Wearily, the hitchhiker heaved his bag into the back seat of the rain-slicked Buick, knocked the front seat back into place and got out of the pouring rain. His only impression was blue eyes and long blond hair before the door shut, turning off the unwelcome courtesy light and leaving the blond girl at the wheel surrounded in the eerie green light of the dashboard. The red signal flashers ka-chunked. Tom mumbled thanks, his eyes captured by the mysterious length of her legs disappearing into the foot well. He wondered if he had enough strength to lift his head up and look the woman in the face. Pride had kept him standing at the side of the road outside Pittsburgh, his thumb outstretched, waiting for a ride despite the rain that had soaked him to the skin; and pride made him find some small reserve of unused energy. But before he looked at the woman, he took off his hat and shook his head like a dog, scattering drops of water across the leather-hooded dashboard. Finally he spoke, his tongue automatically incanting a hitchhiker's thanks while his eyes and his mind, also automatically, checked off her features in the dim green light. She was young, dressed in a short skirt that had ridden up her thighs. A ribbed sweater outlined full breasts. The hitchhiker realized that the interior of the car was too warm for his drenched body, and that his tiny reserve of strength was shivering away rapidly. He struggled to keep his head from dropping as the darkness in the corners of the car took on a slow spinning motion behind the pinwheeling thoughts of his mind. I mustn't let her get a good look at me.
In a sudden movement the blond reached behind herself. There was a soft click and the interior of the car was bathed in a soft light, allowing a better view. But instead of one blond, there were three, weaving and bobbing and shifting, each hazy image masking the other two, or was it four now? He blinked and shook his head again in an effort to clear it, unable even to cover his face with his hands. She said something but it was as if from a far distance and he couldn't make sense of her words.
"Huh? What did you say? I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling well," he murmured, his head drooping, his voice an unrecognizable croak.
"I said if you're going to get sick, I'd appreciate it if you would do it outside the car," said the blond.
"No, I'll be all right." Having the bright light on seemed somehow to help now, in spite of the fact it allowed the blond a good look at his features.
"Sure?"
"Yeah. I'm just tired and wet." He plucked at his wet clothes.
"Well, listen. How far are you going?"
"West Coast." He had given up trying to look at the woman; his multiple vision of her made him dizzy.
"Oh." The blond digested this bit of information while eyeing him, then said, "Well, why don't you hop in the back and lie down? Change your clothes or something?" She turned out the offending light. "There's a blanket there you can use."
"Thanks," he said, climbing into the back seat without further invitation, too tired to say anything else, and sat in the back seat, fumbling ineffectually at the soaked zipper of his jacket with shivering hands. A rational, clear part of his mind told him he was mighty sick and should not stop running, but he was unable to stop his fingers from their fevered action.
"Say, I know just the thing to warm you up," said the blond as she drove the car up onto the highway. "Let's just get away from here, Harry."
The force of acceleration slumped Tom into the cushioned seat. Harry? Harry Stokes? said a voice in his mind. Your name is Tom Colby now, not Harry. Harry is dead. Harry died back there somewhere on a New York bedroom floor. Then the voice faded out with a final provocative question: How come this blond knows your old name? Tom listened, wondering if the voice would speak again but heard only the humming of the tires on the wet road, the swishing of the windshield wipers, and then nothing at all as his eyes closed.
He slept, but not a deep restful sleep that would have nourished his flagging energy. Instead, it was a kind that poked melting holes into the wall he had built around a tiny part of his mind. The car skidded around a curve, flinging him like a helpless kitten deeper into the luxurious upholstery, until, with a roar from the powerful engine, the tires caught, spun, then shot the heavy car forward. The voice spoke again, wondering what the hell he was doing in the back seat of the car. Like a curtain being drawn aside to reveal a muted, moody stage set, the answer appeared stage center in the theatre of his mind: Rosemary. His bedroom was on stage and Rosemary was standing in the center, glorious in her nakedness, talking to him. Her hands were running over her body, touching her breasts and nipples, sliding over the swell of her hips into the valley leading to her neat bushy thatch, as her eyes admired her image in the mirror. She caught him admiring a double view of her lush beauty.
"Harry darling. You're such a far-out lover. You make me feel fantastic. Why, I wouldn't be a man for all the tea in China." She giggled, "Do we still get tea from China? Anyway," and she came closer to the bed where he lay, "you're man enough for me. Let's fuck again."
Her hands were warm on the damp length of his cock as she jerked it, squeezing it delightfully at the same time.
Tom responded as he continued to marvel at how rapidly Rosemary had become an experienced lover, with a voracious appetite, eager to try anything that would result in her or his coming. It had been a mere week and now her tongue was caressing his stiffening cock in a tantalizing way that some girls never learned even after ten years of cocksucking. His hand reached out to touch her hips, to tell her in a silent language that she should move her hips over his mouth, but Rosemary moved away, telling him in that same silent language just to relax and enjoy what she was about to do to him. But she was mindful of her own need, too, and she brushed his knee with her cunt, grinding against it like a rider settling comfortably on a saddle. Then she took the head of his cock into her warm, wet mouth with a slow nibbling motion of her lips that left him gasping and twitching in exquisite agony. Her tongue traced lazy circles around the throbbing skin of his cockhead, darted into the tiny slit for a brief taste of any lingering juices, then lashed the sensitive underside of his cock. Her fingers wet themselves in his matted pubic hair, then walked the fat length of his cock, her long fingernails pressing into the hardening flesh. Tom watched her brown eyes glaze over and her eyelids drift shut as she began sucking his cock. On his knee he could feel her hot sticky juices running down his leg as she humped her hot pussy along his bony knee. He didn't know where it was coming from but he knew that in a few minutes he would dump another load of come into her mouth. Never before had he met a girl who could make him come so often in an evening, and yet he knew that he had been the first man ever to fuck Rosemary.
He moved his hips higher, trying to get Rosemary to eat more of his cock, but she, with his cock held firmly between her lips, shook her head from side to side. Tom's breath left him as her teeth grazed the slick length of his rod. With a final deep suck, making him think she would suck his balls right down his cock and into her mouth, Rosemary lifted her head, took a deep breath, and swallowed her saliva and his first bubble of pre-come juice. At once Tom's hands reached up to cup her dangling heavy breasts in front of his face. Rosemary moved forward, swinging her breasts into contact with Tom's hands, and as his fingers closed around their lush firmness she ground her nipples against his palms. She was panting with the exertion of having sucked his cock and she lowered her body on top of his, entrapping his hands between his chest and the yielding fields of her warm breasts. Against his palm her nipples grew hard, but his senses were befuddled by the feel of her breath against his face. Kissing his mouth, his lips, his eyes, Rosemary whispered throatily, "Darling, you just lie back and enjoy this. I'm going to fuck myself silly on that delicious cock of yours." Her face drew back a little. Looking Tom right in the eye, she crooned, "You won't be coming so soon, will you?" The dream faded.
The Buick sped on through the night, lurched, then fishtailed sickeningly. Tom's eyes opened but didn't see how the blond had twisted back in her seat after getting a glimpse of him. His face was pressed against the seat and he resumed his feverish dreaming.
Rosemary had sat up, straddling his hips. Blowing him a kiss, looking at him with love and longing in her eyes, she reached behind herself, searching for his stiff cock. With little pats of her hands and tiny wiggles of her flaring hips, she positioned his cock at her pink puffy cunt-lips. Tom was certain she was going to plunge down and braced himself for her urgent thrust, but Rosemary, sensing the reason for his movement, paused, then wiped her pussy lips with the tip of his cock instead. Tom groaned at the unexpected erotic sensation.
"Is this what is meant by cock-teasing?"
Rosemary smiled and wiped herself again, this time pushing the head of Tom's cock a little further into her twat so that when she withdrew it, there was a slick area that had been moistened by her cunt juice.
"Sounds like one of those victimless crimes," she said, laughing with her power to bring both of them to satisfying climax.
With two fingers of her other hand, Rosemary spread apart her dripping cunt-lips, bringing the tiny red bud of her ultra-sensitive clit into the open. She shifted her body, pulling his cock forward, then slid her glistening clit along the underside of Tom's cock. Another tiny movement on her part and Tom felt her hot cunt-lips settle around the shaft of his cock. The heat emanating from her cunt inflamed his desire and his fingers tweaked her rosy red nipples, twisting-and turning those sensitive female buds of flesh, knowing all the while that they were like starting buttons that delivered jolts of erotic energy to the muscles controlling her hips.
Rosemary bit her lips, her body a raging furnace that demanded to be extinguished by the entry of Tom's cock. She exerted all her self-control to slide up and down the shaft of Tom's swollen, aching cock a few times more before she raised her hips and positioned her cunt just above the purple-headed prick.
"Darling," warned Rosemary, "I forbid you to come until I'm ready."
With that, Tom had only a brief glimpse of his swollen cock disappearing into the hot, juicy confines of her cunt, before his own eyes closed as her erotic onslaught wiped everything from his mind except the need to keep his seed from spilling into Rosemary's cunt too soon.
But sex hadn't remained so good with Rosemary. That was the reason that Tom was on the run, hitchhiking to the West Coast. Stupidly, he had thought that once the door of Rosemary's sexuality was open, he would be able to close it, keep it under lock and key for his own exclusive use. After ten weeks of sexual delight that seemed undiminishable in its capacity to bring pleasure, he had proposed marriage and was stunned at Rosemary's quick answer.
"No!"
"Why not?"
"I'm not ready for marriage yet," Rosemary had said. "Ask me later."
More time passed and even though Tom understood perfectly Rosemary's reasons for not marrying -hadn't he himself lauded the delights of living together?-he could not help lavishing more affection than ever on her, including expensive little gifts. All this, while Rosemary saw less of Tom and more of other eligible men, men who bought her trinkets from the "best" shops, until finally she refused altogether to even talk to him on the phone.
Madison Avenue, New York! Tom remembered dreams of how he was going to dazzle the advertising industry and become the brightest star ever to shine on that street of glittering dreams. In fact, he had made a shining start. But it all fizzled like a wet roman candle. He brooded about Rosemary, about her making love with other men, and other, even more disturbing thoughts. His work declined. His boss, Abner Lovell, away from the agency for reasons of illness, returned one day to find three profitable accounts lost, agency morale non-existent, and the shocking information from Tom's secretary that Tom had not shown up for the last two days.
"Christ!" Lovell said, "Look at you. You've almost succeeded in destroying the agency, you've become a filthy animal, and all over some . . . some hot little bitch who managed to get her claws into you. What the hell's her name again?"
"Rosemary Colby."
"I've heard of her. She married that guy who has the blue-movie collection, Perkins, that's his name. Last Saturday, in San Antonio, wasn't it?"
It was not news to Tom; it was why he had been drunk and tearful for the last three days, but hearing it uttered in Lovell's scornful tone of voice caused something to snap in his head and he flung his whiskey glass, shattering the same mirror where Rosemary's reflection had been before. "Shut your mouth!" Tom warned. "You don't understand!"
"What? Don't understand a gold digger when I see one? For chrissakes, don't be such an ass-blinded fool!"
Tom's liquored fist bounced off Lovell's nose. Bright blood began spurting and Lovell fell, striking the back of his head against the rug, spraying scarlet drops of blood all over his face, his shirt, and the floor. Aghast at what he had done, Tom stood frozen. Lovell grabbed into his pocket for a white handkerchief which soon was drenched in blood. Blood dripped from the end of his angry, pointing finger.
"You bastard! You're fired!"
Tom was as an iron statue.
"You just don't care, do you?" Lovell got up and staggered to the door where he gathered his bloodied dignity. "Well, you son of a bitch, you don't even care that I'm dying!" With this, Lovell departed.
"No!" Tom shouted to the empty room a few seconds later. "I don't give a ... a fuck!"
Nor did he care about retrieving any of his personal belongings at the agency. He remained in a semi-drunken stupor for three days before a telephone call from his secretary at the agency informed him that Lovell had gone into the hospital. The next morning Tom visited the hospital and, as he was hurrying towards Lovell's room, he saw a doctor come out of the room and address a small group of people who were clustered outside the door. Tom didn't need to hear what the doctor was saying. He could tell by the reaction of the people that it was the worst news. Within an hour he was on a freeway, thumbing his way out of New York, afraid even to use his own car or go to his apartment. Thirty dollars and the clothes on his back and he was on the run, looking for a place to hide. Someplace where he'd get lost in the crowd, patch his shattered life together, find a nice girl to lick his wounds and learn to forget about Rosemary and what he had done over .her. Wasn't southern California crowded? A new life and with it should go a new name. No longer would he be Harry Stokes, the name the blonde driving the car' had called him. His new name would be Tom . . . Rosemary Colby . . . Tom Colby.
He felt the car slow down almost to a crawl, then jerk to a halt that nearly flung him from the seat. Who was this girl who'd called him Harry? Was word out already that he was a fugitive? He listened to the woman who was chuckling softly.
"Are you still alive, Harry?"
Tom didn't recognize the voice or her until she was staring him in the face, with the light turned on. He recognized Nina Pallacine, whose father, Richard Pallacine, was head of the agency which had picked up the three accounts he had lost. It was well known in the advertising industry how closely the fiery father-and-daughter team operated and, more than likely,. Nina knew exactly why Tom had lost the three accounts. Several times a year at those functions in the advertising industry that put employers in contact with employees, the awards and banquets and such, Richard Pallacine had tried to lure Tom away from his job. Tom had always refused because he didn't fancy the idea of working under so dynamic a team. Other than in the conversation of cocktail parties and industry gossip which Tom ignored as a matter of course, he had never managed to meet Nina in person.
"Harry, you're just the man I want to see. What in hell are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"You call being on the turnpike out of New York at three o'clock in the morning, with me, nothing? I heard you talking in your sleep." She looked at him closely. "Besides," she said, "you look just terrible."
She doesn't know yet, Tom thought. She hasn't heard the latest news.
"Is this some kind of a . . . ah, a gag?" Nina asked.
"Yeah," Tom said, "a publicity gag."
"Christ, you got nabbed early," Nina exclaimed.
"Huh? Whatdya mean?"
"Who're you working for?'
"Hadn't you heard? I got fired three days ago."
"Yeah. Daddy wants to hire you. I'm going to San Francisco to open another branch office."
Astounded at her apparent acceptance of his answer-"a publicity gag"-Tom heard Nina Palla-cine explain that her father wanted him for second in command.
"And now that I've got you alone, I'll hire you for myself. Won't Daddy be angry!" she laughed.
"You haven't heard, then?" Tom said.
"Heard what? That you punched Lovell in the nose? Probably he had it coming. Daddy laughed when he told me about it, and said what he needed around the place was a man unafraid to punch him in the nose. He told me to go and start an agency on the West Coast." Nina seemed unconcerned at what Tom might be referring to; she was too excited about opening an agency of her own with Tom to help her. She wanted hers to outshine her father's New York agency. "How about it, Harry? Want to come along with me?"
"My name's not Harry anymore."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Nina peered closely at Tom. "Are you sick, drunk, or what?"
"It's Tom, now, and I'm on the run." Tom decided against telling her his newly adopted surname. "On the run?" "Yes. Lovell died."
"Oh." Nina paused, to see if he would refer to the haunting Rosemary whose name he had called out in his sleep, but when he didn't she shrugged. "Okay '. . . Tom." Then, discarding her serious mood, she clambered into the back seat.
"You've still got your clothes on. What's the matter with you? Do you want to catch your death of cold?" Quickly, efficiently, her fingers tugged down the zipper and she proceeded to strip him of his wet clothes. Tom neither helped her nor hindered her. He was only slightly refreshed from his sleep and he wondered just what this blond girl, Nina, was about to do to him. Was she truly so concerned that he was to get out of his clothes to prevent catching a cold, or did she have some other motive for her unusual action?
"Here, sit up," she said, shaking loose the blanket and spreading it on the seat. "Now, lie back and 'til wrap you up." By now, all Tom wore were his shorts and he wondered if Nina had the nerve to take them off too. He heard her chuckle, "I hope you're not a prude, but those wet pants have got to come off too. I never thought that I'd be saying a thing like that in a situation like this." She laughed aloud. "Generally, it's the other way around. My, what a nice dick you'd have if it wasn't so shriveled up like that." She flipped his damp underpants into the front seat. "There. Now we'll wrap you up with the blanket and see what we can do to get you warm and dry."
Tom risked a shiver. He was delighted at her response.
Her hands rubbed the blanket against his body, bringing warm blood to the surface. She murmured sweet baby-talk, directed at his skin, urging it to warm up. Sliding one hand in between the blanket to caress Tom's naked chest, she nodded satisfactorily, then said, "Now your legs." Fascinated, Tom watched and wondered how far this girl would go.
There was a hot little tingling of sensation in the end of his cock, and he knew she hadn't yet touched him there. In spite of her flippant comment when she had first seen his cock, she had carefully refrained from coming anywhere close to it with'her hands. He also wondered briefly if she was a nymphomaniac, then discarded,that thought. Surely she would have attacked him long before three hours had passed. Now her hands were massaging his thighs, first one and then the other, working up each leg equally. "Whew!" she said. "I'm hot." With a wiggle, she j drew her sweater over her head and before Tom had time to catch more than a mere glimpse of nipple-studded white breasts, she had bowed her head, shaking her long blond hair forward like a curtain. Tom's hands parted the blanket. He felt the ends of her soft hair brush erotically across his cock. .
"Oh-ho!" she said, keeping her head where it was, but now brushing all of the heavy weight of her hair across the still-cold skin of his prick. She stood up, somehow, half bent over, and Tom's eyes were riveted to where her breasts swung freely behind the shifting curtain of her hair. In the darkness, he heard her skirt slide down her legs. Something told him that she wasn't wearing anything under her skirt, that she was as naked now, with him, as if she had just stepped out of the intimacy of her bath and he revised his opinion of her being a nymphomaniac. If she was, she would be his first and he thought that if all the things said about nymphomaniacs were true, this was his chance to find out. Maybe she was an intelligent nympho, letting, him sleep for three hours so that he wouldn't poop out on her too soon. Somehow, she had found the control necessary to dampen the ever-burning desire to fuck for three hours until she could have him now, slightly refreshed.
He wished he wasn't so tired, so hungry, so cramped. Who knows when he'd have another chance at a nympho; wasn't this what every man dreamed about? Wasn't this the kind of shallow appeal to sex he had promoted as normal, desirable even, working on Madison Avenue? Use Brand X and get yourself a beautiful creature. Use Satin Smooth after-shave and get six. All that was so much bullshit now that he had lost Rosemary. When that girl had been ready to leave him in search of even more erotic and eventually, wealthier beds to sleep in, nothing he could have used, short of unthinkable physical violence, would have kept her to himself. Maybe his affair with Rosemary was just part of some grand plan in which she spread a happy kind of sunshine with her body before moving on to some other lucky guy. Maybe that was what Nina, who was putting her warm hands on the shriveled flesh of his cock, was doing with her life. Spreading some kind of sexual sunshine.
Suddenly, Tom felt hot and he was glad that Nina was removing the blanket from his body. Then she slithered onto him, rubbing his body with her own hot naked one. Tom's prick stirred fitfully. He put his arms loosely around the girl, marveling at how alike, yet different, her body was when he compared it to the last female body he had held-Rosemary's. This one was more firmly muscled, without the thin layer of fat that had lay under Rosemary's smooth white skin. Rosemary's body had been a delightful sensation of never-ending curves; this girl had an occasional hard ridge here and there. Her hip bones were poking sharply into his stomach. His hands moved down around her waist and skimmed the smooth swell of her hips, gently pushing her lower body back. The girl complied, and when her bushy thatch was over his pelvis she sank down onto his body, pressing herself down as close to his body as she could. Her lips brushed his mouth once, then settled, giving him a long, deep, exploratory kiss. Her tongue had darted all over the inside of his mouth, like a blind person might examine a piece of sculpture with knowing fingers, before she broke away.
"Getting warmer, are you?" she laughed, sliding one hand between their bodies to reach for his cock and brush its short length in her bushy pubic hair. She rolled Tom's cock with a quick fluttering motion of her hips and Tom's hands went over the swell of her hips to cup the curved globes of her ass. For the first time since he had gotten into the car he felt that he would be disappointed if he left the car without fucking this weird girl.
"Yeah," Tom grunted, afraid to ask her any questions. He was nothing particular to her, but she might take time out from fucking to explain, then forget about fucking him. He thought he knew a lot about women, but that was before he'd suffered heartbreak with Rosemary. Now he knew he was totally ignorant of the ways of women. He suspected all women of being slightly insane, and only wondered about this girl's sanity with a clinical detachment, not making a judgment. If this chick had such hot pants that she had to cruise the highways to get a piece of action, he'd gladly oblige her. It didn't matter how good it was, for he knew they would never meet again. He could be as lackadaisical as he wanted to be, but then his revitalized pride reared up. Why not muster up the energy to give her as good a piece of ass as J possibly can, and then never see her again? It would do him good to dispense with his hurt feelings at least long enough to get a good piece of ass. He was bright enough to realize that only time would draw together the edges of the scar on his psyche that was labeled Rosemary. His hands began kneading the flesh of Nina's buttocks.
"Uuummmm, yes," she murmured, slowly rotating her ass under his supple fingers.
Her breasts ground circles on his chest and Tom could feel the different textures-the satin smooth slopes, the softness of the tender areola and the firm prodding of her long, swelling nipples. Her pubic hair was like thousands of tiny fingers brushing his cock, bringing heat to his flesh. It lurched, growing thicker and longer. Pushing her buttocks down so he felt warm skin through her bush against his penis, his hands moved up to caress the rounded sides of her squashed breasts. Her fingers twined in his hair as she rolled his head slightly to one side, kissing him. It was a long, hot kiss. Their tongues exchanged caresses while their lips clung tightly together. Tom sucked hard on her tongue, his fingers reaching between their bodies to play with her responsive nipples. Bucking his hips upwards against the warmth of her pelvic valley, he wriggled his cock free. It fell between his legs, pointing down to the car seat. Nina broke off the kiss, her heart pounding staccato beats, matching Tom's.
"Think it's ready yet?" she said, her voice a mystery in the darkness. She disentangled one hand from his hair, reached behind herself, and grasped his cock as if it were a longed-for prize. "Oh my! It is ready," she said, admiration in her tone. "It's so big!"
Heaving herself up from Tom's body for a moment, Nina placed the cockhead between the warm lips of her cunt. Clutching the shaft firmly, she wriggled her cunt all over the swelling cockhead, answering each of its bulging throbs with endearing squeezes of her labia. She wriggled more furiously when Tom's fingers were rolling her nipples, plucking them in such a fashion that all the weight of her breasts was suspended from the stretched agony of her nipples. Moaning at the tingling stabs of pleasure he was evoking in her breasts, she sank down, burying all of Tom's cockhead in her warm, moist cunt. Her hand jerked his prick back and forth along her gushing slit.
"Oh God!" she said, "this feels so good. I've had my finger in my cunt for the last hour dreaming about this."
Reluctantly, Tom's hands left off teasing her tortured nipples and he reached down to push her hips down onto his cock. Eagerly, his hips moved up, forcing his cock through the warm cunt-lips and into her welcoming hotness. Nina moaned, letting her full weight relax onto the shaft of his cock. She allowed Tom to put his arms around her and pull her down until her body was tight against his. This time, he had entrapped her nipples between his thumb and forefinger; he knew when a girl was turned on by nipple teasing, and this moaning, twisting female on him was one, or, he realized with a brief twinge of sadness, he knew nothing about screwing women. A slight squeeze was all he had to give her sensitive tits to elicit the slow, forward glide of her cunt along the length of his cock that he desired. Her belly rubbed along his, but to Tom's sudden dismay, he thought she would draw too far forward, lose the peculiarly enticing grip that only a hot cunt can have on a cock.
Once again his hands left her nipples and settled on her hips, this time to stay until he was through. Nina stopped her forward movement at the last possible instant. Her inner cunt-lips had the merest of contact with his slick purple knob. Then she impaled herself with a sensuous, dreamy twist until Tom's pubic hair was jammed tight against her gaping slit. The second entry of Tom's cock was easy and slick. Her juices were flowing with abandon now, and she needed no urging from his hands to repeat her sinuous slide down his cock. After a minute or two, her cunt was pumping up and down his shaft like a smooth piston moves in a well-fitted chamber. At the entrance to her cunt, where his cock stretched the red lips apart, a white froth bubbled. Tom's cock was bathed in hot juice like it had never been bathed before. At each stroke, Nina tightened her cunt around Tom's hardening cock, caressing it in such a tantalizing fashion that sweat peppered his brow. He could feel the churning sensation in his tight balls that signalled his oncoming orgasm. Desperately he struggled to gain control of himself, to think of something else, get his mind off what was happening to him. He knew it would be cruel to leave this woman high in the air, regardless of her motives for so casually hopping into the back seat with him. He felt he owed her at least that much. Gritting his teeth, he placed his hands on her back, pushing her down so that she brushed under his palms with each thrust of her body. He thought about Nina's offer.
He still loved advertising, and now realized that he would work best in a small agency, with Nina, or, perhaps, one of his own. The compartmentalization that went on in the giant New York agencies was not for him. He reflected briefly that once he had wanted to be publisher and sole owner of a small-town newspaper until he had been lured to the big city by its false promises of glamour, fast living, and big money. Now, on the run, he knew better. The realization came to him that he would always be a loner, and the discrepancy he felt between that fact and his cherished opinion that he needed a woman around him all of the time was set aside for deliberation at a later date.
The woman on top of him had raised herself and was bouncing rapidly up and down on his prick, gasping for air, obviously about to reach climax. His hands went up to support her hard-riding body and he started humping his cock into the squirming, hot cunt above him. Caught unaware by his own come squirting along his urethral track, he stopped its flow with a mighty contraction of the muscles lining the length of his penis. The woman was just about to go into the rapturous throes of orgasm and he wanted to enjoy her pleasure before enjoying his own. It was a wise choice, he knew, because his come would be all the more spectacular, satisfying and totally relaxing for his postponing it.
"I'm coming! Oh, I'm coming!" shrieked Nina.
Tom refrained from humping his cock up into her anymore. He knew he couldn't hold back his sperm's turbulent journey if he did. Instead, digging his hands tightly into her flesh, he bodily bounced her up and down on his cock. Great shudders rippled through her body. Her head flung from side to side, her own fingers twisting her nipples with a viciousness that Tom dared not duplicate. When her shudders halted, she sighed deeply, then collapsed onto his body, sobbing for breath. Tom hesitated only a second or two before he resumed his erotic assault on her flooded cunt. Then he did with a fury that seemed to be unleashed from the very root of his muscles. Surprisingly, Nina's recovery was rapid. She raised her body and ground down on his cock. Tom heard her grunt with exertion, felt her powerful muscles grip his cock, as he sent volley after volley of hot come into her. He gave himself totally to the ecstasy of his own ejaculation. Slumping back onto the seat, exhausted, he was hardly aware of what Nina was doing.
She strained her body upwards, keeping her grip on Tom's cock solely with the muscles surrounding her plugged cunt. The sensation was one of millions of slippery fingers massaging his cock in minuscule circles. Tom, although spent of all his seed, decided at that very moment that she would have to do that to his cock again, only next time before he had shot his load and not after. Swiftly, his hand touched her swollen clit, once, twice, three times, and he was pleased to feel her body twitch into another orgasm. Again she collapsed onto his body. Relentlessly, he diddled and twiddled his finger, delighting in the helpless way she flopped around on his body until she enjoyed a final, shattering orgasm which left her still. Withdrawing his wet, sticky finger he drew the blanket around their sweaty, spent bodies.
The sun was high when Evelyn Schuster wheeled her car into the parking lot of the roadside gas station and restaurant. She was hungry for breakfast, and more, she thought secretly, then instantly squashed the images which so readily floated up in her mind. Ten men, twenty men, marching with menacing clubs, advancing on her, and then blank, nothing. Nothing that would indicate to the casual observer that here was a woman obsessed with sex, but as yet, untried, inexperienced, ignorant of the joy that was common the world around; nothing that would hint to even an interested observer that she was anything more than a school teacher with no compulsive, consuming desire other than educating her third-graders, or that she owned two electric vibrators. Her cunt and her asshole were intimately familiar with each curve and ridge of those plastic imitators. It isn't the real thing, she thought. Why don't they make one that spurts cream or something? And one that is warm, like a real cock must be. ft was with bitter shame that she knew she'd taken her own virginity one wild night shortly after the bulky package containing her twin vibrators had come in the mail. What possessed her to do such a thing she was afraid to question. But there was no denying the increased pleasure, instantly available at a touch of the little black button. It was much better than two or three of her own fingers. Soon she had indulged herself with the vibrators and become so dependent on them that she had taken to walking around her lonely apartment with one of them tucked snugly up in her cunt. She had tried, but only once, taping down the button which activated the device, but the stimulation had been too much for her. She never even got out of the chair.
In the large glass entrance to the restaurant she watched the reflection of her striding body loom larger and larger. She wished desperately that there was a man walking alongside her, a man who had fucked her all night and now was taking her to a well-deserved breakfast. Instead, she had learned to mask her aching loneliness well, she reflected. She knew men found her attractive. Some had even said so on occasion. Her breasts, although not large, were firm and jutted proudly, despite the bra she wore. Her waist was trim, her hips svelte. It might be some time before her kind of simple beauty was featured on the covers of the slick women's magazines; but pretty was too unsubstantial a word to describe her and beautiful seemed too lavish. It wasn't her fault that the handful of eligible men in Strawville, where she taught, repelled and disgusted her. She couldn't tolerate giving herself to one of those drugstore cowboys and she was too timid to go after another woman's husband. The thought nagged her to write a letter to her friend Marjorie in Pittsburgh as soon as she got home, apologizing for her inexcusable behavior at her friend's dinner table the night before.
"But Evelyn," Marjorie had said chidingly to a quivering, angry Evelyn, "so what if he's short and fat and just a dumpy accountant? You got somebody better to eat dinner with tonight?"
"But I can find my own man, Marjie. I didn't come to Pittsburgh to eat dinner with strange men. I came to visit you and Hank and your beautiful kids, and to get away from the boredom in Strawville."
"Well," Marjorie had patted Evelyn's shoulder and giggled, "come on downstairs and be nice, at least, to the poor man. He won't attack you in my dining room."
But Evelyn had been so outraged at the unfairness of her friend dragging up eligible men in her path, that she was far from nice to the chubby accountant. Wiping his lips with a snowy napkin after gulping his coffee, he had stumbled hastily out of the house, mumbling apologies and pleading a forgotten but positively unbreakable previous appointment. A horrible, hushed silence remained at the dinner table. Then Evelyn's eyes had overflowed with stinging, hot tears and blindly, she rushed up to her room. She had cried inconsolably half the night, for once impervious to the hovering presence of her anxious hostess, then in a sudden decision, decided to cut short her visit and to return to Strawville. "I've ruined your weekend, Marjorie, and if I stay any longer I'll ruin our friendship!" Evelyn had offered as an excuse. Marjorie's last words had been, "Take it easy, darling, and try to get lots of rest."
Get lots of rest, indeed! What I need is to find a man! But how? Whenever a man came close enough to Evelyn to touch her or attempt to kiss her virgin lips, her body uncontrollably gave various subtle warnings to the man. Subtle, but unmistakable, and now, what reputation she had seemed undisputable, even to her. I'm frigid! The unspoken words burned on her heart as if made of icy, frozen steel. Not true! Not true! Evelyn told herself, faltering at the doorway, reaching out a steadying hand. I'm afraid! I can't help it, but I'm afraid. The sound of the door automatically sighing shut behind her did nothing to match the silent sigh echoing in the chambers of her heart. With her head up and her face composed she entered the dining room. She was nothing more than little Miss Schuster, a third-grade teacher. She chose a booth behind a young couple and overheard them arguing. She wondered if she should get up and select another booth, but then her attention was captured by what the blond woman was saying to her male companion. Evelyn recognized a vibrant undertone of pleading in the woman's voice.
"But Tom," Nina said, "how can you know for sure you won't like it? Look, we could take two weeks driving to San Francisco, balling all the way, and when we get there you could ... we could work together."
"But I don't want to work in advertising anymore."
"Listen," Nina said, not accepting Tom's refusal, "if it's father you're worried about, forget it. I'd be hiring you, not him. You'd be working for me."
'To tell you the truth, I don't think you've got enough qualifications for me to work for you," Tom said absently, but with a definite finality in his voice.
"All right then!" Nina's fist banged on the table. "Then I'll work for you. You can be Chief Creative Director in charge of every bit of copy and artwork that goes out of the agency." Nina could not stop her eagerness from showing in her voice; she had caught a sudden flicker of interest in Tom's half-shut eyes at her mention of the prestigious title. Pressing her advantage, she cooed invitingly, "How about it?"
"Whenever I get there, I'll call you."
Evelyn could not see Nina's flushed face blanch, but she was shocked at hearing the cutting, sharp sarcasm in the way the girl spoke.
"And when will that be?"
"Who knows?" Tom shrugged his shoulders. "You'll see me when I get there." He seemed to ignore the girl, and Evelyn heard the blonde give an exasperated sigh. She wondered, if the girl's father owned the agency, why she just didn't go where her young man wanted her to go. She turned her head to catch a glimpse of him in the mirror behind the counter. He looked unruffled, she thought, just as he was about to stand up.
"You won't even come with me to San Francisco?" Nina threw as a final hook, her voice dangerously calm.
"No. I'm traveling alone. I told you that last night."
Evelyn thrilled to hear Tom's casually spoken words. Last night, these two had been making love. That stupid female must have had his cock in her cunt, maybe all night, and now she wants him to do everything her way. If only. . . .
"So long, Nina. Thanks for everything." Tom walked by, paid their check, then briskly strode to the highway, never once glancing back at the restaurant. He might have been surprised to have seen not one, but two anguished faces staring out of the window at him.
Evelyn was putting down her second cup of coffee when, again, she looked out of the window and saw the blonde girl's Buick roar by the man standing at the side of the highway, his thumb at his side.
If only. . . . Did she dare finish that sentence? She was stunned by the sudden clutching sensation about her heart and the realization that here was a golden opportunity. He was a hitchhiker, just traveling through on his way to the West Coast. She would probably never see him again. Where was the courage to overcome her self-imprisoning shyness and actually pick up this stranger? Weren't hitchhikers dangerous? Stories of blood and rape flooded her mind. Why hadn't she taken more time to get a better look at him, to see if he had a cruel face or a pleasant one? Her hands shook as she scooped up her check and paid the cashier. Her heart, suddenly, was pounding in her throat, filling her ears with its booming drumbeat. Could she trust herself to pick up this stranger, offer him her body with no strings attached and, maybe, be tossed aside carelessly like a worn-out, broken doll? For Evelyn realized that, to herself, this meant something more than offering to ease a hitchhiker's burden for a few miles. She got into her car, grateful for its enveloping sense of privacy. She had difficulty inserting the key into "the ignition slot.
Am I frigid? Am I frigid? Am I frigid? The question seared across her mind while she watched the answer standing so easily at the side of the road. I don't have to make the decision until I actually pass him. Her car swung out of the parking lot and headed for the figure of the hitchhiker. Evelyn drove slowly, to give him time to stick out his thumb. How could she possibly stop for him if he didn't stick out his thumb? Maybe he had noticed her in the restaurant, and knew with some kind of intuitive masculine insight that she was one of those frigid women, beneath his attention, when he could so casually, easily, walk away from all that the beautiful blonde had been offering him.
She drove straight by Tom's thumb, not daring to glance to his side of the road. Ten feet further on she jerked the car to a halt with a quick stab of her too on the power brake. She held herself rigidly still and silent, listening to the sound of his approaching foot steps. Startled out of her wits momentarily when h tried to open the locked car door, she cast a frightened glance at him and was instantly reassured. H didn't look dangerous. He was smiling at her in friendly, expectant manner. He wanted her to unlock the door and she realized her procrastination had at last ended now.
If, somehow, she didn't screw up the courage to open the door and let him in, she might die a virgin old maid. A thought flashed through her mind: What if all he does is just ride with me, and nothing else? Have I made too much of him? Presumably he made love to that pretty blond girl. Don't men get tired after doing that sort of thing all night long? Trapped into immobility by the questions continually tormenting her mind, she watched Tom's expression become quizzical as he peered at her through the window. Amazed, Evelyn watched her slender hand reach over to lift up the locked button on the car door. It was as if a wiser, more feminine part of her had suddenly decided to control her actions. She was astonished at the gay, welcoming lilt in her voice.
"Pardon me for not opening the door sooner," she said. "Come on in. I'm going to Strawville, Ohio. Going that far?" Evelyn felt the heat of a blush after her rush of words, but she managed to smile encouragingly, hiding her sense of self-amazement.
"As long as it's west of here, it'll be fine with me," Tom said, smiling at the flushed girl with cheerful, honest gratitude. "My name's Tom."
"I'm Evelyn Schuster."
"You're the girl who was in the restaurant," Tom announced after their small talk petered out.
"Yes. I'm sorry but I couldn't help overhearing what you and that girl were saying. Forgive me for eavesdropping, but I want to say that I think that girl is a fool." Now what made me say a thing like that? Evelyn was astounded at the words which seemed to flow off her tongue as if of their own accord.
"Well," Tom said coolly, impassively, responding to her engaging confession, "you meet all different kinds when you're thumbing."
The question, What kind are you?, appeared in Evelyn's mind, closely followed by another, What kind am I becoming? To stop herself from uttering any more surprising things, she said, "Do you mind if I play the radio?"
"Not if you won't mind if I fall asleep." Tom stifled a yawn.
"Oh no. Not at all." Evelyn felt relieved, over the first hurdle. Now she wouldn't have to say anything that was compromising. Silence was her best defense against herself. Besides, if he fell asleep, and already he was shifting around into a more comfortable position on the seat, she could examine him more closely, at her leisure, while the car sped along the highway. So far, she liked what she saw. After a dozen miles she glanced at him and was struck by the boylike serenity on his face as he slept. He doesn't look like the kind of man who would enjoy harming women, yet there's a hint of stubbornness in his chin. She felt more pleased and comfortable about her jolting decision to stop for him and then, with a sickening sensation in her stomach, she realized that all the really important decisions were still to come. He might wake up at Strawville, thank her, and get out of the car to disappear along the highway. Her hand hovered over the volume knob of the softly playing radio. Should I turn it louder? Wake him up? But, no. I'll just leave it. See if he wakes up soon himself. But she was determined not to let this opportunity escape her and, as she drove her car to Strawville, she mulled about various ways to realize her desire.
By the time they were driving through the outskirts of Strawville, a natural approach had suggested itself, and she discarded all her elaborate plans. Tom was stirring in his seat, glancing about, slowly coming awake.
"Good morning!" Evelyn said lightly. "You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't have the heart to stop and wake you. We're just coming into Strawville."
"Oh? Say, I'm sorry for dropping off on you like that. I wasn't very good company."
"If you're not in a hurry to get on your way, and if you're hungry, why don't we have lunch? I'm famished."
"Great. Know any good places to eat?" "No."
Tom was intrigued by the honesty in Evelyn's short answer and he gave her his first full look. He gauged her age to be around twenty-four and noted with approval the rare beauty of her bone structure. He sensed a nervous aura about her. She was waiting for him to say something. "Why's that?" he said.
"Too fond of my own cooking, I guess. Would you think it terribly bold of me to ask you up to my place for lunch?" There! It was out! Now it was all up to him. Evelyn held her breath.
"I think it's a grand, humanitarian gesture to make, especially since I'm starving." At once Tom got the picture. He knew what this girl was after. Three years on Madison Avenue had completely dispelled his belief in altruism, and he wondered why she was too shy to simply come out and ask to ball him. But then it occurred to him that he was approaching the heartland of America and here, perhaps, girls were not as competitive and militant as the ones he had frequently dabbled with in New York before meeting the bewitching Rosemary. He decided to play this one by ear. Besides, he wasn't beneath accepting a kindly offered, home-cooked meal, or the opportunity to stay off the road.
In her living room, Tom was left to his own devices while Evelyn bustled about in the kitchen, promising him coffee in five minutes and a hot casserole in twenty. He decided it would be showing respect to Evelyn and her meal if he cleaned himself up before they ate. Leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, he said, admiring her ass as she checked the oven, "Do you mind if I use your bathroom to have a shave and a shower? The facilities on the road are less than adequate, sometimes."
"Oh, no. Help yourself. You'll find clean towels in the cupboard there. Shall I hold off on our lunch for a while?" She turned her head and smiled at him. She felt the backs of her thighs tingle where she imagined his gaze had been.
"Nah. I won't be long."
Evelyn puttered happily in the kitchen, concentrating on making a good meal, giving the hitchhiker something to remember about Strawville, forgetting about the decisions which still lay ahead of her. Then, with a start, she heard the shower burst into life and she realized that for the first time ever there was a naked man with her in her apartment. She felt a familiar, longing sensation in her loins even though he was two rooms away and behind the closed bathroom door. The bathroom! Ohmigod! My vibrators are behind the towels. He'll find them. She would be mortified beyond words or any possible explanation if he discovered her secret. They were just standing there, next to a large jar of white lubricating jelly. He couldn't possibly miss seeing them when he got a towel. By now he might be laughing at her folly as he showered, confirmed in his likely suspicions of her frigidity. Maybe, she thought in desperation, I can slip in and out of the bathroom, unnoticed, before he stops his shower. She felt that same old fear she always felt when close to men, and tried grimly to ignore its paralyzing action on her muscles. On tiptoes, she raced to the bathroom door, listening intently to the sounds of Tom's progress. She could hear his humming under the noise of the spray. As silently as possible, she opened the door, stepped into the bathroom, reaching for the incriminating pair of white plastic penises standing behind the untouched stack of towels. In her haste, she accidentally knocked one vibrator over. It rolled out of her clutching grasp, off the shelf, and onto the tiled floor with an unexpectedly loud clatter.
"Is that you?" Tom said from the shower stall. "Pass me a towel, please."
Trapped into inactivity at the sound of his voice, Evelyn stood there until she heard the water stop spraying. Then, in a quick flurry, she kicked the errant vibrator under the bathroom counter, covered the other with a towel and stared at the opening shower door. Tom's arm reached out for the towel and before handing it to him, she touched his wet hand with her own. Not daring to risk a look between his legs where his penis would be dangling, she held her gaze fast to his, feeling a growing sense of well-being and acceptance rising up in her body. Gratified at the inviting smile that played happily in his eyes, that encouraged her to do the same, she said, "Were you expecting me?"
"Not quite so soon." Tom laughed and stepped out of the bathtub, closer to Evelyn. With total unconcern he patted the clinging drops of water off his body, completely unmindful of his nakedness in front of her body. He made no special effort to hide his penis, nor did he do anything to attract her attention to it. She would notice it soon enough, he thought with a wicked mental grin. He added, "But I'm glad you came."
"Was I that obvious, then?" Casually, Evelyn cast a glance at where Tom's cock ought to be and was so startled by the unexpected sight of it that she forgot to listen to what Tom was saying to her. It excited her to the core. It wasn't ten inches long like the two hidden plastic vibrators, but what it lacked in length, it more than amply made up in thickness and sheer, warm-blooded quality. Gingerly, her hand reached out to measure its throbbing length. Tom's cock was in a glistening-clean state of almost complete erection. He stood perfectly still, watching her hand approach him. Then her hand faltered, and she looked inquiringly at him, as if asking his permission to touch it.
"Go ahead . . . touch it," Tom said, and in a sudden flash of insight added, "I used to be shy once."
Evelyn swayed upon hearing his words, then sank to her knees. Now the mighty cock was in front of her face, inches away from her mouth. She stared at it, absolutely fascinated.
"If you don't find the idea ... too unusual . . . you could try kissing it," Tom suggested. Then he added, in a kindly tone, "Are you a virgin?"
"Yes and no."
"Ah. I see." Tom's eyes closed as he felt her lips brush his cock. He remained standing still while Evelyn explored his prick with her tongue and fingers, then pulled her up to her feet. Holding her loosely in his arms, he kissed her smooth forehead, his erect cock a bridge between their bodies. He admired the curled length of her eyelashes on her cheek. She refused to meet his gaze. "I'm going to take all your clothes off," Tom whispered. "Then we'll go to the bedroom where I'll explore every inch of your body. But first," he tilted her head up with one finger, "let's kiss." Drawing her body closer to his, bending that fleshy bridge that now seemed to be bonded to their bodies, he stooped a little, his mouth searching for hers.
"Are they all that big?" Evelyn asked, turning her head to the side, but putting her smooth cheek against Tom's stubby one. Her hand jerked his cock. "I mean men's things." She sensed that she could trust this naked stranger. There seemed to be an air about him of respect, combined with a tender gentleness, that reassured her, made her doubts about her impulsive action disappear and made her glad to be standing in the loose circle of his arms, holding his swelling cock.
"My cock? I'd say it's about average,, maybe a tiny bit bigger, but that's due more to you than to anything else."
His mouth met hers. His tongue slid past her parting lips, tasting all around the soft insides before probing deeper into her mouth. He let her tongue greet and examine his, then enticed her tongue to follow his retreating one back into his mouth. When he felt her head begin to pull away, Tom tightened his embrace of the slender girl, gently forcing her head back with the insistent pressure of his mouth. Evelyn's arms crept up Tom's back, hanging onto his shoulders as her body sagged in surrender. Crushing herself against his naked body, finally Evelyn tore herself free from Tom's masterful lips.
Her cunt lips were glowing hot, exuding the pungent smell of sex. Through her skirt she could feel the warm throbbing of Tom's stiff cock and she remembered how only a few short minutes ago she had covered its stretched skin with kisses from her lips and occasional wet spots where her tongue had tasted the different textures. Soon, maybe very soon, this man's cock will be pumping in and out of my body. Instead of pushing little buttons I'll be able to have my arms around his body, feel his naked skin against mine. It feels sooo good! Ohmigod! Evelyn trembled as Tom's hands found the zipper to her skirt, Unzipped it, and inserted his hand through the material. His fingers caressed her nylon-clad buttocks possessively, measuring their svelte quality, before tugging her skirt down over her hips. The skirt fell to the floor, forming a ring around her ankles. But before stepping back to look at the rounded loveliness of her upper thighs, the mysterious promise of her inner thighs, Tom slid his hands up under the back of her blouse. His adroit fingers unfastened her bra. Then, instead of finding her breasts, and caressing them like Evelyn wanted him to do, his hands circled her waist lightly.
"Aren't you going to undress me completely?" Evelyn said, the ache in her breasts becoming greater.
"No. Let's go to the bedroom now. You can take off the rest of your clothes yourself. I'd like to watch."
In the bedroom Tom stretched out on his back on the single bed, his cock upright. His bulging sac was dotted with curly hair still wet from his shower. Evelyn stood away from the bed to give him a good view of her body as she shed her remaining clothes. Hurriedly, her fingers attacked the bottom buttons of her blouse, but catching a single flicker of dismay on Tom's features, she realized what she was doing wrong. He had said he wanted to watch. She wondered if he was too considerate to say again what he wanted her to do. It became clear to her at that moment that she and Tom had to exchange pleasures: she doing what pleased him and he doing the same for her. Only then would their mutual desires become satisfied. She left two buttons fastened and moved her hands sinuously down to the elastic band of her panties, pushing them an inch or two down, to the edge of her dark bush. She was unable to resist an impulse to caress the top of her slit. She had an idea it would please him. The sticky wetness surprised her and she left a trail of spreading damp spots on her panties as her hands moved up to the last two buttons on her blouse.
A sense of power overcame her as she saw how fascinated Tom was at the sight of the freshly uncovered parts of her body. His eyes were focused on the last two buttons. She humped her hips and as Tom's eyes darted a glance at her crotch, the dampness down there spread. Evelyn felt unusually hot between her legs. Seeing Tom's look of excitement made her feel more excited than she had ever been. She shrugged her arms out of the sleeves of the unbuttoned blouse. With a wriggle that rippled up and down the full length of her body she shook her bra free, wincing at the erotic feel of her nipples rubbing against the material of her blouse. Getting undressed for a man was a thing she had never before suspected could be so arousing both to him and herself and now she could see where she had been hasty, bursting into the bathroom. But it did not matter now. It could be put away for some future date, for now Tom's arms were silently inviting her to come to the bed. As an exercise of her newly found power, Evelyn held up a deferring hand.
"Wait a sec" she said. "I want to come to you absolutely naked."
Tom's grin of understanding was encouraging relief to Evelyn. It seemed to wash away the questions that had plagued her. Am I being frigid now? Her body moved in an improvised but graceful dance of invitation and promise that left her breasts bare. Tom's unguarded look of lustful anticipation erased the question from her mind and she remembered his promise. The tingling in her loins increased maddeningly. With a final wriggle her panties slid down her curvaceous legs and she stepped out of the crumpled ring. He was going to explore every inch of her body. She reached the bed and entered the welcome embrace of his arras, wondering if he would use his tongue as well as his hands.
"You're beautiful, you know," Tom whispered into Evelyn's ear. Gently blowing into its pink swirls of skin, Tom kissed her ear, then moved down to kiss the vibrant column of her neck where tendrils of hair caught in his nose. "You smell good, too," he said, "like spices, sugar, cinnamon." He caught a whiff of the scent of her cunt. "Sexy, too."
"You smell cinnamony, too," Evelyn quipped. "You used my soap."
But then, Tom's hands squeezed her breasts just under the nipples and Evelyn felt twin shafts of pleasure shoot from her breasts to her cunt where they collided, igniting hot sparks of desire. She moaned, then moaned again. His fingers had depressed her tight nipples, and he squeezed harder at the smooth, delicate flesh surrounding those brown-pink buttons. Underneath the continual waves of erotic sensation that seemed now to spiral into her loins like some ponderous screw, was an exciting little frenzy of pain. Evelyn thought she might like to try a little more pain. She thought she understood physical pain combined with sex and could take a little more-but at some later date. Right now, the first tentative licks of Tom's tongue on her nipples introduced a new flood of sensation. She gasped at the delightful stimulation then realized with a start that she was doing nothing to return the pleasure he was showering on her body. One hand reached down and pumped Tom's cock. By the feel of it, Evelyn was certain that it was much larger than when she had first seen it. Her other hand traced lazy circles on his ass, caressing, scratching, tickling it until Tom's hips jerked with each slight motion of her hand. His cock began thrusting through her tightly clenched fingers. Evelyn thought, Now! Now he's going to . . . fuck me!
Tom's mouth left sucking her puckered nipples and trailed across the tenderness of her underslopes. Sinking his face into the rounded smoothness of her belly, he tongued her dimpled navel. His body shifted, moving down the bed and to the side. His head bent into her bush and he kissed open her cunt lips, drinking in the smell of her, licking the oozing juices from the petal-soft interior. His tongue licked upwards, finding the hidden clitoris and probing it. His hands were supporting her ass up, like it was a tremendous two-handed drinking bowl; his face was buried deep in her cunt when he felt the violent stirrings of her first coming. Concentrating on her clitoris, he took it into his mouth, determined not to stop his tantalizing sucking until the moaning, twisting, jerking woman had come. When she did, it was with a high, keening wail. "I'm coming! I'm coming!"
Evelyn's legs clamped together, entrapping Tom's head between them. When the intensity of orgasm had subsided and she had let her limp legs slacken, he gave a final lick at her love button, wiped off his juice-covered face, and pressed a hand down on her mound, kneading it in such a fashion that the walls of her pussy began to churn, began to demand a more penetrating satisfaction. Before she was fully recovered from the breathtaking orgasm, she felt Tom's body cover hers. Evelyn drew her bent knees up and suddenly wished she had a mirror. How erotic it would be to not only feel his cock split her awaiting body, but to see it at the same time. Tom pushed her knees apart until her cunt lips were widely stretched open, revealing the slick crimson interior. He positioned his cock snugly between her tender lips, thrilling Evelyn to the core.
"How do you want it?" he asked. "Fast or slow?"
"Slow . . . and deep," Evelyn said, her ass moving in slow, anticipatory circles. "I want to feel every inch of it come in."
Tom complied like a gentleman. Carefully, he dipped his cockhead into the welcoming tightness of her hot cunt. Then he removed his cockhead and repeated his performance. Evelyn sighed deeply then jerked into matching response as he began gently pumping only the tip of his cock past the inner labia, in and out, in and out, until the ring of hair around her slit was streaming with her hot juices. He recognized the return of the spasms which had signaled her first orgasm and he wondered what she had meant when she said yes and no to his query if she was a virgin. Did she have a hymen? Patiently, he controlled the depth of his thrusting into her cunt, allowing in no more of his cock other than the bulbous swollen tip until he gauged she was on the brink of an orgasm. At the beginning of the wail which heralded her coming he slowly pushed his cock into her cunt, reserving some energy on the chance that her hymen was intact. If it was, he planned to pierce it in one powerful, uninterrupted thrust at the height of her climax.
"OHMIGOD! I'm coming again!"
Her hips leaped upward while her cunt absorbed Tom's cock to the massive root. She felt his balls bounce against the stretched flesh of her buttocks and thought insanely, Vibrators don't nave balls! She hardly had time to savor the splendor of the second orgasm before she realized that Tom was not going to stop. His cock was pumping in and out of her cunt, pulling the lips with each stroke. Evelyn's mind spun with delight. She wished he would never stop, realized that she had to have more of this fucking with a man. But a man was anyone with a cock between his legs and the willingness and ability to use it. It was nice that Tom was well set up, almost handsome, but at a certain stage all that mattered was that firm piece of flesh pounding at the door to her womb, caressing the walls of her clutching cunt as it thundered by on its mission of ecstasy. She put her hands flat on the bed, hooked her feet around his back, meeting each of his plunging strokes with eager ones of her own. Soon, although it seemed like an eternity of pleasure, she heard his breathing quicken, heard him grunting. Her eyes opened to look at his face. It was assuming an expression of rapture.
"Hold off for just a sec. I'm going to come again," Evelyn said, feeling the glowing approach, this time from deep within her body, of a climax that threatened to consume all her remaining strength, reach every single pore of her body with its relaxing, ecstatic energy.
Incredulous, she felt Tom's pace quicken at her words, felt the jack-hammering of his iron-hard cock. Her climax began flooding out from her cunt, filling every part of her body with pleasure until she thought she would swoon, die that very instant, happy, fulfilled, assured of a berth in paradise. Dimly, she was aware of hotter gushiness in her, then cherished the new sensation. Tom's come was spurting into her cunt. Oh, so very much better than the fucking vibrator! Then her mind left her to dwell for an instant or two in the realms of earthly ecstasy. Tom kept up the pumping action of his hips until the girl beneath him was still, except for the sucking motions of her cunt and the rise and fall of her chest. Burying his spent cock deep in her overflowing box, he eased his body down to hers, their loins welded together now, not needing a bridge.
They slept briefly.
They were sharing the last of the coffee and Evelyn was stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray perched on Tom's chest when she broached the subject near her heart. "It's getting a little late to hitch a ride, isn't it?"
"No. Not necessarily." Tom looked at his wrist-watch. "It's only a little past three. There's plenty of time to get a nice long ride this afternoon and tonight."
"Where will you sleep?"
"Who knows?"
Evelyn cleared her throat, looked down at the rumpled sheets. "I know I can't keep you here forever and I won't even ask, but why don't you at least spend the night? Tomorrow morning, early, I'll drop you off at the edge of town, any highway you want. Wouldn't it do you good to spend a night in a real bed for a change?" She eyed his limp cock, thick and covered with the dried cunt juice that had congealed around his pubic hair. Never had she bothered putting one of the vibrators in her mouth, but remembering the feel and taste of Tom's cock she realized that putting his cock in her mouth, sucking, teasing it with her tongue, containing its explosion in her mouth and drinking its inevitable flow of hot sticky come, was an experience she would regret not having if he left now. But she knew better than to plead like the blonde in the restaurant. She said solemnly, "I promise not to cling."
Tom saw where her eyes were staring and felt a twinge of response in his cock. He examined the slender beauty of the naked girl sitting cross-legged before him. He remembered how sweet she had tasted, how violently she had come, and these things pleased him. Her food had tasted good, she kept her apartment clean, herself cleaner. Brushing aside the thought that entered his mind, This woman would make a good wife, he made his decision. There was no particular hurry to get to the West Coast. He could stay here overnight, or maybe a week or so, make love to this wonderful naked female sitting opposite him, eat her breakfast and take it easy in between. Later, on the road, he could reexamine his feelings, see how the wound that Rosemary had caused was healing. Nina had showed him, in her spoiled manner, that he was capable of making it with a woman. He had his doubts for a while. He wondered what beautiful, demure Evelyn would teach him.
"All right, I'll hang around." His finger crooked. "Now how about coming a little closer? I've got something I want to show you."
Tom licked his lips.
3
Lucy Stout got on her hands and knees, presenting her ripe ass to her husband Bert's cock. The dark hairs of her cunt went wet with the fluid that had flowed from her pussy when she had stimulated herself while waiting for her husband to return from her daughter's bedroom. Thank Christ the Lord he didn't get into Elly Sue tonight. She rotated her asshole around the knob of her husband's cock, then she remembered that the Vaseline was in the bathroom. She knew neither she nor her husband were loath to go and get the jar, but the sooner she took care of him, the sooner she could get to bed and think. She shifted her ass higher and sighed as the familiar cock easily entered her cunt. It had been almost three weeks since he had last done his husbandly duties and before that, a long month. All that time he had been spending trying to fuck their fourteen-year-old daughter, Eileen Sue.
Each following morning, she had gotten up and examined Elly Sue's hymen and always found it intact. She had advised her daughter that when prayer seemed to fail and if Bert were ever to try rape, she should offer at once to suck his cock. Better that than to suffer defloration at the hands of Bert. She had told her daughter how to suck Bert's cock the way he liked it, and now her daughter had been forced to do the incestuous act the last six nights. Tonight Bert had returned to his marital bed after only a very brief time in Elly Sue's bedroom and Lucy was certain that absolutely nothing had occurred. Maybe he had taken pity on the girl and decided to leave her alone for a night. Lucy rolled her ass the way she knew her husband liked. Her cunt welcomed each energetic lurch of his fat cock with an enticing hug. The sheets were clenched in her two fists as she dug her body in, glorifying in the force of his rear entry.
"Fuck me, you bastard! Fuck me! Fuck me!" Lucy screamed as his fingers found her clitoris.
"You whoring bitch! Whore! Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!" Bert spit the words through his clenched mouth as his seed spurted into his wife's hole. Withdrawing his prick when it refused to spout any more come, he slapped his wife's ass stingingly then re-entered her cunt, bringing her to a climax in a few short strokes. When she was through thrashing, he collapsed on the bed, waiting for her to wipe off his glistening cock. Maybe I should have her suck it clean tonight. Lord knows, she can suck like an angel. He felt his wife's lips tentatively touch the sensitive end of his penis, her tongue flicking out, taking a taste here, another there. Shit, I'm too tired tonight. "Lay off, you whoring slut. Ain'tja satisfied?"
Lucy obeyed, keeping silent, like she always did. Her husband's temper was short, his strength awesome. He wasn't above batting her in the mouth a few times when the mood possessed him and she wanted no more beatings. Soon she heard the light breathing which meant he was asleep, but she dared not go to her daughter's bedroom and find out what he had done tonight. Bert was a light, nervous sleeper and he had forbidden her to leave the bed while he was asleep. "Just in case I wake up and want me a quickie, you should be there," he had explained to her once and now she was too afraid to disobey his rule. Tomorrow would be time enough to see if her daughter was still a virgin. Here in Indiana there were two kinds of women: those who fucked before they got married and those who didn't. Lucy well knew the benefits that accrued to the latter category. She had only herself to examine.
Her new home was full of every labor-saving device available. Fine clothes hung in her large closets, and she held an enviable position in, the community. Bert was always more than considerate in public. They were held up as an example of a happy modern-day marriage. But it was more due to her careful management than to luck, Lucy knew. If word ever got out that her daughter had been fucked by her husband, not only would her daughter never live down the disgrace, but she would lose her chance to achieve a respected place in the community. The richer, eligible men in the community would think there was some insanity in the family and shun Elly Sue. Lucy knew that any insanity in the family resided solely in her husband's outdated views of a woman's place in society. She and her daughter were as sane as the next person. Tomorrow, she thought, feeling herself drift off to sleep, I'll take Elly Sue away from him, hide her with the Tolberts in the country: She nourished the little spark of rebellion in her body. I'll get the better of you yet, you bastard! And it won't be the first time!
The next morning, standing at the stove, frying her husband's bacon and eggs, Lucy winced. Her cunt was sore. It ached with the thrustings of her husband's cock. Three times during the night he had taken his pleasure and each time she had eagerly welcomed his vigorous attention. Now, efficiently sliding his eggs onto his plate, holding the done-to-perfection strips of bacon, buttering the hot toast, her mind was blank, the need for some good sex finally erased. This was the state she preferred more than the shattering climaxes he wrung from her cunt. This state of numb happiness that she had lived in for years when her husband and she had been younger and had invariably fucked two, three, four, five times a night. It had been the only way he could finally relax enough to sleep. Only a tiny nagging thought disturbed the tranquil serenity of her' mind. Something she had to do, something she had promised herself not to forget last night after he had taken her for the second time. Suddenly the thought burst into focus. Elly Sue! In an instant her mood changed, although she let none of it show as he walked into the kitchen and she offered her cheek for his morning peck as she usually did.
"Mawning," Bert said, then sniffed like he did every morning. His morning routine never varied an iota. Regardless of what she had prepared for his breakfast, and he would eat anything hot with total disregard of its taste, like a machine absorbing fuel, he always said, "Hmmm. Sumthin' smells good." Only then could Lucy speak.
"Morning, Bert honey," Lucy said, then broke the routine with a cheery smile. "Sleep well?" You goddamned fucking bastard! You know good and well what a night's fucking does to my mind.
Bert looked suspiciously, reprimandingly, at his wife for departing from their routine morning conversation. He had decided years ago that their brief exchange constituted a decent minimum. Only after a night of good fucking followed by a dreamless sleep could he think clearly, and morning was the time of the day he thought best. He grunted to show his annoyance. Fucking slut. Doesn't she know that all these goddamned appliances she's got cost money? I've got a car lot to run. Bert liked to think that he sweated his ass off working for his wife but he was wrong. He couldn't sell worth a damn; his money-making ability came from his shrewdness in recognizing and hiring men who could sell, giving them a healthy commission, then leaving them alone. They had made him a rich man. But as long as he believed he was working for Lucy, he was able to justify to himself the few hours he put in at the office before going out on some civic luncheon, community meeting or just spending time on the golf links with business associates who were also bright enough to have businesses which could mind themselves for an afternoon or two. The whore. Now she's ruined my whole day. I guess I'll go down to the country club. He chuckled. But she didn't ruin last night, nosiree. He maintained his silence through breakfast, pecked his wife's cheek at the door, like he always did, in case any of the neighbors were watching, and drove his Cadillac to the car lot.
Lucy walked up to her daughter's bedroom, after her husband had left for the day, to find out what had or had not happened the night before. "Ei-leen Su-san," she called softly at the door. "Are you awake?" There was no answer and for the first time Lucy felt a stab of dread. What if Bert, with his powerful arms, had broken Elly Sue's neck last night in a sudden uncontrollable rage at the young girl's refusal to let him possess her body? What if her daughter, taking refuge in her bathroom, had forgotten to lock the door? Right now, at this very moment, Lucy thought, the fingers of fear tightening around her heart, Elly Sue might be lying dead in her bed. Bert could be on an airplane for South America in a few hours. She pushed the door open and rushed in, her eyes at once going to the bed where her daughter lay, perfectly still. Lucy choked back a cry of relief as she saw the gentle rising and falling of her daughter's naked chest.
There was a look on Elly Sue's sleeping face that reminded her heartachingly of when Elly had been a content, well-fed baby. Ah! She's safe. He didn't touch her last night. But she wasn't sure; she knew she had to check; any delay, especially today when she planned to spirit Elly safely away to the country where Bert could no longer torment her with his incestuous desires, was unpardonable. And yet, taking another heartwarming look at her sleeping daughter, she realized it would be unpardonable to disturb her daughter's rest with the annoying internal examination. Both of them habitually wore grim faces during the examination, Elly Sue at the intrusion of her mother's fingers into her body and Lucy with repressed horror at what she might not find.
But this morning, Lucy was feeling good and the symbolic return of her husband to their own bed last night lulled her into thinking that all would now be well between her and Bert, and he would stop bothering Elly Sue. He had spent such a short time with her last night, there couldn't have been much time for him to have done anything. She decided not to disturb her daughter's sleep. But to be sure, she'd draw back the single covering sheet and look for telltale blood stains. Gently she lifted up the covers and intently examined the sheet under Elly's cute little ass. The sheet was spotless.
Lucy kept the cover from falling on her daughter. She looked admiringly at her daughter's young body, thinking how once her own body had been full of such youthful vitality. She could see in her daughter's graceful young body a reflection of herself twenty years ago, at age fourteen. Elly Sue's breasts were flattened cones tipped with soft pink nipples, but even now, there was more than a hint that they would bloom into the lush abundance that was characteristic of Lucy's breasts. It was with a twinge of envy that Lucy admired her daughter's fair coloring, the unusually clear skin and the auburn hair, growing thickly on Elly Sue's head and also in a neat ring around her peaches-and-cream-colored cunt. Lucy's pale breasts were at their peak of perfection but the nipples were dark brown, a stunning contrast to the blue veins under her pale white skin. Her own pubic hair extended upwards, almost to her navel and downwards along the insides of her thighs for three or four inches. Bert had forbidden her to shave the pubic hair. "Feels good on my face when Ah'm eatin' ya out," he had said. Lucy wondered why Bert hadn't yet tried to eat Elly Sue's cunt, for he enjoyed cunt-sucking a lot, but for some strange reason he hadn't.
Elly Sue's green eyes opened. She blinked rapidly and was wide awake. "Hi, Mom."
"Good morning, Elly Sue," Lucy said, unconsciously being very formal, setting an example to her daughter. "Sleep well?"
"Well, y'know. All right, I guess."
Elly Sue's voice was beautiful to listen to and Lucy wondered if her daughter would ever stop uttering the inanities of youth, and begin to speak like a lady, but there was no time to daydream. If Elly Sue was to remain a virgin until she got married, something Lucy looked forward to accomplishing in the next two years, she had to get out of the house and away from Bert.
"Well, hurry out of bed, dear, and take your shower. This morning you're going over to spend the rest of the summer with the Tolberts."
"Those old people in the country?"
"They are very nice folks and don't you dare refer to them as old anymore, in my presence or in theirs."
"But why?"
"Need I say why?" Lucy gave her daughter a very significant look.
"But there's nothing to do in the country."
"It'll do until fall and I can get you in some private school someplace far from here."
"Won't he find me there?" There was no question she was referring to her father.
"No, he won't," Lucy said with complete assurance. She had kept her friendship with the Tolberts secret from her husband.
"Well, what'll he say when he comes home and I'm gone?"
"Just leave that to me, dear, and stop asking so many questions. You run along anoV have your shower. I'll help you pack."
The phone rang just as they were leaving the house. Lucy wondered if she should answer, then remembered that some of the church women were supposed to come over this morning to see if she would accept the vice-chairmanship of the new fund drive for the church. She would have to postpone the meeting.
"Wait in the car for me, dear. I won't be but a minute," Lucy said and returned to the house and answered the phone. It was Bert.
"Listen! Is Elly Sue home?"
"Yes, dear."
"Well, keep her there until I get home. I'm leaving right away. I tell you, I've had enough of this . . . this musical bedrooms." He hung up.
Lucy got in her car and drove quickly to the nearby interstate highway. She felt elated at outwitting her husband by such a small margin. Serves that bastard right! If he doesn't do what I want him to do, I'll make sure he never sees Elly Sue again. I've got him by the balls now.
"Hey Mom!"
"Pardon me, dear, but did you say something to me?"
"Yeah. What's the Tolbert's feeling about all this?"
"They don't know yet."
"They don't? Why not? Didn't you at least phone them and tell them we were coming? You mean I'm going to be dropped off on them for the whole summer, out of touch with everything, and they don't even know I'm coming?"
"They don't have a phone, dear."
"No phone!" Elly Sue wailed in disbelief. "Why . . . why I'll be cut off from civilization. I suppose they don't have a radio."
"That's right, they don't. They live very simply and it'll do you good to spend some time with them. I'll be up to see you very shortly and if it's too awful for you to bear, you and I'll take a vacation somewhere until school starts. Anywhere you want." Lucy hoped this extravagant promise would assuage her daughter's feelings.
Elly Sue remained silent for the remainder of the drive. Her low whistles and incredulous glances at the remoteness of the Tolbert's house marked their arrival, then she broke her self-imposed silence with a cry of glee. "Doesn't look like they're home. We'll have to go back."
"Don't be in such a hurry to go back, young lady. Besides, I see a note on the door. Probably they've just gone into town and the note says when they'll be back."
"They get visitors dropping by this godforsaken place?" Elly Sue's voice was sarcastic. She looked around at her surroundings. The small frame house was tucked away in a handful of hills, hidden completely from outside view. The extent of her world was what she could see-a half-mile of dense woods. "What do they do out here?"
Lucy paid no attention to her daughter's unseemly complaining. She snatched the note off the door and scanned its contents. Be back Saturday, it said. Lucy felt crushed. Today was only Tuesday. She couldn't leave her daughter here all alone, nor could she stay with Elly Sue all that time. She had to get back home to explain her daughter's sudden absence and protect her own reputation from disparaging remarks or any other action that her husband might instigate. She felt the tiny spark of rebellion extinguish as she wordlessly handed the note to her daughter.
Keeping the elation at the sudden turn of events out of her voice, Elly Sue said, "Aw, Mom. It'll be all right, don't worry. Why don't we go back home and if it'll make you feel any better I'll spend the night with a girlfriend."
"All right, dear." Lucy's voice was despondent as was her manner walking back to the car, but once on the highway, she began thinking again. There was no way, she finally realized, that she could absolutely prevent Bert from fucking Elly Sue. Probably, she thought, that was why he had phoned and told her he was coming home. How could she get back at her husband and yet keep the knowledge from him? If only it wasn't so important that Elly Sue remain a virgin. But, was it all that important? The state of virginity was, hopefully, a brief one. Weren't kids these days saying it wasn't all that important? Could she thwart Bert's drive or stop her daughter from growing up? It had still been important back in the fifties when Lucy and Bert were married. But now . . . ? In a flash Lucy saw the perfect solution -take Elly Sue's virginity herself! It would drive
Bert insane to realize he had not been the first. But then, the idea of taking her daughter's virginity repelled Lucy. It was a hell of a way for Elly Sue to be introduced to the enchantment of sex, by having her cherry taken by her own mother. Elly Sue's boyfriends? No time. How? How? Disappointment flooded her being again, creating a feeling of total helplessness. Something had to be done to outwit Bert. None of her friends could help her. How would she explain the reason? Maybe if I have some coffee in the Howard Johnson's, something will occur to me. But three cups of coffee later Lucy still felt stupid. Inside her body she was raging at her helplessness, when upon pulling out of the parking lot she spotted the upraised thumb of a hitchhiker and realized with a happy leap of her heart that here might be the answer to her problems. Let some perfect stranger take Elly Sue's cherry, beat her husband to it. Maybe Bert would get so angry he'd have a stroke. That would fix the bastard. And if that doesn't work, I'll take her precious little cherry myself and tell Bert that a hitchhiker raped us. Grim determination creased her forehead as she wheeled the car around the parking lot again, heading it in the right direction, pulling up to stop beside the hitchhiker. There were more than two kinds of women in Indiana-at least three. Lucy had disregarded the type who screw around before marriage but manage to put on a convincing performance of virginity on their wedding night. Wasn't she one of them herself? Her daughter would have to become one of those. She would closely question the hitchhiker to try to determine his suitability. At least he looks young enough, she thought, as he opened the door.
"Get in, get in," Lucy said to Tom.
"Thanks a lot for stopping," Tom said politely, getting into the front seat. When he had seen the Indiana plates, he had suspected it would be only a short drive and he wanted to get out of Indiana. But he cut short his rejection, wiped it from his mind, when he saw the two beautiful women, one very young, the other a little older sitting in the car. It was unusual for two women in a car to pick up hitchhikers and he was curious as to what their motivation could be. Ever since he had left Ohio, he had let his thumb determine his route and it had led him to the southern part of Indiana. Hot and humid described the way he felt, and he was grateful for the luxurious, air-conditioned interior of the car. When Lucy failed to drive the car along the highway he regarded her quizzically.
"Goin' far, young man?" Lucy let a country twang enter her voice. It made strangers, especially men, underestimate her.
"West Coast."
"Oh my. I'm not goin' that far." She chuckled heartily, the picture of a stupid, wealthy farm-wife. "We're just goin' down the road a piece. This here's ma daughter, Elly Sue."
Elly Sue had been well coached by her mother on how to behave in front of strangers. Bobbing her head, she looked demurely at Tom through downcast eyelashes. "Hi," she said, then, out of her mother's sight, winked broadly.
Tom maintained his composure. He was more and more intrigued.
"Where'dja spend last night?" Lucy asked in her nasal twang.
"Strawville, Ohio."
"And the night before that?"
"Same place. I visited with a friend for six days."
"Was she pretty?" Lucy cackled.
Tom was taken back by the woman's blunt question, and before he had time to answer, Lucy spoke again.
"Pretty like ma daughter?"
"Aw, Mom. What's the matter with you?" Elly Sue had never known her mother to say such things to strangers, never mind picking them up. She knew nothing of her mother's plans.
Lucy peered into Tom's eyes, searching for honesty, decency, and to see if his pupils were dilated. She had heard that drug users had dilated pupils as well as blood-shot eyes. Tom's clear blue eyes met her inquiring gaze and Lucy leaned back, satisfied.
"What's yer name, young man? Don't expect me to keep callin' ya young man, do ya?"
"Tom."
"Well, Tom," Lucy said in her regular voice, deeper and huskier than her daughter's clear voice, "I'm a desperate woman and I need a man's help. Can you help me?"
"I'll try," Tom said, casting a quick glance at the silent Elly Sue. "What seems to be the problem?"
Quickly, Lucy sketched out her problem with a directness that she could not have achieved with her closest friend, but which seemed perfectly natural and normal with Tom.
Elly Sue listened closely and when she realized that her mother was offering her body to this perfect stranger she was aghast and burst into stuttering protest. A single sharp glance from her mother rebuked her into silence and she withdrew into a shell, her eyes staring blankly ahead, hiding her eagerness to hear Tom's answer.
"Will you do it, then just ride on out of Indiana? Never come back?"
Tom couldn't believe his ears and wondered if the woman was pulling some outrageous practical joke on him. Maybe she had a tape recorder hidden in the car and would replay his response to some friends of hers over morning coffee for all of them to laugh at. He looked at her closely and was certain that the pleading desperation in her eyes was genuine. He knew he was going to say yes even though he didn't think her plan would come to pass. Then he remembered Elly Sue's wink. "Yeah, sure. Where did you have in mind? The back seat?"
Lucy knew she had made the right choice. This man got down to practicalities right away. "Hmmm. I hadn't really considered it."
They discussed the situation like two business associates discarding unprofitable ventures.
"Back seats aren't the most comfortable, even if they are in a Cadillac," Tom said.
"Yes," Lucy agreed, "and besides, it's daylight. How about a motel?"
"Might be awk-"
"I've got it!" Lucy shouted. "We'll go back to the Tolbert house."
Elly Sue hugged herself a little closer and kept her thoughts to herself. She was seeing a side of her mother she never knew existed.
"Where's that?" Tom said.
"Jest down the road a piece," Lucy said, falling at once into her accented twang and both she and Tom laughed. Now that the arrangement had been made there seemed nothing more for anyone to say and in silence they drove to the Tolbert house.
"Wait in the car," Lucy said to Tom. "Elly Sue, you go on up to the house. I'll be there in a minute or two. Don't worry, nothing's happened yet." Waiting until Elly Sue was out of earshot, Lucy turned to Tom. "I know you must think I'm some kind of monster and maybe I am, but one thing I'm not is a welsher. Now, I'm going to go up there and explain a few things to my daughter. How, I don't know, but promise me you won't come up until I ask you to come."
"I promise."
"Good. Something tells me I can trust you. Now if she doesn't want to do it . . ." Lucy paused and looked at Tom as if measuring him a final time, before going on ". . . I'll make sure you don't leave unsatisfied. Do you understand me?"
"Yes."
Lucy wanted to linger on the walk to the house, but knew she must hurry. She had ignored her daughter's feelings enough for one morning but now that her plan seemed to be working out so well, successful revenge so near, she hoped she could convince her daughter of the wisdom of her decision. Entering the house, Lucy saw her daughter standing at the window, staring at the car. Lucy searched for the right words to say, suddenly afraid to talk. It seemed important not to break her daughter's reverie.
"Mom?" "Yes, dear?"
"I know what you want me to do."
'Tm glad, dear." Lucy was pleased, that her daughter was managing the conversation. Somehow it seemed easier.
"I want to tell you that I'll do it," Elly Sue held up her hand, stopping her mother from saying anything and added, "for your sake."
"Thank you, dear. I must say you're taking it very well and making it easy for me."
"But you mustn't stay in the house. I want you to wait in the car."
"Of course, dear. Whatever you say. But if he gets rough, you just holler loud and I'll come."
"All right. Now send him in."
"Yes, dear," Lucy said and walked outside without a further word, feeling proud at how quickly her daughter was growing up.
Elly Sue clamped her hand to her mouth to hold back her fit of giggling. Mom sure has got some nerve, she thought. It's a pity she doesn't know that the joke's on her. Assuming a sexy pose on the couch, Elly Sue waited for Tom to show up.
Lucy was speaking to Tom, unable to completely hide the relief she felt at her daughter's easy compliance with her wishes. "Now promise me you'll be gentle with her, won't hurt her, or do anything to force her."
"Don't worry, I won't."
"Well," Lucy said, "tell her to wait for me in the house when you're done and . . . good luck."
Tom walked into the house and studied the beautiful young girl sitting on the couch. He sat down in a chair opposite Elly Sue and waited until her eyes met his.
"Care to tell me what this is all about?" Tom said. "It's mother."
"What's the matter with her?" "Nothing."
"You call this proposal she made to me nothing? Are you just going to sit there and accept it?" " Elly Sue laughed and Tom looked at her uncertainly. She seemed very grown up all of a sudden, self-assured, more like a woman ten or fifteen years older. "Presumably," Elly Sue said, "Mother has tried to strike some kind of bargain with you." She looked at Tom,-waiting for his confirmation.
"That's right. Although I still haven't done it and I'm not sure that I will now."
"Oh, but you must. You promised her to, didn't you?"
"Huh?"
"Don't you see? I'm the one having a joke on her. Daddy screwed me last night like I wanted him to."
"He did?"
"I was waiting for him when he came, like this." Elly Sue spread her legs and gave Tom a view of her naked cunt. She had removed her panties while she was alone in the house and dropped them behind the couch. Her cunt was pink and virginal looking. "I wanted him to do it and I was ready. All he had to do was ram it into me and it was over. I wanted him to stay and do it again, because it felt so good, y'know, but he hurried back to mother's bed. After he left I changed the sheets. Now I have you here and you're supposed to do it, aren't you?" Elly Sue looked at the stunned expression on Tom's face. "You are going to do it, aren't you? Want me to suck your cock a little first? I know how to do that. I've sucked Daddy's cock . . . well, not lots of times, but enough."
"Is this your idea of some kind of joke, or something?"
"I'm sick and tired of the way my mother treats me. Like I'm some kind of little girl or something. I'm not so little and if I ever tell her the truth, it should teach her a lesson." Then, changing her mood entirely, Elly Sue stuck two fingers into her cunt and pulled back the pink lips, exposing the crimson interior. Tom caught a glimpse of her tiny clit nestled at the top of her slit. He-leaned forward to get a better look. "Now show me yours," Elly Sue said, removing her hand, swinging her legs shut, "I've never seen one before except for Daddy's."
"I'm not sure that I want to do it."
"Why not? Aren't I pretty enough?" Elly Sue began taking off her clothes. There weren't many, and soon they were in a small pile at the foot of the couch. Although her face was scarlet, she stood there proudly. "I've got a very tight pussy. Isn't that what men like? A tight pussy?"
Tom felt his cock straining against his trousers and he shifted in the chair slightly. "A tight pussy isn't everything."
Elly Sue walked over to Tom's chair and sat on his lap. She put her arms around his neck and put her face very close to his. Almost mechanically, Tom put his arms around the young naked girl, shifting her slightly to a more comfortable position. Elly Sue let her weight rest on Tom's growing prick. The smooth freshness of her skin was irresistible and, idly, Tom let his hands caress her body, especially the hard globes of her ass.
"You know," Elly Sue whispered, her mouth just inches from Tom's, "Daddy didn't do much to me last night except give me a taste. Now I want more." Her open mouth descended on Tom's mouth. Taking his hands, placing them on her small breasts, Elly Sue began unbuttoning Tom's shirt. Her palms were warm on his nipples for a brief time, then she began unbuckling his belt. The smell of cunt was in the air. "If you don't do it, someone else will." Tom's fingers explored the tight crease of her ass. Elly Sue tightened the hard globes of her ass around his fingers. "Do you want to suck my breasts?"
Tom nodded, understanding the wisdom of her remark. His tongue licked a wet circle on the pink areola. He saw the nipple spout into life, puckering the tender skin. He moved to the other nipple, tonguing it into matching its mate. His hands caressed her soft inner thighs. Elly Sue lifted up his face to her own and they kissed again, this time a long, deep kiss. Tom's finger probed the wet softness of Elly Sue's pussy.
"Oh no you don't," Elly Sue said, breaking off their kiss abruptly. "I'm tired of fingerfticking. I want your cock in there, not your finger." She jumped off Tom's lap, ran to the couch, and lay down, her eyes inviting him to join her. "Aren't you going to take off your clothes?"
"Sure," Tom said, standing up and letting his pants fall to the floor. His underpants bulged from his swollen cock.
"Everything," Elly Sue said.
Swiftly, Tom shed his clothes and approached the reclining girl, his cock standing out in front like a thick pole.
"Come closer," said Elly Sue. "I want to have a good look at it first." She raised herself up on one elbow, placed her hand under Tom's cock and examined it carefully. "Your's is bigger than Daddy's. Much bigger. Will it still hurt?"
"Maybe a little, at first."
Elly Sue moved her hand along the length of Tom's cock until her hands touched his balls. Lifting her head slightly, she licked the underside of Tom's cock. Tom stood still, watching the young girl's pink tongue caress his cock. Each hot lick made it harder for him to stand still. He wondered at her reluctance to let him stick his finger into her cunt. Maybe she had told a lie when she said her father had fucked her the night before.
"Do you have a boyfriend, Elly Sue?"
"No. Mother has made sure that I don't, although I think after this afternoon she'll probably try to find one for me."
Covering his cockhead with her mouth, Elly Sue looked into Tom's eyes as she began sucking his cock. Her fingers rolled Tom's balls. Her mouth was stretched wide open, her cheeks hollow as she took more of Tom's cock into her mouth.
Tom got a sensation of her mouth as being virginal. He remembered their long kiss. Her breath had been sweet, her tongue had tasted clean; it was obvious that she had never smoked a cigarette. He tried to think of a girl whose mouth was as sweet and pure tasting as Elly Sue's but the feelings rippling through his body obliterated all. He knew if he didn't get his cock out of her mouth very soon, he would come, fill that virginal mouth with his seed until it ran out. Gently, tenderly, he put his hands on her face and drew his cock out of her mouth. Elly protested, bending her head after his withdrawn cock, gripping his balls in a painful grasp, licking at his cockhead with her pink tongue.
"Hey, what's the matter? Don't I suck good?"
"Too good. I'm supposed to be seducing you, remember?" Tom tore away from her grip, knelt at the side of the couch. His head bobbed down into the white vee of her thighs, licking the juice flowing from her slit. He heard Elly Sue gasp.
4
Lifting his face from the creamy crease of Elly Sue's cunt, Tom climbed up on the couch. Elly Sue was like a wildcat; her fingernails raked his back while her body twisted itself back and forth, almost falling off the couch. Positioning his body above hers, Tom grasped her wrists and forced her hands back. Elly Sue moaned and struggled to free her hands.
"Spread your legs wider apart," Tom said, shifting his body so that his cock was in line with her cunt. He moved his hips forward and when his turgid cock touched the swollen cunt-lips, Elly Sue suddenly became still. Tom saw her tightly shut eyes, the look of expectancy on her face. Slowly, he pushed his cock into the moist tunnel of her cunt. She had told the truth; she was no virgin and now that his cock was buried in her tight little cunt her slim white legs locked themselves around his hips. She sighed and Tom released his grip on her wrists. Supporting his body on his elbows, Tom let his fingers find her rosy nipples and rolled them between his fingers. Elly Sue's hands found their way around his shoulders and she lifted her head to Tom's, seeking his mouth, but Tom averted his face. Elly Sue whimpered, then her tongue tasted her cunt juices drying on Tom's face and began licking the sticky fluid off his chin and cheeks. Her ass started humping, sliding along his cock in short, urgent strokes.
"Do that and tense up your muscles inside," Tom said. He felt that he might as well get a good fuck with the girl, seeing that although she might be inexperienced, her eagerness would overcome a lot. She was like a hot cat, the way men wishfully dream about young girls.
"Like this?" Elly Sue tightened her cunt muscles at the end of each of her short strokes and then began to stop humping while she applied the erotic sensation.
Tom nodded and wondered if he dare tell this squirming young girl impaled on his cock anything more; at the rate her little pussy was eating at his cock, he knew that withdrawing his cock for the first lengthy stroke would result in him ejaculating. Premature ejaculation! The thought struck him: how could he be so hot all of a sudden? Memory tugged at his consciousness, drawing away his attention to the hot liquid nibbling of Elly Sue's tight little cunt; drawing it away to the first time he had ever fucked a woman. That same fear of premature ejaculation had plagued him then and it was only the wisdom of his first woman, an older woman, who had recognized his fear and taught him how to conquer it. And his mind returned to the first time he had ever fucked a woman, back when he was fifteen years old, as his body mechanically pumped up and down over the slender form of Elly Sue.
Harry was beginning to grow out of the skinny-kid stage in the spring of his fifteenth year. What was thought to be a persistent chest infection during the winter, resulting in a husky voice, turned out to be his regular voice. Twice now Harry had shaved the fuzz in front of his ears and under his nose. Night and day he was plagued with erotic fantasizing, which, if he had some privacy, usually ended in a bout of masturbation. Working one warm spring afternoon in the basement of one of the old houses his father had converted into small apartments near the university campus, Harry paused, recalling how soft, inviting, and mysterious had been the thighs of a girl standing behind him in the cafeteria when, suddenly, she had been shoved against his back by a commotion further down the line. But softer and even more inviting had been the liquid give in her breast which had brushed against his upper arm when he turned to see what was the matter.
The girl must have felt it too, for she looked scornfully at Harry as if he had touched her breast on purpose; he had blushed fiercely before turning back to face the front of the line. All afternoon, and especially on the stairs where a careful watcher could get a glimpse of a girl's thighs under their skirts, Harry had been slipping into erotic daydreams and now, in the dark basement of the apartment building, the blood stirred in his cock as the memory rose up and his hand reached down to push against his expanding prick. He knew that soon he would take his cock out of his pants and jack off. His mind conjured up some pictures of naked women showing everything they had, that a friend of his had shown him a few days ago, and it was enough to make his cock bulge out of his pants. His hand sensed the warmth of his cock underneath the faded blue jeans he wore and, as his fingers sought the zipper tab, he was startled out of his wits by an unexpected voice calling his name. "Are you down here?"
It was a female voice and the thought of what she would have seen him doing if she had come only a few minutes later embarrassed Harry to such a degree that he could only croak unintelligibly as he stepped away from the hidden corner, where he had been standing, to the foot of the stairs. Halfway down the stairs, against the light, stood a woman Harry recognized as Phyllis Warner, a tenant who lived on the second floor with her student husband.
"Can you give me a hand moving a trunk?"
"Uhh, sure, Mrs. Warner." Harry wondered if she would notice the bulge in his pants. "Where's the trunk?"
"The delivery man left it in the lobby. We better do it right away ... I think it's blocking the way." She turned and mounted the stairs. Harry followed close behind, his eyes watching Mrs. Warner's ass alternately bulging the sides of her skirt, wondering if he dared stoop beneath her to catch a glimpse of where her thighs met. He pushed down his aching, stiff cock one final time before stepping onto the main floor. If Mrs. Warner, standing at the top, saw him do it, and he was certain she had, she ignored his gesture perfectly.
"It's just at the other end of the hall," she said, but instead of leading the way, remained standing at the top of the steps, looking closely into Harry's face. "You've grown a lot over the winter," she said after a few seconds of examination. Then, with a smile, she stepped back, adding with a note of amusement in her voice, "You're getting to be quite . . . handsome."
Harry blushed, not knowing what to say. To his dismay, her unexpected remark caused his cock to throb as if of its own volition and he stood at the head of the cellar stairs, afraid to move. Mrs. Warner's eyes flicked over his body in an all-encompassing but brief examination, her head nodding approval all the while, before she turned abruptly and walked away. Harry's eyes at once fell to viewing her ass shifting back and forth beneath her skirt in a manner now much more fluid and suggestive than before. He wished his cock would stop throbbing and he followed Mrs. Warner in a stiff-legged way that he thought would minimize the obvious bulge.
"It's a very heavy trunk," Mrs. Warner was observing, her hands on her hips unconsciously emphasizing the swell of her body from her narrow waist. Harry gulped as Mrs. Warner suddenly shifted her weight to one leg, thrusting one curvaceous hip out and tightening the skirt material across the staggered mounds of her ass.
"I can handle it," he said, licking his lips.
"Oh, look at all that mud," Mrs. Warner said, pointing to where a spring puddle had splashed up onto the trunk. "I can't help you carry it up in these clothes. I don't want them to get dirty. Let's just run upstairs and I'll change into something else. I won't take but a minute."
Harry nodded. For fear of what his voice might sound like, he dared not speak; his mouth felt very dry. Mrs. Warner was running up the stairs now, and in such a manner that, although she seemed to be expending a lot of energy and looked in a hurry, she was taking the steps only one at a time. Rooted to the floor, Harry watched, fascinated by her hobbling ass and her bouncing breasts as she climbed to the landing where it all stopped and she was regarding him quizzically.
"Come on up," she said, "I think I've got something upstairs I want moved, too." With that, she disappeared around the landing and Harry began climbing the stairs. When he reached the second floor, she had already unlocked the door and, still slightly breathless, was leaning against the door jamb. "What took you so long?" she quipped. Dashing up the stairs had brought a hint of color to her face and a barely discernible line of sweat to her hairline. Harry sneaked a guilty glance at her rising and falling chest, then stared boldly as his sight was captured by the way Mrs. Warner's pert breasts tightened the thin cotton of her sleeveless blouse. Harry could see the outline of the brassiere that she wore, and how her breasts bulged over the edge.
"Come in," Mrs. Warner said, throwing the door wide open behind her, making it obvious that she wanted it to be open while he was in her apartment. "Find a place to sit. I'll be right back." She walked quickly across the tiny living room, flinging her purse onto the couch as she went in to what Harry knew was the bedroom. She hesitated just inside the bedroom to swing the door partly shut with her foot while her fingers were already unbuttoning her skirt and tugging down the zipper. There was a flash of white skin and pale pastel panties before Mrs. Warner stepped behind the swinging door. Sweat beaded on Harry's upper lip, although his mouth was still dry. He licked his lips and tried to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Warner undressing through the crack in the bedroom door from where he shifted back and forth uncomfortably. When she came out of the bedroom he wished there was something, anything, he could say, instead of standing there like a silent fool, stupidly staring at her with his mouth slightly open. She had changed into a low-cut, white halter-top and a pair of tight faded blue shorts that had rolled cuffs that snugly fitted under the deep curve of her ass.
"Ready?" Mrs. Warner asked.
"Yeah, I'm ready," Harry said. Having finally managed to gain control of his voice, he went on, "It won't be too heavy to . . . to . . ." His voice faded out as Mrs. Warner, bending over a small table to remove some papers, revealed a generous cleavage. Harry couldn't see any sign of a brassiere. Mrs. Warner caught his eye and she smiled. "I just want to drag this table out of the way," she explained. She did it in such a way that he wondered if she was teasing him deliberately with her body, and if anything was wrong with himself for taking everything she did and said for a sexual invitation. He decided there was, because she appeared not to notice the effect her half-naked body was having on him. He didn't think she would deliberately tease him. After all, she was married and her husband must do it to her all the time, he thought, and besides, she was very pretty.
Mrs. Warner stood up, smoothed her hand's over her hips, and said, "Well, let's get the trunk up here."
Harry had nothing to do but to turn around and lead the way downstairs, wondering all the while what she thought about him and if she was staring at his back as she followed him to where the trunk sat. He walked directly to the far end of the trunk and got ready to lift up the end of it, determined to wipe away from his mind such erotic thoughts that Mrs. Warner's alluring presence had evoked. After all, he reasoned, to her I'm just a kid. But when Mrs. Warner, the better to raise her end of the trunk, crouched, making an inviting vee of her crotch, just before the tight material disappeared from view around to the back of her ass, her pubic hair made a soft mound under the material. She tugged experimentally at the trunk, testing its weight; with each tug, the spreading, bouncing vee of her crotch riveted Harry's attention until, with a start, he remembered that he, too, was supposed to lift. The weight of the trunk, in spite of its small size, surprised him and he gasped as they staggered with it to the foot of the stairs. "What's in it?"
"More books for my husband," Mrs. Warner said, rearranging her grip for the upstairs haul.
When they got up to the landing, Mrs. Warner, puffing, set down her end of the trunk. "Let's take a breather here," she said, sitting down with her hands on her outstretched knees and taking big gulps of air which threatened to tip her breasts out of the skimpy halter. From Harry's viewpoint, when her chest fell he could see directly at her crotch, and he was standing close enough to her to notice that the bulge between her legs had a softly sloping valley dividing it. He stood there unblinking, transfixed.
"Ready for the last little bit?" "Yeah."
Together they lugged the heavy trunk up the final flight of stairs, waddling with the cumbersome burden, carrying it nonstop to the middle of the living room where Mrs. Warner breathlessly plopped down on it, her legs outstretched straight before her. From her slender ankles to her rounded knees the skin was smooth and taut and above her knees her gently swelling thighs flowed under the tight-fitting shorts. The skin near her crotch appeared smoother and softer and Harry wondered if it would taste and feel different from the breast skin.
"Whew!" Mrs. Warner blew, "That's heavy. Thanks for helping me. I couldn't have done it alone."
"Where's Mr. Warner?" Harry asked before realizing how stupid his question was. What if she took it the wrong way and accused him of rape or something?
"My husband? Take a look over there on the wall, at that timetable. He's someplace in that maze every hour of the day up until midnight and beyond."
Harry merely glanced at the timetable, not moving from his spot where he had such a fine view of Mrs. Warner's beautiful legs.
"What's today? Friday?" she said. "If it's Friday, this must be post-graduate seminar in . . . in . . ." Mrs. Warner banged her fist on the trunk full of books. ". . . . The Rise and Decline of Martial Religious Power in Pre-Christian China."
Thinking it would be polite to show some interest in her husband's studies and at the same time prolonging his stay now that the trunk was delivered, prolonging the arousing sight of her curvaceous legs and the sweat-sheened valley between her mounded breasts, Harry asked, "What's that about?"
"Who cares? There's more to life than the hustling and conniving for power that happened three thousand years ago, isn't there?" She looked at Harry as if for confirmation, then changed her mood and laughed. "Who cares what I think? How about a Coke?"
Harry stood back to let her pass to the kitchen. "I care," he said after her.
"You're sweet," Mrs. Warner said, a warm, friendly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Want ice in your Coke?"
"Yeah, fine," Harry mumbled, secretly glad she had taken his remark so nonchalantly. What's wrong with me? he thought, Why don't my feet want to leave this place?
The tinkle of the frosty glass being thrust into his hand shattered his distracted reverie and he gulped down the refreshing drink before realizing that if he finished it in one gulp his excuse for staying any longer would be swallowed. Abruptly, he pulled his head away from the glass. To his intense embarrassment there was a loud slurp. He' glanced at Mrs. Warner to see if she had noticed, but contrary to her previous gaiety, she was now lost in thought, not paying any attention even to the icy drink in her hand. Afraid to disturb her reverie, for fear of being thought impolite, he shifted silently from foot to foot. The cold fluid in his stomach sent chills through his body. Finally he could stand it no longer and spoke quietly, trying to disturb the thoughtful woman as gently as possible.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Warner, may I use your bathroom?"
"Oh, what? Bathroom?" Mrs. Warner peered at Harry, as if suddenly seeing him for the first time. "Yes. Go ahead. Pardon me for . . . for drifting off."
Harry shut the bathroom door carefully behind himself and unzipped his fly. Reaching inside to yank out his cock, he was shocked at how firm and warm it still was, then annoyed to discover it swelling up so much at the touch of his cool fingers that it wouldn't piss. His penis grew and grew until Harry knew it was futile to try and he wondered if he should jack off instead. And she'll be just in the next room! The thought thrilled him and his cock ached for the stroke of his fingers. But what if she wonders what I'm doing, and calls out at just the wrong time? She almost caught me once today. Harry decided the best thing would be to get back to his comer in the basement; stuffing his cock back into his pants, he got slightly angry over the difficulties his cock put him through by rising up at the wrong time and by refusing now to go back into his pants. He had to bend the purpled cockhead down to get it in, then feed the rest behind, and when it was finally all in it jerked convulsively, bulging out his pants at the crotch. Harry looked down in horror. Maybe I can sort of shuffle out and she won't notice, he thought. Then, What the hell! I'll just walk out as if nothing were out of the ordinary, and if she notices, well . . . if she notices. . . .
It was a few minutes later when Harry entered the living room and immediately noticed two things. The hall door was shut tight and Mrs. Warner had moved away from the trunk, upended it, and was now sitting in the middle of the couch.
"I hope you want more Coke," Mrs. Warner said, indicating a brimming glass sitting on the upended trunk. "I refilled you while you were in the bathroom." She was leaning back against the couch with her ankles crossed and her legs together. Her nipples poked peaks through the cotton halter-top and Harry wondered how hard they were now and what they must look like all puckered up. "I-hope I'm not keeping you from your work," Mrs. Warner said. Patting the couch beside her, she added with a wink, "You could probably use a small break."
Harry was uncertain. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then remained silent.
"Just sit down and let me talk to you for a minute, please. Sometimes I get so lonely."
Harry moved toward the couch and Mrs. Warner shook her head once, as if clearing it, and held up her hand. "Just a minute. You don't have to stay. I'm sure you've got something else you'd rather do than listen to my troubles."
"I don't mind."
"Besides, talking to you would not improve matters." For the first time Harry caught Mrs. Warner staring directly at his bulging cock and the look oh her face so fascinated him he hardly heard the next thing she said.
"It's action that's required now!"
"Huh?"
Mrs. Warner grabbed Harry's hips and pulled him onto the couch. Her hand found his bulging penis under his pants and she pushed down forcefully several times before commencing to rub with her palm. Harry groaned at the delightful sensation. Mrs. Warner's next question came through a haze of squirming pleasure.
"Is it your first time?"
"Uhh, yes." Harry crimsoned.
Mrs. Warner was delighted. "Good. You're going to get something to remember. Take off your clothes."
With this remark, Mrs. Warner reached behind herself, unhooked her halter-top and shook it to her lap. At Harry's indrawn breath she smiled, and took his hands and placed them on her warm exposed breasts. She resumed her questioning. "Ever see a woman naked before?"
Staring unbelievingly at his hands covering Mrs. Warner's warm breasts, feeling her puckered nipples rising against his palms, Harry murmured, "No. Nothing."
"Then just relax. Enjoy it," she said, gently breaking the incredible contact. "A person should enjoy it their first time."
Harry paid scant attention to Mrs. Warner's words, so preoccupied was he by the entrancing sight of her cunt hair coming into plain view. Although delighted by Mrs. Warner's willingness to offer her body, one small question slightly puzzled him. "Why?"
Mrs. Warner discarded her shorts off the end of her foot, casting them straight toward the timetable pasted on the wall. "If you look there you might notice that my name is missing. There doesn't seem to be any room for me in the scheme of things." Absolutely naked now, Mrs. Warner no longer appeared so-adult to Harry; at about a hundred and ten and five foot four, she was three inches shorter and ten pounds lighter than him. Harry didn't understand her answer until later. He was busy removing his clothes as fast as he could. In a few seconds, as naked as Mrs. Warner, he stood beside her, feeling slightly embarrassed by the lengthiness of his erection.
"How shall I ... I mean, how will we, umm ... do it?" Harry said.
Mrs. Warner hugged Harry tightly, kissing his face repeatedly. "You sweet boy, leave that to me. No more questions." Sealing his lips with her finger, Mrs. Warner tickled Harry's stiff cock with her bushy cunt. "Listen to me and I'll tell you how to make fucking better."
Burying the head of his cock in her bushy, yielding mons, Harry wondered if she'd ever get on her back so he could stick his cock into her and let fly with the come that every instant threatened to gush out. He thought if he let fly with a load onto her rug or her leg, perhaps, he would miss his chance at getting his cock inside the mysterious interior of her cunt, miss his chance to find out what fucking was all about. But Mrs. Warner's next movement so astonished him that it removed his attention completely from the imminent ejaculatory state of his cock and onto what she was doing. She had placed her hands on the top of the upended trunk and was presenting him with an open view of her quivering buttock, the deep narrow valley creasing those pale globes, the hair-rimmed pink asshole, and beneath it all, the lips of her pussy.
"Stick it in, stick it in!" she urged and reached between her legs, motioning for him to let her guide his cock into the right hole. "When you get there, stick it all the way, as deep as you can, then hold it!"
Her fingers found the end of Harry's lurching cock and she hefted it, pleased at its manly size. Holding it suspended between two fingers, Mrs. Warner tenderly wiped open her cunt lips with the fiery glans until Tom thought he would not be able to remain standing. Finally, she positioned his cock at the dark pink entrance to her pussy, and urged him to plunge his cock in to the hilt by reaching a little further back and tickling his balls with a last bit of advice. "Don't forget, Harry. The more you hold back, the better it eventually is."
Grasping Mrs. Warner's hip bones, which were handy, Harry entered her moist cunt until his groin ground into her tender flesh and his hip bones were pillowed by her curved ass. Mrs. Warner kept up tickling his balls, kept on urging him in farther until Harry thought he would explode or draw away, anything to escape her tantalizing, erotic tickling.
"Now hold it there," Mrs. Warner said and commenced to squirm and wriggle her ass around the hard shaft of his piercing prick.
Glorying in the feeling of her cunt lips gripping his cock, Harry thought he was done for, no longer able to dam the come which wanted to gush out of the end of his prick and flood her cunt. He grunted as the sperm filled the channel in his cock, then grunted again from the pain that gripped his balls. This must be what it's like, he decided, and hung on tightly to Mrs. Warner's shuddering body. In an instant the pain was receding and Harry realized that Mrs. Warner, to prevent him from shooting off too soon, had done something to him, had, in fact, actually squeezed his balls and shut off his sperm as easily as turning off a water tap.
"Now! Fuck me!" she shouted and began pumping her hips along the thick length of Harry's cock.
Soon, Harry was matching her stroke for stroke, and so excited had he become at what finally was happening, he gave himself up to the rapture of his first orgasm in a woman's cunt.
"Oh God! God! Fuck me!" Elly Sue screamed. "FUCK ME!" Tom plunged downward, his cock penetrating, going deep into Elly Sue's young, or-gasming body. Humping hard, he let loose a thundering volley of come that bathed her cunt until, with a final shuddering and withdrawn cry, they embraced each other tightly and collapsed, sobbing for breath. It was at this moment that Lucy Stout chose to speak.
"Fantastic, young man!" she said, "I do believe you've done a proper job of making my daughter a woman."
"How about it, Tom?" Lucy said. They were sitting on the porch.
"Give me some time to think about your offer."
"Take all the time you want." Lucy got out of her chair and went to enter the house. "Remember, you must give me your word that you won't up and leave, with or without Elly Sue."
Tom wandered into the woods, thinking. Should I accept her offer? Would it be worth it? The reward was tempting. Lucy would go into town and bring back enough groceries to tide him and Elly Sue over till the Tolberts returned. Quickly accepting her daughter's defloration-Tom hadn't the heart to tell her it was Bert who'd done it the night before-Lucy seemed anxious that her daughter get right into the swing of things, and the Tolberts, according to Lucy, were a couple of swingers who would welcome the presence of Tom and Elly Sue in their home. Elly Sue thought it was a fine offer; she relished the idea of ten days alone with Tom. Lucy would return to
Indianapolis and take care of her husband.
There's the flaw! Tom thought. If she goes back to taunt him with what he's missed and he tells her otherwise, I'll have both of them coming down here after my hide. This place is not quite what I'm looking for. But he knew that somehow he would have to tell Lucy that Elly Sue hadn't been a virgin and had, the night before, been fucked by the father. He still hadn't decided how to break this news to Lucy. On his way to the house, he heard a car pull up and two doors slam.
Police! Tom looked at the dense woods surrounding him. A stranger in these woods could be hunted and trapped easily by a handful of men who knew the terrain. Tom approached on his hands and knees to the edge of the clearing where the house stood. Parked in the driveway was an old Volkswagen bus. Cheery little curtains adorned each of the windows and as Tom stood up he saw cupboards, tables and other equipment inside the van. At least it's not the police. Maybe it's the Tolberts . . . back early. Alert every moment to sudden danger, Tom entered the house. No one was in sight and after a minute or two of quiet, a door slammed on the second floor and Lucy Stout came downstairs.
"Glad you're back," she said. "Something's come up."
"What?" Tom looked around the empty house. "Where are those people?"
"Which people? Oh," Lucy said, "those people. Why, that's Debby, my niece, and a friend of hers. They came to visit the Tolberts. They're up there now with Elly Sue."
"Listen," Tom said, "there's something you'd better know. I wasn't the first with Elly Sue . . ."
"Goddamn that Bert! Elly Sue just told us he got to her last night. I knew I should've examined her last night." Lucy looked at Tom and shrugged. "Oh well, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing that Bert is not Elly Sue's natural father. He only thinks he is, but if I didn't put up this big fuss he would have suspected something. As it is, if everyone keeps their mouths shut. . . ." Lucy let the sentence die. Shaking his head in wonderment, Tom saved her the trouble of asking him to leave.
"Can you give me a lift to the highway?"
Lucy smiled, then looked upstairs where peals of girlish laughter sounded from the room she'd just left. "Sure. If it wasn't for all those girls being here, I'd ask you to postpone your journey for a while." Lucy bubbled in laughter. "I hate to embarrass them. They think they just invented sex and that I'm too old to remember what it's all about."
Tom joined Lucy in laughter.
"Here comes my Deb by now," Lucy said, referring to the tall beautiful girl coming down the stairs. Tom guessed that underneath the blue-jean shirt and leather vest Debbie was naked, and when she got to the foot of the stairs he could see he had guessed right. Debby was very beautiful.
"We've been finding out all about it," Debby said, looking directly at Tom, a mischievous look about her eyes. "So you're him, eh? Want a ride with us to Tijuana, Mexico?"
"Debby! You aren't!" Lucy cried.
"Oh auntie, go screw yourself. I'm asking him, not you."
"I know you are, my dear," Lucy replied sweetly.
Tom saw her instantly adopt a role of town matron, worried that evil things should not sound in young girl's ears, but not above trying occasionally to shock the younger generation. "I naturally assumed you would. It's Mexico that concerns me. I don't want any niece of mine, even if she is disrespectful, to, to . . ."
Debby paid her aunt tit for tat. "Don't worry, I'm just going on my regular run to score some dope."
"Tsk, tsk, my dear. We used to call 'em reefers when I was a young gal."
Tom laughed. He had estimated Mrs. Stout to be about thirty-six years old. But Debby's proposition intrigued him: one ride all the way, right into Mexico. He hadn't even considered Mexico before. Surely down there he could hide and seek a new identity, "Sorry I can't offer you a joint," Debby said, interrupting Tom's thoughts, "but I'm completely out and there's only one place to score between here and TJ that I can trust."
"When are you leaving?" Tom asked, anxious to get on the road and out of Lucy's clutches. He suspected if ever she found out who he really was, she wouldn't be above a little discreet blackmail. Undoubtedly, at this very moment pictures of him were being circulated all over the country marked: WANTED FOR QUESTIONING IN A MURDER.
"We can leave right away. I only stopped by to pick up Harry's order."
"Harry?" Tom was startled. "Order?"
"Harry Tolbert," Debby reminded Tom, "the dude who swings at this place." '
"Now, Debby," Lucy clucked, "let's not frighten Tom by mentioning all the insanity we've had in our family." Lucy winked at Tom and laughed heartily as she looked from him to her niece.
Debby gave an exasperated shrug. "Ready?" she asked. Then she calledup the stairs, "Cheri! We're leaving!" There was a muffled "Okay!" and Debby kissed her aunt on the cheek. "Bye, auntie."
"Bye, dears. Both of you." Lucy seemed to be repressing her laughter now as she said to her niece, "Be careful in Mexico, now, and have fun."
"Isn't my aunt something?" Debby asked Tom after she had directed him to sit in the middle of the front seat. "I hope I'm as spry when I'm her age. I'm glad I finally got the last laugh on her, though."
"Huh?"
Debby explained. "Aunt Lucy thinks I'm still a lesbian."
"And you're not?"
"No. Now it makes no difference. You'll be nice for a change. Look, here comes Cheri."
The slender girl coming around the corner of the house had crowd-stopping hair so beautiful that it was all the more startling for being cut short. None of the strands, the color of white gold in cold moonlight, were longer than two inches but the effect was as if twinkling highlights flashed around her lovely head. Eyes, like dark brown peonies, and red, bee-stung lips were in an angry pout.
"How'd you like to fuck that chick?" Debby asked.
"Huh?" Tom took a close look at Debby's oval face framed by the graceful gothic arch of long black hair; Debby's bright blue eyes twinkled right back at him-eyes that remained calm and sincere during the most outlandish proposals that issued from the laughing ruby lips which matched Cheri's.
"Cheri's been talking to Elly Sue, I suspect," Debby said. "Getting all the meaty details."
Cheri walked right past, entering the bus from the side door. She began moving the table and benches and in a moment had changed the back of the van into a cozy little bed chamber. Cheri ignored Tom and Debby until she had snuggled down among the decorated cushions, when she looked at Tom very carefully before addressing Debby, "I'm going to think about it." She closed her eyes and seemed to sleep.
The old van rattled noisily along for a few days and it wasn't until darkness had fallen south of Georgetown, Texas, that Debby was entirely satisfied Cheri and Tom would do what she hoped. Again she asked him, "You want to fuck her?"
"I don't know. What are you going to do?"
"I'll watch."
"Is that all?"
"No, not quite." Debby paused, then in a low tone told Tom of how she had met the beautiful young girl several years back when Cheri was a virgin and Debby herself was exclusively a lesbian. Tom learned that although Cheri was an experienced lover and had tasted delights brought on by Debby's tongue, she had always balked at fucking a man, preferring to allow only Debby to touch her. "Look at it this way," Debby said, "sooner or later she'll have to have a man and the sooner the better. She's kind of hung up on me, and although she doesn't mind my fucking other guys and chicks, she's . . . pouting all the time."
"What else does Cheri feel about all of this?"
"I don't know," Debby said. "Let's turn into that rest stop up ahead and find out."
At first, Tom considered the idea bizarre, but at least with these two girls he could get to Tijuana, and with so little money the ride with them was worth more than being at the side of the road where state troopers might see him. Besides, wasn't there a situation here that would have appealed to him before he messed himself up with Rosemary? He decided to go along with everything but go slow. Debby had climbed into the back and was gently shaking Cheri awake. "Let's talk," Debby said when Cheri was awake but still lying down.
"Okay," Cheri said, "with or without clothes?"
"Without."
"Him too?" Cheri gestured toward Tom.
"Why not? And in the back with us, okay?"
"Wait!" Cheri said and held her hand up to Tom. "What's he going to do to me?"
"Nothing," Debby said. "We're going to talk for a while and then he's going to fuck me, not you."
As he clambered into the back of the van and removed his clothes, Tom wondered if this was Debby's way of guaranteeing she got fucked before he fucked Cheri. If so, he thought, it'll be a real treat. Both the girls possessed beautiful bodies and each treated her body with natural, shameless grace. Debby sprawled catty-corner across the bed. Tom sat cross-legged on one side of her and Cheri, with her knees drawn up protectively in front of her body, squatted on the other side.
"Give Cheri a good look at your cock, Tom,"
Debby suggested. "I don't think she's ever had a really close look at one, have you, Cher darling?"
Tom kept his mouth shut, opened his legs, and exposed his cock; it seemed so harmless a thing to do.
"They're all the same to me," Cheri laughed. "Ha, ha . . . seen one and you've seen 'em all."
"Not like this one. It's different," Debby said. Reaching over and taking a good grip on Tom's cock, she squeezed it so that the head seemed to flower out of her hand. "Look here, you can see at once how different this one is from others." Debby yanked Tom's cock heartily. Cheri viewed his cock very suspiciously and refused even to bend for a closer look. Debby chattered on: "They're all different, Cher. There's not one of them that's the same. Each one of them even tastes different." To prove her point, Debby leaned forward, bringing her mouth close to Tom's purpling glans blossoming out of her fist and said, "Watch me kiss it, Cher."
Tom didn't know whether to look at Cheri or at Debby, who was kissing his cockhead with moist lips. When she ran her tongue all over his swollen glans, he shut his eyes, sighed deeply, and gave himself up completely to the erotic sensation. For the moment, all he could think about was how enjoyable this experience was. His eyes opened to watch how it would enfold when Debby ceased lapping his cock.
"Ummm, good," Debby murmured, licking her moist lips. "Want to try some, Cher? It tastes good. In fact, you might be able to taste a little left over Elly Sue. You know what she tastes like, don't you? Isn't that what you were doing up in her room when I left? Eating out Elly Sue? Was she good?"
"Better than that!" Cheri said, pointing at Tom's swelling cock, although she seemed fascinated by the sight. A blush suffused her entire face and chest and her nipples began puckering into hard knobby cones.
"I'll tell you how else this cock is different from all the others," Debby said, opening her fist and letting Tom's cock lie across her palm. "Just a little while ago this cock was fucking Elly Sue's cunt, where your tongue was. Think about that. Didn't Elly Sue say it was wonderful?" Debby stroked the underside of Tom's cock. "Sure you don't want a taste, Cher?" But before Cheri could do anything but blush crimson, Debby bobbed her head down, licking every square inch of Tom's cock, and when she had slathered all of it she took and teased it in her warm mouth. Debby was enjoying herself and after a minute or two her hips twitched as she sucked steadily, increasing the size of Tom's cock between each little rest she took, until Tom thought his come would blast out at the end of her next bout of sucking. Breathlessly, Debby addressed Cheri. "Look at it now, Cher. It's bigger than most you'll see. Just imagine what all this must feel like inside your cunt. I'll tell you . . . it's not one bit like our vibrators. Take a good look, Cher, because in a minute or two this'll be in my cunt and I'm sure it will feel as good as it felt in ... in Elly Sue's cunt. Tell me, did Elly Sue say nice things about it?"
Tom blushed.
"Now watch this, Cher." Debby had released Tom's cock, rolled onto her back, drew her knees up and presented the gaping hole of her cunt to Tom's and Cheri's view. "Just get over me," Debby instructed Tom, "and support yourself on your arms.
I'll take good care of you." Debby's warm fingers firmly encircled Tom's cock. "See, Cher? This is how it works." Debby brushed the tip of Tom's cock over the entire hairy surface of her cunt. Dipping the taut skin of his cockhead into the creamy, warm valley of her rose-hued cunt, Debby moved the bulbous tip onto her pink-rimmed asshole. She prodded her asshole with the end of Tom's cock then ground down hard against it. She said, ". . . or it can go in here, Cher. You don't know how good it feels when it's inside and moves on its own. It's not at all like a vibrator. Watch, Cher." Debby moved Tom's cock to the spreading pink lips of her black-thatched pussy. "Watch how it all goes inside."
On cue, Tom pushed his cock deep into Debby's tight cunt, but slowly, so that she was squirming and wriggling under him and crying aloud: "God, it's so big. So big!" Tom continued driving his cock downward until he was buried all the way and Debby's ass seemed pinned to the foam-rubber mattress. "Oh God! Fuck me now! Fuck me!" she shouted, but Tom, fearful of the impending state of his ejaculation, was afraid to even move his cock. As long as he kept it steady, she could do whatever she wanted to his cock and he wouldn't lose control. Immediately, Debby recognized this and turned it to her advantage. "Watch, Cher, watch what I'm going to do. See how good it is, then just imagine what it'll be like in your cunt . . . moving!"
Wrapping her legs and ankles around Tom's back, Debby commenced to hump against Tom's hips. Each forward movement resulted in her gaining an inch or two off the bed, and before not very long Debby's ass no longer even touched the sheet and she was able to begin sliding up and down the length of Tom's glistening red cock. Tom braced himself and tried to control his breathing. Debby no longer bothered calling to Cheri. Instead, gasping with the effort required to slam herself up against Tom's firm body, she lifted herself up completely, clinging as tightly as possible; to Tom's sturdy arms. When her orgasm came, her arms and legs were completely wrapped around Tom's body and she squeezed him hard before she wilted into collapse.
Cheri, fascinated by Debby's slow release of Tom's body, watched avidly. She had been fingering her own cunt the past few minutes and although her finger felt hard, it was small and bony, and there seemed to be no sensation that would account for the extreme pleasure and enjoyment that had consumed Debby. Not even the vibrators, two at a time, had ever reduced Debby to such a limpid state. Taking another look at Debby, who by now had released her clinging grip on Tom's back and was no longer in contact with him except for the clutch of her cunt around his cock, Cheri put out a hand, as if to touch Debby's sucking cunt, but hesitated at the last second and decided not to do anything until Tom and Debby were completely apart.
Like a divining rod above water, Tom's cock swept downward, seeking Debby's cunt. Her final flurry of activity had made the agony of postponement unbearable; he was weak from entirely supporting the orgasming girl; he wanted to achieve, as soon as possible, the feeling of his come shooting into her. With this in mind, trying to pierce Debby's snug cunt, Tom was so startled by Cheri's restraining touch that his cock leaped once convulsively, then shrank quickly to a limp state, leaving one large drop of creamy come nestling and breaking itself up among the midnight black curls of Debby's pink hair-lined cunt. Without hesitation now, Cheri stopped any further droppings swiftly by grasping Tom's balls with strong fingers.
"On your back, mother-fucker!" Cheri whispered, twisting her grip slightly. Tom winced, groaning at the pain. Debby protested vehemently and Cheri was instantly apologizing and in such a sincere, heartfelt manner that a few moments later found her gingerly rolling and licking Tom's balls in her mouth. Reaching down to pat her head in gentle encouragement, Tom was startled not only by Cheri's abrupt ejection of his left ball, but also by Debby's voice, speaking clearly.
"Did you taste it, Cher? Did any of my juice or Elly Sue's get down that far, on his balls, for you to taste? I'll tell you where most of it is, Cher, . . . most's trapped right here." Debby's finger encircled Tom's cockhead. "That's what you've gotta suck clean, Cher," Debby went on, shaking Tom's penis in Cheri's nodding face. "Just imagine how good it'll taste ... all three layers." Mesmerized by Debby, Cheri moved closer to Tom's cock, her lips slowly parting. Tom watched Cheri's tongue wet her ruby lips before lapping at the root of his cock like a cat cleaning under its leg.
"Cher . . . there'll be me, then Elly Sue, and then . . . him. You can taste them all. For all I know, you might even taste my Aunt Lucy, too."
Cheri didn't bother to suck clean Tom's cockhead when she finally got there. So eager had she become to fuck Tom that she'd almost swallowed his sensitive, swollen glans in a single swoop before scouring every inch of it with her tongue. Becoming so enthralled at the taste and feel of Tom's cock, Cheri's head began rotating around it in ever-increasing circumferences and she quite forgot what she was doing until Debby's finger twisted into her cunt. Cheri squealed at the sudden sharp entry, but tightened her muscles in a desperate effort to lock Debby's finger in place. It was futile and as soon as Debby's finger had snaked away, Cheri realized that fucking Tom was not only inevitable, but more desirable than anything else she could suddenly think of. Each deep pull of her mouth sucking his cock had matched shuddering jolts of energy in her cunt; it seemed to Cheri that her cunt was moving of its own accord to seek out and gobble up Tom's pillar-like penis. She squatted over his body in an effort to have, at the same time, the sensation of his cock in her mouth and his cock in her cunt.
"I'll help you, Cher, I'll put it in for you so that you'll enjoy it more," Debby crooned and, true to her word-with one hand under Cheri's adorable curved ass, the other around Tom's sturdy prick guided Cheri smoothly into position. With a final caress of Cheri's smooth cheeks that left her finger lingering around the rosebud asshole, Debby whispered, "Leave it to me, Cher, leave it to me."
Debby's lulling tone, combined with rising expectations at the pleasure soon to be indulged in by all three of them, took all their attention. Debby left off adjusting Tom's cock and hungrily took her place her cunt over Tom's mouth and face to face with her beautiful blond companion, gingerly squatting on Tom's sturdy rod. Darkness closed in on Tom as the bodies of the two women met in exchanging kisses. Neither he nor the two girls noticed the police car which had silently glided into the rest area. By the time Cheri was delightedly caressing his prick with the gripping muscles of her cunt, and Tom had, in fact, inserted his swirling finger into Debby's hot asshole besides sucking sweetly her clitoris, they were too engrossed to sense the presence of a policeman peering through the curtain in the window. The policeman watched until the volume of the moans and shrieks issuing from the old van covered his return to the squad car where his chief awaited his report.
"What's going on there?" asked the chief.
"Just a pack of hippies getting fucked."
The chief looked at his officer's grinning face. "They aren't smoking dope, are they?" he asked.
"Nope. They're all just fucking." The officer broke into a wide smile.
"All?"
"There's three of them," the policeman explained, "two girls and a guy." He paused. "Hmmm ... at least I think it was a guy. It's real dark in there. Maybe it was three girls." Chuckles issued from the chief.
"Maybe I'd better go and investigate, too," the chief grumbled. "The police they send me these days can't even tell naked hippies apart." The policeman, repressing his smile, looked at his solemn chief and inquired:
"Shall we book 'em?"
"I don't know yet," replied the chief, maneuvering his bulk out of the squad car. "I think I'll take me a look-see first."
The two officers cautiously inched their way forward, the chief on one side, his patrolman the other side, and, using all the care that had been taught them throughout their careers, they managed to peek into the windows without being noticed.
The threesome had changed position; although Tom still mouthed Debby's cunt and Cheri fucked herself on his cock, the blond girl had turned around facing Tom's feet. In this new position her fingers explored his hairy balls and had reached the stage where her index finger was twisting into Tom's asshole, making his body corkscrew upwards into her cunt. Every time Cheri pumped herself down onto Tom's cock, Debby's other finger rammed up her anus, intensifying the sensation of fullness. All three breathed deeply and loudly, almost rhythmically, as their bodies made a living picture of grace, beauty and economy of line. Just as they were about to climax simultaneously, the chief, deciding he recognized one of the threesome, beat loudly on the roof of the van and shouted at the top of his voice, "This is the police! You're all under arrest!"
6
The young light of dawn bronzed Carol Godson's flame-colored hair before casting the shadow far onto the desert. Not often was this stretch of the highway between Fort Worth and San Antonio so deserted-dawn being about the only time-and Carol Godson, speeding at the wheel of her fire orange, Porsche convertible, removed her hands from the steering wheel and depressed the accelerator, shooting the car's speed up over one hundred miles per hour before her white knuckles gripped the steering wheel again. Her heart, thudding loudly, frightened her, but only momentarily; then she laughed gaily. At one hundred miles an hour, with her hands calmly folded in her lap, Carol Godson received insights into her life and the one she'd received before slowing down to a safer speed had delighted her immensely. She had seen herself as the toast of Hollywood, a new superstar who, at the height of her acting career, would resign and become the most successful producer of all time.
One more fuck movie, one more check, and it can all come true, Carol thought, excited that she was about to realize a life-long dream. Years of careful plans were coming together. The work that twenty-two-year-old Carol could remember always doing was about to pay off; she was pleased she had managed it by herself, at the way things had worked out fine, so far, even to the way Scooter's advice about getting into porno had worked io her immense advantage. Scooter, a cameraman that she knew slightly, had asked her to star in some special-order blue movies. The client wanted high quality, but candid filming to his specifications, and from what Scooter had told her, the guy, who merely enjoyed watching various of his sexual fantasies played out for him in color on a movie screen, was an advertising executive from New York. Mr. Perkins. Scooter pointed out to Carol that Perkins was willing to pay three times the going rate. To guarantee exclusivity, Perkins was always on hand to receive the exposed film directly from the film chamber of the movie camera.
Anxious to make money and gain filming experience, Scooter argued that it could only enhance Carol's reputation and screen career if word circulated that she had starred in some porno flicks. Perkins, himself, would advance her career, increasing at the same time the value of his private film collection. Carol and Scooter understood that Perkins had a vested interest in being able to say: "Ever hear of that blue movie that Carol Godson starred in? You have? Well, I possess the only copy." Perkins was willing to stake Carol's "official" arrival in Hollywood, lunches at the Polo Lounge, photographers and the like, and Carol stipulated a few more details. Perkins readily agreed. With only one day left to fulfill the all-important contract by filming and delivering the final script, Carol was getting a little desperate, in spite of her early morning, one-hundred-mile-an-hour vision. All night in Dallas and Fort Worth, she had scoured the apartments and homes of friends for a suitable man, but none that she had met were able to fill the part, and she was returning to San Antonio, where the filming was to take place, empty-handed.
The Porsche engine screamed its annoyance at slowing down for a small town as Carol down-shifted, then burbled happily through the empty early-morning streets, and with a throaty roar picked up speed again on the outskirts of town. At the instant she was about to shift into fourth gear, Carol sped by a black and white police car, and noticed up ahead a man standing at the side of the road. For only an instant did her hand waver with the gear knob in neutral, the motor screaming its demand for the weight of her foot on the fuel pedal, before she slammed the gear shift back into third, beginning her long coasting stop.
Tom wished the police car wasn't so obvious. The last eighteen cars heading west had whizzed right on by and Tom had excused each of the drivers with the thought that no one would pick up a man the police were escorting out of town; then an orange Porsche zoomed past and began barking to a stop further down the road. At last! Tom thought, he could leave this town and get out from under the surveillance of the two police officers who had noisily broken up the scene with Debby and Cheri, claiming Cheri was a runaway. Tom didn't know how Cheri ever convinced the chief that she wasn't, but when she and Debby drove off with his only bag, the police had asked him to remain for further questioning. They were not satisfied with a simple ID card with Tom Colby, instead of Harry Stokes printed on it, and they detained him long enough to miss his ride. If it hadn't been for the twenty-two dollars in his pocket, they would have booked him on a vagrancy charge and run a routine check on him. They smelled something fishy, but seemed content to do no more than escort him to the edge of town. Along the way, the two police officers had warned him of their strict adherence to severe town laws regarding breaking of the peace and now they were making sure that he would be a passenger on the first westbound bus. This red-headed girl had been the first one to stop since he'd been on the road. Her brilliant green eyes were keenly surveying his body as she braked the car in front of him.
"Get in," Carol said.
"Thanks. Going far?"
"California."
Further conversation was impossible as the Porsche took off with an ear-splitting roar. It was as if leaping tigers had suddenly been uncaged, and within seconds the police car was out of sight. Tom focused his attention to his female companion. One quick look was enough to convince him she was trouble. An air of recklessness hovered about her. She seemed bursting with energy. At any moment one expected her to issue a challenge, some daring feat which would reap great rewards, but the calculating look in her eyes hinted she wouldn't be above escalating the challenge or the accompanying reward. Even at seventy miles an hour, wind roaring around his head, Tom detected cool detachment .behind her sparkling, madcap eyes. Her lithe, trim figure and her suntanned skin bloomed health and vitality, and as she effortlessly steered, shifted, braked and held the zippy little car to the road, her fiery hair snapped and waved in the ever-present breeze. Tom knew nothing of the thoughts hidden behind her facade or what they might have in mind for him, but the lure of her destination was bait enough for him to travel with her for a while. The first real opportunity to talk occurred when they were having a mid-morning breakfast stop. The girl had introduced herself simply as Carol, and their first-name-only basis suited Tom fine. Both were enjoying an after-breakfast coffee and a smoke, getting to know each other a little better as travelers do, and Carol was telling Tom lies about her first husband:
"... so after scraping by, putting him through law school and listening to him and how he was going to work for the common man-against big . . ." Carol's hands waved helplessly in the air, ". . . bigness, as soon as he graduates the bastard takes a job with a well-paying firm and his mind becomes just as ancient as the senior partner's." She shrugged. "Oh well, the alimony's not much, but it lets me get around as I please. After the divorce, I fooled around designing refrigerators to look like old-fashioned ice boxes, and when a manufacturing friend of mine refused to pay for the idea, simply because I'm a woman, I divorced that whole fucking business-world rat-race. Now, I'm a fuck-flick producer."
Tom choked on his coffee.
Laughing heartily, Carol pounded his back until he stopped coughing, then she said shrewdly, "Do you need to make some money?"
Tom licked his lips and thought about his close call with the police earlier that morning. "Yeah."
"Let's go talk in my car."
Inside the Porsche, Carol outlined an impromptu plan. "Before I can go to Hollywood, I have to make a short film in San Antonio, and there's a part in it for you, if you want."
"What kind of part?"
Ignoring Tom's question, Carol went on, "This director and I have got an idea that we can score some money with."
"How much?"
"Three hundred dollars." Carol looked Tom square in the eye. "I'll do it!"
"Good. What you have to do is fuck me in front of a camera, and it's more than ordinary fucking."
"Oh?" Tom swallowed. Last week in New York, such an offer would have been unthinkable, and now he agreed to be in a fuck movie.
Carol explained: "Our client is willing to pay more to get what he wants."
"What does he want?"
"Oh, nothing much out of the ordinary. He likes the actors to be candid, and he always wants to see the man's come on the last frame. He refuses to pay for imitations. Can you do it?"
"Sure." Under the impression that the male performers in fuck movies worked gratis, or got only twenty bucks or so, Tom was eager for the filming to start. "When do you leave for Hollywood?"
"Tonight. Right after the shooting."
Traveling at night appealed to Tom, and now that he took a closer look at his new business associate, and realized that hopping into bed with her was also appealing, he asked, "When do we start?"
"We'll check in at a motel where the filming's going to take place, and shoot it later on today when everything is ready." Carol yawned. "It's been a long night for me." She yawned again. "Let's check into the motel now and sack out for a while. We can talk about the details later tonight."
"Well, I . . . y'see ..." Tom hemmed and hawed, his hands held helplessly in front of his clothes. They were the worse for wear now. He remembered how the waitress in the restaurant had stared at the stubble on his face.
"Listen," Carol said, leaning forward, starting the car, "we'll stop at one of these shopping complexes along the way. I'll buy you some new clothes out of the three hundred, and you go get a shave. Leave your hair the way it is. The client specified someone with hair longer than yours, but something tells me you're just the man we need for this movie."
Tom gulped. Suddenly he saw where all his running had led him, and he realized with a start that one day he would have to stop running simply to avoid embroiling himself in a seamy kind of life he had only dreamed existed when he worked on Madison Avenue. He felt trapped. His freedom to do what he wanted was restricted even though he was not yet behind bars. Reduced to starring in a fuck flick to make some money, Tom decided that as soon as he finished, instead of going to Hollywood with Carol he would take his three hundred dollars and return to New York. With money in his pocket, he could walk like a breeze past fifty policemen.
In an hour the metamorphosis was accomplished and they were on their way to the motel where the filming was to take place. Carol was explaining that the cameraman managed the hotel and had fixed up a room special for filming movies.
"Scooter?" Tom said. "Is that your friend's name?"
"Yeah. He used to go to law school with my husband," Carol said, as she pulled into the Hollywood-Flamingo Motel. "I . . . when Scooter bought this, place my husband was the lawyer." She parked the car in front of the last motel unit and made ready to go into the office. "Want to come along?"
"No, thanks," Tom replied, thinking about the bed. "If it's all right with you, I think I'll take a nap first."
"Go right ahead. I'll be along shortly myself, and," winking and giving Tom a brief hug before departing, Carol added suggestively, "there's nothing I like more than waking up with a cock inside me."
Chuckling as he slipped under the sheet, Tom realized he was pleasantly tired. With the exception of making the fuck flick, something he estimated would take about three or four hours, he felt he could see an end to his running, and it was on this calming note that he drifted to sleep. His subsequent surprise was great upon awaking, several hours later, and finding his cock surrounded by Carol's sucking lips. Then a ring of dazzling lights flashed on; the whirring noise Tom recognized as coming from a 16mm Arriflex motion-picture camera supporting a four-hundred-foot magazine marked: High Speed Ektachrome Color Film. Glued to the eye-piece of the camera was a man semi-submerged in shadows, where other equipment whirred and blinked. The instant Tom moved, Carol's lips left off sucking his cock and she said:
"Don't break, Tom, not if you want the three hundred. There's no time to explain. Scooter's shooting now."
"Okay," Tom muttered.
"Now listen carefully and I'll tell you as we go along. Just fake it for a while." Carol returned to sucking Tom's cock. The big glass-eyed snout of the camera pointed at his face before focusing on the action at his groin. The lens zoomed in for a close-up of Carol sucking his cock and coincident with its motion came the realization to Tom that a million men might see what was going to happen.
"Don't forget to do his asshole, Carol," a soft-spoken tongue, which had never tasted New York, said. "Push his legs apart more and go in with your tongue. I want some real tight footage."
Tom wondered what he was supposed to do. Carol was too busy flicking her tongue around the rim of his asshole to tell him. "Hey, how am I doing?" he shouted to the Arriflex.
"You're hot!" The Arriflex bobbed down. "Now, let her rip!"
"Huh?"
Carol's tongue probed Tom's anus, driving him back up against the headboard. "Again!" The Arriflex zoomed in. "God no! NO!" Tom shouted, unable to bear the sensation of Carol's tongue squirming in his asshole, or the cold steel rim of the lens hood touching his balls.
"Cut!"
The Arriflex snout swung away, unmasking a pair of technicolor-blue eyes which stared at Tom with about as much emotion as the camera lens. He was six foot four and over two hundred pounds. Large, bright red patches emblazoned on his T-shirt emphasized the breadth of his thick shoulders. His hair was coal black. He could have been from anywhere.
"Tom, this is my friend, Scooter," Carol said, making the introduction in a cool easy manner from between Tom's legs. He couldn't reconcile her abrupt mood change from when she had been twisting her tongue into his asshole only a few moments ago.
"Ready for scene three, take one?" Scooter asked, back in the shadows again, his features masked by the movie camera.
"Roll 'em!" Carol said.
"Wait! Goddam it! Wait," Tom shouted and leaped off the bed in a single mighty bound away from the giant Scooter. "What's this all about? Scene three?"
Scooter looked blankly at Carol. He aimed the lens at Carol's twat and she started doing some fancy gyrations.
"I didn't get a chance to tell him, Scooter," Carol said, fingering her clit and doing other things with her hands that fascinated Tom.
"Well, tell him now," Scooter said, gliding back with the camera, the zoom lever swinging forward, just inches away from her cunt. "There's not much to tell."
"Our client wants everything on film to -be candid," Carol explained. "We shot a scene of you waking up . . . the only thing that has to be done to specification is how you finally fuck me."
"What's that?" Tom asked.
"Just a variation on the old missionary position," Carol said, "and we can start it any time. Your job is to hold out until the last frame, like I told you. Just before, Scooter will count backwards. On one, you'll know what to do, won't you?"
Tom nodded, and, impervious to the camera, walked to the side of the bed. He knew she wanted him to withdraw his cock and shoot his come at the camera lens or something, at the very end. He hoped he'd have .some come at the right time. Suddenly the whole idea appealed to him. He saw in a flash that his "Hollywood" was nothing more than a guy and his girl making a few bucks filming stag movies on a special-order basis. The sooner he was through here, the sooner he'd have his three hundred dollars for fucking red-headed Carol, and the sooner he'd be able to face the music in New York.
His cock was stiff enough to enter Carol's cunt. Judging the best dramatic effect to be maximum fucking coincident with his ejaculation on the final frame, Tom pushed his prick at once into her warm cunt. Carol's sticky fingers joined together along his spine. With her legs raised high, and the tip of his cock piercing her cunt, Carol didn't seem so-big anymore. His eyes blazed down at her; he seemed in full glory. "Who's the client?" he asked.
"Some old cat from New York. Perkins, isn't it, Scooter?"
"Perkins of Madison Avenue?" Tom asked, not waiting for Scooter's reply.
"Oh, you know him?" Carol said, casting a glance behind Tom to where Scooter was doing something with the Arriflex.
"Yeah." Tom grunted and began fucking. Carol's cunt was well lubricated from her skillful self-manipulation, and his cock slid easily in and out. The hot movie lights shone on his skin, bringing on a sheen of sweat. He knew Perkins. Perkins is Rosemary's husband, he thought, and then his mind became blank and he concentrated all his energies on fucking.
"He's in the next room," Carol said. "He's one who likes to get the film hot and fresh, with the smell still on it."
Carol's laughter died out as she pumped her body in time to Tom's. Her speed of breathing accelerated and her eyes went slightly out of focus as her head tossed and turned among the pillows, one of which was flung aside, revealing a sleek black rod with a velvety black knob on the end, protruding out of the pillows. Immediately, Tom recognized the microphone, but said anyway:
"What's that?"
"Stereo pick up," Carol gasped. "Perkins likes the sounds amplified."
Struck speechless, it was all Tom could do to keep on fucking. Rosemary might be in the next room! The thought panicked him. If she were to raise the hue and cry, get him arrested, she could later show the film to her husband's society friends, titling it something ridiculous like Killer's Last Fuck; -but then he remembered that if Rosemary was in the next room, she could not possibly know Tom was in the movie until she saw either him or the movie. Scooter was too big and strong to wrest easily away from the incriminating movie reel, and Tom decided it best to get his money after the fucking and leave as soon as possible before Rosemary saw him. But his cock, instead of expanding, was now shrinking, and ever-mindful of what he had to do on the last frame to earn his money, Tom concentrated anew on fucking Carol.
"Five," Scooter counted from behind the Arriflex.
Tom crawled higher up Carol, his cock acting like a pile driver. Her legs spread wider, allowing his cock the deepest possible penetration into the hot confines of her creamy cunt. Her hands were clasped together around his neck and she held him tightly around the hips with her thighs.
"Faster," she whispered, "faster."
"Four!" Scooter announced.
Fucking as fast as he could, Tom got ready to pull his cock out of Carol's cunt and fire it at the lens or somewhere, and he looked back to see. The camera was on a tripod now, and Scooter, absolutely naked, flaunting an erect prick, complimenting his manly physique, was approaching Tom intentionally from behind, a very wicked grin on his face. He shouted out in rapid time:
''THREE! TWO! ONE!" On the last shout, Scooter dove forward, his cock aimed directly at Tom's exposed asshole. Carol's thighs locked around Tom's body, her arms tightened around his neck.
God! I'm being buggered! Tom thought, but didn't say a word for fear of the tape recorder. He squeezed shut his legs, cutting off Scooter's entry, but Scooter was not to be denied his part in the film and, landing on Tom's back, tried urgently to poke his hard prick between the tightly clenched cheeks of Tom's quivering ass. Tightening her grip on Tom's neck, Carol whispered fiercely in his ear, almost out of range of the stereo pickup:
"Let him do it. Let him do it!"
"No!" Tom shouted, moving the only way he could, forward into Carol's cunt.
"Keep faking," Scooter whispered. "There's only a few feet left." He lunged again with new vigor, ramming his sturdy cock by sheer force between Tom's legs.
Tom screamed as Scooter's cock disappeared from view, but his scream was short-lived as he realized that Scooter's thick, long cock had only penetrated the fleshy place at the tops of his thighs.
Scooter moaned, "I'm coming! I'm coming!"
Then, out of camera miew, Scooter viciously pinched Tom's ass. At the same time, Carol humped herself upward, impaling herself on Tom's downward-plunging prick. In a few seconds pandemonium was loose as they tried not to fall on the floor and at the same time remain in camera range.
"Cut!" Scooter commanded, his voice rising over the melee.
Carol slowly relaxed the grip of her arms and legs around Tom's body. A dazed look was in her eyes, as if she'd just been rapidly transported from a distant place and was arriving still in bits and pieces. She hardly seemed aware of Scooter talking.
"Okay, mack. Get dressed," Scooter said. "Carol, pay him off."
"Yes, Scooter."
The transformation was almost instantaneous, and if Tom hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it. Upon Scooter's spoken word Carol came to life as if somewhere a switch had been turned on. She hopped up and walked through the ring of lights and camera to a chair where her purse and clothes were hanging.
Wasting no time getting dressed, Tom was ready and waiting at the door with Scooter, who still maintained his great erection, when Carol approached clutching a big wad of bills.
"Shh!" Scooter whispered, holding up his hand for silence.
"THIS IS THE POLICE, OPEN UP!" roared a bullhorn's metallic voice on the other side of the door. Fists rained angrily on the door.
"Quick! This way," Carol said and rushed into a closet. She threw aside a pile of clothes, revealing a concealed door which opened onto the puddled, trash-canned alley, where a hard-driving, cold rain offered little welcome. "Here, take this money and go."
What sounded like rifle butts battered at the motel-room door in increased fury. Ahead, in the alley, Tom saw no one. He felt some money shoved into his hands and looked down. Four tens. Carol pushed him out the door.
"Scram, buddy."
Splashing through the alley, Tom's only desire was to escape the raid. Although the rain was letting up, he was already soaked to the skin and if the police caught him in the alley, he'd have a hard time explaining. At the exit to the street, Tom risked a peek at the motel office. A black and white squad car with a pair of red revolving flashers on the roof squatted across the driveway entrance. Inside the motel parking lot, two other blinking squad cars were the center of rain-slicked police activity. Across from the alleyway, in the parking lot of a small manufacturing company, a car door slammed shut and a man walked to the front door of the low office building. Tom waited until light flooded one of the corner offices before scampering across the street into the shadow of the late-model Lincoln Continental. The parking space was reserved for the president of the company. Peeping over the door, he looked, to find the keys in the ignition and the blinking red light of the police squad car across the way illuminated his disappointment. He needed this car to escape. Car doors slammed; some of the squad cars were beginning to move. The only thing to do was hide inside the Lincoln Continental until the police disappeared, then steal the car and some money, too, when the president of the company showed up. Stifling thoughts of kidnap, Tom carefully opened the door to crawl into the back and the courtesy light blinked on. There was a wink of metal on the carpeted floor under the driver's seat. It was the ignition key. Scooping it up, not daring to believe his luck, he jabbed the key into the ignition slot, then gave it a turn. The motor started at once with a subdued murmur. Taking in the dashboard at a glance to see where the headlight switch was, he quietly closed the door and swiftly wheeled the expensive car out of the parking lot and onto the street, in the direction opposite to the Hollywood Flamingo Motel. Tom hoped the company president, whose car he'd stolen, had lots of work to do. Up ahead he saw a ramp rising onto an elevated interstate highway. He flicked the headlights to life and a green and white sign looked back at Tom spelling out: Mexico.
Following the arrow, Tom entered the wide divided highway and saw another sign: Thru Traffic, El Paso, Left Lane. In a flick of the steering wheel, Tom's mind was made up to go to El Paso; but by the time he left the San Antonio city limits, he'd spotted so many police cars patrolling the road that he was paranoid again. Twice he had meant to fill the tank, and each time there had been a police car at the filling station, and he hadn't the nerve to enter. He had decided to get off the interstate as soon as possible. After some time of driving, the few filling stations that he did see were closed and it was on the side of a two-lane blacktop, far from any town, that the big Lincoln rolled to a stop, its gas tank dry.
Tom wished there was a better way to hide it, but as the plates weren't out-of-state, he hoped the car would go unnoticed for a day or two. About a mile and a half back he had passed a large new farm and Tom wondered if he should try to sneak into the barn or give the people in the house a hard-luck story. Maybe he could tell them he was a stranded traveling salesman, but one look at his wet clothes disallowed him of that idea. The moon was partly hidden by some clouds chasing the main storm, and Tom was out of the car, facing the direction of the house when out of the darkness loomed a large German shepherd. Holding the leashed dog was a tiny woman dressed in tight-fitting denim; in her other hand was a long-barreled, forty-five-caliber single-action revolver, pointing at Tom's heart. The dog growled in its throat, underscoring his mistress' words. "Hands up, mister."
"Shit!" Tom wanted to spit. There was no time to lose. He had to get on the right side of that gun before she ordered the savage-looking dog to tear him into pieces. The beam of a bright flashlight blinded his eyes. He remained standing dead-still, aware only of the end of the long revolver.
"Right on top of your head, mister, then turn around real slow and march. Don't bother to talk, cause I ain't gonna listen. My plan was to go varmint hunting and you've spoiled it. Now, move," she warned'. Tom obeyed her instructions to the letter. "And don't try any funny stuff, because I've got
Bullet between you, me, and my side-arm."
Fifteen minutes later Tom stood in the light from the porch lamp. The petite woman's aim was steady as a rock and, from the look in her pale blue eyes, Tom doubted that she would hesitate even an instant to blast a hole in his kneecap if he made any stupid moves. Not a word had been said during the march and Tom had resolved to surrender to the police at the first opportunity. He saw himself sinking into a life of crime. Starting at the top with murder, he could now add car theft, conspiracy to kidnap, statutory rape with young Cheri, and probably several other crimes, to the mire of his predicament, and it was getting him down.
"Don't let it get you down, mister." Her soft voice, sounding more like a woman and less like a sheriff, caught Tom off guard. "You on the run from the law?"
Dumbly, Tom nodded. The hole in the end of the long-barreled revolver looked very close and very big. He sensed her big dog to be somewhere behind him.
"Don't worry, mister. I won't turn you in. Why, it'd be a disgrace to my family."
Her chuckle threw Tom off guard again.
"You ain't thinking of giving up, are you?" The end of the barrel made an imaginary circle in line with his heart. Tom watched, and felt his mouth go dry.
"You ain't scared, are you?"
Sweat rolled into Tom's eyebrows, from where he didn't know. His eyeballs appeared to get larger, and now there seemed to be an expanding ball of raw cotton in his mouth.
"Does my special here scare you?" She waved the twelve-inch barrel under Tom's nose and he fell away in a dead faint. A minute later, after flinging a pitcher of ice-water on Tom's face, the blonde had holstered her revolver in the waistband of her denims and was laughing heartily at Tom's spluttering protestations. "I don't guess you're gonna harm me none now."
"It's the last thing on my mind." Tom grinned up at the short woman. "So far you've read my mind very accurately. What are you? Some kind of witch or something?"
The blonde cocked her head and fluttered her long black eyelashes. "Beulah Baron's my name, but folks round here call me Bunty," she patted the long-barreled revolver, "for Buntline, ever since I was so long. Maybe I'm a witch and maybe I'm not. That's my business. Just tell me what you need and I'll help you escape."
"Help me escape? Why?"
"Ever hear tell of the great robber barons? They's referring to my grand-pappy and great-grand-pappy when they say great. Ain't you ever heard of the Baron Boys?"
"No."
"Well, anyways, none of them ever gave in to no lawman, and I won't have it happening on the property now. Escape's your only chance."
Bunty led the way into the house. "Come on in and sit down. What can I get you?"
Sinking into a comfortable, overstuffed chair, Tom replied, "How about a double scotch, neat, followed by a massage?"
An hour later Tom was warm, dry, relaxed, and enjoying his second drink. Bunty had calmly accepted his suggestion, and while, mildly curious, she had watched him strip, she'd not bothered to undress herself or make any move or mention of it. Tom had shrugged his shoulders; a man on the run shouldn't be shedding his clothes, but with the twelve-inch Buntline tucked snugly under her waistband, Beulah Baron seemed destined to share his fate for a while. Nearing the last sip, he assessed his position: expensive scotch whiskey warmed his belly, Bunty had mentioned something about thick steaks thawing, and the western flavor of the room, heightening Bunty's honest hospitality, charmed him, and replenished his feeling of security. Warm, dry, soon to be fed, and later . . . ?
Drowsily, Tom listened while Bunty talked about her husband, King Baron. King B, as the wealthy man liked to be called, was off whoring in the West Indies and adding to his extensive collection of high-quality obscene sculpture. Last month King B had murmured something about meeting Peking businessmen who were anxious for trade, said Bunty. Then she told Tom about the enormous load of be-jeweled Chinese sculptures he had dumped before her admiring eyes, which belied the stated purpose of his business trip. Now, King B was off somewhere else, ferreting out the world's treasures in obscene sculpture or heading the wealth-producing A-One Enterprises which allowed him to indulge in such expensive hobbies. Bunty mentioned to Tom that she was following the advice of her mother to always provide a home for King B, so when he was ready to settle down, Bunty was determined that hers would be the best in sight.
From the looks of her surroundings, she was more than holding her own in the struggle. A Texas country girl, Bunty pitted her appealing nature against the luxurious world open to her rich husband. She was one of those women who wants her man to be the most envied of all men; even so far as taking pride in hearing rumors of him bedding the world's most attractive women. As far as she was concerned, it was a phase that King B would eventually grow out of. Lulled by the gentle, melodious voice, Tom drifted off to sleep.
He awakened to a late morning sun streaming onto a desert vista he'd not noticed late last night when Bunty, out varmint shooting, had come across him. He was still naked but had been covered with a thin sheet; a couple of warm blankets were stacked nearby. He had the strong feeling that he was alone in the house, a feeling which was confirmed when he spotted a note pinned to the back of his chair. It read: Be back for lunch or whatever. . . . If you can't wait, help yourself. Mi casa su casa. Instead of a signature there was a small sketch of a long Bunt-line-like revolver firing out a bullet.
In the kitchen, Tom noticed that it was almost noon, and although famished, decided to await Bunty's return. The well-appointed kitchen, cozy and warm, invited one to linger over coffee; Tom was filling his second cup when Bunty's car turned in. He met her at the door with a cup of coffee in each hand. She had a large parcel in both hands. The Buntline was nowhere in sight.
"I can manage," Bunty said, taking no special note of Tom's nakedness. When she had set the parcel down on the kitchen table, she thanked him for the coffee. "Hungry? Steak hungry?" she asked, and on Tom's hearty affirmation, she grilled two big ones on the cook stove. She wore a one-piece, tailored jumpsuit, sleeveless and tight-fitting around her ample ass. Underneath, she appeared to be naked. Little was said as the juicy steaks were consumed along with stuffed potatoes. Over coffee, Bunty asked, "What're you gonna do?"
Tom was deliberately vague. He had no intention of telling Bunty that he planned to give himself up, especially not after having sat naked like a caveman at her table while eating the eighteen-ounce steak. Nor had he yet decided the best way to surrenderit was pointless to turn himself in to the nearest small-town cop who, probably, wasn't the least bit interested in harboring a prisoner for an obscure murder, thousands of miles away in New York.
"Hide out in the crowd on the West Coast," Tom answered.
Bunty's baby-blue eyes sparkled; her perfect red lips broke into an engaging smile. "Why don't you jet down to the West Indies with me? It's a good place to lay low." Tom opened his mouth, but Bunty's suddenly upraised hand bade him keep silent. "Think about it for a while before you answer." She opened the large parcel. "In the meantime . . . take a look at this." She held up the contents of the parcel.
Puzzled at first, Tom's eyes widened when he saw the article in its entirety. It was a matching vest and chaps made from ink black fur, lined with costly, heavy satin, and edged in white fur. It was unlikely that they had ever been worn on the range for the chaps were cut in such a fashion as to leave the crotch, back and front, totally exposed.
"This is a little something I remembered I had in cold storage," she said. "It was made for King B but he's never seen it, much less worn it."
"What is it?"
"Mink." Bunty misunderstood his question. "Here," she said, handing him the black vest, "feel it."
"Hmmm." Running his hands through the luxurious mink vest, Tom disturbed the last lingering bit of cold-storage chill clinging to the supple animal skin.
"Try it on," Bunty suggested.
Tom heard a slight breathless quality in her voice. Her nostrils flared delicately; her big blue eyes had focused intently on his fingers caressing the black fur. She was sitting on a kitchen stool, her bare, tanned thighs tightly crossed, and Tom noticed how, almost imperceptibly, the muscles of her sleek inner thighs were rhythmically tensing, relaxing, then tensing again. His cock was hardening. He slipped on the sleeveless vest and reached for the furry chaps.
"Sure," he said, and when, in a matter of seconds, he was dressed, he stood unselfconsciously, looking expectantly at his petite hostess.
With her mouth stack, her pink, pointed tongue carefully wet the surface of her lips, making them glisten with invitation. She leaned forward, delightfully increasing the pressures in her own cunt; her breasts contoured the silky material of her jumpsuit, making plainly visible the excited state of her nipples. Flying fingers were fast at work, jerking apart the few snaps holding together the front of the slinky suit. An open look of lust crossed her features.
"Let's fuck," she said, sliding off the stool and leading the way to the living room where, last night, Tom had slept. She paused in the doorway, stripped off her jumpsuit with a wriggle and a kick, then swaggered to the center of the polar bear rug. The white flesh of her broad ass, in startling contrast to the taut, tanned skin of her back and thighs, jiggled and bobbled as she bounced on her toes, hands on her hips. Her tight nipples tossed back and forth. Glancing briefly at Tom's face before dropping her gaze to his thickening cock between the black mink leggings, she laughed, "Now you know why the Buntline is my favorite."
"Huh?"
"You've got a right handy prick there," she said, "but it's nothing compared to what King B has."
Tom glanced down, then took hold of his cockhead and stretched it as far forward as it would go. Bunty laughed again, then followed suit, but used both hands. She rubbed her crotch along Tom's mink-clad knee. From time to time, the heavy pink-brown nipples would brush through the black fur of the vest.
"What's his like?" Tom was curious about Bunty's fascinating husband. Did the man have the best of everything?
Bunty raised herself on tiptoes and threw her arms around Tom's neck. He stooped to accommodate her, and his fingers dug into her fleshy ass as she urged her squirming body against his fur-clad one.
"Built like my Buntline," she whispered. "Did you know the barrel is twelve inches long?"
"Uhuhh."
Tom's mouth covered hers, cutting off further conversation. He tightened his arms around her slender ribcage, and with his fingers still deeply kneading her soft white ass, he straightened up, his body actually lifting the short blonde off her feet. Her thick thighs opened, then closed in a tight grip around his fur-clad hips. He steadied himself and shifted his hold of the naked, twisting, hot-mouthed nymph in his arms. She wriggled and squirmed, rocked and swayed in a never-ceasing effort to rub as much of her skin as possible against his mink vest and leggings. Her heels dug into the hairy cheeks of his ass. Tom thought how good it would feel to fuck standing up. Why not? Tomorrow he might be in jail, and for a lengthy time denied the singular pleasures of fucking females. He might as well fuck this tiny Texan gal every way and any way he could imagine before giving up to the law. Bracing himself, he reached between her clinging thighs, grasped her moist cunt, and shifted her again, so that her cunt could ride on the end of his prick.
"No, no! Not that!" Bunty tore her head away, gasping for breath. "Not yet. Let me suck it first."
She let her weight go dead and Tom bent like a willow in the wind, depositing her ass end first on the polar bear rug. She rolled to her hands and knees and approached Tom's mink-framed crotch. Her arms reached out, encircled his hips, and, like a duck bobbing its head under water, she buried her face in the furry confines of his crotch. Her pink tongue, first checking to see if any pre'-come juice had anointed the crown of his prick, repeatedly licked under the fiery glans where the two thick folds of ultra-sensitive skin came together. Her red lips next kissed his dripping penis and with a sudden flip of her head that silently jangled the short blond curls, she took all of his stiff cock into her warm mouth. Her mouth was open wide and she felt the bulbous cockhead against the back of her throat. She formed a red puffy ring of her lips and drew her head away from his crotch, leaving traces of saliva all over his cock. Her mouth widened even more, as if giving birth to his glans, and when all was revealed except the very tip where her lips still clung, she bobbed her head down again, sucking his prick up into her throat with a loud slurp. Her gently scratching fingernails working over the hairy cheeks of his ass kept him a wriggling captive inside the circle of her arms. He put a hand on the blond curls to steady himself when, suddenly, one of her long-tipped fingernails tickled the underside of his wrinkled balls, causing his hips to thrust forward. Bunty was knocked off balance and sprawled onto the rug. Like a cat scratching its back, she rubbed her back against the yellowish-white fur. Coyly, she flashed a sight of her red-lined cunt before throwing one leg over the other, leaving a rounded hip jutting up invitingly.
"Let's sixty-nine it for a while," she suggested, imagining how erotic and sensual Tom's fur-covered body would feel on top of hers. His head would be buried between her drawn-up thighs; their long kiss had shown Bunty that Tom's lips would not lie slack on her cunt lips, nor on her bulging clit. She hoped he'd prod her asshole with his tongue, cock or finger, she didn't care which, as long as he got something up there, then whirled it around for a while.
"Let's fuck," Tom said, discarding the mink vest. He felt too warm wearing it now.
"Oh, no! Leave it on!" Bunty cried.
Quickly, she raised one of her legs into the air, presenting Tom with an irresistible sight: the deep dark crease between the crescent moons of her ass was punctuated by the pink ring of her asshole, which looked like it had often been fucked by some object of large diameter. But, enticing as the sight of her asshole might be, Tom could not resist imagining how luscious the interior of her cunt would feel, especially now that all the saliva had evaporated from his cock. Her cunt, buried deeply inside the valley of her thighs, promised to be hot, juicy and exciting; Tom's aching cock, swollen and bulbous, seemed to be irresistibly attracted to her cunt like a steel bar to a powerful magnet. He stepped closer to the naked, writhing woman on the rug, but at his approach she rolled over, putting her face down in the rug and her rounded white ass high into the air. Tom stared straight into her asshole. He saw the blond hairs sprouting thickly around the hole. He got to his knees and put out a hand, but instead of touching her asshole, his index finger glided over the moist walls of her blond-tufted pussy.
She moaned. "Ohhh. In the ass, Tom, put it in my ass."
Her big white ass revolved as Tom's index finger glided back and forth along the smooth walls of her pussy. Her hands reached back, digging into the deep crease of her ass, then pulled apart the cheeks of her ass. For the first time, Tom noticed that her pointed fingernails were painted deep red and the sight of ten red-tipped tanned fingers stretching apart the thick white buttocks-stretching them apart so forcefully that the pink anus took on a leer -enflamed Tom's desire. He wanted to ram his cock into Bunty's cunt. On his knees he inched toward her, hefting his cock in one hand, getting ready to position it on the hole of his choice.
Bunty rocked her body back and forth ever more urgently. Her breasts, hanging straight down, flopped to and fro. When her slick perineum grazed the tip of Tom's ramrod, instead of raising her hips so that her next surge would get her asshole impaled on his prick, she shied away. Crablike, she scooted across to the other side of the rug, but Tom's long arm snaked out and his hand slapped her across the buttocks, stopping her in her tracks. Bunty whirled around, her face a flushed mask of excitement.
"Oh, you bastard!" Her palm smacked resoundingly on Tom's cheek. The red-pointed fingernails raked his face. Tom leaned away like a boxer avoiding a blow and, catlike, Bunty leaped at him, her hands clawing for his eyes. She snarled and spit. "You bastard, you've no right to-"
"Everybody freeze."
As one, Bunty and Tom looked up.
"King B!" Bunty said, incredulity showing on her face.
Tom stared, aghast at the sight.
Bunty's Buntline, looking more like a six-inch cannon, was aimed unerringly at the spot between Tom's legs, and King B's steady hand was like a rock. In his other hand he gripped his penis, the largest Tom had ever seen. It was, as Bunty had said, built like a Buntline with a full twelve-inch barrel. Tom was confounded as to King B's sudden appearance. Bunty's husband was naked and ready for action. In the brief glimpse before his eyes began rolling up into his head, Tom was amazed at King B's unusual appearance. He was no taller than his short wife and from behind gold-rimmed glasses, blue eyes, with the fervor of a hot-blooded Baptist preacher surveying a mass baptismal, stared at Tom. Around his close-set ears was a dusting of white curls. His complexion was peaches and cream.
"Just hold her steady, mister," King B said. His tone, unmistakably Texan, was mild and well-mannered, like that of a host who is ascertaining that his guests are enjoying themselves. There was even a suggestion in his voice that he would soon leave Bunty and Tom to their own pursuits, be it fighting or fucking, as soon as he had learned a piece of information. A note of apology colored his voice, but one look at the blue eyes behind the shiny wire glasses dispelled completely for Tom any thoughts that anyone other than King B was in charge of the situation.
"What's this all about, Bunty?" King B said. Neither the gun sight nor the blue-eyed gaze wavered.
Bunty began laughing loudly. She started shrieking with gaiety that she would soon die, her ribs hurt her so much. She slapped her knee repeatedly. Tears streamed down her face, but never once did Tom's gaze leave the end of the twelve-inch barrel in King B's hand. He expected at any moment to see a flash of fire. He wondered if he would then feel the bullet rip and tear into his body, smashing all his vital organs beyond repair.
Bunty screamed with laughter.
King B said, "How about it, mister? How'd she get you here?"
Bunty howled again as Tom tried to figure out what King B meant. He risked a helpless shrug.
"What story did you use on this poor boy to get him into that outlandish outfit?" King B asked Bunty, who, preoccupied with her laughter, completely ignored him.
"Stand up, mister," King B ordered.
The Buntline's snout swooped up to aim directly between Tom's eyes. Tom was getting sick to death of having guns pointed at him, sick to death of having his life and freedom dependent on the whims of another person. The thought flashed through his mind that jail was a safer place than bedrooms, and if he ever got out of this bedroom in one piece, he would immediately turn himself in to the nearest cop he could find. The Buntline moved again, this time a little impatiently, and Tom stood up.
"Now, get those stupid duds off," King B commanded, the long revolver like a wand in a symphony conductor's hand.
Bunty's laughter dissolved into hearty chuckles as Tom wordlessly stripped away the mink garments.
King B glanced admiringly at the size of Tom's cock, even though it was visibly shrinking. Then the short man glanced proudly at his own erect cock, and as Bunty had said, it was at least one full foot long, and on his slender stature it looked menacingly large. King B blinked, and when his eyelids rose, that hard, determined look was back in his blue eyes. With the Buntline in his hand he looked extremely dangerous and Tom had the feeling that even without the benefit of the Buntline, King B would be a very dangerous man, in spite of his generally unassuming appearance.
"Whar's your clothes?"
Bunty resumed shrieking with laughter.
"Shut up," King B said quietly.
Bunty shut up.
"Well, mister?" King B said after a pause during which something seemed to silently and invisibly pass between Bunty and King B. "Whar's your clothes?"
Tom paled. "I . . . I . . . dunno."
"Hmmm." King B looked at his wife. "Get him some clothes. Now."
Bunty curtseyed deeply. Tom could almost picture her wearing a full gown, cut low, with a fluttering silk fan attracting attention to her breasts. "Yes, your majesty," she said, then ran from the room, shrieking with laughter again, the flesh on her ass jiggling back and forth.
King B waited until his wife's laughter had died out. "Listen here, young fella," he whispered, "and don't interrupt." The Buntline's muzzle pointed at the floor. "You get some clothes on and get out of here as fast as you can, the same way you came, y'hear?"
Tom nodded.
"Just before you leave, though, there's one thing you'd better know about my wife. After you hear it, I hope you won't report her and me to the sheriff."
"Huh?"
"She's crazier'n a hoot owl." The Buntline hung limply from King B's hand. "Listen, mister. Is that your Line down the road?"
Remembering King B's admonition not to interrupt or anything, Tom nodded again.
Well, as soon as she bring's ya something to wear, you get in that car o'yours and take off. Don't bother seeing the sheriff or anything. What'd she tell ya? That we own the place?"
Startled, Tom blurted, "Yeah. She did." The Buntline remained dangling loosely from King B's limp hand.
Exasperation clouded King B's features. "Mister, we don't own this place. We're just the caretakers and if the real owners came back and found all that stuff out," he indicated the mink outfit and whiskey standing on a sideboard, "why, why we'd lose our jobs and everything. Might even go to jail. Don't you see, mister? You've got to get out of here as soon as possible! Get in your Lincoln and drive away as fast as you can!"
"I can't."
"You cain't? Why not?" The Buntline was in a rigid grip.
"It's out of gas." Tom coughed nervously.
"Ohhh," King B sighed. "Is that all? On your way you can take a can of gas with you. Leave the can on the side of the road. I'll get it later."
"Fine. Thank you very much," Tom said gratefully. He wondered what was taking Bunty so long to return with his clothes. Tom relaxed at King B's friendliness.
King B glared. All of a sudden his presence seemed to overpower the entire room and his voice sounded sad, like a judge regretfully condemning a sweet sixteen-year-old virgin to life imprisonment. Throughout all this, his twelve-inch penis had never diminished in size.
"Mister, if you and your car ain't out of here fifteen minutes after you're dressed, I'll send Bullet after you with instructions to kill or maim."
8
Running down the road, Tom wondered how long it would take for Bullet to catch up to him. There wouldn't be much time to empty the five-gallon can of gas if that damn dog was sniffing around with orders to maim or kill. His heart pounded with the effort of his two-mile sprint run and as he caught his breath, he checked his shirt pocket, again affirming that the hundred-dollar bill was safely tucked there, a puzzling gift from King B. Tom remembered how Bunty had returned immediately after King B's warning, but not with his own clothes. She had brought him some imaginatively cut western clothes of tolerable fit. King B had groaned at the sight, calling his wife a thief, but when Tom pointed out that he was losing the sixty-two dollars he had in his other trousers, King B left the room and returned almost at once with a thick wad of bills. A hundred-dollar bill was peeled off the top and poked into Tom's shirt pocket. "Now git!" King B had said, then turned to his naked wife who had laughed and hooted during the entire episode. Tom looked back to the ranch house for a sign of the vicious Bullet. He could visualize, even in the broad daylight of the afternoon, being ripped to pieces by Bullet's cruel fangs.
The last of the gasoline gurgled into the tank and he got into the car after depositing the can at the roadside. When the motor purred and the air-conditioning cooled the dry desert heat, Tom felt slightly secure. He knew, as he drove away in the same direction he'd been going last night when he ran out of gas, that the car was hot. He had to get rid of it. By now, every cop in Texas must know that the Lincoln was stolen. It was a horrible handicap: he needed it to get away, yet the longer he remained in it, the more likelihood there was that some cop would pick him up. When they learned that, besides car theft, which Tom suspected in Texas was akin to rustling or horse stealing, he was also wanted for murder in New York, they'd be glad of the bonus. But to try to get away on foot in the desert heat was plainly insanity. After some time, during which he saw not a single patrol car, the road turned into a broad black-topped highway and later still, at the side of the road a sign spelled out El Paso. Two hundred feet beyond this sign the Lincoln ran out of fuel and coughed to death. Tom didn't coast the car to a stop this time. He left it quickly and walked along the side of the road, trying to get as far away from it as possible, but he hadn't gone more than a few feet when a two-ton truck pulled up beside him.
"Outta gas, meester? Need a leeft to El Paso?" The voice was heavily Spanish accented; the friendly, grinning speaker could have been born on either side of the Rio Grande. The truck cab was filled with friendly, grinning faces. Tom heard encouraging shouts of Spanish. For a brief moment he wondered if he had inadvertently driven into Mexico, but then he remembered the green and white Texas highway sign just behind him.
"Hop een, een the back." All the brown friendly heads bobbed encouragingly. The one who spoke English added, "At the service station, when you want out, jus hammer." He pounded the roof with his fist in the cab. Fists pounded in unison. Voices cheered as Tom went to the back.
"Sure. Fine. Thanks a lot," he said and scrambled into the back of the truck. It had staked sides and a pitched tarpaulin roof. The front half of the truck bed, near the cab, was covered by a four-foot-high stack of wooden crates, partly covered by more tarpaulin; the back half was bare. Tom sat down, leaning against the tarpaulin as the truck took off with a noisy lurch. He had no intention of getting off at the first service station. More than anything, he wanted to get lost in El Paso and never again see the Lincoln. Unused to the ways of the desert, he felt very vulnerable in its barren-appearing space. It was crowds of people that he wanted to hide behind, not cactus. He thought about turning himself in and discovered that now, bouncing along in the back of the truck, giving up didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. Especially with the hundred-dollar bill in his pocket. '
From under a fold in the tarpaulin, a pair of large, dark eyes observed Tom take the bill from his shirt pocket and transfer it to his hip pocket. The truck wheeled into a sharp curve in the road and the dark eyes shrank back, but cautiously, so that the tarpaulin did not move, but there was a brief glitter of light reflecting off the sharp edge of a pointed knife Twice, black-lashed eyelids blinked, and as the centrifugal force of the truck going around the curve put Tom off balance, the figure sprang out from under the tarpaulin and laid the knife edge tight under his Adam's apple. There was no mistaking the fierce warning in the dark eyes to be silent. Had any of the men in the cab looked back through the tiny window at that moment, he would have seen nothing unusual about the hitchhiker, the rich gringo who had stupidly run out of gas and now had fallen asleep.
The English-speaking driver said something in rapid Spanish which caused the other men to burst into laughter. The truck, after coming out of the curve, began slowing down. In the back, the only thing to move was Tom's eyeballs as they rolled around to get a better glimpse of the knife wielder Although her large dark eyes still glowered fiercely, fear trembled at the pointed corners of her mouth. Her lips were white against the warm color of her smooth skin; across the upper lip Tom saw a hint of a moustache. The girl opened her lush mouth, lips parting, but even white teeth refused to part or let her speak. The truck hit a bump in the road; the knife blade slid across Tom's taut skin and he almost exploded with the effort of containing the excess energy of adrenalin in his body but, never once breaking contact with the girl's magnetic dark eyes, he managed to remain perfectly still.
The girl sighed and put up her knife.
Tom sighed too, relieved that she was convinced he planned no harm. He whispered to the girl to assure her, but she ignored him and he wondered if, perhaps, she couldn't understand English. He shifted slightly, to get a better look at her, half hidden in the darkness under the tarpaulin, and she drew back instantly, alarmed. Tom froze and tried to indicate without speaking that he had no wish to harm her. He peered into the dark shadow and was stunned when he saw that she was no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. Suddenly it came clear to him. He no longer was puzzled by the behavior of the men in the cab for he realized that they were unaware of this girl hiding beneath the tarpaulin. Like himself, she was a runaway.
The transmission whined as the driver shifted to a lower gear.
The young girl hissed at Tom to catch his attention, then spoke in fluent but accented English. "Psst, you must help me. We are both in terrible trouble." Her brown eyes grew larger. "There is no time to explain. We must leave here at once, before it stops."
"Why?"
"The immigracion. They will check here and find us."
Tom thought about armed federal agents discovering him in the truck. Instead of surrendering, he would be captured, and capture was not in his plans; for the record, it would be better to surrender. He listened closely to the girl's melodious whisper.
"When we are gone, they will arrest those men in the front."
"Let's go then," Tom said, not caring who got arrested, as long as he could stay free, especially with this young Mexican girl who had asked him to help.
The truck was moving at about ten miles an hour, slowing down all the time. The brakes began squealing. Together they went to the edge of the truck, Tom putting out his hand and the girl grabbing onto it, steadying herself.
"Jump!" she cried out, and leaped off the moving truck. Tom followed, not breaking contact with her hand. He had a feeling that, somehow, as long as he held this girl's hand, nothing dangerous would happen to him. It was a strange feeling, but one he couldn't shake, even as the landing on the road jarred him to the roots of his molars. The truck rumbled on, and in the fast glance Tom took in that direction, there was no missing sight of the road block about a mile down the road. Even at this distance, he clearly saw the holsters on the uniformed men who manned the barricade. The girl tugged at his hand, pulling him towards the scrub brush on the other side of the highway.
"This way! Come!" Within seconds they were hidden from view and after ten minutes of running, the girl stopped to rest in the shadow of a tall organ-pipe cactus. She was as reluctant as Tom to break the unusually satisfying feeling of holding hands, and now that they were away from the truck and out of immediate danger, she was shy and her eyes were downcast.
"Thank you," Tom said, grateful for his limited freedom. When the girl seemed not to hear, he said, "Gracias." At the sound of the Spanish, she jerked her small hand out of his.
"We must keep running or they will catch us." Her small breasts heaved against the sweat-stained, dusty dress.
"Who? The men in the truck or the border patrol?"
"Both, if they know we are here. We must cross the river. It is our only hope."
"The river! You mean the Rio Grande?"
"Si. Hurry! They will not follow us back into Mexico. There, we will be safe."
"Safe from what?"
"Those men in the truck," she said. "They are criminals. Evil men!" "What did they do to you?" "Nothing. They didn't know about me."
"I don't understand."
The girl shot a look at Tom's face. He was honestly puzzled.
"I will tell you what happened," she said, and introduced herself as Juanita. She confirmed his suspicions that she was running away from home. She told him the men in the truck were from her dusty little village on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande; they had illegally crossed the border into the United States. They didn't know that, in addition to contraband, they were also carrying a stowaway.
"What kind of contraband?" Tom asked.
"Senor, what do you think? Marijuana?"
The word sent a chill through Tom's body. He remembered the uniformed men at the roadblock. He shrugged.
"No!" Juanita said loudly. They were far from the road, surrounded by cactus, and could converse in normal tones. "These smart caballeros, they are smuggling something new."
"What?"
"Hasheesh."
"They'll all be caught," Tom said, doubly glad to be away from the truck.
"Maybe. Maybe not. They're very smart. Why do you think they picked you up? Because they love you?" "Why?"
"When the immigration--how do you say, border patrol?--when they stop to inspect the truck there you will be."
"So?"
"Those hombres are all liars. They will tell the border patrol they never heard of you. They know if the border patrol finds something out of place, like you, the truck will be passed without further search, while you are pulled off. They have done it many times before."
"What were you doing there?" he asked.
"I am running away from my uncle. My brother lives in Chicago. I know how these men work. Just before they crossed the Rio Grande, I sneaked in back. Then when your border patrol looks in, I will speak out. Tell them what cargo it is."
"Why?"
"My brother, senor."
"Your brother? I don't understand."
Juanita looked at Tom as if she suspected him of stupidity. "It will be written up in your newspapers, will it not?"
"What? The arrest?"
Juanita nodded her head, pleased that Tom seemed to understand how things worked in his own country. She explained quickly:
"My brother can read English. He will read it in the newspaper, then come and get me." She smiled, then frowned. "But now, all is spoiled." Her brown eyes accused Tom.
"If it was my fault," Tom said sincerely, "I'm sorry, there's no way . . ." He squeezed her hand, emphasizing his sincerity.
Juanita's look melted easily into forgiveness. She covered her embarrassment at unjustly blaming Tom by laughing. Their hands came together as by some invisible force greater than their separate or combined wills, and neither thought of breaking off the renewal of the delightful grip, so much pleasure did it provide. They walked on and soon came to the bank of the Rio Grande. On the other side lay Mexico. Juanita's brown eyes examined the dust.
"What are you going to do now?" Tom asked. "Go back to your uncle?"
"No! There's an old woman in another village, not far from here," Juanita said. "I will go to her and ask her advice." Juanita edged forward until she was brought up short by Tom's hand. She turned to him and tugged gently. "I must go, senor." Her tone was apologetic. Her deep brown eyes flashed a look at him before the black-rimmed eyelids curtained her gaze.
"Will you be all right?"
It was Juanita's turn to shrug. "Who knows? That is why I must cross the river. To see the vieja."
"The who?"
"The vieja. The old woman. She is one of the gifted ones. She sees the future." Juanita pulled her hand away from Tom's, but before her hand was completely free, he tightened his grip.
"I'm coming too," Tom said.
Together they splashed across the shallow river and the instant they put foot on dry land, Tom felt a differenced The very air had a restrained undercurrent of throbbing excitement that he had not noticed on the Texan side of the river. The coming darkness threatened to unleash this excitement and, though the day still was hot, Tom shivered involuntarily in anticipation of nightfall. He glanced at Juanita. She seemed more confident now, older. Striding up the bank with long steps that flapped her skirt around her dusty knees, she said, "Come senor. We must hurry. Soon it will be dark and I am not sure where lives the vieja."
At the edge of the first highway they reached, Juanita cautioned Tom to stand behind a cactus while she flagged down a ride. When came the time to break their long-lasting hand hold, Juanita did it quickly and carelessly, but Tom noticed that she gulped immediately afterwards. His own hand felt empty and incomplete, as if he ought to have more fingers than five but didn't. After a ten-minute wait, the first vehicle to show up was a shiny new red pickup and inside the cab, two young Mexican cowboys were decked out in Saturday night finery. They stopped immediately when they noticed the silhouette of a girl thumbing a ride. Out of the passenger side came the biggest, tallest Mexican Tom had ever seen. Under the impression that all Mexican men were either enormously fat and called Pancho, or withered up like raisins, he was impressed by the line-backer size of the cowboy striking up a conversation with tiny Juanita. The vaquero exhibited twin rows of startling white teeth crowned with gold. A black-razored pencil moustache lined his .lips. There was an exchange of staccato Spanish in which
Tom understood only one word: Nogales, the city across the river from El Paso, Texas. He watched the tall Mexican motion to the cab where the other cowboy grinned and ogled Juanita, who shook her head and motioned first to the back of the pickup and then to the cactus where Tom stood.
"Tomas," Juanita called softly in liquid Spanish, "venga aqui."
Tom knew no Spanish, but knew enough to come forward into the light. The cowboy bent down and peered into his face, then stepped back cursing:
"Chingada madre gringo!" He spat on the ground at Tom's feet.
Tom's temper flared and he stepped up to the cowboy. His hands formed hard fists but slender Juanita quickly stepped between the two angry men.
"Puta!" spit the vaquero, then turned his heel and entered the truck. Within seconds, it had roared off, leaving Tom and Juanita in a cloud of dust and sharp gravel.
Juanita put her soft, warm hands over Tom's whitened knuckles. "We will walk," she said, gently leading the way. "It is not far, and . . . we'll get a ride soon."
"Where to? Nogales?"
"No. A little village near Nogales where lives the vieja." As they walked hand in hand down the road in the darkening twilight, they conversed in low tones. Juanita told Tom that she was fleeing her uncle who had brought her up since her parents had died shortly after her birth. Now that she was getting older, her uncle's sexual interest in her had become much bolder, even to the point where he had almost raped her the night before last. In desperation, she had stowed away in the truck smuggling the hashish, and now, in spite of being back in Mexico, she regarded her luck as turning to the better, and was anxious to reach the vieja's house.
"Who is this . . . vieja?" Tom's tongue struggled over the Spanish word.
"She is a woman who sees things."
"What kind of things?"
Juanita shrugged. "Who knows? Sometimes she tells what she sees, sometimes not. I do not know her or her house. When we get to the village, I will ask."
From the rear, a single, dim headlight slowly overtook them casting their joint shadows far down the road. The sun had set, and then disappeared, as the single headlight caught them full in its beam. Juanita plodded along without looking around, as if resigned to walking all the way to the Pacific Ocean. From somewhere she had produced a narrow shawl, which she'd wrapped around her head in the fashion of the country, and it was from under the shawl that she whispered to Tom:
"Walk in front and don't look back. Be proud!"
Tom obeyed. He was glad now for all the dust and dirt on his clothes. He had learned the best, way to hide was to look like you belonged. The western clothes Bunty had given him to wear seemed in keeping with what the two vaqueros in the red pickup wore. He heard the vehicle grind to a halt and the mysterious melodious sounds of Spanish conversation. He kept on walking, obeying Juanita's instructions to the letter, his back stiff, as if he were proud and touchy like the vaquero who had just left. An old truck crawled up behind him. He nodded brusquely once to a wizened old driver and joined
Juanita in the back. Because of all the vegetables, there was no room to sit on the floor, so, together, they sat on a red string sack of yellow onions near the tailgate.
"He's a farmer going to market in Nogales." Juanita laughed softly. "By tomorrow morning the putas of Nogales will have robbed him." She snuggled closer to Tom as if he were an older brother rather than a stranger she had met just a few short hours ago. There was an unspoken closeness between them. The short hours they had shared were more enriching than normal, and as the battered old truck struggled with its overweight load toward Nogales, Tom and Juanita sat silently holding hands. The truck came to a small village. Far in the distance, Tom saw the lights of Nogales and the brighter lights of El Paso across the Rio Grande. The truck stopped at the small central plaza in the village long enough to allow Tom and Juanita to hop off, then chugged off to Nogales. Still holding hands, Juanita led the way to one of the unlit side streets that entered the plaza along either side of the high stone church which dominated the square with its massive bulk. Directly opposite the three-story main entrance to the church, on the other side of the plaza, a noisy cantina, ablaze with bright gaudy neon lights, and an adjoining restaurant, completely open to the street, were the only places where activity occurred.
"Wait here," Juanita said, indicating a shadowed corner.
"No," Tom declared. "I'm coming with you."
"No, no, senor. You must not." Her small hands pushed Tom's chest back into the shadows and lingered enticingly before she said, "There will be trouble if you accompany me. They do not see many gringos in this village."
Tom could not argue. "Hurry back," he said. "I'll wait for you here."
Juanita smiled acceptance. Her white teeth flashed in the darkness and, before he had time to react, the tiny Mexican girl, on her tiptoes, pecked his cheek once with her warm lips, then ran across the plaza.
"Bring back something to eat," Tom called after her.
Juanita disappeared into the crowded restaurant.
From a darker corner further down the narrow street arced a glowing cigarette, which landed on the sidewalk and rolled into a crack near Tom's feet. A giggle followed a low laugh, then the sound of booted feet came Tom's way. He shrank into the stone, his eyes trapped by the dying glow of the cigarette butt. A leather boot stepped over the crack squashing the glow, and in the dim light reaching from the cantina across the plaza, Tom saw that the tooled boots were of some quality. Steel rasped across flint; a lighter flared to flame, which was reflected in the glittering black eyes of the tall vaquero who had spat at his feet. Behind him weaved the driver of the shiny red pickup. Both men laughed again and Tom saw that it was the tall one who giggled.
Tom gulped; his mouth went dry; his palms sweated profusely. The flame died down as the vaquero inhaled his cigarette, then flared up once more briefly before being snapped out. Twice there was a well-oiled click, and Tom saw the flash of two knife edges at the height of his groin. The tall vaquero giggled again, and said something in a high-pitched voice to his friend who also laughed, then moved to the other side, cornering Tom.
Tom knew he should strike first, take advantage of a surprise move, but fear froze every muscle in his body. Cold sweat made his brow clammy. In the garish dim light from the distant cantina, Tom watched, horrified as two glittering blades circumscribed a motion of unmistakable intent in the direction of his balls. He was certain that if his lip even twitched he would lose all of his self-control and piss in his pants. Already the end of his cock was wet with a few drops that had trickled out. Yet he realized with a sickening sensation in the pit of his belly that if he didn't do something soon, melt the fear that froze his body, the end of the road for him would come in the shadow of a darkened church in a dusty border town-a victim of the cult of machismo.
"Buenas noches, sehores." Long brown skirts swished across the cracks in the sidewalk and swirled to a halt dead center of the three men. Tom saw the cassocked priest from the church. His back faced Tom as he spoke in gentle inquiring tones to the two vaqueros who had suddenly become as mumbling schoolboys. Tom heard the word tequila mentioned several times by each party before the two vaqueros backed off toward the cantina. The short priest, plump, dark, about twenty-five years old, turned to Tom.
"Yusted, senor? Todos esta bien?"
"I'm sorry," Tom muttered, his knees trembling. "I . . . I don't know how to . . . to . . ."
"In my language, senor, we say gracias." The priest's English was clipped and precise, and was very much incongruous with his tubby and cowled figure.
"Gracias."
"De nada, senor." The priest patted Tom on the shoulder and led him into the light. "Now, senor, what can I do for you? Are you looking for someone? Are you lost?"
Tom shook his head, at a complete loss as to what to say.
The priest chuckled under his breath, as if at a private joke, then said gravely, "If you are not lost, nor are looking for anyone, how may I serve you?"
"I am waiting for someone."
"Forgive me for prying," the priest murmured, the light twinkling in his brown eyes. He turned, causing the heavy folds of brown cloth to swirl about his knees. The garish neon light from the cantina glinted on a scarred silver crucifix and shiny black beads. As the priest gathered his robes and made ready to proceed down the dark street, Juanita rushed up, holding a paper sack of tacos. "Tomas!"
At the sound of her voice the priest wheeled around, a smile hidden in his lips.
"Ahh, padre," Juanita said at the sight of the priest. Much to Tom's surprise she genuflected. There was a quick flurry of hands, a benediction, and Juanita grabbed hold of Tom and led him to the front of the church, as the priest, holding the paper sack of tacos, called out after them:
"Vaya con Dios, mis hijos."
"Gracias, padre," Juanita answered and boldly entered the narrow street on the other side of the church.
Tom suspected Juanita was unaware of his dangerous meeting with the two vaqueros. He was glad she hurried along. Two blocks past the church, on the other side of the street, a red bulb burned over a painted metal gate. Shards of colored glass studded the top of a high, thick adobe wall.
"Here is the hacienda of the vieja." In the glow of the red bulb Tom's eyes were shrouded in deep shadows.
A Mexican cathouse.
Juanita rapped smartly on the door and almost at once a peep-hole swung open. Two sharp black eyes examined them. Juanita mumbled something to the gate keeper, then turned to Tom.
"Have you got any . . . dinero, Tomas?"
"Dinero?"
"Si. Money."
"Uhh . . . yes."
A door in the heavy metal gate swung open onto a darkened, tiled corridor leading to a bright room just beyond a small, plant-filled plaza. In the other direction the corridor led to a darkened area of the large house that had an appearance of not being used about it. Juanita whispered the vieja's name. The husky Mexican doorman, his shoulder harness with attendant thirty-eight caliber snub-nosed revolver in plain sight under his navy blue serge suit coat, led the way toward the room where all the gaiety came from. With a flourish, he bowed them in, but Juanita held back, standing to the side of the doorway. She began conversing in Spanish again with the doorman. Tom craned his head and peeked into the bright room. At the corner table, surrounded by semi-clad whores and bottles of tequila, the two vaqueros from the church held court. The tall one talked volubly to a third vaquero and Tom saw the unforgettable motion of his threatening swipe at his balls. Three voices were raised in cheer; oles rang from the corner and from the other parts of the room raucous laughter sounded. Just as Juanita stopped talking to the doorman and turned to Tom, an ancient jukebox blared forth with the latest in ranchito music.
"Give me a few pesos," Juanita shouted into his ear.
"I don't have any pesos."
Juanita, wide-eyed, looked at Tom. The doorman stiffened slightly, as if he was getting ready to throw Tom out.
"What I mean is-" Tom said.
"Que paso?" From out of the room came a plump whore, dressed in a scarlet, sequined miniskirt, high black boots, and a black satin blouse unbuttoned to the navel and exposing her bare skin underneath. Her figure was youthful but no match for slender Juanita. The woman's manner was of command; Tom guessed she was the madam and thought how similar to New York madams she was, in spite of being Mexican. Her skin glowed with burnished health, her glossy black hair cascaded to the hem of the tightly fitted, sequined miniskirt. Her lips were blood red; her eyes were heavily mascaraed. At her appearance the doorman burst into rapid Spanish, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand and he returned at once to his post at the gate.
Tom watched, amazed, when Juanita dropped to her knees in front of the gaudy whore and tried to kiss the bejeweled hand. The whore stepped away; her black eyes looked sharply at Tom. She listened to the string of flowing Spanish from Juanita, then said, "Bien." She walked around the adjoining plaza, down the dark corridor, and turned into another corridor lined with closed doors. Tom heard the filtered noises of mattresses bouncing and squeaking and girls getting fucked, but if Juanita or the plump whore, who briskly led the way to the far end of the corridor, also heard these noises, they acknowledged them in no discernible way. At the last door, the whore bent over to insert a large heavy key into the keyhole and Tom caught a glimpse of her broad ass plumping out of her shiny pink panties edged with bright red lace. The sight was all the more startling because it looked as if she had never shaved her legs and the black curly hair looked unusually soft and inviting. Tom's prick moved as an image entered his mind of him lying between her plump hairy thighs, his cock deeply buried in what promised to be a bushy black cunt. Finally, the whore unlocked the door and after much jiggling, got the key out of the hole. She swung open the door and walked in. Juanita followed at once, and Tom too, after a hasty look down the deserted hallway.
"Tomas, shut the door, please," Juanita said in a low voice.
A closed and hidden latch clicked into place. The room was in total darkness. Juanita's small hand found its way into Tom's and together they waited a few seconds while the whore scratched a match, then lit the stub of a candle. The flame spluttered, died down, then caught and with a glowing, growing light cast flickering shadows on top of a baize-covered table. In the center of the table, Tom was astounded to see a crystal ball the size of an orange. A four-cornered mount of silver filigree lifted the ball six inches off the green table top. The black-haired whore had taken a seat on the opposite side of the crystal ball, and now, as she looked at Tom and Juanita, her whole manner changed. Tom realized with a start that this gaudily dressed, plump whore was the vieja, the old woman that Juanita had come back into Mexico to talk with. In a twinkling of an eye, the vieja seemed to assume an invisible mantle that conferred age and wisdom upon her red and black bedecked body. She began speaking slowly, gazing into the flame of the candle and completely ignoring the matching light that danced and twinkled in the center of the smooth crystal ball. Tom heard Juanita gasp with alarm. He held his own breath and shivered as goose pimples covered his body. There was no mistaking the vieja's words: beyond any doubt he had heard her say his real name. Harry Stokes.
Juanita's hand trembled; she sobbed a little and Tom squeezed her hand reassuringly. The vieja paid no attention to her outburst and Juanita did not say or do anything again to interrupt the low monologue. Finally, the vieja stopped speaking and Juanita kneeled in front of her and tried to kiss the vieja's hand. This time the woman did not move her hand away, but accepted the kiss in the same manner as the priest had.
"Gracias, muchas gracias, estimada vieja," Juanita said. Then she turned to Tom and with a queer look in her eye, said to him in a voice low with repressed emotion, "We must go now. Will you give her some money?"
The vieja sat in the semi-darkness on the other side of the crystal ball, patiently waiting.
"No," Tom said.
Juanita looked at him, her eyes wide with alarm. The vieja was unmoved.
"All I have is one bill," Tom said.
"Give it to her and she will see your future too."
Tom hesitated to spend his only bill.
"Go on," Juanita urged, "this is a very famous vieja."
What the hell! Tom tossed the crumpled green bill on the baize-covered table, and the crystal ball focused the bright image of the candle flame so that it seemed to dance around the eyes on the portrait of Benjamin Franklin. Neither Juanita nor the vieja paid any attention to the bill and now that it was on the table instead of in his pocket, Tom wished he had the nerve to pick it up and put it back in his pocket, but he dared not disturb the low monotone issuing from the vieja's painted lips. For a minute or two the vieja talked nonstop in Spanish, then sighed deeply and stopped the flow of words. Tom was about to ask Juanita to tell him what she had said, when the movement of her hands arrested his attention.
She had cupped her hands around the small crystal ball, and although the mysterious ball was now shielded from the light, there still twinkled in its center a minuscule, inverted image of the dancing flame of the candle. The vieja looked at the crystal ball out of the side of her eye; in the darkness her palms were ruddy and in spite of the heat that lingered in the Mexican night, Tom shivered again.
Cold sweat trickled down his back. A chill gripped his groin. The vieja's sidelong glances at the crystal ball went on uninterrupted for about two minutes. Then she lifted her coal-black eyes and stared straight at Tom. Looking into her eyes was like getting a glimpse of eternity; absolutely nothing reflected from the surface of her eyes. Her features were as impassive as a death mask. Then her tongue circled her lips and Juanita let out a sad sigh as the vieja whispered hoarsely:
"La cristal confirma todos."
A loud shout and knock at the door broke the stunned silence, which had greeted the vieja's final utterance. All three, crouched around the mesmerizing crystal ball, leapt back, startled by the unexpected clamor. The vieja whipped out a black velvet cloth embroidered with unusual silver and gold designs and dropped the cloth over the crystal ball, extinguishing the unusual ball from view.
"Momentito, senores."
The voice of the whore caused Tom to blink and remember suddenly that he was in a whorehouse. He looked on the table for his hundred-dollar bill but, except for the shrouded ball, the baize table top was bare.
"This way, senor," Juanita said, taking Tom's hand and leading him to the opposite side of the room. The light of the guttering candle flickered on an ornate wooden door.
"What for?" Tom asked, then wheeled around as the whore opened the door to the corridor.
Reeling back and forth, arms around each other, were the two drunken vaqueros Tom had met at the church; they had come to get serviced by the whore.
Even back in the shadows where he stood, the odor of tequila and beer was strong. The tall vaquero puffed on a cigarette and the pungent clouds of smoke drifted into the room. Juanita gripped Tom's hand.
"This way, senor," she whispered, opening the ornate door while the whore bargained with the two vaqueros. "At that door awaits certain death. Nothing can come to pass for you or me until you have taken my honor."
"Your what?"
"My virginity, senor."
Juanita shoved open the heavy wooden door and slipped into another dark room. Tom slipped right in after her, anxious not to be separated from her. The vieja mentioning Harry Stokes was an unexpected shock and he dared not lose sight nor hold of Juanita who could tell him what else the vieja had said. Astonished by the turn of events, he shut the door with his back and said:
"Tell me what she said."
"In a moment, senor."
"Now!" Tom decided there was no point taking one more step.
Ever since he had left New York he had been fucked over by people using him for their own ends and now, inside a Mexican border town whorehouse, with a girl trying to tear herself away from his grip, two large Mexican cowboys outside who would like his balls as a souvenir of his visit to their village, Tom figured there was no tomorrow. His grip tightened around Juanita's slender wrist. He jerked her to him. "Tell me now!"
Juanita gasped in pain and surprise. "Si senor . . . only first... let me turn on the switch."
"Where is it?"
"The switch?"
"Yes."
"I don't know. Have you got a match?"
Tom searched his pockets with one hand, never leaving hold of Juanita's arm. In no mood to trust anybody, he was careful when he transferred her arm to his other hand, but in spite of his caution, she managed to slip out of his grasp. He cursed and swung his fist; at the same time a small table lamp came on and illuminated the room. Tom blinked. Immediately in front of him he noticed a tall dark vaquero taking a roundhouse swing at him. He ducked. The vaquero ducked.
Slapping her knee, Juanita burst into laughter.
Tom slipped and tumbled to the floor, his nose bumping the floor-to-ceiling mirror. He saw himself endlessly reflected. He was glad he had arrested his blow. The mirror was an antique and yellow with age. The entire room was paneled with antique, yellowing mirrors. He got to his feet, slowly surveying the room. The lamp stood on a small table at the side of a high brass bed covered by a frilly, pink and white lace coverlet. The only other door in the room, Tom saw, opened onto what looked like an opulent bath.
Juanita went to the door and shot the bolt. She snuggled up to him and laughed again. "Here we are safe," she said and showed Tom her open palms to let him see she meant him no harm. Tom relaxed and watched her expression become serious.
"Is it true, senor, that your name is Harry Stokes?" Tom nodded, amazed. "Ahhh, dios," she sighed, "then it is true."
"What?"
"Here," she indicated the mirrored room, "I will become a woman. You will make me know what it is to be a woman."
"That ... did that vieja tell you that?"
"Si, senor." Juanita seemed pleasantly resigned to her fate. She left his embrace and wandered into the bath. Tom followed her.
"What did she tell you about me?"
Polished fittings gleamed everywhere in the long narrow bathroom. The far end wall was completely taken up with a sunken bath.
"Que grande!" Juanita murmured, ignoring Tom's question. "Will you permit me to bathe before you ..." Juanita blushed scarlet.
"Yes, yes! Goddam it! Tell me, what did she say?"
"Si, senor." Juanita began unbuttoning the front of her dusty dress.
"No, wait!" Tom said. "Tell me first."
"She said she saw three things about you. One, when she looked to the future, that you would be the man to take my virginity in the next room."
"Humph. We'll see."
Juanita paid no attention, but went on.
"Second, when she looked the other way, into the past, she saw you as the man called Harry Stokes, forever running." Juanita cocked her head. "Is it true?"
Tom nodded, unable to deny the truth. Juanita smiled smugly.
"But when she looked to see what you were running from, she saw nothing."
Tom sighed. "What's the third thing?"
Juanita smiled then blushed again. She undid a few more buttons, then lifted the hem of the dress to her hips. Tom saw where the skirt had kept some of the desert dust from her legs. Her skin was evenly colored as far up as he could see.
"She saw you discovering the secret of life in the arms of a redhead, by the sea."
"What else did she see in the future?"
"A long life and good health."
Tom paused. Juanita continued undressing. "Remember my part of the prophecy?" she said. "We were destined to meet here."
Tom shook his head and looked again at Juanita. Her dress lay on the marble-tiled floor. The cleanest, whitest part of her body was the under slopes of her young brown-tipped breasts. She strolled to the massive sunken tub and turned on the faucet. A deep rumbling noise answered her, then water began trickling in from the mouth of a dolphin-shaped faucet.
"What did she see in the crystal ball?" Tom asked. "The same."
"The same?"
"Si. For her, the crystal is only another way of seeing. It is more for . . how do you say?" Juanita thrust her hips forward and struck a pose. "For show?"
Tom gestured around himself, ignoring her young, naked body. "What's all this?"
"This is the bath, senor."
"Bullshit!" Tom said and stalked into the mirrored room. Unless it had a secret passageway, there was no way out except through the door Juanita had bolted. He double-checked the bolts. They were massive enough to withstand a battering ram. No sound penetrated the heavy wooden door. He returned to the bathroom where Juanita was washing the dust off her body. He leaned against the doorway, keeping an eye on Juanita, who, in spite of the limited water supply, was thoroughly enjoying the use of the luxurious bath. His mind went over the three points of the prophecy. After his hundred dollars had disappeared, and he and Juanita had been hustled into this mirrored room, obviously the best room in the whorehouse, the vieja wouldn't be far wrong in foretelling that Juanita would lose her virginity, if she still had it. Tom suspected Juanita of being a young whore who had run away, then sweetened her return by bringing a high-paying customer. He wished he could understand some of the Spanish that had been spoken. As for the secret of life in the arms of a red-haired woman, Tom shrugged, finding everyone" slept with a redhead at least once in his life. But there was no denying that the vieja, made up as the painted whore she was, had hit the nail right on the head. Even when the business about running from nothing was discarded -and it was a thing that could be said to almost anyone-with his own ears, he had heard her say his real name: Harry Stokes.
"Harry?" Juanita's voice dissipated his reverie.
"Yes?"
"Scrub my back, por favor."
"Sure." Harry walked to the edge of the sunken tub. Why the hell not? Might as well find out what a hundred dollars buys in a Mexican whorehouse.
"Did the vieja say anything about the . . . the redhead? How would I know her?"
Juanita laughed as Harry, fully clothed, stepped down into the tub. "The same way you will know me." Her brown eyes grew large. "You have . . . experience, have you not?"
Harry blushed modestly and when Juanita noticed, she smiled, then turned her back so that he could not see her face anymore.
"She did say one thing."
"What?" He wet his hands and got the bar of sweet-smelling soap.
"This redhead knows only two men. Her own father and you."
"What do you mean?"
"The vieja said she saw this woman give her own father her honor."
Harry lathered Juanita's back. Gobs of foamy lather fell to the slopes of her apple-shaped buttocks. His hand trailed one bursting glob of bubbles over the skin of her ass. Almost automatically, one of his fingers sought to explore her tight crease. There was a deep rumbling from the plumbing, then suddenly the dolphin's mouth spewed forth a fountain of tepid water which soaked him to the skin. The film of soap, which had half hidden Juanita's apple-hard ass, was washed away and the swirling water glistened on her skin.
Juanita leaped away from the probing finger.
"No, no!" She waggled her finger. "You must use something else."
Harry stopped reaching for the curvaceous ass and looked at her with astonishment. He started to ask if she believed what the vieja had said and then remembered he was in a whorehouse. Juanita was probably one of the star performers. He remembered the pink and white lace coverlet on the brass bed in the next room. Surely, he thought, the whore who brings in the most money, who does the best fucking, would have the nicest room to work in. He knew with absolute certainty he would never again see his hundred-dollar bill. If the best this whorehouse had to offer was the simulation of a virgin surrendering, he would go along with the game. He started removing his sodden trousers.
"Si, si!"
Juanita clapped her hands in approval and, as he stripped, she rinsed off the remaining globules of soap suds on her body and splashed some water his way. Off came the boots, the pants, the shirt, everything, and when she saw the size of his cock, Juanita paled, then smiled bravely. She dashed up the steps of the tub, snatched up a towel, and wrapped it around her glistening, slippery body. Her warm-colored skin radiated vitality. Drops of water, trapped in the midnight black of her pussy, twinkled and shone, then splashed to the marble floor. Other drops formed rivulets and ran down the inside of her slender thighs. She quickly patted her body with the towel, then discarded it and turned to the doorway. Her smile was sickly. "I will wait for you in the other room."
Harry stared at Juanita's trembling ass as she ran. Then he turned to the gushing stream of water and scrubbed the desert dust off his body. While soaping the end of his cock, he considered the red-haired woman again, who, according to Juanita's translation, had fucked only two men, him and her father. He thought the whole idea a load of far-fetched bullshit, but found exciting the idea of a virgin seducing her own father. As he rinsed the soap off his swelling cock, he realized with a deep sigh that if he used his imagination a little, fifteen-year-old Juanita could almost be his daughter. The thought sent a thrilling jolt through his body. His cock throbbed. Somewhere in his head a tom-tom set up a maddening rhythm. Hurriedly, he finished washing, barely dried himself with a fresh towel, and entered the mirror room, his erect cock announcing his entry.
Juanita, her naked skin glowing as if with some kind of internal fire, sat in the very center of the bed on top of the pink and white lace coverlet. Her legs were demurely folded under and she rested her upper body back on her arms, showing off as much as possible the smooth flat cones of her tender-looking breasts. Her nipples were in a state of semi-arousal; the center of each dark brown teat was a tiny red dot the size of a period that had the compelling effect of a stop sign in the middle of nowhere. Fistfuls of black curly hair sprouted from between her smooth shiny thighs, still damp from the bath, and it was only the incongruity of her mature, luxuriant growth of black pubic hair to the smooth slenderness of her young body that convinced Harry she was old enough to fuck. In the mirrored room the effect of her naked body on the bed was dizzying.
If not my daughter, then my younger sister. He advanced, ignoring the multiple images. He had eyes only for the real article on the .bed. His cock, jutting out its full length, just cleared the top of the lace coverlet and his cockhead buried itself in a confusion of white lace eyelet and thumb-sized pink satin bows.
"Oooh, you are too big!" Juanita's eyes were widened with alarm. Her thighs tensed defensively and his cock thrashed among the tiny satin bows. Her arms were crossed in front, shielding her brown-budded breasts. She seemed even smaller. "You will split me apart."
Harry could not resist snorting. "I doubt it, Juanita."
"Oooh, I am a virgin, I swear."
Harry clambered onto the bed and Juanita shrank away at his approach.
"I am afraid! Stay back! You will hurt me."
He thought she was putting on a fine show of reluctance. But for a hundred dollars it ought to be better, he thought, in spite of the effect of the many mirrors.
"Let me suck you instead," Juanita pleaded. "It will be good. I promise."
"Why, Juanita? Can you change your destiny? Remember "what the vieja saw? I would be the one to take your virginity . . . your honor, you called it." He held out his hand, counting on the memory of their hand-holding before. "Come, Juanita, I won't hurt you."
Juanita was not reassured by his argument nor the size of his cock, but she could not prevent herself from allowing his hand to close around hers. She remembered how solicitious he'd been ever since they had met. She remembered his quick sympathy when she told him she was running away from an uncle to look for her brother in Chicago. But discovering the size of his penis, in spite of her early enthusiasm, truly frightened her.
"Senor, it is possible to change your destiny a little," she said, her eyes downcast.
"How?"
"I beg you, senor, let me suck you, or," Juanita hurried on as she watched the changing expressions on his face, "fuck me in the ass, like my brother."
"Your brother fucked you? In the ass?"
"St. He was only ten at the time, but we did it that way so there would be no niho." To prove her statement, Juanita lifted and spread her legs. "You see?"
Despite the ring of black hair rimming her asshole it was easy to see she spoke the truth. Instead of being tight and puckered with deep ridges, it was soft, puffy, and tender looking. In contrast, the brief glimpse he had of her cunt was enough to let him see it was small and tight.
"How did he do it?" Harry inquired, moving forward on his knees.
"One day he came in my room as I was getting dressed and he pushed me on the bed and put it in me, here." Juanita stuck her index finger into her anus so that only the cuticle was visible. Her body trembled. The effort of holding her legs up got to be a strain and she shifted slightly, to keep them up high. "At first," she continued, "we didn't know if it was right or not; it felt good. Later, we learned it was not the right hole, but by then . . ." Her slender shoulders shrugged; her breasts bounced. She diddled her index finger and reached for his long cock with her other hand.
"How old were you?"
"Eleven." She snatched his cock.
Harry stretched his arms forward, catching Juanita in a grip around both her delicate ankles. He separated her ankles and pushed them away from his body, pushed them so that they were directly over her head. Juanita sighed, and bowed her legs as her asshole was raised high into the air. With the fingers of one hand, she widened the crack in her asshole; with the fingers of the other hand, she clutched Harry's cock firmly and directed it toward her stretched asshole. He hunched down so his cock would not aim straight into her ass. She gave his cock a hard yank and he lurched forward, falling onto his hands. His cockhead pushed open her cunt lips.
"Oh no! No! Not there!"
She tried to twist out from under him, but his tight grip on her ankles prevented her from doing more than wiggling her ass and wrinkling and mussing the lace coverlet.
"Pig!"
She spat in his face. Like a wildcat, her hand was a claw coming up to scratch his eyes, but he leaned back and her vicious swipe missed him. When she tried again to claw him, it was too late. Harry had trapped her. His strong hands captured her slender wrists and forced them back over her head and down into the lace coverlet. His hips jerked to and fro, his thick cock widening and deepening the moist furrow of her cunt. He was too close to her to plug her pussy without repositioning himself, but as she began moaning with pleasure and gasping with delight at the see-saw motion of his cock, she rocked her own hips in time to his; little by little his cockhead slid closer and closer to the tight juicy door to her cunt.
"Si, si, si!" Juanita cried. All fight was being fucked out of her.
The underside of Harry's cock became warm and moist from the creamy juices flowing out of her hot hole; he knew if he managed to move back only a few inches more, his cock would be in a position to squeeze into her tight, hot pussy. Juanita's spirited defense, up until her sudden, welcome surrender, excited Harry more erotically than he thought possible. Already the come was bubbling and boiling in his balls. He released his grip of Juanita's limp wrists and moved back. On his next forward thrust he would pierce the little Mexican whore's dripping cunt and find out what she was afraid of. Juanita raised her ass even higher. She reached down quickly between her legs in a last-ditch attempt to push his cock out of line with her cunt and down to her asshole, but Harry was one step ahead of her.
The moment her oozing cunt-lips kissed the tip of his cock, he thrust forward with all his might. He wanted to pin the struggling young girl to the bed with his cock. The desire to bury his cock deep in the girl's flesh overwhelmed him, and when, unexpectedly, he was stopped in mid-thrust, as if by some giant invisible palm, his shout of surprise and pain mingled with Juanita's. For a second, he had no idea what was happening. Juanita had drawn her legs together. The lips of her cunt were tightly molded around the first inch or two of his cock. With a sickening sensation, Harry realized that, not only was Juanita a virgin whose hymen his cock had bounced off like an Indian rubber ball, but, also, that his come was spurting out and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He tried to force his way into her, but she slid back. His cock, completely exposed to the air, disgorged its load of hot, sticky come into her black bush. Dismayed at this occurrence, Harry froze in mid-air, but Juanita was a blur of urgent action. Her hands plucked and squeezed his cock, covering its entire surface with his come and the juices flowing from her pussy. Again and again she stroked it, her small hand barely able to go around his thick cock. As his cock responded to her hand's erotic administrations, Juanita's ass never once stopped wiggling with fervent desire. She gasped every time his balls or the tip of his cock brushed any part of the skin between her outstretched thighs. Soon the sawing motion of his prick across the puffy, reddening cunt-lips had directly stimulated her clitoris. A spacious void had been created inside her body and Juanita knew there was no escaping the truth of the words spoken by the vieja.
"Ohhh! Ooohh! Fuck me! Fuck me!!"
Desperately, she forced his stiff cock against the opening of her pussy. Her hips were pumping upward, unable to get the man's thick cock deep into the recesses of her body where she knew it belonged, unable to satisfy the overpowering craving for satisfaction. Desire possessed her body to the very core. "Do it!" she screamed in sensuous agony.
"Just a minute," Harry said and pulled her hands away from their feverish stimulation of his cock and bouncing balls. "Let's try something else."
"Quick!" Juanita moaned in sweet anguish.
She could not tear her gaze away from his hard prick. She tried imagining what it would look like when his own bushy pubic hair intermingled with hers, when it pumped in and out of her creamy cunt. The sensation of heat in her loins was almost unbearable; Juanita knew with certainty that there was only one fluid in the entire world that would properly quench the internal fire. Her consternation was great when she saw Harry get off the bed. She rolled to the side of the bed after him.
Harry was waiting for her. He pinned her face down in the lacy coverlet by placing one hand on the small of her back. He swung her feet onto the floor, positioning them so that the red hole of her cunt was the apex of a triangle of flesh. With a grip on her hips, as if hefting a heavy object he was about to move, Harry snuggled up tight behind Juanita's ass. Her fingers were crushing the delicate lace ruffles and tiny satin bows as his cock entered the vee of her smooth inner thighs.
In her urgency to contain the immense growing void in her body, Juanita reached down between her body and grasped his cock so that the head grew out of her fist. Immediately, she tucked it between the sucking, snapping lips of her pussy and pushed her body back to the limit. Harry exerted a steady forward pressure, trying to break through her hymen. He could feel it stretching and giving slightly, then he watched, amazed, as his cock formed a bow. The stubborn hymen held fast.
"Do it harder, much harder!" Suddenly, Juanita feared that if she did not lose her virginity now, if she denied the destiny the vieja had foretold, she would be doomed as a lifelong virgin. It seemed too great a sacrifice to make for a bit of skin she had never seen and never would. "Go! Go!" she urged, spreading her legs as wide as possible to ease the ripping of her hymen. "Fuck me! Fuck meeeeeee!"
Harry humped his hips with all the energy he could, muster. Sweat poured off his brow with the concentrated effort he was making. Before long, Juanita's shouts of encouragement had turned to grunts and groans of pleasure. Each breath she took seemed to supercharge her inflamed nerves. Her hand still held his balls and the end of her index finger was extended out, tapping out the pace on his asshole. When the agony of his futile battering at her virgin wall was too much to bear, she viciously jabbed her finger into his asshole.
Oversensitive to anything entering his ass, Harry flung his hips forward to escape the exquisite pain of her fucking finger. Juanita screamed, her voice filling the room. Bright hot blood mingled with the come of her cunt, mixed in with their mingled pubic hairs, and ran down the sides of her legs. Harry's final forward fling succeeded. The hot walls of her virgin cunt eagerly greeted the presence of his aching cock. The sensation so overwhelmed her that her feet lifted off the floor and her sobbing face ploughed into the lace coverlet. Harry spasmed as his balls gave forth with a miniscule dollop of come. He fell on top of the orgasming Juanita and continued pumping his cock until it was soft and shrunken. He lay still, only the head of his prick between the fully blossomed lips of her cunt. His hips twitched prior to withdrawing. Juanita's hand released his wrinkled, spent balls. Her index finger slid out of his asshole with a plop, and she held his buttocks. His cock had felt good inside. The void had disappeared.
"Stay, please stay."
"I can't," Harry Stokes said, pulling himself free. "I've got to find a red-haired woman by the sea."
10
"There she is, buddy, Golden Gate Bridge." The speaker brought his fifty-foot rig to a stop. Air brakes sighed and the cargo of cattle shifted restlessly.
"Well, thanks a lot for the lift," Harry said, jumping down to the pavement. "Take care now."
The truck hauled itself away and Harry took a deep breath of city air. He crossed the intersection to where there was a telephone booth. From his pocket he took the last of his money, a handful of silver change, and searched for a dime.
"May I help you?" said the operator's voice.
"Yes, I'd like the number of Nina Pallacine. It should be a new listing."
After he had spelled out the name, and was waiting, he admired in the distance the famous bridge. All around the phone booth swirled crowds of colorful San Francisco natives. Ever since he had hitched a ride with the cattle truck and learned the destination, he had a feeling that something was about to happen. Thoughts filled his mind of what the vieja had foretold thirty-eight days ago: In the arms of a red-haired woman by the sea. That night he left Mexico by walking two miles out of town and splashing across the Rio Grande. A dozen rides later put him in southern California. After three weeks of picking strawberries and living the life of an itinerant farm worker, he had used the small stake for getting to San Francisco where he hoped to lose himself in the anonymity of the city. The only person he knew was Nina Pallacine, the blonde who had picked him out of the rain just outside New York. .
The operator burst into his reminiscing, gave him the number, and returned his dime. Harry put the dime back into the telephone and dialed. Seven rings later a man's voice answered:
"Hello?"
"Is Nina Pallacine there, please?"
"Just a moment. Who shall I say is calling?"
"Harry Stokes."
Just then, identical twins, about sixteen or seventeen years old, and dressed alike, walked by the phone booth. The matching lengths of their copper-colored hair were like flowing capes for their angelic faces. Automatically, Harry swiveled his head to watch them as he had watched every single redhead he'd seen since he left the Mexican whorehouse. He had become something of a connoisseur of color and marveled at the perfect match on the twin heads. In the late summer sun, the only difference he saw was that the boy's hair was longer on the sides than his sister's. As he had many times before, Harry wondered about what the vieja had said-only he and the redhead's father knew her.
Harry? Is that you? Harry Stokes?" Nina Pallacine's voice came over the telephone.
"Yes."
"I couldn't believe Carl when he said who it was. When did you get in?" "Just now."
"Listen, jump in a cab and come over right away."
"Well . . . uhh-"
"Don't worry about Carl," Nina said, chuckling. "He'll be gone before you can get here." She gave Harry the address of her apartment house.
"There's one thing, Nina."
"What's that?"
"I'm broke."
"So am I, but call a cab anyway. The doorman'll pay him."
"Fine," he said, and to hold off questions from her, added, "Goodbye." Then he hung up the receiver. He was puzzled. He had expected her to say something about Abner Lovell's murder and he had listened closely to the tone of her voice, but had been able to detect nothing out of the ordinary. Mentioning his real name over the telephone had been a calculated risk. He had no intention of walking directly into her apartment without first having a look at where she lived. He planned to ride a block or two past her apartment house and keep a sharp eye out for cops. He knew it was dangerous to reveal his true identity, but the urge to talk in person with someone who could fill him in was overwhelming and had to be fulfilled. He could no longer deny his curiosity, but as a safety measure, he planned to leave San Francisco as soon as he finished his visit with Nina Pallacine. He was glad she had made no reference over the phone to the job she had offered him in that restaurant. He wondered if she had indeed set up an advertising agency. In the cab to her apartment he shocked himself slightly thinking how little desire he had to return to the advertising industry. After the last few months on the road, living from hand to mouth, constantly in danger, the thrills and rewards that the advertising industry had to offer seemed dull and shallow. None of it was worth his freedom. Harry had asked the long-haired cab driver to point out the apartment house, then circle the block once or twice before letting him off. Yet, it was unnecessary, for standing at the curb was Nina Pallacine, peering into each passing cab, and when the cab containing Harry drove by, she spotted him at once and waved her arms.
"Stop here," Harry directed the driver. He ignored the brilliant effect of the sun haloing her golden hair. He looked carefully in every direction for a police car. Nothing seemed out of place and he got out of the cab.
"You look pretty good," she said, "maybe a little thinner." Nina had an amused expression. She bent to the window, handed the driver a five-dollar bill and told him to keep the change.
"You look pretty good yourself," Harry said. He felt naked standing on the sidewalk and he tensed himself for the feel of police arms falling on his body, but after a second or two, when nothing happened, he said, "I thought you said you were broke."
"Oh, I borrowed some from Carl. He's such a dear."
"Carl?"
"You remember, he answered my phone. He lives next door. He's helping me to decorate my new apartment."
Nina took Harry by the arm and turned to the entrance of the apartment building where a six-foot black in a doorman's uniform held open the door. Nina walked by with an absent nod, unable to take her eyes off Harry. She squeezed his arm a little and pinched him once. Inside the elevator she said, "Punch the penthouse." Within minutes they were stepping into a small, well-appointed foyer that had two doors opening into it. Nina's door swung open at her touch and they entered the room. Harry got an impression of pillows, Oriental rugs, the ocean, and sparkling, subdued light coming through stained glass windows which rose to the lofty ceiling from behind a knee high rock garden. The moment the hall door closed, Nina turned to him and embraced him tightly. Her big breasts flattened against his chest as they had that night so long ago when she'd picked him up and warmed his shivering body with her own. Now, her body shivered, not from cold, but from excitement. She moaned against his throat:
"Oh, I couldn't wait for you to get here. I just had to go downstairs to meet you."
"What for?"
"I could never forget that wild night in the back seat of my car." Nina began to unbutton his shirt. Her hands slid in to caress the flat, hard muscles on his hairy chest. Her fingers tweaked his tiny male nipples and made curls of his chest hair. Her own chest rose and fell feverishly. Harry could see the edges of large nipples, only partly covered at the deeply cut neckline of her blouse. Her hair was shorter now than before, leaving her wide blue eyes with no golden curtain to hide behind. Her eyes were full of hot desire. "Remember the morning after?" Nina said. "I drove off in such a huff because you wouldn't come with me, but to tell you the truth, I didn't go more than a mile or two when I turned back. You were gone. God, I drove up and down every road I could find hoping to find you, but I couldn't." Running her fingers through his hair, she pulled his face down to be kissed. "Your showing up is like the answer to a prayer." Her tongue flicked at his lips. "How's that?"
"You're just in time to take over my agency." Nina stepped back, her pride evident in every feature. "I've got to go back to New York soon and I need someone out here to supervise. There's not much money yet, but if you bring in more business, you can split it with Daddy and me."
"I wasn't thinking of coming back to advertising."
"You weren't?" Nina stepped back further, cocking her head quizzically. "Well, what did you come for?"
"To see you."
Harry's words had an unexpected effect on Nina. At first she was startled, but when she saw that Harry seemed to be speaking the truth, she gulped once and rushed into his arms.
"You're the first person to ever say such a thing to me," Nina said, hushed awe in her voice. She cried for a moment against his chest then lifted up her teary face to be kissed, but Harry turned his face away the slightest bit.
"There's something else I wanted to ask you," he murmured into her ear.
"What? About Rosemary?" Nina's guess was right on.
At the mention of Rosemary, Harry stood still. He had not heard nor thought of the name ever since he had crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico, and his first reaction, to gasp, seemed like entirely too much trouble, especially since no mental picture of her came to mind. With a start he realized he had forgotten what Rosemary looked like. Nina noticed this expression and took it as a sign that he wanted to know more.
"The case will probably be thrown out of court but for you . . . it's too late."
"Huh? What did you say?"
"You got away, didn't you?" Nina could not understand Harry's seeming ignorance nor his disinclination to take off his clothes or touch her body where she wanted him to touch her. Then, suddenly, she thought she understood. "You mean you haven't heard?"
"No."
"You're famous."
"Famous?"
"You're known in the whole country. Everyone from coast to coast has seen you in action. You're a star!"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"That film of you fucking some chick, then becoming the filling in the sandwich . . ."
Harry nodded; Nina continued.
"The cops confiscated the negative but somehow a print or two got its way out of the San Antonio Police Department." Nina laughed delightedly at the look on Harry's face. "It's the hottest thing on the stag film circuit right now. Bootleg copies are already worth five hundred dollars."
Harry laughed too. He wondered how long it would be before someone might associate him with the fuck flick. He concealed his pride and asked: "What about Perkins and his wife? Did you say they were in court?"
"Yes. Perkins was the big-time distributor in New York, in addition to building his own blue-movie collection. The Internal Revenue Service is checking him out very, very closely. He and Rosemary have about as much privacy now as a couple of goldfish in Bloomingdale's window. Last I heard, she's in Reno, suing for divorce, and living with the man in the movie who corn-holed you."
Harry interrupted Nina's explanation of the juicy details. "That's not what I wanted to ask you."
"What then?" Nina was. piqued. "You mean you can't guess?" "Why you're here? Sure I can guess." In a surprise motion, Nina ripped her blouse off her body and flung it carelessly to one side. Her pendulous breasts, much as Harry remembered them when Nina had been on top of him in the back seat of her Buick, bounced heavily as she came forward, jutting them out to best advantage. "You came to fuck me, didn't you?"
Harry was silent, looking at her naked bobbing tits.
Alarm flooded Nina's features. "You are going to fuck me, aren't you?" There was no mistaking the note of desperation in her voice, in spite of the careless manner in which she approached him. Her hips swung in lewd imitation of a sexy walk and she jiggled her breasts as if spangled pom-poms hung from her large brown nipples. "You must," she said. "You're the only man who ever has."
It was Harry's turn to be surprised. "What?" He didn't believe Nina. He knew for certain she had not been a virgin when they had fucked in the car. As he recalled, she had been pretty good-not the best fuck he had ever had, under those conditions, but, also, not the worst.
"Other than Daddy ..." Nina bowed her head, blushed, and let her voice fade out.
Harry lifted up Nina's face. His gaze burned into her eyes. He was searching for the truth. Nina trembled but did nothing to move away. The blonde hair of her head brushed his fingers. There's one way to find out, he thought. His mouth descended on hers and their tongues instantly intertwined. But kissing was only an excuse to keep her close while his nimble fingers unzipped her miniskirt and pushed it down over her hips. Just like in the car, she was naked underneath. He remembered exactly what the vieja had said: that the red-headed woman had fucked only him and her own father. That night, long ago, in the back seat of her car, it had been too dark to see the color of her snatch. He trembled a little as his fingers twined through her bushy thatch. She was still pressed tightly against him, though, and he could not see the color of the hair. He singled out a hair on her cunt mound and pinched it tightly between his index finger and his thumb. Her arms had encircled his waist and she hugged him fervently. The touch of her nipples against his road-toughened body made her hips want to twist and turn. He held on firmly to the unseen pubic hair as he asked the question uppermost on his mind:
"How about Abner Lovell's death? Aren't I wanted for murder?"
"Murder?" Nina's eyes widened. "You're not wanted for murder. Never were, as far as I know." She backed away to get a better look at the parade of emotions on his face, but his grip on a single pubic hair remained firm. She had no idea of the significance of his grip other than a playful way to keep her standing close to him. Suddenly, as before, it came clear to her the misapprehension Harry was under. "You mean . . . you've been running ever since that night on the turnpike because you think you killed Lovell?"
Mutely, Harry agreed.
Nina laughed. "Why, you fool! He knew he was a dead man. Ever since he returned from his annual hospital medical checkup. Were you so blinded by your passion for, for . . . what's her name . . . that you didn't know? He had less than a month to live."
"My fight with him didn't cause his death?" His breath was bated; his freedom nearby. He had to have a direct answer.
"No. Ouch! What did you . . ."
Harry paid no attention to Nina's outburst. He started laughing aloud as he beheld the single curl of hair he had plucked from her pussy.
The sun setting over the Pacific burnished it to a hot cherry-red.
