Cynthia Prisse sat bolt upright on a rock, staring through her horn-rimmed spectacles at the young man and woman on the beach. "Hmph!" she said.
The young woman on the beach was Janice Absinthe, a very famous model. The young man was her photographer Harmon, whom she persisted in calling Hormone, much to his annoyance.
Cynthia, Janice and Harmon were all in Bermuda making photographs for a prestigious women's magazine. Cynthia Prisse had been sent to write the article to go along with the pictures, but the pictures so far certainly had not met with her approval.
The reason she had said "Hmph!" was this: Harmon had unzipped Janice's jeans and pushed his hand inside her pants all the way round, so that his knuckles bulged at her crotch. And instead of screaming and hitting him and then running away, as Cynthia would have done, Janice simply stood there and smiled.
"Take the jeans off," Harmon said, standing back a few paces with his camera poised.
Still smiling, and even tossing her fine brown hair, Janice deftly slid the tight denim round her hips, paused, and brought her legs out, first one then the other. Her legs were long and muscular and tan from the Bermuda sun. She kicked the jeans aside. Harmon snapped a picture.
"Your sweater too."
Janice smiled again, as she unbuttoned the sweater. She was very leisurely about it and seemed to enjoy the slow motions of undressing-pushing each button through with her thumb in a calm and deliberate way, looking down at her fingers, looking up at Harmon, smiling as each button fell open. Underneath she was wearing a thin white T-shirt. When she pulled the sweater wide open, the sight was breathtaking-two superb round breasts pressing out against the cotton, the nipples seeming to pierce through it, taut and pink.
She was wearing nothing now but the T-shirt and her panties. The panties were thin, clinging to her shape, and were very full at the crotch. As Harmon snapped his pictures, Janice turned her body, striking sensuous attitudes. She put her hands on her hips, pushing her breasts out toward the camera, arching her spine, her ass curving sweetly behind; she stuck her hips out to the right and left, tossing her head so that her hair flew in the breeze; she lay on her side in the sand, like a big cat, one leg bent at the knee, the white panties soft and round between her thighs, her belly and deep navel bare. It was clear that she loved to move her body like that and that she liked to undress before a man and to be stared at. Harmon clicked and clicked until the roll was finished. Then, as he was reloading, he said, "Go on in-take a dive in the water."
She got up without a word and ran into the sea. Twenty yards out the water was up to her waist and she sank down, all the way under. Then her head emerged, the hair pasted against her face. She was smiling, enjoying the warmth of the water. It was bright blue under the sun, and calm as a lake.
"Well, come on out," Harmon said. "I can't take your picture all the way out there. Stand about ten feet from the shore."
She breast stroked idly toward the beach, then gathered her feet underneath her and stood up. Harmon gasped, hardly able to hold the camera.
She stood waiting with her hands clasped behind her neck. Her drenched clothes were transparent as a film-they hid nothing. Her skin was smooth and bronzed, her body exquisitely curved. The breasts, now tightened by the water, stood out straight and firm, the nipples hard. Harmon's eyes, though, were riveted farther down: the cotton panties were clear as glassine and inside them her flame-shaped patch of pubic hair curled thick as spring grass. It was too perfect for speech: the firm round belly curving down, the muscular haunches on either side-everything leading his eye to the very center where that rich bush grew.
She laughed at the way he stared at it. Her teeth were pure white. "Come on, take the pictures already."
Harmon recovered himself and began snapping away. Janice, almost like a ballet dancer, turned her muscular body in all directions, twisting and bending, somehow seeming to expose herself even more completely than she already had. Harmon was sure the pictures would be blurred, because he was trembling like a tuning fork. She turned her back to show him her ass, perfectly pear-shaped, the buttocks cleanly separated under the cotton. When she turned to face him again she saw his cock straining inside his briefs while he vainly tried to concentrate on the metering. It was when she put her palms on her buttocks and stretched her stomach forward, that wonderful brown bush of hers at the very center of his viewfinder and perfectly in focus, that he lost control completely. Dropping the Rolleiflex on the sand to fend for itself, he rushed forward and took her in his arms.
Up on the slope, Cynthia Prisse stiffened with indignation. "The very ideal" she cried to herself. Nevertheless she kept her eye on the scene, even wiping her glasses for a cleaner view. Every once in a while she'd utter an exclamation of revulsion, but occasionally in the midst of one she would press her fingers, as if by accident, against her cunt Every time she pressed she grew more indignant. Soon she was pressing as if to do away with a persistent itch that grew worse with every scratch.
"Disgusting!" she muttered, jerking away at herself. "Obscene!"
Down on the beach, Harmon and Janice kissed long and hard. Harmon got his hands under her T-shirt and squeezed the muscles of her back, and Janice stood on tiptoe and dug her cunt against his cock, rhythmically, flexing her buttocks, feeling that lovely tube stretch itself up against her stomach. Harmon had big hands and they covered her back in loving circles. She seemed small in his arms. He pushed his hands down inside her panties and gripped a buttock in each, holding her tight against his straining dick. Her mouth fell open against his and he shoved his tongue into it. Her breasts were flattened against his ribs. She was eager for it, breathing hard, pasting herself to him, her arms clutching him around the back.
Extricating himself a little, he lifted the sopping T-shirt up to her armpits. Then she fell against him again, squirming, brushing her breasts back and forth across his chest, wriggling her cunt until his cock was glutted with blood, ready to burst. He pulled her down with him to the sand, his left arm around her shoulders, his tongue searching her mouth, his right hand massaging her breast. The sensation of his hand rolling the flesh of her tit made her a little crazy. She moaned into his mouth, pushing her chest out towards him, her leg brushing his calf, her fingers curling through the black hair of his chest. The sand was hot against their bodies. He squeezed and squeezed her breast. It filled out under his touch, grew firmer. She broke the kiss and, panting, pressed her cheek against his. It was then that he passed his hand down across her ribs and stomach, under the waistband of her panties and into her moist hair. She gasped into his ear, clutching his arm. His fingers stroked the hair at the base of her belly and moved down, her tension increasing with every change. Finally he touched the very opening of her crack, and instead of taking her cunt in his hand immediately, he teased her, working his finger back and forth with just a little pressure, right there between the two lips, until she was gasping and her hips were shifting madly in the sand.
"Take my pants off, please," she whispered. Her foot, coated with sand, grated his leg from knee to ankle and back again.
He hooked his thumb into the waistband, pulling the material wide from her hip. She lifted her ass from the sand and he slipped the cotton off until it was around her knees. She kicked the panties into the sand.
Now, as she trembled beside him, he bent his palm between her legs. Her hole was gaping. He stroked around it, opening it wider, feeling the hot moisture gather inside. He flicked her juice along the crack, pressing her clit very gently, until she was moaning helplessly, her legs moving convulsively. She had been feeling his pectoral muscles with her right hand, but now she pressed the hard rows of his stomach muscles and, unable to resist anymore, touched his briefs at the crotch and began stroking, harder and harder as her excitement grew. Suddenly she darted her fingers inside the suit and took the bare cock in her hand. Harmon stiffened, desperately controlling his load. But Janice knew how to tease, too. She pressed the tip between her fingers to keep him from coming immediately. Then she began a slow exploration, passing her fingertips along the shaft, spreading her palm against it, holding it between her thumb and her index finger, always sensing the beat of the blood inside it, the heat, the latent strength. Then she searched farther down and found his balls. She cupped them in her palm and thumbed them very gently, then took out her hand and pulled Harmon's briefs down, exposing his cock completely to her eager eyes. It was hard as rubber and visibly straining with lust. The sight of it made her crazier than before, and the feeling of Harmon's fingers in her hole drove her frantic. She gripped his shaft in her fist and jerked it up and down with all her might.
Harmon had four fingers wriggling in her and the juice was pouring out of her in a stream. At the touch of her hand on his naked shaft he dug his fingers in to the knuckle, stretching the walls of her cunt, feeling her pubic hair soft against his palm. She turned on her back, and spread her legs, still clutching his cock firmly in her paw.
"Now," she said. "Do it now."
He got up on his knees between her legs, bending over her body, resting his weight on his hands. She put the head of his dick to her hole, and he began to shove, tentatively at first, then forcefully. She jerked with every push. Little by little he opened a wedge, and then with one great heave he slid in, all the way, his balls nestled comfortably against her ass, the head of his cock deep inside her groin. Janice moaned far back in her throat and lifted her legs in the air, bent at the knee, sand falling from her shaking feet. Harmon's ass rose high, poised, and fell.
"Ahh!" Janice cried.
He shoved again, harder.
"Ahh!" She dug her fingernails into his back.
At each push her cries grew more intense, more insistent. She put her hands on his buttocks to help him drive inside. She crossed her legs around his waist, squeezing him against her, locking him in. The surer he became of his ground, and of his ability to hold his load, the more confidently he shoved, until he was plowing her like a bull. He felt the walls of her vagina give way as the head of his cock drove in, then settle like jelly around his shaft.
"Do it to me! Do it, do it!"
She was turning her head from side to side in the ll sand, muttering into his ear, her thighs squeezing his hips, her fingers pressing the hard flesh of his buttocks. His balls slapped against her ass with every push. He felt her breasts riding against his chest as he moved up and down her body, like soft pillows full of milk. He felt her belly yielding against his, felt her curly pubic hair brush him, her pubic bone grind against his own.
He slipped his palms underneath her and grabbed the cheeks of her ass, driving himself in as far as he could possibly go, pushing her ass up to meet his thrusts. He put all his weight into it, grunting as he shoved, and soon her breathing grew louder, she began to lose control, the sounds she uttered in his ear made no sense anymore. She wiggled her body under him, digging her shoulders into the sand. Her chest expanded and contracted spasmodically. Then the sounds in her throat changed; they became cries, starting softly, mounting higher, higher, and every time it seemed she'd reached the edge she'd raise the pitch of her screams still higher, as if she would never stop climbing. Then finally, when his shoves had grown so fierce that they each pushed her several inches across the sand, she reached her climax.
"OH-OH-OH my God-OHHH!"
He couldn't hold back any longer. Crushing his pubic bone hard against hers, he shot his wads into her belly, each one squirting with tremendous pressure, as if from a hose. He rolled her over and over in the sand, both of them still coming, until they were lying in the surf, the little wavelets surging round them, and bigger waves rolling inside them, as her orgasms responded to his and they lay against each other racked with spasms.
At last it was over. Harmon drew his long cock from her sheath. It dropped into the water and the ripples lifted and cooled it. She lay on her back in the water, her arms stretched out, her eyes closed, lips slightly parted. The sea foam gathered round her cunt, the slit brilliant red.
Up on the slope, Cynthia Prisse had lifted back the hem of her dress, pulled aside the crotch of her underpants, and was now jerking off for all she was worth. She had watched every second of the scene on the beach, gathered and amplified it in her mind, and was now pretending that it had all happened to her. She used her fingertips to spread the juicy lips of her pussy, and with her middle finger was now pressing the skin around her clit, pulling and relaxing it, until her hole gaped wide enough for a shot glass to enter with ease. And that is exactly what she put in it, bottom first, turning and turning it until the glass was smeared with nectar.
Her head was bent forward, her jaw thrust out, her glasses slightly askew. The shot glass, as she moved it around, made slight sucking noises.
With one hand she continued pulling at the loose red skin above her clit. The clit itself protruded about a quarter inch and was as wide as the cap of a toothpaste tube. It was so sensitive that the light breeze blowing across it inflamed it like a man's tongue. She bent over it with the most intense concentration. A rich scent rose from her hole on the breeze and flowed through her nostrils.
When Harmon's cock slipped out of Janice's cunt and floated on the water, Cynthia, seeing it from her perch, let loose with a flood of orgasms. Her hole twitched around the shot glass and from her lips burst the strangest succession of noises-something like the squeakings of a field mouse. She shivered with repressed pleasure. Her toes clenched, her jaw protruded even farther than before, her eyelids fluttered, her fingers curled and twisted. Her muscles were as taut as bowstrings. Then, suddenly, everything relaxed; the shot glass slid from her twat, she folded in on herself, like a puppet with the strings cut. A few seconds later she began collecting herself, and presently, as if by an internal accumulation of personality, there appeared the Cynthia Prisse whom we met at the beginning of this chapter-prim, stiff-backed, indignant, and with about as much femininity, to all appearances, as Harmon's left nut.
She gathered her indignation about her in little expostulations, like a terrier that scents an enemy in the wind, and then she began barking again.
"The idea of it! To commit such indecency in the open air! To exhibit such voluptuous abandon!" She looked right and left as if to find someone to bite. "Never have I witnessed such brazen prurience. I wonder that the magistrates of this island fail to patrol the beaches, to suppress these lascivious displays....." And so on.
Janice and Harmon, meanwhile, were looking at each other in an entirely new way. They'd known each other about a month and had felt each other up in a friendly way, but had never gone as far as this before.
"I never knew you had a genius for a cock," she smiled. "I'm very impressed."
Harmon was an easy, pipe-smoking sort. "It's not exactly in righting shape," he said, watching it float. "Still, for the kind of foreplay we made just now, I don't think you can do better."
The suggestion in those words stirred Janice's blood. She looked full into his eyes with an unmistakable meaning that was transmitted directly to his cock. She watched it fill out in the water. It had a fine, meaty heaviness about it that did her heart good. She hefted it in her hand and stroked it, cocking her head affectionately as she looked.
"God, your balls are so big." She lifted them in her palm, rolling them around with her thumb. They were as big as hen's eggs. "I never get tired of looking at cocks, touching them. They all have their own personalities. Yours is so calm, so certain, so manly. You could hold your load forever. You could screw a girl while smoking your pipe. But all of a sudden-whamo! This passion comes shooting up from nowhere-you just take control, like a force of nature...."
All during this little eulogy, Harmon's cock had grown and grown, until it was as thick as a broomstick and just as hard. Janice cooed, lifting the shaft between her fingers, gazing at the bulbous head of it, with the tiny slit through which the semen would come bursting forth. She darted at it suddenly, closing her lips around it, her tongue slithering round and round and then down his shaft. She had a long, thin tongue like a snake's and when she put it all the way out, it was three-quarters as long as his cock. She cradled, pillowed, enveloped him with it. She could do anything with that huge tongue of hers, it seemed-it was so pliant and muscular. The saliva rolled down it in waves, hot as cunt nectar, and she swirled his dick in it until he felt as if he were inside a cunt that was twirling like a whirligig around his pole.
His erection grew so huge that she could hardly open her mouth wide enough to take it in. Her jaws cracked with the effort. She slid her mouth back and forth and when she took the head in as far as her throat, he felt her breath in his pubic hair. Then her tongue slid out all along the base of his cock until the tip of it was playing with his balls, rolling them like grapes.
Harmon dug his fingers into her hair and lay back in the surf. The water covered his ears so that the only sound he could hear was that of his own breathing, long and heavy. Her mouth was a complete fucking organ, better than any pussy he'd ever had, except her own. But Harmon couldn't get that cunt of hers out of his head-the hole resisting just enough to add that little extra pinch of excitement, then yielding as if in an ecstatic surrender, the walls withdrawing all around, only to close in again in a warm and wet caress. He couldn't forget the sight of her bush in his viewfinder, or, later on, as she lay in the water, thighs open, one leg bent at the knee, the long crack that curved between her legs, the smooth lips open, the hole wide and glistening at the edges.
Gently he lifted her mouth from his cock, sat up in the water, and turned her around. She understood. Kneeling down with one cheek in the sand, her mouth smiling, her back arched, she offered her round ass to him. He stood behind her, staring at it. What a miracle, he thought to himself. She was so beautiful, so perfect!
And she was offering to him everything she had, opening herself like a casket of jewels. He gazed at the beautiful cool cheeks of her ass, at the crack of her ass and the crack of her cunt opening towards each other but never quite meeting, and at the two holes beckoning him, the one brown and tight and muscular, the other soft, pliant, wet and yielding. He took his cock in his right hand and sank it part way inside her cunt She groaned. He gripped her by both hips and shoved. This time he slid in as if on grease. Never had he felt so completely inside a woman. He paused, savoring the sensation, then drew out almost all the way.
"In, in," he heard her say. So he pushed himself back inside, swiveling his hips, reaming her tunnel. She shook her ass happily in response, and he shoved it to her again. He loved the feel of her buttocks against his legs and stomach. Letting go of one hip he reached under to tickle her clitoris. She spread her knees a Utile wider and shook her ass again as if to say, 'That's good, that's so good-give me more!"
Now he plowed it to her in earnest flexing his ass tight with every shove. He drove his dick as far up her tunnel as it could go. She laid her palms on the sand to keep balance. Her breasts rested in the sand too, comfortably, as if bedded there. She rubbed her cheek on the hot grains while his cock, like a fiery rod, plumbed her insides.
She felt so good that she just stretched her arms out in front of her in the sand and slid forward, her breasts brushing along and then flattening, her back a concave arch, her ass high. Harmon knelt down, his cock still moving inside her. When she was flat on her belly he lay down on top of her and pushed his hands underneath her body, across her stomach to her pussy. His fingertips pulled at it all the while his cock slid in and out. She was sopping wet down there. He laid his cheek against hers, occasionally turning his head to kiss her and to lick her skin. His powerful hips plunged again and again.
With her right ear in the sand and her left covered by Harmon's cheek, the only things she could hear were Harmon's breathing and her own, and the falling of the waves on the beach a few feet away. It was a symphony of its kind, the sea giving a steady bass rhythm, their breaths playing a duet-intersecting, diving over and under each other, sounding at times in unison-but always rising louder, going faster, as if in a race to the conclusion. Soon Janice's breathing found a voice. She began to moan, and with that Harmon's shoving grew faster, more powerful. The pressure of her ass against his stomach made it harder and harder for him to hold back. Finally, with a cry, he fired his load. He could feel each orgasm gathering, the pressure building behind it, and then the explosion, each more tremendous than the last. The hot cream poured into her, and at the first touch she went off herself, wriggling like an eel, actually screaming with the power of her spasms. The veins of her cunt beat against his toiling fingertips, her juice soaked his palms. They lay together helpless with ecstasy. When he had pumped his last wad she was still coming, and another thirty seconds went by before her own orgasms died away. They were both so amazed and spent that they lay in that position as if stunned, his cock still hard inside her.
None of this was lost on Cynthia Prisse. She was pulling away at her snatch with both hands, begging for mercy.
"Oh no, Harmon, no...don't do it-don't put that thing inside me! Oh it's so disgusting, so lewd-oh no-OH-OH-he did it!" She jammed the shot glass in again. "Oh take it out, take it out....." She pulled at her clit and twirled the shot glass at the same time. "It's dirty, what we're doing, oooh, so filthy! Mmmmm, I hate you, and most of all I hate your hot penis...your hot, hot, p-OH! OH! OH-OH-OH-OH-OH-OHHH!" Her orgasms were like muffled cannon shots. She lay on the ground twisting with them, as if she were grappling with Satan, her long dress pulled up to her rib cage, her legs kicking and flailing in the grass, the sun glinting in brilliant rays from the glass between her legs and from the lenses of her thick spectacles. One moment she was heaving back on her shoulders like an acrobat; in the next she was flopping around like a beached flounder. Her clitoris seemed to be full of priming powder, firing off a spark every other second.
When she was finished she simply lay there half-conscious. Then, as if by a tremendous triumph of the will, she sat up, took out the shot glass, pulled down her dress, arranged her spectacles, and stood up, her mouth already set in its most severe expression.
Harmon was at this moment examining his Rolleiflex in the nude.
"There doesn't seem to be any damage," he said, peering at it and testing the shutter. "It's rare that I lose control like that. For a professional photographer to drop a $500 camera in the sand, he has to have extreme justification. If Gila monsters were closing in on his mother I could see it-maybe"
"Oh no-look who's up there."
She was pointing to the top of the slope, where Cynthia Prisse was standing like the Angel of Doom, with her arms folded, shaking her head in grim reproof.
"Hm-Miss Prisse." Harmon gazed for a moment, then hung the camera around his neck and calmly searched in his bag for his pipe and tobacco. "This is unfortunate."
"The bitch! I bet she'll report us to the police."
"Come come, Janice. You should be friendly with her. She's writing the story after all." He filled his pipe, a pinch at a time, with Dunhill's Early Morning Mixture.
"The story! Can you imagine the kind of imagine-pants flapdoodle she'll turn out? Come on down here, you bitch!"
To Cynthia, standing on her hilltop, the sight of Janice shaking her fist while Harmon stood by complacently smoking his pipe in the nude, and getting an innocent erection besides, was a call to battle. She stormed down the slope, her elbows working like pistons.
"My magazine has contracted you at huge expense to do a series of photographs of summer fashions," she burst out, "and instead I find you cavorting in this degraded manner, shamefully wasting our company's time and resources, and offending even the most corrupted standards of civilization and decorum."
"Shove it up your twat, you tight-assed prig!"
"Ladies, ladies," Harmon remonstrated, separating them gently.
"You keep out of this, Hormone."
"Janice, my name is Harmon-please."
"Hormone-yes!" Cynthia spat, turning on him bitterly. "Fitting indeed that she should address you by so vile a word. After today I don't wonder at the notorious immorality of your low profession. How obvious it is that the very dregs of humanity are drawn towards it like lice to unclean sheets, like rodents to foul tenements, like streptococci to untended dentures! You may rest assured-" Suddenly her face contracted with horror and disgust. "Ugh! Ugh! Oh! The very idea! I have never-" And with that she took herself off, as if she'd just been pawed by a leper.
Harmon, who had been puffing his pipe and regarding her with some astonishment during her tirade, was now truly thunderstruck. "What on earth is the matter with her?"
"Your cock!" Janice cried, laughing fit to die.
It was true. Harmon's cock, evidently enjoying the open air, had taken the opportunity to stretch itself while Harmon was otherwise occupied, and had innocently come up against Cynthia's dress-right at the cunt.
"Did you see the way she reeled back!" Janice was almost choking with laughter.
"Dear me-I'll have to apologize to her," Harmon said smiling. He wasn't unduly disturbed.
Janice stroked his cock affectionately. "My hero," she said. Then she knelt on the sand in front of it, as if before a shrine. "I want you to come in my mouth this time," she told him. Then she closed her lips around it and began to suck.
CHAPTER TWO
Janice's mouth was still burning when they got back to the hotel. The taste of Harmon's semen was on her tongue, and she was still licking her lips when she spied her manager, Jack Rutt, standing in the lobby giggling to himself.
"Jack!" she cried, running up and kissing him full on the lips. "What's up?"
For an answer, Jack burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"Cynthia Prisse just blew in here to lodge a formal complaint,' as she called it She said she found you two screwing on the beach."
"So what did she want you to do?"
"She wanted me to 'segregate' you. That's the word she used. She left the details up to me. She's upstairs now writing a letter to her congressman."
Just then he noticed a young girl timidly moving from behind a potted plant
"Oh yeah. Hey Janice, here's this little girl who's dying to meet you. She says she idolizes you. I told her you'd say a few words to her when you came in."
"Sure. Come on over, honey."
The girl moved forward, clutching an autograph book. She had a sweet round face and big blue eyes that were staring adoringly at Janice. Harmon took the pipe out of his mouth to watch. His cock, so recently emptied, actually began to stir again. She was one of those girls who was so sweet and beautiful and round that you just want to take them in your arms and squeeze. You want to eat them. They're scrumptious.
She was wearing denim hip-huggers that were so tight that her cunt was in clear outline. It was a wonderful big round cunt, too. She was one packet of wonderful curves, all over. The waist of her hip-huggers was just above the level where her pubic hair would start. She was wearing the pants over a white body shirt and under the body shirt she wore nothing but a see-through bra, so that her nipples showed through as pale circles. She filled out all her clothes so beautifully, and her body was so tight and yet so soft that you'd have thought she was full of the sweetest Devonshire cream.
"What's your name?" Janice asked, signing the autograph book.
"Daisy."
"How old are you."
"Sixteen."
"You want to be a model."
"Yes."
"I don't know," Janice said, looking her over with a professional eye. I think maybe your figure is too womanly to be a model's. You look like you're ready to burst into flower! I think the movies are more in your line."
"Let me suggest something," Harmon said, stepping forward suddenly with his forefinger in the air. "Why don't we take her upstairs and put her through a complete camera test? Then we'll be able to guide her in a choice of careers."
"Yeah," added Jack Rutt, catching on enthusiastically. "Maybe we can begin her career."
Janice wasn't much impressed by this spontaneous good will, but she agreed eventually, after fixing the two men with a jaundiced stare. In half a minute Harmon and Jack were bundling Daisy upstairs, Janice taking up the rear. All the way up the men vied with each other to reassure and encourage little Daisy with fatherly squeezings of the shoulders, waist and rump. As to Daisy herself, she was overwhelmed by this good fortune. She couldn't believe that such great and famous people could take an interest in an unknown like herself. She felt on the threshold of a new and marvelous life.
Once they were in the room, Harmon set about putting up the lamps and cameras, and Jack explained as much as he could about the way a model should stand and carry herself. Daisy was naturally so athletic and graceful that she fell in with Jack's suggestions right away. Harmon snapped and snapped, and changed the lighting, and moved the cameras up and down, and took closeups and medium shots and full shots. Sometimes he helped Jack to put her in exactly the right pose-Jack carefully pushing her ass into line while Harmon deftly turned her chest towards the camera, using her breasts as handles. All this while Janice sat in a corner, snorting derisively to herself.
After the first ten frames, Harmon took Jack aside and they stood there staring at Daisy, meditatively squeezing their chins.
"What do you think, Jack," Harmon suggested aloud, "of something a little more candid. You see, up to now, with that long sleeve shirt and the full length levis-we've been suggesting rather than-"
"Stating you mean, openly stating. Yes, I think I see your point, Harmon. The clothes finally seem to inhibit the viewer's understanding. They-"
"Yes...."
"They seem to pose questions that are never finally answered."
"It's a cop-out," Harmon suggested, taking the pipe out of his mouth.
"Yes, yes, exactly-to use the current slang, a 'cop-out,' exactly. Now....."
"Cloth is opaque; in the end, it prevents the viewer from seeing."
"Exactly. Now that, I believe," Jack agreed, tapping Harmon approvingly on the chest, "is a perfect statement of the case. It is the viewer's wish to see; when the artist frustrates that simple and legitimate wish-"
A raucous cackle burst from the corner of the room. Both men turned their heads. Janice was leaning back in her chair, holding her sides in.
"What are they talking about?" Daisy wanted to know.
"They want you to pose in the nude," Janice answered straight out. Harmon and Jack both looked embarrassed and ashamed of themselves. "They'd have taken about twenty minutes to talk you out of your clothes, but well cut them short. Do you want to, or not?"
Daisy looked terribly shy. "I never took my clothes off in front of men before. I'd be embarrassed."
"In this business, you'd have to do it eventually anyway. It's not so bad. You do it once, and after that you get to like it."
Daisy was suddenly so uncomfortable that she seemed to want to leave.
"Look," Janice said kindly, "will you do it if I do it?"
"We'll do it too," Jack volunteered helpfully.
"This is between Daisy and me. Look, nobody will laugh at you or be dirty. It's something that will make you proud of yourself. I was like you a few years ago-but now I'd rather be nude than otherwise-ask Harmon. You're beautiful and your body's beautiful, and this will make you feel how true this is. Posing for the admiration of men-that's what it's all about. To be wanted by thousands and millions of them-you, just you, five feet five inches tall. Look-"
Janice reached down to the hem of her dress and lifted it over her head. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. She opened her legs a little to let her cunt stand free. Its thick hair was matted from the seawater. It rose in a high hump from beneath her belly and shaped itself into a V between her legs. Janice stood with her hands on her hips as Daisy admired her.
"Now, you're built a little differently from me," Janice went on, looking her up and down. "We both have nice firm breasts, but mine are a little smaller and pear-shaped kind of, and yours are big and round. And your hips are wider too. But take your clothes off and let me see how you look."
Daisy squirmed, reddened, and looked at the floor. But then her right hand moved over and pulled her zipper open, and her left unclasped her belt and then unsnapped the buckle of her pants.... She paused, smiling a little at the floor, her face flushed.
"She's shy," Harmon observed.
"I just don't know if I should.... You won't publish the pictures, will you?"
"No," both men said in unison.
"Well, since I want to be a model...and since models have to do it....." She sighed, and then with resolution she pulled down her pants, wriggling her hips a little, and stepped out of them. Her legs were smooth and muscular, like an athlete's. There was dead silence in the room.
Now she reached between her legs and undid the snap of the body shirt and, turning slightly to hide her front from the men, she lifted the clinging cloth from her hips. Her ass was full, the cheeks well separated. She might have been a ballet dancer, so beautiful was she developed.
Her arms crossed, she slowly bared her back, the muscles moving under the skin, the shoulder blades prominent above her bra strap. Her head disappeared, then re-emerged, her long blonde hair falling around her shoulders and down her back. She slipped the shut from her arms and dropped it onto the floor. The bra was all that was left and she seemed reluctant to take it off, as if that were the last thing holding her to her childhood, as if removing it would mean committing herself to another sort of life altogether. After twenty seconds of internal struggle she reached back and unsnapped it, drawing her hands away immediately. Her breasts settled forward. The loose ends of the bra dangled down her back. Then she brushed the strap from her left shoulder, and the one from her right, and in one quick motion dropped the bra to the floor beside her shirt and pants.
"Good!" Janice said in a happy voice. "That's wonderful. Now turn around, so we can see you."
Daisy turned coyly on her heels, her hands clasped behind her back. Harmon's pipe fell to the floor. Jack Rutt uttered a low moan. Daisy's body was as full and as tight as only a young body can be, and without clothes her squeezableness was multiplied about a hundred times. It was a wonderful little body, full of life and movement. She was breathing excitedly and her breasts, pointed a little to each side, rose and fell quickly. Her stomach expanded and contracted under her ribs. The ribs themselves were just barely visible under the flesh. Nothing about her was bony or angular-everything flowed and curved.
Harmon's and Jack's eyes, and Janice's too, roved over her body like searchlights. Naturally, when they'd feasted themselves on everything else, it was Daisy's cunt that held their attention-standing out in a fine hillock between her legs, covered only barely by a little triangular patch of honey-colored hair. The hair was silky and thin, and beneath it, as if through a gauzy curtain, they could see her cleft, the lips fleshy and firm.
"Beautiful," Janice said, nodding her head in a motherly way, full of encouragement.
"Wonderful," Harmon said, and never taking his eyes off Daisy, he began moving the lights into position. "Now," he said, "why don't you just kind of settle your weight on one leg-that's right-and lean your head to the left-wait a minute-" He went over and spread a few locks of hair over her shoulders and chest-taking the opportunity to heft one of her breasts-and then returned to the camera and shot three pictures.
"Now-keep your weight on that leg, but move your thighs apart A little wider-just a little more. Oh my God, that's perfect-hold it-"
Daisy's cunt was in full display, its thick lips pouting through her hair. At first she'd seemed embarrassed; now, after the first few pictures, she was getting into the spirit of things. Janice watched from the chair in the corner, and as she watched, she wet her fingertips in her pussy. She loved beautiful girls as much as any man did.
"Bend backwards a little, Daisy." Daisy leaned her shoulders against the wall, thrusting her hips forward, her stomach muscles taut and flat, her arms loose by her sides. She looked directly into the camera. Harmon's swallow could be heard by everyone in the room.
After a while, Jack Rutt, whose cock was straining to get out of his pants, began to complain of the heat "These lights are like ovens-I've got to take my shirt off."
"Yeah, me too," Harmon agreed, unbuttoning his sport shirt. "Too many kilowatts for this kind of climate....."
Bare chested, they now began improving on themselves.
"Janice, why don't you get in the picture," Harmon suggested. "We'll make this a kind of study . . .."
"They Joy of Being Woman," Jack offered.
"Exactly."
Janice stood up and crossed the room to stand beside Daisy. She put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. The sides of their breasts touched. Janice was only a little taller. Daisy put her arm around Janice's waist.
"Great-hold it." Harmon snapped the picture.
"God damn this heat-I've got to take my pants off."
"Now, Janice, why don't you kind of drape yourself over Daisy's shoulder-and Daisy, put your arm around Janice, with your palm just at the base of her spine. Look happy! Janice, kiss Daisy on the cheek."
Janice squeezed Daisy's shoulder and gave her a long hard kiss. The camera snapped twice.
"Okay, now face each other." Janice turned Daisy round by the shoulders, and pressed their breasts together. Daisy was all innocence, but Janice was beginning to breathe faster, and her heat was rising. Daisy giggled and kissed Janice sweetly on the cheek.
"You'll have to get closer than that," Harmon counseled. "Push your cunts together...like sisters."
"Come on, Daisy," Janice said softly. She put her arms around Daisy's back, and pulled her close.
"This is weird," Daisy said, a little uncomfortably.
Janice shrugged her shoulders. "Not so weird, really." She laid one hand flat on each of Daisy's buttocks and pressed her hips forward. Their pubic bones touched. Janice wiggled her hips.
"Ooh-Janice." Daisy's voice was reproachful.
Snip snip snip went Harmon's camera. The head of Jack's cock was peering like a periscope over the waistband of his jockey shorts, and it seemed-likely that the heat would drive him to take those off too, before long.
"Okay, Janice, now kiss her affectionately on the lips." Harmon covertly unbuckled his belt-making preparations to get out of his pants at a moment's notice. In the viewfinder he watched Janice hug Daisy tight, until their breasts were squashed together, and kiss her full on the lips with the passion of a lover. Daisy seemed to choke and wanted to pull back, and Harmon and Jack both knew why: Janice had just thrust her long tongue down Daisy's throat, like a wiry penis. At the same time she began undulating her body, moving her tits and scraping her pubic hair against Daisy's cunt. Daisy couldn't absorb it all on short notice. Harmon was snapping pictures and masturbating at the same time, and Jack was just then stepping out of his jockey shorts, with his huge cock stretched to its full ten inches.
It was Janice who was in control of the session now, and not the men. While Harmon snapped, she bent Daisy backwards in her arms, snaking her tongue out, pressing her body full length against the girl's. Daisy seemed too amazed to resist Finally she pulled out of the kiss.
"Janice!" she cried. "What are you doing?"
Janice didn't give her time for any more questions. She captured her mouth again, again shoving her tongue inside. But now she took one arm from around Daisy's back and slid it onto her breast. Daisy inhaled sharply. The hand squeezed the firm skin, molding it, pressing it in circles. Daisy began struggling to get away, but gradually the fight went out of her, as if, woman-like, she had yielded to a superior will. Janice's other hand now came around and took the right breast, pinching the nipples lightly between thumb and forefinger. Daisy leaned her weight against the two hands. It was a surrender, but really it was something more than a surrender. Wasn't she, by letting herself go like that, participating in this lovemaking?
A moan sounded in Daisy's throat. Her two hands, very slowly, very tentatively, moved around Janice's hips, until they were locked behind her back. She was the one now who was holding them together.
Jack's cock stretched towards them like a divining rod, but he stayed where he was, amazed and fascinated. Harmon's pants fell around his ankles in a heap. Janice's hips were doing their slow dance again. Daisy stood stock-still while the model's cunt slid and grated over her own. Her breathing grew longer, heavier, her lips twitched against Janice's mouth.
Janice bent her knees, and by a steady pressure brought Daisy down with her. They lay down side by side on the deep pile carpet, still kissing. Their flesh shone white under the lamps and against the scarlet of the rug.
Janice's hand gave the left breast one last squeeze, then started on its way down. Daisy turned herself a little so that she was lying flat on her back, her legs slightly parted. Harmon, looking at it straight on, could see that the lips of her cunt were open, the soft petals wet and pink. He watched Janice's strong fingers moving across the girl's belly, massaging it, then invading the golden pubic hair. At the instant the model's hand went round the bend, Harmon snapped a picture. He took another when her middle finger, swimming in oil, played round the tiny clitoris; and another when the same finger flicked the edges of Daisy's virginal hole, and finally entered, a little at a time, widening the walls as it went. Daisy lay still-stiff even-as she submitted to this completely new experience. She hardly knew what to make of it, excited though she was. Janice was terrifically overheated-she could hardly contain herself. Breaking off the kiss, she rubbed her face against Daisy's cheek, then began licking the folds of her ear. She rubbed her bush frantically against Daisy's leg, all the while working her finger, in steady circular motions, up the girl's untried cunt.
"No...please, no," Daisy moaned. But she didn't mean it. She'd already crossed the threshold-her mind wasn't virginal anymore. In a few moments she relaxed. She closed her eyes. Janice began working away with a second finger and before long had that inside her as well.
Calm as Daisy was in taking all of this-she was new and hardly knew how to take it-Janice was like a bitch in heat. She moaned and writhed as if she hadn't had sex in a month. The idea of taking a young girl completely unhinged her-as though it had been her special fantasy for years and was coming true, suddenly and unexpectedly, for the first time.
Jack Rutt couldn't take anymore. Wielding his cock like a baton, he rushed into Harmon's viewfinder. It was only when he dropped himself down at Janice's back that he came into focus. He snuggled like a spoon right up against her, his cock pressed into the crack of her ass. At the feel of it, Janice groaned with pleasure.
She rubbed herself harder against Daisy's leg, and bit her lip, hard. Then she lowered herself down a little and took Daisy's right breast in her mouth, sucking it like a baby.
For the first time Daisy responded in earnest. "Oh Janice-Janice....." she kept saying, as she clutched her lover's brown hair in her fists, and rubbed her neck. Janice had a huge piece of tit in her mouth, and was pushing her tongue against the underside of it, as if to force milk from it. Meanwhile Jack, with his hand wrapped around his cock, was rubbing the head of it between Janice's thighs. Jack was a big man, a former merchant sailor, with tattoos on both biceps. His cock was a muscle as tremendous as any other on his body and he loved to flex it. Now he buried the head of it in Janice's vagina, the pressure squirting a stream of juice from her cunt down his shaft. Flexing his ass very slightly, he edged his way in, his bulging cock widening her passage as it went along. Janice moaned with her mouth half full of tit. The sound was strange. It was really very strange: Daisy was moaning too, and their voices together sounded like one of those weird Rumanian folk tunes sung by women together with no instruments backing them-mournful cries and groans as if from the dungeons of Dracula himself. It went right to Jack's blood. He stretched his hips forward and buried his shaft in one slow shove all the way up Janice's cunt, until his balls alone remained outside her. That forced such a groan from her that the breath from her nostrils scalded Daisy's tit. The sexual electricity in the room rose to the crackling point.
Jack now began to shove, and every time he shoved, Janice's cunt rubbed harder against Daisy's leg and her fingers toiled more vigorously in her pussy. It wasn't long before she had three fingers in. Daisy lifted her head up and kissed Janice's neck as the model sucked at her nipple.
Suddenly Daisy came. There was nothing histrionic about it. She was more astounded than anything else. She suddenly stiffened, and her toes curled, and she let out a cry of amazement. Janice could feel the blood ticking inside the rim of the girl's hole as the orgasms came, one after the other. Her blue eyes were wide open, staring, her lips slightly parted, her hair pasted with sweat to her face. When one particularly strong one came she inhaled sharply and lifted her shoulders a little from the floor. All the while Janice never stopped with her mouth or her fingers. After a while Daily sank back, her eyes still far away. Then she rolled over on her stomach and lay there exhausted and full of wonder.
Janice and Jack weren't finished by a long shot. She tried to get up on her hands and knees, but his thrusts made her weak in the arms and legs. She dropped on her stomach, Jack's weight full on top of her. Then he rolled over on his back, pulling her along, so that she now lay facing up at the ceiling. Jack's cock deep inside her, and his hands coming round to caress her breasts. She was speechless with ecstasy-her head bent way back over Jack's shoulder, her cheek against his, her mouth wide open. She put her hands on top of his and helped him massage her breasts.
Harmon couldn't stand still anymore, uselessly pretending to take pictures. His cock kept interfering with the tripod. He stepped over to the spot where the two of them .were lying and, kneeling over Janice's face, he dangled his cock temptingly above her lips. like a kitten lunging for hamburger she snapped it up, gnawing and slurping, her tongue flicking hither and yon, soaking his tube as if her saliva were marinade. His big balls hung down almost the length of his shaft; they rested against her cheek and every once in a while she'd open her mouth to take them in as well-sucking gently so as not to hurt them, lifting them each on the tip of her tongue.
Daisy, still a little woozy, sat up to watch. She saw Harmon reach out his right arm, delicately extending a finger to pull at the skin above Janice's clitoris. She saw Janice's hips heave up every time Jack lifted his own hips to plow his cock into her. She saw how wet Jack's cock was at every withdrawal. She watched Janice's lips pull at Harmon's dick like the lips of a baby sucking at a bottle.
All of a sudden the scene seemed to explode in front of her eyes. Janice was the one who started it. The moans that escaped from her around Harmon's penis began to take on a special intensity. She lifted her head up and down with tremendous energy, her mouth a mobile cunt, her pliant tongue seeming to be everywhere at once. Jack's rod drove faster and faster, until the sound of it moving in her twat became a clearly audible squishing.
". . . mm...mm...MM...MMM...MMMMMM!" That was the way her voice, gagged by Harmon's cock, announced the climax. Pinioned though she was, she jerked her body left and right, her belly surging with orgasms. Her reaction was so intense that neither of the men could hold on any longer. Jack Rutt was the first to come, blasting his wads into her gut, as if from a .357 Magnum. He lifted his hips high off the floor, digging every last centimeter into her. Her legs stamped the floor, as his hands squeezed her breasts with fierce ardor.
Just then Harmon broke loose, firing his shots right down her throat. She didn't gag-she'd had experience enough to know how to catch the semen in her throat before it reached the windpipe-how to swallow it slowly, leisurely, relishing its heat and texture. She let it fill her mouth until, steaming and white, it burst from her lips and rolled down the sides of her face. Then, as wad after wad sped from his shaft, she swallowed, taking it down like custard, the heat expanding inside from throat to stomach. It went into her blood like a drug and unleashed a new flurry of orgasms. Daisy watched the mouth of her pussy twitch, juice seeping from it. Harmon gave her a new mouthful for every swallow. He couldn't believe the intensity of it. There was always more-the pump between his legs brought it up from his balls as if from a well fed by hot springs. He could feel Janice's tongue pressing his dork against the roof of her mouth, squeezing the head like a grape. And Jack, lying underneath her-he could feel the walls of her cunt beating around his dick as if there were fingers inside them. Her ass curved into his belly, making every orgasm more acute, more exquisite. He squeezed her breasts with abandon, the nipples hard in his palms; and her own hands still lay on top of his, helping him to massage.
Harmon's orgasms began to slow down. She could take her time about swallowing now, and could pause to taste his semen. It burnt the lining of her mouthsalty, a little bitter-but sweeter to her than any liqueur. It went down slow as honey. She swirled her tongue in it
Inside her, Jack's come was like a molten pool widening in her belly, deep as the sea, and full of wriggling creatures. It all seemed to flow toward her center, toward the place where her life was stored. She felt herself a pine female animal, the receptacle for all men's desires, with ports fore and aft into which they might plug themselves at will.
Harmon, spent, fell on his side, his cock drawing like a worm from her mouth and thumping to the carpet. When Jack was finished he lay back, his big chest heaving, and his dick still up inside her. As for Janice, she curved her body to the right, lying slantwise across Jack's chest and licked the semen from her lips. She put her left hand over her cunt, the fingertips touching the base of Jack's cock.
Daisy was stunned. Never had she dreamed that men and women did such things. And she was still dizzy from what was, in fact, her very first orgasm. It, like everything else about this photo session, had been completely unexpected. Her world had shifted on its axis. She was in a different place now altogether and every bit of exploration would bring her something beautiful and strange.
CHAPTER THREE
A few days later Daisy was sitting in the hotel lobby talking with Cynthia Prisse. Cynthia had spent the night of the modeling session typing a seventeen-page letter of complaint to Rep. Thud Zettleboyer-D of Arkansas, charging Janice and Harmon with "mining the very foundations of civilization" and "striving to reduce the human race to the level of orangutans and baboons."
Rep. Zettleboyer knew Cynthia well. She was in the habit of writing him outraged letters every few weeks. Once an Army corporal on leave had chortled derisively in her face-inspiring her to write to no fewer than fifteen senators, sixty-five representatives, the Secretary of the Army, the Governor of New York, and the President, demanding the soldier's court martial. The soldier had in fact been violently reprimanded on account of this unholy pressure, and demoted to buck private again. He was often to be seen carrying a broom morosely from one barracks to another, his mind hovering like a vulture on that ruinous incident of his past. He still racked his brains to remember who Cynthia was but he couldn't do it. "I didn't do nothing!" he'd groan.
Cynthia was still thinking with grim satisfaction of her latest work, when Daisy, her forehead furrowed, asked, "Cynthia, what's a dildo?"
Cynthia stiffened with amazement. "Child, where did you hear such a terrible word."
"Janice said-"
"Hmph! I'm not surprised. She's now turned to the corruption of innocents." She nodded her head. "But her days are numbered, let me assure you."
"Well what's a dildo?"
Cynthia shook her head violently with every syllable, putting her face right in front of Daisy's. "It is an artificial pudendum!"
"An artificial whatT
Cynthia showed some confusion. "An artificial member."
"Member of what? Is it like politics."
"Good heavens no, child. It is a manufactured article, intended to represent the male procreative organ."
"Huh?"
"I refuse to discuss the subject anymore."
"Isn't there an easy word?"
"Indeed there is, but I refuse to utter it."
"Well how can I learn? Everybody said they'd help me, but now you won't. Why can't you say it?"
"Oh very well." She wrinkled her lips and spat it out as if it were a cockroach she'd just taken in, in a spoonful of vichyssoise: "Phallus."
"Oh no," Daisy moaned. "I never heard that word either."
"Then Tm afraid you'll have to resort to a dictionary-or to one of your lewd friends."
"But they told me to ask you."
"Indeed! So now they've begun to bait me."
"Well tell me this: Is it anything like a penis?"
"Yes!" Cynthia snapped. "Oh! So that explains it."
"Explains what?"
"Janice told me that you use an icicle for a dildo!"
"Wha-Wha-" Cynthia turned her eyes from one end of the lobby to the other. "The very idea! I am speechless with indignation. I-" Already whole paragraphs of her next letter to Rep Zettleboyer were leaping into position.
"Cynthia," Daisy said, turning to a new subject and wrinkling her forehead again. "The other day-by accident-" (She'd been told to keep the photo session a deep secret) "-I saw Jack when he had a big erection. It was this long." She spread her hands about a foot apart. "Is that big for a penis?"
Cynthia, starting, gazed in astonishment at the space between Daisy's hands. "Repulsively so," she replied.
She kept it in mind, though, and a few minutes later when she went up to her room she locked the door behind her, leaning back against it with her arms spread. She was breathing fast. Suddenly she lunged forward, kneeled down and pulled a valise from under her bed. Inside the valise, under a pile of drab skirts and blouses, was a sack of navy blue, inside which, carefully wrapped in soft paper, was a huge rubber dildo.
It was a miracle of skilled craftsmanship-hand made in 1660 by Yang Lee Po of the ancient House of Yang, the great silver, gold, and rubber artisans of Shanghai. It was twelve full inches long, and two inches thick at its widest point. Every detail was truly and lovingly sculpted. The hundreds of fine veins were deep blue, the shaft a delicate flesh tone, the great saddle-shaped head a ruddy pink. At its base was a smooth handle fashioned into the shape of a scrotum bulging with balls the size of a condor's eggs.
Cynthia didn't know it, but the greatest miracle of all was inside the dildo, invisible to all eyes. A dragon-shaped bar of gold ran the length of the shaft, inlaid with diamonds, rubies, jade and emerald, and carved with figures of couples making love. The testicles were actually two perfect uncut diamonds, each of them as big as the Star of India.
The dildo had first been presented with Yang Lee Po's compliments to the Empress at Peking. More than a century later one of her descendants had presented it as a gift to Catherine the Great of Russia, who appointed Pyotr Schlotkobov as Wielder of the Imperial Dildo. She, however, died when a horse she was copulating with fell on her, and the dildo passed into the hands of the Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, who used it anally. The Empress Josephine is said to have taunted Napoleon with it, contrasting it pointedly with the conqueror's own prong. Somehow it ended up in the possession of the wife of the American President Millard Fillmore, and was supposed to have been buried with her, but actually it was spirited away by Fillmore's son-in-law, who sold it to P.T. Barnum. Bar-num however was afraid to exhibit it and the dildo subsequently fell on hard times. For a hundred years, its history forgotten, it appeared on burlesque stages and in brothels, rescued by mere accident from a thousand trash bins and garbage heaps. Cynthia, trembling both-with lust and mortification, had bought it on sight in an adult bookstore on 42nd Street between Broadway and 8th Avenue. The vendor had charged her fifteen dollars for it. She blanched with shame every time she remembered his toothless smile and the stench of his black cheroot. "You want me to put it in a bag?" he'd said.
Now she laid the dildo carefully on the bedspread and went to the mirror. She stood in front of it, brushing her hair back. Then suddenly, as if somebody'd just barged in, she turned toward the door.
"Oh-Jack! You surprised me. I wasn't expecting anyone." She tittered. "Oh, that roguish smile! What do you have up your sleeve? And ooh-that dirty thing pushing inside your trousers! I know you want to, but we mustn't. I'm going out." She grabbed her handbag and made for the door, then stopped as if her path was being block. "Jack, please-let me go. Stop this foolishness. What are you doing? No!" She struggled out of an imaginary embrace, then got enmeshed in it again. She beat around with her fists. "You animal! Do you think those big muscles can move me? That strong, hairy chest, that panting stomach?" She put her hands on her buttocks. "Take your hands from my bottom! And don't push my hips forward-I don't want our bellies to touch!"
Then she made a quick reach, grabbed the dildo, and pressed it against her stomach.
"Oh, you filthy stallion! Oh, don't rub it against me," she insisted, rubbing it vigorously against her cunt and stomach. "It's too disgusting-you'll make me cry!"
She lowered her voice and carried off a fair imitation of Jack Rutt. "So cry, you bitch-cry, if you think it'll do any good!"
Accordingly she burst into tears, briefly, rubbing the Chinese dildo up and down and across. Then Jack apparently made a grab for her tit.
"Get away, you fiend," she moaned, smiting the empty air. "Get-Get-Stop it!" She held the dildo with one hand, while with the other she squeezed her breast. "Oh no, no-my fleshy tit-my hot fleshy tit...."
"Yes, your hot tit!" she bellowed in Jack's voice. "Now I'm taking off this blouse!"
Protesting loudly, Cynthia unbuttoned her blouse and opened it wide. Underneath was a brassiere so stiff that it seemed starched with glue.
"There! Now you've opened it-you've got what you want-now go!"
"Go! Hah hah hah! That's just the beginning, you stiff bitch-off with that blouse, off with that bra: I want to see some bare tit!"
Laying the dildo down for a moment, she took the blouse off roughly, jostling herself and moaning.
"The bra too!" Jack's voice insisted. After a short struggle she unhinged the snap and shrugged the bra off. Her breasts, loosened from their stays, turned out to be big and heavy and firm-everything a man could desire.
"Beautiful boobs," Jack observed, as Cynthia languished in his arms. "Let me feel."
She caressed her breasts with both hands, backing herself tight against the wall.
"Mmmmm. The more I press, the bigger they get. I want to suck them."
She lifted her left breast in one palm and pulled at the nipple with the fingertips of her other hand.
"Oh be gentle-don't be so brutal with me!"
Jack's answer was a terrific pull at her nipple.
"You're heartless-you don't want me, all you want is my body. You want sex, nothing but pure bestial sex!"
"That's right," she had Jack reply, the nipple still in his mouth. But suddenly she changed his tactics. Swift as lightning the right hand went down her skirt, grabbing her crotch.
"What the hell's this-a girdle? Who the hell wears a girdle anymore?" The zipper was torn open and the skirt thrown to the floor. Then strong hands gripped the waistband of the girdle, pulling it roughly down.
"No!"
It came farther down, exposing a white expanse of smooth belly that had never seen the sun. Down on the left until her whole haunch stood revealed; down on the right until the first black curls of pubic hair peeped above the elastic.
"It's my most private, private place-you can't take it from me!"
She put up a terrific fight, even got the girdle up to her navel, but Jack's sheer force was too much for her at last. A single pull revealed her heavy bush, and another sufficed to bring the garment to her knees. Her dark cunt stood out thick between her legs-the hair so dense that fingers could get lost in it-they'd go in at one end and never emerge at the other.
She dug her right hand between her legs, shouting objections the whole time. The middle finger explored the matted growth, seeking the hole at the other side like Speke searching for the sources of the Nile. Deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness that finger plunged, separating the jungle leaves, until finally it encountered slick red skin and a black cave whose tunnel seemed to lead to the center of the earth. At a touch the walls of the tunnel drew back; hot liquids seeped from them. The finger delved inside.
"Oh Jack, no, no! That's my pussy-I don't want you in there. Take it out-it's evil, it's wrong!" She fell back squirming on the bed, kicking the girdle off and flailing her legs in the air, jerking at her twat with both hands. "Oh, I'm nude, completely nude, and your vile fingers are soiling my most secret place."
"Shaddup!" She detached one hand from her cunt to slap herself across the face. "Now you're going to get what-for."
"No! Don't unzip your trousers-don't pull them down, don't" She seemed transfixed, staring at something between her lifted legs. "Oh, that hideous thing of yours! It's loose-it's bobbing from your groin and oh, you're pulling it and pulling it with your fists.... It's too ugly, too disgusting.... No, don't put it near me--DON'T!"
She grabbed the dildo and slapped it against her thigh, ass and cunt. "It hurts, it hurts! It's like the penis of a horse, of a big Brahma bull, of a big spermy sperm whale-ohh, it's so fat and squeezy! Put it back in your pants, don't whip me anymore or I'll scream."
"Scream away! Hah hah hah! No one will hear you-the walls are eight or ten feet thick!"
She laughed and wept simultaneously. "I'm helpless, helpless, with this great chubby penis flapping at my thighs-but no-NO! No! Don't put it in there-Jack, please, it's all I have left, don't rob it from me-the deep, moist vault of Venus: Let me keep my treasure!"
"I'm taking everything I can get. Spread those legs!"
There was another struggle, which ended up with the head of the dildo just inside the opening of her twat. She wailed piteously. Then by slow degrees, she drove it inside-a difficult operation, since it was a foot long, and it was hard to apply the right torsion. She bent herself double, her ass in the air, her arms stretched up as high as they could go. She pushed hard, then relaxed the pressure, pushed again and again relaxed; she sank it in, drew it partway out, then sank it in farther. Viewed from above, it was a wonderful sight: the wild growth of black hair split gruesomely in the center, the penny-sized clitoris naked to the least touch, the mobile ass-hole clenching and opening by turns and between them the vagina stretching hugely, glutted by that ruthless log of Yang-crafted Chinese rubber.
From the edges of her hole, the juice oozed like melted butter. The inner lips clung to the rubber, drawing in and out with the suction of the strokes. Deeper, deeper it went-five, six, eight inches-and Cynthia moaned and gibbered on the bed, delirious with pain and ecstasy.
Then, with one steady shove, her thin biceps straining, she slid it in all the way. "Uhhhhhhhhh"-the sound came from halfway down her throat. She rolled on her side, closed in the fetal position, gripping the testicles between her legs. "Nuhhhhhhhhh." Her legs moved spasmodically. She stretched out on her stomach, both hands clutching the balls, and slid herself on it an inch either way. The slightest motion inflamed her clitoris. Her mouth was open, the teeth digging into the sheets. Her glasses, pressed too hard into the mattress, suddenly broke at the bridge. Her hips eased forward, drew back, pushed in again.
"Nn...Nnnnn...." She rolled onto her back, planting her feet flat on the mattress, thighs spread wide. Again she moved the dildo by the balls, an inch or so at a time, but now increasing the speed. She began to heave her hips to meet her own thrusts, feeling the great head of it gouging her insides at the level of her kidneys. She rolled slantwise off the bed, landing on her feet, her legs crossed, her hips swivelling, tits pressed together between her arms, hands wriggling in the juices of her twat.
Now she dragged the little dressing table to the bedside. Pulling the dildo partway out of her, she shut a long drawer tight against the scrotum, locking it in position. Laying her feet flat on the drawer, and riding on her elbows, she now began to fuck as few women have ever fucked in their lives. She drew herself horizontally erect, until the head of the huge organ barely touched her petals; then she bore down on it, bending her knees like a gymnast and forcing herself forward on her elbows, until its entire length was buried in her again. At each stroke the squishing was like the sound of waves lapping the shore of a lake; the pressure forced the nectar out of her in waves, and its odor soon impregnated the air all around like a husky perfume, a heavy female stench of new leather and fresh ocean fish.
Her full breasts lay to each side on her chest, the nipples hard as the shaft of her dildo; her stomach muscles tautened into rows; her bushy cunt protruded higher than ever from her now flattened belly. And between her legs the edges of her hole beat and quivered. Her vagina took up all the space there was down there; one throbbing hole four inches around and hot as a pressure cooker, fragrant as steamed shrimp.
She began to twist on it, shaking her hips right and left. The sounds coming out of her throat were unearthly. She hardly inhabited her brain anymore; it had become nothing more than an appendage to her cunt. Her nerve center was between her legs-her clit gave the orders now, and it was the clit that was wailing through her lips. Her eyes were screwed shut, her mouth open, lips drawn back to reveal the white even teeth. Her leg muscles bulged with her efforts.
Then, suddenly, she felt a huge rush of signals flying toward her cunt. They built and built until wham! like an internal clap of thunder, orgasms broke loose, cascading through her system, actually rocking her in the bed. Her stomach muscles rolled in subcutaneous waves; the mouth of her cunt slurped and sucked around the shaft Even her breasts, filling with new blood, drew taut shivering like gelatin.
For a minute and a half Cynthia reeled with this orgasmic seizure. Her whole body took part in it. By the time it was over she was bathed in sweat and the bedspread between her legs was soaked to transparency.
She had just enough strength to draw the dildo out of her, release the testicles from the drawer, and clasp it to her bosom. Then, sighing Jack's name, she fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jack, meanwhile, innocent of his role in this horrific scene, was snoozing peacefully on the beach. He was awakened by the pressure of footsteps in the sand near his head, and opened his eyes. There stood Harmon smoking his pipe, his bathing suit barely holding together under the strain of a terrific hard-on.
"What's happening?" Jack asked him.
"Want to come to Gibbett's Island? We're going to take some skin-diving pictures."
"Judging by the state of your cock there's something more in it than pictures."
"You haven't seen Janice in the new Bottillucci bathing suit. What's more, you haven't seen Daisy in Clichy's new St. Tropez bikini."
Jack flailed to his feet, scattering sand in all directions. "Where?"
"Take it easy. I sent them on ahead. They're going to go wading while we bring up all the equipment."
"Great. I'll take care of the fins and masks...Jesus, this bathing suit! My dick's always climbing out of it...look at that woman staring at me."
The pair of them traipsed up the beach, their hard-ons leading the way. Within fifteen minutes they were in a cab rolling down North Shore Road under a brilliant sky.
"We forgot Cynthia," Jack observed sarcastically, clutching the diving gear in his lap. "Oh yes," Harmon replied.
"Of all the damn people to put on this assignment-no tits, no ass, no legs, no nothing. And that face! Jesus Christ"
"You're wrong," Harmon said. "She hides it all. The truth is-and I'm willing to bet on it-that without those two fish tanks she wears for glasses, and with her hair down and her clothes off, she'd be every bit as nice as Janice or Daisy."
"You're out of your mind."
Harmon shrugged his shoulders. "My opinion, that's all."
"That tobacco addles your brains. What is that stuff anyway?"
"Rattray's Red Rapparree, a Turkish and Virginia blend-one of the finest tobaccos in the world."
"Well I hope you don't mind my saying so-but it smells like cow shit."
Down at the beach Daisy and Janice were kneeling in the water, talking and laughing. When the two men got out of the cab and reeled down the hill with their gear the girls ran out to meet them. Jack's cock was dangling down his right leg.
"Hello hello hello!" Janice cried, kissing both of them. Daisy ran up smiling and kissed them, too. They were in the new bathing suits, and Jack threw down the fins and masks and snorkels to look at them.
Janice's was a one-piece suit of navy blue, made of a loose, clinging polyester. There was no bra inside it, and no material inside the crotch. It didn't press tight against her; her body seemed to move inside it. You didn't look on the suit as clothing-you looked beyond it, as something inside of which Janice was naked. And inside, she was very naked. Her breasts hobbled loose with every movement, her nipples stood sharply in relief. Every time she inhaled her navel created a hollow in the cloth, and her big mound stood out at the crotch and the swirls of pubic hair were cleanly etched.
"Are you going to come in with us?" she asked him, winking, brushing her breasts back and forth against his arm.
"You bet."
"You'd better keep this inside for the time being." Her hand was on his wayward dork, which stiffened instantly.
"It keeps coming out-I never know where it'll show up next."
She pulled out the crotch of his suit and stuffed it back inside, patting it affectionately when she was through. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her stomach against his great bulge, her cheek on his shoulder, a smile on her face.
Daisy meanwhile was watching Harmon load the underwater camera. It was an ordinary 35mm Minolta fitted inside a Plexiglas case, with handles and knobs coming out. He loaded the camera, fitted it into position, then screwed the case shut with wing nuts.
"Won't water come in it?" she asked.
"No-see, all the joints and handles are sealed with O-rings."
"What's an O-ring?"
He looked up from the camera and was struck speechless again at the sight of Daisy in her new bikini staring at the camera case. The suit seemed to be fighting a losing battle of "containment" on the long-discredited "domino theory." It looked much too weak for the job it was meant to do, and that is the way it was meant to look. It was nothing but a set of triangles held together with strings. Each triangle covered, with meager success, some part of Daisy that, legally, should not be open to public examination. But looking at it, you got the feeling that you get in staring at certain coy girlie magazines-which is, if they've already gone that far, why not go all the way? Looking at Daisy was an excruciating experience anyway, even when she had all her clothes on; but having her there right in front of you, all innocent and round and entirely naked except for three pieces of nylon that, put together, wouldn't have been enough to stitch an ordinary men's sock-that was cruel, that was too mean; it made you angry. It was the kind of thing that drives men to rape.
"What's the matter with you?" she asked, looking up from the O-rings.
Harmon's only answer was a hard swallow. From where he stood he was looking down between her breasts, along the center of her rib cage, across her panting stomach, to the very first centimeter of pubic bone. He could even see a few wispy blond pubic hairs softly trembling in the wind. He could see almost everything-BUT THAT WAS ALL.
He had the agonized sense that one eighth of an inch in any direction in any one of those flimsy patches of cloth would make all the difference, would right all the wrongs of the world. But no matter how she moved, the patches all stayed with her. Her breasts, so full of life, jiggled with every motion; at every breath the "bra" should have dropped away to show the world the soft pink nipples that it deserved to see. But no: somehow the pressure of the taut strings held the pieces in place and you were left with your crude longing to tear those absurd obstructions away and put your penis as far up inside that soft belly as it could possibly go.
Harmon didn't say anything so Daisy turned around and rejoined Janice. He watched her ass, only half covered, swivelling away, watched the firm muscles of her bare back, the spine, the long blond hair hanging between her shoulder blades.
"God help us all," thought Harmon.
The idea was to take a few pictures from the beach and then to paddle out with mask and flippers to take pictures in the water and then on the little island that stood a hundred yards offshore.
The girls were very serious. Janice was the complete professional and Daisy was intent on learning everything she could. When Janice turned away for a shot of her back, Harmon saw through the fine-ground Vivitar lens that, though her wet bathing suit touched her back only here and there, it clung to her buttocks so snugly that it folded into the crack of her ass. He could see the last vertebra, then the cleft beginning, then deepening and widening until it disappeared between her legs. It wasn't clothing; it was simply cloth lying on her skin, and it was the skin you saw when you looked at her.
After those first pictures they waded into the ocean, put on their snorkeling gear, and flipped out toward the island, Harmon bringing up the rear with his underwater camera. Jack dropped behind too, and together they stared along the kicking legs at the cunts. They tried to pinpoint in their minds the exact place where the holes would be, the exact place to fix their eyes and their imaginations. Daisy's cunt was broad and domed, about the width of a man's palm; Janice's was longer and narrower, jutting out farther in front. Looking steadily at it, Harmon could see the outlying wisps of pubic hair, the ones the bathing suit couldn't cover. For reasons he himself couldn't have defined, he snapped some pictures. Certainly the women's magazine couldn't use them.
When they were halfway to the island and in pretty deep water, Jack swam up by Janice's side and took her hand, as if to help her along. His real intentions were made clear when he pulled her arm underneath him and pressed the back of her hand against his cock, slowly rubbing it up and down. Harmon, staring ahead at Janice's crotch, saw the material covering it slowly sink in the middle until her crack was visible along its whole length-with an oval depression right between her legs.
When you're using a snorkel, the sound of your breathing is so loud to your own ears that, for beginners, it can sound frightening. Harmon thought he was climbing toward a fit. He was certain everyone else could hear it, but he couldn't help himself. He had just seen Janice's cunt open inside her bathing suit, declaring, just as if she had said it out loud, "I want a cock to come inside me."
Harmon quickened his flipper strokes and hove up alongside Daisy. She turned her face toward him, her blue eyes wide inside the mask, her mouth stopped up by the black mouthpiece of the snorkel. Clutching the camera under his right arm, he reached over and took Daisy's hand, swam a few yards innocently like that, then pulled her over so their bodies were touching and her knuckles were firmly pressed against his erect cock. She acquiesced completely, and in the intervals of his own breathing he could hear her quick breaths too.
When they got out to the island, Harmon and Jack hoisted themselves up on a submerged ledge so that they were sitting half in and half out of the water, then helped the women up after them. The easiest way, they found, was to put one hand under the armpit, with the fingers pressing a breast, and cup the other hand around the cunt. By this means they hoisted the girls into their laps. Once the operation was completed, though, the hands stayed where they were.
"That was fun," Daisy said, her nose stopped up by the mask.
Janice was going to say something but she stopped in mid-sentence with a kind of soft cry and bent forward slowly at the hips. From where he sat, Harmon could see Jack's wrist working, the one that was in her lap.
Harmon took off his mask and snorkel and took Daisy's off too. The head of his cock was right where Daisy's hole should be, and he thought-he may have imagined it-that inside the silly triangle her vagina was trying to take him in. Certainly it felt that way. Daisy's chest rose and fell and she was looking at him strangely. He slid his hand around all the way and felt for himself. It was true! The black nylon gave under his pressure. He pressed again and Daisy stared at him with the same strange expression, intensified now, and began bending forward at the hips as Janice had done.
"It feels so good it hurts a little," she said. "Oh!"
He was desperate to take the bikini off her, but he forced himself to slow down. She's never been touched by a man, he thought to himself, savoring the thought, letting it work up his blood. Janice was moaning steadily now in Jack's arms and the sound of it made him press faster at Daisy's cunt. She closed her eyes and Harmon drew her face down to kiss her. Her mouth was wet. His tongue slid between her teeth. Her ripe tit pressed against his chest. She was going to let him do it. With a gentle yet firm motion he hooked his middle finger inside the V of her bikini. Instantly he touched cunt. He was amazed. She was as slick as hot butter and wide open. She'd been aching for it all this time. He sank his finger in to the knuckle. Her tongue answered him back. She put her hands on his shoulders and pressed herself to him, her breast flattening against him.
He had to take that bikini off, to have her naked against him, really naked. He drew the warmed finger from her vagina and lifted the hand to her face, caressing her cheek. She felt the oils of her cunt against her skin and, breaking the kiss for a moment, she turned her head to sniff at the finger and then to take it into her mouth and lick it all around. When she'd sucked up all the juice, she kissed Harmon again and he could taste the sharp salt on her tongue.
The string that held the little top together was no thicker than shoestring, and it was tied in the same sort of knot. He pulled at it and it came apart. With that the tension that had held everything together was sprung. The two little pieces dropped into the water and Harmon had her breasts bare and for the taking.
When he took her left tit in his hand her response was just as intense as when he'd felt her pussy. She was one of those girls whose tits are on a direct line with the cunt. Their heartbeat races no matter where you touch them. When you press the nipple tight in your palm, gather the tit into your palm with your fingertips, they breathe eagerly, kiss you harder, and when you begin to turn the tit round and round, more firmly each time, they respond as if you had your fingers plunging in their cunt. The nipple hardens, the breast fills out, they push the breast against your hand, push their chest out, inhaling as if to make it bigger for you.
Daisy's tongue now made a foray into Harmon's mouth. It was a small tongue and tender as a child's. Her breast was one big packet of flesh-big, but not loose: everything tight and springy under the smooth skin.
The sea was calm and its ripples caressed them. Harmon, staring out of the corner of his eye as he kissed her, saw her cloth-covered cunt in the clear water, distorted slightly by refraction and by the movement of the ripples. Her legs were pressed tight together, forcing the maximum pleasure into her pussy. She had good big thighs and he ached to separate them, to make a full exploration of that steaming cunt of hers. His hand left her breast with one last lingering caress and rubbed the muscles of her chest and then her belly, his fingertips pressing in just above her pubic bone making her squirm in his lap..
He lifted her up in the water and pulled the bikini bottoms down on either side, then took them off altogether. Her legs were open now and nothing was hidden anymore, nothing. The sunlight passed through the soaked yellow pubic hairs as if they were transparent He could see her crack as clearly as if no hair were there at all; it seemed as bare as a child's, the lips plump and separated by a fraction of an inch. When he pressed his finger there she heaved up her hips, turning her body toward him so that both tits hugged his chest. The hairs of her cunt were soft as cotton. His fingers rounded the bend and were immediately enmeshed in the open folds, which he stroked in little flicks that made her wild. The moisture of her cunt was very different to the touch from that of the seawater. The ocean wasn't so warm nor so oily. There seemed actually to be a current streaming from her hole, a little Gulf Stream that warmed the salt water all around her twat. He pushed his finger up into the source of it; the fountain widened and he shoved a second finger up there, like the Dutch boy with his thumb in the dike. Yet it wasn't a loose cunt; it held his fingers tight together at the knuckles with a ring of muscle, and he thought what miracles of sensation that ring would bring to his dick as it pulled and plunged inside.
Daisy was beside herself. Harmon's fingers reached farther up inside her than anything had ever gone and the stretching of her cunt was almost more than she could bear. She was ready-nothing could stop the agony of her pleasure but the final agony of a cock glutting her passage. She could feel Harmon's rod pressing her hip and with one hand she reached down to touch it-squeezing the head tentatively between her thumb and forefinger, then the shaft, feeling the veins pulsing. Harmon lifted her lightly up by the ass and slipped his briefs off. Then he got out from underneath her and settled her on her back comfortably, on an incline covered with soft moss, so that from her chest down she was under water.
Instinctively she spread her legs. Harmon settled down on top of her, his cock pressing her stomach. Then he eased himself down until the head of his cock grazed her pubic hairs and slid into the notch between her legs. He put his hand underneath and guided his dick to the waiting hole. When it was well aimed he gave a shove. Daisy flinched. He shoved again, gently but firmly, and the sudden pain made her cry out. The head of his dick was now imbedded in her. He paused, letting her collect herself-then he shoved again, and again, harder each time. Her nails scratched his back. She clutched him hard. Harmon's buttocks flexed, and this time he felt something in her give way. It was as if his cock had broken through a fleshy barrier, opening a way before him. Daisy's eyes were wide and staring, and every time something especially surprising happened she blinked. When Harmon broke through like that she inhaled sharply and noisily and lifted her head from the moss. He pushed again; he was about a third of the way in now. Daisy raised her knees and squeezed him between her haunches. Harmon's next shove was like a hammerstroke. He was desperate to get in, feeling that he couldn't hold his load much longer, with that tight cunt stretching the skin away from the head with every stroke.
Finally, with one huge drive, he forced himself in all the way, felt himself enclosed to the very base of his cock. Daisy cried out as the head of it climbed her belly. They paused, each of them gathering his sensations, Harmon trying to hold himself in. He could feel the veins beating inside her walls. Her belly was smooth and soft under his own, her breasts like cushions.
Harmon drew himself out a little way, then pushed in again-starting slowly, testing himself. His next stroke was longer, and just as slow, but he was gaining momentum. The juice squeezed out of her, greasing his way. He was still driving with his hips, raising his ass and then plunging. But as he picked up speed his motions changed, he began shoving from his toes, his whole body riding hers. She slid up and down on the moss under his weight, her back massaged by the velvet plants, her chest and belly by Harmon's body, her cunt by his thick, relentless whang. Between her legs little fish were gathering, attracted by the odor of her cunt and by the trickles of blood that the pressure of love had forced from her. They swam up and down between her legs, their gills pulsing, their mouths chewing, and stared with interest at this unheard-of spectacle. They watched Harmon's cock draw out, the inner lips of Daisy's cunt clinging to the shaft; they heard the subaqueous squish of its re-entry, saw Daisy's body slide back as their pubic bones collided. They watched Harmon's balls, neutrally buoyant, swing slowly back and forth with his strokes and bounce against her ass at each intrusion.
In a few moments, however, a change came over the pair of them, which the fish watched with signs of nervousness. Planting her feet against outcroppings of rock, Daisy began to respond to his thrusts, lifting her belly up to meet them and at the same time swivelling her hips clockwise. Harmon jammed his cock home with ferocious energy, the whole power of his strong legs going into it. The fish began swimming in excited circles, sensing a crisis. Locked together, the bodies moved faster and faster, thrashing the water, setting up strange currents which the fish rode up and down with staring eyes. Then the moment came: the girl heaved her hips off the moss, making a tripod of her feet and shoulders, her gash ruby red, her toes clenching, while Harmon slammed his rod home as if it were a harpoon. There was a strange momentary hush as those bodies strained together; then, clearly audible to the sensitive ears of all the sea life around, came the sounds of Daisy's muscle contractions, and the squirts of Harmon's come. The lips of Daisy's pussy were quivering; Harmon's balls were hauled up high in the scrotum, his bag a tight sphere. Nine, ten, eleven wads flew straight from those laden balls through his tube and out into the void of Daisy's womb, the fish listening and admiring. Then there was silence again, until, lifting himself to one side, Harmon drew his "spent shaft, pink and long, from its sheath, sucking out behind it spirals of come which the fish darted at instantly and ate. Daisy's pussy, empty, remained wide for a few seconds and then slowly closed, the loose inner skin folding neatly between the outer lips.
Daisy lay back on the rock and Harmon lay beside her, his hand on his cock. It hurt-her cunt had been tight-and his balls ached, but he felt good about it. He felt all cleaned out and made fresh, as he always did after good lovemaking. He could tell that Daisy had hurt too-she'd yelled with pain as much as with pleasure-but now, her eyes closed, she was smiling.
Jack and Janice were still at it-rolling and thrashing in the water, slipping, going under, choking and coming up, but never losing their stride. This was turning out to be a great event for the underwater world. The fish that had been watching Harmon and Daisy took themselves off to join their friends who were already at ringside. Looking over, Harmon saw that the water was alive with them-black and yellow sergeant majors, the aptly-named slippery dicks, the blue angel fish, the demoiselles, the butterfly and the trunk fish-the water seemed to be boiling. It had to be the powerful musk of Janice's cunt that was drawing them all on, the thick essence she poured out whenever she was turned on, and particularly when she was fucking. For a fearful moment Harmon wondered-"Are sharks attracted by...? But no.... Even so, he pulled himself up on a rock and took his toes out of the water.
Janice now was sitting on Jack's cock, riding it up and down, clutching her breasts in her hands, her splayed ass splashing water hither and yon. Her bathing suit was lying on a bush a few feet away. Whenever she lifted herself on his shaft, she pulled in her stomach muscles, driving the blood to her cunt-she knew her own body, she knew all its secrets. Jack's head was upraised, watching. He gripped her around the hips and swiveled her as she rose and fell. She let go of her breasts and fingered herself around the clit with the forefingers of both hands. Her big pear-shaped tits rolled and swung.
"Ohh! Oh!" she moaned. She was in her stride, riding like a savage. Suddenly she lifted herself off, turned around, and settled herself on again-all in the space of two or three seconds-so that her ass rested on Jack's stomach and her tits faced out to sea. He eased his hand inside the crack of her ass and found the tight hole, and began working his middle finger into it
"Oh God, Jack, Oh God!"
Underneath, an octopus, wakened from his bleary sleep, crawled out of a rock to see what was going on. He heard a terrific commotion on the surface and saw what looked to him like an eel being eaten by an enormous squid of a species he had never before seen. Squids were all right, he had no arguments. What he couldn't understand was why it didn't swallow the eel straightway, instead of taking it all the way down and then gorging it up again. It didn't make sense. As for the eel, it just sat there and took it all-it didn't bite, it didn't bolt, it didn't do anything. The octopus crawled into a clump of gregonias and stared. No, he couldn't understand it-he'd never seen anything like it; but to hell with it, he reflected, it was none of his business-better stay away.
The only creature there that knew what was happening was Harmon, who had overcome his fear of sharks and swum over with his mask on to examine Janice's cunt at close range. What he found himself staring at, though, was the octopus just then sneaking out of the gregonias right in front of his face-with the intention, as Harmon thought with a thrill of horror, of wrapping suckers round his throat and choking him to death. Janice saw him smack his nippers on the water and heard his snorkel-muted cry just before he swallowed a pint of seawater and gagged to the surface. But she was so far gone in passion that none of it registered.
"Harmon-Harmon, come here," she begged. "Feel me-touch me. I want your arms around me."
Harmon was coughing up an infinity of death rattles. Meanwhile Jack had his middle finger all the way inside her ass and was wiggling it around.
"Jack, Jack-your finger and your cock-finger and cock-" She repeated the words over and over, inflaming herself, while her fingers toiled at her clit. "Harmon, give me your cock to hold-let me put my hand around it."
Harmon waded over and stood facing Janice on an underwater ledge, trying to control his coughing while she pulled at and stroked his cock. He put his two palms on her and ran his hands slowly up and down her sides, feeling the corrugated cage of her ribs, the sides of her breasts, the sudden smooth curve of her hips. She began jerking her hips sharply from side to side until Jack was gasping. He'd never had that done to him before. It was something new altogether. He sat up, wrapped his arms around her waist, and jerked her off. Harmon's cock, despite renewed fits of coughing, had hardened in her hand. There wasn't a part of Janice's body that was still-hands, tits, ass, legs, all were moving crazily with the energy that was building in her blood.
"I'm going to come soon!" she cried out, kneading Harmon's dick. "I can feel it-it's getting closer-I can-I-Oh! Oh Jack, Oh Harmon-It's going to come, its-OH! OH! OH! I'm coming! O God, OH!" And she bounced around on Jack's prong like a belly dancer, her tits flying, her navel turning circles. The heat waves rolling out of her cunt into the faces of the fish changed the clarity of the water the way heat rising from hot concrete distorts your view of cars and trees.
It wasn't long before Jack opened fire with a power that would have sent his semen flying twenty feet at least in the open air. It rattled off the walls of her womb like a tropical deluge and almost blew her off her seat. She couldn't contain it all-it spurted out the mouth of her cunt and the fish swarmed to eat it, their slippery bodies bouncing and twisting against her thighs. She wasn't frightened at the feeling-it made her more excited, as if a hundred cocks were all battling for a place between her legs.
When it was over she was breathing as if she'd just broken the three-minute mile. She lifted herself off Jack's prick and lay back beside him, her legs spread. A big, striped slippery dick, maddened by the smell of her cunt, drove his head inside and tried to wriggle up her hole. His tail smacked her thighs. She opened her legs wider, wanting him there. He fought half his body inside, then took fright and backed out. Afterwards she would think back on that incident with helpless desire, plying her cunt with her fingers, remembering the slippery fury of that cock-shaped fish, wishing he had kept up the struggle, driven his way into her womb as into a strange aquarium, rocked her with orgasms forever.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cynthia sat in a chair by the window of her room, staring down at the driveway of the hotel. She was upset and hurt that nobody had awakened her to go skin diving. She thought she was being persecuted.
She had no idea of the kind of harrowing impression she produced on people, and she couldn't understand why she didn't have any friends. She thought that her qualities of rectitude and plain-speaking were virtues that should make people admire her, and instead they turned away.
What hurt her most was the attitude of men. She could see the interest die out of their eyes as soon as she opened her mouth. And the same men who stared at Janice and Daisy and wanted to cuddle them didn't bother to give her a look. If they reacted to her at all it was with whispered derision or even with hoots and sneers.
When she looked in the mirror in the morning she didn't think she was that unattractive. What was it about her that made people so hostile? She even thought that her attitude toward sex should make her mysterious and desirable. Contrary to what everybody thought, she wanted to be desired and she thought she was a very sexual person in a proper and particularly moral way. She'd never have admitted it, of course, even to somebody who should take it into his head to marry her. Hers was a very private sexuality. Personally she doubted whether she'd ever allow a husband to screw her more than once or twice a year, lest her dignity be compromised.
So there she sat, wrapped up in her own glum thoughts, her body covered from throat to ankle in a long black dress suit that let no sunlight in and no heat out. As penitence for yielding to the dildo she had put a slip on over the girdle and under the skirt, concealing her heavy bush under three formidable layers of cloth. She had starched her brassiere again until it was so uncomfortable that her conscience no longer bothered her.
Even so, her thoughts kept reverting back to sex. She tried to think of decent and edifying things like the novels of Henry James and the sermons of Cardinal Newman-but it wasn't any good. She opened The Portrait of a Lady, read the first line-"Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea"-and immediately saw Jack's cock stretched to an unheard-of length, with balls like beer kegs full of evanescent come. She saw the red gigantic head of the stretched prong sliding up her thigh, beating eagerly against the impenetrable rough cloth of her girdle, bleating for entrance. She couldn't help it Underneath the three layers of clothing her big-bushed cunt was sweating with desire. She could hide it away from the world and from herself but she couldn't ignore its crying from the dungeon. She crossed her legs at last, squeezing her cunt tight between her thighs, and rocked the free leg back and forth-subtly masturbating, with Henry James open in her lap.
"No, I must stop this," she said to herself, and started reading once more:
Caspar Goodwood raised his eyes to her own again; they seemed to shine through the vizard of a helmet...
On the page she saw Jack, smiling, rubbing his cock with one hand and cupping his balls with the other. She squeezed her thighs together.
Caspar watched her with intense interest. "Is he an Englishman?"
"He's an English nobleman," said Isabel.
"I thank you then," said Caspar Goodwood gravely. "I thank you immensely."
Jack bent over double and began sucking his own cock. Cynthia pressed her legs tight and rocked her foot again. Her thighs began sweating from contact with her cunt.
"It's a sight too big for her," Casper exclaimed.
"Too big, too big!" Cynthia moaned, as Jack took the cock out of his mouth and pressed it to her cunt "Oh God, too big!" She threw Henry James to the floor. "My GOD!" She pushed her skirt in at the crotch, and even through the cushion of all those clothes her cunt felt the pressure.
"I mustn't," she told herself, bending forward and pressing. "I must not abandon myself to this solitary vice...ohhh....."
She kept at it, until by a great effort of the will she tore her hands away and got up.
"I must walk," she told herself. She started pacing around the room, thinking to burn up the energy of her desires by that meager exercise. On the first turn, though, she came up against the corner of the dressing table. She spread her legs and rested her cunt on it Once again she saw Jack beckoning to her, smiling-and then he came up and pressed his cock against her hip. She shook herself a little on the edge of the table, making the little knick-knacks tremble.
"No," she told herself, and got off. She adjusted her skirt and decided to extend her walk into the hall. A few doors down was the room Harmon had been using for his studio. In his hurry to get to the beach, and with his arms full of camera equipment, he had forgotten to shut the door behind him. Cynthia pushed it open and went inside.
There was a full-length mirror against one wall and a bureau beside it, and on the bureau was a big envelope full of pictures which Harmon had developed at a photo center in Hamilton. Out of an idle curiosity and to distract herself from her fantasies she opened the envelope and took the photographs out. Instantly her attention was riveted. They were the pictures taken the afternoon of Daisy's modeling session-everything up to the moment Harmon had abandoned the camera to join in the games.
She glanced through them quickly, then studied them carefully, one by one. Underneath all the armor, her pussy began to flow. She saw Daisy's first shy poses, then her growing confidence, then Janice's entrance on the scene, and the caresses that grew more passionate with every frame. And lastly there was Jack, her secret love, striding unfocussed into view carrying in his fist-was it possible? She clutched the thing with trembling fingers. What Daisy said was true! An enormous cock such as she had only dreamed about! Such things existed then-and she was seeing his cock, Jack's cock, that huge animal that she had imagined inside her every night, scraping the barnacles from her tunnel. She flipped to the next photo and saw him, in razor-sharp focus, lying at Janice's back, preparing to plow inside her. Cynthia picked up the magnifying glass that lay nearby and held it over the scene. She followed his prong eagerly from balls to tip, wondered at the thickness of the veins and their profusion-like a network of hydraulic lines stiff with power. His scrotum hung like a sack of potatoes from his cock, over his right leg to the floor. She stared at his pubic hair, tried to guess its texture, imagined her hands and her tongue running through it, imagined her fingers lifting his balls one by one and her lips tenderly kissing them.
She wanted to lay her cheek against his dick, to hear the beat of his heart through those great veins, and to be comforted by his latent masculine power.
Cynthia followed the length of Jack's dick with her magnifying glass, always discovering something new to pause over-the way it thickened, for example, an inch or so before the head and changed its pure white for a slightly darker flesh tone; or the way the head bulged from the shaft, as though it were stuck on separately. She followed it all the way to the tip, which was just about to plunge between Janice's legs from the rear-and she thought to herself, Why couldn't that be me?
Her hand moved to her cunt again, landing gently as a butterfly. She pressed in lightly. There was no more noise from her conscience-she had a free hand from now on. Moving sensuously as a stripper she unbuttoned her skirt and let it drop to the floor. The 1950s-style slip reached to her knees. Still staring at the photo she pointed her fingers down and rubbed her belly, slowly and deeply, from the navel toward the cunt, the white cloth of the slip ripping under her fingertips.
Inside the girdle her pussy was smoldering with a slow fire. Her fingers passed over it, pressed, then drew back to her belly, and as she did so she flipped to the next photo. This one showed Jack buried halfway inside Janice's body. The model's face showed what it felt like-her eyes were closed, her lips parted, and it looked like she was moaning or crying out. The photo actually showed her cunt stretched wide by the cock inside it. Cynthia unhooked her slip and slid it from her waist.
The girdle was rough as sandpaper, and it made a grating noise when she rubbed it. But its roughness seemed to excite her. She stood in front of the mirror, knees bent, hips shoved forward, and looked at herself as her hands slid leap-frog over her cunt. She admired her strong legs, the curve of her hips, the smooth stretch of her belly, trying to look at them as a man would, as Jack would. Then, standing straight again, she unbuttoned the jacket and took it off and stood in front of the mirror with her glasses, her starched bra, her garter belt, garters, stockings and girdle. She wore more underwear than Amundsen's South Polar expedition, even though the temperature outside was 88 degrees.
To her, though, this was the very next thing to being nude. If somebody had walked in on her at that moment she would have crossed her legs and hidden her breasts behind her arms and turned her back to the door, as humiliated as a schoolteacher surprised on the toilet by one of her pupils.
So, looking at herself in the mirror, with the pictures carefully laid out on the bureau, and her body showing here and there between the various items of underwear, she felt sensual and free. Her imagination was untied; she could desire and have any man she wanted, be desired, be taken even, and until the orgasms subsided and everyday reality washed in again, she didn't have to worry about feeling guilty, about all the proprieties she was in the habit of chaining herself with.
This time when Jack's feverish ghost pulled himself out of Janice and rose from the photograph to stand by her side, Cynthia made no objections. She yielded herself to him like a long-standing lover, like a woman. She thrust her hips toward the mirror and shook them as if pressing herself against Jack's stomach and his hardened cock. She put one leg forward, smiling, and helped him take off the garter belt and lifted her leg so that he could take her stocking off too. When the other stocking was off she slipped out of the garter belt, shaking her big hips invitingly, then paused to appreciate herself again in the mirror, from the black hair bunched up tight on her head to the toes of her well-shaped feet. Jack's spirit started heating up and began rubbing at her ribs underneath the bra cups. Cynthia pushed her fingertips underneath the cups, lifted them off, and began fondling herself, rolling her tits around in her palms while the cups sat empty above them like a pair of glasses pushed up on an old man's forehead.
Rubbing her tits like that made her feel good, and she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, inhaling deeply. She could feel them swell under her touch, and she imagined them filling with milk. She spread them apart so that her sternum showed between them, then pushed them together until the nipples were side by side pointing at their own images in the mirror. She took her hands away then and lifted her arms high above her head, stretching the breasts until they looked like two full wine bags ready to be tapped, and then placed her two palms on the small of her back and tensed the muscles of her chest and stomach so that her tits, stretched to either side, changed shape again. When she'd stared long enough she took them in her hands once more and kneaded them warmly.
Her cunt all this time was soaking the inside of her girdle. She took one hand from her tit and began probing downward, pressing in with pulse-like motions. She entered under the waistband of the girdle and played around her navel, pretending that the hand was Jack's. Blood rushed to her cunt from all corners of her body. The hand pushed farther down, always searching in that dark space for the goal of its explorations, which grew hotter and wetter the closer the fingers came.
The middle finger touched pubic hair, then drew back. It was difficult to move in there because the girdle was tight and she couldn't bend her knuckles easily. But she pushed in until most of her forearm was inside and the coifing hairs were curled around her four fingers. The heat was equatorial, like a noonday forest in the Congo, and wet as if a rainstorm threatened. In the mirror she watched the bulge her hand made inside the white confining cloth, the fingers carefully edging their way along until the longest one was only three centimeters above the crack. There it halted and with the other fingers commenced stretching and letting go the skin, teasing the cunt with their nearness but going no closer.
Cynthia bent her knees again, legs apart, and masturbated toward the mirror, caressing a breast with the other hand. Then, whimpering, "Jack, Jack" she let go the breast, hooked her thumb in the waistband of the girdle, and pulled it down, uncovering her navel and the top of her belly. Then she reached behind, hooked her thumb in above the ass, and drew the band down on that side too, the deep crack of her ass emerging hot from its confinement. She repeated these movements until the first hairs came into view in front and, in the back, with one sliding caress, the nylon drew around and off her ass.
It was just a little effort now to pull the girdle from her cunt, and when she did a barely visible cloud of steam rose from it. The heavy bush was wet with dew, and vapors floating up from it were rich with the musky scent of her sex which she inhaled gratefully, imagining Jack's excitement at the smell of such a strong brew.
The girdle came off completely now and was kicked to one side. Through the mist lifting from her twat she surveyed herself, admiring the huge irregular triangle of black hair that covered her mound and hid the pink crack from view. Jack, in her imagination, stood back and stared, priming his cock with wrapped fist. She glanced at one of the pictures. Yes, that one blue vein running the length of his erect rod would be pulsing now; the pink head would be gorged and bulbous, the shaft almost as thick as her wrist. He would want to come in now, first priming her with mobile fingers, the middle one first, then the index, then the third finger, all of them twitching and toiling in her aching hole, the juice running out of her like syrup, the heat enough to cook a sausage. Bending at the knees again, hips pushed toward the mirror, Cynthia pulled upwards at her snatch so that she could see the crack. It glistened pink and the clitoris stood boldly out, and beneath it, just on the horizon of that genital arc, like a crater turning round the edge of the moon, the black pit sank mysteriously into an unknown interior where no man had ever penetrated. Her finger moved gingerly around the clit which was like a seismograph recording sensations from the very extremities of her body. At that proximity the movement of her fingertip was like a reading on the Richter scale, enough to level a city. The juice fell from her hole in drops and ran over her fingers. A strange sustained cry began coming from her throat. She dropped to the floor and started undulating on the carpet, both hands now grabbing at her twat, her legs spread so wide that the distance from left foot to cunt to right foot was almost a straight line. Needless to say, her beaver was split wide open-a great diamond-shaped gash full of wet folds and with that steaming hole in the center round the rim of which her fingers played, bathing in the nectar mysteriously condensed from the flesh of her tunnel.
She lifted her ass up momentarily and slipped her right hand underneath, and now began jerking herself off from the front and the back, stretching her hole in both directions. The afternoon sun, deflected from the mirror, was caught by the shining fluid of her cunt and beamed like a flashlight up her vagina-a warm corridor pulsing in the strange light, the flesh red and tender.
The right hand slipped down a little and one finger buried itself half an inch into the ass-hole, which clenched it tight. From far back, two feet or so away, Cynthia's soft voice called, "Jack, Jack!"
She closed her legs and turned over on her stomach, both hands now folded against her cunt, and she began to rock back on her hips, her pear-shaped ass rising up a little and then falling, rubbing her pussy against the motionless pressure of her fingers. She started slowly, but she wasn't able to contain herself for very long. Her ass lifted and dropped faster and faster, the juices flowed down her fingers, her crack changed color from pink to scarlet, and the edges of her hole began their first twitching. She lay with her cheek on the carpet, her glasses (an unbroken pair) askew, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips, all her features concentrated on the electricity gathering between her legs.
All at once she inhaled with a sharp sound. Her ass increased its frenzied motion, her rich woman's odor filled the room like .ozone before a lightning storm, and then she came. Her entire twat pulsed as if there were a heart inside it and her fingers pulsed back from the outside. Everything was in motion, everything beating, jerking, heaving.
The floor grew wet between her legs as if with warm rain. With each orgasm she gave a little cry, almost a pleading cry, her voice quiet and tender. Then it was over and she lay quiet, almost in a doze. She rolled herself over and lay staring at the ceiling with her hands on her twat. You might have thought that the guilt would roll over her now and that she'd start sputtering and crying and turn into her public self again. But she didn't, not right away. The photographs had moved her so much that it was as if the spirit of Jack were lying by her, with its arm around her shoulders. She just lay there thinking to herself and gradually beginning to feel more and more lonely.
Finally she sighed and got up. She stood in front of the mirror again and looked at herself. This time she shook her hair down and took off her glasses. Cynthia's face and body, seen on any movie screen, would have reduced men to tears and made them stamp their feet with anguish. She was a beautiful woman. Even Harmon, who was more perceptive than most, couldn't have imagined how beautiful she was.
She sighed again and then, trapped in the personality she had made for herself, she started dressing again. On went the tight girdle, rasping against her skin; on went the garter belt and the nylon stockings; on went the white slip and the bra that may as well have been paper mache. Then the skirt and the jacket and square-heeled shoes, and then her hair was done up tight in a big bun, and the Coke-bottom glasses put on. She sniffed a few times, pulled her shoulder blades together, and there she was again: Cynthia Prisse, Rep. Zettle-boyer's most terrible burden.
She turned to go out of the room, then paused and looked back. The pictures were still lying on the table. She flipped through them again and chose the ones with Jack in them. She put the others back, closed the envelope and, with her head high, walked out of the room.
CHAPTER SIX
Harmon, Daisy, Janice and Jack were sitting on a beach enjoying a picnic lunch. The photos were taken, the mission was accomplished, and they all had had fun. They felt good.
"Well, Daisy," Jack asked, his mouth full of salami and butter, "how does it feel to be 'one of us?'"
"Jack!" Janice objected. "What a way to ask a question."
"So what's the problem? I'm just naturally curious-so what?"
Daisy just shrugged her shoulders. She'd been smiling for over an hour.
"I'm glad it was Harmon who did it, and not you," Janice said. "Harmon is so sensitive and intelligent. He knows that gentleness is the most important thing."
"Yeah. As soon as he's finished he swims over and scares the shit out of an octopus."
"It was about fifty-fifty," Harmon said. "He changed color, shot some ink in my face and swarmed off."
"And you almost drowned."
"Yes, I swallowed sea water. We're all gifted with these natural defensive instincts."
Jack reached over and grabbed the thermos jug, and started drinking out of it. After the first swallow he put it down with an abused look on his face.
"What's this-milk!" he said, his upper lip white with it
"We were in a hurry," Janice told him. "But I wanted beerl"
"So we can stop in Hamilton on the way back. It's no big thing."
"Jesus Christ."
"Oh come on, Jack, don't start sulking-and take your foot out of the sandwich bag. God, you're getting sand all over everything."
"Harmon," Jack said, turning his attention to him again and rattling his foot out of the bag, "if you don't eat that food I will."
"m finish my pipe first," Harmon said, his face hidden behind a cloud of puffs.
"I suppose then you'll start smoking your salami sandwich. Honest to God, I never saw anybody smoke his brains like you do. You'd probably taste like a Virginia ham by now."
"Pipe smoking," Harmon answered carefully, "is as much an art and as much a culture as wine tasting."
"Oh shit! Here we go again."
Janice gave Harmon an exasperated look, as if to say, "Excuse me for a moment." Then she shoved Jack backwards on the sand, pulled down his bathing suit, and began sucking him off. At first Jack made an effort to get up but then he yielded, closing his eyes and gradually relaxing. His cock stirred in her mouth, and then rose and thickened.
Harmon and Daisy sat contemplatively listening to the slurpings of Janice's tongue, and Jack's delighted groans. Janice's mouth opened round his expanding dick until her jaws cracked. Every once in a while her tongue would slither out and then withdraw quickly, like a snake's. She started bobbing her head, taking it in so far that it seemed she would choke, then drawing it out and licking the onion-sized head until it shone.
Daisy, smiling, crawled over beside them and, leaning up on her elbows, watched them at it. She had no end of admiration for Janice, who seemed to know everything there was to know about sex, and who was a great teacher by example. Daisy studied the big veins in Jack's cock that Cynthia had so admired in the photograph. She saw his balls draw up in their sack. His cock seemed to be a living being, a kind of Utile person hanging on there between his hairy legs, with its own habits and its own responses. It seemed to her something like a dog or cat that liked to be petted. A dog or cat can't talk, but you know when it's happy or sad, and that was the case with Jack's cock. Right now it was very happy, straining eagerly upward, soaking up Janice's warm saliva, and you expected it to begin purring.
It tasted salty to Janice from the ocean water, and that excited her all the more because it was like a beforehand taste of his come. She wrapped both hands around it and jerked it up and down, all the while licking the tip, and occasionally biting softly just below the head. While she was sucking she watched Jack's belly panting. From her angle the cock looked like a fleshy obelisk emerging from a bed of tall grass. The perspective made it look even bigger than it actually was, and of course the nerves of the tongue make even teeth seem enormous-so you can imagine how huge the head of Jack's dick must have been to Janice as she licked it
Janice saw by the way his stomach was heaving that he was getting ready to come, and she redoubled her jerking and tongue work. Daisy was enthralled, and she pushed a hand inside her bottoms and worked up a lather. The veins of his shaft swelled hugely, each heartbeat pounding in a new supply of blood which the vessels strained to accept. His fingers ran through Janice's hair and stroked her cheeks and ears.
Suddenly, with a grunt, he let go. The white come poured from her lips and ran in driblets down his shaft. She bobbed him up and down again, sucking in cream on each upstroke. It was like trying to hold a fountain in her mouth-she swallowed and swallowed and still there was more, shooting up so fast and hard that she thought it would scorch a hole in the back of her throat. She was certain she could feel the sperm swimming on her tongue, trying desperately to find out where they were, looking up and down for the passageway leading to the egg that they'd been so painstakingly programmed to meet and mate with. The come seemed oily, like lanolin, yet the taste was salty with a hint of tartness. She gulped it down as fast as she could, trying to keep up with the supply, but finally she just let the excess flow out of her mouth. When his orgasms were nearing their end she could swallow at leisure and indulge her taste buds and savor the heat and texture of it, and when he had finished coming she could lick from his shaft and pubic hair the drops she had missed and with one deep, grateful swallow finish it all, the come flowing from her throat to her stomach like a liquid fire.
Janice gave him one last suck that popped when she pulled away, and then she lay down in the sand beside him.
"There," she said. "Now you'll stop being such a pain in the ass."
"I didn't know I had that wad still stuck up inside me. I thought I'd fucked it all out in the water."
"I knew you still had it because you were making such a nervous wreck out of yourself and everybody else. Nobody that's fucked out behaves like that."
"Well in that case, I'm giving you a carte blanche. Any time you think I'm creating a nuisance, just pull down my pants and suck away."
His contentment was disturbed by a moan from Daisy. He turned his head and found her kneeling on the sand, her head bowed, one hand between her legs.
"What's the matter with her?" he demanded.
"Oh no! She was watching me suck you off, and now she's gone crazy with the sight of it. Poor baby....."
"Jesus-I never saw-Ooph!" Janice planted her knees in Ms stomach, crawling over to comfort Daisy.
"Poor thing," Janice said soothingly. "Let me kiss you." She certainly did that, almost stopping Daisy's breath with it. "Here, let me satisfy you. Come on, let me feel you."
She brushed Daisy's hand aside and slipped her fingers into the girl's smooth crack. It was wet as a sponge.
"Lie down in the sand, Daisy. That's right. Now we're going to have an intimate chat, just the two of us."
Janice's idea of a chat was to he full length on Daisy's stomach and kiss her lips, meanwhile humping her cunt against cunt and squashing their breasts together. Harmon got up from his seat and moved over a few feet, sitting down behind them with his legs crossed, smoking Rattray's Red Rapparree and watching their cunts rub together. It was a wonderful symmetrical sight. You followed the wide line of Janice's ass down to her cunt, which was open in the shape of a long diamond, and fringed with her brown hair; and then, right against that, the parted lips of a second cunt, not so long as the first, but wider, the vagina gaping; then the second ass-hole, the second crack between a perfect pair of buttocks; not to mention the legs, both spread into a wide V, Janice's resting on top of Daisy's.
Harmon stared at all those holes, ranged so perfectly in line. He wanted to put his cock into all of them, but which to choose?
Janice shoved her body against Daisy's, their pubic bones scraping together, their soft pubic hairs mingling. Janice was really putting force into it, really acting the man, as if she were pretending to be shoving a long cock up Daisy's twat. Her palms went round and gripped Daisy's buttocks, pressing them up to meet the downward thrusts of her own hips. Soon she was rubbing frantically, and the friction of their cunts made a sound like emery paper rubbing against wood. Daisy certainly would have come in a few seconds had Janice not suddenly begun lowering herself down Daisy's body, hugging her cunt against Daisy's right leg on the way down, and kissing every inch of the way-pausing to suck each nipple, kissing every rib, then thrusting the tip of her tongue in the deep navel. She didn't stop there, of course; she pressed her face into Daisy's belly and slid down until her tongue was roaming in pubic hair and her nostril filled with a fragrance deeper than that of the sea.
When the long tongue waggled itself between the lips at the very opening of her crack, Daisy let out a dreamy sort of moan and clutched Janice's hair in her fists. When the tongue flattened itself against her budding clit she lifted one knee and dug her heel into the sand. And when the tip of that tongue and then the flat of it and then all of it stretched into her hole, contributing its own moisture to that sweating from the flesh of her tunnel, she pressed her thighs together, holding it there, shutting from Janice's ears all sounds but those of her own tongue sloshing five inches along the wet length of that musky corridor. And while she licked, Janice brushed herself energetically upon Daisy's shin, and felt five active toes curling and uncurling against her cunt
It was now that Harmon made his choice. Stepping up behind them, he lifted Janice by the hips until she was kneeling in the sand, her cunt staring, her anus opening and closing by turns. He took his cock in hand and put its head at the cunt's mouth, and with one easy shove he found himself enclosed to the very balls, Janice's ass shaking like a hula dancer's, twisting his dick in every direction. Daisy planted her feet flat on the beach, spread her legs, and lifted her hips to wash Janice's face in sexual liquor. Harmon began to shove, his belly tight against Janice's buttocks, his dick sliding as if on grease. Even the waves of the sea couldn't drown the squishing he made compressing and then drawing out the air of her vagina.
Daisy was the first to come. All of these sensations were so new that she never gave a thought to trying to make it last. Her hips beat a tattoo on the sand, she wiped her twat across Janice's face from hairline to chin, and then she went off the edge. Jack, leaning over, silenced her cries with a kiss, and Janice's sensitive tongue felt the first pulses beating at the mouth of her vagina, and then the vagina itself began to change shape, the muscles contracting. The feel of it set off Janice's charge, as if she were a keg of gunpowder. The first Harmon knew of it, his cock was being squeezed, pressed and flattened as if it were in a wringer and then, suddenly he too was coming, his wads sailing out like bolts. The three of them, one standing, one kneeling, one lying down, shivered with electricity passing from Daisy's cunt through Janice's tongue and out her twat, and through Harmon's balls and back again-an awesome living circuit, the orgasms like blazing electric arcs leaping across a gap, crackling with voltage.
Daisy relaxed and lay still; Janice, her tongue still exploring, waited until Harmon's wads had stopped before falling to the sand, semen streaming from her hole; and Harmon, firing off his last salvo, dropped into a sitting posture, drew some puffs of the nut-like Rapparree from the pipe he had never taken from his mouth, and let the breeze cool his dong.
The sun was warm, the sand white, the sea and the sky, both of them, blue and clear. Here and there a crab energetically dug a hole and buried himself in it, leaving two eyes sticking up on stalks to survey goings-on in the neighborhood. Seagulls wheeled around....
An hour later the four of them were sitting in the Tea Cosy in Hamilton, on comfortable wooden benches at a comfortable wooden table, their faces golden in the sunlight coming in through the mullioned window.
"You got the right idea, Harmon," Jack admitted. "I got to pay you that tribute. Enjoy, that's the word. Everybody in their own way. There you sit with your cow-shit tobacco, here I sit with my mug of Lowenbrau. Neither of them's too expensive for the common man to enjoy every once in a while, and both of them are the best of their kind. Beautiful island, beautiful sea, boats and liners in the harbor; some happy sex-and a little of that goes a long way...who needs all these torments that people cook up for themselves?"
So saying, he lifted the mug so that the sunshine lit it up like a golden lamp, and buried his face in the foam, drinking down a good half-pint with loud gulps.
"Let's have a big lunch," Janice said, "I'm still hungry after those sandy salami sandwiches."
They ordered some salad and then some big hamburgers with plenty of sauces and onions and tomatoes piled on top of them, and then another round of beer. Half of one mug had been enough to make Daisy drunk, and this second one, of which she took two swallows, was almost enough to put her under the table. At first she giggled at everything that was said, even the orders to the waiter; then she retreated into herself, staring and smiling at the dust floating in the sunlight; then she started dozing. It was during this last phase that she sank down in her seat with her legs open. Jack, who was sitting opposite her, put on an intensely preoccupied expression and slipped off one of his sandals. He leaned back on the bench and stretched his arms until the bones cracked, emitting a contented groan, and all the while lifting his bare foot and putting it against Daisy's pussy. A welcome heart penetrated his sole. Daisy was dressed in a little shift with the bikini underneath it and, one way or another, the crotch of it had got pushed over to one side, leaving her pubes bare. Jack settled his big toe comfortably between the lips.
Daisy began moaning and shifting in her seat. Janice looked at her and smiled. "She must be having a dream."
"Well Harmon," Jack said composedly, "how do you think the pictures will come out?"
"Usually one out of eight will be useable."
"That's excluding the ones of Janice doing chins on my erection."
"Yes, and the ones of you using it as a fishing pole. The editors of Lavinia's Fashion Monthly would be indignant if we submitted those. Besides, those aren't photographs, they're snapshots. One of these days you'll learn to tell the difference."
Janice had been studying Daisy. "That must be some dream she's having. Look at her squirming. I'll bet she's dreaming of you, Harmon."
Harmon blinked his eyes complacently. Meanwhile Daisy started moaning.
"Her imagination is close to the surface," Harmon said. Jack drank some beer and then began whistling to himself in an undertone.
"God!" Janice exclaimed. "I wish she'd let us in on it."
Jack had his big toe inside Daisy's twat and was flicking it around.
"You better wake her up," suggested Harmon. "People are beginning to look."
Janice shook Daisy by the shoulder, but she just flopped her head from side to side and moaned louder. Something in the way Jack detached himself from the whole scene made Janice suspicious. After vainly trying to catch his eye she looked under the table.
"Oh, so that's it-he's got his foot against her twat. God, Jack, how base can you be?"
Jack, amazingly enough, still had enough composure to feign innocence. "What? I'm sorry, I wasn't listening to the conversation."
Janice reached under the table and grabbed at his foot while Jack acted as if it were the leg of some third party.
"Can I help you with something, Janice?"
"Come on, Jack, cut the bull. You're acting like a ten-year-old kid."
Jack only increased the friction of his foot until Daisy was intoning something that sounded like a Gregorian chant, with a note of hysteria on the edges.
There was nothing to do but let him go at it, trying to look normal under the stares of other diners. They, presumably, still thought Daisy was just dreaming. Finally, Daisy opened her eyes wide and seemed to experience a sudden comprehension of what was happening to her at the exact moment that her insides lifted like a wave poised over a beach, and then crashed, full of sand and foam. She knocked a fork off the table and bent double, with her chin on the hamburger plate.
Jack was looking off to the left, apparently engrossed in some sporting prints on the opposite wall. Daisy made sounds like a puppy crying, and when those died away she fell asleep in earnest, with her cheek on the sandwich plate.
Janice was really furious. "When will you grow up? God, I've never been so humiliated. We'll never be able to show our faces in here again."
Harmon fixed Jack with a reproving stare and shook his head.
Jack carefully chewed the last of his hamburger, then took a mouthful of beer, compressed it in his mouth, and swallowed it, savoring the grainy aftertaste. The only reply he made to these recriminations was "Lowenbrau!" accompanied by an appreciative shake of the head and a smacking of the lips.
"Oh man." Janice stared out the window. Then she felt a foot moving upward against her thigh. Jack's face was hidden behind the mug. "Hey-god damn it, get your leg off me!"
She tried to see under the table, but she had to shift her position to do it, and as soon as she opened her legs the foot was on her cunt. Janice made a sudden motion of rage, but that was her last objection. The foot slipped neady inside her bathing suit and nestled in her pubic hair and Janice was helpless as a child. The intensity of it made her bend over. She folded her arms on the table and rested her chin on her arms, eyes closed, with an expression that might have looked like pain if Jack and Harmon didn't know better. She spread her legs wide and the toes in her cunt soon felt the lips opening and were bathed in warm honey.
Janice was too deep in her own sensations to make much sense out of what was happening to her, but she was surprised to find a foot in her lap suddenly-and then another one. She was bent over so that her breasts hung beneath the level of the table. The feet in her lap made a dip underneath her shift, walked up her waist, and, after struggling for a footing, stood planted one on each breast. After a while the toes hooked themselves around the upper border of the bathing suit and pulled it down, baring the tits, and then stood on them proudly, a nipple digging into each sole. Soon, the feet began caressing, the toes curling, the soles sliding quickly up and down as if running in mincing steps.
Above the table, both Harmon and Jack went about the most innocent occupations-Harmon reaming his pipe with a metal tool, Jack adding up the check. He even had the presence of mind to call the waiter over to dispute some minor matter in the bill.
"Are the ladies ill, sir?" the waiter asked when the question had been straightened out.
"No, no," Jack assured him. "We've all had a hard day at the beach, and the beer took them unawares."
Just then he shook his foot on Janice's cunt and she took a sharp breath, giving the waiter a look that he thought so strange that he promised to bring her a bicarbonate of soda right away. Soon he and the maitre d' and the cashier were all hovering over the table, presenting the tablets and the glass of water so solicitously that it might have been a bottle of fifty-year-old champagne.
"If you just drink this, miss," the waiter said, "you'll be all right in minutes."
Janice shook her head no, unable to trust her voice, but all the men, including Jack, insisted. Accordingly she drank a few swallows and managed not to cough them up. She gave Jack an odd look.
"And this young lady," the maitre d' said, referring to Daisy: "Will she be all right?"
"Oh yes," Jack answered, "she's past the crisis."
Janice stared wide-eyed at some fixed point between Jack and Harmon, as if she were looking at a ghost, then broke into exclamations. "Oh! Oh! Oh! OHH! OHHH! UH! OHH!"
"Good God!" the maitre d' burst out
"Don't be alarmed," Jack assured him, "it's just the Alka-Seltzer."
Janice trembled until the bench and the table shook too, and the beer in Daisy's unfinished mug sloshed over the rim. The restaurant staff watched fixedly as the shouts reached their height and then trailed oft Then they looked at Jack.
"There," he answered them. "It was just a passing fever. She's over it now."
There was a sudden prodigious movement of feet under the table, then Jack reached into his pocket and paid the bill, leaving a liberal tip for everybody.
"The food was delicious," he told them. "And God bless you for the beer."
The staff looked at the money as if they expected to see a picture of Howdy Doody on the dollar bills. Jack and Harmon crowded out from their bench, shook hands all around, and then helped the girls from their seats. Daisy's right cheek was covered with tomato catsup and mustard from the hamburger plate. The four of them walked to the door, the girls stumbling as if mesmerized, then burst into the sunlight and turned up the street.
When they got back to the hotel the girls fell right into bed and went to sleep. Harmon and Jack went into the studio for a chat. They talked comfortably about the events of the day, and then Jack asked about the photos that Harmon had developed in Hamilton the day before.
They're right over here," Harmon said. "The ones of you are pretty funny."
Jack opened the envelope and scanned the pictures approvingly. "But where care the ones of me?"
"Right at the, end there-in chronological order."
"No."
Harmon flipped through them, looked all around the room, remembered that he had left the door open, and concluded, losing his usual composure, "They're gone! They've been STOLEN!"
"Wait a minute! Why would a thief take only the last shots? Why not all of them?"
They mulled this question over and the questions that led out of it, and reached the same conclusion at exactly the same moment: "CYNTHIA!"
They hurried up the hall to her room and knocked violently on the door. Cynthia had in fact been thinking of masturbating again, and Jack was very much on her mind. When she opened the door and saw him, she was flustered, and if Jack had said the right word he might have melted her right there; but he didn't say it.
"Hand over those pictures, you bone-dry cunt!"
If you'd been looking in the window, you'd have seen Cynthia step backward in surprise, and then quickly master herself again. You'd have seen a sharp exchange between her and Jack, and Jack's eyes bug out and his arms flail, and you'd have seen him run over to her desk and pull the drawers out and then rip the sheets and mattress off the bed, and make as if to tear up the rug. You'd have seen her standing by disdainfully, uttering a contemptuous remark every now and then that would make Jack jump up and move forward as if to strangle her. More significantly, though, you'd have seen Harmon pull his favorite briar from his pocket, unzip the leather pouch full of St. John's Mixture, which in all the world was his favorite tobacco-the one he contemplated things over-and slowly fill and fight the pipe, tamping the tobacco and relighting until he had a good thick draw.
"No conditions, you bitch!" Jack yelled, ripping up the carpet tacks.
"Hold it, Jack, hold it. Let's talk it over with Janice. It's obvious that Cynthia doesn't want to send the photos to Congressman Zettleboyer."
"She'd send them to the U.N. if she thought they'd listen."
"My sole concern is for the decent and punctilious execution of this assignment," Cynthia said sternly, "and for the suppression of that libidinous behavior which has already brought one innocent girl to her moral ruin."
"No! I can't take any more-I've got to choke her-"
Harmon dragged him away and into the hall. "Well consider it, Cynthia," he told her, and then closed the door.
"Are you crazy?" Jack demanded. "Trust me. There's more to it than you think."
"Yeah. Well wait until Janice gets a load of this."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"NO! NO! NOT A CHANCE! No sexual intercourse for the duration of the assignment-what is she, my Mother Superior?"
"But Janice," Daisy cried, "what if my Mom and Dad saw those pictures? And my Dad's president of his Kiwanis!"
"Don't worry, Daisy-those pictures won't go farther than that Congressman's drawer. Hell keep them to jack off over in between meetings with the League of Decency."
Despite this assurance, Daisy started sobbing.
"My belief is," Harmon said, "that she won't send them at all-no matter what happens."
"What makes you say that?" Janice asked.
Harmon's only answer was a cloud of smoke.
"Well I'll tell you, Harmon, I'm going to try her out. I'll push her to the limit. I'll have so much screwing going on in here that she'll roast in the heat of it. I'll just hire out the beach and order some food-"
Janice's party two nights later attracted friends of hers from as far away as California. Cynthia, locked up in her room, watched from her window as they gathered in the driveway of the hotel and scattered over the lawn and then down to the beach.
She had never intended to send the photos to Rep. Zettleboyer-that had just been an excuse thought up on the spur of the moment. She loved the pictures too much-loved to imagine herself sucking Jack's dick, or being impaled on it, or feeling his mouth against her snatch. It had become the obsession of her life. She could imagine it so palpably sometimes that she thought she could taste his semen on her tongue-though she had never tasted-or seen-semen in her life. She had never, in fact, seen a living cock until her nineteenth birthday-when a neighbor mowing his lawn next door took his out and waggled it at her. She had run back into the house, but even now, ten years later, she still jerked off at the memory of that incident, and expanded on it in a thousand variations, and every time she jerked off she reaffirmed by some mysterious reactive process the cold, stiff outward personality that everybody knew her by.
This love she felt for Jack put a terrible strain on her, and her defenses made her colder and stiffer than ever. How often when she lay in bed at night did morality wage war with desire-and it was always desire that won! Do what she might, her hand would always make its way down, down, and wrap itself round her cunt, under the sheets, in the dark. Always a thousand images of cocks and balls, a thousand scenes in which she was the giver or the taker or both. She would stick her thumb in her mouth, imagining it was a cock. Once she boiled an orange, cut it open, and squashed it hot against her snatch, pretending it was a man's mouth. Her ingenuity was boundless.
This party of Janice's made Cynthia nervous, because she knew it was a defiance and she didn't know how she ought to react to it, privately or publicly. There were probably sixty people, from their mid-teens to their mid-forties, dressed in all styles, from three-piece suits to dashikis. Janice was moving among them in a see-thru blouse and tight jeans, welcoming them and pointing out the bar. One guy-an old California boyfriend-grabbed her by the cheeks of her ass, held her hard, and kissed her lips for about a minute and a half. Cynthia, watching, bit her forefinger and helplessly pressed one hand against her cunt.
There was already a heavy sexual current in the air. There was something more than friendly in the kisses that the men and women greeted each other with, in the way they hugged and stood with their arms around each other. Always, if you looked hard, you could see a hand discreetly squeezing a breast or resting for an instant on cock or cunt. You could see men and women searching one another with their eyes, the women staring, without seeming to stare, at the bulges in tight' jeans that stood near them, and the men more openly stripping women with their eyes, taking in the curves of hips and breasts and of course the ultimate curve that disappeared between the legs.
Levis, dresses, skirts, gowns-bodies concealed or barely concealed in all sorts of ways, but never out of a desire for concealment. The clothes were never things to hide behind, but always for other people to look behind.
The party began in earnest towards evening. There was a meal on the lawn. One couple ate their food as if they were already making love-the girl sucking at her hot dog, licking it while looking directly in her boyfriend's eyes, while he ate his potato salad by sticking his tongue into it and extracting the potatoes one by one. Another couple fed each other with forks and spoons and drank wine out of the same cup, and still another spent so much time kissing that they were still on the hors d'oeuvres when everybody else was eating dessert. Halfway through the meal a boy and a girl disappeared under the table on the pretext of looking for something and stayed there for twenty minutes. When they came out they looked hot and their clothes were on backwards.
When the meal was over the sun had just about gone down, and people started to dance to the music. It was now, under cover of the night, that Cynthia glided down, standing behind palm trees on the fringes of the crowd. Harmon saw her, but didn't say anything. Jack was too busy laughing, yelling, and slapping girls on the rump to notice anything. He was in his element here-he could be as loud as he wanted and hug as many girls as he could without anybody getting annoyed. Daisy was standing disconsolate against the wall of the hotel holding a paper cup full of lemon soda. She was still worried about what her father and mother would think when they received the envelope and letter from Congressman Zettleboyer with the photos of Janice sucking her tit while Jack lay by with his cock poised for the plunge. She thought of her father being hounded from Kiwanis and her mother driven in scorn from the D.A.R., and the story and even the photos themselves making the rounds of the high school where she had been Activity Queen and where even the smartest boys and the most good-looking boys had wanted to take her in their cars and put their hands up her dress on Friday and Saturday nights. How many poems and declarations of love had she received from boys who would laugh at the thought of her now! Daisy drank her soda in anguish.
The music on the stereo system began very fast, and for Harmon it was wonderful to see the girls' behinds and their unrestrained tits bouncing as they danced. When the music slowed down, though, there was hardly any movement to be seen. The couples were pasted together and swaying back and forth.
One girl, small and dark, was hypnotized by the feel of a huge cock stretched against her stomach. She had her arms wrapped around the guy's hips, pulling her belly tight against it, and her cheek lay against his chest, the strong steady heartbeat sounding in her ears. His hands massaged her shoulders and her back and then slid onto her rump, squeezing, his cock making a little trough for itself in her stomach, the head of it almost at a level with her rib cage.
She couldn't get close enough to this marvelous thing, she stood up on tiptoe and pressed, she swiveled her hips a little from side to side, she wrapped her arms very tight. Her own cunt, inside her jeans, was so wide that it was beginning to hurt a little. Even standing on tiptoe, though, she couldn't bring it up to a level with his cock, much as she wanted to. She would have liked to hump with him, without anybody knowing or seeing, right there in the middle of everybody, under the Bermuda sky whose stars were so bright that they seemed within flying distance of a biplane. The urge grew so strong that she moved to the side a little and straddled his leg, digging her mound against it and brushing it up and down. He helped her, gripping the underside of her buttocks and sliding her along, feeling the heat through her dungarees, feeling her cunt as a soft hump against his leg. He slipped one finger way underneath and rubbed her right over the ass-hole. She looked up at him and smiled, and rode his leg faster and harder, breathing hard. Soon the smile disappeared, replaced by a look of rapt concentration, a furrowing of her forehead. When the climax came she didn't cry out. As it came closer she began to smile again, and when it broke she announced it with a joyous sound that was like a laugh, and at each orgasm the same sound came out until at last, laughing, she fell into his arms.
She wanted to thank him, though, and so as they danced she pushed her hand down between her stomach and his and stroked his dick. She slipped the zipper open and took it in her hand, soft and tough and warm, and stroked the skin down from the head, her fingertips touching the hair of his scrotum. Hard as it was, it hardened still more under her touch, the shaft thickening in her palm, the head stretching, soft as pulp. She rubbed the head against the denim of her jeans. He began to shake uncontrollably, and the pulse beat hard in his shaft. He started shoving his hips forward and back, and she wrapped her fingers round him, squeezing it tight. The friction grew, and she felt full of awe almost, as if in the moments before a momentous event. It surprised her when it happened. Suddenly a burst of liquid squirted into her hand, and another and another. It got all over her hand and the front of her jeans and kept coming, like warm milk.
"It's beautiful!" she whispered, full of wonder. When it stopped she closed her fist and then opened it again. "It's all hot and sticky," she said.
They hugged each other again and swayed to the music. They had just made love without anybody knowing, and they were happy with their secret.
It was a secret to everybody, that is, except Cynthia. She had seen it. Moving quietly here and there among the crowd, she saw everything. She had seen the flickering splash of the semen in the girPs hand, heard her whispers. She was like a lioness on the prowl for sexual food that she would later drag up into her tree and feast on alone.
In the midst of the crowd she found another scene that made as intense an impression as the first. It was another couple dancing, a tall brown-haired girl with her red-haired boyfriend. The girl was wearing a skirt split to the hip, in the Chinese fashion. As Cynthia watched, she undulated her body against her man's, obviously rubbing her cunt against his stiffened dick. Then slowly and carefully the young man hooked his hands into the waistband of the skirt and turned it around so that the slit opened in front. The girl smiled, and the idea of it alone seemed to excite her. She rubbed her cunt hard against him, making no attempt to hide her motions. Cynthia saw one of the man's hands disappear from her back, brush her thigh, and slip into the split of the dress. The girl's mouth opened and she relaxed against him, opening her legs a little to make it easier for him. His hand moved gently, entered her panties at the crotch, and two fingers sank into her as far as the knuckles. Her knees buckled and he had to hold her up until the strength returned to her legs. She pasted her mouth wide open against his, turning her head from side to side, while her right hand slid down his chest, unzipped his pants, and drew out the long tube, moving to and fro underneath it.
He took his cock from her and pulled aside the crotch of her white panties, then bent his knees slightly, holding her by the ass and centering himself between her legs. The first stroke missed, but the second imbedded him head-deep. She clutched his shoulders, mouth open wider, as if she were silently screaming. He jammed his hips again, lifting her up on her toes, pressing her ass toward him, shifting his hips to work his way in. Suddenly the road opened. She dug her fingers into his collarbone and gasped aloud as he eased himself in, spreading her vagina as he went, until at last they stood together joined. They stared into each other's eyes, then kissed passionately, she still standing on tiptoe, her arms now thrown around his neck, her breasts flattened into discs against his pectorals. He could shove easily now, hardly having to bend his knees. Every time he drew out his wet cock was cooled by the night breeze; then warmed again with every re-entry. People danced around them, hardly noticing. Certainly no one but Cynthia knew they were actually making love. She watched his ass draw back and then spring, saw the expression on her face whenever he plunged-the look of amazement, pain, and happiness. She watched as his shoves speeded up, and then the final heave that lifted her off her feet and poured her full of cream until she herself, mumbling crazily in his ear, exploded in his arms.
When they had both finished coming he stayed inside her and they moved sleepily to the song on the stereo. They stayed that way for ten minutes, gradually moving out to the edges of the lawn. By that time his cock was hardening again, and she was ready for more. Near them was a picnic table and he lifted her up on the edge of it. He pulled her panties off, opened her legs, and slipped into her again as she sat there. He stroked slowly, careful not to hurt his balls against the edge of the table. Even so, there was that delicious sound of sex, and the fragrance of her cunt mingling with the flowers. Her cunt was a flower, and it was being well pollinated. She wrapped her legs around his waist and leaned back on her hands, her head thrown back, hair hanging down, eyes fixed on the stars. She heard her own body, smelled her own body; she felt at peace with herself in giving herself away like this. The big gentle hands opened her blouse and took out her tits. She inhaled deeply as if to make them bigger, and the hands seized all they could hold, turning round and round.
Her guy pulled himself out again and laid her back on the table. Then he got up on the table, kneeled between her legs, aimed himself, and entered her again, lying full on top of her. That was the way she liked it best-it felt natural and true and right, and somehow ancient, as if this was the way it was meant to be, the woman underneath yielding, opening herself, the man conquering, making her helpless with his weight and power. She loved to feel his cock slide home, his belly flat against hers, his legs lying on hers, their bodies touching from head to toe. She loved to hear the noises he made in her ear, the mumblings made partly of words, of curses even, and the rest of the unintelligible sounds that were pure emotion. She would listen ecstatically and then answer back in the same language, feeling his response in the new strength he gave to his thrusts, in the bites he gave to her ear and neck and lips.
Lying on the table now she felt new orgasms building in her gut and she took her legs from under his and wrapped them again around his waist. He drove himself in hard, pushed his hands underneath her body to hold her tight, and came, panting those sounds in her ear again, only more violently, dirty things that drove her crazy, that made her body jump with spasms. They rocked in each other's arms, Cynthia listening to every word they said; then they lay still and soon fell asleep in the same position, he still inside her, his balls slowly descending in the scrotum.
More and more people were giving up even the pretence of dancing. One guy backed his girl up against a tree, opened her blouse, and began sucking at her tit She stroked his head, looking affectionately down at him as he kissed. But he didn't stop there. He sank down, kissing her down the body; and when he was on his knees he lifted up her ankle-length gown and covered himself with it, so that only the soles of his shoes stuck out. Once inside he felt as if he were in a dark tent redolent with animal fragrances. All was silent in there. His nose suddenly came up against her rich patch of pubic hair. She wore no underpants. He scratched his face against it, then leaned his head underneath and stuck out his tongue. The tip of it touched wet flesh.
Her hands clutched his head through the dress. His tongue felt back lightiy and then licked, more firmly, the skin around it. Her fingernails dug into his scalp through the cloth. His taste buds awakened to the sharp salts of her cunt. He licked his way back along the crack to her vagina. He leaned his head back all the way and stretched his tongue out until he couldn't stretch it anymore, letting the juices marinate it, and then he proceeded to draw it in and thrust it out like a cock. She pressed his head tight in there, stopping up his ears, so that all he could hear was the slurping of his tongue and the pounding of blood in his head.
Every once in a while he'd pass it back to the clit, careful not to do it too hard, and then return to his first love, the hole itself. His hands caressed her buttocks, separating them, and the middle finger of his left hand searched out the muscular anus and worked its way in to the second joint. At this she started to weave her hips in a kind of delirium and relaxed her knees as if to sit on his face as he knelt there, as she would sit on a penis to take it inside her. She wanted him inside, head, shoulders, hips, feet, she wanted to ride up and down his whole body as if he were the most enormous cock in the world. His tongue, licking and squirming, and the finger that wriggled in her anus were driving her mad.
Inside the dress the air was heavy with musk. It was making him drunk. He was blind and deaf in there but all his other senses were being fed to satiation. His taste buds had never responded so warmly even to tenderloin steak. His mouth was burning as if with cinnamon or pepper. When she sat down on him his face was crushed against her cunt, his nose buried in its folds, his lips flattened all around her hole. Only his tongue still had leeway for movement and he made the most of it until she was so weak that his head was the only thing holding her up. He couldn't hear her cries, but he knew when she was coming. Her thighs squeezed him tighter than ever, her fingers dug into his scalp, there was an indefinable trembling in every part of her that held him. His sensitive tongue picked up the signals flashing through her nerves and immediately after that the pounding of her veins at the rim of her hole. The nectar flowed in thickened streams, and he never stopped wiggling his tongue in it until a sudden relaxation, a sudden stillness told him that it was over.
Cynthia watched the girl stretch back heaving against the tree. There was a pause, and then her friend emerged from her gown like Rudolph Valentino as the Sheik stepping out of his desert tent. His hair was askew, his face scrubbed and rosy. The wind bore across Cynthia's nostrils the heavy smell of concentrated pune suddenly released from the gown. The pair of them kissed. "I'm tasting my own cunt," the girl said, and wrapped her arms around him.
They stayed like that for a long while and then the girl started to slide down his body, just as he had done with hers, until she was on her knees and her face at a level with his zipper. Slowly, staring fixedly all the while, she pulled down the zipper, opened it with both hands, and peeked inside. A grunt rose out of her throat. She put two fingers inside the fly and freed his cock, which sprang forward like a switchblade and bobbed against her lips. Her lips were thick and wet and she opened them just enough to slip the head into her mouth. She didn't take it in all the way, not yet. She was slow and subtle. She toyed with the head only, oiling it with her saliva, shaping her lips around it, neither sucking nor blowing. She let her mouth respond like a cunt, like a lazy, languishing cunt that took its own time, savored every sensation as it passed, and then gave way just enough to change the sensations a little more. Meanwhile she reached inside to hold his balls, and extended one finger to the spot between his legs where the cunt would have been if he were a woman. It was very sensitive there and by pressing that place she stretched his cock at least a half inch longer, and took that half inch into the center of her mouth, where she stroked it lovingly with her tongue.
It wasn't a thick cock but it was a long one, curving like the blade of a scimitar. It was no strain on her jaws to take it in. She bit it lightly just below the head and then passed it back to her throat, making a tunnel out of her tongue and the roof of her mouth, simulating the feeling of a cunt as closely as possible. It was so close that even the sounds were the same as the air escaped her lips round his shaft. At each withdrawal her cheeks hollowed, at each intake they filled slightly. Her finger passed back farther between his legs and she returned him the compliment of the finger up the anus, driving hers in even farther, an inch and a half, wriggling like a little worm all the way. That's what did it for him. Suddenly her mouth filled with come. It was very sudden and she'd had no warning. It spat out through her lips until she managed to control the intake, and then she swallowed it as it came, her Adam's apple bobbing. With the finger that she had up his ass she could feel his muscles pumping steadily, and with her palm noticed the cooling of his balls as they emptied out, the way a cartridge of propane will cool as its gas escapes.
His orgasms ended as suddenly as they had begun, breaking off with a wad as copious and powerful as the first one had been. She held him in her mouth until the stiffness left his shaft, and then she let him slide out. She tucked him carefully back into his pants and zipped him up, and then stood up against the tree again. The pair of them kissed and sauntered off with their arms around each other.
As the night went on, Cynthia came to know all their faces, their odors, the size of their cocks, their favorite positions, their most intimate secrets. All her senses were aroused. She stored up more dreams for her private use than she'd had since she was born.
There was the girl, for example, who took all her clothes off and walked around aimlessly until one man came up behind her and cupped her breasts in his hands, his cock climbing up the crack of her ass. Instantly she closed her eyes and leaned back against his shoulder. Her tits were small and the man's hands covered them completely. Her body was slight and bony and supple and she had a strength and grace that made every movement beautiful to see, like a cat's. Her pubic hair began far down, so that her belly was smooth and bare almost to the crack itself. A young blond boy, barely into his twenties, could not resist the fascination of this wonderful smooth belly and he put his palm on it, stroking it as he would stroke a Siamese cat. If she had been a cat she would have purred, and she did everything but that-smiling, stretching, giving a little groan of pleasure, she encouraged him to explore her deeper, and he did, sliding his hand round the bend, finding the hole open, burying a finger inside.
The man behind her took his hands from her breasts and moved them down to the crotch. He put his fingers round the clit and pulled at the skin, so that now there were three hands all working in her pussy, in that small place so full of emotion, so full of pleasure. She leaned straight back at a steep angle, her legs stretched well out in front of her, and accepted their caresses and the caresses of others who came up to put their hands there. Her slit showed red in the brief moments when it was uncovered. Suddenly she pulled free and sat down on the ground, her arms around her knees. Her expression was very coy, but not in an innocent sense. It's better to say that it was inviting, but only to those who were men enough to know how to take the invitation.
A very muscular man with a black handlebar mustache strode forward, wearing no pants. All the women murmured in admiration at his great cock and balls. He stared like a bull into the young woman's eyes and the smile on her face became submissive, almost pleading. He rolled her forward until she was kneeling in an attitude of prayer, her forehead touching the ground, and he whipped his cock into an erection. Her hole was already wet and wide in anticipation, but she wasn't prepared for the enormity of his onslaught. He poised the head of his dick about an inch outside her holeand then, with the same motion he might have used to thrust a dagger, he stabbed himself in with it.
She rocked forward with the blow, but he grabbed her by the hips and held her hard while, without bothering about the formalities of foreplay, he heaved and stabbed his way in. Her beautiful face was wracked with pain and strange grunts escaped her. It took her body a little while to catch up, to make its compensations. When it did the look of pain disappeared. She wet her lips with her tongue, just as her cunt was growing wet with the friction of his cock. The pain began to mingle with pleasure. She rocked back on her knees to meet his thrusts, which were powerful and uncompromising. She bit her tongue and stuck the tip of it from her lips. His cock was making the sound of a suction pump in her now and it seemed a wonder that he didn't drag her entrails out behind him every time he pulled back.
The young man who had first felt her cunt now grew equally fascinated by her mouth. It was so loose and wet, and the tongue was like a little flag, a little signal urging him to come. He unfastened his trousers and watched his cock spring to life, then walked over to her and placed the head of it on her tongue. She took it in without a thought. Both ends of her were full of male meat now. She was like an electro-magnet or a turbine plugged to her positive and negative poles. She sucked the boy hard, as if to revenge herself in some way for the beating her cunt had taken. She sucked until the individual nerves in the head of his cock stood on end. It felt like bees stinging it. He bit his hp with pain, but never thought of pulling himself out. Even when her teeth sank into his shaft hard enough to leave marks, he trusted himself there, he knew that she was only angry with love.
A mature man and a boy, and a woman in the middle, a lean muscular woman like a leopard, stretched out, her back arched, firm breasts pointing down, her ribs all visible, and her spine and back muscles. When the boy climaxed-despite himself, because he'd been trying to hold it-she drank him down directly as he came; swallowing each wad like a gulp of water through a straw.
Is there such a thing as an esophageal orgasm? Doubtful, maybe, but what did those rolling waves of muscle in her throat mean? Something more than swallowing was going on in there. The tears were flowing down her face, sobs were heaving in her chest, the semen was still flowing out of him, and just then the man in her cunt let go, shooting like a hose until she bucked her ass, answering him orgasm for orgasm. The ins ides of her body from throat to ass undulated to her own interior rhythms, and from the outside she looked like a snake shedding its skin.
The men pulled out of her both at the same time, their cocks now soft but still long, hanging from their bellies the way pythons hang from trees. The girl stretched herself on the ground-really stretched, her bones cracking, her breasts pulled taut, her toes pointed down. A little stream of semen flowed from her cunt and a drop of it clung to her lower Up.
On the beach, out of sight of anyone but Cynthia, a girl lay on her stomach trying, slowly, carefully, to take her lover's cock up her rectum. Both of them had slicked themselves with special lotions and now lay coupled, he steadily pressing in, she trying to hold her muscles open for him. It was hard because those muscles are only half voluntary and sometimes they would close on him and try to push him out. But he kept at it steadily, far slower and far more methodically than he would at a cunt. By the time Cynthia spied them he was in about two inches. The girl lay forward on the sand, her back deeply arched, her ass raised high. Cynthia sat down behind some bushes and watched. The young man was levering himself forward on his knees. He was holding his cock in one hand just outside her anus, guiding it, keeping it from slipping out, and taking up some of the pressure. The other hand was in the sand beside her body. The cords of his neck were standing out, and he was grimacing with the effort. His leg and ass muscles were hard, straining. Slowly he oozed his way in.
"Jesus, Jesus," the girl breathed. She was gritting her teeth, pushing hard to keep those muscles open, and she was making the sound people make when they're trying to take an especially difficult shit. Her boyfriend was in four inches now, never once relaxing. He shifted his knees in the sand, moving them up a little, bringing more force to bear. He took the hand from his cock and the other from the sand and put them on her hips, pulling her back on his dick as he pushed forward. There was only a little left now and the gap was closing. He shifted the pressure back and forth from one hip to the other, and that, finally, brought him in all the way, until his balls hung down against her cunt and his entire shaft was squeezed as if in a padded vise. The muscles of her rectum were never still, but still struggled to expel him. The girl was delirious, making squeezing grunts that suggested pain, helplessness, and gratified lust all at the same time.
Secure inside her, he now lay down over her, fighting to keep his wad. When he had it under control he directed his hands underneath her, across her belly to the cunt. He gave his fingers full play and soon they were rolling in juice. The girl just could not get over the fact, the wonder, the horror, the marvel, of having that great steak up her ass. She was not a thinking being any more, not with that thing inside her; she was a great heap of amazement, her mouth and eyes open, her throat constricted, and only those strange noises to convey what she was feeling. She tried to pull herself along the ground as a wounded animal will, working her arms and legs in the sand, but she was too weak. And then those fingers in her twat, stroking and tapping as if playing a difficult piano piece on her clit; and the heavy, heavy weight of him on top of her, and his teeth biting her ear; and more than that the crazy fragments of words that he was whispering-whispering louder and faster as the moments went on, until all the syllables merged themselves into exclamations, "Ah! Ah!" and she felt a strange boiling in her bowels, as if a hot pool were forming deep deep down and spreading, a new Lake Nyasa deep in the interior.
Jungle visions swarmed in her head: red parrots, green muddy crocodiles, and cockatoos the color of mustard; flowers blowing open like popcorn and leaves shining like fish. There were cats and thousands of snakes, some with fangs and some without, and one wild dog with fiery eyes.
Meanwhile, down where her boyfriend's hands were and where his cock was, a huge rumpus was going on. She was climbing toward something the like of which she had never experienced, and it broke like a thunderstorm. Double orgasms. Both vagina and rectum palpitated with them. It was altogether more than she could deal with. She started sobbing into the night, vainly striving with her arms and legs like a crab trying to scuttle away. Her rectum crushed his cock as a fist would crush a sausage, squeezing its juice. Her insides felt slippery, as if the muscles were slick with oils. She felt that she was about to expel her intestines, and she might have done so if her orgasms hadn't rolled themselves away over a distant horizon, thundering and flashing; and after they were gone her rectal muscles took control again, driving the wilting cock out, re-establishing order to her racked system, sweeping up as it were. Slowly intelligence dawned. She rolled over on her back, her chest, belly, and legs covered with sand. The guy lay with both hands over his mangled cock. There they were, discoverers of their own interior planets. They had suffered, sure enough, but the pleasure had only been made greater by it. They were in their own world now.
Such were the scenes that Cynthia brought back to her room. She couldn't contain them all. It seemed they would burst her cunt. She had to release them just as surely as she would her bladder if it were full to bursting. She ran into her room and slammed the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Daisy spent the whole evening moping around. She ate a hot dog and drank some more soda, but she didn't have much of an appetite. Her mind was far away in rural Michigan where her father would by this time be practicing a speech in front of his mirror and her mother be rocking by the radiator knitting socks and listening to pistol shots on the television.
"I wonder when Daisy's gonna write," her mother would be saying above the cries of the wounded.
"Oh, I expect she's too busy to write," her father would answer then, striking a pose in the mirror and testing out a Henry Clay-style gesture. "Mrs. Outer-bridge has prob'ly been takin' her round to garden parties and fillin' her up with tea. Maybe she's even got a little boyfriend to talk with." He would chuckle at this.
"Well I hope she don't. I don't think she's quite ripe for kissin'. "
"Oh now Beltha. Remember our nights on the verandah."
"I didn't but let you kiss my cheek, and we were soon to be married. But when I think how the boys follow her around, and especially that football player-"
"What-young Thuck Judson? Why, she told me herself she couldn't bear the sight of him and never would see him on any account!"
O the anguish! Thuck Judson, who had fingered her in the movie theater, who had thrust his cock into the bottom of the popcorn box and insisted that she eat more and more until her fingers found his buttered head peeping among the kernels. No, it was too much! What would her trusting parents think if they knew the poisoned creature she really was? She pictured the tears, the shame, the early graves. Why had she let herself be led on so? She was sure the pictures were already on their way to Washington. Rep. Zetfleboyer would certainly send them straight to Michigan. But what if he wanted to make an example of her? What if the PRESIDENT got on TV to denounce her to the entire NATION, waving the photographs at the camera? She buried her face in her hands and started sobbing.
She abandoned herself so completely that it was a long time before she realized that someone was standing beside her trying to comfort her. She opened her eyes, and through her tears saw the misty image of a blond head, very well shaped, leaning close to hers.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
Daisy's only reply was more tears.
"Well, let's not stand here. Let's go down to the beach. It's quieter there. Come on."
Daisy let herself be led across the lawn and down the slope to the beach. He held her by the arm and she did notice, through her tears, that his hand was gentle and strong.
"All right, sit down and tell me what your problem is."
"It's too complicated," she pouted. "If you talk about it you'll feel better."
"No! It's an awful secret and I'll just feel worse!" At which she began crying again.
"Well, all right. Here, calm down. We'll just sit here and listen to the ocean."
That's what they did, for a whole hour. When Daisy dried her eyes she found him to be very handsome and strong and soft-spoken, and everything about him made Thuck Judson seem like a Mongoloid idiot, which is more or less what he was. This new boy's name was Joseph, and he was a sailor aboard one of the yachts in Hamilton Harbour.
"I want to sail around the world," he announced. "I want to brave the winter storms off Cape Horn, and ride those hundred-foot waves when the masts and sails are covered with ice and you have to beat them with your fists to furl them. I want to sail around Antarctica among the blue icebergs whose breaking ice sounds like fifty cannons and where the sperm whales blow in the clear water as far across and as far down as you can see. I want to sail the wild coasts of New Guinea where men still eat each other, and cover themselves in white to dance like ghosts before their campfires......"
He went on like that, and Daisy soon forgot her troubles in admiration of this wild romantic young man who was so much stronger and more experienced than she was and who seemed to have no personal problems at all except where to find a yacht and a crew willing to venture with him among the hundred-foot waves and the ice storms off Cape Horn, not to mention the cannibals in New Guinea.
"Wow," she exclaimed. "I bet you know all about ships."
Yes! He knew about ships. The differences among schooners and sloops and yawls and barks and brigs; Arab dhows and Polynesian praus; freighters, tankers, cargo ships-he was a regular encyclopedia of the sea.
"Boy, I'd like to go on one of those boats," she said.
"We can go tomorrow-I'll rent out a sailboat and we can sail around the island."
"Oh boy! I've never even been on a boat before. Can I steer?"
Once she was started she didn't stop, and the two of them talked for a couple of hours straight. The tide came up and almost touched their feet. The water was warm, and the sand still warm from the hot day.
By midnight Joseph had enlisted her as crew for his round-the-world voyage. "As soon as I have the money," he said, "I'm going to buy the Rara Avis. I'll show her to you tomorrow, in the Harbour. She's a three-master, a hundred and twenty foot from stem to stern, all pink and white."
"How much will it cost?"
"About five hundred thousand dollars," he replied without hesitation.
Daisy inhaled noisily. "How can you ever pay that?"
"I'll be able to pay for it easy after my next trip to Vegas......"
Daisy was simply bowled over. Never had she met someone so sure of himself. So when he stopped her in the middle of a sentence with an overpowering kiss on the lips, she yielded herself completely. He wasn't so calm about it as Jack or Harmon, but what he lacked in experience he made up in ardor. He crushed his lips against hers so that they could feel each other's teeth through them, and he squeezed her so hard she could barely breathe. But it felt good to have her breasts squashed against his manly chest, to have his strong seaman's fingers pressing the muscles of her back, the mild grating of his shaved young mustache against her upper Up.
In spite of afl the sex she'd had with two experienced men and a very experienced woman, Daisy still behaved like a virgin. There was nothing fake about it, it was her nature. Every time she kissed she was full of wonder, and she blinked into his eyes innocently as she had blinked into Thuck's when he had crushed her against his rank sweatshirt outside the locker room, and smeared her face with its first kiss.
"You really kiss good," Joseph told her, breathing hard.
"Do I?"
"Better than anybody I've ever known, I think."
Daisy sighed and smiled, melted in his arms. He kissed her again, flicking his tongue against her closed teeth. She opened her mouth and let him slide his tongue inside. His breath against her cheek was hot and quick. She threw her arms around his neck, fighting his tongue with hers. His hands moved round to her sides, and subtly, as though she wouldn't notice, he began to caress the sides of her breasts, pushing them together. She filled her lungs and kissed him harder. He moved his hands around, ever so slowly, and then his palms were both in front, right over her breasts, both her round tits in his hands. He was almost frantic, and began fondling her so hard that she called for time out.
"Stop!"-and then fell puffing against his shoulder.
"You're so passionate!" she told him.
"I've never been this way before," he confessed. "You're so soft and round!" And with that he fell to again, smothering her with kisses until she was helpless with love. He took her breasts in his hands, his fingers squeezing them in warm syncopation, the nipples sweet and soft in the very center of his palms, pressing the lifelines. The buttons of her shirt began to come open by themselves under this tender onslaught, and he pushed his thumbs in the opening, touching the skin at the base of her breasts.
"I can feel your skin!" he exclaimed in a whisper.
"Yes," she answered, "Yes!"
And he lifted the cups with his thumbs until her breasts fell into his hands, all hot from their containment
"Ooh, your hands are so warm."
"You're as warm as an oven."
"Oh Joseph!"
She found herself opening his shirt, exposing his chest, laying her bare breasts against it. He and she both looked down at that wonderful contact, both opened their clothes wider to be sure everything touched. Then they hugged, their hands roving over each other's back inside the shirts. They dropped back into the sand and lay on their sides, touching all along their bodies. Daisy was able to feel his cock against her stomach. He pushed his belly to hers to make no doubt that he wanted her to feel it.
They rolled over and over in the sand. It was fun, and they laughed like kids. Daisy made growling noises and bit his ear. He bit her nose. He felt her pubis underneath his cock, and as he lay on top of her he rubbed it up and down against her. They stopped rolling and he lay on top, dry fucking her. Daisy felt happy with this kind of lovemaking-it was the way they did it in her high school, and she felt easy and comfortable with him in the saddle. She raised her mound to expose her clit to his abrasions.
"Oh Joseph, you're fabulous!"
He squeezed his glans against her cunt, and let fly inside his pants. He rubbed and rubbed until he was all rubbed out. Daisy held him tight.
"That was beautiful," she told him, as he lay quiet on top of her.
"Did you come?"
"Oh yes. Twice!" She would never have told him otherwise.
Joseph was gratified. He felt like a real man, and it showed in the calm way he rolled off her and lay beside her in the dry sand.
"We'll be doing that a lot on the Rara Avis."
"I can't wait."
He looked at her. She was smiling. Her breasts lay to either side, rising and falling as she breathed.
"I'm going to make you first mate. But first you have a lot of training to do."
"I'll do everything you say. I'll learn really fast."
He leaned on his elbow and kissed her. She pushed up saliva with her tongue to make her lips really wet. He kissed her lips, cheeks, forehead, nose and chin, and put his left hand on her breast. She looked down to see it.
"It feels so good to have your hand there."
His cock stirred. He kissed her on the throat, and her hands moved up to smooth his cheeks. She pushed his head down. He kissed her collarbone. She pushed him down farther, and he kissed his way up the hill of her breast until he reached the summit, and then he took her nipple in his mouth.
"My baby," she whispered. "Oh, that feels good. I wish I had milk to give you."
He opened his mouth wide and sucked up a big circle of flesh, pressing it with his tongue. Daisy laid her head back and closed her eyes, her fingers massaging his head.
She felt his palm on her stomach and became very excited. It circled round and round, pressing. At each circle his hand went lower down until it was just above her belt. Then the fingertips went inside the belt. They slid down slowly, as if afraid they would be called back. Daisy held her breath. The fingers slid inside the band of her panties. Paused. Then advanced an eighth of an inch at a time. The first touch of her pubic hair was like a shock for both of them. They both stopped moving, stopped breathing. The hand pursued its course, brushing through the fine hair, climbing the mound. Then the forefinger found her crack.
"Joseph, Joseph!"
She lifted her head as he rounded a bend, his finger searching the canyon of her slit for the hole. His whole forearm was inside the levis. His lips still sucked her nipple. She raised her head higher, trying to kiss his neck. Just then his middle finger slipped inside her.
The levis were tight against her stomach and crotch, and he couldn't maneuver his finger all the way inside.
He pulled his hand out and fumbled with her belt, opening it on the third try. Then he pulled down her zipper, unbuckled the snap and spread her fly open, and slid his hand back down. This time he had plenty of room to move. His finger slipped in smoothly, as if buttered.
"Kiss me, kiss me," Daisy sighed.
He raised his head from her tit and kissed her lips. Her mouth opened as far as her jaws would allow and he stuck his tongue into it, licking her teeth, her tongue, the roof of her mouth. He wiggled his finger around in her hole until her ass started jerking. Soon he found that two fingers would enter with ease, and he masturbated her with his forefinger as well, moving them in and out and putting the pressure on the front side of her vagina, inflaming the clitoris.
He felt her hand just touching the denim over his cock, just barely stroking it, then gathering courage and pressing harder until she was truly jerking him off, stretching her hand as far along the length of him as she could reach, exciting herself by feeling him. She felt around to the balls that bulged underneath his levis, then gauged his shaft between her thumb and fingers from the base to the tip. She massaged the glans gently through the cloth. His hand quickened in her cunt, and in spite of himself he became a tittle rough in his excitement. She felt he was going to come. He stiffened, made a strangled noise, and then she felt a warm stain growing in his trousers right where her fingers were, at the tip of his cock. Some of the semen filtered through the denim and wet her fingertips. When she touched them together she found them slippery, and at the same time sticky, like undried glue.
"Did you come?" he heaved.
"Yup. Three big ones."
"Boy, I came! I couldn't believe when you put your hand on me."
"I wanted to make you feel the way you were making me feel."
"You sure did! That was terrific!"
He drew his hand from her pants and covertly raised them to his nose. Daisy saw him do it and smiled.
"How does it smell?"
"Beautiful! like the ocean."
"Let me smell."
He held his hand to her nostrils.
"Mmmmm. I never knew I smelled so good."
"What does it taste like?"
"Here. Lick." She held his fingers to his lips.
"Mmmmm. It's salty. It's sort of tangy."
"Let me." She licked and then sucked his fingers. "You're right. It's like a kind of soup."
They kissed each other through the fingers, sending their tongues out. "I'm tasting my own body," Daisy said.
"Let me see what you look like," Joseph requested.
"Where-without my pants on?"
"Yeah."
"OK." She lifted up her hips and slid her jeans and panties down to her knees. Joseph sat up and watched. It was wonderful how all her curves flowed one into the other. His eyes felt so comfortable rolling over those hills and across the plains. He stared down at the pubic hair she had just exposed. Her cunt was tightly closed between her legs.
"Open your thighs a little."
"OK. Wait." She slipped out of her pants altogether. Then she leaned back on her elbows and spread her legs for him. "Can you see?"
"Just a second." He moved down until his face was over her cunt. He stared at it unashamedly. "It's so beautiful," he said. "So big and round. It's just right for holding in my hand."
"Put your hand on it. Mmmmm, that's right. It feels good."
"You're still wet!"
"Put your fingers inside again. Oh, just like that. You're wonderfull" She watched his hand on her cunt, watched the wrist moving, felt his fingers toiling inside. "Ohhh. Ohhh." She closed her eyes, leaned her head way back. "Oh Joseph."
"I put three fingers inside you!"
"Ohhhhh...."
"You're making my hand all wet."
"Joseph...Joseph . . .."
"It's so slippery!"
"Ohhhh...Ofah...Oh...OH...OH-OHOH-Off!"
"Oh Daisy, I can feel it!"
She made long sliding moans at each orgasm. "Uhhh-im...Vhbh-uh....." Her cunt seeped with nectar, and his fingers never stopped until her cries drifted away over the sea and she lay back, exhausted and happy. He cradled her head and cuddled her as though she'd just given birth to his baby.
"I've never had one like that before," she said.
Joseph maintained a proud and happy silence. Up on the lawn they could hear the music, and vague shouts here and there. Shadows moved among the lights. But all of these things seemed hardly real amid the vast murmur of the ocean.
"Down off the Great Barrier Reef of Australia," Joseph intoned, "there's little snakes no bigger than your finger, all red and yellow. But if they bite you once, you're dead."
"Gee."
"They also got the great white shark. That's the most ferocious shark there is. Sometimes they're twenty feet long, and they can cut you in half with one bite."
'Td be scared."
"No you wouldn't. You'd be on the schooner for one thing. And even if we were in the water, I'd just hit him on the nose with my foot and he'd take off."
"Boy, you know how to do everything. I'd be really safe with you."
Joseph basked in this certitude and gazed out at the ocean, cuddling Daisy in the crook of his arm.
"Joseph," Daisy asked, "can I see your penis?"
"Huh? Yeah, sure....." He reached down, opened his pants, and pulled them down to expose his cock. It lay extended up his belly. The scrotum was a full, perfect sphere.
"Oh, you're beautiful," she murmured. She touched him on the stomach, and ran her fingers through his pubic hair. Then she put her palm over his cock. It was still a little moist from his previous emissions. As soon as she put her hand on it, it stiffened again.
"You're potent," she said. "I bet you've known a lot of girls."
"A good few," he confessed complacently. "There's always women around the ports. But a person in my position can't get involved. You're the first girl-woman-I've met that I'd even .think of inviting around the world."
Daisy sighed. Here was romance! To be loved at first sight by a visionary seaman, a person who seemed to know things she'd never dreamed of. She squeezed his cock in appreciation, and felt it stiffen still more.
"It's so soft and tough," she said, pressing it. She was getting wet between the legs again, with her eyes and hands on his tool. She was sitting up beside him, leaning on her stretched arm and watching his dick respond to her massage. The head fascinated her particularly. Every time she stroked down on his shaft, the glans would fill out like a balloon. Underneath the cock his belly was drawing in and out very fast. Suddenly he pulled her down beside him and kissed her, putting his hand on her cunt again and finding it as wet as it had been before. In their eagerness to feel how different they were from each other between the legs, they got their arms in each other's Way and had to readjust themselves a little to allow free access. Then they felt and rubbed and probed and squeezed, never getting over the fascinating discovery that one of them was a boy and the other a girl.
Every once in a while Joseph's hand would leave her cunt and rove over that whole female terrain-over her hips, around her plump ass, to the breasts that seemed stretched with liquid, and down the flat belly to her cunt again, which would always be wet and waiting for him.
Presently they were breathing like two race horses, and all their impulses were driving them to one end. Joseph rolled her on her back and lay on top of her, his cock nestling in her pubic hair. Instinctively she spread her legs. He began to rub his dick in her hair. She placed her hands on his buttocks, helping him push. Then he raised himself a little on one hip, took his cock in hand, and began rubbing it up and down her crack searching for the hole. When he found it he had difficulty keeping it there. She took it from him, holding its shaft between her thumb and index finger, placing the glans inside the rim of her hole. These weren't calculated acts, they weren't thinking when they did them-they were crazy with sex and did what instinct told them to do. Daisy held his cock there and spread her legs, bending them at the knees; Joseph pushed and pushed, wedging his way in as fast as he could. As his cock worked up her vagina she lifted her legs in the air, raising her hole to a more favorable position. Two more shoves carried him in. They looked into each other's wide eyes. Beside himself, Joseph resumed shoving. Daisy rocked her bent legs in the air, reacting to each thrust with a sharp little inhalation. His body was heavy against hers. It felt good the way their bellies rubbed together and the way their pubic bones met and their hairs mingled and rubbed. She felt so open, so deliberately and lovingly open. Her hands, still on his buttocks, pushed him against her, into her.
He shoved quickly, with strong nervous strokes, as if to get as many in as he could before he came. He knew nothing about the subtieties of lovemaking, but he was very eager and that compensated for his lack of experience. Anyway, the question of experience never occurred to Daisy any more than it does to any very young lovers. He was in control, he made her feel like a woman; she was submissive, ready to receive his love, his strength. Her legs were open as wide as she could stretch them, he was plowing her as far in as he could go. The sand was a smooth cushion. It was almost like making love in flour.
"It's so deep!" she sighed. "It's so strong and hard."
He thrust harder and harder, his body thumping against hers at every in-stroke, forcing the breath from her in short bursts. By now he hardly knew where he was-the only reality for him was his cock pumping inside her, her body yielding under his, her cunt a slippery sheath. It wasn't long before all his sensations caught up with him. He hardly made a noise to tell when he had climaxed, but Daisy knew when the first squirts steamed into her vitals that it was pure love that she was feeling, purer even than Harmon's, because there was no art about it, no control, only the helpless yielding to sensation and emotion. She didn't come, but she enjoyed it none the less for that. It was good to feel his love, to know that she had satisfied him.
When Joseph stopped coming he lay still on top of her. Slowly he drew out his cock. It gave her a little thrill when it slipped out and she made a delighted noise. He moved his body up so that his spent cock was lying between them, his full weight pressing it against her skin.
"I could he like this all night," she told him. She was smiling up at the stars, the sea lapping at the soles of her feet
CHAPTER NINE
When Cynthia slammed the door behind her after leaving the lawn party she was trembling like a leaf. She could hardly get her wits together. It felt as if all the lovers she had seen down on the lawn and on the beach had ended up screwing each other in her brain. She could hear all the moans, feel the very motions of their bodies as they rocked each other. Fifty heartbeats pounded through her arteries.
She considered the implements at her disposal. The Chinese dildo tempted her, but she needed something to satisfy her fast, and that huge phallus was meant for slow, careful, almost studied masturbation-it had been made in those far-off days when jerking off was as much an art as making love or doing pen and ink sketches. It required careful devotion to the details of sensation, and Cynthia at this moment was not capable of such subtlety. The kit containing her toilet articles had what she needed
She pulled the pink valise from her suitcase and extracted a thin cardboard box. When she pulled open the bottom flap a white electrical cord uncoiled from it Cynthia sat down on the bed, trembling too much to stand up. She tried to get her wits together, using all her tremendous self-command. But for the first time since puberty it seemed to have deserted her. She pulled at the electric cord, and out from the bottom of the box fell a 110-volt pink vibrator, ostensibly for use against sprained muscles and such things, but shaped so much like a cock that you'd have to have a great imagination to think up something else it might be used for. Cynthia had the deluxe model the kind with interchangeable heads. These were all neatly packed in Styrofoam slots ready for use. She had ordered it under a false name from the Thrills Hygienic Tools Corporation after reading their advertisement in a sordid newspaper called Wad. "Interchangeable Joy!" it had read. "The Crown Prince of Vibrators. Sculpted in silky pink plastic with gold metal band and three additional heads to treat what ails you. Built to give a lifetime of pleasure for only $12.95." A lifetime of pleasure. She'd sent in a money order and a month later it appeared at the door in a discreet brown wrapper. That wasn't the end of it, though. The Thrills Hygienic Tools Corporation generously gave her name to eight or nine other companies who bombarded her with advertisements for penis extenders, anal energizers, peephole bras and crotchless panties, visiting massage services, wife-swapping clubs, and nude-picture chain letters. Eventually she'd had to move.
The Vibo-Thrust vibrator had served her well, though, despite one initial short circuit which had almost ended her career for good and all. She tried to use it in the bathtub, pretending that it was a man who had emerged from the bottom of a lake where, in her imagination, she was swimming. The Vibo-Thrust never made it to her cunt on that occasion; it blew her out of the bathtub. She lost her memory for three days and had no taste for sex for another month. Sexual desire is stronger than fear of shock, though, as tests with rats have shown, and by careful testing and nerving of the will she got back on good terms with the machine, and it had served her well ever since. She never took it into the bathtub again.
Now, sitting on the bed with her kit open for inspection, she tried to decide which head to commence with. The heads were all of synthetic rubber, and screwed into position. One was shaped like the head of a cock; one like a piston valve; a third was like two short pistons separated by a thin rod; and the fourth was like a French tickler of very soft rubber with little rubber knobs sticking out of it all over. Cynthia decided, all things considered, that she would like to start with a piston; so she unscrewed the cock head and replaced it with that. It was cylindrically shaped, with a flat head that was rounded at the edges. She bent over the side of the bed to plug the cord into the wall. That done, she lifted her dress off, opened her bra and shrugged it from her shoulders, undid her stockings and took them off, then the slip, then the girdle. She fluffed out her pubic hair, that black heavy pile, and then felt all her curves, running her hands from her armpits down to her hips and over to the cunt, and up the belly to her breasts. She lifted her breasts in the palms of her hands, kissing them each. Then she seated herself on the bed, her back against the wall, took the machine by its shank, and turned the circular switch at the base.
It leaped into action in her palm, thrilling the nerves of her arm all the way to the shoulder. It sounded like an electric razor-a high-pitched buzzing made up of thousands and thousands of vibrations per second. She touched her face with it; it was as if her entire head were lighting up like a sixty-watt bulb. She tingled from her scalp to her collarbone. It even made her smile, revealing even white teeth. As the vibrations sang across her skin, her breasts tightened and the nipples grew erect. Her breasts were cleanly separated and you could see the flat bone of her sternum between them. Her nipples were slightly upturned, with little bumps around the aureole, raised by her excitement.
She passed the smooth-edged head around her lips, still smiling from the quick tickling. It was as if a cock could kiss. She pursed her lips and kissed the rubber head. She kissed it in little touches as if she were exchanging playful caresses with it Then she let it vibrate against the insides of her lips. Her tongue flicked out and licked it, shivering against its shaking surface, and then she pushed it into her mouth, probing it, doing everything slowly. Her mouth resonated like the inside of an opera house, her teeth sang. She licked it all around and pushed it to the back of her mouth, until her tonsils were reeling and the muscles of her esophagus vainly trying to swallow the sound.
Meanwhile, her middle finger played in her cunt, bringing the big clit out of hiding. Already her pink gash was visible through the foliage and her hole was open, though still concealed behind her dark bush.
She sucked at the machine until her nose itched and her mouth was echoing in the key of C. Then she took it out and lay back against the wall with moist lips, letting the vibrator run in the open air, spraying fine clouds of saliva. Her breasts were next. She passed the machine round the base of her right tit. It tightened hard as a nut. She took the hand from her cunt to massage it, rubbing her palm and then the vibrator across her nipple, holding her palm over the head of the vibrator to enclose the sensations. Waves of joy rolled through the gelatin of her tit She was heavily into it now, deeply aroused, and she moved to her other tit holding the machine underneath and pressing the breast down over it, the sound waves shivering among her ribs, warming her breast to its center, making the nipple stand like the eraser of a pencil, pointed to the ceiling.
Her breasts now were two perfect spheres standing out firm from her chest, the ribs visible between and around them. She outlined the bottom of her rib cage with the vibrator, then swirled it around her belly. She stuck the fiat head of it against her navel and it made a hollow sound in her gut All this time her legs were spreading until they were a straight line from heel to twat to heel. Her cunt was split like a cut tomato and it seeped just as much juice. The machine hummed down and around her belly just above the pubic line, and if you looked closely you could see the inner and outer lips of her cunt already slummering in harmony to those electric signals. Her clit, long since emerged from its folds, strained a full quarter inch into space as if it were actually a cock bursting to freedom from long imprisonment Entering her hair, the device sent chills through her pubic bone; the clit stretched forward another eighth of an inch and the edges of her hole trembled and drew back like the waters of the Red Sea. A moist exhalation from her hole filled the air with woman's scent, the smell of which raised her excitement. The vibrator was just now at the upward edge of her snatch and poised for the descent. But here she stopped, turned off the vibrator, and unscrewed the head; reaching into the kit by her side she chose the double-pistoned head, and screwed it on. Her cunt stood open, waiting. When the new head was turned on tight she nicked the switch again. The speed of its movement made it look like a single block of rubber. She wet it with her tongue and then walked it down her body to the twat, this time placing it right in the pie. Cunt juice squirted right and left. The clitoris, like a radio rasping with static, sent to her brain a huge confusion of signals. Cynthia bent drooling over her cunt, her face misting with a fine dew redolent of sex. The hammering head circled her hole, then dipped in. A cry, almost a sob, escaped her. She dipped it in again, drew it out, then sank it farther, until the piston plunged at the entrance while the first worked her farther inside. The first head collected and shot back the nectar oozing from her vaginal walls, and the second sucked it out; but there was always more to replace what was taken. Her vagina, fallopian tubes, ovaries, uterus, reverberated with it-not merely shaking but rolling sympathetically in quasi-orgasmic waves like the reeds of a double-tiered harmonica that, vibrating only slightly differently from each other, emit an undulating rather than a smooth sound. She was experiencing, in fact, pre-orgasmic orgasms-all her muscles convulsed exactly as if she were coming, but her clit had not yet given the signal; she was not formally coming, there was not the particular frenzy of a clitorally sanctioned orgasm. Her clit was still trying to sort out the tremendous shakes of those two humming pistons.
Cynthia slid the machine in halfway, then went the whole route. The only thing she left sticking out was the cord. Then she lay back in delirium, caressing her big breasts with both hands, squeezing them together, pulling them apart, pinching and stretching the nipples. Her tits looked as if they would burst like ripe peaches, so taut were they. And all the time her mouth was stretched open at the corners and a trail of saliva crossed her cheek, and her throat was giving forth moans and whimpers such as a sheep might make when caught in a fence. Her belly rolled, her vagina slurped and kissed. Her whole body shivered as if with ague. And inside, muffled by bone and flesh, the high-frequency humming of the Vibo-Thrust, its double-piston head shaking juice out of her twat as if it were an orange-squeezer. Everything down there was in commotion. Her anus opened and closed like the mouth of a fish and her clit was as thick as a thumb and protruded almost half an inch. Cunt nectar ran in drops along the cord and dripped into the carpet; her pubic hair was sopping wet and the sheets between her legs so deeply soaked that you could see the orange lines and blue checks of the mattress underneath. Her moans grew more and more tense. Her ass began to move in nervous jerks.
Then it happened: Her clit fired the signal and pandemonium broke loose. It was as if someone had lighted a match in a tank full of gasoline fumes. Her orgasms rolled over and through one another and broke with the power of gunshots. She turned over on her stomach, her hands on her snatch, and drove her cunt against her stiffened fingers until the bedsprings creaked. The juice now shot from her as from a lawn sprinkler, wetting her thighs, wetting her hands, wetting her ass, carried away by the currents of air until the entire chamber was like the inside of a womb, hot and humid as the jungle at twilight She gnawed the sheets and gripped them with her toes and would have torn the bed to pieces if she'd had another pair of hands; the pair she had was too busy yanking the twat
"Ahhhhh....." The spasms died away. She lay still, in the same position. The bedsheets were torn up, rumpled. The vibrator alone continued as it had been, buzzing away inside her. Immensely weary, she turned on her side, separated her legs, and extracted the machine. With one finger she turned it off. The silence was deafening. Touching the shaft of the Vibo-Thrust she found it hot from friction and electricity, so hot that it burned her fingers. She rubbed the head against her lips and ticked the hot brew, then sank back against her pillow.
She was satisfied, exhausted, but she knew it was only for a time. So many scenes of fucking filled her brain that she doubted she'd ever be able to think of anything else. The image of that girl on the beach taking it up the ass grew inside her mind until, when she closed her eyes, she felt that her skull was the auditorium of a movie theater and that they were beaming that scene onto a wide screen in technicolor. Not a detail escaped her memory. She recalled the girl's squeezed grunts, the cock oozing bit by bit up her rectum, the man's ass, leg, and arm muscles bulging. No, it was too much! Other women always got the men. No matter how much she wanted a man her pride was too big a barrier-she could show neither affection nor the need for affection. It would take more patience and insight than most men had, to see through those insane defenses. What was all this pride for? she asked herself. What good did it do when people laughed at her for it anyway? Why couldn't she be loose and happy like Janice, whom she secretly admired? To be able to express this sexuality that was always boiling in her loins.
Ah God, here they come again-the couple banging away on the picnic table, so easy, so natural, so happy. The joy with which she opens her legs, takes him on, lies passive under his onslaughts; she loves his weight, loves the pain, the discomfort, the inability to breathe, the pine splinters digging into her back-all those things are contained in, subsumed by the absolute joy of giving him pleasure and by the pleasure-pain and all-that he is giving her.
No, she can't help it-ten minutes after the first bout she needs another purgative. This time it's the French tickler that she screws on. It's the most formidable device in her tool kit, bristling with feelers like the knobby head of some strange insect. She turns it on once, twice, to be sure everything is in order, studying it the way a doctor studies his syringe when he squeezes the air out of it. No need for foreplay this time-all systems are go, as the old-time saying is. Another switch-on and that high-pitched hum resumes, as though the thing actually is an insect, of the burrowing variety (there are insects that burrow?). A tentative touching and drawing away, touching again; and then it enters, agitating her cunt into a frenzy. Soon she's taking up where she left off before. Her legs are in the air, she has one finger in her ass-hole, her whole body is heaving in the bed, the mattress itself is moving; the ticklers are raising her cunt's blood to a boil. She's beginning to wail with the strength of the tides rising inside her-when suddenly the door fumbles open, the light goes on, and a bleared voice says, "What the hell's goin' on in here? Holy Shit!"
There's no escape, no explanation possible: her legs are still in the air, wide open, her slit rosy red, her clitoris a veritable hard-on, the tickler still buzzing six inches up her twat with the cord running out to the wall socket
"Oh mother! Don't let me interrupt!"
Cynthia sits up, wraps the wet sheets around her, fumbles with the vibrator switch, finally yanks it out of the wall. As her eyes accustom themselves after the first shock she finds herself face to face with a huge dirty bearded man with no pants and a loose cock dangling halfway to his knees, and with a leather waistcoat smelling of garbage.
"What do you want?"
"I just want to take a piss!" He waves the beer can he's holding in his hand. "This is not the lavatory."
"No, it ain't But I can just as well piss in here. Where's the sink."
"The impertinence of this crass intrusion."
"What?"
"How dare you impose upon my privacy? How dare you intrude yourself in this unceremonious manner, reeking in that squalid attire!"
"Lady, I don't talk Chinese. What the hell are you sayin'? "
"Leave this room instantly!"
"Oh-is that what it is? Well I'll tell you: I'll leave as soon as I get a little of what you were dishin' out to that machine."
"That machine is a costly prescription device for the treatment of hemorrhoids."
"Oh? You got hemorrhoids up your twat?" He offers a conciliatory smile, which turns out to be toothless. "Now come on, let's be friends: Don't be shy. We can be honest with each other. No machine could give you what I can, a strong, beefy boy like me. Why, just to make you comfortable, I'll even buzz for you."
"Leave this instant!"
The bearded man turns suddenly and kicks the door shut, shivering the boards. It's then that Cynthia sees the flying death's head on the back of his jacket and the words, "HELL'S ANGELS-BERDOO."
"You're beginning to piss me off," he says, turning around. "Now, you been lyin' here whippin' yer twat with this French tickler-so don't tell me you ain't up for a healthy fuck. And don't tell me about no hemorrhoids!"
He walks over, the beer can still in his fist, and yanks the sheets from Cynthia's body. His eyes bug out.
"Holy son of a bitch! What a body-I never seen such a thing...Just take it easy, don't shiver so. Wait 'til I finish this beer." He holds it up about five inches from his mouth and glugs it down-half a can without a break.
"I'll scream!"
"Oh don't give me that shit. Nobody's talked like that for twenty years."
The beer seems to go straight to his dick for storage-his shaft thickens and stretches out in equal proportion to the liquid he takes down. Cynthia watches in horror as it grows and grows, pointing itself meaningly at her face.
"I shan't accept it-I shan't!"
"Oh you shan't, shan't you? Take that-" And he drives it full steam into her mouth. Cynthia chokes, tears start from her eyes. She hates it! It's not the private but the public Cynthia who's taking on this monster, and all she can think of is the horror, the indignity of it. Her brain fills not with images of lust but with words, angry speeches, fearful pleas.
"Well come on and suck! What you waitin' for?"
She's just holding it in her mouth and staring at him.
"Oh man....." He pulls it out and shakes it a few times like a whip. "What is it? You want me to wash it?"
Suddenly, without the least warning, she bursts into tears. Her whole face is wet with them in a few seconds.
"Leave me! Leave me to my accursed pride! Leave me to clank forever in the chains I myself have forged."
"Jesus Christ!" the Angel murmurs, a little nervous in spite of himself. "She must be nuts. What's this shit about chains?"
Cynthia buries her face in her hands, sobbing. The Angel steps back a little and looks at her.
"Hey, look," he says, splashing the last of his beer over his cock, "there, look, I'm washin' it." He rubs the beer around his shaft with his fist. "Hey-y'see that? Clean. Tm tellin' you, it's my experience that a good suck will dry all them tears."
Cynthia, crying bitterly, shakes her head.
"All right, all right, here. You like the French tickler so much, why don't I just give you a Utile rub-all right? I won't even lay a hand on you. Here, just-n He turns the Vibo-Thrust on and watches it humming in his fist "Now just lay back and open your legs, and show me the way to them hemorrhoids."
Cynthia is sitting upright in the bed, her legs crossed. She's still crying, but she's also listening. To the Angel's delight she slowly uncrosses her legs, then setties back against die pillow.
"Why, that's just fine. Now if you'd jest lift your knees a little-oh my, that's jest the way." He sits down on the bed and aims carefully with the air of a man planting a dynamite charge. At the first contact she reels, lifting her hips off the bed and shaking them. The Angel's cock jumps to attention.
"I should not...submit...to such indignity...I should not...Ohhhh!" The battle rages inside her; now one side of her, now the other getting the upper hand. For the first time the stakes are not a Vibo-Thrust or a Chinese dildo or the handle of a hair brush; it is a Irving cock and a real man who stands ready for service.
The Angel watches the machine agitate her cunt. His hand is sprayed with nectar. He watches the clit expand, the anus open as if to speak, then close as if deciding not to; watches her vagina ripple, her slit turn red as an apple. And floating over everything, invisible, the leathery smell of sex, as pungent as the sweat of a horse.
In his fetid imagination the cunt turns into a hot meat pie still smoking from the oven. Without a thought he pulls the Vibo-Thrust from her snatch and buries his face in it, nose, tongue, chin and all.
Cynthia is aghast at first, seeing that mass of hair planted to her crotch; but when she feels the tongue flicking in her hole, hears the eager snorts, she's done for. She grabs him by the hair and rubs him in. She lifts her hips and washes his face in her snatch, and then grips his head in her thighs, locking him in. The Angel's arms circle her legs and press her belly firmly, packing her cunt with blood.
"Oh, a man at my-a Hell's Angel at my-CUNT!" The word explodes from her, and now she can't stop. "Cunt, cunt, cunt...I feel you tongue lapping in it, I feel your hot noisy breath blowing in it, your hairy face bathing in it! You're mine, absolutely mine...Come on, harder, harder, push your head up my CUNT! Lick me, drink me, guzzle me!"
The Angel does just that. Every second he expects to be taken inside her up to the shoulders. His cheeks nestle in her bush, his mouth and nose explore her vagina, finding it wet as an old mine shaft. He drinks her down as avidly as he had downed his beer, and it makes him drunker than beer. It's as though she had gold and diamonds hidden up there and he were mad to reach them.
Now, struggling, he frees his head and gasps for air, wild-eyed. He looks up at her face and finds it transformed. There's no indignation there now, no fear or protest She wants everything he's got to give. Her nostrils are flared, her face flushed, her lips parted. Her breasts rise and fall in great quick heaves. He unwraps his arms and climbs up her body, her cunt grating his skin all the way, leaving a wet trail like a snail's. His cock, standing straight out, has no difficulty finding its goal. He slips in as easily as an airplane coming down on a well-lighted runway, and before he knows it he's buried to the balls.
Cynthia, feeling that warm tube sliding up her twat stretching her open, simply lies back blinking. So this is what it's like! It's better than any dildo-nothing can compare with it. When he begins his strokes she bends her knees until the shanks touch the thighs. If she could split herself down the middle she'd do it. She wants to open herself until there's nothing left of her at all. His balls smack against her butt. His beard scratches her face, but she doesn't mind. The discomfort is all absorbed in that one amazing fact of his cock in her cunt. His cock begins to suck in her in long wet kisses. She squeezes her thighs against his hips until her crotch muscles are taut as guitar strings. Her tits feel cool against the leather of his jacket; they ride up and down with the friction of his body. Even his animal odor arouses her, heavy as it is. It's like screwing a stallion. She puts her fingers into the crack of his ass, feeling the cheeks flex together. She has never touched a naked man before, it's all new to her.
Then his face is against hers, his lips squashing her own in a violent kiss. He has three front teeth missing, but no matter. It makes it all the easier for his tongue to fly into her mouth and with it the rich taste of pussy and beer. Her own cunt, salty on her tongue, its acids burning the lining of her mouth. She laps it up as eagerly as if she had been bent double tasting the pussy herself. Her mouth opens wide, she battles his tongue with hers, the alcohol on his breath enters her brain straight away. Her hips begin to respond to his strokes until she's lifting him in the air, meeting him cunt-on and shaking her ass to boot Whenever she shakes, his balls rattled against her buttocks like dice in a cup and temptingly brush the working mouth of her rectum. Their pubic bones cleave so firmly that they seem-likely to crack against each other at every blow. And they might too, except for the feathery cushions of pubic hair that soften the fierce concussions.
His hands slip around to cradle her ass, squeezing the buttocks like clay. One finger manages to reach her anus and buries itself to the first joint Reaching down, she returns the favor.
The finger in her ass is something special, something unforeseen. It creates a special sort of itch that craves its own satisfaction. She opens and closes her muscles on his finger and feels him do the same. It's a very sub-tie caress. She finds that no gesture in lovemaking is small; everything contributes its own excitement. Her mind runs up and down his body. His legs brush against her feet as he shoves, and she flicks her toes against them. She bites his lower lip, scratches his back, rubs her breasts left and right against his jacket
Now she's about to feel something that her imagination has given her no conception of. He has broken off his kiss suddenly and begun plowing her harder, his whiskers pressed against her cheek. He's uttering broken sounds, biting her ear. And now he digs his toes into the mattress and slams himself in all the way, rocking his hips round and round, and Cynthia feels a spurt of boiling cream shoot into her gut. There's another and another, until her cunt steams like a pressure cooker and then suddenly explodes. Her ass leaps from the mattress, her finger digs deeper into his rectum, and one by one the orgasms pile through her belly, her vagina squeezing his cock as it fires bolts of semen, her insides engulfed in an electrical storm, full of thunder and lightning.
He holds her ass tight, their bellies smooth and firm together. His balls are emptying out with such violence that they're already beginning to hurt. Still he pushes and squirms as if to drive himself inside her, balls and all. He's never seen a woman come so powerfully as Cynthia does. He's never had one actually lift him from the bed and rock him in the air.
The mattress is now lying crosswise on the springs, the sheets pulled awry and dropping inch by inch to the floor. Cynthia is biting him, hard, on the neck.
He fires his last volley and collapses. Cynthia keeps squirming for another thirty seconds and then she too lies still, emptying her lungs in one long sigh. Her legs relax, opening to either side.
After a while the Angel lifts himself up and slips out of her. She makes a little sound when the head drops from her hole. Drops of semen follow it out.
"My oh my," the Angel says, lying on her leg with his back against the wall.
They rest there in silence after that Then he rouses himself.
"Why don't we just low ride on back to Berdoo? I left my bike in New York. We'll just hop on board and zip cross-country. Why, all the boys back at the Dingo Bar'll shit their pants when I pull up with you glued on my back. And when you feel that old Harley rumblin' under your ass you won't stop comin' till we cross the California line."
There's something romantic about, all of this, and Cynthia's emotions respond to it. To be the slave of an outlaw gang, rolling with the pack along the freeways, standing by with rouged lips during chain fights-yes, there's something to be said for that. And the Angels with their sleek cocks, eager as thoroughbreds for the fuck-Cynthia imagined queues of them lined up waiting for a chance at her blazing cunt. Yes, why not? Why not throw up everything-apartment, clothes, career-to follow the destiny of those beer-crazed bikers as they howled and yipped from L.A. to the Oregon border and back again, trailing their vile fumes, horrifying the half-dead hamlets with their infernal racket and their terrible charisma? One word would do it all. She could be airborne within an hour and a half, clutched in the arms of her Angel beau, their love song soothing the passengers to soft sleep, the moonlight glinting from the silver wings, making a halo of his hair as he bent forward to plant a kiss...Yes...But no: What if she had a relapse? What if she suddenly found her passions encased again in that spiked armor she had already worn for so many years? What if she found herself denouncing the Berdoo Angels for their immorality, their filth, their insatiable lust? They'd chain her to death! Perhaps even her own lover, now so tranquil in the bed, would dash her brains out in a fit of disgust
"God Almighty, my balls itch! You ever have that trouble?"
What would he think about Henry James? Would he respond to the shrewd perceptions of Jane Austen and Ivy Compton-Burnett? She looked at him as he sat there scratching his balls. Maybe she could be his teacher! What wonders she could open for him-music, literature, art-the whole world to which his benighted soul had never been exposed. She imagined them reading poems together by the fireside on winter evenings, the Harley-Davidson snug in the garage, he smoking a placid pipe in the armchair.
"A thing of beauty," she says suddenly, "is a joy forever."
"Huh?"
"That's Keats."
"Who?"
It will be an uphill struggle, certainly-but she's fired now with a missionary zeal.
"John Keats," she says distinctly, "Was an English poet of the early nineteenth century."
"What's he got to do with anything? I just been layin' here."
"He was the author," Cynthia continues, "of the famous Ode on a Grecian Urn." The Angel sits silent. "Would you like me to recite it to you."
"Fuck no, I wouldn't!"
"Thou still-unravished bride of quietness . . .."
"Aw, Jesus Christ."
"Thou foster-child of silence and slow time . . .."
"Yawwwllgh," he yawns.
"Have you no yearning for the arts; no slightest urge to break the fetters of your ignorance?"
"The only things I care about are my bike and my cock."
"How limited you are! So hopeless a philistine!"
"Why don't you talk like a human being?"
Cynthia catches herself. Yes, she'd been drifting back; another few seconds and she'd have been more iron-bound than ever. She looks down at his cock and feels new life stirring in her, and a slight movement in his soft cock that tells her he's ready for more.
Pulling her leg from under him she gets out of bed and crosses the room to the bureau, as if to look for something. She stands with her legs apart, bends over until her chin is lying on her folded arms and she's looking herself in the eye in the mirror, and wiggles her ass at him.
He gets the message. From where he is he can see her ass cheeks spread open, her anus and cunt in full display. He loves looking at her cunt from this angle. The lips are in such perfect view, and the color is so bright. Nothing is coyly hidden anymore behind tufts of pubic hair. He can even see the opening of the urethra. The female animal, fully equipped! And with the ass waving like that-it's like the red cape to a bull. His cock is hard as a pole in seconds. He carries it over in his hand and whips her butt with it.
"Oh, it's so hard! It hurts, it stings!"
He pushes the head around in her petals as if he were stirring a pot of pitch.
"Don't tease me-put it in, put it in!"
Even now he doesn't do it. He circles the hole, brushes the clit, traces her cunt from front to back, and it's only when she's almost mad with excitement that he pushes it in, a little at a time, pausing between shoves to let her absorb the shock of his entry. She's so wet by this time that it's like shoving his cock into whipped cream. He can almost taste his way in. He grabs her by the hips and strokes in a corkscrew motion. She shakes her ass as if dancing with electric shocks, and her moans frost the mirror in front of her face. She stares at her misty reflection. There's no resemblance to the old Cynthia there. She's transformed with lust. She looks almost evil with the power of her desires. But in reality they leave her helpless; she couldn't stand up if she wanted to-not with that cock poleaxing her, not with those strong hands holding her hips, the thrusts that rob her of all strength.
He reaches forward and grabs her tits in his hands. They're hard as wine bags. His stomach bumps her ass at each shove. She's a fine, hefty piece of woman, the kind that's good to touch all over-everything filled out, packed tight.
He has little warning before he's ready to come-it's on him before he can control it. Whamo! he shies a wad at her womb. It hits the target, and just like a bell ringing the score, her own orgasms reply. Her ass shimmies so fast it seems-likely to rip his cock off. Her buttocks literally massage his hardened belly muscles.
The squirts are audible-they sound like the udder of a cow squirting milk into a pan. Cynthia moans as eerily as a banshee.
When he pulls himself out, it's with a very slight pop. Cynthia stands up, totters a short way, and collapses into a chair. The Angel pads aimlessly around the room as if dazed.
"It's too much for me," he says frankly. "Inside a year I'd look like Methuseleh. You got so much horsepower that you could run the Indy 500 as a footrace-hamstrung-and beat A.J. Foyt"
"You don't want me to come with you?"
"It ain't a question of that. I'm tellin' you-it's you or my bike, that's what it comes down to. And I'd rather roll my bike into a ditch and break my legs than be fucked out before my prime. You're a ball-squeezer, and there's no two ways about it."
"Oh," she says, looking down at the carpet.
"Don't take it so hard. Why, one day you'll find two or three good boys who'll do you fine. But it'll take two or three. Meanwhile, if you're ever in Berdoo, why look me up at the Dingo. Me and the boys'll show you a right good time."
Cynthia sits sorrowfully. She's damned either way, it seems. On the one hand she gives too little, on the other too much.
"Where is the pot, anyhow?"
"Down the hall-the last door on the left."
"Oh."
And he leaves-her very first lover, vanished into the night.
CHAPTER TEN
Next morning early Daisy was out with Joseph at Hamilton Harbour, looking up at the crosstrees of the Rara Avis, which is possibly the most beautiful yacht in all the Caribbean and the Eastern Seaboard. She was all white and pink and shipshape.
"A crew of eight will do us just fine," Joseph was saying. "I think I'll have to replace those lifeboats, though. Well need something for rougher seas." He stared up at the mainmast as if he already saw himself on the crosstree beating the ice off the sails with his fists. "I think I'll also change her name."
'To what?"
"The Daisy."
"Oh Joseph!" She fell into his arms.
"Let's go down to the dock and rent a sailboat"
An hour later they were tacking out of the harbor. They bore east and followed the coast. Underneath them the sea was so clear that they could see their boat's shadow cruising along the bottom. It felt as though they were floating in the air.
"Can I steer?"
"OK."
Daisy took the helm and immediately turned them, almost knocking Joseph overboard when the sail swung over. The boat heeled over on her side and they had to cling to the gunwale until she righted herself.
"You overdid it," he told her. "Just ease the rudder a little. Keep us before the wind."
Daisy learned fast, and soon they were scudding before the wind at four knots, smiling and enjoying the sun on their faces. Out in the roadstead the Sea Venture was making for the Harbour-a medium-sized white Cunard liner that plied the route from New York to Hamilton every three days.
"When the Queen Elizabeth II stalled in mid-ocean on her way to England in '73, it was the Sea Venture that picked up her passengers and took them to Bermuda," Joseph told her, as though he'd had a part in the rescue, and a particularly dangerous one at that
"I like that yellow fish on the blue smokestack."
"I wonder how she'd behave off Cape Horn."
Daisy was wearing jeans and a shirt over a green one-piece bathing suit. They planned to anchor and go swimming a few miles offshore, on the reefs. As soon as they reached a landmark that Joseph knew, he headed the boat out to sea. He kept taking bearings from the shore until they were several miles out.
"There she is," he said finally, looking down into the water. Ten feet down, and extending down the slope of the reef, was a tremendous pile of rubble. There was a huge boiler, and shards of metal and broken glass. It would have looked like an underwater dump, except that it was very clean and clear.
"The Constellation," he declared. "A cargo ship sunk on a clear day in 1943, laden with botties, crucifixes, vaseline, nail polish, and all sorts of crap."
They got out their skin-diving gear and jumped overboard to explore. Daisy floated like a buoy on the surface, but Joseph dived forty feet to the trough, holding his breath for three or four minutes on end. He was so graceful that Daisy spent most of her time looking at him instead of at the wreck. He brought her up a bottle from the depths that turned out to be nail polish, the red kind they used in those days. Daisy clutched it and floated. Down he went again, and looking up saw her riding there, quite motionless, in her green bathing suit. Down where he was, rock fish swam around, and big hogfish and snappers. A few yards away a pack of barracuda appeared, bright silver and covered with spots, their jaws chomping. He picked up a fluted water glass and a tube of lipstick and flipped to the surface again, his lungs and sinuses expanding as the water pressure diminished.
"Let's go back in the boat and look at all this stuff," he suggested.
Up they went. Daisy dried herself off and put on the nail polish and the lipstick. Joseph cleaned out the glass and poured some wine in it, and so all of those pieces of cargo were alive and useful again after thirty years under the ocean.
They both drank out of the glass until the bottle was empty. That was enough to make them both drunk.
"Let's swim in the nude," Joseph suggested.
"Oh boy, let's!" Swimming in the nude was the most secret and terrible fantasy she had. She'd never done it, not even with Thuck, though he'd tried to get her to splash with him in the horse pond on old Josh Hawspock's place one midnight The Dobermans had chased them off, and Thuck lost the left leg of his best pair of pants. Old Josh had fired two rounds of buckshot over their heads.
Daisy stood up on the deck and unzipped the back of her bathing suit Joseph watched her as she freed one shoulder and then the other. She turned her back on him and lowered the suit to her waist just a little of her rump showing. She turned coyly halfway around so that he could see the side of her breast
"Turn all the way around," Joseph insisted.
But Daisy just twisted herself round in the other direction so that he could see the side of her right breast and showed him no more than that Slowly, then, she lowered the suit revealing more and more of her ass until it was completely exposed. She leaned over and pulled it to her ankles, neatly stepping out of it
Joseph came up behind her and reached his hands under her arms to take her breasts. Images of ripe fruit filled his mind-oranges, melons, and grapefruit paw paws, pears, and passion fruit...and the figureheads of clipper ships that he had seen in nautical books, breasts bare and standing straight out...and the drawings of mermaids he had seen in old adventure books...and the globes of the world that he had studied since boyhood, when he would point out remote places with his fingers and vow to go there: all of these round things came back to mind as he stood there feeling Daisy's perfect boobs. She put her hands over his, massaging her breasts with him, discovering her own body in his wonder at the touch and sight of it She helped him to fondle her the way it felt best: lifting them from under, squeezing and then relaxing, lifting, squeezing, relaxing. He turned her around and planted a kiss on her decades-old lipstick. He kissed her again and then again, and then kissed her ah over her face while she stood there giggling. "Oh Joseph, you're crazy!"
Kiss and kiss and kiss, forehead, eyes, nose, cheeks, chin, ears, and finally lips again. He kissed them for a long, long time, Daisy's nipples brushing his chest. He put his hands on her ass and pushed her belly forward. His cock stood up against her stomach, and she moved herself against it
"I can't get over how big it is," she told him. "Doesn't it hurt when it stretches like that?"
"No-it feels good all the way up. The more it stretches the better it feels."
She rubbed her belly against it smiling in his face.
"If you rub too hard you'll make me climax."
"You can if you want. I'd like to feel you climax against my stomach."
"I want to hold on to it so I can have orgasms in your vagina."
"Ooh, that's so sexy."
He pulled away a little and put the head of his cock in her navel.
"I wish I had a vagina there too." She wrapped her hand around it. "I like the way you can squeeze it and even though it's hard it feels soft."
"I like the way when I touch your vagina and it's closed, it opens up right away and gets really wet."
"You should feel it from inside, like I do. When your finger comes in, everything just melts down there. Maybe that's why I get wet-because something melts."
He hugged her to him and kissed her, pushing his tongue through her lips. He moved his leg over so that she was straddling it, and pressed his thigh up against her cunt. She began riding his leg, rubbing herself up and down, leaving a wet track. Her breathing became excited. He pushed her butt along his leg. At every push she turned her hip a little so that it rubbed his cock and finally she put her hand down there, firmly stretching the skin down from the head and then releasing it and stretching it again. They were both panting like sweating dogs. And when Joseph took his leg away and put his hand in its place, Daisy began to breathe so hard she seemed ready to erupt
"Joseph, I'm opening up so far! I can't stand it...ohhh...."
He put his finger in as far as he easily could from that angle-wetting it to the second joint. She sank down a little and he bent down to shove it all the way up, his index finger and his fourth finger resting outside her cunt, forming a kind of base from which the middle finger launched itself on its explorations.
Daisy couldn't stand up with his finger inside her. She dropped down and down until she was squatting on her haunches and he was, too, his hand never leaving her pussy on the descent. He'd never felt a girl from that position before and for some reason everything seemed bigger, more exposed. Her cunt sat in his palm-a definite weighty thing, something he could appreciate apart from her body itself. And her hole was wide enough for three fingers.
She leaned back on outstretched arms, turning her cunt up toward him. Her body made a sort of table now, with her stomach muscles and chest muscles all taut and her tits flattening a little to the left and right He kneeled between her knees and, using one finger as a guide, planting his dick at the opening to her vagina. He forced it in firmly with his hand, then added the power of his hips. She rocked back a bit every time he pushed. Every little shove imbedded him that much more. He did it slowly, trying to teach himself control. Whenever he felt himself ready to come, he paused, and got possession of himself again and then resumed. There was no wasted effort, no unnecessary gesture. When he was planted ah the way he paused again, taking in the amazing realization: "I'm inside a woman; I'm making love" Daisy whimpered with passion. She got up from her backward leaning position and sat up on his dick, wrapping her arms around him. And they just kneeled there like that without moving, hugging each other close, until Joseph, his imagination building and building, was unable to hold back anymore. He came quietiy, with a little jerk, kissing her cheek. She felt him flowing into her.
"It's so comfortable" was the way she described it to him.
They stayed in that position for a little while and then got up, still holding each other.
"Let's go swimming," Joseph said.
So off they went, diving from the deck and swimming and then climbing back on board and diving again; rubbing against each other's bodies in the water, tickling each other, diving and surfacing. Joseph swam the length of the keel five times underwater without coming up for air, to Daisy's admiration, and he taught her how to take the pressures off her ears when she dived by holding her nose and blowing. All the while the barracuda swam curious circles around them the way a crowd of people might gather around a flying saucer on top of which a pair of aliens were doing the fandango.
Pushing himself under and holding his . breath, Joseph did something he had never done above the surface or below: He put his face against Daisy's cunt and stuck his tongue out and licked it. His nose, of course, was stopped up, so he couldn't get the flavor; but he got the taste of salt and knew that her body was another form of the ocean, that he and she were living beings made of sea water. She treaded water without using her legs, which was difficult for her. He licked until all the air in his lungs was used up and then he surfaced.
"That was great!" Daisy declared. "Can we do that later when we're out of the water?"
"Sure," he answered. "Do you want to take my penis in your mouth?"
"Yeah! I hope I can hold my breath."
"Just don't think about your breath. Exhale a little so you can stay under and just concentrate on my penis and you won't even think about air."
"OK, I'll try."
The first time she came up spluttering after four seconds without even getting down to his cock. The second time she held out longer, managed to grab him, but never got her mouth into line. The third time she got him in but the effort to stay down was too much-she spent all her energy flailing her arms in the water.
"Wait a minute-we'll try it this way: I'll just he on my back like this and you suck my penis on the surface."
That was the way to do it. He floated on his back, she floated on her stomach. His cock thickened in her mouth, cooled and salted by the sea. She sucked at her leisure, taking long breaths and then putting her face in the water to swirl her tongue around him. The water had numbed his cock, so there was no danger of his corning too soon.
Presently he took a big breath himself, swiveled himself around under her floating body, and wound up with his head at her cunt. He stuck his tongue into it as she sucked him, and they had a pleasant time eating each other above the wreck of the Constellation.
They were soon too excited to stay in that precarious position, where one uncareful breath would have them choking, and they swam together toward the boat. Daisy prepared to climb the ladder, but Joseph, seeing her ass bent so beautifully, couldn't wait long enough to get out of the water. He planted his feet on the bottom rung, his chest against her back and, holding onto the sides of the ladder, he drove himself up her pussy. This was the first time he honestly had control of his urges. He'd be able to hold his load forever under these circumstances. Soon he was plugging at her like a pro, listening to her wild exclamations, driving her frantic with his relentless strokes. He felt a surge of confidence. There was nothing he couldn't do with her, nowhere he couldn't take her.
And this time he had the satisfaction of being able to concentrate on her pleasure exclusively. Daisy herself was clutching the railing, her whole mind and being concentrated on the reality of that pole between her legs. She bit her tongue, sticking it out a little between her lips. She rocked her head on her shoulders, her eyes rolled up. This time she was the one who came, a stream of bubbles issuing from her twat and breaking softly round her waist.
When he saw that she had come he pulled himself out of her and pushed her up the ladder to the deck. He followed, his cock flapping against each rung.
She lay down on the deck and closed her eyes, smiling. He paraded around her like a rooster. His cock bobbed as if it were bowing to applause.
"You should have felt my climax," Daisy said, still smiling, and her eyes still closed. "I thought I was going to fly up like a rocket."
"I could feel when you were going to do it. You got all tense and you breathed weird."
"Do you want me to suck your penis now?"
"That would be great."
"What's the best way to do it?"
"I'll sit down against the mast like this."
He sat down and spread his legs out on the deck. She lay down on her stomach between his legs and looked at his cock, fingering it almost quizzically. Then, testing, she ticked all around the head. She kissed it lightiy once or twice, then took the head inside her lips and wet it with her saliva.
Joseph watched her as she worked at him. He couldn't see what she was doing, but he guessed each step from the feel of it. He knew when she began eating him with a gorgeous mixture of tongue, lips, and teeth. The entry inside her lips felt like the plunge into a wet cunt but there the resemblance ended. First of all there was the sucking, which had nothing to do with the way a cunt felt. The head of his cock sometimes seemed-likely to burst. It felt, when she sucked especially hard, like a thousand pinpricks. Then there was the tongue, whose gently rough surface slipped round and round him; then the teeth, biting very, very gently just below the glans, never hard enough to hurt. All of these things combined as if to draw the semen out of him like milk through a straw. His scrotum was still constricted tight from the water; she was pinching the skin of it lightly between thumb and forefinger. Her mouth made kissing sounds. Presently she began to bob her head up and down his pole. Whenever she pulled up the breeze cooled the saliva on his cock, and her descent warmed it again.
It was only a matter of time, and a short time at that. He caressed her face and hair as she sucked. Presently his vision grew blurred. His cock hardened to its ultimate centimeters in length and breadth and finally he had to let go. Daisy was caught by surprise and almost pulled off him, but she caught herself in time and took it all. She let it fill her mouth and then she lifted her head and looked at him while she swallowed. After that she smiled.
"It's good!" she said. "Mmmmm."
She leaned up and kissed him. He wanted to draw back but she got him before he could do it. She gave him a wet open kiss full of his own semen. The idea of it put him off at first. But then he took it and tasted it, and it burned his mouth as it was burning hers. Why not? Sex is a giving and taking but it is also a way of accepting, loving yourself in being loved. A man tastes his own semen, a woman her own sexual juice. Saliva itself, which normally you think of, if at all, for purposes of digestion or spitting, becomes a sexual liquid too. Nothing about you is disgusting anymore, or out of place in this sort of physical conversation. She takes you ah, you take all of yourself.
By the time they broke the kiss Daisy was excited again.
"Kiss me like that too," she asked him, feeling her cunt.
She sat back, her arms extended behind her, legs bent at the knees. He lay down on his stomach, as she had done, and put his face in her box. Everything down there was salty from the ocean water, and from her insides as well. His tongue opened her hole, like a key in a lock. Soon it was sliding up and down and in and out, as Daisy sat affectionately watching him. She reached down with one hand and stretched the upper part of her cunt so that the clit stood out. He licked it with the flat of his tongue. It felt so good that she leaned back on her elbows and watched him down the whole extended length of her body. He licked well, knowing that he must be gentle with the clitoris, touching it only very tightly, licking around it Once he allowed himself the gentle liberty of biting it with lips rolled round his teeth, and she responded wonderfully to that, new and unexpected as it was.
As her excitement climbed, she lay back flat on the deck, warming her shoulders on the sun-heated fiberglass. She lifted her hips against his nose. He had a sharp face and it fitted like a wedge into her crack. He was moaning, holding onto her hips. She took his hands and moved them up to her breasts, and when he was squeezing them eagerly she moved her own hands back down to her cunt and masturbated as he licked.
Massaged in so many places, she came quickly, against his face, her veins beating round his tongue. Her hips jerked a little, that was all. She took it quietly, smiling sweetly to herself. Joseph looked up to see how she was getting on. It was like looking across country: the smooth plateau of her stomach, the two hills, and between them the glimpse of her face, a far country, very happy and sunny.
That is the way they spent their day. They swam some more and then sailed home. The sun was setting, all red, making the sea red too. When they approached Hamilton Harbour they saw the masts of the Rara Avis glinting with the last of the light.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
That morning and afternoon Cynthia was not in a good state of mental or moral health. She suffered all the sorrow of the breakup of a love affair. She scoured her memory for the least detail of the hour and a half she'd spent with the Angel-she'd never even learned his name!-and reconstructed it in her mind, scene by scene. Would he have taken her if she'd behaved differently? How should she have behaved? What did she look like through his eyes?
Every once in a while a wave of guilt would pour through her, making her weep with shame. It was during those times that the Angel's less appealing characteristics would surface in her mind: bestial filth, bestial ignorance, sudden violence, and a canine jocularity that put her in mind of a mongrel squatting by a tree. Hers was by no means a blind love.
Still, he was the one who had deflowered her. He had seduced her fair and square, she couldn't deny him that. He'd have a special place in her memory, for good or ill. Everything depended on the course she took from here.
That was the war she was fighting now, alone in her room: the war between disgust and acceptance. Ah you had to do was look at her face to see which was uppermost at any given time. She looked like John Barry-more rehearsing himself for Jekyll and Hyde.
The most terrible times were when oceans of desire would sweep over her as if she were a sand flat taking on tidal waves after an earthquake. Her cunt would fly open like Aladdin's cave inviting a rush of air up her twat that made a sound similar to that produced when you blow across the mouth of a soda bottle.
It was the very things that disgusted her when "sober" that fed her lust when she was aroused. His odor, for example. When he had walked into the room it was the same as if a garbage truck had pulled up to unload its cargo into her bed. Nevertheless, as soon as he'd put the Vibo-Thrust to her twat the stench became a source of sexual inspiration. The same with the missing teeth. There was something vagina-like about his folding lips, about the softness of his mouth pressed against hers.
Well, he was gone for good, and she was reduced to jacking off again. But none of the old devices sufficed anymore. She had the same difficulty with phallic objects as many people have with sexual partners-that is, they would grow stale after frequent use and she'd have to go look for others.
She looked over at the beer can her Angel had left behind. No, that was no good. Nevertheless, thinking objects, the idea of them, suddenly seemed very exciting. It was then that she remembered a Coke bottle that she'd left under her bed the previous afternoon. She lifted the bedspread and picked it up. It was a twelve-ounce job. Yes, it would do, it would do. She spread her legs. There was no girdle to take off now, she'd never put it back on after the last night's adventures. After some preliminary fantasizing and foreplay she shoved it up. She turned it round as if on a lathe, enjoying that novel sensation. There was always something new to be learned. She shoved it up farther, until she had enclosed the hump of the bottle and the swirled lettering. The lettering was something quite unexpectedly enjoyable. She turned it round, even twirled it and let it spin on its own. Yes, things could be worse. The lover had gone but she still had her implements, things that she could rely on, that would never leave her, never chastise her, never demand anything or try to force anything on her.
Full of these comforting thoughts she pushed it up so far that only four inches of it remained outside. Then she rested, absorbed in her own thoughts. Occasionally, almost idly, she'd spin it around until the friction made a hollow sound against the glass.
After a while she thought of trying to stroke herself with it. But it wouldn't come-it was STUCK. Every time she pulled, it felt as though all her organs up there were about to be pulled out of place.
She tried time and again, but as soon as she yanked at it a tremendous suction would threaten to disembowel her.
Good God, what could she do? Would she have to spend the rest of her days like that? Walking around with a bottle sticking out of her twat? Was that to be the just punishment for her years of sexual repression?
The more she thought about her situation the more panicky she became. She started trembling and crying. It wasn't fair. Why was she always to be so humiliated?
Every time she touched it now it seemed to go farther in, as though her cunt were quicksand. After a while she was afraid to touch it. But she had to do something. Where would it stop? She might end up carrying it in her womb like a glass child. And how, when the labor pains began, could she check herself into a hospital only to give birth to a Coke bottle?
In her panic the only person she could think of confiding in was Harmon. He was always so cool, so reasonable-and he could keep a secret. Accordingly, putting on her dress and walking as best she might, with her hand pressing the bottle, she stepped down the hall and knocked on the door to the studio room. Janice opened it and as soon as she saw Cynthia her face fell.
"Oh, it's you. What is it-another blackmail demand?"
Jack and Harmon were playing cards on a coffee table. They turned their heads to stare.
"I wish to speak to Harmon."
Jack and Harmon exchanged glances. Janice opened the door wide. "Here he is," she said. "Start talking."
"I wish to speak to him alone."
At this there was more glancing-altogether a great deal of eye-work going on. Finally Harmon said, "Of course, Cynthia." And he got up, smoking his bent meerschaum and putting his pipe cleaners, matches, and tamp in his pocket. "Don't look at my cards," he said to Jack. And with that he joined Cynthia in the hall.
Inside the room Janice and Jack glanced at each other still one more time. Then Jack turned his attention to Harmon's cards, which he picked up and studied with interest.
Cynthia led Harmon into her room, and asked, him to sit down. He did so without a word.
"You are aware, I believe," she began, "that on occasion, when I am paying less attention to the rigors of sound diet than I ought to do, I have had recourse to soft drinks....."
Harmon nodded his head. "I have observed you, on two occasions at least, drinking ginger ale from a paper cup."
"Undoubtedly you have. Have you at any time observed me with a cola?"
Harmon searched his mind. "I can't recall a specific instance."
"Very well; I do occasionally yield to that temptation. Indeed, I am not averse to drinking it directly from the bottle."
Harmon raised his eyebrows.
"I may be assured of your strict confidence in this matter?" she went on. "By all means."
"Very well then. This morning, having, as I assure you is not my settled habit, emptied into my lips an entire bottle of that beverage, I placed it upright in the very chair where you are now sitting, and disrobed in preparation for my daily shower. You are following me?"
"Closely."
"Having cast my garments onto the bed, I became engrossed, as frequently happens with me, in deep reflection; so deep, in fact, that I lost all consciousness of my surroundings. Hand on brow, I paced the room; and at last, my feet weary, I sank down into that chair."
Harmon took the pipe out of his mouth and regarded her thoughtfully. "Am I to understand that you sank down upon the same chair where this cola bottle was already standing upright?"
"That is correct. When one considers the uncertainty of daily life, the deadly hazards that lurk even in the most innocent corners of our habitations, one is made aware indeed of the necessity for firm philosophy, for stern courage in the face of the unforeseeable."
"Very true. But getting back to the moment of your 'sinking down.' I take it that you were soon aware of your error?"
"Painfully aware." She wrung her hands. "Too painfully. Oh, delicacy forbids me to proceed!"
"But Cynthia, how can I help you if you cut me so suddenly short? Now come: I have the Coke bottle upright in the chair, and you sinking down on it. Clearly there are only a limited number of conclusions to this encounter. I will name them, in fact: Either the bottle fell on impact; or you precipitately rose; or else part or all of the bottle imbedded itself in your person."
Without a word more, and red with embarrassment, she rolled the hem of her skirt back until the bottom of the bottle showed between her legs.
Harmon leaned forward and studied it, the white smoke puffing at intervals from his lips. "Hm," was all he said.
"What can be done?" Cynthia asked him, breaking down at last. "I'm going to die, I know it."
"Nonsense. The bottle is being held there by suction. All we need to do is break the suction and it will come free. It's simply a matter of your shoe and my pipe tamp."
He set the round end of his tamp against the bottom of the bottle and hit the upper end of the tool sharply with the heel of her shoe. After five taps the bottom broke neatly off. Harmon pulled carefully at the bottle and, with a thick sound, it came away.
"There we are," said Harmon. "A simple question of scientific laws."
He didn't at first notice her heavy breathing. When he did, he looked up quickly, only to find his pipe on the floor and his face pasted firmly to hers, and to feel her tongue searching around at the back of his mouth. At first he was just amazed; but as the kiss went on he became lost in the passion of it. Even he, who had been the only one to see through her mask of repression, had had no idea of the fury of love that was buried behind it. She took possession of him. Her hands held him by the neck and he seemed as-likely to be choked to death as anything else. She convoluted her mouth into all sorts of shapes, giving him a veritable handbook demonstration of kisses. Her nostrils breathed fire on his face.
Finally he pulled himself away. "Your glasses, Cynthia; and your hair. For the first time I want to see you as you really are."
She took off the glasses, and threw them aside. Then she took the pins from her hair, one by one, and shook her hair free until it fell round her shoulders. Harmon stared.
"I knew it would be like this!" he exclaimed. "But even I wasn't prepared for the power of it. You're beautiful! You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen!"
"And now for the first time I truly feel it."
"Cynthia! My heart, my possessions, everything I have and am are yours."
There was an orchestra practicing on the lawn, and suddenly they struck up "Some Day My Prince Will Come." Harmon shoved Cynthia back on the bed, his cock long since rock-hard. She pulled his clothes open, popping buttons all over the room and dislocating his zipper. As soon as she found his cock she pulled at it lustily, rubbing the head in her pubic hair, burying it in there completely. He lay with his weight on one leg and put his hand beside her pubes, between her thigh and the right lip of her cunt, his forefinger on the tendon. This teasing made her jerk him with a passion amounting to fury. Her cunt radiated heat like a stove. His hand sweated in its steam. And when he extended one, two, three fingers into that molten furnace, it accepted them right away, all at once, dousing them with juice. His fingers squished inside with a sound tike a foot trying to pull itself out of the mud.
Urgently she moved his cock to the aperture.
"Come in me, Harmon. I'm going mad! Up a little...up. There-yes! Put it in-put it in all the way!"
He slid smoothly in, her pubic hair a soft cushion to his belly. In her mind she visualized his cock riding up her corridor, the head growing larger and larger as it came, her walls wrinkling and stretching around it, her veins pounding, her nectar glinting in the mysterious light. She visualized his thrusts, the withdrawal down the chute, the pause, the attack.
He bent his head down to suck her nipple. She held it for him, looking down at him as affectionately as if he had been a baby. His lips took a good grip on her breast and he sucked like man and child, as if to draw love out of her very flesh.
Unexpectedly, he pulled out of her, and wheeled himself around in the bed, gluing his mouth to her snatch, dangling his cunt-bedewed cock over her lips. She lifted her head and snapped it up, her mouth suddenly tasting like a cunt. The nectar was as thick on his cock as if he himself were secreting it. She sucked it like a candy stick, her lips closing with a smack whenever the tip slipped from her mouth. The balls hung against her chin and she reached out to tick them, lifting them on the end of her tongue, the hairs of his scrotum tickling her.
Harmon was certain that eventually, if he licked long enough, he would be able to thrust his entire head up her cunt. Already his face was inside the folds of her pussy from cheekbone to cheekbone and from brow to chin. He dreamed of being buried to the shoulders, his head emerging into a warm cave full of tight and fragrant air, and maybe tiny mermaids too, sitting against the walls and laughing at his expression. His finger dug at her anus, forcing it open, until it was submerged to the knuckle in that dry passageway that closed round it, heating it ninety-eight degrees, rectal muscles rippling. His thumb entered her vagina along with his tongue and together they explored that seeping passageway. It smelled and tasted like rock fish, piping hot, the meat red and succulent, with a hint of lemon. He washed his face from side to side in it. Meanwhile his cock was being scoured by her powerful tongue and her teeth were fluting it up and down until he half expected it to look, when they should be finished and he had leisure to examine it, like the shaft of a Roman column. She sucked him hard, but not hard enough to hurt. She experimented with her capacity, taking him into her gorge, trying not to choke him back up. She succeeded eventually, and he had the added thrill of feeling her swallowing against his glans. That is what made him come. He shot his load straight down her throat, as if it were an injection. It was one of his fullest sets of orgasms. His balls were as heavy with semen as a cow's bag with milk. When he pulled out of her mouth he was still coming and it shot against her face, neck, chest and stomach on the way down to her cunt where, having twisted his body round again, he shoved it full force.
His orgasms had the liquid sound of heartbeats, each wad a pulsing thud. He left off just as she was about to come. He pulled out, slid down her body, and buried his visage in her twat again, just as she climaxed. He growled and shook his head in there, and she heaved up her hips and drenched him in her honey, her hands pressing his head against her cunt so hard that he was buried to the ears.
Orgasms shook her from head to toe. She wanted Harmon inside her until only his feet stuck out. She pressed his head and pressed it, trying insanely to force him in. She could feel him mouthing inside her vagina, could feel the tongue flicking out like a serpent's, the nose snuffling among the folds.
All of this might seem like chaos, but it wasn't. Harmon was a master of what might be called the staggered fuck-that is, one lover placing himself a step ahead of the other, bringing her up behind the way a mountain climber pulls his partner up after him to each successive ledge. Cynthia felt herself in the hands of a genius of love, a virtual black belt of sex.
She was putty in his hands. However much she tried to take control she was always aware that it was he who was the mastermind. She felt it most some time later, when they were fucking again and she had worked her way on top. She rubbed her hairy mound against his dick, stiffening it, feeling it climb as high as her navel. Having that thing against her stomach made her lose all reason. It was too tremendous a feeling, too amazing. She puffed and huffed, dragging her cunt from one end of it to the other, and seemed-likely, if she kept up, to make them both come too soon. Harmon, without seeming to take away her initiative, guided her motions, soothed her frenzy-made sense out of her incoherent shoves-and their screwing was the better for it. The quieter their motions the more they got out of them. Harmon positioned his cock, and she rode back on it, settled on it so comfortably that it seemed to become a permanent part of herself, a pleasure organ all her own. She sat up on it and jounced up and down, using her knees as springs, and fondling her breasts as she bounced, uttering senseless fragments of sentences.
"Harmon, Harmon...the ship's rolling...waves at high tide...keep me from them! As the World Turns, The Secret Storm...Lost my watch on Thursday...leather stockings at $5.98...the New York Jets at Yankee Stadium, too much cyanide in the soup! Oh, Oh, OH, Harmon, knight to king! OH, OH, hacking at them with toadstools, hazel-eyed sloths sneering at her flesh wounds, Franklin Pierce was the 14th President, OH! OH! OH! OH\ I'm coming! I can't stop! Can you feel them, Harmon, can you feel them?"
Harmon could feel them all right. They compressed his cock from tip to base, making as if to tear him out by the roots. But he held on, answering each orgasm with a thrust, making her spasms echo back to her womb and return magnified threefold.
Still later she walked around the room on her hands and knees, Harmon in back of her with his cock inside. She crawled around in that insect-like fashion because she was helpless to keep still. It was difficult for Harman to stay with her. His knees were bent and he had the choice of walking like a lame hunchback or hopping like an afflicted toad. He almost lost her once when, like a cockroach under heavy pursuit, she tried to scuttle under the bed; but he held her back just as his knees touched the bedsprings and he was about to be catapulted against the wall. Finally he lay on top of her and wrestled her to the floor. Then all her energy, all her motion was internalized and a million bugs scampered loose in her belly, sprayed by Harmon's relentless bomb.
There was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?" Harmon called out, still coming.
"What the hell are you doing in there?" Jack's voice demanded.
"We're discussing zoology."
"Are you sure she hasn't got you roped up in a chair?"
"Come out of there, Hormone," Janice insisted. "If you don't come out we'll break the door down."
"My name is Harmon, and don't be ridiculous. Come in, if you want The door's open."
Jack and Janice burst through, then stopped dead at the sight that greeted them. Cynthia was lying flat on her stomach, her hands massaging her cunt while Harmon busily plied her from behind.
"Jesus Christ!" Jack exclaimed. "No! I don't believe it-tell me it's a dream, a hallucination!"
"By no means," Harmon calmly replied, never letting up his stroking. "Cynthia and I have found ourselves perfectly suited."
"Wait a minute," Janice said, looking closer. "That can't be Cynthia."
Harmon turned Cynthia over on top of him, her hands still working at her snatch. The long hair fell from her shoulders to the floor, and onto Harmon's face and neck.
"That is Cynthia!" Jack exclaimed. "But my God, how changed! Look at that body-that miraculous face-that passion!"
The two of them watched Cynthia unleash a new horde of orgasms, pulling wildly at her cunt, turning her head from side to side, howling like the hound of the Baskervilles.
"I knew it was there all along," Harmon said amid Cynthia's moans. "It was a question of looking beneath the surface: feeling the molten lava in the heart of the dormant volcano."
"And the pictures?"
"We don't have to worry about them. She never intended them for blackmail."
"After this I'll believe anything. Come on, Janice. Let's have a good royal screw. We're never-likely to see another day like this, if we live to be a thousand."
He didn't even bother to take his clothes off, still less hers. He opened his zipper and pulled her down on top of him. She was wearing a skirt with nothing underneath and, reluctant though she was at first, she yielded at the touch of his cock on her genitals. And there they lay, the four of them, making love until the little room was sticky with its heat, and little rain clouds were forming in the corners. It wasn't long before they were making it all together-Jack licking at Cynthia's clit and Janice sitting eagerly on her face, rubbing her ass high and low, Cynthia's tongue, rough as a cat's, scouring Janice's twat and anus. Harmon pulled his cock from Cynthia's vagina and wedged it into her rectum, separating her buttocks with his hands and heaving her hips from the floor. She had a more than usually pliable rectum and he managed to sheath himself almost all the way in. Jack, now that her cunt was vacant, hurried to fill it again. It was Cynthia's dream cock that now sought blind entrance, and, as it crept up that dark channel, she moaned into Janice's snatch, which she doubleand triple-tongued as if it were a trumpet
It was almost a religious moment. Back, front, and face were steeped in sex. It was three bodies all working together to contribute pleasure to one. And the star of that team was Jack's huge organ, at whose shrine Cynthia had long worshipped. It put the memory of the Chinese dildo to shame. No dildo could match the heat, the mobility, the kinetic energy of that living pile-driver. When Cynthia came this time it was with every muscle in her body, and it was very much like a conniption. Both the men came at once, and Janice soon after: four bodies plugged together, buzzing with electricity like a huge sexual dynamo. The force field that curved around them attracted all the dust motes in the room, and the carpet tacks strained for release. Four voices curled through the close air of the room, a strange chorus like the laments of the ghostly crew of the Mary Celeste wandering forlorn across the Atlantic. The sexual fluids being exchanged all around contributed their liquid noises like the sound, heard at a distance, of calm water lapping at a pier.
When they were all done, they got off her and out of her one by one. She lay groaning with her eyes closed, lost to the exterior world. Her ass, thighs, and stomach were wet with semen, and Janice had soaked her face with female liquor. Cynthia put her hands down between her legs, gathered up handfuls of come, and spread them like lotion all over her She moistened her breasts with it, pressing them together, squeezing them, separating them. She rubbed it on her face and licked it from her palms. She was an initiate, a new woman.
When Daisy came back with Joseph and found the situation so completely changed, she was overjoyed. She hadn't told Joseph about all of the sexual experience she'd had with Janice, Jack and Harmon, and she didn't intend to. It would be her one secret from him, the one shadowed corner in the life of sunlight they were looking forward to.
It was with difficulty that Harmon talked Joseph out of heading straight for Las Vegas to win the $500,000 necessary to buy the Rara Avis. He thought they should go immediately to Michigan instead, to commune with Daisy's parents, and that's what they did. Later they came back to the Caribbean to crew for yachts heading southward out of St. Thomas.
As a symbolic act before leaving Bermuda, Cynthia broke the ancient dildo of Yang Li Po. No one present at the ceremony was more thunderstruck than she when all the jewels and the gold bar fell out. The money that she made in selling these articles to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington was enough to pay for a penthouse in mid-Manhattan where she now lives with Jack and Janice and Harmon, who are all her friends and lovers. The article she wrote about the modeling expedition, far from being "flapdoodle" as Janice had predicted, won her the Nobel Prize.
It all goes to show that people can change if they really want to. All it takes is the ability to see yourself for what you are, and a good will and, with luck, some help from good people.
