, and it thrilled me to watch his hairy ass bob up and down as he fed that long, thick piece of man meat into Missy's greedy snatch. When he came again and pulled it out of her, I saw the drippy stuff around the cockhead, saw the little stream of sticky fluid that he left upon the inside of her thigh.
I didn't dare do it to myself again; that first orgasm had been too wild, shaking me from head to foot and making the blood run crazy in my veins, making my heart pound until I thought it would break right out of my chest. Besides, I still had to get out of the closet and back into my own bedroom before I made some kind of stupid noise that would get me caught.
The light went out after awhile, and I gathered my courage to push the closet door open enough so I could slide out like a snake in the dark. Slithering across the carpeted floor, I made it into the hall, holding my breath when the outer door squeaked a little. But I guess they were too tired out from screwing and deep into a warm, relaxed sleep to notice any little sounds like that.
It wasn't the last time I watched my father fuck his women. I got pretty good at sneaking around and made myself a nice little hiding place in that closet, where I could pull some old coats over myself in case they got suspicious and looked inside. And I got better at masturbating, too, fingering myself to climax after climax as I watched daddy and his lover of the moment make it together.
I learned to be sweet to the women, too, not sulking or giving them any trouble, so that they thought I was the nicest kid around. In my heart, I hated their guts, but I never showed my feelings. I sipped their drinks and pretended I was smashed, so I could go to bed early and wait for them to start turning off lights. Then I'd head for the closet and get ready.
That was where I discovered that it wasn't only his prick in their cunts that turned him on; my daddy went down on his girls, too, eating into their crotches as if it was the most delicious thing he could find. I saw some of them take the head of his swollen cock into their mouths and suck on it until he came, grunting and heaving in ecstasy as he rolled his belly and stiffened out his legs.
At first, that seemed kind of nasty to me, but I came to accept it as a natural part of love making. But I needed more sips from their glasses of liquor to keep myself happy, to make me agree that my father should change his women often. It bugged me, I'll admit, and pretty soon I didn't wait for them to offer me a drink; I sneaked my own, out in the kitchen, and sometimes I got so smashed that I stayed in bed and didn't make it to the closet to watch them.
I don't know if I broke my own cherry or not. I mean, there was a little blood, a time or two; I masturbated every night, finger fucking myself into a warm, wiggly oblivion, making myself feel loved and beautiful, even if my tits hadn't grown very much and my thighs weren't filling out quickly enough to suit me. But the liquor helped a lot. It became my friend, and I had to hide its odor by chewing gum.
Not that he would have noticed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Darla pulled herself together and we made sandwiches for dinner. I managed to finish mine, but I was more interested in the beer we chased them with. I remember thinking that it was coming early this time, the drying out of my tissues so that I was almost continually thirsty. Alcohol does that, burns up some vital substance in the blood, I guess. Usually, about this time, I start drinking straight shots of bourbon and washing them down with cold beer. I can keep going longer.
So I forced down the sandwich, knowing I would soon need its sustenance, but deliberately pushing the rest of the hard earned knowledge from my mind, ignoring the fact that sooner or later, I would be going through blackouts and getting the shakes, that after awhile, days or weeks, the liquor wouldn't stay down worth a damn, and I'd need it more than ever.
But there's no real tomorrow for an alky, and none of us like to remember yesterday, so we make the most of what we've got--today.
"Come on," Darla said. "Perk up, darling. We're just getting started, you know. If the kids aren't enough, we can start phoning around and scare up a couple of more guys, or girls which ever you prefer."
I finished my beer and took the dishes to the kitchen sink. "The kids will be fine. I think I'm beginning to miss them already. I guess I was just getting down, Darla. It happens, sometimes."
She hesitated, then said, "I know. It's why I checked into Hope House. I--I was getting so damned sick and lonely. But that's all changed now. I mean, we can handle the stuff, can't we?"
"Sure," I said, but I didn't believe it. I had been through this rat race too damned many times before. All I could do now was to hang onto the merry-go-round and hope like hell that I wouldn't fall off. "Give the kids a call," I suggested. "See if they can come over right away; I'd like to try out your bedroom again, and this time, look in the mirrors."
Her smile was tremulous, a little shaky, and I wondered if Darla could hold on for many more days. But then I poured us each a healthy shot and we saluted each other. "Happy times," she said, and I nodded.
The kids came over in a little while; holding hands as they entered through the patio doors, bringing youth and brightness into the house with them. They looked great in their jeans and tee-shirts, their lithe bodies graceful and glowing with energy. I wished I could tap into them and suck off some of that power for myself, and perhaps I could.
"Hi," Kent said, walking up to me and putting his hands upon my waist with a familiar and loving motion. I kissed him lightly upon the mouth and looked over at Angel: She was snuggling to Darla, looking very small against the woman's height. So damned young, I thought.
But Angel was a lot smarter than the immature Patti Cooper; she had brought her sensuality out into the open--as much as she could, anyway. Maybe she still had to keep it hidden from her parents, but she let it out with her brother, and with us.
And Kent instead of jacking off in the shower, had guided his early sexuality toward his adorable little sister, working off the tremendous pressure a young stud generates. By moving on to Darla and me, he had already gained more knowledge about women than most males more than twice his age. He was already one hell of a lover, and he would get even better as he developed through the years.
I poured little glasses of sweet wine for them, enjoying the look of their slimly compact bodies, but as Angel lifted her drink to her lips, I got a flashback of myself at her age and before, of little Patti Cooper sipping booze from her daddy's glass. Shaking my head, I banished the image and concentrated upon the fun we all would soon have. There would be group fucking, with only Darla at the edges of that, although she grooved on it almost as much as she did oral sex with the girls and myself.
I felt the tremble growing slowly, deep within my belly, tensing my vagina and making the nipples of my breasts sensitive; my skin took on a warmth, and I knew the oily lubrication was beginning to flow inside the satin folds of my pussy as it readied itself for screwing. I thought of Mark and his chauvinist usage of my body, his stallion plunging and taking, not giving a damn whether he pleased me or not, just satisfying his own basic animal urges.
He could go screw himself; I didn't need a bastard like that around. I had Kent and Angel and Darla, and not even the greediest nympho could ask for more. They would slake all my thirsts, take care of the hunger in my belly and make me feel warm and loved again.
"The bedroom," Darla said tipsily. "Come on, people--we'll see ourselves in the mirrors, this time."
We followed her down the hall and into her room. All the accessories and color matchings fairly purred with sensuality, and the mirrors reflected it back, multiplied a thousand times. I stood back against one wall and watched them ship. Darla fumbled at her robe and swayed when she got rid of it; I thought again that she had a well kept body, despite the beatings she had given her flesh over the years. Her small tits stood up proudly, their nipples arching stiff and appealing, and my eyes followed the line of her belly, down to that hypnotic patch of silver pubic hair.
When she wobbled over to the bed, I watched Kent peel off his tee-shirt and step from his jeans. His body was golden, polished by the sun, his hair blonde acid beautiful. Any woman could fall desperately in love with this handsome boy, I thought, as I saw his strong prick begin to rise, lifting its thin length from the burnished nest of his young balls. The head was pink ruby, a scarlet flower blooming in the gorgeous pride of his manhood.
And perky Angel--my breath caught in my throat as I watched the girl roll her hips to get out of her jeans, as I saw the swollen fits already exposing their pink nipples so delicate and lovely. Her flawless skin was mirrored countless times as she twisted, as she lifted a tiny foot and posed for us. That darling flower of cunt gleamed at me, brushed with fragile, golden hairs, its gentle crevice a work of consummate art.
They were looking at me, so I straightened away from the wall and undid my borrowed robe, letting its silken folds slide down my body to puddle on the floor at my feet. Lifting my hands, I cupped my breasts, happy that they were still full and firm, that they were richly mounded and heavily nippled. I saw my image in the mirrors and watched myself finger the tips, saw me lifting the fits and offering them.
Undulating, swinging my hips in smooth little arcs, I moved toward them, now running my palms sensuously up and down my body, feeling the smoothness and warmth of my own skin, touching the rich fleece of my dampening mound with the butterflies of my drifting fingertips. My juices ran hot within me, and my mouth was going dry in anticipation. No matter what happened in the future, no matter if I got sick as hell sometime in a nebulous tomorrow, all these beautiful wonderful people were waiting for me right now, and I would not disappoint them.
Darla hung back, savoring the moment when she could move in and taste a worked up pussy, eager to watch us in action, to see our entwined bodies repeated a thousandfold. Smiling at me, Kent and Angel were waiting, sitting upon the bed, naked and lovely. I sat down between them, taking the boy's stiff prick in one hand, using the other to caress the girl's wispy cunt. Turning my head from side to side, I kissed them in turn, sliding my tongue into their young mouths to know the exotic flavors there, to relish the . heat and wetness.
Kent cupped one of my breasts, fondling its resilience and texture, while Angel did the same to the other one, pressing down upon the nipple, burying it into its mounded softness, then letting it spring up again against her small palm. They handled my body with awe, feeling over rib cage and hip, over belly and upper thigh, dipping quickly, light fingers into the forest of my curly pubic hair.
Inching back upon the bed, I swung my feet around and lay down, quivering in all my pores, needing this so damned much, so much. I saw my face in the mirrors overhead, saw it taut and wet-lipped, the eyes sliding in a liquid warmth. Then they began to kiss my body and each other their mouths fastening awhile to my nipples while their tongues darted and curled, while their teeth raked gently over velvet skin.
With tender mouths and exploring hands, they worshipped my body, licking the flesh, kneading it with their fingers, fondling and cupping and petting, while I squirmed in rapture, my ass sliding sensuously back and forth upon the sheet. Their faces met upon my lower belly, their tongues touching each other and my skin, laving my navel and washing hotly over my hip bones.
Then they moved together down into my pubic hair, reaching through its curly covering to the tremulous anxiety of my labia. My entire vulva shuddered as the pair of delicate and knowing tongues explored my cunt lips. Two of them, lapping and probing, darting along the lips and into them, nudging one another as they licked, as they both struggled to caress the clit.
Oh, they were living, loving dolls, both of them, their hands almost as busy as their adoring mouths, sliding over me, tingling and tantalizing. Their tongues competed to tease my clitoris, to dip into the sheathing of my pussy, and they murmured to each other as they ate me, whispered endearments whose vibrations sent spiraling flashes of heat deep within my twisting body.
I came furiously, shuddering and arching my back, my feet digging into the sheet, my hands clawing a pillow. Hot, wet sparks cascaded from my pulsing clit and whipped maddened through my cunt, ricocheting from the walls and falling back to cluster again at the center of all feeling. It was a tremendously moving orgasm, one that inflamed up my spine and reached around to finger along the swollen mounds of my breasts.
When my head stopped spinning and I came slowly back to myself from some far, soft universe, they were gone from between my thighs. The sweet feel of them was still there, imprinted indelibly upon my steaming pussy, but they were wrapped into each other now, going on naturally to gratify their own desires.
Angel had the flanged, pink head of her brother's prick in her mouth, bobbing her head slowly up and down upon it, sliding her lips along the shaft with obvious delight, while she fingered in his balls and the cleft of his ass. Kent had worked a finger into the tight suction of Angel's darling little cunt, and was thrilling her by massaging her clit. They were like mobile statues, carved from beauty and placed on pedestals for the edification of those of us who were less lovely.
"Baby," he said to her moving head, "Oh Angel, that feels so good--I love the way you curl your tongue around the head of my cock, and push it into my slit. Ahh, baby--that's wonderful."
He was lying on one side, his head propped with one hand as the other felt around inside his sister's micro-pussy, stretching the narrow pink lips and stirring her inner juices. Angel was on her knees, her small, sleek body folded upon itself as she busied her mouth upon her brother's rigid shaft. I couldn't help joining them, they were so appealing, so gloriously lascivious.
Coming to my own knees, I eased up behind the girl's buttocks, pushing my thighs against the back of her, fitting the wet mound of my hairy snatch into the delicate crevice of her slim ass. I ground it into her as she ate his cock, as Kent finger fucked her, and I bent low over her doll-like body to brush the nipples of my tits across her warm flesh.
Stroking her lean hips, feeling the slim cheeks against my palms, I dry fucked the girl from behind, loving her body, adoring it with my hands and pussy and all of. my flesh I could slide caressingly over her. It was a marvelously warm sensation, and I thought that if I kept it up long enough, I could also make myself come this way, working my clitoral hood into the girl's captivating ass.
But just then Kent gave a stifled moan, and she bucked on his buried finger, wheeling her pelvis frantically. Staring down, I saw that his prick was embedded full length into the girl's mouth, and realized that the head must be into the back of her throat.
His come must be spurting thickly into her throat, I thought; the boyish semen must be gushing over her tongue and washing her teeth and making the insides of her siphoning cheeks sticky. I watched her throat and saw little Angel swallowing, saw her eagerly draining the good juices from her brother's sporadically pumping cockhead.
They knew every nuance of the other's body, for she had come with him, her slim ass bucking against my mound, tightening and easing off as it rolled and surged. They had reached the point where they could time their orgasms and make them blend skillfully, fully in that most complete of shared raptures. I felt very fortunate to be with them at that magic moment, touching my flesh to hers, receiving some feedback from their mingled climaxes.
Kent didn't keep his tool locked into her mouth for long, but when he brought it carefully out, the head was dry; she had sucked every dribble of come from his prick and drawn it down into her stomach.
Not like dad's cockhead, I thought suddenly. The first time I saw him withdraw it from a girl's mouth, the glans was glistening with his semen, some of it sliding down his shaft, and I wondered what it could taste like, wondered how the girl ever got up the courage to take it into her lips. She could easily choke on the stuff he released, I thought; there seemed to be an awful lot of it, very thick and oystery, partly clear and partly creamed.
It wasn't right that Laura should have my father's cock like that; if she got mad at him, she might bite it off, and I never would hurt him.
I remember that night that I sneaked half a pint of gin from the liquor cabinet and got really smashed. I got sick as all hell, too, but. made it into my bathroom before I threw up, and they never knew it. The bed rocked under me, and I tried to masturbate before I fell asleep, but I was too drunk to make it.
Maybe it was just about that time that I started being nasty to Laura, and pulling dirty little tricks on her. Never anything out in the open, but stuff that bugged her and made her look clumsy or stupid in my father's eyes. She was gone in less than a month, but of course he moved another chick right in. This one was an older woman, big titted as he liked them, with long, smooth legs and a sexy way of walking. Her name was Bobbi, and she tried to dominate me. I think she actually believed he was going to marry her.
When I got drunk next time, I threw up right down her front, and Bobbi split the next morning, after a violent scene with dad. He blamed her for feeding me whiskey, and I lied to back him up, glad that she was getting out of our lives. I was scared that she might become my legal mother, and I didn't want that. I didn't want any other woman in the house, but there wasn't much I could do about that. My father was a horny man, and women seemed to flock to him, conscious of his deep sensuality.
Kent was shaking my shoulder, and I was surprised to find that I was lying on my back, cuddling my bottle and dreaming. He said he would like to fuck me now, and I murmured of course, of course. But I took a big drink first.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I don't know bow long I lived in Darla's home. The days and nights were one endless blur of whiskey and screwing, with damned little eating. Somewhere along toward the end, the kids stopped coming around because we were getting too sloppy drunk. Angel and Kent were involved in sex, not with liquor, but as Darla and I drank more, sex wasn't as important to us. I don't mean we just knocked it off; we didn't. We made it with each other, in our more lucid moments, doing everything that two women could do, using vibrators and things like that.
But more and more, we clung to the bottles, passing out on the couch or a bedroom, waking with the whips and jangles and freaked out of our heads until we could find another drink. We worked through all the bourbon and scotch. and ran out of gin later. Darla must have been left a bundle, because she had unlimited credit at the local liquor store, and when she could make it to the phone, she had a fresh supply of everything brought out.
She got sick before I did. I mean dog sick, mean sick, where she couldn't hold anything on her stomach, not even whiskey mixed with milk.
I didn't want to, but I called Hope House and talked to Dan. Not me, I told him, but Darla; if he could pick her up, maybe he could tell if she ought to be in a hospital.
In his slow, wise way, he said sure, he'd drive over and talk to her. I hurried to take a shower and unsnarl my hair before he got there; with a couple of stiff drinks under my belt and Dana's second best dressing gown on, I felt almost human; at least I could fake it through and show him I was still okay.
I was strong enough to help him carry her to the car and stuff her limply inside. Darla was in bad shape, and I guess I wasn't fooling him about myself, either.
"Patti," he said, "how long can you make it like this? It has to end sometime, you know. Why don't you come on in with us?"
Shaking my head, I said, "Uh-uh; there's plenty of whiskey left in the house, and she asked me to take care of the place for her. If I run out before she gets back, why I'll--I'll just move on. Besides, nobody wants me back at Hope House--not Janet or Mark or Johnny, for sure. Maybe not you, either." My mouth was already getting dry and I could sense a weakness in my knees, but I did my damnedest not to show that.
His smile was easy and soft. "We all want you back. Try and take care of yourself, Patti. Call me before you get really sick."
See? He didn't lecture me or anything like that. He tried to be my friend, but I wasn't having any just then. I was making it on my own, I thought, and Patti Cooper didn't bet anyone for anything. When he drove off with Darla, I wobbled back into the house and locked all the doors, then made it to the restocked bar.
I was alone, and nobody is more alone than an alky on a drunk. I could hear every echo in that house, and I walked from room to room with a bottle in my hand, looking for something; I didn't know what. Getting a grip on myself, I got back into the living room and sat on the couch. The bourbon burned my belly now, and my throat felt raw, but I fixed that with some icy beer from the case Darla had shipped in. She was a good kid, that Darla, and I hoped nothing would happen to her.
Resting my head on the pillow, I got my legs up and put the fifth of liquor on the floor beside the couch where I could reach it easily, propping it carefully so that it wouldn't spill. All boozers do their best to protect their supply. My eyes closed, and I started to drift, my feet and hands going all prickly numb.
There were the men, a long, faceless line of them--men with lean bodies, fat bodies, tall men and short ones; they had only one thing in common, their hard pricks. Damn it, I hadn't wanted it to be that way, not really. Maybe if I'd had a man who could take care of me, who wasn't up-tight about sex and dug it as much as I did, then everything would have been all right.
But even in my drunken stupor, I knew that wasn't so, that one man, no matter how virile, could never have satisfied me. I wanted so damned much from each of them, more than they were able to give me. There wasn't a perfect man; not for me. He would have to fit the composite I carried in my mind, and he'd have to match all the things my, body needed and craved.
Let's see, I dreamed he would need silver hair worn just a bit long, and he'd have a wide chest, a slow, knowing smile; my perfect male would own a powerful cock, knobbed strongly at the head, thick and long and almost constantly hard. His balls would be swollen with the pressure of semen, hanging bulged in a sack that was wrinkled and hairy--gray hairs.
My dream man would be ready to fuck at any hour of the day or night, willing to stick that glorious meat to me in any room of the house screw me on the kitchen table, in the shower, on the living room floor, anywhere. He would love to eat my pussy, and want me to go down on him so he could loose that delectable stream of semen into my hungry throat. He would make me a three way chick, cunt and mouth and ass-hole, and he wouldn't be jealous of me when I got the urge to fuck somebody else; instead, he'd be willing to share me with another man, or another woman.
Where the hell did such a man exist? Not in my first husband: Don had been young and strong, but only more or less willing. My sexual appetites had shocked him. And I guess Harry Tanis came nearest to fulfilling my needs, but close doesn't count, ,Harry was always interested in more kinky effects, getting farther out with each new adventure, wrapped more into himself than into me as a person, an individual.
Then there had been Will Landson, because I didn't count the transient males in between husbands. Poor old Will; he had been far too gentle, too tender for a bitch like me, and I had killed him.
I had screwed them all, young and old, rich and broke. No one man could ever match my hungers, or fit in with my freaky ideas. So of course I tried to collect a male harem, where each guy could give me something of what I needed, but they were all transients, passing in the night, most of them long gone and forgotten. They didn't leave me with much to remember them by.
My eyes blurred open and I fumbled for the bottle, almost spilling it, but clutching the neck fiercely and lifting it to my mouth. Swallowing hard, I poured some of the warm stuff down my throat and settled back to my nagging dreams.
There had been one guy--Mike Something. I lived with him for a month, I think. He picked me up in a bar and took me to his home, because I was ready as usual for a new and flaming affair. He was a year or two younger than me, and freshly divorced. I wondered why, since he seemed like a nice, clean kid, open faced and eager.
I wondered even more when he stripped and moved toward me as I lay on his bed. Mike had the biggest prick I ever saw, before or since. In my bed travels, I'd heard of cocks like the one he owned, but the stories had been put down as boozy delusions, as so many fairy tales. My eyes went wide in shock as I stared at his magnificent shaft. The thing was massive, huge in every sense of the word; it must have been almost ten inches long and probably three inches in diameter. The glans was a glaring red bulb that spread itself . hungrily, a clear droplet of pre-seminal fluid growing on its heavy, blunt tip. It was difficult to believe that such a live piece of meat was hung between a man's legs; it more rightly belonged to a stud horse.
Mike said hesitantly, "If you don't want to try it, I'll understand. That's why my wife left me; she couldn't take my cock."
I was smashed and I was horny, and I thought that I had seen maybe only one other prick so beautiful. "Come here," I said, holding up my arms and swinging my hips in that age old motion of sensuous invitation, "come here, you lovely man; don't even try to get away."
His face flushed, he crawled onto the bed and I took hold of that mighty shaft to see if it was real. It was; the sturdy thing pulsed under my hand with a life of its own, the engorged veins throbbing powerfully as I caressed them. I ran my fingers over the gigantic length, trailed them around the unbelievable thickness, and wandered up to braille the flanged head, knowing its velvet skin scattered with a thousand tiny bumps, feeling the wide slot with its oozing of man juice.
"Beautiful," I murmured. "It's so beautiful, Mike."
The poor guy had been stifled so long, burdened with the size of his immense prick instead of being proud of it, that he almost sobbed his way into my arms. Our mouths met avidly, our tongues feeling over teeth and inner cheeks, curling about each other, and I could feel that meaty monster pulsating against my belly. I wanted that prick; oh, how I wanted it.
So I didn't spend much time playing around; spreading my thighs, I guided him between them, arching my back and reaching up for a pillow to place beneath my hips, opening my snatch more for the entrance of that gorgeous horse cock.
"Easy now," I warned him. "Just rub the head up and down my cunt lips to loosen them up. I'm already dripping inside, so we should have plenty of lubrication."
I was trembling all over, desperate to get that fabulous rod into my eager snatch, but just a tiny bit afraid that it might be too big for me, for any woman. When he set the very tip' of it against my squirming labia, I took a deep breath and wiggled very slowly, getting it lined up with the juicy opening.
With my hands on the cheeks of his muscular ass, I guided the operation, controlling his thrust by my sharp fingernails. Mike was tender, afraid to hurt me, but I moved more strongly against his glans, forcing that spongy tip into my pussy lips. They turned wet and rubbery, opening for him, and most of the knob penetrated.
It felt as if it was splitting me open, and I caught my lower lips between my teeth, grinding some more, working the spread bulb into the elastic giving of my labia, forcing them to part some more. Suddenly, greasily, his cockhead slipped past the inner lips and reached into the narrow grasp of my satin vagina.
Shuddering, I felt that mammoth shaft follow, felt it slide oiled through the clinging folds that surrounded it, going farther up inside me than any prick had ever been before, stretching my cunt and filling it as no other meat had managed to do until now. The sensation was wild, overwhelming; I was being packed tightly with a marvelous rod that nudged my womb. It was tremendously gratifying, and I wriggled sensuously upon that buried shaft.
"Oh baby, baby," he groaned. "My wife never let me stick my cock this deep. Oh wow--you're so hot and slippery inside, and I can feel your pussy massaging me, tickling my cockhead--come on, baby--fuck me, fuck me!"
I still had to take it easy and time my return thrusts so that battering ram glans didn't bruise my cervix, but the rest of it was just fine. Squirming delightedly upon his moving shaft, I rode it when he backed, up," and pulled back a little when he stroked it forward, protecting the tip of my vagina but relishing every hard, powerful inch of that fantastic prick, grinding happily upon the hairy weight of his filled balls when they put pressure against the uplifted cleft of my ass.
Mike let go without warming, and a sizzling jet stream of come thundered within my already filled pussy. Great blobs of greasy, thick semen drowned my womb and inundated the vaginal walls. Gasping and hunching erratically, he mumbled an apology at being so quick, but I understood. The poor guy hadn't had a fulfilling piece of ass in years, and he just couldn't handle it when he got into a woman's cunt that not only could control his giant prick, but adored having it there.
"Never mind," I hissed into his ear, my fingers digging at his ass, "never mind, darling--we'll just keep fucking. Your come will make it easier for you now, and better for me. Just hang on, Mike."
Humping it up at him, I raked my pelvis across his, and felt that king-sized cockhead rotate within the hot gloving of my packed vagina. The distended stem of his massive rod rolled over my aching clitoris, and shot a violent thrill throughout my pussy.
"What a wonderful, stiff cock," I breathed. "Oh man, you have no idea how. tremendous it feels, moving so slick and bubbly inside my cunt. Every inch of my pussy is filled up, and I can feel every bump, every vein on your prick. Oohh, Mike--Mike--I can't stand it any longer! I'm going to come, darling--COME."
It was only the first time the boiling explosion blew off inside me, rolling my belly and snapping. my ass-hole tight. Crying out madly, I began to ride a series of great, banging blasts, caught up in the impossibly magnificent tide of multiple orgasms that so few women are lucky enough to ever experience. One after another, they rocketed wetly within my stunned body, searing my cunt walls, blistering my clit and keening wildly through every pore of my flesh, each nerve of my being.
Somewhere along the line, I felt Mike lurch his huge glans into me, and knew the second geysering of his come. Flexing, his cockhead spat generous bursts of slippery liquid into me, up my quivering pussy, and now it tried to force its way back out where the lips were curled around the base of his embedded shaft, but there was no room, and the heavy cream sloshed back and forth, trapped there.
I drifted somewhere in a star-shot heaven, knowing that I was alive only by the convulsive movements of my cunt walls and the dying trembling of my clitoris. The strength was gone from me, and my flesh was limp, but my head was spinning crazily and my lungs were pumping for air. Never had I been fucked like this; never had I known a multiple orgasm, except...
Backing carefully, I worked my distended pussy from around the ball bat that had screwed it so well, and a flooding of semen came sliding out to puddle against the lowered cheeks of my tired ass, staining the sheets and seeping into the mattress below. Beside me, my newest and grandest lover lay on his back, his wide chest heaving and a slack look of utter contentment upon his sweating face. It had been just as good for him, being able to really stick his mammoth shaft into a woman, and I was happy for the guy.
You'd think that, once I discovered a prick like that, rd stay with it, loving its heft and length, reveling in the magic sensations it could create within my pussy. But it didn't take me long t' realize that mere size wasn't enough for Patti Cooper. I went down on Mike, although I couldn't get much more than the head inside my stretched mouth, and damned near choked on the tremendous spitting of his come. I couldn't take it by riding on top, because my weight made the glans hurt me, and there was never a prayer of him getting it into my ass, so we fucked either side by side, or with him on top, and I think that Mike was very happy.
He nagged at me about getting smashed, and tried to keep me sober by promising to marry me just as soon as his divorce became final. Maybe I even considered it, momentarily, but I had enough of marriage, and I was already wondering how it would be, to make it with a couple of Mike's friends.
So one day, before I got too drunk, I packed my bag and took what money there was in the house, and walked out on him. I did leave him a note saying I was sorry, that it wasn't the size of his cock or anything he'd done, that I simply wanted to be my own person.
Whoever or whatever the hell that was.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I was sick--so damned sick I didn't give a shit about anything except trying to hold down enough liquor to make me well. It wasn't easy; my stomach was rebelling and I was already weak in the knees, but I used one of my standard cures--a double shot of bourbon in a glass of milk with a raw egg, mixed well and gulped in a hurry. Sometimes it worked well enough to keep me going for a few more days; sometimes it didn't.
Lucky this time, I felt the warmth and a little strength moving through my body, and felt well enough to make it into the shower. While the strength lasted, I scrubbed myself all over, washed my hair and got it fairly dry. When I toweled, my skin was tingling and I felt pretty good, but I knew from past experience that it just wouldn't last. Wearing Darla's clean robe, my feet in a pair of her scuffs, I made it back to the kitchen and mixed another helper outer.
This one was better yet, and I even enjoyed my cigarette, telling myself I would get up pretty soon and see if I could find a can of soup and maybe some crackers. With the new alcohol buzzing through me, I figured I might be good for quite awhile yet, especially if I ate and didn't get gastritis. But what then? Naturally, I shook off that question, because there wasn't an answer; not one that I wanted to face, anyway.
Pulling on my cigarette, I finished my mixture and considered having another before looking for that soup, but sternly put it off. Alkies never taper off a drunk; they just taper right back on one.
I was getting a hold on myself, reasoning things out, and possibly I could ration the booze for today, eat something, and get my head on straight enough to figure what to do. I couldn't stay here at Darla's forever, but I just couldn't walk away, either. There was the liquor supply, for one thing--very important in my condition, financial and physical; and the kids next door--they would come over again soon, once they knew I was all cleaned up and fairly sober.
Thinking of Angel and Kent, I felt my skin turn sensitive and the tips of my breasts swell a little. Crossing my legs and lighting another smoke, my thighs whispered together and I thought of their beautiful young bodies, of their honest lust for all things sexual, and a little tremble worked at me. My twin devils were alive and well, alcoholism and nymphomania, and it seemed that one of them was inextricable from the other.
Quit drinking, stop screwing? They might as well tell me to stop breathing, because that's what it amounted to, my life itself. The hell with it, I decided, and poured Patti Cooper another drink, leaving out the raw egg this time around. When the doorbell sounded, I flinched, and let it ring several times before pulling myself together and going to answer it.
It was Dan, his "lined face calm in the sunlight, that patient, wise look of his eyes like an approving pat on the cheek, but I knew he couldn't be approving of me, or what I was doing. The sun also kissed his gray hair, and I stood back to let him in.
"Did Darla ask you to chase me out?"
He shook his head. "No; she asked me to see if you were okay; she blames herself for bringing you here and getting you on the juice again."
Walking toward the kitchen, supremely aware of his nearness and of my own burgeoning desires, I shrugged. "It isn't her fault; you know that. Nobody ever twisted my arm."
"Or mine," Dan said, taking in the makings on the table, "but she's worried about you. She said you can stay as long as you like, but she wishes you'd come back to Hope House with her."
Defiantly, I finished my milk and bourbon, but didn't feel any better for it. "Pm a trouble maker, Dan, or haven't you noticed? Johnny, Mark, Janet, Darla--they're all upset because of me being around. I screw up everybody."
"Nobody twisted their arms, either."
He was so damned calm, going to the cabinets and sink and stove, making a pot of coffee. So much like my father, I thought, but without dad's aura of powerful sensuality. Or was Dan hiding it from me? My nipples brushed the robe, and I shivered; my thighs were tense, and I fiddled with the empty glass as I sat there, smelling coffee that I sure as hell didn't want, wanting a man I shouldn't make a pass at. But maybe I wouldn't have to; maybe it would just happen.
There was something familiar about that thought, as if I had been waiting before, almost sure it was going to be, but afraid, because there were pitch forks and deep, dark pits where you burned forever, if it did happen.
Under the table, my knee brushed his, and a tremor raced through me, violent and aching, turning me into a mindless robot. I got up and moved around the table, putting my hands upon Dan's shoulders and drawing his dear, lined face between my swollen breasts, pressing it into the perfumed valley.
"I need you, Dan," I murmured. "Oh god, how much I need you. I--I always have."
He tried to pull back, but I held him fiercely, straining my lower body against him, into his chest as he sat there. Between my tits, he said, "Always, Patti?"
Frowning, I clung to him for a long moment, trying to puzzle that through, but the pulse was too strong in me, urgent and thundering. So I stepped away and let my robe slide from my shoulders. My breasts leaped out high and proud, and when the thin material passed over my hips, I gave a consciously sensuous wriggle. I was naked before, this man, displaying my fine body in all its warm beauty, appealing to him to simply reach out and take whatever he could want of me.
"Dan--Dan--am I so damned ugly? Come on, man; come on!"
He sat quietly, so I reached down and caught his hands to lift them to my breasts, to cup them there for awhile, then moved them tantalizingly down over my hips and thighs, rocking on my feet as I did so, my pelvis swiveling, begging.
"Not ugly," he said, "but beautiful, Patti. You must have always been lovely, even as a child."
I answered automatically, as if he had pushed some button: "No; no, I wasn't. The other girls, the older women--they were all prettier than me. Otherwise, why would he--why would they--"
Backing off, I lifted my pelvis at him, thrust out my tits and slid my hands over my pulsing body. "What in the hell is wrong with you, Dan? Here I am; take me."
His eyes bored up into mine. "Who is he, Patti? Who thought the others were prettier than you?"
I felt a chill pass over my naked skin. "Nobody. What the hell do you care? Are you a man, damn you? Can't you still handle a woman? Don't you want to fuck me, Dan?"
He didn't smile. "Did he? Did he just want to, or did he go through with it, Patti? Did he fuck you?"
Swaying, I covered my breasts with one forearm, and spread the fingers of my other hand in a futile attempt to hide my crotch. When I turned and retreated to the living room, he was right behind me, and somehow, I didn't want him to see me naked because I would burn in hell forever. But I couldn't help it, I couldn't help it. Hadn't I tried not to, ever since that first time I hid myself in the closet and saw him do it to her?
I curled on the couch, pulling the pillows around me, hiding again, but he came to sit beside me and said, "Your father, Patti. When a beautiful young woman has a hang-up on older men, it has to be because she had--or still has--a thing for her father."
No! my mind screamed. No, damn it--it was them, it was all the others, not me, because I was his flesh and his blood; I was his only child, his daughter, and I wouldn't--I couldn't.
His voice prodded at me, digging in, peeling back layer after layer of protection. "Did you seduce him, or did he come to you? Look at it, Patti. Look."
Oh God, oh no, oh Christ. If I had sneaked more whiskey on top of the sips they'd given me from their glasses, if I were drunk and lonely and mad at that mouthy blonde bitch for walking out on him, I would have never...
The voice boomed at me, echoed inside my head: Look, Patti.
Maybe he thought it was her. Sometimes she'd sleep in another room when they were having a fight, and maybe he thought it was her, because he was drunk, too, and mixed up. I was just starting to drift off, feeling all warm and cozy from the liquor, feeling so fuzzy I didn't care so much about being alone. I didn't even hear the door open.
When he sat down on the bed, I murmured sleepily and turned toward him. He slid under the blanket, and his body was nice and warm against mine, nice and hairy and smooth, and that wonderful big thing was throbbing against my tummy, feeling like iron wrapped in rubber and covered with the softest silk. Dreaming; I was dreaming again, and as I so often did in my dreams, I cuddled to him, my hand feeling over that beautiful shaft, caressing the distended head and exploring down to the base where it lifted so thrillingly hard from the furry nest of his balls.
His hands were moving over my body, too, discovering my aching breasts and their stiff nipples, finding the flatness of my belly and the hairy mound of my trembling pussy.
It couldn't be wrong, I told myself over and over; it felt too good to be bad, and the whiskey I'd had earlier was buzzing in me, numbing my mind because I wanted it to. I snuggled closer, feeling that wonderful prick that I'd seen him put to different women, caressing that wonderful, unique meat for myself this time, and rolling my hungry snatch up at it, rubbing my cleft against the base of his rod and against the wondrous softness of his balls. I was in seventh heaven, blind to all but the urgent roaring of my maddened blood.
Oh, I adored him so, worshipped him, and this was beautiful, what was at long last happening between us. It wasn't ugly and obscene like when he did it with the other women, because they couldn't ever, ever love him the way I did. We were special together, and I shuddered violently when his mouth closed over mine in the exotic darkness.
Gladly, joyfully, I opened my lips to his kiss, and felt the slide of his tongue between my teeth; my own tongue leaped to meet his, and the wet flames scalded my throat. He pulled my tongue into his mouth and sucked on it; I almost fainted right then, the sensations were so wild and thrilling. They were almost frightening, and for one split second there, the visions came back to warn me, the images of forever fire and searing sulphur, and my body went stiff against his warm one.
But the decision lasted only a millisecond of time, and was whipped away by the stronger feeling--the deep and vital need to love him, to know what he felt like inside my pussy. There could be no holding back now.
My heels beat against the sheet when my daddy slid his mouth down my throat, and my back arched in a spasm of desire as he took one of my aching nipples between his lips. Breath hanging in my throat and my heart beating furiously, I clenched my hand upon his gorgeous cock, hanging on to it for life and sanity. He opened his hot; damp mouth wider, and pulled my entire fit inside, to bathe it tantalizing with his busy tongue. I almost went crazy right then and there.
Then his hand slipped in between my tensed thighs, cupping my excited pussy, rubbing the palm gently but insistently along its shaping, in-flaming the cunt lips and sending delicious tremors of anticipation deep into my vagina. It was going to happen to me, and my heart ran wild with happiness, my pulses sang in rapture. When his finger worked tenderly between my labia, my crotch hiked itself to him, pushed against his hand hungrily, trying to spread itself wider for him, anything to make it easier for my wonderful daddy.
He muttered something against my breast, something about me being so damned tight, and I forced my thighs to open, forced my cunt lips to stretch themselves so his finger could move better inside my quaking body. I had to let go of his prick then, because he backed it away from me and took it in his own hand.
As my father guided that spongy-soft, steely-hard knob into the humid expectancy of my vulva, I began to shake all over, and felt it pressing painfully inside, the tip, then the bulge.
It hurt, but I welcomed the sharpness of pain, and my inner lubrication poured down from the vaginal walls to ease the path of my daddy's cock. I felt it push slowly into me, into my most secret place, and my pussy turned elastic around its strong shaft. Then the head found a barricade, a membrane that struggled against the piercing, that resisted any farther movement.
Daddy grunted and backed his prick a little bit, then shoved it forward again and again, while I wiggled upon this hard thing that impaled me upon its length and thickness. He ground his pelvis into my uplifted one, backed again, and with a sudden lunge, slammed through the barrier with a fierceness that made me bite my lip to keep from screaming out.
But it only hurt for a little while, and as his beloved cock moved back and forth in the tight gripping of my pussy, I knew for the first time the true sensation of being fucked, of being physically loved by this man I cared most for. No other woman could take this from me, for it was mine--his prick was mine, his balls were mine, mine!
Oh, it was magnificent, wonderful; I rode the slow, powerful stroking of his prick, thrilling to this slippery feeling, this overwhelming, being conquered sensation. And I tried to give him all the hotness of my young and straining body, lunging up to meet his thrusts, squirming back as he retreated for another stroke, gasping and heaving against this marvelous, perfect man.
My pussy gnawed at the swollen head of his prick, and my newly aroused clitoris ground savagely against the base of his rod. It seemed as if that meat was reaching far up into my belly, as if the glans was touching my heart, and I would have gladly had it come right out through my panting mouth. I loved him, loved him; my ass wiggled and my belly fluctuated; my pussy caught hold of his moving cock and adored it greasily.
His hands took hold of the cheeks of my slim ass, and he lifted me higher, rolling me back upon my shoulder blades in order to force that rigid thing ever deeper into my vibrating body. I fucked him back the best I knew how, raising my legs so that they were straight up, my feet and toes reaching for the ceiling, more alive than I had ever been.
His breath was rasping hotly in my ear. "Fuck me, you little bitch--fuck me! Ride your daddy's prick, you hot-assed little girl. Shake it, baby--grind that tight, hot cunt on your daddy's cock. Yeah, yeah, baby; that's it, that's the way. Ahhahh, baby, Patti--I'm coming!"
Sizzling waves broke over me; great flashes of lightning blinded me and exploded deep within my shivering cunt. I cried out in utter ecstasy, and his darling, beautiful come burst within my pussy, raining hotly far up into my vagina, spattering the walls and filling me with the richest, sweetest fluid I had ever known. I came to him, hunching against my daddy's crotch, rotating my ass to make his prick feel better, and I continued to feel his thick semen flooding me. It was the culmination of his love for me; he was giving me his body's most precious juices, and I luxuriated in the feel of them.
He loved me. My daddy loved me just as much as I loved him, and he had just proven it to me. Burst after starburst of joy spangled through my trembling cunt, and I wriggled delightedly upon his buried prick, knowing now that I could make him just as happy as any of his women. Happier, even, I thought in a warm daze, because I would always be with my daddy; I would never leave him. I would fuck him every day and every night, and suck his prick the way I had seen the other girls do it, drinking down his enchanted semen so I could possess it always within my body.
Because he loved me. He really and truly loved me.
"Patti!"
"Love me," I muttered. "I won't ever go away."
His face loomed above me, his face but not really his, changed somehow, gone different. "Patti! Patti Cooper."
I was sick. I wits so damned sick. "Get away from me, Dan."
He helped me to sit up, and I let go the couch pillow I had been holding to my naked breasts. "Don't hate me; don't punish me. I--I was drunk, and I didn't mean to--to do it with you, daddy."
"Not daddy," he said softly. "Dan; just Dan."
"You son of a bitch," I said. "Can't you see I'm sick and don't know what I'm saying?"
"You fucked your father," he insisted, "and ever since, you've been trying to blot that fact out of your mind."
I screamed. "No--NO!"
Then the room caved in upon itself, the walls billowing like darkly stained and horrible sheets, the floor rocking. I had to find my clothes because I had to run, had to run very fast and far away, and I couldn't run like I was, all naked and ugly in my sin, in my mortal sin.
Hands were holding me back, and I struggled against them. I wouldn't be held back, couldn't be stopped. I must run, get away, hide.
Sharp and stinging, something exploded against my cheek. My head rocked and I tasted the thick, sweet flavor of blood from a cut my teeth made. I screamed; now they were beating me for what I had done; they would torture me with the pitchforks and burn me over white-hot coals. I just kept screaming and begging them not to.
The second slap cleared my eyes and put a coldness into my head. The terrible pit vanished, the jagged rocks and leering faces dimmed, then faded away.
"Patti!"
I held my hands to my burning cheeks. "I--I think I'm all right now. I won't yell any more; I'm all screamed out."
Dan sat beside me on the couch, holding my hands. "Did he keep screwing you, Patti?"
I shook my head. "He--he never admitted he did. When I--I tried to get into bed with him the next night, he beat the hell out of me. I never--never saw my father again. I--I pretended a lot, then. Maybe the pretense got mixed up with the real, even after I was married."
Dan's voice was tired and wise. When at last I lifted my eyes to his face, I saw that he didn't look like my father at all. I peered closely, and tried to reconstruct a picture of my daddy inside my head. I wanted to throw up when I realized that I couldn't even remember what he looked like.
Dan said, "Patti, you blotted out that memory, and tried to drown it with your drinking. I'd say you did a pretty good job of it, all told. But now you've hauled out that ugly thing and looked at it."
"I--I don't want to. Please don't--"
"It happened," he continued softly. "It happened and nothing can change that."
"But I wanted him to screw me. I was such a little bitch that I needed him to fuck me, Dan."
He smiled. "Did you twist his arm?"
I blinked at him. "But he didn't have to lie, to put me down, get rid of me. I--I loved him, Dan."
"In all ways," he said. "As a daughter, a woman, a wife. Accept that and file it away. There's nothing you can do about it now, except realize it and go on with your own life. He can't touch you now, only as much as you allow him to. You're not that scared, lonely little girl now; you're a woman with a choice."
I felt weak, but no longer sick. I looked over at the bar where an almost full bottle of bourbon waited, golden brown and beckoning. "As I have a choice about drinking?"
"You've always had that choice," he said. "You can drink or not drink; it's up to you."
"Would you bring me my robe?" I asked, and when he did, I went into the bedroom I had shared with Darla and Kent and Angel, the one with all the mirrors. It was funny, but I could not look right into them and not hide my face. I dressed and stuffed my few things back into a suitcase and went back out to Dan.
"Got a room for a rider--to Hope House?"
His smile widened and turned brighter. "Any time, Patti."
The road back to sobriety and self respect is a hard one, and nobody is making me any promises, but maybe I can keep facing myself. I have to stop running sometime, I'm going to try, even though I'm a psychological mess--father-love, rejection, insecurity, alcoholism and nymphomania. But I could learn to live with me.
There is still the purely physical problem: after squirming under the passionate bodies of countless men, after thrusting against the hard, round lunges of their pricks, I may not be able to find just one guy who is willing to accept me both for what I was, and for what I hope to be. And if I do find him, I have no assurance that my love (for want of a better term) won't begin to fade, that I won't start looking around for strange sensations and the wild, free fun of screwing any man or woman I damned well please.
The liquor? My body is geared to that, too. If I ever get driven to pick up a cold, sweating glass that offers anesthesia, I'll be off and running once again--and maybe I won't find another place to stop.
Will I make it? I take a deep and honest look into myself and realize that I don't know. Patti Cooper may not be able to drop off the images and pressures she has so carefully put together during her misspent life. She may not really want to.
But for today, I want to. I have no inclination to run and hide. I was fucked by my father, and I wanted more of the same. If he hadn't been such a phony bastard, it could have been a lot of fun for both of us--or it could have turned into something uglier than it was. Who the hell knows?
One day at a time. God! How many times have I been told that's the answer. The shrinks and the do-gooders might as well add, "And one fuck at a time, Patti, remember that."
One on one... hah! The line is funny.
So, like the song goes, "Kiss today goodbye, and point me towards tomorrow. Wish me luck, the same to you... but I won't regret what I did for love."
