If there was any girl in America who was seemingly miscast in a family drama which centered on sex, it would have had to be Ellen Mack, in the opinion of any objective witness. And yet, in the light of what happened to this chaste, convent-bred young lady in Carolyn Hunt's new novel, we see the power of human weakness, the great paradox of our life on this earth.
The Holy Bible says somberly: "It is better to marry than to burn," probably in one of those interminable letters which that incredibly prolix correspondent, Saint Paul, wrote to his scattered flocks in Corinth, in Thessaly, and elsewhere. But the good saint also wrote: "Everyone runs, but not everyone wins first prize."
The clash of these two aphorisms on sexual conduct is a part of why human beings are at once so sad and so happy, in the duly considered opinion of Ms. Hunt. There is always the grim-lopped rule and there is always the warmly human urges which the rule is supposed to hold in check.
But there are always, even among the most devout religionists, circumstances which make the rules not only impossible, but which seems to make breaching them the only sensible, human, and ethical thing to do.
Young Ellen Mack did not think of herself as a woman. But her body knew that Ellen was not a child any more. Her body knew what passion was, what sexual drive and need did to it. But Ellen was unaware of the silent conspiracy going on in the tenderness and sensitivity of her softly mature young self.
In the end-or perhaps it was really the beginning-it was the young girl's goodness, her concern for her brother, that made her body the master of her mind, the devastator of her strict set of dogmatic rules.
And it was the injustices against her warm generosity, against her kindness and humanity, which caused her-forced her, really-to mature in attitude as well as in body.
Although she never put it into words, Ellen Mack realized that what is good for you at one point is bad for you at others. And also, that seemingly bad things that happen can turn out to be good things, emphasizing the lessons of hope, the lessons of patience.
And giving a warm natured girl a chance to live a little, too. Could anything better happen to a girl like Ellen? Or to her father, her brother, the man she mistook for a priest?
We think not, but we leave it to your judgment.
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CHAPTER ONE
Ellen Mack, restless and worried as she turned and twisted in her big, soft bed, wondered if she dared go to the bathroom to look for some sort of pill that would help her sleep. She had the most dreadful feeling in that place, down there between her thighs. In her vagina, if you had to name it. And she was in such a fever of sexual heat that her tender spirit was in almost as terrible pain as her tender young female parts. But she would not touch herself down there. Ugh! She shuddered with distaste. And she shuddered again, a long one that wracked her lovely young body, and this time it was raw desire, burning sexual need, that made her body quiver.
Her hands slid down to pull her chaste nightgown down. Maybe that would help. But it made things worse. Her hands, warm and soft, seemed almost to melt into the smooth, warm skin of her belly, so that she jumped from just that teeny little touch. It was awful!
"Oh, God," she prayed in a soft whisper, "relieve me of this vile temptation! Help me not to soil my body and spirit with lust!"
It was a mistake to pray, and Ellen realized it. Because, the very minute she asked to be relieved of the temptation, her mind asked: "What temptation?" And her mind always supplied its own answer. Because it was a temptation she had been fighting, without any real success, since before she was twelve.
Before her mother had left her father, taking her oldest child away with her to that cold city in the Northwest, where she could put Ellen in a convent school.
"You'll love it, here, darling," mama had promised. "It's so peaceful. And the Sisters will be so good to you, and help you to grow up without any impure or immoral thoughts. You wait and see!"
But it hadn't helped. Just as her prayer, just now, hadn't helped. Her mind and her body seemed to be in cahoots against her conscience. Because, when her mind asked: "What temptation?" and supplied its own answer: "The temptation to love yourself, to play with your thing," it just made her vile body all the more horrible. All the more degrading and disgusting.
And, when she accidentally touched her stomach, and it WAS accidental, REALLY it was, her filthy body had fairly leaped in excitement. Just like those little black dogs that had those red, wet looking little you-know-what's. Only, of course, dogs were animals, and they couldn't help it. And humans were children of God, and had God's words to guide them. The power of choice, that's what.
Only, and Ellen had to recognize this, if she didn't take some kind of something to numb her, to get her some sleep, she'd fight this craving until she was too-weak to resist, and then-oh, God, the enormity of it!-she'd have to give in. Have to put her fingers into THAT place, that awful place, and have that terrible thing happen to her. In spite of mama and the nuns and The Mother Superior and Father Geoghan who came each Saturday to listen to confessions.
Fighting back tears, the nubile child, for she was a child, in spite of her seventeen years and the generous maturity of her softly sculptured young body, got out of her rumpled bed and put on the small lamp by her bed.
The rush of aching sensitivity she felt down there, in her own phrase, reminded her that it wasn't just in her vagina. She hated that word, it was so vulgar. And it referred to something hidden, and even more vulgar than its name. And it wasn't really the place where the agony was, for it was close to the surface. In her vulva. Vulva! That was worse than vagina! How could they call these homely, necessary, embarrassing parts by such horribly suggestive names? And why did women have to bear this cross, the cross of sin which Mother Eve had brought to all women?
But when she thought this, her head nodded in penitence, for she was questioning the will of God, and that might very well be a venial sin. If she were back at the school, she could have asked Mother Superior. Or even Sister Adolphus or Sister Mary Magdalen or Sister Jeanne D'Arc. But best of all she would be to ask Father Geoghan. He was the best of all. He would pry at her until she told him exactly what her thoughts had been. And when she admitted she had rebelled against being a woman, and having these itchy, overly juicy parts, he would really come down on her. Make her tell him, in detail, exactly which parts, and by what name or names she thought of them when she rebelled? And how did they feel, that she was so blasphemous as to doubt God's lightness. He would repeat the names of her parts as she uttered them, rolling them under his tongue as if they just simply made him sick to think of them. And she, Ellen, pleased with the misery she was inflicting on herself, would feel a stir and flutter in those very parts as the priest excoriated her for such vile and impure thoughts.
"There must be some other names you girls call those various and sundry parts of your sinful little bodies," the old priest would grumble. "How old are you? Nearly seventeen? No, already seventeen?" He made a sound as if he were drawing in a sharp breath over a lip full of spittle, the same sound Ellen would make if she were thinking of toast and eggs for breakfast, or a bite of chocolate candy. But Father Geoghan would grumble: "Well, you should, by rights, know more of sin than ye do, it'd make these confessions just a bit more lively."
Actually, and Ellen burned all over just to recall it, she knew at least one more name to call those parts. She wouldn't repeat it, even to herself. It made her too warm and juicy, and she was already itching and burning out of control.
She held her nightgown away from her belly and breasts. They, the darn big old things, were causing half the trouble. If she hadn't taken after mother quite so much in that respect! Nadine Hall, who was always on the carpet in Mother Superior's office, had the same trouble, but she just laughed about it. "Sure, guys notice them," she had said proudly, when Ellen had asked her. "What do you think God made men and women different for, if guys weren't going to notice boobs and stuff?"
Boobs! That Nadine, she was a bold as brass! And she knew that other word that Ellen knew, the word that meant a girl's privates. She even used it, once, when she had gotten hold of a bottle of sacra mental wine one of the sisters had left in the kitchen.
So, Ellen held her nightgown away from her breasts and belly. And, because she had had that piercing, agonizing flame of feeling in her vulva-ugh!-she walked with her knees bent, so that her thighs would be apart, and wouldn't make those thick, hairy lips rub together. That was almost too much to bear.
She went down the familiar hall. So good to be home after five long years! So good to have little Ronnie-big, now-to love and take care of. He was so quiet, so sort of pitiful. And little Terry, although Terry, too, had sure grown a lot. Terry was going to have trouble, too, with guys noticing her bosom. And all of her. For a girl only eleven, she was certainly bouncy. Maybe, after she got used to being home, she could control this horrible, wicked thing that her body did to her.
She paused as she got to the bathroom door. There was a band of dim light under little Ronnie's bedroom door. She couldn't have that! Her dad had left her in charge.
"I hate to run out on you, your first night at home, Peaches, her dad had said, squeezing her shoulder. "But we guys have already paid for this charter boat-twenty-eight bucks each-and we've planned the trip for two months. I'll get Miz Sanderson, down the street, to sit you kids. Then I won't worry."
And Ellen, feeling grown up and feeling grateful to her dad for giving her a home, hastily replied: "Oh, no, daddy! Have you forgotten? I'm seventeen. And we had three years of baby-sitting courses in school. To make good mothers and wives out of us. I can handle these sweet little kids."
A lot those fuck-ass nuns know about being a good wife, Bob Mack said to himself, bitter, as always, when he even so much as thought of the church. Gretchen was the best piece of ass .in California when we married. Hot, hot, hot! Willing to try anything. Until, unaccountably, she'd gone back into the church of her family. And then-brother, how she had fucked things up!
Of course, for a long time, they had followed the rhythm method, not screwing during a certain three days of each month, which Bob hated. But it was a hell of a lot more fun, shooting off your sperm in a woman's vagina, just letting it go in all its heat and slickness and force. Rather than using rubbers. And even better than a woman filling herself with that damn foam, and corking up her womb with a diaphragm, a "short-handled rubber," as an old girl friend of his had called it.
So, for those years, acting as if he, too, were a good Catholic, Bob had been so content, so raised to high heat by Gretchen's tits and her lovely body, that he had fucked himself silly.
And then there had been little Ellen, looking so much like him, that tiny little mite. So sweet, so much a gift from Heaven, that it was a long time before he had the effrontery to proposition Gretchen to get back to humanity, to sex, to trying those things she had grudgingly done for him in the last few months of pregnancy.
Wow! To have your dickie licked by a professional whore was all right, a lot of fun, and no way to get clapped up. But to have your own wife suck you off, boy, that was the most! And it was out of a book that the priest had given them. When they went to talk about what-all Bob would have to do to become a mackerel-snapper. For right then, before Ellen had been born, he was willing to do anything to be on Gretchen's good side. Or her front or her back, as long as he could get it into her slick, tight, chewy little hole. Yes, Bob Mack would be willing to take instructions, to join the Holy Roman Catholic Church. And that old priest had been a bird!
"Young couples mustn't be too formal with each other, you know," he had said. "Love is human. God gives us the ability to love. But He expects us to use our ingenuity to appreciate his great gift."
So, he had given them the book, that marvelous book, opening it to point out a picture of a very lovely naked girl enthusiastically giving a blow job to an appreciative naked gentleman. "Of course," the old priest had chuckled, "I don't say the Monsignor would approve of this, but when a man's young and randy, he needs to have his carnal needs taken care of."
He had patted them both on the back, and looked at Gretchen's bulging belly, so full of little Ellen. And that gross belly had given him one more thing to say: "Remember, my son, no matter how full the barn is, you can always shuck a few ears in the door."
Getting organized on the charter boat with his pals, heading for Mexican waters in the hope of hitting a big school of albacore, Bob Mack thought of his daughter, row so grown up. And of her mother, when she was still trying to be a good wife. It made him shiver. What that woman had done to him! Like robbing him of all confidence.
Couldn't even approach a woman, unless it was a whore. Poor little old Rose Nariz, that had to fuck and suck to eke out a bare living on that puny salary she got for waiting table at the beanery. Or a traveling hustler, known to one of his buddies. "I used to be a gutsy cocksman, too," he muttered to himself sadly, kicking his tackle box under his bunk, leaning his rods in the comer of the tiny, fishy-smelling cabin. "Only good thing she ever gave me was the kids," he whispered, tears in his eyes, peeling his boots off, ready to try and get a little shut-eye. Be down to Todos Santos Bay by dawn, and they might run into anything, down there. Weather'd been hot all the way from Panama to Frisco. Maybe even a few yellow-tail might be slashing through the green water, headed north.
That thought of the gift of his kids stayed with him, and he thought wistfully of all of them. But especially of Ellen. So grown up. Pretty! And poor, quiet, scared little Ronnie-Gretchen had sown guilt in his young spirit before she left, taking Ellen along. If he could only afford a shrink, he'd sure as hell give Ronnie the chance to overcome his handicap. "Only thing is, I need it worse than he does," Bob muttered, grinning wryly in the dark.
A sleepy voice in the next bunk cursed and asked: "Who in hell you talkin' to? Get some sleep, dummy!"
Bob rolled up in his blanket. Terry wouldn't need a shrink. There was one kid tough enough to live in this strange, sad world. He hoped in his heart that Ellen was making out all right, that the two "home kids" wouldn't gang up on what was, in a way, a brand new member of the family. He hoped she was finding her way along.
She was.
As she saw the thin string of yellow light under Ronnie's door, the mother-boss in her came to the fore. She forgot the pill, thinking only of her duty. Can't let him get away with this kind of thing, or I'll never be able to handle him, she thought.
She made no attempt to tread lightly. If she was going to come down on him, she had to come on strong. She marched to his door, took the knob in her warm little fist, and threw open the door.
There was one dreadful moment when she thought she would faint, perhaps even die, from fear and embarrassment. Then she realized that Ronnie was asleep, and couldn't help the sinful thing he was doing. And besides, he was only a little kid. Barely twelve. How could he know what was happening? And, more to the point, how could he know that it would affect his sister so powerfully?
The sleeping kid, only twelve, had a hard-on. It was as simple as that. And yet, to a totally inexperienced girl, loaded with stories of the varied dangers a female can face from men or boys, it was a most frightening phenomenon. Frightening, but strangely fascinating. This was it, the monstrous thing that mama talked about, this unnamed but easily imagined danger the nuns talked about. And, it was the first one that Ellen had ever seen.
Well, to be honest she very clearly remembered having seen her dad's. She shouldn't have seen it, she knew. Their meeting, in the hall that ran from bath to bedroom, was truly accidental. She had been strangely excited. Scared, but fascinated. She knew she should have dropped her eyes. But she couldn't. And, remembering it, she knew that it had not been rigid and trembling and dark red, like poor little Ronnie's.
Poor Ronnie! As she thought this, she laughed softly. She should have been thinking "poor dad!" He had been terribly embarrassed. Tried to cover that thing with his big hand, but of course she had seen it. Funny, he had not been going from the bathroom, but to the bathroom. He had just come from bed, from the bed he shared with her mother. And that penis of his had been shiny-bright, as if he'd dipped it into oil. And it wasn't too long after that that he and mama had had their terrible fight, and mama had left, taking her, Ellen, with her.
"Here's one female you won't ever corrupt with your evil ways!" mama had shouted as she made the announcement that she was leaving and taking Ellen with her.
And all these memories were flashing back in her young mind in the twinkling of an eye, as she stood rooted, her young female organs hot and trembling, looking at little Ronnie's hard, nodding pecker.
From then on, Ellen acted as one in a dream. Or a nightmare. She knew very well that what she was doing was terribly wrong, wrong beyond words. But she was, after all, a natural human being, and nature had overtaken her. She had this dreadful feeling of intense, itchy heat in her hated vulva, her despised vagina, and yet there had been times, so many, many times, when she had no defense against this terrible habit.
As Father Geoghan had so often said, "If ye'd only learn to come to me before the fact, my daughter, perhaps we could work out something that would be a bit less sinful for you, even if it meant my sharing of the sin." And then he would sometimes sigh, or sometimes he would laugh. And, at one time, when her blouse had rubbed on her quaking breasts, when she was so terribly, intensely full of that dreadful animal heat, making her have that hateful, wetly drooling spasm, deep up inside her, the old priest had been filled with tongue-clucking sympathy, ordering her to lift her blouse and hold it around her neck. "Just to take the wicked feeling and pressure off the tender, sweet little things." And he had sighed deeply, and then groaned, and she could hear a very fast, rhythmic rustle of his robes before he said, gustily: "Go and sin no more, my child. If ye can manage it." And he had not given her any penance at all, none really, only a few Hail Marys. "Because, my dear child, it's not your fault if the Good God has given ye such a warm nature," the old man whispered, feeling of the tender, sweet little things as she got up to leave the confessional.
So, in a way, in that brilliant, shameful, rewarding moment, she had a lot flash through her mind-that Ronnie couldn't help it if, as Father Geoghan had said of her, the Good God had made him a warm natured boy, and, since she was his sister, his older sister, she owed it to him to help. At least, some fluttering rationalization along this line burned in her fevered young mind, just as a grasping, gripping, painfully lovely sensation gripped her young body. She had absolutely no idea of what she was doing. It was nature at work. She felt hot all over, so hot that she was afraid she would explode, screaming and writhing, as she sometimes did when she committed that dreadful offense of touching her vulva. So, quite simply, she took off her long-sleeved flannelette nightgown.
Even in her shame, seeing her young, well formed body in the mirror in her brother's room, she knew a moment of love and admiration for herself, as her Creator had made her. The firm, rosy, bouncy young breasts, capped by blood-darkened, passion swollen nipples. Her sweetly rounded belly, with its softly out-lined triangle of light brown pubic hair. Awful? Well, the breasts, the hair and what it hid, the roundness of her buttocks and the strongly built young thighs, they represented something "awful" to mama. And to the nuns. But right now, her girlish mind turned in another direction by the heat in her cunt, Ellen thought her body beautiful.
Her young brother, tall for his age, skinny, dark, looked so pathetic in his deep sleep, so vulnerable, that Ellen's heart went out to him. He had somehow gone to bed without his PJ bottoms. Perhaps he had meant to jerk off. He was a timid, confused boy, with no one to talk to about sex except other boys his own age. And they were as ignorant as he. But he had, possibly inherited from the genes of his father, a fiercely active procreative system. Balls almost as large as a man, capable of filling with semen and sperm, putting pressure on his penile nerves. A rather large penis for a twelve-year-old boy, which was for him, as his sister's pussy was for her, a source of more guilt than pleasure.
What strange quirk of nature twisted the tender mind of the young girl, so steeped in the strangely sadistic sex-and-sin ethic of Mother Church? Was it the long, hard, red-tipped spear of throbbing flesh, with large balls attached, thrust up from the young brother's loins? Was it the denied but persistent need which pulsated in the lovely young virgin's softly squirming cunt? Or was it just a combination of everything that makes our sexual natures so lovely and so grim?
Whatever it was, seeing it happen in the mirror like a dream too wicked to be beautiful, but too beautiful to be denied, in a slow-motion feeling that made each moment seem ten times as long, young Ellen did the things she could not help.
She got on the bed, on hands and knees, her face just above the throbbing, trembling cock of her brother. Her full breasts touched his thighs, giving her a deep thrill of pleasure she had never known. Not even when Father Geoghan had touched her breasts. "Just to see if they're really all that sinfully excitable," the good man had said in a voice suddenly hoarse with his own feelings.
The smell from Ronnie's crotch was gaggingly sweet, sickeningly exciting. And, in an odd flash of memory, a dark, closed corner of her mind snatched open for a split second, she knew that this was not the second male organ she had ever seen. It was the first. In years gone by, an experience she had loved, and that had been forced out of her mind by the deep sense of sinning that had overgrown every warm instinct and impulse in her mind, in her soft, warm body.
When she was eight and Ronnie was three, she had looked at him. Close up. At his little "peenie" as he had called it. He had had a babyish erection then, and she had spent a long time looking at it, holding it, fighting down the urge to suck it. Had she sucked it? She did not know, or would not remember.
But now, overcome with the sweetness of aroma emanating from the young boy's sweated crotch, and probably unable to deny such a sweet and natural yearning, she opened her mouth, finding it unaccountably flushed with saliva, and took the hard, blood-filled, nerve-taut young cock into her mouth. It was unintentional, surely.
How else, in God's name, could a child of seventeen, a product of a harshly restrictive instruction in sin, and especially in the dreadful sinfulness of her own vile body, have done such a thing? It had to be unintentional. Because her mind, her conscious mind, simply shut it out.
However, she had no unconscious senses, no unconscious nerves. The sweet-sour strength that comes from sweated balls and sweated ass crack provoked a wild fever of anticipation in her lascivious mind, in her crying, coaxing, wheedling, demanding fuck-system.
Every heartbeat swelled the veins in her swollen inner labia, making each nerve end curl in heat, making each microscopic pore open and leak out its sweet, clear, warmly slick mucous.
And the rankly inviting, acridly stirring taste of all the moisture, all the deposits of human secretions from under his thick soft foreskin as her lips instinctively pushed it back, so that her tongue could wrap around it! How beautiful! Even in sin, how sweet!
She moved her body, keeping her writhing lips, her busy tongue, on Ronnie's stiff penis. Her breasts rubbed his body as her beautifully divided young rump, looking so wide and womanly in this pose, moved around toward her brother's face. She could now smell the thick, beastly aromas from her own despised genitalia, the seat of all man's sin as well as woman's. It smelled marvelous. She knew it was dreadful for her to exude it, to create such a rankly animal perfume. Even more horrible was the fact that she enjoyed it. But it was a part of this dream of unbridled licentiousness, of truly bestial lust. And yet, the taste and feel of her young brother's cock in her mouth, the deadly charm of his human smells, the soft shock as his redheaded peter struck against her tonsils, all of these were a part of this nightmare of love and bliss.
And instinctively, as if she had spent years sucking cock, she leaned her breasts softly on his flanks, held his penis in one soft hand and his balls in the other, and, acting on some deeply hidden knowledge, used her lips and tongue and cheeks and throat, as well as the caresses of her hands and the sensuality of her own body, to draw from his boyish nuts all the rich seed he had stored away inside them.
She had never heard of a wet dream. She had no way of knowing that her young brother, his humanity and healthy sexual system operating without his consent, was about to shoot his nocturnal emission of boyish sperm into a dream-cunt. She knew only vaguely that men's organs emitted some dreadful fluid which, if so much as a drop got on your skin, could cause your belly to swell with the presence of an unwanted child. She had no idea how this happened. She knew that boys stood up to pee, using these same odd, enviable tools that girls didn't have. No doubt the fluid that made babies came out of the same place. She fought fiercely with her instincts, trying to unmouth this hard, jerking rod of flesh that seemed to fill her mouth and pound at her throat with such devilishly sweet force and meaning. But all she did was to close her thighs on the maddening heat, the screamingly sensitized nerves in the lips of her sex, the thick, softly fleshed, well -haired lips that she was so ashamed of.
And, as the hot gushes of her brother's cum shot into her throat, and she could not stop sucking for fear the drying fluids would show on his sheets, she swallowed every drop of the slick, rich seed. It clogged her nostrils, there was so much of it, and she could not swallow when the red head of it was deep in her throat. Her mouth filled with it, her cheeks filled with it, it was rolling under her tongue and across her taste buds. It was, a part of her mind said, disgusting, horrible, wicked, sinful, utterly depraved. But some core of rebellion accepted it gratefully, thinking how rich and slickly salty it was, what a lovely, loving treat between brother and sister. Or between man and woman.
But the rebellious acceptance of the deliciousness of her brother's cum was not her only benefit. Or her only sinful action, whichever one wishes to call it.
There was roaring fire deep up inside her, where all that female wickedness lay, all that temptation for both male and female, as the nuns and her mother had dinned into her head until she just tiredly accepted it as gospel. A person couldn't live without sinning. Anyhow, that's what Sister Adolphus said. Even nuns sinned, even her mother sinned. Only, Ellen never dared ask her mother if this were true. Mama was short tempered, most of the time.
She let the warm, thick, richness of her brother's young balls flow into her mouth and down her throat. There were drops leaking out the corners of her lips, and she thought desperately that she would have to be sure and lick them up, their presence would be so incriminating. But all the time, this cannon of intensely pleasant pressure was firing inside her, again and again. She had had experiences similar to this, when she could not control her impure thoughts or the horrible, depraved, degrading lusts of her body, so she knew what it was. What Nadine called "cumming", a crude bit of obscenity, although Ellen didn't know why. "Coming" was a perfectly good word, a useful verb. But to "cum" with all the forces in your hot, sweet, drippy young vagina-that was a sin against God, her mother, the sisters, even the church.
But her strong, sweetly formed young body continued to buck, her cunt walls chewing together, since they had nothing solid to rub against except each other. And the horrid depravity-which felt so marvelous, that was the worst part-of cumming just went on and on, her vulva and her vagina and even her dirty little old bunghole where the doo-doo came out, all were in on the sin.
She could stop what she was doing. But her body could not. She could take her mouth off of Ronnie's penis, which still shook and trembled, and occasionally gave a dying throb. It was covered with his juice and, perhaps, her saliva, Ellen noted. In spite of the horrendous sin, the enormity of which she confessed inwardly, she could not stop the echoing and re-echoing of orgasmic shocks in her sweetly flowing little cunt. And she knew that very soon she would have to get off the bed, stagger to her own room and try once more to go to sleep.
But she still had one duty. To clean her brother's young organ, so that neither he nor her father need ever know.
Whatever shame she might have felt from this perverted act, she overcame by assuring herself that this was a service of love, that she was sacrificing herself for the good of both her brother and her father. The richness of taste, the thick, saline delights of eating her young sibling's cum was something she would not permit herself to think of. Enjoyment would have doubled the sin.
When she went into the bathroom, she found she had to urinate, and let loose a yellow flood of urine, an action that gave her a very considerable shock of pleasure. Since it happened in the performance of a necessary function, the semi-distraught girl allowed herself to shiver with the clean lust of a small orgasmic quake.
However, she realized that, with the intensity of feeling in her vulva, she did not dare wipe her young twat with toilet paper. Instead, she simply let the few unshed drops of her pee to cling to the membrane through which her urethra emptied, and to the softly curled, light brown hair that protected her cuntal flaps.
She found a bottle of something called "Snoozy", and took twice the regular dosage, her teeth chattering with the chill of guilt and sin, although the night was pleasantly warm. The sensitivity of her breasts had not gone down. They were as swollen as ever, and the nipples stood out like deeply creased, hard grained little pricks. She simply carried her nightgown in her hand, secure in the knowledge that, whatever she had done, there would be no ripples of calamity that would affect others in her home. But she was not that lucky.
Ronnie had been awake after the first ten seconds of her awkward but determined sucking on his cock. And eleven-year-old Terry, curious about everything, especially sex, had seen it all.
CHAPTER TWO
The Mack home, built many years ago when labor, lumber, and land were all cheap, has lots of room. And three baths.
One was, of course, the big hall bathroom. Everyone used that. It was where Ellen was heading when she saw the light under Ronnie's door, where she had gone later, to find the pills.
There was "mom-and-dad's bathroom," only it was now dad's, a bright, comfortable room with a shower over a big tub. As it happened, Ellen's room adjoined this bath, and there was a door from her room that made it HER bath, too. But naturally, she never had used it. And wasn't about to. It smacked of sin.
The third bath was, like dad's, between two rooms. Ronnie's. And Terry's. This was Terry's doing. There was still another room across the way, next to the hall bathroom. But Terry had cried, and yelled, somewhat to Ronnie's embarrassment, until dad had let her move her things into the room which had a common bath with her brother's. She liked it that way. Often, if Ronnie forgot to latch the door that opened on her room, she came into the bath to find a number of highly exciting things.
Like Old Ron playing with his peter. Wow! That was exciting! And no matter how he hollered, she knew that he liked it, too. He'd even let her hold his cock sometimes when he peed, so she could wave it around and guide it and watch the yellow piss burn its hissing way into the calm waters of the toilet. Oh, damn him! If he'd only let her get in the tub with him, if he'd only piss on her! Or let her piss on him!
Because her old dad was right. She was one kid that would not be hurt nor frightened by sex. Frustrated, yes, because she still was only eleven. She was bold as brass with her girl friends, just as they were with her. But she was only a kid, and very shy. Talk to a guy about sex? Never! It would have killed her, she declared. So, for now, she had to take out her sexual aggression on poor, passive, scaredy-cat Ronnie, loving him but scorning him.
Until tonight.
In this bathroom that was hers as much as his, she had stopped dead in her tracks as she heard a door open and shut. It wasn't Ronnie. He had been asleep. She knew. She had peeked in.
As a matter-of-fact, she had been in the room only a few seconds before Ellen. Pulling the covers down. Looking at that fantastic hard-on. She didn't think of it as a penis, or what it was doing as an erection. She was a sexual pragmatist, a child of this age. She called it a cock, she called what gripped it a hard-on.
She had been in that darkened bathroom, her cute, boldly rounded thighs spread wide, and she had two of her fingers stuck in her sopping little crack, clear up to the tiny, hard little cervix. Jacking her fingers in and out, cannily hitting the good places, the spots where the most ticklingly sensitive nerves writhed against the soft pressure of her girlish little paws.
She, too, had dispensed with her nightie, but not for the same protective reason as her sister. Not little Terry! She wanted to squeeze her hot, trembly, sex-fired little titties. It was so damn good, when you finger-fucked yourself to a frothy, burning, leaky, cunt-busting cum to maul your own tits so savagely that the sex-fire ran from them to your pussy, and back again. Oh, wow! Was it ever!
She had seen, stricken speechless and motionless, as Ellen had come in. She had seen the look of raw desire on the softly pretty face of her sister, and had interpreted it for what it was-animal lust. Her heart had almost stopped when Ellen had swiftly drawn the gown over her head. Damn her, anyhow, she always did have the tits! The thought goosed the younger child with a shiver of sibling anger.
But she need not have envied Ellen. Nor, indeed, any woman on earth. She was only eleven, but nature was making her-and the male world-a promise, nestling under the knit shirts, the teeny bikini bras, the thin, semi-transparent blouses. Ellen's breasts were bigger, sure. Why not? She was seventeen. But the small, firm breasts on this eleven-year-old child were beautiful.
Only today, in the hall at The Old School on the small hills above Lupus Beach, Terry's teacher, Miss Gentry, had smiled as the child passed, and mentioned her endowments. Mentioned them, in fact, to Ray Burleson, principal of the school.
"That kid's going to have to be caged in a couple or three years," Gladys had said. "By that time, no man on earth could see her and not be out of his nut to give her a bang."
And Mister Burleson-sometimes referred to as "girleson" by his friends-had groaned and said: "Gentry, I'm three years ahead of my time!"
He was thinking of the firm, beautifully shaped little breasts, the small but elegantly rounded little butt, the gorgeous young legs shown almost to their limit by the girl's skimpy skirt. But he was also thinking of-seeing and digging, really-her perfect little face with its full, curving, sensuous-looking mouth, her green eyes, her golden yellow hair. J wish I could tell you, Gentry, he thought, but you'd shriek to high heaven. And probably the Superintendent.
But the female teacher, looking sympathetically after the bold and bouncy young girl, had her own thoughts: That kid could give a guy a blow-job to cave his skull in from vacuum, and old Girleson, bless his horny heart, is thinking of it.
Now, tonight, not knowing nor caring what the principal had said, the hot little kid jerked herself off with a desperate need, peering through the crack of the door, watching Ronnie's hard-on. Until Ellen had come in. And began eating her brother's prick. God! That was enough to make a girl cum, to cream her tights just from seeing how Old Ellen, that Miss Priss from convent school had copped that hard dick!
The child was wracked by spasm after spasm of warmly undulating orgasm in her tight, sweet, clean little cunt, until she suddenly realized that Ronnie was awake, and had been most of the time. That stopped her. But it dragged her into his room.
And for the best reason in the world. The poor dummy was bawling his eyes out.
She went in silently, then threw herself on the bed on her brother. Her warm, smooth little body rubbed against his as he cried, wiping his streaming eyes clumsily with the back of his hand. He was so far gone in misery that he paid no attention to his young sister's gorgeously lascivious nakedness, not even when she rubbed her softly pulsing, warmly juicing little cunt on his skinny arm, getting a hot, deep thrill in the dark of her fuck hole.
"She did it!" he kept repeating. "She did it! I didn't do it, it was Ellen!" And then, surprising little earthy-minded Terry, he said thickly: "She sucked my cock! Ellen sucked my cock! Oh, Lord! What can I do? My sister's a cocksucker! Yes, a cocksucker!"
The words, and the vision they brought back to the younger girl, gave her an intense shiver of fuck pain. She was slobbering with desire, her clear spittle running from her full red lower lip on to Ronnie's shoulder. His passion had not departed. He had only been cumming a year, his balls were eager to manufacture and store enough cock juice to keep him going. And he, too, was susceptible to the implications in the rich, warm words he had used. Cocksucker! Sucking my cock! It made him burn with guilt, but it also made him burn with the fullness of his manly young nuts, made his cock leap like a startled snake.
With her breasts smashed against her big brother's bony shoulder, and loving him more than any other person on earth, the randy girl slipped her warm little hand down into the boy's crotch. Her fingers brushed the stiff curly hair on his belly-so dark, so manly!-and she took a firm hold on his young cock. He jerked her hand off of his pecker, and angrily said: "Keep your clappy hands off me!"
Then, contrite, he turned and hugged her, uncaring that she was naked, and said: "I'm sorry, Terry! I'm just desperate! Ellen sucked me off! My own sister! I just don't know what to do!"
"If you had any guts, you'd go in her room right now, and give her a good fucking," Terry said firmly. "She's a hot bitch! Anyhow, you dummy, you know I'd suck you off. Any time. Haven't I told you, time and again?" Her sweet little face was set in lines of intense concentration, because she was quietly, tenderly frigging his cock in her warm, childish hand, as soft as warm velvet. He shut his eyes, trying to keep his mind on what he had been saying, but her busy, warm little hand, jacking his thick, soft, white cock-skin up and down, showing the dark red head, then covering it, giving all his fuck system's nerves the time of their young life, was getting between the boy and what he had been concerned about.
"I saw her, buddy," the little blonde whispered, keeping her eyes on the marvels of her brother's cock. It felt so soft on the outside, the loose skin so thick and sweet, but so hard and rigid at its core. She had never had one of these in her, of course, yet she hoped one day to grow up, to be a woman or at least "a big girl," so that she could hold one of these wonderful things in her little hands, pull it up to the slick entry to her body, rub its head up and down in her sluice box to get it lubricated, and then, whoosh! Right into the old cunt hole! And fucky-fuck-fuck, in a hard, hot, driving rhythm.
"I saw her," she repeated, as though mesmerized. "I saw her take it and suck it and make you cum. Why didn't you pull it out of her mouth and squirt it all over her tits? Her face? Oh, I know, I know," the little girl said in resignation, "A thing like that feels so damn good you're not going to pull it out, right? Hey, buddy, why don't you just lie down? Let me get you off, baby! You do let me, sometimes," she complained. "I love to see it shoot. It's so pretty and white and thick. Just like the starch that mama used to put in my white dresses."
She was panting, now, deep breaths that were hard to suck into her straining lungs, and her hand was getting tired. Why didn't the darn fool go ahead and cum? Maybe that big old load that he'd shot into Ellen's chops had cooled him out. He could still get a hell of a hard-on, but he couldn't shoot the stuff. Damn!
Her little breasts seemed almost twice their size, their pink nipples now swollen and blood-red. As she tried to jerk her brother off, her motions made the sweet little titties bounce up and down, as far as their size and firmness would permit, and the love-pain she got from her tit action was excruciatingly beautiful.
She was watching the boy's thin, worried face intently, and suddenly she felt deeply angry at all the vicious forces which had made him an emotional cripple. Lots of guys, she expected, would be only too happy to have anyone suck them off, sisters, mothers, the girl next door. It must be wonderful to be a guy, and to have a cock full of jism, so that some slick mouthed, saliva drooling chick could lick it and suck it until it lashed its load into her craving throat. But poor old Ron! He was a mass of guilt.
He had laid himself back, as she had suggested, and now his face seemed more peaceful, happier. As she jerked on his cock, and now she was doing it more tenderly, more carefully, keeping her grip loose as she pulled down, closing it over the red head as the skin went over it, she leaned down more and more. Now she was just above the swelling joint, her sweet young lips forming a slick red oval as her spit dripped over the throbbing cock.
She had often leaned over Ronnie's crotch at night, when he was sound asleep and had left the bathroom door unlatched. She had inhaled that rankly lovely fragrance that rises from an unwashed dick, and had hungered for it. Now, unaware of her sister's innocence, she hated the older girl. First, for having had the guts and the initiative to suck that lovely, hard, red-pulsing tube of hot flesh. And second, for having licked off all that deeply stirring goo, that substance which smelled so exactly like her little pussy when it was heated, slickly drooling out its female seepage. Yes, Ronnie's sweet dick, warm and sweated and unwashed, had the smell of her own cunt. Just as, no doubt, it had also the rich ripeness which she licked off her cum slicked fingers when, in desperate sexual jollies, she had fucked into herself to gain the release of a hand-induced orgasm.
But at least, now, she had the cock for herself. She leaned that one or two extra inches, feeling the cushioned softness, the velvety smoothness of the big, blood-pounding head, licking around it with loving care, going down on it with eager force, so that the resilient head mashed softly but firmly against her soft palate, past it to her tonsils, and, bending, slid a good two inches into her gullet.
She groaned, and the vibrancy of the sound was like a tuning fork on Ronnie's newly aroused peter. He had been in a sort of unbelieving dream, the mad nightmare of his big sister sucking his prick, his resultant hysteria with little Terry's loving comfort to steady him, and now-now the new dream, the sweet dream of his tiny sister letting his dick slip and slide wetly into her sweet mouth. Her sweetly sucking mouth. That warm, drooling pink slash of flesh, armed with a smooth, prehensile tongue to caress it, with softly moving cheeks to delight it, with a closed throat to fold tightly over the risen meat, the throbbing roll that was ready to shoot its slick, thick, hot discharge again.
In his dreamy ecstasy, he put his hands on little Terry's head, surprising her, for she had thought that only his being asleep could account for him permitting her to suck him off.
How could she know that some mysterious love lesson, fed into him by sexual osmosis, held him enthralled with the marvelous but deadly sin of having your sex organs in contact with another person? A person of the opposite sex. A sister.
She groaned again, and the hot, demanding itch of cum-need in the blood-swollen lips of her girlish cunt made her turn her body, exactly as Ellen had done, so that her smooth and beautiful rump was spread wide before the mirror. She had seen Ellen's fat red cunt lips, fringed with tawny hair. Beautiful! She wondered then and wondered now why Ronnie had not pried into it. It was so near his hand, so pinkly inviting, so gorgeously oozing with its clear cunt nectar. She knew her brother was timid. But, holy cow! With a girl's pussy spread wide and warm and slippery for his hand, while the girl gobbled his cock with such tender ferocity, how could any guy, even a dummy like Ronnie, ignore it?
But she would not leave such a thing to chance.
She could see herself in the mirror, by turning up her eyes and taking the cock into her cheek rather than down her throat. She felt her small but aroused breasts press on Ronnie's belly. She saw his face, turned toward the mirror, looking her in (he eye. And, with her mouth stuffed with his palpitant cunt-plunger, she pointed back of her, between the globes of her sweet and sweated ass. And he got it! Miracle of miracles, old dumb Ronnie caught wise!
She felt his breath blow warmly and sweetly on her exposed and widely opened pussy. And then, more solid, but smooth and warm, she felt her brother's hand go into her warm, slick, sweet cunt lips, touching the throbbing flesh around her clit in aching sweetness.
As he felt the tight, slippery-warm folds of her childish but maturing vagaina softly nibbling on his probing fingers, and realized that this was the cuntal delight which his pal, Chuck Gilman, had promised him, he began to fuck vigorously up into his little sister's face, landing the yielding head of his cock against the redly oozing back of her throat. And she loved it!
It was wrong, but it was too wonderful to stop. But something happened to him. Something new, something even more marvelous. Much worse, as he understood the rights and wrongs of boys and girls. But he could no more help it than Ellen could, a while ago. HE HAD THE MAD IDEA OF FUCKING LITTLE TERRY!
Of rolling her on her back, pushing her knees back against her chest to bring her fat little pussy up to make it open and accessible. And then, GOD FORGIVE ME! his mind thundered, to stick this hard prong into that streaming, warmly flowing little hole! He felt her juice, the warm, sweet juice from her young pussy, run down his fingers, down his wrist. God, she had a lot of it! And there was that wild, crazy, beautiful perfume, that cunty smell that had almost gagged him with pleasure when Ellen had stuck her fat, firm, white-fleshed butt up to him. Now, ready to fuck Terry, he felt that he was a fool for not having also fucked Ellen.
It was a terrible thought, but he loved it. And he loved this warm, softly muscled little butt, inverted, just now, from the position it would soon take.
He cleared his throat and spoke, although with difficulty.
"Roll over, baby," he growled, his voice deeper, Terry thought, than it had ever been before. "Roll over, and lie on your back. I'm going to fuck you!"
But this picture, this clear, bright picture of her on her back, her legs raised and spread wide to let her brother's hard cock bang into her, was too much. Blindly, feeling an explosion of orgasm begin to roll inside her, a bigger and better one than she had ever known before, she hunched her soft little body back on Ronnie's fingers like a jumping jack, nearly breaking his wrist, getting his two long fingers so deep up her cunt that she felt a dull, beautiful pain, the shock of a hard blow on her juvenile womb.
It made her shoot her wad, made her swarm all over him, letting his nodding cock go from her spit-slicked mouth, crying: "Ohhhhhh! OHHHHHH! OH GOD, RONNIE, MY LOVER! OH, BABY, HOLD ME! SUCK ME! I'M CUM M M M MMIIINNNGGGGGG!" OHHHHHH! OH BLOODY LOVE AND FUCK AND SUCK AND COCK AND CUNT! OH HEAVENS! OH, RONNIE BABY!"
He was frightened half to death as she bucked wildly over him, sucking his belly, sucking his navel, biting his skin, her wails of love and orgasm shattering the still night. But then, as his hand slid again into her flowing pussy, into the warmly wet lips which had swollen so as she had spent this vast cum of hers, he realized with deep relief that dad wasn't here.
Ellen was. And Ellen had been left in charge. But piss on Ellen! She had sucked his cock, hadn't she? What the hell would a cocksucker like Ellen say if he had the same service performed on him by little Terry?
"Come on up here, baby," he whispered in manly fashion, "come on up here and kiss me! I'm gonna fuck you, you hear? Give me your lips, doll," using a phrase he had heard on some sneak preview of an R-Rated movie at the Solana Theatre.
And, when Terry turned her shining face to him, licking her full lips, redder than usual because of her flush of passion, he said: "Put it on me, baby. Lay your leg over mine so I can feel that hot gush of goo from your pussy!"
The young girl shuddered with another smashing echo of her orgasm, and hid her bright young face against Ronnie's shoulder. She wanted his hands on her tits, she wanted his tongue in her twat. But she knew how innocent he was, how timid. He's even timid with me, she thought with a rush of protective affection. Worse than I am. And a year older. But she could not feel contemptuous of him.
Instead, she asked in a muffled voice: "Do you know what French kissing is? How to do it?"
He thought of all that his older friend, Chuck Gillman, had told him. Sticking your tongue in some sloppy old girl's dirty old mouth. Ugh! But it was what fellows did. When they wanted to get a girl worked up, that is. So he said, with false assurance: "Sure, I know how. Doesn't everybody?"
But, when his little sister, plastering herself against his body with all her heat and strength, laid her warm, wet mouth over his, and boldly thrust her tongue into his surprised mouth, he was amazed at two phenomena. One, the ease with which a guy could learn to do such a grown up thing. And two, that it could be so instantly warming to parts far removed from his mouth. Like his cock, for instance.
He began to make fucking motions, not giving a damn if he shot off in the air. Of course, it would be better to cum inside of old Terry, inside that warm, sloppy-lovely pudding of flesh and membrane which was pouring out girl juice. But if he did let his wad go on the sheets, old Ellen would see it, and wish she had it.
Old Chuckie was always telling him about feeling girls' tits. "You got to get started," Chuck had said. "Kissing and feeling them up, that's the best way." But, in this position, it was awkward to get his hand between his chest and Terry's. So, instead, he slipped his hand down over the young girl's silky smooth back, into the moist, sweet crevice of her beautifully rounded little butt, and wiggled it in the cum juice which coated everything in reach with the thick, lovely slime from her twitching young cunt.
She was beginning to moan, hunching her body against his leg, feeling for his dick, when the crash came.
It brought them both upright, badly startled.
There was no doubt about it. It was in the house. On the stairs? Maybe. It had to be dark out there, and daddy wasn't at home. Burglars? Who in hell?
Ronnie, his young cock unaffected by the sudden interruption, stood by the door, looking back to the lovely, naked, stirring sight of his young sister. He motioned her to stay where she was, to be quiet. He turned out the light by the wall switch. Then he silently opened the door, only a crack, and looked out. There was some light near the head of the stairs. He turned back to Terry.
"It's only Ellen," he said. Then his voice changed to a note of worry. "She's down. I wonder if she's hurt herself?"
CHAPTER THREE
She had never been further from sleep, Ellen decided as she took the four tablets. Her body was on fire with the prurience of her disgraceful act, with the turbulence of her unruly mind. She was, in a way, the victim of her body, she decided, but that was no real excuse. Father Geoghan would wring her out for this violation.
And then, with a sinking feeling, she realized she could not go to the good old priest. He was eleven hundred miles away, far up in the northwest. And the family had quit going to church, so she had no known base for repentance, confession, and absolution. There was a horrid and deadly fear of the unknown as she blindly stumbled back to her room. Her feet seemed to tangle. Could the pills have begun to take effect, already?
She knew they had not. Her dirty, nasty old vagina, her vulva, if you preferred that hateful name, both of them were boldly, throbbingly alive. Every heartbeat reminded her, in the swollen and juice-leaking parts which made her woman, that she was more filled with nasty lust of the flesh than before. And yet still-her feet were acting very funny.
All she had read on the label of the "Snoozies was to the effect that a normal dose was one to two tablets. She had not read the following fine print, which said: "CAUTION! Take only as directed. This is not a narcotic. All persons do not respond to 'Snoozie' in the same way."
As the well built girl got into her room, fiercely desirous of getting into bed where she could rub that intense itch, she realized that she had not brought her nightgown back. It was maddening. She could not remember whether it was in Ronnie's room, or on the floor of the hall bathroom. But it was a warm night. Perhaps she could just crawl into bed. That way, with a sheet and a blanket over her, she would not have the gown pressing on her sex-fired nipples, still hard and swollen from the violence of her body's sinful pleasure.
She reached for the light switch, and gasped. There, in the mirror of her old vanity, was a naked woman! A rosy, big-tittied, wide-hipped naked woman who was boldly thrusting her pelvis out in a lewd manner. Oh, it was terrible! The woman was so beautiful, so seductive. In a strange, hateful way, Ellen suddenly wanted to hold the naked woman's full fleshed body to her own, to rub breasts in a sickeningly lovely passion.
Instinctively, she put her hands over her breasts, and then despairingly moved one hand down to cover that warmly lighted patch of golden brown hair.
It was then that she realized that the naked woman in the mirror, the one she thought was beautiful, that she wanted to hug and kiss and rub bellies and breasts with, was herself! Ellen Mack, as ever was! And she felt a dazing, burning sweep of ambivalence, of mingled love and hate. That dreadful pill! Or pills. They had sapped her strength, they had clouded her mind. But they had done nothing to inhibit the growth of that hateful, agonizing ecstasy she felt between her legs.
"OH, HELP ME, PLEASE! SOMEBODY! ANYBODY! PLEASE! PLEASE!"
From some place, she gained a bit of composure, of strength. She turned around and opened her door, starting for the bathroom. She would look for the gown there, then, if she had to, she'd go once more to Ronnie's room. The thought of her young brother, probably able to sleep, now that that horrible erection was taken care of, would be peacefully sleeping. She tried to whisper: Ronnie!" but her tongue was thick from the drug, filling her mouth. There was a lot of saliva there, too, so much that she had to gulp as fast as she could. Inevitably, her tongue picked up bits of her brother's discharge. Semen. That was the name of it. Horrid stuff, that got innocent girls with child. But oh, how sweet and wonderful it seemed to her, to her inflamed mind. She licked as well as she could with her swollen tongue, and got a few more drops.
Well, that was probably sinful, too. She would have to find out, if there was a priest she could go to. Or anyone, to confess. Anyhow, she was in as deep as she could get. If she sucked up those drops, knowing that she hated them, licking them up only to get clean, wasn't that a sort of penance?
Her mind wavered. This couldn't be true. This was definitely trying to throw God a curve. This was exactly the same as making a bad confession.
And no sin is greater than that.
She got out the door with her pulses hammering, her eyes glazed over with strain and with the overdose of the "Snoozies" which very definitely didn't work the same for everyone. She had taken them, hoping they would numb her sinfully human body and her rankly prurient mind. And what had happened? Her vagina seemed to be on fire, a wet sort of fire, surely, for the juices from her young vagina were slipping down her legs in a warm, sticky stream. And her mind could not get off the vision of her young brother's hard penis, so beautiful with its white column, its blue veins, its dark red head.
As she struggled out the bedroom door, she saw her gown. Right in the hall. She had dropped it after leaving the bathroom. If those darned pills hadn't been so potent, she would have noticed. Despairingly, like a child needing to be comforted, she whimpered. It was so far down to the floor! She could never lean that far to pick up her nightie. And if she picked it up, how could she put it on? And oh, Father, how she ached with that terrible, unforgiveable hunger between her thighs, around her soft, hairy lips, inside the pink trough where that nasty little old bud lay hidden. It just never gave her any rest. And it spread clear up inside her, up to her womb. As she thought of this embarrassing word, remembering in how many Hail Marys she had uttered it, she closed her eyes against the fiery but silent scream of her woman-parts. And when she did so, her body wavered, she tried to recover, and fell to the floor.
She was four inches over five feet, and her solidly built young body pushed the needle on the scales to one hundred and seventeen pounds. She fell limply, unable to make any effort to break her fall, although her body rolled after she hit, and that was the crash that brought Ron and Terry up out of their incestuous bed.
One of her feet was against the door frame, her head and shoulders against the other. She was obscenely open, with one knee, the one with the foot against the door jamb, against her soft, smooth breast. In this position, from which she couldn't stir, her other knee and thigh fell helplessly on the floor of the hall. Her arms would not move. She lay there, her vagina and vulva pruriently open for the view of anyone who passed. The helpless girl tried to move, but she was as truly paralyzed as if her spinal cord had been severed. And her vocal cords were almost as bad, since the best she could muster from her helpless throat and mouth was a weak, mewling sound such as a deaf mute learns to make.
She was almost immediately aware of the presence of others. She could hear perfectly, but she could not turn her head enough to see who it was. However, their voices were enough-it was, of course, Ron and Terry. Now, thank God, she would be rescued.
She tried to speak, to beseech them for help, and tears of helplessness and despair ran down her cheeks. Tears of joy and gratitude, too, for having a little brother and sister who had come to save her. But her blood turned to ice water as she heard Terry's voice, jeering and spiteful: "Well, there she is, the prissy Miss Jesus from the nuns' school. Flat on her big ass, with her cunt opened and pushed out like a moocher begging for a dime! Wow! Has she ever got a twat on her! Get into her, buddy, right now while it's so wide open! Give her a good old fuck!"
And then, miracle de Dieu! there was brave and wonderful little Ronnie, his thin face serious, down on one knee, right in front of her, right where she could look into his eyes. Surely, surely he would see the silent plea for help! Oh, God, please, Ronnie!
He shifted and reached out his hand, and for one breathless moment she believed her prayer had worked, that the boy had had a Christian impulse. But his hand went to her left breast, so jammed and packed with nerves and feelings, sexual feelings that ran right down in the hottest, sickest way to that awful, shamefully opened thing of hers.
He fondled the big breast in wonder, his serious young face breaking into a faint smile. "Look at the size of those nipples, baby," he said hoarsely to Terry. "And man, feel how heavy they are! So smooth and solid! Miss Kendrick-you know Old Lady Kendrick at school? She's got tits about like these."
"Yeah, yeah!" Terry answered crossly. "So she's got these big tits. What's so great about big tits? A cow's got bigger ones, if size is what you're crazy for! Why don't you suck on them, like a big baby?"
Ronnie looked at her with odd perception. "No need to get jealous," he said calmly, squeezing the big, softly firm breast as if it were a rubber ball. "I'm hot married to you, you know! Just because I let you suck me-shee-itt! If you don't like it, go on back to bed."
As he said this, he bent, got on his elbows, and took the hard nipple of the luscious boob into his mouth. Miss Kendrick-who preferred, incidentally, to be called Ms. Kendrick-had a girl baby only six or seven months old. One day, doing the teacher a favor, he had stayed with the baby an hour or so. He had watched the infant greedily sucking on a bottle, then on a teething ring, then on all four fingers on one chubby hand. The baby's mouth had been so drooly, so pink, that he had, in curiosity, put a finger in its mouth. The baby girl had almost sucked the finger off his hand! Thereafter, it was just a matter of getting his dick out-it was already hard, just from the implications in that suck-and putting it to little tiny girl's rosy lips. She had given him such a ferocious sucking that he had shot his wad in the little girl's throat in about two minutes, and the child had lustily sucked up every drop of her pearly white jism. In fact, she had liked it so much that she had cried when he had, at last, gingerly removed the shrunken, nerve-raw prick from that rosebud mouth. The little girl was still trying to claw at his fly when Ms. Kendrick returned. And, needless to say, she was delighted that her child, Rosemary, was so taken with Ronnie.
As for the boy, every time he looked at the teacher, a lovely redhead, he had to fight to keep his eyes from dropping to those lush curves in her blouse or dress, thinking of the powerful pressures a baby put on those nipples to bring his lunch squirting warmly and richly from those hard-grained nipples. It gave him a sick feeling in the bottom of his abdomen, a sense of life in his young balls. And now, taking his young sister's nipple in his mouth, giving little Terry one last, smirking sweep of defiance, he tried to suck Ellen's titty as hard as little Rosemary Kendrick had sucked him.
If there were anything that could have freed poor Ellen from the shackles of those terrible pills, this would have been it. She had been horror-stricken to hear the crude way in which Terry had spoken of her breasts. Boobs, what Nadine called them, that was bad enough. But tits! And Ronnie, whom she had tried to help, he had been so dreadful! Oh, Father above us, if I could only make my mouth work, she thought desperately. If I could only appeal to them, to their sense of decency! And then, as Ronnie sucked, and Terry reached under Ronnie to touch her-no, not just to touch her, to finger her lewdly-she made that pitiful mewling sound, and tears of grief and fear and deadly guilt ran down her helpless face. They have no sense of decency, she thought in grim resignation. God help us all, them and me!
The worst of this unbelievable treatment, this pagan, sinful, wanton use of organs that should have been kept undefiled, as clean as they could be, if not holy, was that she could not control a desperate feeling of dirty, culpable, rotten enjoyment. Like when she gave in to unbearable heat and temptation, and fingered her soft young twat to a shameful but necessary release. Despicable though she was, and in spite of the rottenness forced on her by her sinful nature, at such times she allowed herself to enjoy it. Why not? She had to confess, to be tongue lashed by Father Geoghan, to do The Stations of the Cross anyhow. Because her young and healthy body, her warm blood, had betrayed her. In shame, she still enjoyed it, knowing that that enjoyment only compounded the sin.
Now, as she let herself enjoy the lancing flames which Ronnie's sucking drew from her breast, she also let tears of remorse flow from her eyes, down her cheeks, to drop off on the warm, smooth, blue-veined slops of her opulent breasts. And she prayed for the pagan souls of her brother and sister. Imps from the darkest and lowest pits of Hell, surely.
She felt the beginning of one of those dreadful sex quakes, starting deep up inside her. She could not move, but something else could. The busy little girl, her sister, with two fingers buried in the very quick of Ellen's sexual center, cried: "God damn, Ronnie! She's cumming, I do believe! Yeah, yeah, yeah! Come on, baby! Cum on little Terry's finger! Jee-zuss, Ron, she's tighter'n I am!"
And all that poor Ellen could do, unable to move her body, was to let these forbidden waves of fiery orgasm shake her inside, where her unbidden cunt muscles nibbled on Terry's fingers.
"COME ON, COME ON!" the blonde child panted, tugging at Ron's shoulder. "USE THAT HARD-ON OF YOURS! FUCK HER. THAT'S WHAT SHE WANTS! Look at her cunt! It's wide open and wiggling inside! Look at the juice run out! Man, she needs a fuck!"
Reluctantly, Ronnie took the big, throbbing nipple from his mouth. It was the very first time he had ever sucked on a real tit since he was a baby. Oh, once in a while he had sucked on little Terry's baby-like titties. But that was mainly to oblige her. Just as, once in a great while, especially when she had caught him beating his meat, he had let her hold his cock and jerk it to a finish, white around the lips as she saw the long ropes of opalescent jism shoot out and across the bedroom.
Now, having set his inner fires roaring to their hottest by fondling and sucking those amazingly mature breasts, as big and pretty as Ms. Kendrick's, he was still more fired by the salacious cries of his little sister. He had been going to fuck HER! Now, it would be the older of the two.
He backed away, turning his eyes downward after one glance into Ellen's tear filled eyes. "Huh," he grunted, "look at her! Trying to make a big thing out of me sticking my dick into her! Shee-it! Miss Innocence! Why'd you suck my cock?" He laughed a goatish, randy laugh, holding his hard cock and looking down into the grossly opened split, its inner lips red as blood with the unasked desire built in the poor girl on the floor. "She did, you know," he said unnecessarily to the avid and cunt-twisted slip of a blonde who sat with her naked ass on her heels. "Just a cocksucker, that's what she is!"
Once again, the shrinking spirit inside the helpless girl tried to move her, made a mind-breaking effort to set her free. I didn't do anything so horrible! her mind screamed in the helpless silence and blackness inside her aching skull. J only meant to help you! Your little face was so sad! I wouldn't do anything so evil!
And hopelessly, helplessly, she watched the red-tipped cock, the spear of flesh on which her brother would impale her, totally unable to hate the boy for what he was doing. Instead, hating herself for presenting such a lewd target. She could not take her eyes from it, nor could she still the fiery interest which her person was taking in, an interest expressed in the rebellious yearning her own weak flesh held for the threatening penis so near her young cunt.
If any means could have shocked her into action, it would have been the sudden heat, the fierce stretching of her virgin hole as Ronnie, not looking her in the eye, lowered his skinny body. The hapless girl could close her eyes, but she could not shut out the shameful fact that her body, that unloved part of her body she called vagina and vulva, was going crazy with senseless, sinful pleasure. For a moment, she was grateful for the strange paralysis which had resulted from the pverdose of the second grade sleeping pills.
Because, except for that paralysis, she knew that her traitor body would have been whipping up and down in the pagan joy of having sex, of having a man's hard penis plunging into her sensitive, soft, tender flesh, laced with obscenely pleasuring nerves, swollen blood vessels, pulsing muscles, and uncontrollably wild outpourings from every mucuous duct in her young pussy.
She could have opened her eyes and seen the savagely gloating face of her eleven-year-old sister as she used her small hands to hold Ellen's outer lips open, and to hold Ron's dick to guide it into her shrinking hole. She could have seen the tiny girl's breasts grown twice as large from sexual excitation, with the normally small pink nipples now as big as her own, and almost blood red. She could have seen the lasciviousness of the younger sister's opened twat, almost as hairless and pink as an infant except for an almost invisible horseshoe of short, fine, pale blonde hair on the fat little pubis.
But all her senses were concentrated on the violent sensation where her cuntal entry was being forced open by this hard, invading prick, this torturing rod of hard, hot meat which nearly killed her as it stretched a hole which had never entertained anything larger than her own girlish finger. Nearly killed her with shameful pain, and nearly killed her with an even more shameful delight. Because Ellen Mack, on her first night at home after five years in a convent school, was being fucked by her young brother-and she had been blown apart by orgasmic joy ever since the hard thing had first touched her, first slipped into her tightness.
"Man, she's really out of it," panted the half frantic girl. "Jee-zuss, Ronnie, TOUCH MY CUNT, HEY, BABY? I'M DYING, OUT OF MY NUT. OOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!" she shrieked as she grabbed up Ellen's nerveless hand and thrust it into her open and flowing split, where cum nerves quivered like guitar strings. OHHHHHHHHH! KEEP FUCKING HER, RONNIE! OOOOOOHHHHHH! UUUNNNHHH! UUUNNNHHHHHH!" And the young girl, so gripped by bestial heat, grunted like a sow pig in heat as she shot her wad, over and over on her sister's limp hand and wrist.
Ellen felt the dick stop as it hit an obstruction of some kind. I know I've no real maidenhead left, she said in her mind. But SOMETHING, please, God, let there be SOMETHING to stop him! To keep him from raping me! To keep him from shooting me full of that sweet juice!
Thus, even in the despair of utter helplessness against the pain and guilt of sexual forced entry, the humanities of the young girl made her acknowledge the basic, inherent sweetness of her brother's cum. And her body, which she felt she could not forgive, added to her misery by liking it, by violently responding to a touch, a penetration that should have made her sick just to think of. Oh, my poor, disgraceful body, she implored the Heaven in which she so devoutly believed, please stop it from enjoying this so much! Oh, let me die before this horrid, criminal attack is completed.
But she could see, and she could hear, and she was completely in touch with her small world, made up just now of two vicious, lascivious, irresponsibly sex-mad children. Her own kin.
There was a fierce suction going on inside her. Ronnie felt it, and he withdrew his penis, clear to its bulbous head, and then rammed in again. This time, she felt the jar clear to her teeth. The obstruction must be her womb, since it was giving her the same deep, satisfying ache she usually felt just before her menstrual period.
"SONOFABITCH!" he moaned. "ARE ALL CUNTS LIKE HERS? MAN, SHE'S MILKING AWAY AT MY DICK BETTER'N SHE SUCKED ME! WOW! NO WONDER THE CATS FIGHT OVER THIS STUFF. PUSSY! CUNT! TAIL! ASS! FUCKING!" He ran through his dirty litany, his pornographic mind supplying him with all lewdness of the English speaking world. And with each word, his sister, too helpless even to sob, able only to let weak tears roll from her eyes, suffered the indignity of shameful joy as his hard cock jammed into her again.
In some weird and naive way, she intuited that having a tight vagina, and a snapping one, was perhaps a social asset. Ronnie, for all his bestiality, seemed honestly impressed with the fact he could hardly get his boyish tool inside her. And that, when it was in there, in the frantically oozing, helplessly squirming inner muscle and membrane, that her unconsciously gripping vagina made him happy. If it was nice for him, it relieved, at least slightly, the hideous feeling of being forever lost from goodness and cleanliness and God, even if it didn't, couldn't cloud the fact that she loved it.
I LOVE IT! she screamed silently in her mind. KILL ME, SHOOT ME, GOD! BURN ME IN HELL! I CAN'T HELP IT! I LOVE IT! And, since no sound came from her throat, and since she was lost, anyhow, as far as this episode was concerned, she let the hateful, dreadful words blaze in her mind: FUCK ME, RONNIE, BABY! GIVE IT TO ME, RON! FUCK ME, FUCK ME, STICK IT IN MY DIRTY, NASTY, SINFUL, SHAMEFUL CUNT. My poor cunt, she thought miserably. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us now and at the hour of our death! Amen.
And she was in the throes of physical rapture, her young cunt blasting away in a long, continuing orgasm, until her brother, brought to unbearable heights of passion because of his need, because of the lasciviousness of fucking a helpless girl-toward whom he felt no guilt, assuming her self-sought role as cocksucker-suddenly shuddered and screamed: "OH, BABY, I'M SHOOTING IT! TERRY, BABY, KISS ME WHILE I CUM! OHHHHHHHHH, ELLEN, SUCK IT OUT OF ME, BABY! FUCK MY DICK, FUCK MY DICK HARD! WRAP YOUR CUNT AROUND IT! MAKE ME SHOOT IT IN YOU! OHHHHHH! OHHHHHH!"
With each syllable, he was driving his cock as deep into his sister as he could. She felt it frictionizing the tender inner walls of her vagina, burning her with his thick, hot juice which sprayed every screaming nerve as she responded. I never dared say it, the girl thought humbly, but I must be cumming! Yesss! Oh, yesss! she groaned inwardly. That's what I'm doing, I'm cumming! Oh, God, forgive me for what I have done to hurt you!
And with that inward acknowledgement of her culpability, of her carnal, wicked joy, along with the dying flutter of her inner muscles, she somehow became dislodged from her jammed position. Her foot, which had kept her knee and thigh back against her body, slipped to the floor, and her head and shoulders moved and dropped inside her bedroom. She was a helpless lump of warm flesh, her cunt filled to sloppiness with a huge wad of her brother's jism, her poor body still throbbing from its unwanted and hateful delight.
She was on her side, more or less, and knew that those despised outer lips, so thick and gross and hairy, were pushing between her big thighs, because she felt the air cooling them, cooling the combined fluids from her body and her brother's as it leaked out.
"Listen," she heard Ronnie say, "I think she's sick or something. She's not drunk. I know what booze smells like. But she's out of it. Wonder if she got hold of poison of some kind!" His voice was concerned, and she loved him for it. But in her heart, she knew she loved him for a lot of other reasons. Because he was so BAD, so rotten, so-well, so sexed up. Poor little devil! Nobody to keep his straight! Inwardly, she vowed to help him. Had she forgiven him, she asked herself, and then, with a deep sigh, knew she had nothing to forgive him for. He was human. Just as old Father Geoghan had, perhaps without meaning to, had described her.
She felt hands under her shoulders. They were lifting. The fingers were clear under her armpits, their ends touching the responsive peripheries of her fat, smooth, warm titties.
"Grab her feet," she heard Ronnie grunt. "We can't leave her out here, bare assed, in the hall. Or on the floor."
"Nuts!" Terry's voice sounded. "She got herself out here, she sucked your cock, she was able to fuck you, wasn't she? Let her get her own fat ass back in bed."
"Damn it, Terry," Ronnie swore, "you help me do this or I'll never let you suck my dick again! Never! You hear that? Now, damn you, grab her feet!"
Some sense of feel was coming back to Ellen. Her breasts loved the pull that Ronnie's strong young hands were giving them as he lifted her. Her young, lovely, soft skinned butt felt the sheets as the two kids struggled to get her in bed. And most of all, she felt something soft and warm pressing her in her most secret part. Right in the midst of it, under the thick, softly curled nest of light brown hair, deep in the pulsing wetness where her outrageous little clitoris crouched. Someone is sucking me! The thought shocked her. That's a dirty, bad place, she said in indictment of herself and her unknown benefactor. Forgive them, she prayed. It's all my fault! Lord, keep me from enjoying it!
She felt her inner walls close, and knew that someone was sucking at her hole, very hard. It was, like all the rest of this terrible evening, a mixture of the most intense joy and the most virulent shame. She could not move her body, but knew that, if she could, it would be pumping up and down in the filthy simulation of the sex act. Here I go again, she said in her mind, in grim amusement, knowing she was too far gone ever to attain forgiveness. I'm cumming again! Oooooohhh! I'm SOOOOOORRRRRR YYYYYY! CAN'T HELP IT! IT'S GOOD, IT'S SO GOOOOOODDDDDD!
She did not want to know who was doing it, but she was not to be spared. If it had been Ronnie, somehow it would have seemed more natural-a nasty man, naturally doing a nasty-natural thing.
But she heard little Terry's sex-coarsened voice. "Jee-zuss, Ron, I must've gotten your whole load out of her! Wow, I never knew a cunt tasted so good. Except mine, of course," she laughed. "Hey, I think I'll turn Lezzie! Wow! What a taste! And what a feeling, with those thick, hairy old lips opening up and sort of kissing me as I sucked her out! You ought to try it, she's juicy enough for both of us!"
But she felt a sheet being drawn over her nakedness, and heard Ronnie say: "Leave her alone, you little devil! Don't be mad at her just because she's older, and has bigger tits. Come on to my room, and if you can get my cock to stand up again, I'll fuck you, and then suck it all out of you.
Come on, you fucky, sucky little cunt! Let poor old Elly sleep. Wow! I hope your pussy's as good as hers."
Let poor old Elly sleep! The words played over and over in her mind. Her loins were stilled, their immediate fires out under the spray of Ronnie's long shots of jism. That's what they called it, wasn't it? Jism, jism, jism. Away up me. In my dirty old cunt! Dirty old juicy cunt. Far up. Hitting my womb, sticking it deep into me. Let poor old Elly sleep....
Her body was at peace, only a sweet, warm glow remaining-in the tenderly formed young girl's fuck system.
She cupped her breasts, smiling in her half sleep at their tingly feeling, and fell asleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rudy Salas was twenty-seven years old, hard muscled, slender, dark. He had been headed for the priesthood when his number came up in the draft and, since the seminary had bored him, he had waived any notion of escaping the draft-and Vietnam-by claiming to be a conscientious objector. Thereafter, he had served three years with fearlessness, a certain morbid gaiety, and medal-winning distinction.
Now, with back pay saved up, with the GI Bill handling the tab, he was in Advanced Sales Psychology at Metro University, halfway between the small city of Lupus Beach and the metropolis called Pacific City. It was an extremely interesting course and today's project was a study of reactions to various types of dress. Field work, of course, with members of the class divided into three types of dress designated as "casual", semi-casual", and "business". Rudy was in the second category.
He had chosen a dark, lightweight suit, but to make the garb at least semi-casual, he did not wear a dress shirt or tie. Instead, he had selected a dark blue knit shirt, very plain except for two small embroideries on the breast pocket. He was to try to sell any idea that the circumstances made seem potentially successful. Having had some rather strange things happen to him in Vietnam, as well as in the seminary, and being a prankish sort, besides, in spite of his sophistication, Rudy was going to try and sell some sort of con.
He was, as his professor would have said, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he stepped onto the small covered porch at Twelve-Seventeen Lois Lane and rang the bell. Although he did not know it, he was in for a surprise, a principal in a con for which he would never be able to take any credit and, as a matter-of-fact, one he would never fully understand.
Ellen Mack did not waken until after nine. She was still in the grip of the heavy dose of sleeping pills she had taken, but it was not a depressant, so she felt singularly light hearted. There was some soreness in her body, as though she had been in a car accident, and there was a sort of deep soreness far up inside her, in her tight young vagina. And it was some time before she remembered anything at all about the night before.
Naturally, Terry and Ron had not even tried to wrestle her into her nightgown. In fact, it was a tough job to get her up on to the bed. Therefore, she was comfortably naked under the sheet, and her soft, warm young breasts, so voluptuously heavy, felt very much alive, their nipples darker and fuller than usual.
In her torpor, she ran her hands from her breasts, which she had been gently squeezing, down across her silky-smooth belly, along the hollow of her pelvic cradle, and even let her fingers delicately touch and stroke her pubic hair. There was still a lot of warmth inside her, and she stretched and yawned, feeling great.
It was when she looked at the walls of her room, not seeing the familiar religious pictures, that she began the fast journey back from a deep, pleasant sleep to a shocked present.
Her heart, which had felt so light only moments before, became as still and heavy as a lump of lead. Painfully ashamed of her nakedness-"before God's eyes" as she mentally phrased it-she tried to gather up the sweet fullness of her breasts with her elbows, lowering her face into her hands. In vain! Putting the pressure on her sensitive breasts only warmed her channels which led to that most shameful place of all, her sex organs, and it was almost a form of panic which jerked her off the bed.
A glance at the clock told her that Terry and Ron were undoubtedly at school, and the quiet of the house confirmed it.
She blushed a total, solid red all over her strong, softly sculptured young body as she thought of the two fearsome children. Had it all really happened? Had she done the horrible thing that Ronnie had accused her of? Had he taken such criminal, insane advantage of his own big sister as she lay, helpless but alive with sensuality, and actually penetrated her vagina with his penis?
She was covered with a fine sweat, now, and gasping for breath, almost unable to move. But she realized that, no matter what, life had to go on. She would not die, she dared not kill herself, or even to think of it. Such addictive sins as she had endured, that feeling of itching in her vulva, had been temporarily assuaged at each confession. Never completely cured, just mitigated.
Confession! She had to find a priest!
Having made this pragmatic decision, with her body free to move and even to feel good and warm inside a very plain dress she had worn at school, Ellen felt so much better that she realized she was ravenously hungry. Fear and shame and guilt took a brief furlough while a healthy appetite took over.
She found a note from the kids: DIDN'T WANT TO WAKE YOU. SWEET ROLLS IN OVEN, MILK IN FRIG. It was signed R & T, and she assumed that "frig" was someone's way of spelling "fridge."
"They're not eating right around here," she said aloud, feeling grown up and responsible, deciding in her mind that she was going to enforce balanced diets, good protein, better eating habits. At least for those two kids. Daddy, too, if he'd let her.
She blushed to the roots of her golden brown hair, remembering how those two kids had abused her last night, with words as well as with the very lewdest and most shameful actions. She'd just have to ignore that, start a new page, assert herself.
She prepared and ate a good breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage, hoping her dad would have fun and be successful on his long excursion into Mexican waters. Fresh fish was so nice! And so necessary to a balanced diet. It was good to be home. She wanted to forget the past, she wanted to make a real contribution to her family's life. It would be different than with mother. More rough and ready, more give and take, more earthy. She was still wearing the blush that this last thought had brought her, when the chimes from the front door bell button made their bright music.
She got up, smoothed the plain-and quite thin-dress over her body, and went to the door. And almost fainted from the pure shock of having an unspoken prayer granted.
There in the door, smiling warmly, was a priest! He seemed very young, compared to Father Geoghan, but then, almost anyone who could walk around would have seemed younger than that old man. And this priest was smiling, his personality flowing out of him. Oh, he would be kind and understanding, Ellen was certain. Not hard and unkind, as Father Geoghan had been. "Stop thinking of your fine young female body, and stop sinning by fingering yourself in those warm and juicy parts," he would exclaim, after he had put her through all sorts of sly, insinuating questions. "Or else you may become a fallen woman. A prostitute!" And the old priest would roll the words on his tongue with a sickly enjoyment.
But this tall, sweetly smiling young man was different. And the way he was placed, shaded by the porch roof, and with the bright light behind him, he seemed to have a halo around his fine, dark hair.
"Hello," he said, in a soft, smooth voice. "Are you the lady of the house?"
Even through the dusty screen, he could see that she was not a grown woman, but he knew that young girls adored being mistaken for grown-ups. But he had no idea how mature her young body was, of course, until she had opened the screen and invited him in. And the tone of her voice and the manner of her greeting gave him reason to note how bountifully she was formed, how enticing her richly molded young body showed through the short, flimsy dress.
"Come in, Father, come in. Let me get you something to drink? Coffee? Wine?" She was crimson with blushes, and did not look him in the eye, but she offered him the best and biggest chair, and said: "Oh, Father, am I ever glad to see you! Sit down. Please sit down. Oh, I needed to see a priest so bad!"
She knew that she was babbling, and she didn't care. She was very close to tears. No one, she thought, had ever needed the relief and release of confession more than she. And now, like a sign and a gift from Heaven, here was a priest, come right to her, in her home!
Rudy took the oddity of her behavior as a challenge. He had picked up immediately on the fact she had taken him for a priest. What a report he would have for the class! Reactions to various types of dress! And this was a young girl's reaction to only the vaguest resemblance to clerical costume. But he sensed there was a great deal more to this exciting situation than a simple error. This was the real task of psychology-to interpret speech and action. And the more he saw of young Ellen, the more interesting the job became.
He guessed that she was somewhere around sixteen, although her reaction toward him made her seem much younger, more easily impressed. But he could see sharp flashes of her lovely young body through the thin fabric, as she moved between him and the bright light from the sunny day outside. He could see her large, beautiful shaped breasts, with their hardened nipples. How come? Had she been playing with herself before he got there? Was that why she was mumbling about needing a priest?
He could see her strong thighs, her exquisitely modeled young ass, the sweet curve of her belly. Even the mass of hair on her cunt.
He was a sex-oriented man, alert to anything that smacked of tail. It was not imagination, he could actually smell the clogging, musky perfume of hot pussy. It was as strong and as definite as if the girl had come to him with her skirt up and straddled his knees, opening her soft young cunt lips and thrusting the juicy, warm twat up to his face.
In this momentary flash, he saw more than the opportunity to study reaction to dress. And yet, when you came down to it, what he hoped would happen could, after all, be exactly that. He smiled and held out a protesting hand.
"No, my child," he said, trying to remember what had been recommended as a priest's form of address in speaking to a young woman, "I don't need any refreshment. Not yet, at least. I'm glad that you are so happy to see me. But why? Is there a problem?"
To his pleased surprise, the girl ran to him, knelt at his feet so that he could see right down into the warm cleavage between her fine breasts, all the way down, for just a flash, so he could also see the golden brown puff of pubic hair.
He was a healthy young man, full of juice and heat, and he had stayed in his small apartment for the last two nights to study. He had not scored, then, for two nights and more than two days. He sensed that this girl's problems might work to their mutual advantage, but there were several hazards that needed to be overcome.
At least, though, he could be doing little things to forward his plan, so he put his hands on her head and mumbled something which would sound like a benediction, at the same time pulling her face toward his crotch. He knew that, just as there is no perfume so aphrodisiac to a man as the smell of a woman's hottest parts, the aroma of a man's crotch was irresistible to most females.
The trick worked. With a happy moan, the girl leaned until her face was pressing directly on his cock and balls. He was satisfied, knowing he was that much closer to what he wanted, which was a piece of this warm, soft, lovely young girl's tight and juicy little ass. So he went on to his next move.
"You didn't tell me your name," he said. "I'm new in the parish. And your father's name. And are your parents and brother home? This latter inquiry being, of course, a shot in the dark.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Father," the girl said contritely. "It's Mack. I'm Ellen Mack, and I've been up in Washington with my mother. My dad's name is Bob Mack, he's away for a long weekend, fishing." She sounded happy about it. "And my brother and sister-Ronnie and Terry-are away at school. I'm glad," she said, looking down. "I want to confess, and I'm not a member of the church. Not down here, anyhow. What did you say the name of your church was?"
"How long were you away, Ellen?" the pseudo priest asked. "And your dear mother, is she still in Washington?"
"Five years, Father. And mother's never coming back, I guess. She had me in a convent school.
Now, she's decided she'll be a nun." Her sweet young face clouded. "We used to go to Saint Peter's, only a mile or so away, on the bluffs."
Rudy heaved a sigh. He was not a fatalist, but there were times when fortune seemed to smile, and this was one of them. He felt the warmth and softness of the young girl's breasts against his knees, and he moved his legs so that she was more between them. He squeezed them in, and saw the tender swell of her young breasts rise in the scoop neck of her dress. He relaxed and squeezed, relaxed and squeezed, watching the soft titties come together, noting the flush which mounted in the girl's smooth, lovely complexion.
"You don't look like a girl with anything to confess," he said, and was amazed at her response. Where her face had been sunny, it was now twisted in the pain of remorse and shame.
"I've done unforgivable things," she said hoarsely. "But we must ask forgiveness, mustn't we? No matter how bad we've been?"
Rudy looked at her solemnly and licked his lips. You never knew what you'd come across in this peculiar and imperfect world. He looked again at Ellen's breasts. They seemed to be fuller, and the nipples were swollen and hard. Whatever had happened, the memory of it affected her sexually. So, it had to be sex. "You may confess to me, here and now, Ellen Mack, if that is your wish. I think you may find that the church has become much more lenient, here in a larger center of population. More so than in a convent school." Those fucking nuns, he thought, and some vicious old sadist of a priest to scare the shit out of the lovely little cunts. Well, if
I can cleanse her mind of some of that trash, it'll be a real blessing to her.
The nubile woman-child's voice was humble. "Oh, I hope so, Father, but I've done the worst things! The very worst! We haven't a shrine or a screen or anything here. Is it all right just to, well, plain old confess? Shall I go out and come in and genuflect?"
"Not at all," Rudy said firmly. "And, by the way, you asked about my church. I'm a member of the Brothers of Man, an order based in Spain. I've visited Saint Peter's, though. Two others of my order are with me. We're doing missionary work. And now, just tell me why you're sad. It's a new way we have of holding confession. I promise not to question you. Not while you're confessing."
The girl made the sign of the Cross, and whispered: "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." And then, to Rudy Salas' amazement, she told him why she had gotten up to get something to help her sleep-"my vagina was so hot, and my vulva, too. I knew I'd have to relieve myself by masturbation."
She tried to rationalize why she had done what she had done with Ronnie's prick. "My poor brother was asleep and he looked so troubled. And his penis was so hard and trembly-looking. I wanted to help him, but the Devil put that other thing in my mind."
And so on and so on, detail for detail. Until at last, when she came to the part where she had fallen in the doorway, w-edged there with her cunt hanging open, she covered her face with her hands and cried: "I'm so terrible! I'm all hot again, just like last night! Can I ever do enough penance to make up for it?"
Rudy gave the girl a gentle push on her shoulders, so that she went back on her heels. He thought he heard a sloshy sound, as if her heel had slipped into her juicy, warm pussy. He found it hard to speak, but he felt that action would be better.
In an easy movement, he pulled his zipper down and let his big, hard cock stand up. He had a big one, and it looked like a monster to the girl. But not a frightening monster. After all, it belonged to a priest. Father Geoghan, who was generally so mean to her, had once told her that priests had the same parts as other men, and were even more subject to the totalizations of the flesh, since they could never get relief in "the ordinary, sinful place," by which Ellen could figure out his needs. She knew that much.
But it did startle her, seeing this prick so close to her face. And it shocked her, what the Father was saying: "See, my child, it's not just you that's warm from your confession. But me, too."
"Have I sinned even more?" the girl asked humbly. "Making a priest so aware of my sinful body?"
"Here, my child," Rudy said. "Give me your hands."
He took them, feeling how soft they were. Young girls' hands were always like that, seemingly boneless, they were so sweet and smooth, and not a wrinkle in them except at the knuckles.
With a bold movement, he put her hands on the big, hard shaft, squeezing them around it.
"Hold it," he said. "Run your hands gently up and down it, on the soft, outside skin." And then, as she sucked in a hard breath, he added: "I want you to see that priests are as human as you are, and that there is no sin, either for you or me, in being human."
The girl's face suddenly flushed and her breathing was very fast for a matter of twenty seconds or so, and he concluded that she had had an orgasm. God damn, she was a hot potato! Too hot for him to need all this fooling around. Very gently, he took her hands away from his cock, said softly: "Get up."
When the girl arose, making the smell of hot pussy all the stronger and thicker, said: "We must go upstairs, I have to see exactly how and where this took place. Come on," he ordered, as Ellen stepped away from him, looking fearful, "this is for your good that I'm doing this."
When they were upstairs, he insisted on looking at her room, seeing that it looked unused, then remembered that she had only just come back to this part of her family. He said: "We want to re-enact the entire thing. You must have on your nightie. Get into it. I'll turn my back if you insist. But, sooner or later, we must do everything now, that happened last night."
The girl felt the heat run through her again, as it had when he had suddenly produced his penis. She had known a sweeping wave of relief when she had seen he was a priest. She had responded eagerly to his obvious kindness, and had been more than ready to do exactly as he told her. It was only that, when she had begun to make her confession, all of last night came back, and she could not help the vast engulfing of her body and its functions by the compelling, overpowering heat which surged through her.
She had actually had that terrifically sinful seizure take her and shake her, that wicked, melting clutch of muscle and nerves inside her vagina. What Nadine called, in her crude way, "cumming". The nuns apparently didn't have a word for it, and she had never described it to Father Geoghan except as "that terrible feeling," so it may be that he, lecherous as he was, might not have understood she was speaking of orgasm.
She felt warm all over, warm and weak, and she had the sudden and paralyzing fear that she, so steeped in sin, might actually have tempted this saintly young priest beyond his power to resist. What Hell could ever be deep enough and painful enough to punish THIS?
But Father Salas smiled at her with his fine dark eyes, his full red lips, and said: "You must obey me, my child. This is what we call the new psychology of absolution. We just got the lessons a few weeks ago, from the very highest source."
There was a new sort of warmth in the girl, the burning of a bright hope in her soul and body. Perhaps she was not as bad as she had thought, or as the nuns and mama and Father Geoghan had said. After all, this young priest was very near to the centers of learning, of the church's very own structure. After all, didn't the Archbishop, himself, live and have his headquarters in Pacific City? And if there was a new way to be absolved, who was she, a mere child and a sinner, to insist on more proof?
She dropped her eyes, her lovely young face even more beautiful in its roseate blushes, and said: "Are you sure it's all right? For I've always been told that nakedness, since it may be temptation, is a sin of itself. And to be naked before you, a priest-oh, Father! Can it possibly be non-sinful?"
He restrained himself from touching her, and had a new thought.
"Since we have to act all of this out, and I must play the part of your brother, I'll have to be naked, too. In which case, you may be sure it's no sin, for I'll be doing it only to help you reach a state of Grace." He shuddered inwardly, wondering if a bolt of lightning might not strike him, and thought: These damned old ideas, how they cling and suck and hurt! But it made him think more of the girl, so he said gently: "You don't need to do this if you're afraid. You can go to another priest."
But the girl really looked at him, looked him right in the face for the first time, and he saw the need in her, the hurt, the horrible fear, and he thought: My way will be better.
So he said: "All right, then. What I started to say, I'll be playing your brother, and at least partly naked. So, if it'll help you, I'll take off my clothes, too. That way, you'll feel easier about it."
The young girl felt all fear go out of her. Or most of it. This man had to know what was right. And, now that she was into it, a new power moved in her. She was about to have that dreadful feeling again, that clutch of heat and pain and pleasure inside her. Perhaps if they undressed together, her mind would not be on her shamefully eager vagina, and she would be spared the criminality of that act. That act of cumming, to borrow Nadine's phraseology. Ugh! Something really did seem to come, all right. That seizure of heat and tightness, and then the rush of that clear, gooey juice. Not like the thicker, opaquely white juice which had shot from Ronnie's penis with such hot force.
Without another word, but showing how deeply she was moved by a new flush of hot blood over her soft features, she crossed her arms over her belly, from hip to hip, and used that inexpressibly feminine motion to lift her dress off in one graceful motion.
She felt the warm air on her even warmer body, and realized she had been sweating. How gross, to sweat at a time like this! Old stinky-under-thearms, that's what she'd be. And with that, she cast one eye at the young priest, and gasped in respect and relief.
He was not looking at her nakedness! He had dropped his slacks and was having trouble getting them and his shorts off over his shoes. So, in sudden maternal affection and concern, she dropped to her knees and, her entire body blushing, helped him get them off. It put her face very close to his body, to his crotch, in fact, the ripely human effluvium that rolled up in a thick but invisible cloud gave her a shock of insight. This is how a human smells, she intuited. It's a marvelous, rich, stinky kind of beauty. It makes my heart turn over. It makes me swell and feel warm inside. Too warm. But he's a priest, so it's okay. And then, by some miracle, the best thought of all came to her. Maybe my sweaty and sinful old body won't smell bad to him. If he smells so good to me, maybe my smell isn't so bad. Maybe not so beautiful to him as his smell is to me. But nice. Maybe I can ask him, later.
When Father Salas took off his jacket and the dark shirt, which she now saw was dark blue instead of black-which was okay, it was probably one of the things they had changed in the church-he was, of course, completely naked. She started to tell him that she thought Ronnie may have had on some part of his PJs, but the way she felt, she couldn't really be sure. And she didn't want to cause Father Salas any extra work. And besides, she was so hurtingly anxious for absolution that she wanted no delay.
She could look at the young priest's penis as they walked along the hall. It was so BIG! She hadn't gotten to the part where Ronnie had actually stuck it into her. That might be too much to expect a man of the cloth to go for. And anyhow, she couldn't do it. She would simply die inside if he asked her to. Because that, she knew, would be a mortal sin, equivalent to making a bad confession. And yet, thinking of the horrible fate in store for those who lie or equivocate or omit a sin in making a bad confession, she was burned by the thought that she must do whatever the young Father demanded. Only I never could get that enormous thing inside me, she thought. Well, perhaps we'll just pantomime it.
Thinking of that possibility, which eased her fears somewhat, but still gave her a mild twinge of deprivation, she began to wonder if she could get that huge penis into her mouth. And, if she could, and its spurting of what Ronnie and Terry had called "jism" last night was in keeping with the size of the organ, could she possibly swallow all of it? She had had trouble enough, swallowing all of Ronnie's. It gave her a strange feeling in her guts, a kind of drawing-together. And then she realized-it wasn't really in her guts, not in her bowels, that is-but in that other part. In her vagina. But for some reason, with Father Salas by her side, it wasn't all that terrible.
He was humming a little song, and his face was happy. So there, she told herself, he's a priest. He knows what's right and wrong. He won't do anything bad to me, and he won't let me do anything bad to him. Even when he put an arm around her bare shoulder, even when he let it slip down to the outward slope of her big old fat boo-boo, she knew it was all right. Scary, sort of. And she could sure smell herself, stronger than ever, and was about to let herself slip into a shamed confusion, until she remembered how marvelous his body had smelled to her.
She opened the door to Ronnie's bedroom, so glad that she had made the bed before she went down to breakfast. And she still felt good, even when Father Salas said, in his warm, smooth voice that now, for some reason, seemed a little shaky, "Show me exactly how Ronnie was lying in his bed."
And then she knew that she was going to have to go through with it, that her soul would have to bear the weight of that sin, and even Father Salas couldn't make that right. She just knew it!
She covered her flushed young face with her hands, conscious that the crimson tide of her blush reached every soft curve, every sweet square inch of her warm body. She stumbled toward the bed automatically, and Rudy let her go. He was as alert as a tiger stalking a sheep, and he was content to let the sheep flee into a blind corner where chances of escape were nil. So far, it was the sheep which had made all the moves. Soon, now, a matter of seconds, it would be time to assure the kill.
Now that he was sure, he was relaxed, and he knew that kindness almost always overcame the prey's final resistance. Therefore, as Ellen's knees struck the bed, and she lost her balance, he put his arm around her to support her, and in his low, kind voice said: "Right here, my child. There, that's all right. You don't need to open your eyes. Just roll over, there, that's right. Give me a bit of room. Ah, this must be the way."
He was lying on his back, his head on a pillow, turned toward the girl's body. He could almost hear the hammering of her heart, and he knew she was in a paralyzing panic, but also, he knew she had no idea at all of how to escape. And of course, if she did make some blind and frightened move, he could always hold her by force, while his knowing hands worked their fuck magic on the responsive body.
But he reached down to her, instead, where her upper body had fallen near his loins, and stroked her gently but warmly on her smooth, warm skin. "I know this isn't going to be easy for you, my child," he said. "But if we are to help you, if psychological confession is going to take away the pain of your acts-your acts as a simple, non-guilty, imperfect human being-you're going to have to help me. Because believe me, Ellen, it isn't easy for me, either. No, indeed. It's very hard, as a matter-of-fact. So please, help me."
There was a deep meaning for the girl in what he said, but the real motivation was in how he said it. She yearned for the absolution which would free her, temporarily, at least, of guilt. And if this priest, knowing ever so much more than that old fraud, Father Geoghan, had received instructions from-what had he said? "The very highest source?"-then she felt better, freer, already. And, since the warmth in her loins had really never died down, at least not very much, from the enormous surges of heat she had felt downstairs when she was confessing, she knew that her courage was greater than her fear. And her curiosity about the good Father's penis was very high, very exciting. Sinfully so.
She raised her ace from her hands and said: "Just exactly what is it you want me to do, Father Salas?"
Rudy's heart leaped with satisfaction. This was unexpected and delightful as if he had been a hunting dog who finds a three-pound sirloin steak left unguarded on a kitchen table. But he kept his voice kind and steady.
"First," he said, get into exactly the same position you were with your brother. Ah, that's very nice," he said, choking a little as the young girl's truly lovely body turned toward him, her broad, smooth butt so symmetrically divided, the pinky-brown asshole showing above that gorgeous split, its dripping inner lips showing the bright pink of healthy young cunt flesh. Why didn't that scaredy-cat brother suck her out? But then he remembered how he had been, at twelve, filled with a man's jism and a man's thoughts and desires where sex is concerned, but with a child's fears.
"You don't have to hurry," he said quietly, stroking his smooth hand warmly on the girl's satiny rump. "Did Ronnie touch you here?" And he ran his thumb lightly down the outside of the girl's thick, well-haired cunt lip. It was slick and wet, and he blessed the girl for being so productive of this sweet, clear, fragrant cunt syrup. His cock was big, he knew the girl was very close to being virgin, and he would need all the lubricant he could get when he reamed her pussy with his hard, swollen dick.
Ellen jumped and trembled, but his startling act had caused her to move toward that huge, frighteningly beautiful prick. For she saw it now as something beautiful, a thing to fear, perhaps, but also to admire. From this organ, from men's penises, came the populations of the world, black, white, brown, yellow. And she had unconsciously put her soft little hand around it, just as she had last night with Ronnie's smaller one. Like the Father had said.
"Oh, no," she whispered, almost fainting from the heat which flamed in her at the intimacy of Rudy's touch. "He was supposed to be asleep. I told you, I thought he was asleep. This," and she gave his cock a slight shake, "this whatchacallem, was sticking up and sort of jerking. His face looked strained and terrible. Like I told you, I don't even know why I did-what I did. That terrible thing!" Her voice was getting too tight, so he gave her a friendly, reassuring rub on the broad, silken smoothness of her young ass.
"Cut it out, Ellen," he said kindly. "Don't take it so big, or I can't help you. It wasn't anything bad that you did. It was instinctive, a natural thing. Didn't it seem so at the time?" And, as he asked the question, he gave her solid young rump a little shove, getting her sweet face that much nearer his cock;
He heard her gasp, he wasn't sure why, and her young voice was pleading: "Is that true? It was instinctive? Do other women-girls, I mean-do they do those things? Do they confess them?" The grip of her soft little paw tightened on the stem of his cock, and he could feel her breath on the sensitive head.
As Ellen gripped the peter which she now thought of as beautiful rather than ugly, all of that powerful, hypnotic delight of male crotch perfume swirled up about her, into her sniffing nostrils, into her open mouth, and with it, a throb arose in her own tender, sensitive cuntal passage and all the trembling, jangled nerve centers around it. At the same time, with her senses reeling, she felt an anticipatory gush of saliva, which she had to hold by drawing air quickly over her drooling lower Up.
She remembered the brightly lovely feel of Ronnie's boyish organ as it slid into her mouth, and in a blaze of light, she saw the words "natural" and "instinctive" and the Father's voice, saying: "Cut it out, Ellen. It wasn't anything bad that you did."
As these thoughts and feelings conspired to undo the child, Rudy's hand once more went into the sensitized flesh around her cunt, and she took the big cock into her mouth with an animal sound of hungering satisfaction.
The rank, strong flavor seemed to touch her in parts far removed from her warmly kissing mouth. In the dark depths up inside her, where the anguish and the ecstasy seemed to do battle in her womb. It was not like little Ronnie's, which seemed to slide right down her throat as she went down. This penis was so big that it seemed to stretch her throat badly as she tried to get it all into her mouth, knowing that what she really wanted was to get her nose into that dark mass of damp, aromatic hair that made Father Salas seem so human, so manly.
In this heated moment, with her mind far removed from thoughts of crime and punishment, the young girl found that, by craning her head forward, bowing her neck, she seemed to create a straight line, or at least almost straight, from her chin to deep in her gullet. The top of her head went down into the warm, smelly place between his thighs. Her nose rasped against the hair on his huge balls. And the big prick, so softly cushioned in its bulbous tip, so hard in the column of rigid meat under the thick skin, went down her throat-or so it felt-almost into her stomach.
It was a delight to her, with that heat blazing inside her, and with her firm breasts resting on the pseudo priest's hip bones. She was so impressed with what she was doing, with her success at actually swallowing this big organ until her lips were brushed by his dark bush of pubic hair, that she raised her body off her knees, up on her toes, so that she could slide her mouth and throat right down the nice, fat, hard peter.
She realized that this was not exactly the way she had done with Ronnie, and yet she could not stop to explain. It was preposterous, in a way, that what had seemed so deadly wicked last night-and even this morning, in retrospect-was now nothing but extra fun derived from a religious duty, a new kind of confession.
Her full fleshed, firm, girlish body was giving Rudy Salas the greatest show he had ever had. This chick was built like the proverbial brick shithouse.
No anemic fashion model, but a full bodied, full blooded chunk of stuff, with a ripely formed ass, a fat pussy covered with golden brown hair, woman-sized titties which jiggled and rubbed on his belly as the girl dived down on his cock. And best of all, protruding out from those smoothly perfect asscheeks, was one of the fattest, leakiest, pinkest, prettiest cunts he had ever encountered.
He had felt heat and lecherous desire in his cock ever since he had entered this house and seen that this girl as a sex object.
As the little affair had quickly burgeoned, he had known moments of doubt, then moments of surging assurance. Once she had accepted the fact that a priest could have a hard-on, he knew he was home free. Even when she had stumbled against the end of a blind emotional alley, as she had when he had asked her to undress, even when she had shut her eyes in the bedroom, he still had known deep down that he would have her. But what he wanted was to carry this so far that she could never again refuse him anything. Never again be able to balk at whatever he suggested, no matter how raunchy. But to have this happy situation, he had to take her from one excess to another in slow steps. Sucking a cock might be a big thing to some women. But it was, at least, something they could back away from, a habit easily broken, a brilliantly obscene dream which their minds could deny.
HE HAD TO FUCK HER!
He began the end of this part of his seduction by putting his hands between Ellen's straining thighs. At his rubbing pressure, up the smooth skin and pressing around her flooding pussy, she slowed her rhythm, obviously wondering what her confessor wanted. At this point, he took her left thigh firmly in both hands, and lifted.
She seemed to understand, and raised her left foot, which he guided across his face, so that she had one foot by each of his shoulders. It gave him a more open view of her cunt, which was so hot, now, that its clear pussy juice was now flecked with bubbles of froth. The inner lips were fat and swollen, and blood flushed through the surface veins, so that these kissable morsels were much darker than before. And Rudy began to talk.
"You must go into all of this in an easier frame of mind, my child," he said, patting her ass. "Relax a bit. Let your knees bend, and lower yourself so that I can see this tender, harmless, non-guilty opening into your sweet and blameless body."
He knew that the girl was too far gone in naive lust to hear and absorb much of what he was saying, but he also knew that the general effect would be soothing. And, in spite of all his concentration on the main point, which was the complete conquering of this girl's mind as well as her body, he was getting overly hot. Soon, in spite of hell, the secret trigger in his fuck mechanism would trigger his cumming, and he would shoot his big load into the inexperienced mouth of this young girl.
He put his hands around the thick part of her strong, firm thighs, pulling her ass toward his face. She was getting into such a rhythm with her mouth going down on his cock that her entire body was geared to the same rhythmic motion. Each time she pulled her face back from his crotch, her opened cunt almost brushed his lips.
He did not want his flood of jism to come as a surprise to the girl, so he said, in a calm voice: "You told me that Ronnie shot a lot of slick stuff into your mouth. Were you afraid?"
A negative movement of the girl's head put some extremely pleasant pressures on the love-burnt head of his cock.
"Do you think you will be able to take my load?" he asked. "Remember, it may be bigger than Ronnie's."
Instantly, in voluptuous detail, Ellen recalled exactly how delicious her brother's seed was, how rich in texture, how delightful in taste and savor. She bobbed her head up and down in assent, and the additional suction on Rudy's swollen prick caused him to buck and squirm, shoving his hard tool roughly into the girl's throat.
The anticipation of the fake priest's orgasm, which, she sensed, would be greater than her brother's, started that boiling sensation between the thick lips of her vulva, and deep up her tube, in the nerve-ends that made her vagina crawl with feeling and sloppy with girl juice.
As she instinctively prepared to take the hot stream of Rudy's sperm, drawing her face back and holding the jerking head between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, she pressed her quaking cunt right down on the man's pleased mouth. And this was what he had been waiting for. ALL he needed.
With his strong hands, he held the lower part of her body in place. He did not need to use his thumbs to stretch her pussy open-it was already stretched as wide as he needed it to be. The little hole, usually closed by pressure and by membraned muscles in repose, was now a dark little cavern oozing cum fluids. And the swollen inner lips, so bright with arterial blood, so wet with girlish cum, formed a convoluted valley right up to the girl's leaping clitoris.
As he felt the first explosion of his cream rip up his tubes to spray in Ellen's mouth, he made it lovelier for both of them by sucking as hard as he could on the girl's fuck hole, shouting ecstatically, "GAAA-i-i-i-F-E-E-E-E! OH, SUCK MY HOT JIZZZZZZ!!!"
It shot a blast of white flame through her, from asshole to uterus, that seemed to rip her guts apart and burst her body with joy. As he sucked again, the vacuum making the nerve-raw linings of her cunt rub together in ecstatic agony, she sucked so hard on his jerking, shooting, pleasure-wracked prick that his second jet of creamy jism went right down her throat. Every taste bud was regaled by its richness of taste, its thick, semi-solid texture. And it was such a mouthful that part of it came back into her mouth, between her cheeks and her gums. Twice as much as my brother's, she thought in triumph and satisfaction. And then: Oh, I hope this is right for Father Salas! I just hope he loves it as much as I do!
The ersatz priest was thinking, to give him credit, somewhat the same thing. With his mouth entirely full of cunt and cunt juice, with his tongue running up and down in the slick channels between the vertical lips which were so tightly pumped up with warm blood, his mind burned with hope that Ellen was appreciating the sucking she was getting. Like it baby, he said mentally. Learn to love your cunt, baby! Anything this sweet can't be sinful, and I want to help you believe it!
He felt his creamy jism blow out in jets that almost blew his balls apart, and reached down past the girl's thighs, fondling and squeezing her breasts, which were bigger and firmer than they had been a few moments before. So she really had been shooting her wad. Good! Honest, open enjoyment of a big cum was a step toward shaking off a lot of old ideas. He squeezed her titties very hard, knowing the pain would be blindingly pleasurable as orgasm ripped her. And the taste of her, the sweetly puckered little asshole right at his nose, the gentle rasp of cunt hair on his lips and cheeks, the smooth warmth of her skin, made his cumming twice as delightful.
Only when the girl collapsed, still holding onto his cock, still keeping it in her mouth, did Rudy stop driving his hammering tongue into the slickly juicing little fuck hole.
They rolled on their sides, and the girl raised her leg so that the man could still have his mouth on her relaxed, barely fluttering arrangement of soft flesh, slickly pink membrane, tenderly parted hair, and all the rich good taste and scent of a happy pussy. At his groin, Rudy could hear the lip smacking enjoyment of a healthy, hot woman eating jism, licking the final dollops of cream from a cock.
"Step One," he whispered, smiling faintly, patting the smooth white flesh of Ellen's inner thighs.
CHAPTER FIVE
Without a word, the dark young man reached and got his hands around the girl's body, and brought her up and around so that she could face him.
At first, she buried her face in his sweated shoulder and snuggled against him, but with her knees up so that her crotch and his did not meet.
Until at last he began to stroke his soft hand along her back, and down, coming around the smooth fullness of her satiny buttock, letting his fingers just touch the wetly sweated edges of her ass-crack, each touch making her body move just a bit more toward him. And making her gradually ease off her tensions, so that her legs came down, straight, against his muscular thighs, and her hairy little pussy, sopping with her juice, pressed against the fullness of his dick.
He said: "This is the time when people who have made love kiss each other. Do you know what French kissing is?"
Surprisingly, the girl giggled, and said: "Why do people always ask that? Sure, I know. But-well-we've been, uh, sort of doing something strange. Haven't we?"
He laughed in a natural, easy manner, and said: "Part of the curative power of Psychological Confession is to put a parishioner at ease. I told you, it's no sin to be human. What we did is human. And your little cu-un, I mean your, uh, vulva, and your vagina, too, well, they're as clean as your mouth. Truly! I would no more lie to you than I would expect you to lie to me."
She immediately began to kiss him on his neck, sucking and licking at it, and said: Oh, your penis tasted just divine, Father! It was so strong, so manly! Better than Ronnie's. And there was such a lot of your, whatchacallem, your semen."
He said, "Hold it." He held her face between his hands and kissed her on her full, red lips, moving his tongue until the girl, now aware of what he wanted, opened her teeth and took his tongue into her mouth. It was a forbidden tiling, of course, but-not with a priest, surely? And it was so thrilling, giving her a shiver, a puckery feeling, right down between her buttocks, yes, all the way there. And so, very suddenly, she was aware of her entire body pressed against Rudy's, her inner nerves and muscles warming up as she unconsciously pumped herself, her crotch, against him. Her breasts rolled on her hard chest, and the message of lust she got from them shot straight down across her belly like living fire, touching every crying nerve in her young twat.
And she very boldly thrust her tongue into the man's mouth. She did not know that this fleshly penetration, in which some of the most erotic nerves in the body are engaged, was the symbol of a fuck, the same sort of penetration that is accomplished by a cock. All she knew was that it gave her a sense of love, of trust, of very high heat, and that it made her wish she had the young cleric's organ stuck into hers. That is, if he really wanted to go through with everything she had done, so that this would be a complete, meaningful confession.
When their lips came apart, the girl looked at him, close up, and said in a rush of words: "I guess I have to keep on confessing, Father. Because all we're doing is just making me, well, it's making me a lot worse. I'm thinking the impurest kind of thoughts."
The man shook her gently. "My child, what we're doing is not bad. Not sinful in any way. That's the entire point. To prove to you that you're simply a human being. Didn't I say we were all imperfect, just a while ago?"
The girl almost smiled. "Well, you said I was," she answered.
He hugged her fiercely. "Very funny, very funny," he said. "But you must see that I, with my eagerness for your beautiful young body, am very imperfect. But now, the church has opened its eyes to the needs of nuns and priests as well as, uh, laymen. Haven't you heard of priests and nuns getting married? Or arguing for the right to be human? And they aren't getting excommunicated." He hoped he was right. He hadn't paid too much attention to such things. Not since the days of military training, and the horrible days of Vietnam.
The girl pumped her body against him, her eyes closed. She took one of his big hands and placed it on her breast. "Is it all right if I do that thing again?" she asked humbly. "I feel so HOT!"
He got his tongue in her mouth, one hand on her breast, and, from behind, a finger on his other hand into the frantically squirming slickness and warmth of her cunt.
"MMMGGGUUUuuhhh-OH! OH! OOOHHHhhh!!" She tried to scream out her orgasm, but, since her tongue was in his mouth, it came out as a wild, keening moan.
He held her against him with tender strength until her spasm of cumming had passed, then he said: "Listen, my dear child. You're finding it difficult to communicate your thoughts to me. Because you think that some words are sinful. Part of the pleasure of love, of being human, is to forget old teachings. Wrong teachings, by the way. I have never heard of any church edict against any word. Fuck or cunt or cock-Hhey are simply old-fashioned words for intercourse, vagina, or penis. They are not bad at all. There are no dirty words, only dirty minds. What you just did was experience orgasm. On a simpler, more human basis, you could say you came, or you shot your wad, or blew your load. And many other colorful metaphors and synonyms. I have my finger touching your cunt. It actually isn't in your vagina, now is it?"
The girl moved her body. "No," she said. "But I wish it was."
"It's down near the entry to your vagina. It isn't touching your vulva. Your vulva, well, if I understand the term, it means here," and he stroked up, between her fat outer lips, into the swelling, spilling slickness of her slick inner labia. "But I was down here," and he pressed again around the rim of her vagina, pressed hard, and felt her feel around her ass, trying to get his finger in her cunt, or her cunt around his finger.
"There, now" he said, "see what a useful word
'cunt' is? Because no matter where I put it, my finger was touching your cunt."
She drew in a deep sigh and nestled against him. "The church sure raises hell about impure thoughts," she said. "And don't those words represent impure thoughts? Like, uh, cunt." She shivered.
He slowly, firmly jammed his longest finger up her, reveling in the slickness and warmth of the wet folds in her young vagina. The girl squirmed in delight, pressing herself against him, pressing her ass against his knuckles.
Unaccountably, the girl laughed. "I'm thinking I've been a scared little ninny," she said. "I know all those words. I can see where they might be better than the sissy words. Listen, I want to confess some more."
She told him of her deep sense of woe and guilt, of taking the overdose of pills, of being on her back, her cunt open, unable to move or cry out. And of all the rest.
When they went to her room and she laid down in the same position, "Father" Rudy laughed. "I can see where a twelve year old kid could get into you in that position, but I doubt I could."
The girl looked disappointed, then smiled bravely and said: "Oh, that's all right, then, Father Salas. As long as you can absolve me without us acting it out." She looked down at his big cock, which had grown very hard as he had played in her pussy, using all those wonderful, meaningful old words, feeling the human warmth and womanly generosity of her body. Timidly, she touched it. "Anyhow, I don't believe it-I mean, your cock-could go into me. Ronnie had a little trouble. But I thought maybe it was just because I was sort of, you know, kinked up."
The man put his arm around her, getting his hand under her arm, onto her breast, to which he gave a lovingly painful caress.
"Of course we're going to act it out," he said. "But I know a better place."
Downstairs, in the living room, he placed her on the big couch. Its curved arm made a much more comfortable leaning place for her head and shoulders than the hard door frame. He lifted one of her lovely legs up on to the back of the couch. "There," he said, "that's the one that was jammed against the door." He pushed on her foot, which made her leg, her thigh move back against her breast, while she looked up at him soberly, only a twinkle in her eyes showing her pleasure.
He pulled her other leg off the couch, so the foot touched the floor, and her smooth young thigh was almost at right angles to her body. This opened the thick and hairy outer lips of her pussy, exposing the slick, shiny pinkness of her inner core, the throat of her cunt. He could not resist its beauty.' He dropped to his knees and placed his open mouth over all of her pink slit that he could reach, tonguing and sucking.
The girl squealed joyfully, and put her hands on his head to press him into it deeper. Her foot came up off the floor, and he felt the huge tendons on the inside of her thighs, the ones that ran right up to her pubic arch, as they tensed.
When he withdrew his mouth, licking around it to get up the last drops of her pussy juice, the girl said: "Oh, Father, I'm gladdest of all that I found out that there's no sin in THAT!" She was smiling, and her trailing hands lay on her smooth belly. "Why?" he asked, smiling.
"Because it's so SWEET," the girl answered. "It's such a nice thing to do for a girl." Tears filled her eyes. "Oh, thank you, Father, for being so nice tome!"
He knelt between her extended thighs, laughing down at her.
"Did Ronnie say anything?" he asked. "Or Terry?" He pulled a pillow from the other corner of the big couch, and thrust it under her solid rump, raising the slightly opened fuck hole.
"They used a lot of those words," he said. "Terry kept hollering to Ronnie to fuck me, to stick his cock in my cunt. Why? You're going to stick it in me, aren't you? To make everything complete?"
"You better believe it, little doll," the man answered in rather non-priestly style. "But part of your cure is, we do it a little bit differently. I want you to know that neither the words nor what they mean, none of it, can be called sinful. Or anything, really, except human. So-that means I want you to be the one who wants it, who asks for it. Do and say whatever you think will get all that conviction of personal sin out of your head. And out of your pretty little cunt, too," he added kindly.
He shook his prick at her, and she smiled up at him as she took it. "Oh, what a lovely cock," she said softly. "What a big one! A COCK, a PRICK, a PETER!" She blushed, squeezing the hard rod. "I just love to call it a peter. Will you stick your peter in me? Will you stick it in my nasty little old cunt and FUCK me?"
He pulled away from her. "Wrong stuff to say," he said firmly.
The girl dropped her eyes. "It's hard for me to think my cunt is sweet or pretty," she whispered. "But it sure feels pretty."
"I say it's pretty," Salas affirmed. He wanted to say: "I've seen a ton of 'em, and they're all lovely, but yours is the most." But he thought it would sound out of character.
The girl wiped the soft, distended head up and down in her sloppy, tender channel. "OOOOOOOHHH!" she moaned. "THAT FEELS SO ... SO DREAMY! Have I got a lot of juice down there, Father? I need a lot of juice to help it go in." She wiped it up and down again, and, at the bottom of her split, when his cockhead was right at her hole, she fucked up at him, causing it to go in an inch or better, until the empurpled head was out of sight in her streaming pink tightness. It made her whip her sweet, firm butt up and down, giving both of them the lovely thrill of a short, incomplete fuck.
"Oh, I love this," she whispered, her eyes closed. "Your wonderful big cock fucking into my sweet, dripping, fucky little pussy!" Her smile was faint, as though she were concentrating mainly on the marvelously fucky feeling in her straining little pussy. She was pushing her loins up and out, trying to get him more deeply into her, although she was beginning to feel some hard pain, and knew it wouldn't be easy. "Can't you push, too?" she asked humbly.
He put the palms of his hands down on either side of her body, letting more weight get behind his cock. She was extremely tight, but, considering that Ronnie had fucked her the night before, he knew she couldn't have a maidenhead. He gave it a hard, slogging push, driving into the girl's tiny, almost unused little cunt hole. Something, a muscle contraction perhaps, was keeping him out. But the girl was moaning happily, and fucking up at him rapidly, until she realized his body was still.
She opened her eyes, looking startled. "What's the matter?" she demanded. "Why aren't you fucking your beautiful cock into my lovely little cunt?" She blushed. "If it's all right for me to say that," she whispered. Her strong young body wiggled all over, and both of them felt a squeaky, lovely pang as the hard part of his cock ran in a little deeper. "I wish I had some of your jism in there," the girl said in a choked voice. "Ooohhh, it's so slick and rich! I bet it'd go in then. But then, you'd be soft, wouldn't you?"
He thrust at her again, pulling his cock back an inch, then ramming it hard into her, gaining just a little, perhaps half an inch. He let more of his weight down on the girl's warm, heavy tits, hearing her gasp as his chest mashed them. At once he felt a slight response inside her, a shift of muscle, possibly a release of more of her cuntal mucous, for his prick went in another inch.
"OH, FATHER!" the girl gasped, locking her arms around his back. "Something happened. Some more of your cock went into me. Is it all in? I just feel stuffed so full of it, OHHHHHH!" And her body leaped at him, her cunt gripped him convulsively, and she shook her entire lower body as it was held up to him by her strong legs and back. "OHHH! COULD YOU FEEL ME? I came, real NICE AND HARD! Is it in any deeper?"
He whispered, "Reach around your beautiful ass and feel. Get your hands down, get them full of your rich pussy juice! FEEL your cute, sweet little asshole! This is all a part of love. That you love your body as well as mine! OH, BABY! THAT'S DOING IT!"
With her soft hands moving around her stretched cunt, it was certain that she would also brush his cock, his balls. And she must have found them sweet, for she gently held his big balls in the softness and warmth of her little hand. And this time, it was he whose body involuntarily surged forward. Her cum a moment before had slicked up her inner parts, her cunt sheath, and also, of course, relaxed some taut muscles. This time, his cock struck something hard, making the girl cry out in shock. Her womb, he had hit it. In this position, and particularly in a practically unfucked girl, her cervix would be shoved up near her vaginal entry. There was still more of her cunt to stretch, to get into. Its tightness would hold his penis against that hard, girlish womb-mouth, giving him a pleasure he had seldom known these past twelve years. Her sweetly clasping pussy was so slick yet so tight. And so hot!
He looked down at her sweet young face. It was beaded with sweat. There was a look of deep contentment, but, as he looked, she bit her lip, and then thrust her cunt up at him. He was deeply moved.
"I'm hurting you, isn't that right?" he said hoarsely. "Shall I take it out? After all, we've re-enacted what Ronnie did."
"NO! NO! OH, PLEASE, FATHER, don't TAKE IT OUT!" Her body moved up at him again. "I'm about to CUM!" she moaned. "That ought to make me slicker. OHHHHHH! OH, IT FEELS SO GOOD! TO HAVE YOUR COCK STUCK INTO MY CUNT, AND TO BE ABLE TO FEEL IT WITH MY HANDS!"
Once again, her soft little hands squeezed his balls, came up to feel the hard, hairy base of his prick where the final two inches of it remained outside. She moaned again: "OHHH! OHHHHHH! FUCK ME, FATHER! FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!"
Her body moved back and forth, up and down, in cadence with her repeated cries of "FUCK ME!" and the dark young man, all his sympathies with this girl, fucked into her as hard as he could, timing his down-thrusts to her lifting of her body. It was working! The orgasm had relaxed her gripping vaginal muscles still more. The flow of her sweetly feminine' lubricating juice was pouring from a million tiny pores, their outpourings increased as her cunt writhed in an undulating orgasm. He felt his cock gripped in an amazing tightness as it poked down to the end of her channel, the hard cervix giving him a terrific rub of sexual delight as he bottomed out against the closed end of her fuck sheath.
Now that he was in her, he made the hard motions of fucking without withdrawing more than an inch, simple grinding his pubic mound against the girl's, stirring inside her with his hard cock, making sure he hit every available spot inside her. And she had her mouth on his neck, his smooth cheek, seeking to find his tongue with hers, anxious to complete this physical union which was giving her such shuddering thrills of heat and happiness.
"Oh, Father, KISS ME!" the girl panted, her face moving in a blind search. "OH, YOUR COCK FEELS SO GOOD IN ME! SHOOT YOUR HOT WAD IN MY CUNT! Pour your sweet jism into my fuck hole! JAM IT IN HARD, father! Fuck me to hell and back! Fuck! FUCK! FUCK! FU-U-U-UCK!" And she slammed her spirited and happy cunt up at him rhythmically, giving his cock the fucking of his life as her extreme tightness almost tore the skin from his dick.
And, each time he plowed into her, feeling the sensational rub on the tenderest parts of his violently throbbing cock, he was grateful for the load he had dropped upstairs when she had sucked him so beautifully. Baby, you were made for fucking, he thought. With your heat, your lovely, soft, strong body, your tight, hot little cunt, your natural sweetness. What a fuck! What a girl!
He opened his mouth and plastered it on that of the moaning girl. At once, her sweet, strong, slippery tongue came out to join his, and each of them sucked with the delight of hot people on the ragged edge of a cum.
As his cock made its preliminary throb, promising the powerful jets of cream from his balls, the girl broke away, her eyes wildly looking at him with a deeply feminine foreknowledge of the blast she would receive in her cunt. That throb was just like the one when she was sucking the priest, just before his thick, creamy jism shot into her mouth. She was sad, for a split second, that she would not taste the richness of his thick and lovely sperm. But then she said, in a clear voice, "It's going to flood into my cunt, isn't it, Father? Your dear peter's juice is going to fill me! Oh, thank you for this goodness! AND-I-I-I'M CUMMING, TOO! AAARFRRGGGHHH! OH, GOD, THANK YOU! FUCK ME, FATHER!"
Her strong young body should have been whipping up and down in wild frenzy, but something great seemed to have happened in her. Her inner impulses were wild, and Rudy could feel them in the pulsations in her vagina. But her body seemed to understand and to echo the exact rhythms of his spurting jets of cock-cream.
An explosion of his seed started, and he thrust in deep, hitting her womb and her cunt's closed end. The jism poured out, flooding her channel of love, and he pulled back. Far back, now, until the rim of the corona of his penis showed at the pinkly wet mouth of her cunt, since he was getting into her with less trouble. As he pulled out, her body pulled back; as he thrust down, she sent her soul into a cunt's upward fling.
Each of his thrusts was a dream of delight for her, straining her tenderest muscles, giving joy and fire to every nerve in her pussy. She could feel the strength of his body as he thrust at her, until he seemed to be a spear, his cock its sharp head, and her body its joyful target. Sweat ran down from her face, tickling her neck, and more sweat seemed to form between her breasts, making its keenly delightful way down her ribs. The marvelous stretch of her tender vagina made a wild hymn of painful ecstasy throughout her belly, echoing in her bowels. She had long ago, given up her seeking touch around her pussy's wet, warm opening, and was holding her lover, the self-styled priest, in her smooth, strong arms.
Her cunt was thrilling her with its deep, pulsating grip on the big cock, which seemed to grow bigger each time it released a hot spurt of cock juice. She felt the teasing sense of something hot and slick running down under her vaginal opening, tickling its way into the sensitive crease of her buttocks, mashed together by her weight. The sweetly sticky goo was, she knew, a mixture of her cum and her partner's. For the first time in her frightened young life, she truly knew what love was, and how it could affect your body as well as your mind and soul.
The great orgasm must have taken her temporarily out of her world, for she awoke to find Rudy kissing her and squeezing her breasts. His cock was still buried in her, and she felt a flutter of her love muscles as her cunt kissed the slick red head good-bye.
Her first thought was one of sadness, a deep loss, as she felt her own tightness begin to squeeze the lovely peter out of her. But she remembered that it had come up very quickly, soon after she had sucked all that beautiful juice out of it. And besides, to tell the truth, she felt relaxed, even surfeited. She must have cum a dozen times, big ones and small ones, counting from her first one as she knelt with her head in Father Salas' crotch, her juicy cunt lips open over her bare heel.
"I must have cum a dozen times," she sighed, and then giggled. "That's the nicest, sweetest confession I ever made," she said.
The pretended cleric was amused all through. And quite proud.
"I've helped you to understand yourself and your body," he said. "To understand not only the nature of yourself, and the nature of your brother and sister, but the nature of all humans."
He slipped off her, down on his knees by the couch, and her leg came off, her foot touching the floor again. She turned her lovely eyes on him, her smile beatific. He could see that her cunt was so swollen that it was wide open, sloppily lovely, with large drops of opaque sperm oozing out, crawling down toward her cute little pink asshole, which seemed to move with a tiny jerk, once in a while.
She seemed to follow his eyes and his thoughts, for she said in a whisper: "Oh, I wish I were an acrobat, so I could suck all that lovely peter juke out of me!" She put a hand on his arm and squeezed, while her strong, warm body undulated in a hazy pantomime of fuck motions.
He had been thirsting for the feel and taste of her delicious little split, and he laughed joyously as he picked her leg up, holding her divided and beautiful butt so that it pointed toward the ceiling, each cheek wide apart so that he could see the slickness of joined fluids which had slopped her crack all the way.
"I'll get this, first," he said, and leaned down and swept his broad tongue from the tiniest fuzz beyond her trembling anus, right to the gaping pink aperture of her cunt. Here, he pursed his lips as though for a kiss, and sucked as hard as he could, filling his mouth with the richness of his own cum and the girl's lighter but equally tasty juices.
Then, with his eyes twinkling, he moved to where the girl held out her softly rounded arms, and put his mouth on hers.
With a little cry of joyful appreciation, she put her full lips against the man's, and shivered with little echoes of inner joy as he slowly let drop after rich drop of the tasty flow go into her waiting mouth.
As she trembled in pleasure, the man put his hand firmly against her opened twat, rubbing slightly along its sensitized little valley, and her mouth worked furiously as she began to cum again, her strong body flailing its way up and down on the cushions.
When she had sucked out his mouth as hard as he had sucked out her nerve-taut, appreciative pussy, he moved down again and placed his mouth lower down.
There was still an overflow from her softly pulsing vagina, but he was interested in her reaction as his tongue caressed her asshole, her instantaneous leap of pure excitement as he tongued into it, feeling it pucker, at first, then relax and open to let his tongue into the sharply flavored inner secrets of her rectum.
His tongue probed into the soft and juicy interior, which he knew was as pinkly shaded, as finely grained, as the inner lips of her spasming pussy. The girl's moans were excited and wildly provocative, "OOOOOOH FATHER! THAT'S GOOD! SOOOGOOOOOODDD! OH, SUCK ME THERE, FATHER! LET ME CUM AGAIN! OOOOOOHHHHHH!OOOOOOHHHHHH!"
He held her flipping body, had to, in fact, in order to keep his smoothly, probing tongue in the joyfully responsive rectum. You've got some crazy feelings in there, cutie, his mind flashed. Some day, and I hope it's soon, I'll cop that cherry in there, and give you a new place to feel good, without feeling sinful.
He waited for her orgasm to expand and glow and fade, and held her solid young ass tenderly in his arms before moving his mouth up to suck out the last of his juice.
As he knew she would be, the young girl was so tender in her clitoris, in her sensitive labia, and in the first few inches of her fuck hole that she immediately exploded in another rolling, throbbing orgasm, screaming weakly: "Oh, Father, it's cumming AGAIN! FUCK ME! PUT IT IN ME! FUCK ME!" And her body heaved again and again.
There was no way he could get his cock into her, but he did the best he could-he shoved his finger up into the drooling dark of her slippery-tight little cunt. Tiny and sensitive as she was, his finger felt like a sash-weight, a big salami, his cock. There was a wonderful, expanding feeling of heat and power growing inside her. She still had the warm taste of his jism in her mouth. He had given her so much in her cunt, had sucked it out and given it to her again, in her mouth, that she could feel it, apart from her saliva, as a richer, thicker, tastier substance. And somehow, his finger in her, the intimacy of mouth to-cunt-to-mouth caresses glowing in her mind as well as her inflamed body, she transformed the finger into a cock, his tongue in her mouth as another cock. It was wild and crazy and possible. Now that nothing that was natural and human was a sin. And certainly, having three cocks stuck in you-if you craved them-ought to be as natural and human and sinless as one.
She clung to him, feeling his big finger tenderly ining and outing in the flowing closeness of her vagina. Her face felt warm, her skin was burning.
She gave one final, hard thrust of her body up against the fork of his hand, feeling the orgasm burst and flow out of her sensation-filled pussy, and went limp. She was, at long last, satisfied, cleansed of desire and lust, cleansed of the pain and misery of guilt and sin.
Ellen could no longer feel shy with this stranger. When she was able to sit up, she grinned at him as she ran her hand down between her cunt lips, then pulled it out, sniffed at it, and licked it clean.
"You sucked me pretty clean, Father," she said. "But I'm still sort of drippy. Here, d'you want to see?" And she rolled back, lifting her legs, holding them with her hands under her knees, and looking down to see whatever she could.
He laughed and kissed her on the softly pulsing, slowly oozing rosette of flesh, smacking loudly as she squealed and jumped.
"I never felt so cleansed of sin," she said, leaning to put her arms around his neck, her big, soft breasts quaking.
For a split second, Rudy's face looked very old, with the sadness of all life in it. Then he kissed her on each nipple and stood up. "That was the idea," he said. "That's why Psychological Confession was developed. To make us imperfect humans better able to accept our imperfections as a part of God's creativeness. If He had made us perfect, what would we have to strive for? We might as well die and become angels all at once."
He was smiling, but this was a tenet of his own self-made faith, and he believed in it as fully and sincerely as any priest ever believed in the dogma of Mother Church.
The girl hugged him, her face against his sticky jock.
"Oh, my dear Father," she whispered. "Here, let me clean you up! Mmmmmmmmmm MMMMMMMMM!" she exclaimed as her sweet mouth gently licked the fruits of their cum from his dick. "Oh, how sweet!"
She held the still swollen cock in one soft little fist, and with the fingers of her other hand she held the foreskin away from the red head and thrust her pink tongue down into this improvised little cup of flesh. She looked up at him with a gamin smile. "Father, you'll have to absolve me of this, too. I just love it!" And with that, she took his entire cock into her warm, slick mouth, going back and forth as her lips and tongue caressed his tool.
He rested his hands on her head, and she felt as if she were being blessed. In her ardor, she put a hand between his thighs to find and fondle his big, hairy balls. Full of sweet jism, she thought. Flushing the dirtiness out of her cunt, out of her throat, out of her imperfect and erring mind. Beautiful! But the delicate taste of the cock caused a new idea to swirl in her mind, and she leaned back to look up at her "confessor", her hands still lightly holding him.
"I don't know about you," she said in a maternal, responsible tone, "but all that confession and absolution made me hungry enough to eat anything that doesn't bite me first! And look at that clock," she said, clucking her tongue. "It's almost twelve o'clock!"
She held his fat dick and kissed it loudly, then got up and put her arm around the man, hugging him closely as she steered him toward the kitchen. The sweetly throat-closing scents of lust, of heated cunt hanging open, of pulsing cock skinned and warming, was all around them. The girl licked her lips, ran her tongue down between her lips and her gums.
"Whatever goodies we find to eat, nothing will ever taste as good as your jism, Father," she whispered softly. And the healthy young man, all of his senses very much alive, still far from drained, let his hand go down between her buttocks, into her cum-slopped asscrack, touching the tender little asshole. And smiling.
This was better than the best he had ever expected. And it was his for as long as he wanted it. Sweet, dumb, juicy, hot little kid!
CHAPTER SIX
When "Father" Rudy finally left, a little before three, the warm and happy girl watched from the door. She had not wanted to dress, for several reasons, first of which was that she was no longer ashamed of her body. If Father Rudy-he had told her she could use his first name-said her body was free from sin, and love of it was also okay, then she would let her natural pleasure in herself take over.
Another reason: Her breasts, which had always bothered her because of their sensitivity-vaguely sinful, of course-seemed larger. And certainly, they were "touchier" as she phrased it. Putting her dress on was just going to make them feel even more so. And, while she knew that no sin was connected to these thoughts, she simply liked the idea of letting the big, soft, good-feeling and friendly titties just sort of bounce around. They were where the good Father could reach them, to rub or squeeze or kiss.
They had eaten well, and Rudy had touched her, stroked her, felt up and down the inside of her thighs, all over her belly, as she made good things to eat and, later, performed the humble but necessary duties of cleaning up. She was dizzy with the joy of having had her young, responsive, hungry little pussy treated so well.
They had fucked twice more. Once, starting with her lying on her back on the kitchen table, with her strong legs resting on his chest, feeling so wide open as he banged it into her. And finishing with him lying flat and her on top. He had reasons for showing her this position, he said.
"If a dick's too big for you, you can work around and get it in easier if you control the action," he said. "And if one's a bit undersized, you can work your ass around so as to be sure it hits the good-feeling, cummy spots."
She felt delicious. There was a sort of burning feel in the tight-muscled entry to her vagina-"to my cunt," she amended aloud-but no wonder. Except for last night with Ronnie, today was the first time anything bigger than her finger had ever been in her.
The athletic looking young man did not look back, because looking back, in his mind, connotated some mild form of commitment. He thought he might very well pay a return visit. You just don't find girls like Ellen every day. He had been around the block, as they say, and he had stuck his joint into a great many cunts. And the worst of them, the very worst, had been wonderful. But this little dumb chickie, she was something else. So-yes. He might be back. But he wasn't promising, so he never turned his head to see if Ellen was watching or waving or whatever. And it was all right with her. She had had more from him, she believed, than she would ever have from any man. Freedom, for one thing. Freedom to love, to hope, to fuck.
She went upstairs, carrying her dress, and went into the adjoining bath that also had a door into her dad's bedroom. There was a drying film of cum juice on the insides of her thighs, and she smiled as she stood in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door.
How lovely it was to be a warm blooded, well built woman, as Father Rudy had told her she was. How lovely not to be ashamed of her sex, her sex organs, her sexuality!
She sat down on the edge of the tub, opening her thighs wide to show the pink inner parts of her pussy. The hair around it was dark with floods of cum juice not yet dried. She could still feel the tantalizing itch of her juice leaking out of her hole, and she watched in the mirror as she inserted her longest finger into that thermal softness, that soft clutch of warm folds of cunt flesh and membrane.
It felt so good that she put in another finger, and then she knew that this wasn't getting her anywhere, so she pulled the fingers out and licked them. The kids would be home in a few minutes. She would have to face them, perhaps have to deal with whatever emotional residues were left from their weird actions of last night. She knew, now, that she would be able to cope with them.
As a matter-of-fact, they were only a block or two away. They lived within eight blocks of their school, hence the school's buses did not serve their neighborhood. They were known, among their peers, as "walkers", and the way home was usually a pleasant one, coming along at their own pace, exchanging views and information with friends.
Exchanging other things, too, when circumstances permitted. Feeling each other up in the shaded nooks where driveways were bordered with thick hedges, six or seven boys and girls, feeling of each other, kissing, rubbing bellies, dry-fucking, laughing at life. And now, after last night, little Terry could swap spit with her beloved brother as well as with other guys. And all the kids in the little group of "walkers" that went toward Lois Lane thought it was funny and cute that Ron and Terry were loving each other up, that little Terry actually got her hand in Ronnie's fly as they stopped in one alley, and said to Marliss Jeffers: "Angel, you ought to get a feel of this dick." Everyone envied them. Brother and sister, loving each other so freely.
"You guys got it made", Willie Stevenson laughed. "This is Friday, no school for three days, because we got a Monday holiday. And your dad's on a fishing trip, so you've got the whole house to yourselves. Wow! Just clean up the fuck spots before your pop gets home."
Marliss Jeffers, a small, pretty girl with breasts unusually large for an undersized Sixth Grader, said: "Hey! Why'nt you guys have a little party? Lots of bedrooms, lots of beds. Gosh, I never did it in a bed! Wow! I could sure fuck up a storm in a nice bed!"
She still had her little warm hand on Ronnie's pecker, and she gave it an extra squeeze. "How about it Ron?" she asked. "I've always wanted some of your peter."
Terry laughed. "Ron's kind of timid, Angel," she said. "Don't rush him. Anyhow, a heavy party like that, no way! We got a sister looking after us. Ellen. She just came back from living with mama."
A tall boy who had been fooling with a dark, slender girl who kept licking her lips, said: "Hey, I remember her! And I guess I saw her yesterday. When she came home. Shee-it! Let's have her on the party. Wow-wee! Has she ever got a lot of stuff!"
Ronnie looked at him fondly. He was a real pal. Fifteen years old, and lots of people-lots of older girls, anyhow-took him for twenty. Had a tool on him like a pony. And guts! Man, he had 'em! But he had just a bit of jealousy toward good old Chuck. Chuckie Gilman. Always telling Ronnie to get all he could. Trying to kid him out of the shackles of his religion. All that sin stuff, Chuck said, was stupid. "I bet I know fifteen, twenty girls that fuck," he said. "They're cute little kids. Some of 'em got hair under their arms and on their pussies, same as a grown woman. Now, dummy, if they WANT your dick, it's more of a sin for you to hold out on them than it is for them to fuck you, see?"
But Ron hadn't done much about it. Although he often went to Chuck for counsel and guidance. The older boy was level headed, good humored, knew his way around. He just wished he could get old Chuck off to one side and ask him about what he had done to Ellen. He wasn't sure it was right. He sort of had the idea she might have been sick last night. In spite of what Terry had said. That Terry! She was mean as a snake, sometimes.
"Yeah, Ellen," he said, answering Chuck's question. "I guess you and she were in the same class."
"No, she's older," Chuck smiled. "But a damn good kid. Like you, too religious. But nice, all right. How is she, now?"
"Phoney as hell!" It was Terry, and Ronnie said: "Wait a minute. She's no phony. She's never been away from mom, had to go to that convent school. Give her a break."
The small blonde girl took her hand out of her brother's fly, looking sulky. "Play with your own cock, baby!" she said, and turned to lean against big Chuck. "Hey, Chuckie, you haven't been fooling around! What's the matter? Don't like girls?"
They heard the sound of steps and looked up. A tall, dark young man with a nice hair styling job, wearing a dark blue knit shirt with a couple of bare feet embroidered on the pocket, came by, glanced at the little knot of hes and shes in the alley. He grinned and said "Hi!" and Chuck Gilman answered: "Hi, Rudy! How's it going?"
The tall guy waved a hand and kept going, and Marliss, the one called "Angel," asked: "Who's the good looking chicano dude? I'd like to get it on with him."
And Chuck laughed and said: "You and a couple hundred other chickies, Angel. He's Rudy Salas. S'funny, him being sort of dressed like a priest-he was going to be one, but then he got in some kind of jam, and went in the army." And then, turning to Ron: "Ron, is that true about your dad? Away for how long? Until Monday night? Does Ellen come down on you pretty hard? I know it's very heavy to have a big screwing party, but maybe we could get like Marless and little Terry and Alberta, here, and get something going. You know Alberta, don't you?" He pushed the slender, dark girl toward Ron, and she put her arm around him, feeling down toward his crotch, as Marless and Terry had.
She had on a lightweight knit shirt, and Ronnie could see the sweet shape of her girlish titties, the hard nipples rising, and her hand, which had easily slid between his under pants and his belly, felt very warm and soft. And busy, as she skinned it up and down.
He hugged her quickly, getting his hand between her buttocks, goosing into her real good, feeling that she had on no panties.
"We'll fix up something," he said hoarsely. "I don't know just when dad's going to be home. It depends on what fish they run into. If they hit the albacore run, he won't be back until Monday night. I can phone the fishing docks and ask. He's on the Freedom Two. I'll call this afternoon."
He actually shouldn't have worried. His dad and the group had hit it very good. Over seventy albies, those chicken of the sea, with their thick bodies, slender tails, big flukes, and poker chip eyes. And they were confident of more, next day. So they had put into Ensenada. For food and drink and rest. And a little piece of that chili-flavored pussy.
"Come on, Bob," said tall, lanky, humorous Ace Shulman. "Get off your ass and let's go get somebody else's. What do you want to wash up for?" He sniffed his fingers, where he had been tossing the big albacore into the freezing unit. "That chicana pussy smells just about like we do. Come on, sport, let's go."
Bob Mack, big and solid, slower than Ace, grinned his slow grin, scratching himself across his belly.
"Go ahead, Ace," he said. "Where'll you be?
Lah-oor's place? I'll be with you in a few minutes." minutes."
It was strange, he thought, how he had little Ellen on his mind. If it had just been Terry and Ron, he'd have gotten Miz Sanderson to baby-sit them, and never would've worried for a minute. But somehow, he felt guilty about leaving little Ellen alone. After all, it was her first night home, last night, and he knew that Gretchen had given him a bad name with the kid. But hell, she was the one who'd insisted she could handle those wild-ass kids. Still, Ronnie was pretty good. A little too scared of being a regular kid. God damn it, that's what church did for kids.
He got off the boat and got in one of the numerous taxis that hung around the fish docks. The driver, a lean, Indian-looking guy, said jovially: "How about some poosey, capitan! Nice young keed, very young, maybe only fourteen? Clean and tight and hot."
This was an old gambit, and Bob played along. "How do you know she's tight?" he asked.
The fellow looked back, holding his face straight, and finished the dialogue. "She's my seester!" he whooped, and collapsed on the steering wheel in laughter.
"Not this time, Pancho," Bob said, grinning. "If your sister's as old as that gag, she probably screwed Cortez, right? Hey, where's a public telephone? I got to call home. My kids. You know?"
"Seguramente, senor," the hackie said. "Up on Second Street. Straight across from El Rey Sol. You know the joint?"
"Sure. Leave me off and wait for me, Okay?"
He was in luck. It only took fifteen minutes to get hitched up to all the various switchboards between Ensenada and Lupus Beach. Ellen answered, and his heart almost melted at the sweetness in her happy young voice. Good! She was doing okay.
"Doing okay, baby?" he asked. "This is dad. Just wanted to make sure everything was all right at home. I could get on a plane and be home in a couple hours if you need me."
The connection was a good one. "We're just fine, daddy," the girl said. "You stay down there and have fun, hear?"
They went through a few more cliches, then Bob rang off. His daughter's admonition to have fun rang in his head. The whore they all liked, Laure-whose name, in Spanish, translated into Lahoora-lived around here, some place. But he'd eat first. Have a few shots of tequila, with a little wedge of lime and some salt in the fork of his thumb, allee samee chicano. He felt great. Especially since Ellen had been so cheery, so positive, when he'd told her not to let those two little hellions bulldoze her.
"Don't you worry for a minute, daddy," the courageous little critter had replied. "I can handle them." And so she could. Up in her room, she was proving it. At least, she was about to. With Ronnie.
"All right, Mister Wise Ass," she said firmly, a confident smile on her face, "that was daddy. He wanted to know if you and Terry were giving me any trouble. You heard what I told him. So you'd better just behave, hear me? Else I'll put you on report." She looked at the hard prick which her brother had sticking out of his fly.
"But last night, sis!" the young boy whined. "You did it last night! And you didn't squawk when I came and stuck this thing into your, uh, you know." He seemed definitely pained and unsure.
"Into my pussy, silly boy," she answered calmly. "Or into my cunt. That's what you and dear little Terry called it, right? I've told you, I was paralyzed from that darned old drug. Don't you think I'd have thrown you off me if I hadn't been paralyzed? Or yelled my head off? That was a rotten trick. Both of you."
"I don't care," little Terry answered sullenly. "You weren't paralyzed when you gobbled his dick. I saw that, you know. So, if you go telling tales, maybe I could tell a few tales of my own. I say you ought to fuck her, Ron. Throw her down on the bed and give it to her. Don't shit me, sister dear. I felt you; pussy nibbling at my tongue when I sucked you, so don't give me the paralyzed bullshit. Oh, balls!" the little blonde shouted. "What's so big about her, Ronnie? I told you fifty times, I'll suck you off! Or you can fuck me. Anywhere, baby! God damn! I'm so hot!"
She sank on to the bed in Ellen's room, her young face looking very old. "Come on, Ronnie," she whispered. "If she won't help you, I will. Damn you!" she yelled at Ellen, "you cold assed church mouse bitch! Don't you see he needs help? He's just like you, scared to death of Hell and Heaven, scared to be human! Come on, baby. Maybe I haven't got as much hair on it as she has, but you can have it, and that's more than she can say!"
Her words turned Ellen half sick with anger at herself. Here she was, so lucky, still sore from Father Rudy's big cock, still warm inside from his jism, his soft fingers, his sucking, and too much concerned with her own self-image, too much concerned with her deputized authority to handle these kids, to see what they really needed. Because what they wanted, that was what they needed. And all they were doing-well, wasn't it just being human?
She turned to Terry with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Terry," she said brokenly. "I know you're right. But I've got so many bad old ideas left over. From mama and the nuns. You know. Or maybe you don't." She reached out and put her hand over Ronnie's throbbing cock, stroking it gently, trying to remember some of the healing wisdom given her so freely by Father Rudy.
"Come and kiss me, Terry, please," she said. "While I handle Ronnie's pretty little peter. Or maybe," she said, her voice just a bit chokey, "I should say his big, beautiful peter." Of course, it was nowhere nearly as big as the priest's, but after all, she not only couldn't say that, for fear of giving away a secret that affected a man of the cloth; she wouldn't, for fear of hurting Ron's feelings.
She held on the stiff, red tipped cock with one hand, jacking the deliriously soft, thick skin up and down. And, with her other hand, she took little Terry's hand, ever so gently, and drew the reluctant child to her. When the smaller girl's warm, slender body was close enough, Ellen encompassed it with her arm, feeling for the firm but soft little breast, which she squeezed hard, in the way she had learned to like it from the phony priest's sweetly brutal hands. And she pulled the astonished girl to her, mouth open, and kissed her deeply, running her softly muscular tongue into the astonished child's mouth, their lips joining in writhing pleasure.
It gave her an unexpected rise of pleasure, deep in her guts, or rather, of course, in her cunt. But it went deep, far up her, in the warm, ambiotic dark of her girlish womb, which had been so banged today so hard by Father Rudy's cock and by his deep searching finger. Even the way he sucked, it felt like he was going to suck all my things out of me, the girl thought. How nice he was to me! And I have to pass on my blessings.
She became aware that little Terry was squeezing both of her own boobs as if she would wring them from Ellen's chest. There was a hard, bright pain, but it had overtones of delightful sexuality. Ellen was panting, now, and so was Terry. The younger child had gotten up on her knees, which were spread wide apart. There was a pink haze blinding Ellen, and she knew that it was nothing but normal, human passion, sexual need brought to its highest and most wholesome pitch by the cooperation of other humans.
She looked up at Ronnie's intent little face, wondering if he wanted to stick it in her cunt, or if he wanted to fuck her in the head. Forgotten was the idea that she was doing this to him. They were doing it to each other, and, in the sense that she wanted him to decide the manner of their joining, she was deferring to him.
Unconsciously, she had reached between little Terry's thighs as soon as the child had spread her knees apart, and her finger was in the slick, tight little hole which seemed to have no hair around it.
She turned her face again to Ron, and he was eyeing her open mouth, his lips open as spit drooled down his chin. As she made an oval of her lips, sticking her pink tongue out and licking back in, the boy clambered on the bed at once.
He took a moment to open his fly entirely, and to undo his belt, so that his slacks came down around his knees. She changed her grip on his cock, holding the underside of it in her palm, and whispered hoarsely: "Give it to me, baby! LET ME HAVE YOUR JISM! SHOOT YOUR LOAD INTO ME, BABY! MMM, YESSS!"
And then, as the boy's hard cock rammed deep into her throat, and her inner nerve systems became incandescent with fuck heat, she felt some gloriously warm, wet, loving suction on her cunt, where her dress had been pulled up, and knew that little Terry, raised to an intuitive heat that transcended sibling frictions, was sucking her out. She also felt the inner workings, the muscle kiss, inside the flowing cunt of her young sister, and she jammed two fingers as deep up the child's girlish pussy as she could reach, probing the wet hole with gentle strength. It was a ring of priceless love and human pleasure, her mind told her as her orgasm thundered through her fuck system and Ronnie's rich flow of male seed spurted angrily into her spasmodically swallowing throat. There was so much warm pussy juice from her little sister that it ran down her palm, even down her wrist, and the talented small child's hungry little vagina cracked the knuckles of Ellen's probing fingers with a sure, instinctive knowledge of how and where and why to press the spots of deepest, wildest feeling.
When the last drop of Ronnie's pearly flood of cum goo had been licked away, and she had also kissed Terry, to share the richness of their young brother's balls, the older girl lay back on her bed with a deep, contented sigh. The younger children sat and looked at her with mingled feelings.
"I don't get you, at all," Terry said in an odd voice. "You claimed, just a minute or two ago, that you did-uh, well, what you did last night-to help Ronnie. And that you never had done such a thing before, ever, in all your life. And you claim you wouldn't have held still for the fuck if you hadn't been paralyzed."
The little kid got up, shaking her brief skirt down over her reddened and still softly trembling pussy. She shook her head. "You did say all that," Terry said, obviously puzzled. "But now, you do it all and say it all, and nobody's holding you down, and you're not paralyzed. I think you're just a phony."
She paused, looking carefully at Ellen, whose breasts were now thrust out as she sat on the bed, her two arms braced behind her. And Ellen's face was sweet, calm, patient as she answered.
"I don't blame you, either one of you," she said. "I told you, I've been hung up on old ideas. Bad ones. But I found out something just today-that the church has changed. The church wants people to be human. And what we did, what you kids did last night, well, that's just human. And it's no sin to be human. That's what the church says."
Terry eyed her distrustingly. "Yeah? Who says? I haven't been inside a church since you and mama took off, but if they had that kind of changes, I'd have heard of it. Some of my best friends are Catholic, you know. So where do you get that shit?" She rubbed her soft little hand on her belly, and then down, rubbing the good-feeling place where her cunt hid between her thighs.
Ellen sat still, calmly smiling. I can't tell them, she thought. I can't get Father Rudy into trouble. But she put her hand out to her younger sister and said: "Please, Terry. It's new. I got it from someone who says it came from 'a very high source.' To me, that means it probably came from far away. Maybe from Rome. But it's true. And this person told me that words like fuck and cock and cunt aren't really bad. He says, no place in the Bible does it say such words are bad. Not blasphemy, not cursing, not taking God's name in vain. He says they're better, really, than the sissy words like intercourse and vagina and penis. Got more sock, he says."
They were caught in their positions for a few seconds, the older girl with her big, beautiful breasts bare, her young cunt filled with warmth and itchy repletion, the two younger kids dressed. Then the youngest of them spoke again.
"I still think it's some kind of trick," she said sullenly. "It's not natural for a Catholic to have fun without feeling full of sin and guilt. I think she's lying," and, by using the third person, she indicated that she and Ronnie were a team, and that Ellen was the third person that makes a crowd.
But Ronnie, letting his pants stay down, knead his way to his big sister's side and rubbed his sticky organ against the warmth and smoothness of Ellen's breasts. "That's not fair," he said. "If Ellen wants to be friends, I say, let's all be friends. Hey!" he cried. "The three of us can have all sorts of fun, can't we, Ellen? Like Terry can suck me, and I can suck you, and you can suck Terry. Or I can fuck both of you. Terry first, I guess," he said, looking at his little sister. "I fucked you last night," he said placatingly to Ellen. "Fair's fair."
The older girl seized the small blonde and hugged her. "Come on, Terry," she said. "Let's all get naked and play! Then we'll all have a sandwich and some milk and play some more. Oh, how marvelous! It's so nice to be home again!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
In the morning, on Saturday, when she got up to heed the call of nature, Ellen looked down at her younger brother and sister with deep affection and warm understanding. They had chosen to sleep together in their dad's king size bed-"room for all, and we won't have to fight about who gets to hold on to Ronnie's dick," Ellen had said when they decided to hit the sack. Even Terry laughed.
It was a warm night, and the two young ones were partly uncovered. Ronnie's sweet little old peter, Ellen noted with a private smile and warm wave of affection, had had it. The tender little morsel, so sweet between her lips, so hard and manly driving into her sensitive pussy, lay fat but limp on his hairless thigh.
Terry's innocent looking young crotch was open as the child lay on her back. She was so blonde that the small amount of cunt hair on her pubi visible only at close view, or when a bright light caught it exactly right. Ellen licked her lips, once again savoring the randy sweetness of the little girl's clear cunt slime, he softness and warmth of her coral pink inner lips, her clutching little cunt hole.
Sitting on the toilet, hearing the strong, steady noise of her peepee slashing into the water, she murmured: "I think-I just sort of believe, really-that we're closer to being a family than we've ever been before."
Then, as her bladder emptied, and she cut off the flow by contracting her cuntal muscles, she felt the inner warmth of a girl who has been filled with cock, flooded with jism, and licked into a dozen frenzied cums. It reminded her that she could never have initiated this family closeness, this warm togetherness, by herself. So she whispered softly and reverently: "Thank you, Father Rudy!"
The long piss, which felt so good and so relieving, almost as much as a small cum, and with some of its overtones, made her glow inside and out. She touched her open pussy only very lightly with the folded toilet paper, and a shiver of raunchy delight went through her lower body, almost like a warm light had been set aglow in the slickly moving dark of her vagina and womb.
When she went back into the bedroom, she saw with a warm sense of family love that little Terry, apparently in her sleep, was rubbing Ron's hand up and down in her pink little flower of sex, and its bubbly juice was coating her brother's hand.
She got on the bed easily, knelt over Terry, and took a quick kiss at the softly petaled cluster of inner lips, and a suck at the softly formed little hole. Ronnie had had his hard cock in it, and she, Ellen, had crouched with her face almost against the young girl's tender ass to guide the hard peter into where it belonged.
Thinking about that and especially about the hoarse scream of the little blonde sister as Ronnie drove his cock into her, made her shiver with recalled lust, made the saliva gather under her tongue. There had been a little blood, and Terry admitted that she had most, if not all of her virginity. "Because," she had said defensively, "I never screwed anyone with a big enough dick to break it. Just dumb little kids in my own grade. Or even younger. Only one of them could shoot off, . and he shot it all over my belly.
So they laughed and played almost the whole night through, first one way, then another, and no one got cheated, and Ronnie at last had to cry "uncle"! although, as he said, it should have been "sister!" And he had kissed them both, over and over, all over their warm bodies, licking pussy until his cheeks and chin shone with the delicious juices.
Now, sucking at little Terry's tiny, tender, pink little cunt hole, knowing how sweet she must have tasted to that young priest, she again thanked her stars that she had come home, that fate had brought her the healing knowledge that whatever's human can't possibly be sinful.
It was a nice day. They all slept late, and they hugged and kissed and touched a lot. But the girls instinctively left it to Ronnie to get it on, if anything was going to be gotten on. Even in their naivete, they knew that any guy can cum only so much, only so often. But love was there, and a deep interest.
It was almost noon before they finished an enormous breakfast, and around one o'clock when the kids left. Alberta Munson and Marless Jeffers came by to coax Terry out, and they were overjoyed when Ron said: "Maybe I'll noodle along with you chicks. Anybody seen old Chuckie?"
It was comfortable in the silent house, and Ellen once more took off her dress. Just getting naked reminded her again of the wonderful afternoon and evening, the freedom from guilt that was a gift from Father Rudy, as well as the marvels of his lovely cock. As she sat down on the couch, she felt the fat lips of her pussy pop open, where they had been temporarily glued together by the sticky, warm girl juice that kept building up inside her warm vagina. She reached between her round, strong thighs, smiling, and felt in the slickness and sensitivity of her cunt. She thought of the possible damp splotch on the upholstery, then laughed.
"Who's to notice?" she asked aloud. "And who's going to care?" She thought of the kids as she began to get sleepy. She had an idea it might be wise to lock the door, or at least to latch the screen. But then she thought: NOBODY'S GOING TO COME BY. FATHER RUDY'S BUSY AT THE CHURCH, SINCE IT'S SATURDAY, AND THE KIDS HAVE JUST LEFT. IF I KNOW WHAT A GIRL WANTS, THAT ALBERTA MUNSON'S OUT TO GET HER HAND IN RONNIE'S DRAWERS. It made her laugh. Father Rudy had said yesterday, as he left: "I don't know about you, my child, but I'm fucked out!" So she thought about Ron in the same terms. Fucked out. And it made her giggle. How wonderful to be a girl, and not have to get that sweet old peter ready. Even after you'd just had three or four hard, hot cums, a guy could bring you again, just by sticking his finger in your cunt. Or better, by sucking it a little. But she thought of both the kids, following them in their mind as she dozed off.
They were doing just fine, the kids. Having a bit of an argument, but not really a heavy one. Because Terry really had all the logic on her side.
And that slender, tall girl, that Alberta Munson, was so happy to get her body against Ronnie, and did it in so many ways, that he was almost ready to give in, anyhow.
"You're crazy, though, Terry," he declared. "Sure, there's a big change in Ellen, but I think that's just where you and me are concerned. I don't think she'd be so willing to share with anyone outside the family."
They were right in the mouth of a secluded driveway, and huck Gilman, apparently waiting for them there, overheard the last line and asked brightly: "Who ain't willing to share what?"
They all stopped, giggling, and in spite of Ron trying to shut her up, Terry said: "It's Ellen! We were talking about going home and getting something started, you know, playing a little father-and-mother, maybe a little sister-and-sister." She grinned up at the dark, pretty Munson girl, holding her hand on Alberta's firm, round rump. "We've got a new thing, or rather, Ellen has. Completely changed and I mean completely. Shut up, now Ron," she said. "Ellen says it's no sin to do whatever's natural. And-this'll kill you, Chuckie-sucking and fucking are natural. So Alberta and Angel and I want to go home and get to making it like it oughta be made, and old Ronnie's chicken. Says maybe Ellen just meant it was okay where him and I and her-she, I mean-are concerned."
Chuck's eyes brightened. "Man, I haven't seen a bare belly since day before yesterday afternoon." He boldly felt of Terry's out-thrust young titty, deliberately hurting her with his pinch. "Cut out the crap. Mack," he said, turning to Ron. "You want a bunch of school girls calling you chicken? He laughed, and held Terry to him, kissing her cheek. "Four girls, two guys. That ought to make it about even."
"Yay, big shot," Alberta said. "Bam, bam, thank you, ma'am, that's old Jackrabbit Charlie."
Chuck made a jerk-off motion toward her, laughing. "You'll find out, chickie," he said. "With four sweet little cunts around, I can get it up and keep it up. Okay, Mack? We gonna go to your house or not? C'mon, let's get the party going!"
"I keep telling you, all of you," Ronnie insisted as he draggingly went long, "I don't think Ellen's ready for this! A change is fine, but you can't turn the world around."
Little Terry, half saint, half devil, prattled like a child of all they'd done. "Held Ronnie's cock and slipped it into me when I got up on top of him," she said, rolling her eyes up to look at big Chuck Gilman. "And suck? Wow! Everybody sucking everybody! Don't he, Ronnie! You know it's true!"
"Come on, girl! You're killing me!" the dark Alberta said happily. "I dig that girl-eats-girl biz! OOOOHHHH!" and she hugged Terry ecstatically. "I could just down on you right here on this street!" She gave a sideways look toward Chuck, then at Ronnie, walking alone, behind them. "Fellas are nice, too," she said, her face dimpling. "But us Libbers got to do it to each other! Hah!"
For a moment, when they got in the house, Ron breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe everything would be all right. There, on the couch, in plain sight, was his big sister. Bare-ass naked, too, and looking like all the cunts in Citrus County. She had to be awake. He and Terry'd only been gone a matter of minutes. And she was right in there, her pussy showing as her beautiful thighs sagged open, its pink inside goodies shining with her wonderful juice.
He was almost right. She was awake two seconds later. She came awake to see a stranger, a tall young man with big ears and a warm smile bending over her, taking liberties. Taking liberties? If you call pulling at one of her breasts with one hand, and stroking into her shocked and surprised pussy with the other "taking liberties," that's what he was doing. And it shocked her right into somthing she hadn't done since she was a baby-screaming like a fire siren.
She sat up, trying to cover her gorgeous boobs-inadequately, of course-with her forearms.
"Get out of here, you God damn burglar!" she yelled, not having the least effect on the tall boy. Or his broad, confident grin.
She was so swollen with anger that she turned pink all over, and even Terry had to admit to herself that Ellen looked beautiful. And also, that she wasn't kidding.
But Chuck leaned down, got on his knees, and buried his head in the softness of the furious girl's breasts. As she beat at the back of his head, he slowly mouthed one big nipple, sucking so hard that his cheeks went all hollow. At the same time, he gave her body a heave and got his right hand under her thighs. In between the lips of her cunt, by sheer accident, and one of his long fingers went deep into Ellen's quickening flesh as she rocked and struggled.
She looked desparingly at Ronnie, but he was in shock of some sort, and didn't move. She cried: "Terry! Help me!" in a weak voice, but the blonde child, her eyes bright with lust, licked her lips and scratched at her crotch. There was a deep and roaring anger in Ellen at this invasion of her privacy, of her most private parts, but something, possibly the shock of it all, was weakening her.
The big boy, laughing, dropped the titty from his mouth.
"Come on, you jerks," he cried merrily. "Help me! You, Alberta, pull my pants down and get my cock out. I've just GOT to fuck this wild-ass woman!"
Despairingly, Ellen watched the slender brunette with the cat's smile walk toward them, then drop on her knees with her arms around this strange guy, working at his belt buckle, and she shut her eyes as another searing flame of fuck fire ran through her. The boy was sucking her tit again, almost pulling it off her breast. His finger was deep up in the spasming secrecies of her cunt, and she had to shut her eyes against the humiliation, the pain, of being taken.
The two small blondes, looking almost like twins except that Marless had the biggest boobs, clung together, their breath coming fast and hot. With her free hand, the one called "Angel" felt to one side, fumbling for Ronnie's prick, which was getting very hard.
But he moved away, like someone in hypnosis, and knelt behind the tall girl who knelt behind Chuck. He got between her spread calves and felt up between her thighs. He was right! She had no panties on, and her young cunt had a hell of a lot of hair on it. He was aware that his sister was trying to scream, but all she could do was whisper: "RONNIE! PLEASE, RONNIE! OH, HELP ME, BABY! PLEASE! PLEASE HELP MEEEEEEEEEE!!!"
She was flaming inside, ready, however unwillingly, to blow her powerful young load. The finger up her twat seemed as big as Father Rudy's cock, and the boy was sucking her poor titty so hard, so hard! There was a warm, sweet pain in her guts, almost like when she was about to get the cramps. Or like when Father Rudy had gotten his cock part way in for the first time. OH, FATHER, HELP ME, she prayed silently, giddy with a combination of anger and heat and fear. From a corner of her eye, she had had a flash of this boy's cock-had she heard someone call him Chuck, or did she remember him from long ago?-and it had seemed appallingly large. As big as Father Rudy's. It made her throat close, and she hated herself for letting that strange peter affect her, especially in her throat. How horrible! But she could do nothing.
Ronnie seemed to be busy. She could hear him pant. The girl who had gotten Chuck's pants down and his shorts off was trying to jerk his cock as Father Rudy had taught her, Ellen, to do his. The big boy was sucking her breast, and bumping back against the girl to make her stop. Ellen could smell the thick, sweetly appetizing aromas of lust, of unbridled fuck heat. They were swirling up from between her thighs, from the unwashed head of the big boy's cock, from the girl, who was panting and moaning as little Ronnie was fucking into her.
She whispered again, trying to scream but not having the power, "Ronnie! Ronnie, baby! Help me! Help me!" But she knew that he had no intention of doing anything but fucking the tall girl with the sweet young face. When her voice stopped and the strength ran out of her, she let the big boy bear her backward, on the same couch where she and Father Rudy had had their marvelous first fuck.
She made one last hopeless, desperate attempt to defend herself, to protect that cunt which she loved and treasured. She threw herself over with all her strength, but she fell partly off the couch, managing only to get her knees on the floor while her big, hotly throbbing breasts lay on the couch.
"Oh, WOW!" she heard the big boy groan. "Look at that spread of cunt and asshole! Look, Ronnie! Boy, is this a hot one! Look at those cunt lips work in and out! And that pink little old asshole! Man, I don't know which one to try first!"
From somewhere, in an urgency which shook her almost off the couch, Ellen cried: "Oh, please! I forgive you all! I know you're only being human! And it's no sin to be human! You're just doing what you have to do! But please, please, don't hold me down and do it! I know you're sweet, good, fine humans! And fucking's the humanest thing there is! But please let me go!"
She felt as if her cunt were swollen as big as two fat and hairy Polish sausages, with rare, pink beef jucily showing between. That's what Father Rudy had said; it made him hunger for it. Sweet! But not sweet now, to be so open, to have her ass parted by her position, and feel the pressure of some hard object making her asshole feel as it would pop open and let the boy in.
She heard him say: "Where does she get that good shit about it being human to fuck?"
And she heard the treacherous little Terry, in whom she had confided, late last night, say gaily: "Some weird priest that came by here yesterday. She calls him Father Rudy. OHHHH! OH, ANGEL, IT FEELS SO GOOD! SUCK ME, BABY! LET ME GET UNDER YOU! I WANT YOUR SWEET LITTLE OLD CUNT."
The big boy gave a great laugh. "I'll bet four dollars to a kick in the ass it was Rudy Salas," he said in gusty tones. "We saw him coming from this direction yesterday, remember? Shit, he's no priest, he's just a goddamn GI, going to school to be a teacher! Hold still, babe!" he cried as Ellen tried to wrestle him off. "Hold still, or I'll pinch your tit off!"
She was flooded with pain. Not the bruising, sickening pain of having the boy's big hands ripping at her soft breasts. Worse.
When she heard "Rudy Salas," and knew deep in her heart that she had been taken in by a fairy tale, but knew, also, that she was the one who had made up the fairy tale, not Rudy, a pain like an ice-cold knife slashed deep up her vagina, its Arctic chill harder to take than if it had been a blade of steel, cutting her cunt into one long, bleeding slice.
She felt the boy's cock go into her, slickly, forcing against the tightness in her, which had slacked under the terrible force of knowing she had been bed to and fucked. Only, she knew she had made it happen, forced the lie on the dark sweet, long cocked man. It was sickening, it was cold, deep despair, utter helplessness.
She felt the hard pang of emptiness and the pain in her rectum seemed less, but only for a moment.
Then the hard cock rammed into her again, and this time it hurt even more, because more of it went inside her.
The sensitive nerves inside her lower bowel felt exactly as she had occasionally felt after a very large, very hard bowel movement, as if she were going to rip open. Dark waves of pain swept through the lower part of her lovely young body, and she would have screamed except that she had no breath left.
But when she heard Ronnie cry out: "Hey, what the hell goes on? Damn you, Gilman, don't you fuck my sister in the ass!" it gave her one final burst of strength. Pained as she was, sweating from her efforts and from the dreadful, sick pressures in her guts, she flung herself and her tormentor backwards, falling on him as he hit the floor.
She thought she would be free, but the awful pressure still flooded her fundament, and the big boy, his strong arms gripping her, his big hands closed hard on her soft, hurting titties, held her tight. She heard Ronnie angrily yelling: "Leave her alone, God damn you! Let her up! "and felt a brief moment of gratitude. Then, unaccountably, she heard his voice: "Jee-zuss! Look at how her cunt hangs open! God Almighty! I never saw anything like this!"
She had a momentary blackout, the pressure and pain were so intense, and then she came awake, too weak to fight, but with every sense sharpened.
In her ear, Chuck's voice said: "I've got it clear up her ass, Ron! She ought to love this!"
In her mind she thought: "I'll hate it! And I'll hate you, and Ron, and everyone else who's in on this cowardly rape!"
But her traitor body loved it. Somehow, coming up from under the thick, harsh blanket of anal pain, there was a sharpness of sensation that was new to her. It was keener and, somehow, harder and heavier than the delight she had been feeling, this past two days, in her sexual channel, in her labia and clitoris. And, where she had come to feel love for herself and her body in the pangs and leaping fires of honest sex, she now felt shamed and degraded at this invasion of her rectum.
She heard one of the young girls, she wasn't sure which, say: "Her cunt sure looks wild and beautiful, hanging open like that," and the boy under her, with his punishing organ raising havoc with nerves in her cunt as well as in her asshole, gasped: "Fuck her, Ron! Get on top and fuck her!"
She was so shocked and horrified at the thought of such baseness, such despicably bestial uses of human desire that she almost threw up, and then, Mother of Mercy! She felt the weight and warmth of someone on her, felt something hard and hot slide into a cunt almost burning from need.
She dared not open her eyes to look. To have seen the animal joy on Ronnie's face as he thrust into her defenseless body would have killed her, she felt. And worse, he would have seen, in her eyes, the answering burn of animal response.
For she was going crazy with shameful, hateful sex joy. Much as she hated the action, much as she hated her torturers, the feeling of two hard pricks in her two available holes was so firely beautiful, so incredibly, wildly pleasurable, that her entire body sang with the brilliance of her cumming.
She heard Ron gasp: "Man, I'm rubbing something hard inside her cunt!" and the voice beneath her panted: "We're rubbing cocks, man! That's what happens when you make a girl sandwich. When you make a. double cunt!"
She was cumming very hard, a lancing, throbbing burst of fire that spread over all of her lower body, from her thighs up to her navel. It was truly buried in her guts, this fire, this horribly lovely itch that sucked all strength from her. She simply came and came and came, unable to control it, and not really wanting to, which she knew and which she hated. And in her mindless, wicked ecstasy she screamed cumming harder with each stroke of hot cock, deeply buried and throbbing in both cunt and grasping rectum. Her head flew back and forth as she screamed, "E-E-E-e-e-i-i-iiee! OH, OH, OH, CUM, SHIT, OHHH, FUCK ME, FUCK ME HARD, HARDER, OH FUCK FUCK FUCKKKKKK!!!"
There was another violation, a throb of hard cock that nearly sent her out of her mind, and then she felt the guilty, warm, wet shots of jism pouring into her rectum and pumping out to cling in the crack of her ass. While this burst of hot, slick seed held her high on a pinnacle of blinding sensation, she seemed to catch fire as her brother's semen lashed into her cunt. It had been hanging open, she had heard them say. But it felt so tight! So fiendishly, diabolically tight! How could her body enjoy it while her mind and soul and heart were so devastated?
She vaguely heard whoops and cries of laughter, and then, miraculously and happily, she must have passed out, for she knew no more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When she came out of her faint, or trance, or whatever sort of physical or emotion convulsion had saved her from further degradation, she was grateful for the quiet. Had everyone gone? She rolled over from lying on her back, getting to her hands and knees, and shook her head. She felt numb, most places.
She stayed on her hands and knees, her long, tawny brown hair hanging down, her lovely breasts, which felt heavy and sore, hanging from her rib cage.
Somehow, she was able to pull her determination into focus and drag herself upstairs, although every step hurt, since she was a mass of deep, hurting aches in her fundament. There was a lasting glow deep in her bowels, but she would not let herself believe that she had ever felt any pleasure from what she considered her rape. And of course, there were deeper pains.
Rudy, for one. She had needed him so, needed what he had brought her. Now, to find it was counterfeit, that was almost unbearable.
And there was Ronnie, too. All that she had done for him, "sucking him off," as he put it, on Thursday night. What he had done to her as she was w-edged in the door would have to be forgotten. If it could, in fact, ever be forgotten. And what she had freely done for him and Terry, last night. That was a gift of love, and came as much from her encounter with Rudy as from anything within her heart. She knew that. It didn't make her feel any the less made a fool of, or any the less rejected.
She felt as if she had been split open, entered not just with a boy's dong, even if it had been a big one, but forced open by some fatally large object. Her conscience would not permit her to recall any delight she may have felt. That would only have deepened her sense of guilt and shame.
She reached behind her, but could not really reach the aching areas. So she lay on her back in her own bed, easily getting her fingers to her tenderized anus. Unbelievably, it felt the same as it always did, when, for one reason or another, she had to touch it with her naked fingers.
She was so much amazed by this that she got a mirror off the wall and placed it on the floor, crouching over it with her feet wide apart, a position which made her bottom and thighs look twice as large, but which gave her a perfect view of her pelvic floor, all the way from the very top of her ass crack to and beyond the bush of dry, curly hair which puffed out so tantalizingly above her slit. And nothing seemed to be changed.
She stood up and moved her floor lamp so that the light reflected right into her deeply carved valley of privacy and sex and sensuality. She could see every hair. Those around the edges of her thick and hairy outer lips were matted together, no doubt by the drying out of both Chuck's and her brother's cock juice. There was also a dull coating of this same juice, almost completely dried out. Trying to hold herself open with her hands, she got into a couple of partly congealed drops which opened and plastered onto her fingers like thin, warm library paste, and before she thought of what she was doing, she absently licked the thick goo off.
It was warm from having been on her skin, very near to her warmest areas. And it was delicious, a fact which shook her to the foundations of her childishly fearsome soul.
Ughl" she muttered. "How rotten!" But she could not help herself, she got all of it she could, shuddering as she licked it up. But she would not delve into her warm, slick vagina, where she was certain, more of that rich semen lurked.
She continued to look at her puckered little butt hole, touching it, pressing on it, absolutely amazed that there were no sighs of her having been brutalized with such concomitant pain. But in spite of what she saw, it still felt as if she had been badly hurt, as if all her rectum had been pulled out of her. Her cunt, which had received so much attention since Thursday night, continued to throb. In pulling herself open, she had seen that all her inner lips and their surfaces were shining with slick juice. "Probably my own," she admitted with a deep shiver of disgust. "I'm like an animal, a bitch in heat, completely wanton." She remembered the love and pride with which she had sucked that load from young Ronnie's balls last night, how she had loved its power, its warmth, its taste. "No wonder I'm still leaking juice, thinking such impure thoughts," she said sadly.
She looked at her clock and saw that it was nearly six o'clock. Up in Washington, where mama was, it would be almost dark by now. The thought of her mother, of the security of the convent school, brought a wave of homesickness, and she crouched over the mirror in which she had been checking her cuntal area, wracked by sobs. Her hands covered her woeful young face, her arms pressed her warm, full breasts against her. She was almost angry that she could not be free from a warm flood of sensuality from the pressures on her swollen breasts and hard nipples. How on earth had they gotten that way?
And then she remembered looking at her rectum, at her cunt, had brought back the memory of how they had been so brutally pleasured only a couple of hours before.
She got to her feet as well as she could, still feeling stiff and sore in various places. There was an ugly, purple bruise on the tender slope of her right boob, where that boy, Chuck, had exerted his hateful strength, his sadism, in pinching it.
There was a sound from below, and she trembled in fear at what might happen to her now. But it was only Ron and Terry. Only Ron and Terry?" They had been the instigators of the situation which had so completely wrecked her, mentally, emotionally, physically. It was obvious that they had deliberately brought Chuck, brought the other two kids, too, for an orgy of which she was the victim. She felt she was as much in danger from those two younger siblings as she would have been from any invading stranger.
There was no bolt or latch on her bedroom door, but she braced a chair under the doorknob. And was glad of it, when the rush of feet came to her door, and someone turned the knob, Ron's voice calling: "Ellen? Ellen, are you in there?"
When she did not answer, Terry's voice said: "I'm sort of scared, Ron. She's not tough like I am. Maybe that was too much for her."
Her brother's voice, sounding more grown up than she remembered it, said: "It was too much for me. That's a lesson to remember. What should I do? Break down the door?"
"No," came the tense voice of her little sister, "let me try to get in through dad's room."
The older girl fled into the connecting bath and latched the door to her dad's room. She was trembling, and felt as if the blood were draining away from her heart and brain. That meant she would faint, which would gain her nothing, only cause a broken door, which would expose all this tragic mess to her father. So she spoke up.
"I'm in here. Leave me alone. Just get away-and let me be." Her voice was inexpressibly sad.
She heard whispers, a shuffle of feet, and Ronnie said: "We're sorry for what happened, sis. Really sorry." He rattled the knob lightly. "Can't we talk to you? I know we were terrible. Especially me. But Terry feels bad, too."
Ellen forced herself to answer, but her voice was flat and dull. Matching her spirits, really. She had never felt worse. "All right," she said. "You're sorry. It's just so terribly, terribly nice for you to say you were terrible. I deeply appreciate your sincerity, and regret that what I did-or what I had done to me-should cause you two happy, innocent children to be sorry on such a lovely day. Now, will you get the hell away from my door, and leave me alone?"
She heard Ronnie try to speak, and heard him apparently choke on a sob, and then Terry addressed her. "All right, Ellen, maybe we have this coming to us. I guess I got a little sex crazy. I'm not as old as you, and I'll admit that part of this was my fault. You don't know this, and you don't care, but Ronnie's been scared to death about becoming a sexual person. And maybe I've been trying to help him too hard. Just remember, though, you said you were trying to help him, night before last. So you can believe I tried to help him, too. It just didn't seem all that bad, when it was happening. Like I said, I was over heated. I don't blame you for hating us."
Dully, Ellen said: "I don't hate you. I guess I asked for it. All that silly shit about love being enough of an excuse, and how nothing done for love is a sin, and all that crappy, childish stuff."
She heard the younger girl wail: "No! No! That was beautiful! That's why we're so wrong! Please, Ellen! Ronnie attacked Chuck, out in the street, and like to've gotten beat-to death! But he whipped Chuck! Honest!"
She started to remove the chair, but heard Ron's voice say: "What's the use? Come on, kiddo. We've got to find something to eat."
There was a rustle of feet and possibly clothes, perhaps the sound of a kiss, and her brother sighed: "I feel like homemade shit. But I'll swear, I think sex is all right if you don't hurt anybody!"
Ellen had gotten the chair loose and the door open. In the strong afternoon light that came in from the window at the end of the hall, she saw the two kids as they went downstairs. Terry hadn't lied. Ronnie had two black eyes, there were broad streaks of blood on his shirt, and some, which he had missed, had dried under his ear.
She would have charged out to hug them, but her knees trembled so from her reactions that she knew she would have fallen. With a sick heart, she turned back to her bed, feeling the soreness of her cunt with her fingers, hating herself for the response of her fuck nerves. In bed, she remembered that the door from the bath into her dad's room was latched on her side. But, after all, he wouldn't be home until tomorrow night at the earliest. And, maybe, not until Monday. But she was glad to think of him, having fun. She hoped he was having fun. In this world, she now realized, you couldn't be sure.
But her dad was really trying.
"You oughta lay off that tequila until you've had something to eat," cautioned Bert Oliver his blue eyes squinting down a sharp nose. "You don't want to fall on your face just when we get to Lah-oora's place, do you? Miss all that hot Meskin tail? Come on, Bob, gimme the bottle!"
The tall, solid man grinned and took another swig from his bottle. "Show you how I fuck ol' Lah-oora," he said thickly. "This's her place, ain't it?" He stopped before a small adobe house on the poorly lighted street and beat on the door. "Open up, baby!" he cried. "Open up! "S'yer ol' friend, Big Dick Bob! Want some o' your pussy!"
There was a stir in the house, and a light went on. A voice spoke clearly, in barely accented English. "Get outta here, you goddamn borracho! I've got a thirty-eight in my hand. Want me to blast you?"
It was all they could do to get Bob away. He went, struggling and cursing. "God damn whore don't wanna fuck me!" he slobbered. "Kill the bitch, 'f I get m'hands on her dirty neck."
They hurried along toward the waterfront, passing two Mexican cops, who looked at them without amusement.
"We can't fuck around here, he'll get us in the can," Virgil Bishop said. "Ace, you're his best friend. Can you shut him up? I want to eat. And to have a little fun." He grinned. "I like Lah-oora's little sister. Will you handle him?"
The lanky man grinned. "No sweat. We've got sandwiches and beer on the boat, and I get all the pussy I need at home."
When the others came back, around nine, they found Bob Mack in his bunk and Ace Shulman dozing in a chair. They shook him awake, giving him a drink from a bottle of Scotch, and Bert said: "We've got plenty of fish. And I've had all the fishing and drinking I want. And screwing," he laughed. "We ran into the captain in town. He says he can get another charter for Sunday and Monday, and hell give us back forty bucks each. And poor old Bob's not having any fun," he said, touching the recumbent drunk with crude affection. "What do you think of that, Ace?"
The tall man yawned. "Fine," he said. "We got like what, seventy nice big albies and a few other fish. And t'tell you the truth, I think Bob oughta get home. His oldest kid just came down from Washington to live with him. Her ma sort of left her on her own. I know he had the kid on his mind."
"Got that damn wife of his on his mind, too. Can't understand it, why he can't get over her.
You'd think he'd get himself another woman, guy that likes poon-tang like he does."
There was the sound of movement outside the cabin, and Ace said: "Reckon that's the captain. Far's I'm concerned, we can go!" He yawned again. "What time'll we tie up? Twelve-thirty? Think I'll sleep some more. I got tired hauling in those albies." He thought about Bob, and about his messed up life and his seventeen year old daughter. Tough shit! Well, maybe the kid would help Bob make it.
"The kid," as Ace thought of her, needed help as much as her dad, maybe more. Her young, tender, raw-nerved cunt, healthily hungry for meat in spite of the enervating, sickening body punches that she was getting from her mind, kept the girl from going to sleep.
She had heard Terry and Ron come in and go to their rooms. But she had an idea that, as soon as their doors were shut, they had gotten together. She had gathered that Ronnie had been, technically at least, a virgin when she had tried to help him by taking his hard, warm, sweetly flavored dickie in her mouth. He had been, like herself, frightened to death of sex, and I, she thought sadly, am just like him in one thing-that it fills my mind all the time. We both got off that torture-hook, but me, I went back on.
After quiet had settled, and hunger made her less afraid, Ellen went down into the kitchen. There, to her surprise, she found a bucket of fried chicken, still warm, and a note: "DAD LEFT US MONEY FOR A TREAT, AND HERE'S YOUR SHARE."
The thoughtfulness made her weep slow, silent tears, but she was too hungry and too healthy not to eat. In fact, she stuffed herself, and went up to bed feeling somewhat better. Except that the insistent itch in her cunt brought back the memories of all that had happened to her since she had come home.
Vainly, she tried to control the urge to relieve herself, but at last, rationalizing that her inner membranes were inflamed and needed medication, she got some vaseline from the bathroom. This would allay the itch, she told herself seriously, and that was all, absolutely all, that she wanted to do.
Nevertheless, she pulled her nightie up over her breasts, turned on all the lights, and lay back on three pillows with her open cunt toward the mirror on her dresser. So I can see where I'm putting the vaseline, she said to herself. But she was breathing hard when she began to apply the unguent around her clit, holding the thick overhang of soft, -haired flesh apart with the other hand.
When she had it well greased, she would stop, she decreed mentally. The itch would be gone. She could fall asleep. This had been a long exhausting forty-eight hours. But OOOOHHHH! How good it felt to rub the vaseline in, so tenderly, so carefully.
"Baby, baby!" she moaned softly. "Stop it, now, baby! Don't cum! That's what they call it, sweet little pussy! Cumming! OOOOOHHHH! It feels sooooo goooooddd!"
She felt the rising tide of an orgasm beginning in her, and remembered her promise to herself to stop. But it was impossible, and she knew it. Once she had gotten the vaseline bottle down from the medicine cabinet, she was lost. Even if she called it names, even if she willed herself not to like it, but to hate it, and to hate her terrible, naughty, dirty, nastily dripping old cunt, she couldn't stop frigging herself in the tender, red-veined swell of inner lips, and around the coral pink slickness around her clit.
What she did, actually, was to delay her final throes too long, so that, when the itch gathered into a ball of hard desire, when it seemed to glow inside her twat like a white-hot ball of uncontrollable sensation, she shot her wad and it was like an atomic explosion.
Rolling inside of her, then seeming to flow out around her busy, greasy fingers. Throbbing in her overly excited little love bud, sweeping and swirling like red fire in the dark of her vagina, warming her girlish but mature womb with liquid fire. In her wildness, she jabbed her longest finger deep into her asshole, and proved it was premeditated by twisting the finger, trying to explore all those spots where Chuck's dick had seemed to glow like fireworks inside her.
She was panting and covered with sweat when her nerveless fingers were slowly squeezed out of her churning cunt by the swelling and pressing of muscles. Her cunt immediately went slack, as soon as the solid fingers were pushed out.
The glow in her belly continued, but it was now a comforting warmth instead of an insistent itch. She raised her back and pulled her nightie down. She sleepily licked her fingers, grinning, wondering if she could ever confess such a weird little triviality to old Father Geoghan. And then she went to sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
Ellen's sleep was restless. Somewhere, in the dark of her tired young mind, she knew she had forgotten something.
It was the return of those wild young kids that awakened her. Their feet on the stairs, in the hall, brought her wide awake, in a convulsion of fear. The fear of being held down and fucked, of being raped, violated, abused.
She knew that, if Ronnie-egged on, of course, by Terry-really decided to plug her cunt, the braced chair under her bedroom doorknob would not give any real protection. But she remembered something from a long time ago. The master bedroom, where daddy slept, could be latched. There was a way it could be opened, because she had seen mama open it once when Terry, very young, had latched herself in. So, the girl did the only thing she knew that would make her safe.
Taking her own pillow, she went into dad's room-which once had been mama's, as well-and latched the door into the hall. She also latched the bedroom door that led into her bedroom. Now, short of breaking down the doors, which she did not believe they would do, her two tormentors could not get to her.
It gave her an odd feeling, a dip in her emotions, as if, perish the thought, she hadn't really wanted to be all that safe. But she crawled under the covers, relishing the size and comfort of the big bed, and was soon asleep.
She was awakened much later by the ringing chime of their front door bell. In the stillness of midnight, it sounded like the last trumpet, and Ellen scrambled out of bed, every nerve tingling. She was out of bed and down the stairs in such a rush that she felt as if her body were still asleep, and her heart was beating like a bongo drum inside her chest as she approached the door. The fierce glow in her crotch had returned, and she was panting as if any sort of fear immediately centered in her vagina.
But she relaxed when she recognized the two men. Her dad and his best friend, Ace Shulman. Hanging together. At least, her dad was hanging onto Ace.
"I'm sorry, Ellen," the tall man said. "You are Ellen aren't you? Been so long since I saw you last, but Bob told me-well, you know. We've got to get him to bed." He grinned a wry .grin and said: "Too much Mexican booze, I'm afraid. But he'll have all day tomorrow, and Monday, to get in shape."
Under her modest nightgown, Ellen's young body glowed in spite of her efforts not to think about it. Helping Mister Shulman get dad upstairs, she knew that her boobs showed in the gown's scoop neck, and she knew that Mister Shulman was looking. And straining to help hold her almost inert father seemed to strain her thighs most of all, and that meant that her pussy seemed to sort of stick out, all fat and gross and drippy.
She was so aware of her body that, after they had gotten dad on his bed, she refused Ace's offer to undress him.
"You've been to enough trouble," she told the man, smiling, holding one arm protectively in front of her swelling breasts. "We can take it from here."
After Ace left, Ellen sat down on the bed and looked at her dad. He seemed so helpless. Like a baby, really. And her heart went out to him in his drunken helplessness.
It was very difficult getting him undressed. She had pulled down the covers, and now, coaxing him out of his stupor, she got him to raise his body here, to roll there, until she had all his clothes off except his boxer shorts. She was very much excited, but preferred to think that her hard breathing came from exertion rather than a sick rebuilding of the fires of curious lust in her body.
What provoked her senses most was the rankness, the hard male smell that came up from his warm, sweated body. It was like what had aroused her with Ronnie and then with the fake priest. Only this was far stronger, the result of two days on a cramped boat and three days without a bath. And, in her innocence, she could not believe that such a disgusting factor as the smell of a man's balls could possibly have any effect on a woman. Unless it were disgust.
But she had to lick her lips as she fought with herself about removing his underpants.
What finally decided her was simple. The feel of a warm, comfortable bed, of smooth sheets, of the scent of a girl's cologne and of her body aroused Bob Mack's sexuality without awakening his mind. Under the girl's fascinated, frightened eyes, the man's big cock began to swell, straining at his shorts. And he began to moan, wordlessly at first, until Ellen became afraid he was ill.
She knew she would have to stay with him, in case he really was sick, but she took some precautions.
First, she went down the hall and checked the two younger kids. They were sound asleep, apparently. Together, in Ronnie's bed.
The boy was on his back, legs spread wide. Terry lay on her side, her blonde head on her brother's shoulder, her sweetly rounded young butt uncovered. Her soft-lipped little pussy stuck out behind and between her thighs, and her soft hand was gently holding her brother's cock. In the light of the bed lamp, Ellen could see drying drops of opaque cock juice along the closed lips of her baby sister's pussy. If she had looked more closely, she would have seen some at the corners of the little girl's mouth, and a few streaks on her throat. Ronnie's balls had recovered and filled up.
When she went back to her dad's room, it never occurred to her that she might be safer in her own bed. That wasn't the way a responsible young adult acted, Ellen assured herself. Daddy had been moaning. Maybe he was sick from some of that Mexican stuff. She remembered that mama had always disapproved of everything Mexican.
So, with her heart beating like a trip hammer, the girl went into the big bedroom, put on the latch, and looked at her dad. His cock was out of his shorts, fully erect, and the sight of it shook Ellen with a sick horror. For daddy was up on one elbow, his eyes glassy but aware, and he was shaking that horrid big thing at her.
"Well, Lah-oora, you goddamn whore," he said in great good humor, "issa bout time! Keepin' me outta your bed. Refusin' to fuck me! Get on over here, baby, and give ol' Bob a little suck-off!"
The child came over to the side of her father's bed, her voice soothing. "Now, come on, daddy, lie down. I'll get you something to make you sleep. You're home now, and you're okay." Her breath was coming faster, and her hands ached to handle that huge, hard peter. So like Father Sal's. FATHER Salas! That made her sick, too. She was on the point of collapse, when her dad's hard, strong hand came out and caught her arm. He pulled her on to the bed so hard that she fell across him, her chaste flannelette nightie flying up. Showing her bottom, she was afraid.
"Please, dad!" she gasped. "I'm Ellen. Not that other lady! Honest, dad! Let me up!" She struggled, only to feel her nightie raised by her dad's hand.
"Been gettin' whiter," the voice above her said. "Well, you always were pretty light, Lah-oora. Stop fightin' me, baby! I'll bat your damn ears off!"
Above her, the pinned down girl felt movement, then a hard, sharp pain as her dad's hand struck her bare bottom. Involuntarily, she yelped: "Please! Don't hit me, daddy!" And then the hand came down again, very hard, stinging and hurting, so that she tensed with anger and fear trying to escape. Tears rolled down her face, and the humiliation of having her bare bottom showing, even if it was only to her dad, plus the pain of his blows, made her feel helpless and lost.
"Don't need t'call me daddy, you Mes'kin whore," the drunken man brayed. "Whoo-wee, baby, you're lay in' across my prick. Lessee if we can find a place for it!"
The girl felt the brutal exploration of her dad's big hand, prying into the greased but still sensitive lips of her cunt, and suddenly kicked and squalled, fighting to get those terrible probing fingers out of her hurtingly awakened vulva ... To her horror, her dad's fingers went in deeper, their force paralyzing her, or seeming to. For she stopped struggling and began crying.
But when she did that, the beating began again, until her ass hurt so that she thought she would faint. He was hitting her so hard that each blow made a blaze of red in her mind. Worse, his hands were so big that his fingers were hitting into her crack, punishing the already tortured flesh of her young cunt. And his words were dreadful.
"Gonna fuck you, goddamn you! Gonna fuck the shit outta you! God damn wife left me, made me like a cut dog. No Meskin whore's gonna turn me down. You gonna fuck me, suck me, do anything I say. Hear me?" And in his cadenced harangue, he kept beating Ellen until it felt that her tender butt would swell and explode from pain.
It was the saddest and most painful moment of her life, but the saddest thing was that her dad was crying. She could hear him sob, hear his gulps of sorrow as he beat her ass. And talked.
"Women hate me!" he moaned. "Just 'cause my wife left me! Made a eunuch outta me! Now I can't even get a Mis'kin whore to fuck me!"
Even in her own misery and despair and shame, Ellen suddenly saw that her father's hurt was deeper. But, and she had some distorted pride in him for this, his big cock, pressed against her side, was still large and hard. In its raunchy odor which made her crawl inside, there was the same invincible maleness which had made Ronnie seem so sweet and vulnerable, and which had made Rudy Salas seem so irresistible. But she could stand no more. If he thought she was Lah-oora, whoever she might be, Ellen's only hope, she felt, was to act as Lah-oora would act. It was a matter of self-preservation.
Instinct made her grab for her father's prick as she pushed herself up, and she held it firmly, jacking it up and down, as she raised and threw herself on him.
He was sitting up, holding her across his knees, and her solid young body had helped him stay erect. Now, as she arose and her weight leaned on him, he fell back. But now, instead of crying, he was in the throes of drunken laughter, and her hold on his cock made him happy and playful.
Blindly, but with great strength, he grabbed at her crotch, pulling her up and off him, over on her belly. The action broke her hold on his dick, and she landed on elbows and knees, her spread asscheeks open to the air, her swollen pussy popped open.
"Beautiful little pie," he chortled, rubbing his face into her wet cunt, giving her a deep premonitory shiver of heat. "Such a sweet little pie! Ummmmm, ummmmmmm! Smackie, smackie!" And he suddenly buried his mouth in her vulva, sucking as hard as he could.
She tried to fight away, but his big arm was around her thighs, snugged up against her belly, and her moans went into the covers.
"'M gonna eat your pie," he mumbled, rooting into her tender flesh, and his tongue, slurping around her aroused clit, gave her a leap of forbidden pleasure. But he was her dad, and he was in some horrible, deep pain of his own. She would not fight him. It was evident, even to her partial innocence, that he wanted to suck her out. "Eat your pie," meant, obviously, "suck your cunt." Her cunt was her pie, and he wanted it. Very well, she thought. For you, Daddy, all right. And, as she gave way in this inner emotional struggle, something slipped in the conflict between nature and dogma. From hating it, she suddenly loved it.
Not as a big sexual adventure. But as something gentler, more loving because she was giving. "SUCK ME, FATHER," she whispered, waggling her softly muscled tail in his face, feeling the power of his tongue in her cunt and its writhing nerves. "COME ON, DADDY, SUCK MY DIRTY, SMELLY, SLOPPY OLD CUNT!"
He laughed like a delighted infant. "Don't call me daddy," he mumbled, his mouth too full of cunt lips and hair to make sense. "UMMMM! Baby! You sure keep your little pie warm and juicy! MMMMMMMMMM! 'S better'n it ever was! WOW!" And he plunged into her, his-lips and tongue working in the nerve-glow of a twat kept hot for two full days.
He had his entire face pressed into her broad cuntal area, his nose touching her asshole, his chin against the tenderest part of her cunt, the clinging flesh where her clit lay trembling. It was more than she could stand. She had fallen so that her hands were crossed and her breasts, hanging down in their warm weight, were practically in her palms.
As her secret inner places expanded and exploded in wild orgasm, her hands curved around her straining boobs, and she added to the fire in her guts by squeezing her breasts harder than Chuck Gilman had, even his wildest and most cruel fun.
"Jee-zuss!" she heard her father exclaim. "Where'd you go? Oh, down there! Goddamn, baby, you came for old-what'd I say my name was? Old daddy? No-told you not t'call me daddy! Lah-oora, Lah-oora! You're best goddamn whore in Mey-hee-co!" He grabbed his daughter, now weak from her orgasm, and turned her over. "Gonna eat more pie," he said, his eyes glazed with lust, his face shining with her slick, sticky cunt ooze. "Gonna suck you out, clear to your next period, 'an' then'm gonna fuck you blind!"
Docilely, because she knew there was no escape, and because some hard inner core of love for her distressed father had begun to burn inside her, she rolled on her back and lifted her knees back to her breasts, making a wide expanse of butt, thighs, cunt lips, anus, everything. And she was looking with tear-filled eyes between her blood-swelled breasts, down her belly to the puff of golden brown hair on her pussy. And her father was leaning in to it, his big, muscular tongue extended as he lapped into her flowing lips, her convulsing hole, sending a shock of pleasure and excitement through her, lighting up all her body with its heat.
"Eat my little pie, daddy," she said softly, tears in her voice, love in her heart. "Suck me good, daddy!"
And then, as he shook his head, his face flying wetly back and forth across her maddened, pleasured cunt, she remembered two things. First, that she was Lah-oora, a "Mes'kin whore," and second, that he didn't want her calling him daddy.
So instead, pressing his head into her, she said: "Eat my pie, Bob. Dear Bob! Suck me out, baby! Suck old Lah-oora out real good!"
This assumption of a new life, different personality, made her as wild as a Mexican prostitute might have been, and she let the thundering orgasm fly through her, now in joy rather than hate. And the very raunchiness of being gone down on by father, a type of sex she had enjoyed so deeply yesterday morning and last night, made the experience more beautiful than ever before.
But something was lacking. She held his ears and said: "Hey, Bob! I love the way you're eating my little pie. But what about that great big cock of yours? Don't you want old Lah-oora to suck it? Don't you want to squirt your juice in my mouth?" She had a flash of inspiration. "Remember how good I suck? You said your wife quit sucking you, remember?" Tears were streaming down her face, but not in shame. Rather, in sympathy and love.
She thought for a second she had gone too far. Her dad, his face contorted, rose on his knees. "Me'n my wife's affairs're our own business," he said. "Only when she got mean about me fuckin' her with a rubber, that's when she wouldn't suck me." His face cleared instantly, though, and he smiled.
"Betcha life you can suck me, baby," he said, and turned his big, solid body so that his enormous cock was over his daughter's open mouth. She could see several smudges of fluid, and a large, clear drop hanging from the slitted eye of his glans. Instinctively, she put her hand on it to skin it back, and once more she smelled that gagging, cloying richness of unwashed male sex organ, that harshly beautiful, wildly aphrodisiac aroma of skinned cock.
He was swaying on his elbows and knees like a tethered elephant, his face so close to her cuntal spread that she felt his breath blowing hot on her exposed labia, where heat had peeled her outer lips back, leaving her softest, slickest flesh open to his mouth.
It seemed beautiful and filial to hold his huge balls in one hand, to open her mouth to a scarlet "O" wet by her saliva, and, with her other tender hand, to guide the big, plum-shaped heat into her mouth. It was beautiful to feel its velvet touch on lips and tongue, to marvel at its size, and to taste its acrid, saline richness. Her tongue carefully sought the one clear drop of pre-seminal fluid, and she licked it up as though it were isolated in her mouth, the only drop of liquid anywhere.
She said, as loud as she could: "MMMMMMMMMMIMMMMMMMMMM!" And knew that the vibrations made her daddy happy. His lunge certainly made her happy, for it sent his big cock deep into her throat, deeper than any of the others had gone.
She felt the wet heat, the muscular power of his lips as he sucked her hole, and it was so beautiful that she almost fainted. Whatever wrong she might now be doing, she could not care. It was a service of love, for a father who had been terribly hurt by sex. Just as she had. If she could put any healing salve on those wounds, no matter that she had to use her cunt fluids as a medication, she felt she was justified. If she were wrong? God, you can burn me in hell, she said, sucking hard on her dad's prick, but my father needs me worse than I need a hope of heaven!
She let her self cum without stint, sensing that it would please the man who was "eating her little pie," as he delighted in calling it. She yelled wildly around his heavy cock, the vibrations making his cock swell and throb as she bobbed her head up and down.
Her body was undulating, her ass thrown up at her dad's face with all the excitement and force of her healthy young loins. She was driving her cunt up at him, and it made her think how sweet it would be if only his cock was down there, stuck in her happily writhing cunt, instead of her mouth. And yet her mouth loved it, too. The thought made her squeeze his balls and made her tongue tug at the skin over his cockhead, and something triggered him.
Something in the satisfactory response of her body, proof of his virility and excellence in the art of cunt-sucking and tongue-fucking. Something in the way her tongue delved between his foreskin and the twitching head of his pecker. And perhaps something more, some unseen, undefinable exchange of spiritual love.
Whatever it was, just as her orgasmic fire was dying in her cunt, his big cock swelled to frightening size in her mouth. But in just two days she had learned what that meant, and she put her arms over his rump, making sure she would keep his cock in her mouth no matter how hard it exploded its load of jism. She felt the first throb, the first powerful jet stinging her tonsils, and then she pulled herself up, her lips against his pubic hair, all of that big, warm, living organ down her throat, expanding and shooting, expanding and shooting.
There was so much of it that it came back from her throat, down into her mouth, and she was grateful for its richness, its thick delight. This same jism had shot from this same prick into her mama's vagina, many a time. It had made her, and Ronnie, and little Terry. What did mom have to kick about if, on occasion, he bottled some of this flow in a contraceptive wrapper? What nonsense! She knew from a stupid class study that the spermatazoa in one ejaculation contained enough effective life to impregnate every woman in China. Why hurt someone as dear and sweet as her daddy for tossing some of his uncountable potential sons and daughters down the toilet?
And all the while she was thinking this healing thought, another part of her mind was glorying in the wholesome richness of his load, her taste buds counting their blessings as this thick, slimy protein treat swirled in her mouth, over and under her tongue. And the vast throbs of his cock, the physical contact, matched the throbs in her cunt as the last echoes of her violently beautiful cum ran out.
She felt drained but happy. It was done and nothing could undo it. She had had no choice, in a way. He was beating her so hard. But she knew that, even without the pain of being beaten, she would have sensed the deep need for love and acceptance in her father, and she would have felt compelled to aid him, to soothe the deadly pain of his rejection by her mother.
She still had his big peter in her mouth, mouthing it gently, allowing herself to enjoy to the full this feast of the life-giving seed and the warm, silken smoothness of his morsel of living flesh. She was never sure how the next episode began, but it was probably because he began to cry again, so that big, warm tears fell on the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, and his hard blown breath stirred the raw nerves in her opened cunt.
It was so touching that she began to kiss along the inner part of his thighs, aroused by the harsh, male acridity of sweat and not having bathed. When she came to his balls, hanging so loosely because of his vast cum, she opened her mouth and sucked one in. It was her daddy's, almost a part of herself, in a way, since he seemed so near and dear to her. That thought made it seem right and good for her to be giving the big male egg a tongue bath in its wrinkled and hairy sac. So, when she finished washing the one, it was only natural that she do a similar office for the other. She was so close to her daddy, some way, that she believed she could feel the pulsing of his heart in the veins of his scrotum.
But he continued with his sobs, and she stroked his back, as much of it as she could reach, and said: "What is it, daddy? I mean, what is it, Bob? What do you want your very own Lah-oora to do? Want me to suck you some more?" She held his big cock and gave it a playful little shake. "He's so big and pretty, I'd love to."
"OHHHHH!" the man wailed, his head between her lovely thighs. "I WANNA FUCK YOU! I WANNA FUCK YOU REAL HARD! But maybe-I'm afraid-I don't think I can get it up again. OHHH, DAMN THAT GRETCHEN! To rob a man of his life! To make him ashamed of his cock!"
The child's heart pained her. She knew, though, what had to be done. At least, she could be grateful to Rudy for that. "Kiss a guy with your tongue, get him to put his fingers in your cunt, so he can tell you want him. Jerk his cock soft and easy, and moan all the while. A guy's ego is connected You can cool off anyone but a maniac by showing disgust, but you can help a man be a man by showing him you like sex. His sex. His cock. And every man can do it oftener, and better, and longer than he thinks." That was Rudy. She had a brief warmth of gratitude for knowing him. Then she pulled at her father's arm.
"Lie down," she whispered. "Bob, Lah-oora can help you. Lah-oora loves you. Yes I do! I do, Bob! I love the way you fuck! Come on, Bob, get up here and kiss me! Oh, Bob, I want you so bad!"
She had thrown herself into the part so wholeheartedly that she had become Lah-oora, a ravening, cock hungry prostitute, and she humped her body eagerly as her father clumsily moved his big body around, lying partly on her. His eyes were still hazy with the booze, but at least he wasn't crying any more.
"'At's my friendly whore," he said thickly. "You sure suck a lot better'n you used to, baby! Hey, d'you really mean it, that you love my prick? That you really wanna fuck me? Wow!" And he made a few fucking motions of his body. "Maybe I can get it up again."
She took one of his hands and rubbed it up and down in the wetness of her snatch, where her body fluids had poured out of her throbbing vagina to mix with his plentiful saliva. At the same time, with her other hand, she jacked the loose skin tenderly back and forth on his cock. "Such a lovely peter," she whispered, her mouth aching for its sweetness. "Oh, Bob, it was so lovely to have it in my mouth again! To feel it shooting your jism into my throat!" The wantonness of her talk, the feel of his hand touching her hottest parts, the warmth of his prick, all combined to make her as much like the imagined Lah-oora as she could ever get. "I do love your big old fat peter, Bob," she whispered in his ear. "Does it feel nice when I stroke it like this? Oh, it feels to me like it's getting bigger! Pretty soon you can stick it into me! Oh, Bob! Darling daddy! I mean darling Bob! It's THROBBING! IT'S GETTING HARD! OH, KISS ME, DARLING! KISS ME!"
Dimly, far back in her id, in the animal part of her psyche that recognized no right or wrong, she felt a wild, hot burst of self approval. This is how you would have been if you hadn't gotten fucked up by your Mother and your church, he said to her. This is how you were meant to be! All animal, loving and fucking.
Her dad's big mouth came down on hers, and for a moment, the rank, sour stink of a belly full of tequila almost made her gag. But this was the man she loved too much for her to care about such trivia, and she sucked his big tongue eagerly, feeling her own heat rise to the bursting point as she worked her active, squirming pussy against his fingers. His weight was smashing one of her breasts, and it was an excruciatingly sensual feeling, registering its white fire in the dark sloppiness around her girlish womb.
Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! She let this thought race through her mind. Joined by the sweated pressure of body on body, by the warm slickness of tongue on tongue, the feel of his finger deep in her vagina, the warmth and willingness of her hand on his cock-he had to rise to new heights of desire. She was groaning and twisting, grateful that she had not had to wait, she was cumming on his finger. Cumming and cumming, her wild screams of passion muffled by her mouthful of his hotly probing tongue. His finger, too, knew its job, and it seemed very large, and was going very deep. And even better-his cock stirred, throbbed, leaped in her hand, and her dad pulled his mouth from hers, his face set as if he were concentrating on something far away. Then his smile broke like a rising sun.
"We did it, baby! You did it! God! I can still cum twice in a night! Oh, damn it all, it's so wonderful!"
He fucked into her again with his finger, laughing, his big body rising and falling. "Oh, baby, are you ever gonna get fucked!"
The girl was so aroused, so deep into her characterization of the imagined whore, that she clung to the man fiercely, pumping her ass up and down. "Yeah, Bob! Yessss! Oh, how you're gonna fuck me, baby! Roll over, let me suck him a little! Get some spit on him so he'll go in me! Oh, Bob, please fuck me good!"
She had one frantic moment of terrible fear as he crouched between her firm thighs, his big cock, now purple and hard, right at the tender entrance to her cunt. She knew that this was the moment of truth for both of them. If he hurt her, if she screamed, he might be hurt again, might feel rejected. But she put her mouth up for him to ram his tongue into it, and took hold of his cock, rubbing it up and down in the delightful slime from her twat, getting it smeared with her cunt's own lubricant. It did not occur to her that she had not been taught this practical maneuver, that her feminine instincts had taken over.
But she was glad for it, for the terrible slam of his big tool into the red-veined, rasped membrane, the tired, bruised muscles under them, gave her a shock of pain as bad as the brutal assault on her virgin rectum earlier today. He was so big, so hard!
She felt his body stop, as though he would withdraw in shame, and she cried: "No! No! Fuck me, baby! It feels so big! So good! I love it!" She lurched up at him, feeling her squeaky tight hole let him in, just an inch, and then she had her strong legs around his body, her heels digging into his rump and her cunt pointed up at his mighty dick, and she was fucking him so hard he had to keep on, fucking into her with all his power. And with all the power of her body coming to meet him, and of her strong young legs, pulling him into her.
She could feel him squeeze in, a half inch with each plunge, and the tremendous stretch of her tight little cunt was so marvelous that she didn't care a bit about the pain. The pain is the best part, she said to herself, sweat streaming down her, some of it dripping from her dad's body, some from hers. The pounding of his hard organ into her young pussy, still aroused and still aching from the might two days of sex, was like a happy dream of achieved freedom, of love regained, of sensuality pardoned and utterly absolved. All this fucking, all this love, and Heaven, too!
She came again as he slammed into her as deep as he could go, and he stopped kissing her to pant: "You must've gotten your pussy overhauled Lah-oora! You're tighter'n your baby sister! Wow! You're wearing the skin off my dick! Whoo-eeee!" And then, burying his face in the warmth of her neck, he whispered: "Love me, Gretchen, baby! Love me and fuck me!" and the girl's tender heart almost broke with love and sympathy.
She had wondered, when their kissing and playing had brought his cock back so soon, how long would it take him to get off again. He was driving into her womb, glancing off it, and going on to the ultimate closure of her vagina. She knew, just from simple self-exploration of her pussy, that it went into her at a forty-five degree angle. She was a well built, sturdy girl, but her dad's cock was long as well as thick. Her cunt had a closed end, it had to be close to that limit, with him getting most of it into her. She was wondering where his cockhead would ultimately touch, and suddenly, like a hard, deep bowel pain, she knew!
He was into her all the way, she could feel his pubic mound grind against hers. And his long, hard organ was jamming against her lower bowel, still tenderized almost unbearably by the base and the shameful rape of her asshole by that boy, Chuck.
It released the trigger inside her with the hardest and fiercest orgasm of all. But it made her warm, soft, clinging cunt flesh bind and suck at the big peter in a serial convulsion of lust as she fucked up at him like a monkey on a stick. The soft, sweet friction on her tenderest flesh, on her most excited nerves, gave her joy beyond belief. And the rapid-fire up-and-down action on Bob Mack's cock, swollen with blood and twitching with savagely hungry cum nerves as her tight cunt pushed the skin back and brought it down as she hit the mattress was the final warmth that brought him surging into a long, jetting, throbbing cum.
"Goddamn you, Gretchen!" he screamed. "THIS WHORE'S BETTER'N YOU! AND SHE LOVES IT! LOVES IT! FUCK HARD, BABY! OHHHHH! OH, SHIT! I'M C CCUUUUMMMMMMMMIIIINNNNGGGGGGG!"
The girl, as wild with cum-madness as her parent, her tender insides awash with liquid fire as her orgasm blasted away in her clitoris, up her vagina, all through her, even in her rectum as Bob Mack's cock juice slathered her, pumped her body like an untiring machine, grunting like a pig in heat as she fucked and was fucked.
"UUUUUUNNNNNNHHHHHH!!! UUUUUUNNNNNNHHHHHH! FUCK FUCK FUCK! STICK IT IN ME DADDY! KILL ME! OH, DADDY! IT'S SOOOO GOOOODDDD! OHHHH! I'M CUMMING, TOO! SHOOT IT IN ME, DADDY! OH, GIVE ME YOUR JUICE! OOOOHHHHHHHH! HOLD ME, HOLD ME! LET ME HAVE IT. UUUUUUNNNNNNHHHHHH!" UUUUNNNNHHHHHH!"
She was gasping to draw breath into her tortured lungs when the red mist cleared from her brain and the gorgeous feeling in her fuck system gradually lessened to heat and throbs and flutters in the sweet places inside and out. Her body was weak and tired, her shrinking cunt surfaces and abused nerves were inflamed with too much use, but she was flushed with a gentle triumph of brain and body.
I was a Mexican whore, she told herself. For my Daddy who needed love so badly. And then, in a rush of feeling: Oh, mama, why could you be so cruel to Daddy? All he wanted was love!
She could barely breathe, since all of her father's weight had collapsed on her. She realized that this final gift of love which she had given him, and into which she had poured all her strength, had drained him of pain and frustration as it had drained him of his heavy load of sperm and semen. But she held him there, his body pressing on her big, love-tight breasts, flooding her with pleasure. And his heavy cock, by far the largest and hardest she had known in her brief career of sex, still felt delightful inside her. A feeling of fullness, if not of stretch. A sweet feast to top off her satisfied hungers, which she now acknowledged.
When her breathing, her tightness, and the involuntary little cum-echoes in her fuck sheath caused his diminishing cock to start slipping out of her semen-slicked tube, she gasped with the delicate agony of loss, and shuddered again at the brilliance of feeling in her happy, well fucked pussy. She felt a gush of warm fluids follow her parent's prick as it got a final kiss from her entry muscles, and then he fell away from her, lying on his back.
She looked at him with a combination of filial and maternal concern. He was dirty from the many hours on the boat, from fishing, from his troubles in Mexico. But she loved him more than she ever had. He seemed so helpless. His cock was still very big, and it was covered with a rich, slick mixture of vital fluids that had spurted from his cock and gushed in welcome from her vagina.
"Oh, daddy! Dear daddy!" the woman-child moaned, sinking to where the fat, warm morsel of slicked-up meat lay on his thigh, opening her sweet young mouth to enfold it warmly. It tasted so good! Such a wonderful thing that two utilitarian objects like a man's and a woman's genitalia could be so esthetically lovely in taste and wholesome nourishment as well as in feel. And even the smells, the thick, rank aromas were gorgeous. There was a lot of it squeezing out from the reddened, still tingling slash between her thighs, and she openly pursued it, laughing at herself.
"I'm being a piggy, daddy," she whispered to the unconscious man lying beside her. "But I never had any of this wonderful juice until night before last. I've got to catch up, you know!" And she patted his dick, his hairy balls and between his powerful thighs as she sipped the mixture of cum juices from her cupped hand.
She tried to open herself wider, running two fingers deep up her twat to coax out more of the nutritious mixture, licking her fingers, but she was tired, too, so she gave up at last. She lay beside her father, her body tingling, her mind feeling loving and free.
Her firm, smooth buttocks were still warm from his beating, but she remembered it with a deep thrill of pleasure. And she let a wave of modest pride run through her as she remembered that she had not only been successful in playing the part of an experienced Mexican whore-lady, she had also been better. Hadn't her dad said: "Lah-oora, you sure suck better than you used to?" And hadn't he also complimented on the way she did that other thing? That other thing?
"Oh, phooey!" she whispered to herself good naturedly. "I mean he liked the way I FUCKED. I've got to learn not to be so sissy."
And on that note, she drifted off into a warm, peaceful sleep.
CHAPTER TEN
Ellen Mack awakened with more joy in her heart than she had known in all her life. Taking care of daddy had been sort of weird. But she had proved to herself that she possessed real usefulness, that she could rise to occasions of stress, and that she had people to love, to care for.
Her hand was against her father's hard, hairy thigh. She knew it without looking; she remembered everything perfectly.
She rolled and looked at him, and felt a glow of love. His cock was almost totally hard, its great head looking slick and shiny and a sort of purplish red, peeping out from its cloak of soft, smooth skin. It looked like a pink and contented infant asking for food.
It was only natural, perhaps, that Ellen with her mind and heart so filled with a sense of belonging, should take the big, fat old thing in her hand, and then to close her sweet, warm slick mouth over it, sucking it gently, laving it with her tongue. Heaven!
Bob Mack, not yet awake, was struggling through layers of frustration, pain, nausea, and inertia. He was not really used to all that much drinking. Too much outdoors, not enough rest, drinking on an empty stomach, all were bad for him. And the final touch had been his humiliating experience-as he thought-with that damned whore, Laure, pronounced Lah-oora. There was also some buried concern and guilt about his kids. Especially the oldest, the one who'd just come home after five years with her God damned mother. All of these-his bursting headache, his sick stomach, his assorted angers and confusions-swirled in his mind as he stirred slowly back to consciousness and to his world. He was bristling with defensiveness over his own foibles and failures, feeling that they weren't entirely his fault, that he was, on the whole, no worse than average, and that he wouldn't take any shit from anybody.
When he saw, through pained and reddened eyes, a stranger sucking his prick, he felt that he had been taken advantage of. And, when a second look revealed that it was his daughter, the one toward whom he'd felt defensive and apologetic, all his insane furies burst out.
"Get outta here, you damned little whore!" he screamed, slapping her across her lovely, startled face.
In shock, she fell off the bed, gathering her nightie over her naked front, looking at her father dumbly, wondering what "Lah-oora" would have done in this situation.
The sick man, suddenly nauseated from his abrupt movements, threw the covers off and dashed for the bathroom. Unfortunately, he collided with his dumbstruck daughter, who fell against the sharp edge of the door, cutting a small gash in her forehead. The blow and the subsequent flow of blood so unnerved her that she ran past her puking dad into her own room, where she slammed and latched the door.
Inside, she wiped the blood from her face, checked the wound and saw that a bandaid would suffice, and tried to gather her thoughts.
She had been so happy, so secure last night. And this morning. Now, she felt that all of what she had believed to be her world had forsaken her. She tried to think, tried to defend herself against her own harsh judgments, but could not.
"I'm just a bad person," she whispered tragically to herself, picking up the few things she had unpacked since Thursday. In her drawer there was a return ticket that her mother had given her, "for you to use, dear, if things become unbearable. If everything's all right, cash it in and keep the money as a little present." That's what mama had said.
Dressed, her wound covered with a bandaid, the young girl clutched the return bus ticket to her heart like the Holy Grail. It was her ticket to salvation.
She slipped down the stairs and out of the house, hearing the sickening bark of a man who has emptied his curdled stomach of its sour contents and now has only the dry heaves to wrack his body. The bus station was not close by, but she would take her time. Nothing, not even the convent school, the nuns, and Father Geoghan could be as cruel as this kind of world she had found. Being used and betrayed by brother and sister, raped and abused and laughed at by their friends. Being so stupid as to believe a student was a priest, forcing him to fuck her, which of course he would be glad to do. And finally, thinking she was doing as her beloved father wanted, only to find out that he spurned her gifts of love with the bitterest and most sadistic of tongue-lashings. She would have wept for herself, but she was too bleak and bitter inside to seek the solace of tears. Or to feel that she deserved any solace.
She was so deep in misery that she did not notice the car that had slowed at the curb, and the man had to speak again before she heard him. "Let me drive you to town, my dear," he said. "It looks as if you're headed for the bus depot."
Dumbly, bereft of hope or motivation, she got into the car with the man. To his repeated question, she answered: "Yes. I'm going back to Seattle. To be with my mother!"
To another question, she answered yes, she had enough money, that is, she had a ticket back. "You'll need food," the man said. "And a little cash. It's a long trip. Here, I'll put some money in your purse."
She muttered: "It may be a long time before I can pay you," and the man assured her that that didn't matter. "I'll put my card in your purse, and you can write me when you get home safely," he said, smiling and kind. "Pay me any time or never, it's all right."
The stranger's kindness gave her some warming sense of values, and when she found that it was a four hour wait for the next through bus, and she had found that the man had put a twenty dollar bill in with his card, she perked up enough to eat a big breakfast-hot cakes and sausage and eggs, a glass of milk, a cup of coffee. It made a world of difference.
She had to kill time, so she bought a Sunday paper. There were stories of violence, of crime, of hatred. But there were promises of hope, too. Here was a story of brother and sister, separated as children, reunited in their forties. They would live together on a farm in San Diego County. She looked at the pictures. They were nice looking, healthy looking people. I wonder if they'll fuck, out there on their farm, the girl speculated. Well, why not? They loved each other. 'And they had no one else. And they were hopeful.
"We'll have differences," the woman was quoted as saying, with a hearty laugh. "People hurt each other, usually without thinking. We can forgive and forget. Loving is what matters."
Ellen got herself another cup of coffee and a twist donut, and went over near the big window. She looked at the ads. The clothes were pretty casual, easy to wear. The pictures of the ladies were very nice, so sexy, and still so wholesome. There was a blonde girl with windblown hair in a mid-thigh coat and pants of some light material that hugged her mature, full thighs. Her legs were spread, and Ellen's thoughts went to the girl's cunt, and of how secure she must feel, standing with her legs apart, her cunt lips popped open, warm and alive inside her pants, under her coat. But she could give some of it to a guy, if she wanted to, the girl thought. It might be nice to do that. If she wanted to.
If SHE wanted to. If she WANTED to.
She looked at the picture and saw that it was very apparent that the girl liked herself. Liked being a woman, a girl. And, since the principal factors in being a woman would be the possession of breasts and a vagina, secreted prettily under densely curled hair, it meant that the girl was happy to have nice boobs and a warm, juicy little cunt. And she looked like the sort who would give a lot of it away. And enjoy it. She would give a fuck to some man, or men, IF SHE WANTED TO.
Ellen's thoughts were on her own body, the sweetly formed parts that made her a woman. Apart from being trapped by her inexperience, as with Rudy, or being raped by force, as with Chuck, it was hers to give. For her pleasure, first, if she wanted to. She looked at the girl in the ad, who seemed to be smiling encouragement back to her, and said, in a whisper: "Yeah. I know where you're coming from, and where you're at. That's where I want to be. Whether up in Washington, or wherever. Your way is going to be my way."
She looked at the big depot clock. Still three hours before bus time. What had that story said? Only love matters. She had not been treated any too well, but the lady had said that people hurt each other without thinking. Her dad would be worried. Maybe Terry and Ronnie would be worried. Just barely possible.
As a matter-of-fact, the past hour had been a strange one.
When Bob Mack, his face gray, his body shaking, called for help, Ron and Terry came a-running. They had not been far away.
"Help me get in bed," he gasped. "I'm sick."
"You're smashed," the solemn-faced little blonde said. "But we'll help you. Why'd you run Ellen off? She's the only good thing that ever happened around here."
Her father, now sitting on the bed, said: "Ellen? She's no damn good! I caught her this morning, well, I won't even tell you, I can't even bring myself to say, what she was doing."
Terry's blonde hair was slicked down into two tight braids at her ears. She looked about seven. She sniffed disdainfully.
"She gave you a blow-job," the child said. "She sucked your dick."
Mack raised his arm as if to strike the pert child, and fell back, groaning. "Where is she?" he rasped. "What's the matter with you two? She's even made you talk rotten," Ronnie cleared his throat. "Bullshit," he said clearly. "Anything she did for you, she did it out of love. Because you begged her to. She only wanted to help you. She's that kind of person."
Mack eyed the two as if he had lost his mind. "I begged her to?" he cried. Are you nuts?" But some dim portions of last night came back.
"Yeah, because you begged her to," little Terry said, "and because you like to've beat the shit out of her. We heard it. Saw it, too."
She leaped back as her father grabbed at her. "You lie," he said, but his face was showing an inner conflict. "How could I beg Ellen, my own daughter, to do such a thing?"
"You kept calling her 'Loorah' or something like that," Ronnie offered. "Calling her a Mexican whore. We heard you beating her. Man! Did you ever smack her ass! Don't you remember? It woke us up."
Some of the dreadful happenings of last night tried to get past the cracking wall of conscience that Bob Mack's subconscious mind was building. He remembered a full, smooth, firm white ass across his lap. A white ass? Laura was very dark, very Indian-looking. And he heard himself as he had been last night, so drunk, saying: "Don't call me daddy. Call me Bob." Jesus, he hoped he never remembered any more.
"Get her," he implored. Bring her to me! Let me get down on my knees to her. I know, now. She tried to get me to go to sleep. I-I beat her." Tears of grief and shame ran down his face. "Oh, please, you two, go get her! Tell her how ashamed lam!"
Little Terry, her arms folded, looked at her father without either pity or anger. "No good," she said. "We weren't, well, any too nice to her. And she was so good to us!" She dropped her face into hands, crying like a hurt child. "We were so mean!"
"Anyhow," Ron said, "She's split. Packed up her bag and blew. I saw her. She was crying," he sniffed. "Probably gone back to mom."
He saw the deep misery in his dad's face as the big kindly man remembered more and more. The two kids had seen much of what happened. God, when that enormous cock went into that poor little old pussy! Wonder to God it hadn't split her wide open! And in his pants, he felt his cock hardening as he thought of it. It had given him a whole new burst of lust which he had shot into his little sister's sweet, dripping, almost hairless, little-girl pussy. God, that stuff was good!'Ellen's, Terry's, Marless's, what'shername, oh, yeah, Munson. Tall girl. Damn! It was wonderful when they liked it.
He came back to reality with a nervous start as the telephone rang. There was an extension here in the big bedroom. Ronnie answered. "Oh, sure, sis," he said in subdued tones. "I'll call him." He handed the instrument to his father. "Ellen," he said succinctly.
"Hi, dad," the girl's voice said shyly. "I couldn't go without saying good-bye. I know you wanted me out of the house. I'm a disruptive influence, I guess." The girl laughed nervously. "Dad? Are you there? Did you hear me?"
"Oh, God, baby," the man choked. "I was so terrible! I don't even remember, yet, just how much I did that was rotten and shameful and despicable! You're not the bad influence. Ronnie says he is. Terry says she is. And I KNOW that I am.
In the depot, using the public phone, Ellen saw a girl very much like the one in the ad, standing on the dock just outside the window. The girl's thighs filled her stretch pants, she was standing with her lovely legs apart, thrusting her pelvis forward. Offering her pussy, but because she wanted to. It was so lovely!
"Are you going back to your mother?" the man asked. "Maybe it's best, being back among a church atmosphere, with the nuns. You'll never have to, uh, what I mean is, well, you won't have things like this happen to you again. Never again, my poor baby!"
The strong, healthy, warm natured girl made a face. Never have a man's or a boy's hand on her pussy. Never have a stiff prick stuck into her. In her mouth, in her cunt. Safe. Yeah, man. Never to suck or to be sucked. The thoughts shook her like a reed in a cyclone.
She had to swallow, then had to clear her throat. She could just see her dad. After throwing up, the poor, dear man must be feeling horrible. But still-he'd had that erection before he woke up.
She turned to the phone. "Dad? Maybe it's better for me not to leave," she said. "Not yet, anyhow. Oh, dad, don't worry about me not being safe! That's not the important thing! Love is all that really matters. We hurt people almost accidentally. Are you in bed now? Have you eaten? Oh, hush, daddy, of course you can eat! Look, I'm on my way home, hear? And I'll see that you have something to eat. Yes, I will! I'll make you eat!"
A humorous yet tender look crossed her face. "Remember what you were eating last night? Oh, fudge, daddy! You say you don't, but I know you do! And I was eating yours, too. No, daddy, it wasn't bad. It was lovely! And it'll be even better when you know it's my pie you're eating, and not Lah-oora's. You wait for me. No, don't bathe. That's foolish. You weren't bathed last night, and I loved it."
She put her mouth close to the phone. "I said I loved it, daddy. I loved having your peter in me. In my mouth, in my other little place. My cunt, if you want to know. Just as long as you're not mad at me, daddy. As long as you don't think I'm some, uh, whore."
It only took a few minutes to exchange her return ticket for cash. A lot of it, to her. There was a driver sitting in a cab outside, and she told him: "Twelve-seventeen Lois Lane, please. And listen, can you hurry?"
He smiled at her. He was young and powerful looking, had a big nose, big brown eyes, curly brown hair. "I'd do anything you asked me to, lady," he laughed.
Her heart swelled. A beautiful young man like this-I'd give him all the fucking he wanted, she thought, and smiled. How surprised he would be if he could read her mind! She thought of the lovely man who'd given her the ride. And the twenty dollars. He looked so kind, but he had looked up her dress as she had gotten into the par, and down the front of it as she had reached for her bag. He was just one of those wonderfully nice for whom, if she wanted, she could give her cunt.
She was grateful for everything, now that she had gotten her head on straight. How could she have felt guilty? Doing that simple little business for Ronnie. A blowjob! What a cute name! And so silly, really, because you sucked rather than blew. Sex, she had found out, could be funny and silly and just a good old hearty laugh. It didn't have to be heavy and gloomy, weighted with sin. And then she saw a wonderful truth.
Rudy had been right! And he had only done what any right thinking guy would do-he had screwed a girl who was dumb. But who was also ripe and ready for it. "I must've had 'Fuck me!' written across my face," she said aloud.
The driver, startled, jammed on his brakes. "What'd you say, lady?" he demanded. And Ellen, laughing said: "Surprised you, didn't I? Well, never mind, we'll see each other again."
But when he said: "I won't forget that address," she said very firmly: "It'll be, all right. But it'll be when I say so!" And the young man, his face glowing, said: "Yes, ma'am, whatever you say, ma'am. And whenever you say, ma'am. But I sure hope you don't wait too long. You don't want me to languish away."
Their way home took them by a church, and her heart nearly stopped when she saw a familiar figure, showing some kids how to throw hook shots at a basketball hoop. Rudy. Rudy Salas. She said: "Pull up a minute. By those kids playing basketball."
When the guy who had played priest two days before came over to the cab, he smiled as he saw who the passenger was. "Hi, Ellen," he said, putting his hand inside the cab, on her thigh. "What's shaking? You going somewhere?"
"I was," she said, showing her dimples. "What's this with the kids? Don't you like girls any more? Or are you doing a penance?"
He flushed, then squeezed her leg. "I guess I ought to say I'm sorry," he said. "But if I did, I think you'd be entitled to hop out of that hack and knock me kicking. Maybe it was a wee bit shitty. But if the same chance came along, I'd do it again. Baby," and he looked serious, "if I had the chance and didn't, I think I'd cut my throat."
She squeezed his hand. "So long, Father Salas," she said. "But remember, you did say you'd do it again. If you had the chance. So long, you wonderful fraud."
The hack driver said, as they moved along: "Is that guy a priest? He hasn't got that smooth faced look they all seem to have. You know, sad without feeling anything, really. Not knocking it," he said.
"I know," Ellen said. "How married are you?"
The dark young guy was turning into Lois Lane, looking for the number. He laughed. "Not hardly at all," he said. "My wife's mad at me about half the time, and the other half, she's busy with our kid. This looks like the place, lady. Why did you ask?"
"I don't know," Ellen said. She put her arm out, handing him a fiver. "I like you. I'll bet you don't need any help from me."
"No," he agreed. "Not help. I'd hate that. But if you just wanted to. You know what I mean. It would be so beautiful. Because, Ellen-he called you Ellen, didn't he?-because I'd sure like to."
When they were on the porch, she kissed him. "Tomorrow's a holiday," she said, feeling her breasts pressing on him, feeling his warm, hard chest through the two layers of fabric. "Tuesday at nine. The kids leave at eight-thirty. They don't get home until after three. Because I want to."
The house seemed quiet and dark, and her heart was pounding. Partly because she had pressed herself against that hackie-what was his name? He hadn't mentioned it. She hadn't asked. What difference could it possibly make? She had felt a hard-on as she kissed him.
Two very quiet, very shy kids came out of the kitchen. Ronnie hugged her, and little Terry held her hand, tears streaming down her face. "We won't ever do those things again?" the little blonde girl said, and Ellen pushed her, right on her cute, swelling little titty.
"You'd better not talk that way, girl," Ellen said. "There's some new rules around here. Everybody loves everybody. Get it? Everybody loves everybody whenever they can, or rather, whenever they want to." She kissed the little girl, pushing her tongue into the hot little kid's mouth. "And I'll always want to, I promise you both," the older girl whispered softly. And then: "How's dad?"
"Better," Ron said. "But kind of green around the gills. Man, he was sick! Especially when Terry stood up to him and told him what kind of a shitheel he'd been. Gee, she was great!"
"Hush that kind of rough talk, Ronnie," Ellen said. But she smiled. "Thank you, little sister," she said. "Thank you both."
She shooed the kids out, giving them a few dollars. "Go to the park," she said. "Or to a show. Have fun."
She tried to remember something she'd heard of long ago as she made a drink for her dad. A glass of half-and-half. Two eggs. Two scoops of ice cream. She rummaged on a shelf and said "hah!" as she found a bottle of Creme De Cacao and another of brandy.
She started the blender going on the cream, the eggs, the ice cream, and put in a running-over teaspoon of vanilla, then a big jigger of the liqueur and two big ones of the brandy. When it was all done, she took the blender pitcher and a big glass up the stairs and went into her dad's room without knocking.
He looked sick, all right, but he smiled. "My gracious," he said, you're a very pretty nurse. And that stuff looks like it wouldn't hurt a guy. A sick guy."
She felt a million years old. Well, not really. She felt great. It was just that she felt old and wise. And capable. As wise as her dad. Or Lah-oora. And ever so much wiser than her mama ever was.
She set the pitcher and glass down, turned her back, and took her dress off, over her head, in one easy, graceful tug. No bra, no panties. She turned around, toward her dad, putting her hands on her hips and thrusting out her pelvis. Her feet were apart, so she could feel the room temperature on her popped open cunt lips.
"My God!" her dad said. "Did I have some of that last night? I know I did, but I barely remember it. Oh, baby, I've been out of my nut. Your mom-well, least said, soonest mended, I expect. She had her rights to be the way she was."
"She was a fool," Ellen said firmly. "A poor, pitiful fool. I feel sorry for her. So should you." The girl shivered. "I'm just lucky I got out of it, lucky for the things that happened to me."
She was leaning against the bed, and his hand was under her crotch, a long finger feeling up inside her wet pussy. She fucked against the finger, getting it into her, and laughed. She put her warm hand under the covers and found his prick. It was soft, but it was nice and fat. And, as she touched it, it throbbed.
"She dropped to her knees and pushed the covers away. "Oh, ho!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean, sir, having no hard-on?" She bent and kissed the swelling head, holding the growing organ gently.
Her dad stroked the back of her head, pressing her toward it, and she opened her warm, slick mouth and sucked in all of it she could mouth, running her tongue around it as she held it in place.
She sucked him tenderly, her head on its side on his thigh, her other hand cupping his balls. She felt his cock grow, felt his body make an involuntary motion of fucking. The warmth and smoothness and delicious taste of his cock gave her a sweeping warmth all through her strong, beautiful young body. She could feel her cunt lips begin to swell, feel the trickle of juice finding its way out through lips and hair, warm with her body's heat.
She took the big cock out of her mouth gently, and poured her daddy a glass of the rich eggnog. "Make you feel like last night," she said thickly. "I want to suck some of it out of your mouth. Maybe I'll let you have a little of your cum in the second glass. If I don't swallow it all!"
When she knead her way onto the bed, she held his big face against the smooth warmth of her breasts. "I feel like I could give milk, myself," she said in a whisper. "COME ON, DADDY, SUCK ME!"
When he took almost half of one of her tender boobs into his mouth, sucking as if he wanted to get her blood, she clung to him, her eyes squeezed tight in painful ecstasy. She almost lost her balance, but her dad got a strong hand between her young thighs, right in her wet slit, making her neck hair stand on end, the feeling was so intense and beautiful.
When he stopped sucking on her titty and looked up at her, she wriggled out of his arms and threw herself on the bed, on her back, her beautiful, maturely rounded legs in the air, her face in an expectant smile. She held out her arms to him, and he came down on top of her, his belly rubbing on the wide expanse made by her thighs, her butt, her cuntal area with its spread of thick, pink, juicy lips, its crown of golden brown hair, its red-veined inner lips. He held most of his weight on his knees and elbows, and looked at her, his face just above hers.
She felt the heat of his body on hers, the pressure of his flesh on the sensitivity of her cuntal spread. His big cock was, somehow, under her lifted ass. She felt choked with emotion. I've been just a little kid, she thought swiftly. Now, if I'm going to help my family, if I'm going to get what I want out of my life, I'm going to have to be a woman.
She had her hand under her buttock, around her thigh, and felt for his prick. As she had on the night before, she wiped the bulbous head up and down in the slick trough of her swelling, bursting, hotly juicing young cunt. It felt so good that she almost came, and she smiled at her dad and said: "Don't be mad if I cum before you do. I sure am hot! And I love you so much!"
There were tears in his eyes, and he said in a strange voice: "I don't know whether this is right or wrong, but I want it so bad that I don't care." He hunched his powerful body and the head of his big organ went splittingly into the tight, slick hole. He lunged at his daughter, but the thickness of his prick was too much. He moaned.
The girl, whose face was a study in concentration, said: "Take it easy. Real easy. It went in last night, you know. All the way in. "OH, DAD!" she screamed, and clasped her firm young arms around his big body. "It's going IN! IT'S GOING IN! SHOVE HARD, DADDY! OHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHH! HELP ME, FUCK ME! I'M CUUUUMMMMMIIIINNNNGGGGG!" And her beautiful young body fucked at him in a desperate, uncontrollable pattern of up-and-down, side-to-side, milking his cock until his taut fuck nerves could no longer stand it.
He reached under her just to get his fingers into the lovingly slick crack of her ass, touching the muscular, hairy rim of her cunt, reveling in the pouring out of her vaginal juices which proved her hotness, proved her love for him and for his fucking. His mind and heart only knew that this was what he had always needed, and all that he had ever wanted from life. From his wife.
She felt his prick expand until it seemed it would burst her tight fuck channel, but it was a marvelous pain, part of the vast pleasure that was sweeping her.
Her body was filled with heat and love, just as her cunt was filled with prick and hard, hot shooting jets of her dad's seed, and just as her mind was filled with lust and hope for the future.
She could see little Terry in her place. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. She could see them, all four, fucking together in love and trust and gentle happiness of shared lust.
Her mouth was full of her father's tongue which she was sucking furiously, so she could not scream out the joy of her body-splitting orgasm. She felt the flood of his jism, its slick warmth pumping out of her vagina, felt her dad's balls sopping it up, felt his cock ramming clear to the very end of her fuck sheath. Cock, cock, cock-how beautiful! Rudy, the nice man whose card she had in her purse, the gentle, sweet, cab driver. Life was going to be so good!
