Didi Hotchkiss is going to be eighteen. Until then she is one of the Rated X authors who can't be taken to a bar for lunch ... the only one. Seldom has a girl so young been able to project herself so thoroughly into a fictional character. We have to say fictional because Didi insists that Joyce is exactly that, and nothing more.
While Miss Hotchkiss will admit to having done more than the normal amount of baby-sitting in her time, she respectively declines to go beyond that in discussing the character of Joyce that she created for Rated X and for Daddy's Baby-Sitter.
We had not gone beyond chapter two when we telephoned Miss Hotchkiss and asked her to make sure she was working on the further adventures of Joyce, the .. . well-guided . . . baby-sitter. Didi did complain that pressures of finishing high school, and making plans to go away to college come September, would probably get in the way of her creative endeavors. We tried our best to persuade her to keep at the typewriter. Only time will tell how successful we've been at our efforts. We shall, rest assured, keep after Didi.
Now as to Joyce, the precocious and extremely hungry fourteen-year-old that Joel Thatcher hired as a live-in companion for little Matt. .. one look at her and it was impossible not to want to possess her . . . totally. And Joyce found herself strangely attracted to the huge man, wondering at the same time what it was all about, and if there was some way to stop the nagging itch about her midsection.
Surely Matt could help ... if she manipulated his tender young flesh just right. Only the real thrill didn't come until Joel himself took Joyce in hand . . . and manipulated her tender young flesh just right.
It was a short hop from that first agonizing encounter to the total depths of depravity or delight, depending upon her viewpoint, and Joel was right there, able and willing to show her all there was to know, step by step.
What he didn't count on, of course, were the shameless blackmailers who trapped them, helpless participants in the most wanton stage show ever performed. Even after all the spectators formed up their lines and took turns . . . even the dog . . . the delights . . . the shame of it all.
Perhaps Book II will really settle it for all time. We can only wait and see. Until then, Rated X adds a stunning star to your private collection of strictly adult erotica.
You will watch for Book II, won't you?
THE PUBLISHERS
Chapter One
She was so tiny and cute he was getting a hard-on just by thinking about her. He'd like to crush her to him, to bite those pretty little girl titties and suck on her luscious pink clitoris and stick his tongue past the delicate inner lips into her moist and warm and untouched vagina until it filled her cunt, and then, when her eyes were wide with the wonder of it all, to jam his lust-hardened penis in her velvety depths and fuck her till he shot his scalding white sperm down into the depths of her now eager and virgin cunt.
He could never do that, except in his dreams, and since Friday was his night for dreaming, he dreamed on about the adorable little teenager, feeling the hardness of his cock through his pants as he did.
What a gas it would be to have young Joyce on a permanent basis, in a little apartment somewhere, or better yet as his live-in baby-sitter. It was out of the question, of course, but it was nice to think about. Without his son Matt, without his respectability, he could do a lot of things. So he thought about Joyce in lieu of acting on her, and remembered the firm and respectable conversation he had had with her when she first came to him as a baby-sitter for Matt.
"If what I'm saying comes out in the form of a lecture," he said, in the same quietly authoritative voice he used with a loan applicant, "I can only ask your indulgence, Joyce. As you are undoubtedly aware, my son is all I have in this world, and while I do not wish to overprotect him, neither do I wish to expose him to any unnecessary dangers whatsoever during my absence tonight."
"I understand, Mr. Thatcher," she said, trying not to fidget, for she knew how much that irritated older people, and wanting so badly to make the very best of impressions on this, the very best of Roseville's citizens.
"In order to make sure of that, let me lay down a few do's and don't's, even though I'm sure Mrs. Knudsen has already told you what I expect of my son's companion." He smiled benignly, and she found herself smiling with him. "You are not to be the baby-sitter for a twelve-year-old boy, you are to be Matt's companion, his older sister as it were, exercising authority as necessary while establishing a good rapport with him. As you may know, he has lacked adult female companionship to a degree.
Not that Mrs. Knudsen is not a fine woman, but she is somewhat older than the mother Matt never had. She tries, God bless her, but Matt needs more than that. He needs a variety of experiences with women in the family that he has never really had, and for this evening at least, I hope he will have an older sister, Joyce, you."
"I'll do my best, sir," she simpered, and he went on.
"He has a small amount of math homework to do, with which you are to help him only if he asks for help, which is doubtful. Since this is Friday night he is to be allowed to watch a full hour of television, and I will leave it to your judgment to see that the program selected has a bare minimum of violence. He may prefer to read. He is an exceptionally bright boy and he may prefer to try to deceive you in small ways, for instance as regards to what shows are forbidden to him. Keep in mind, though, he will not lie to you about this, or about anything, when directly asked. Of course, after he's asleep, you may watch whatever you wish, but not for too long. I don't want you falling asleep in here, where you might not hear him if he has a nightmare. Before bedtime I suggest you play some games with him, Monopoly, for instance. He is to have a snack before he goes to bed. There is ice cream in the freezer and chocolate syrup in the cupboard. Join him in a Sundae by all means, and by all means help yourself to anything else in the kitchen. Your aunt may not be able to afford to eat sweets, but you look as if you can." He smiled again.
"Yes, sir," she said, blushing now as she always did at even the most oblique reference to her reed-thin and very slowly blossoming figure, and hating herself. She wanted to tell him Mrs. Knudsen was her foster mother and not her aunt, and that as far as she knew obesity didn't run in her family. Then again, for all she knew, her forebear's genes might swell her sparse little fanny to a blubbery mass of suet someday and alter her tiny little titties into great, hanging dugs such as those of Mrs. Knudsen. She wanted to tell him a lot of things but she kept silent, not wanting to jeopardize in any way this little temporary job that meant so very much to her.
"Matt should be in bed by ten. He'll go to sleep right away, but he'll kick the covers off during the first hour or so. I usually watch the ten o'clock news and get up during the commercials to cover him up again. Occasionally he'll have a nightmare, which isn't at all unusual for a boy his age. If he does, it probably won't wake him up, but if you hear him cry out, go to him, right away, and talk to him, even hold his hand, until he's sleeping quietly again. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mr. Thatcher," she said. She understood about nightmares. They were not the exclusive property of pubescent boys.
"I should be home from the Tri-City area in the early hours of the morning, in fact I shall make it a point to. If an emergency arises in my work which forces me to stay over, I will surely be back by ten in the morning. Matt will not be alarmed. See that he doesn't sleep past eight, see that he takes a shower, has a good breakfast, and brushes his teeth before he goes out to play. He won't go far. He'll be waiting for me. I doubt if I'll be late. I will try to call you if it is unavoidable that I stay over, but the nature of my work is such that this may not be possible. If an emergency arises here, there are phone numbers by the telephone ... your aunt, the doctor, the police, the fire department ... call them immediately, I repeat, immediately if anything merely starts to go wrong. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," she said, brightly as she could, thought the thought of calling the police terrified her.
"One other thing. Do you smoke?"
"Oh, no, sir!" She was prepared for this question, and even though she didn't smoke, it was still hard to get a completely honest expression on her face.
"I realize you're not old enough to smoke, but I want to make sure you don't even experiment with cigarettes. I want to make sure now, not when I come home from helping others less fortunate than you and I and smell the stink of tobacco in the house, or worse, find this house burned down, and my son, the only thing I have in the world, gone with it. No smoking, Joyce, and please, no callers. Although I trust you with my son, I'm afraid I can't allow you total freedom here. The three dollars an hour I'll be paying you for your time should compensate for not seeing your boyfriend for an evening."
"Oh, it will, and I sure do appreciate it, Mr. Thatcher." He knew, somehow, that she'd experimented with cigarettes, for this man knew almost all things that occurred in Roseville, but he was wrong in assuming she had a boyfriend. This assumption was based on another rare piece of misinformation he had about her, that she was eighteen and able to date. In truth she was not yet seventeen, and Mrs. Knudsen had promoted the lie about her age in order that the baby-sitting job and money would stay in the family during her illness. Joyce took it upon herself to say, "You don't have to worry, Mr. Thatcher. I'll be a good ba. . . companion for Matt."
"I have the feeling that you will be," he said, smiling in such a way that she was warmed to the marrow and wanting to be able to say something else that might bring her another of his special smiles.
He left her to chat with his son as he completed dressing, and she had an opportunity to look around the house. It was a fine big house, quite in keeping with Joel Thatcher's status in Roseville, and while she had been in it on several occasions before, those were always in the presence of Mrs. Knudsen, and now it looked different to her. It was warmer, less awesome, and she was able to walk around and actually touch the things that he had bought, the things that he touched every day. At his desk she picked up an ordinary letter opener, and it felt like a bar of solid gold in her hands, and touched against her cheek.
She sat in his chair before the fireplace, feeling the leather arms worn incredibly smooth by his hands, feeling how her fanny fit so exactly the depression in the cushion made by his lean athlete's hips. She rose and went to brush her fingertips over the backs of his books, greatly impressed by the titles on them, all about finance and economics and politics. She took one down and tried to read a paragraph and felt a little ill at how complex it was and how different from the mean little things she read, but then she felt gloriously close to him as she held the book against her little bosom, that book his hands had caressed, that inanimate object that now had the magical ability to make her breasts feel womanly and full and almost big.
Standing thus Joyce could dream about how things might have been, but for the vagaries of time and space. Old enough to have the beginnings of womanly desires, she was still young enough to at least partially fulfill these desires through childish imaginings, through dreams, most of which lately revolved around Joel Thatcher, handsome, wealthy, and still young enough to identify with the knight who had never yet come to save her from the prison of her drab little life. In another time and place, she might have met him instead of the woman the townspeople only whispered about, might have met and married him and borne his children and continued on forever in a state of ecstasy as his adoring and adored wife, instead of running off to nowhere as his real wife had done. Oh, the things they would have done together. Oh, the joy they would have known together.
She thought about those things when she was alone in bed, especially after having seen him on the street or visited his house in his absence, but never had the imagined ecstasies been so strong as they were just then. She closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that she was his wife, and when that transformation did not come, she wished again, that she might be his housekeeper from now until the day she died. She opened her eyes and saw herself as she was, a teeny-bopper with long but lifeless hair, a non-existent figure under the skirt-and-blouse uniform of the very youg, a very plain face, and a mind that was good for nothing but useless imaginings. It made her feel angry with herself, and under her breath she muttered, "Fuck. Why did he have to go and marry that goddamned whore for anyway?"
Mr. Thatcher's warm laughter floated into the room and Joyce was able to put the book back on the shelf before he came in with little Matt. Not that Matt was so little. In fact, he was over average height for a twelve-year-old, but he so resembled his father that he looked like a little Joel. She felt ashamed at her errant blasphemy as she stood before father and son, and was formally entrusted with the care of the boy who might some day grow up to be as fine a man as Mr. Thatcher.
She watched him go down the hedge-lined walk, saw his car carry him off into the night on his missions of mercy, and she renewed her vow to take absolutely perfect care of his son and guard him from even the slightest danger. She turned to Matt, smiling.
"Well, here we are, alone on a Friday night. I understand you have some math homework to do," she said. "Just let me know if you've got a problem I can help you with. Then we can look at TV and play games until I put you in bed."
She sat and watched him at his figures, marveling at how much he resembled his sire. If he had whiskers and if he combed his thick brown hair back, he'd be the exact image of his father. In his features there was not a hint of what his mother might have looked like, that woman who was probably much like her own mother. Both of them came from the wombs of women who had abandoned their young at birth. At times Joyce could feel this weakness in herself, plus the enormous sexuality that went along with it. She wondered if that same sexuality was hidden deep inside the handsome boy, to be brought out into the open very soon now by some girl more knowledgeable than herself. Leaning over his shoulder to check his work, which was incomprehensible to her, his fresh warm odor made her feel as drunk as if she'd had a glass of Mrs. Knudsen's wine.
On the couch with him, watching TV, she laughed and said in a sisterly way, "Just look at us, sitting around and watching TV like some old married couple." That made him blush, and he became even more beautiful to her. She kept him blushing as much as she could by teasing him about the girls in the television show, and she made him whoop with laughter by merely threatening to tickle him.
When the show was over, she sent him off to get his Monopoly set, and in a few moments she could hear him going to the bathroom. It made her realize just how badly she had to go. Her cunt actually hurt from holding it back while she waited for Matt to finish and flush the toilet, and when he did, Joyce made herself wait for ten long seconds before she hurried off to relieve herself. And then, seated where Matt had just peed, Joyce found that she didn't have to go at all. It just hurt down there, and it even looked all red and raw when she examined it. Not a really painful hurt, but a persistent ache, a need to be itched perhaps, and Joyce urgently itched it for a few seconds and then pulled her labia far apart and bent to look closer at it.
It was all red and her clitoris was sticking up and she could see exactly where a man's prick was supposed to fit in her. She poked her finger in it and worked it all around and in and out, masturbating in earnest and working quickly to a climax. As it came she loosened her bladder and began peeing, and panted and rocked on the toilet seat, coming harder than she ever had before.
In a hot daze of shame, she washed and dried herself and tried to look normal and without guilt before returning to him. She was ashamed of herself, not only because of her weakness, but because Matt might have been kidnapped while she was off playing with herself, and that would simply destroy Mr. Thatcher. He had suffered too much already. He deserved better than that from his fellow man, this man who had raised his child alone after his wife had left him, and still had risen to a lofty position in the city's bank, and who still found time to help others less fortunate than he. That was why she was there that night, because of the charity that he performed.
Every Friday night Mr. Thatcher journeyed to the big city, giving of his time to the Midnight Mission who served the derelicts of the Tri-City area. Some people said he did it because he was searching for the wife who'd left him, but when asked about his motives he blandly said, "Someone has to help the poor devils." He was such a good man, and she loved him so for that.
Joyce's guts were clenched into a knot at the sight of Matt. He was seated on the floor, laying out the Monopoly game, and in every way normal, except for the fact that he'd failed to zip up his pants all the way. This tiny deviation was quite enough to make Joyce know that the hot feelings in her were those of lust, not shame. She was feeling terribly sexed up, and this was terrible in itself, as she had just experienced a real cataclysm of an orgasm. She sat down before her legs could collapse under her and began playing, and she played badly for she couldn't keep her mind on the game. Why didn't he see his open fly? What if his prickie should pop right out when he moved around? It would be small. She could feel exactly where it would fit in her.
Or had he purposefully left his fly open, knowing how much the sight of that excited girls like her? He was so exceptionally bright, he might be deceiving her. If he was, she'd tickle him till he peed in his pants for teasing her like that.
She had him put on his pajamas while she made them chocolate Sundaes, which were eaten in the breakfast nook. It was like a restaurant booth, and she said, "It's almost as if we were out on a date, Matt."
"I don't go out with girls," he said, laying disgusted emphasis on the last word, and she hated him momentarily for having such a squeaky voice. In bed, though, she loved him again, for there in the dimness he looked even more like his father.
She sat beside him and tucked him in and stroked his hair from his eyes, loving him very much.
Impulsively, she bent and gave him a good-night kiss, and in rising was appalled at how hot she was and how the mere touch of her lips to his incredibly smooth, warm forehead had brought it all out again.
She went shakily into the living room and sat down to watch the news, but couldn't understand a bit of it. She was so hot, and all she could do was frig herself as she waited for the first commercial to come on. Matt was still awake, but barely so, when she went in for her first look at him.
He looked exactly like an angel and she had to kiss him. His skin felt distinctly warmer when she did, and she had to hold her lips there to be sure he didn't have a fever. She touched his skin with her tongue and thought about how his tongue might feel on hers ... or on her nipples ... or on her cunt. She returned to the news even more shaken, and brought herself to the verge of an orgasm and then held herself there until the next commercial came on.
Now he was sound asleep. His forehead still felt feverish, and his cheek was somewhat warm to her lips, too. She barely touched his lips with hers and found them cool, and his breath sweet. She made his nose twitch when she placed her cunt-smelling fingers under it, while at the same time she was getting the fingers of her other hand in that same state.
She removed her panties before sitting down at the television set again, and she couldn't keep from making herself come again before the next break in the news. She sat through that commercial and wondered if she had at last succeeded in sating the huge sexual desires that had swept over her, and decided that she had, that her utterly disgusting behavior had run its course, and to prove it she fingered herself with no feelings of excitement at all. At the next commercial break she could go in and see him quite calmly and professionally.
He was sleeping peacefully, like a child, and Joyce felt very maternal. She understood exactly how Joel Thatcher loved him so much, and she loved him herself that way for a while before he moved. In one violent movement he kicked the covers down, and in that moment the lust flared as fiercely as ever in her. It was all she could do to keep from throwing herself on him, all she could do to keep from darting her hand inside his pajamas and feeling how big his penis was, and she quickly brought up the covers and removed temptation, contenting herself with kisses. She felt more of his warm, smooth skin with her lips, and for the first time in her life she felt in a boy's ear with her tongue, and was able to divine what it would feel like if a boy ever put his tongue in her vagina.
On the way back to her chair, she got Mr. Thatcher's letter opener and slipped the handle in and out of her cunt, and in another few minutes was on the brink of another orgasm. Going back into Matt's room, she saw that he was still under the covers, and she carefully drew them down. One button of his pajama top was open and she could see how perfectly smooth and hairless his body was, and feel with her forefinger how damp and warm.
His fly front was open and she had to move it aside a little before she could at last see his penis. It was cute but disappointing, a fat pink and white worm that looked so frail and weak that she could scarcely believe it.
She bent closer to his loins and blew her warm breath there, hoping to make his penis harden right before her eyes, but it didn't do any good. At least it didn't do him any good, but it certainly did things for her. His proximity, the warmth that emanated from him, even the yeasty smell of his loins were intoxicatingly exciting to her, and her breath came faster as she blew on his little prickie through pursed lips.
The thought of how close her mouth had been to his prickie while she was blowing him added greatly to her digital excitement, and then she settled down to have a real fun evening of masturbation.
Chapter Two
As eager and as excited as Joel Thatcher was, he still had time for some very guilty thoughts about Joyce as he drove toward East Grange. East Grange was across the river from the Tri-Cities, that heavily populated area that was now one huge city. East Grange had not been incorporated into that growth, largely because of its past. The cluster of saloons and gaming houses had for decades provided diversion for the wicked few among the farmers and millers and craftsmen who had built the Tri-Cities, and even today unsavory establishments remained. It was there that Joel Thatcher spent his Friday nights, among the dissolute and depraved, among girls who had once been as sweet and unsullied as his temporary baby-sitter.
What a lovely child she was with her glossy brown hair and her pale but robustly healthy young skin. Her figure was just starting to bud. She would be a late-bloomer, just the kind to set the animal pulses of the East Grange animals racing at the sight of her. As he pulled his Chrysler off onto a tree-lined farm road and up to an abandoned barn, he ruefully reflected on how easily Joyce might be led astray.
He unlocked the door and drove the Chrysler inside, and began undressing. He took off his conservative black shoes, his striped tie, his. dark blue suit, and his white shirt. He put on tight gabardine slacks, a black turtle-necked T-shirt, Wellington boots, and a light wind-breaker, and he got into the other vehicle in the barn. This was a four-year-old Chevy pickup with a 427 engine under the hood and a camper on its bed. He had bought the camper with the idea of having some privacy without having to go to some whore's hotel room, but lately he'd used it less and less. As nicely as it was laid out for having kicks, he got more kicks out of making it in Hazel Cole's apartment. Actually it was Art Cole's apartment, for as far as Joe Thatcher knew, Hazel and Art weren't married. They lived together, and Hazel used it to turn a trick now and then, and what man would marry a woman who liked being a whore, and then let her go right on with her trade? Obviously, a man like Art, a man who would do anything for a buck, and some things for free if those things were wicked enough.
What Art wouldn't do if he could get his meathooks on Joyce. Or for that matter, what Joe wouldn't do if he could have met Joyce under different circumstances. The sweet-assed little sexpot with her tits that made a man's hands itch. She probably wasn't eighteen, no matter what she and her slatternly aunt said, and her minority would make -it all the more thrilling. She'd probably love it, once she got over being scared to death. She might cry. Tears might stain those angelic cheeks, and she might sob in a pitiful fashion as he ripped her clothes off and mauled her delicately turned little body with his hands. Yes, he'd have her crying like a baby, and then he'd have her crying for more before he was done with her.
He got his cigarettes from the glove box and stuck them in his pocket. He lit one with one hand while driving at seventy-five with the other, and from under the seat he took a bottle of whisky and had his first drink of the week. He liked to warm up with one or two nips before he got to East Grange, and be in a pleasantly relaxed mood when he rolled into the Aces Up. The Aces Up was a saloon/card room/whorehouse that was currently Joe Thatcher's favorite, owned and operated by Art Cole, and ably hostessed by Hazel. It was to this place and others like it that Joe had been frequenting for the past seven years, on those Friday nights when he was supposedly doing volunteer charity work among the winoes and wretches of the Tri-Cities.
He knew it was a shabby thing to do, but a man did need to cut loose now and then, and he otherwise lived a truly exemplary life. If he didn't have the outlet of his Friday night dissipations, he might never have succeeded in rising in business as he had, and might indeed have gotten himself in trouble with some cute little chick like. Joyce.
The Aces Up was a saloon much like the eleven others that comprised the business section of East Grange. In neon and blinking incandescence they did their best to promote themselves as palaces of pleasure, but they were in the final analysis places of business. Any sort of pleasure could be had, even for the most jaded and depraved, but only for a price. Joel didn't mind paying the price. He didn't mind at all pilfering a hundred dollars of the bank's funds and blowing every cent of it on the pleasures of the flesh each Friday night, for the money was taken in such a way that no one would ever discover him and because a man like himself just couldn't constantly live the life of the prudent celibate. If he had any feelings of guilt about it at all, those feelings left him as he entered the swinging doors that led into the big front room of the Aces Up.
There was a long bar along one wall and he went to it first, greeted Freddy the bartender and had time to light up another cigarette before his drink came. He watched the show, a series of strippers backed by a loud combo, and smiled and chatted with the bar girls. They could be had, as well as the strippers, though the latter cost a good deal more. They liked Joel better than the next guy, as a rule, because he was free with his money.
He had fucked several of them and had seen almost all of them perform in the back room, but for the past seven or eight weeks he'd wound up his evenings with Hazel. Hazel and all the rest thought he was a crop duster pilot who worked independently in the surrounding farmland and came into East Grange weekly to blow off some steam. That evening he was disappointed in not seeing Hazel, and when he saw Art Cole he called him over and asked if he could buy him a drink.
Art Cole had gotten his down payment for the Aces Up through his trade as a boxer. He had fought some of the best, Kid Gavilan and Chuck Davey and Tiger Jones, for instance, before age and the boxing commission had lifted his license. He was going bald now, and was getting a paunch, but still he had the bulging arms and the gnarled fists of the boxer. His bent and battered features told one and all what his profession had been, and if there was any doubt about his being completely over the hill, a demonstration of his quickness of hand could dispel it.
"I'll have a drink with you, Joe," he said, "but I'm buying."
"Fair enough," said Joe, and raised his glass to him. "Hazel around tonight?"
"Yeah, in back gettin' things ready for a Lesbian show. You wanna sit in on it?"
"Is she going to be in it?" he asked and grinned.
"She might be at that, if she don't get one of the chicks to change her mind and cooperate."
"Do me a favor and let me know if Hazel is going to fill in for her, Art. I'll be at the poker table. And tell her I'm here if you get the chance."
"I'll make it a point," the old boxer said with a grin. "She's always glad to see you. Good luck with the cards."
Joe didn't have good luck with the cards. He lost slowly and steadily, paying for the drink Art had bought him several times over with the cuts taken out of the hands. He enjoyed it, though. He didn't come there to win, but only to stretch out his hundred dollars for as long as he could before he got laid, had a nap, and went home to the real world.
He liked to study the faces of his card-playing opponents and equate their expressions to those who came to him for a loan, and he liked to look around at the drunken and lascivious behavior all about him in the noisy, smoky room. Young servicemen being deftly and sensuously relieved of their furlough money and flushed businessmen carefully dickering over their evening's fun and grizzled old farmers feeling young again. He watched them all and he watched the girls at work on them and he wondered what combination of circumstances might lead little Joyce into such a life of sin.
It probably wouldn't take much. If Mrs. Knudsen died, for instance, it would only be a matter of time before Joyce was in a place like this, getting pawed as she bargained over the price of her fresh young body, and probably enjoying herself immensely, at least at first. He could tell which of the girls still enjoyed their work and which had seen too much and done too much. Hazel was almost at that point of boredom and he felt flattered and proud that she could still get a kick out of turning a trick with him.
That was remarkable for she'd been in the skin business for almost ten years. But she was a strong, lusty woman and could take it far better than little Joyce. The latter would be burnt out in a year, for she had an innocence about her that would attract a steady stream of the most brutally lustful men. Thinking about her, thinking how it would be to be the first with her, he was distracted and he drank more whisky and lost more money than he had intended to. By midnight he was drunk, with only fifteen dollars left, and he hadn't even seen Hazel yet.
He went looking for her, and it cost him five dollars more right away for she was still in the back room, and even though the show was over the doorman wouldn't let Joe in without his paying the admission fee. Inside he nursed a drink at the small bar there while he watched her in conversation with three women in the corner by the little stage.
The bored one in the trio was Judy, a black bar girl whom Joe knew and liked. She would go with any customer and enter into any show for a price, and it was this matter-of-fact attitude that Joe liked about her even more than her slim, ominously dark good looks. The larger of the other two was obviously a Lesbian, with mannish clothes and shingled hair. She was doing most of the talking to Hazel, sitting with one arm possessively about the slight shoulders of a pretty blonde who leaned against her as if she was drugged. All three were good looking and well built, but Hazel outshone them all. Her red-dyed hair was piled high on her head, her sensual features brazenly accentuated with make-up. She was in a little white dress that looked blue under the fluorescent lights and that made her olive skin look darker than Joe knew it to be. The dress was cut low, top and bottom, to show off her big tits and her fine legs, and she filled it completely with her ample curves. At length she gave some money to Judy and the Lesbian, and Judy left at once, while the Lesbian delayed Hazel with more talk. Joe cursed the dyke under his breath and silently told Hazel to hurry, that he was itching for her. He had a drink waiting when she came to sit beside him.
"Hi ya, Hazel. Did you miss me?" he smiled. "Not tonight. I've been too busy. The first show went over so well Art had me put on another one. Little Blondie really got a going over. And that dyke was a scream. It was all I could do to talk her into making it on stage with that chick the first time. She said she was only doing it because she's desperate for some bread. Then she did the second show for half the price we agreed on, and before she left she said she'd be available any time at all."
"I guess a lot of your Lesbians are exhibitionists," he said. "But what about you? Do you feel like making it about now?"
"No need to ask if you do," she replied, and reached a hand down to his loins. She found his prick up, but not fully hard, and grinned. "I thought I was tired from being on my feet all day, but somehow I'm not at all tired any more. You do good things to me, Joe ... if that's what your name is."
"Sure that's my name," he said and laughed. "What makes you think it's anything different?"
"Oh, you know, we get a lot of guys in here who're married and use some phoney name so they can make a big mystery out of a night out on the town. You're not like that. You're really Joe."
"And I'm really horny. Let's go to your place," he said.
"Let's."
She worked him over as he drove, one arm about his neck, one hand in his lap, her lips nuzzling and saying nice, hot little things at his ear.
They were inside the spacious mobile home she shared with Art before he could take her in his arms and feel her lush, mature body against his as they exchanged a deep kiss that had more emotion than the kiss of just another whore. But then she reaffirmed her status by coyly demanding that he pay her before they go further.
"Isn't it about time I had one on the house?" he grinned.
She shook her head, looking wonderfully evil, and kneaded his ass cheeks with her fingers and ground her loins against him, saying, "They'd kick me out of the union if I started giving away freebies. First pay, then play, honey."
"All I've got left is ten bucks," he said as he sighed. "You're going to have to trust me for the other fifteen till next week."
She laughed, low and throaty. "Oh, no. Once a whore starts doing business on credit, she stops being a whore. Pay me, mister."
"But, I don't have it. Damn it, I lost the damned money at your poker table. You'll get it, one way or another."
"The tables are Art's. I only get a cut from the skin trade. Pay me, honey. Lay twenty-five on my pillow, John, and we'll talk some more."
"Christ' sake, don't you ever fuck for fun, Hazel? Don't you enjoy it unless you're selling it?"
She laughed at him and told him that was her business, and she ground herself against him in an intolerable way as she said, "You could get one of the other chicks for ten, or you could save your money and just go out in your car and beat off. Hell, you could even make enough money for me by going back to the Aces and jacking off in the back room. They'll pay to see just about anything there."
"What I ought to do is throw you down on the floor and take what I want from you, you whore."
"Try it, Joe, and see what Art does to protect his business. Now, do you want to fuck or not? Fuckie-suckie, twen'y-fi' dollahs, mistah."
He talked and talked, swinging from threats to cajolery and back, for he had to have it, but she wouldn't budge. She laughed at him and she said she felt sorry for him, but all she gave him was another drink and her best wishes for success in coming up with another fifteen dollars. He left in a rage, and when she said she'd wait up for him, he knew he'd be back.
He drank as he drove, and he made it from East Grange to Roseville in record time, not stopping to change-cars and clothes along the way. At that hour, no one in town would see him and he could slip in and get a couple of twenties and make a real night of it.
He hadn't intended to stay out all night this first time Joyce was baby-sitting for him, but that couldn't be helped. In a way it would serve her right, for his horniness was largely her fault. He'd been thinking about her off and on ever since he'd left home, and once he was back with Hazel he'd work out every one of the frustrations and fantasies he'd had about young Joyce. He parked the pickup camper in the driveway and tiptoed in the back way. He'd have the money and be gone and she'd never know he'd returned, fast asleep as she was in the bedroom next to Matt's.
At the kitchen door he frowned, for she had left the television set on. He tiptoed farther and confirmed this and the fact that she was asleep in the chair in front of it, a bad breach in his rules. But he had to get past her now and get the money from his desk, and his admonitions would have to wait until morning.
Going past her he paused to gaze down at her lovely face illuminated by the flickering light from the screen, and she was so poignantly beautiful that he bent to look closer at her. She was all pure innocence, even in her foetal posture, with knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them as she softly snored. He had to get down on his knees to see her properly, and there he was electrified to see that he could look right at her cunt, small and pink and naked, and entirely thrilling.
Chapter Three
Drunk and startled as he was, Joel just knelt and stared at Joyce's cunt for a time. It was as compact and fresh as a rosebud in comparison to the full-blown passion flowers of the whores' cunts he was used to, and he was constrained to bend closer and breathe in what he could of its fragrance. It was sweet and fresh and not fetid at all, but nevertheless so intoxicating that he felt his penis growing heavy in his pants. It peeped out of her sparse brown fur like a young wild animal from the forest which has not yet learned to be afraid of man, and he wanted to get close enough to it to pet it.
He could clearly see her little clit and the three deep lines that converged at her vagina, that little orifice that he knew could somehow stretch to accommodate his big cock. He breathed more deeply of her heavy fragrance and was dizzily wondering if he could kiss her there without waking her up when he saw Matt's pencil, all but eclipsed under one of her little white buttocks.
Exercising the greatest of care, he managed to very slowly pull it out from under her without making her so much as stir. She would sleep more comfortably without that under her, and he could feast his eyes on her most private parts without being disturbed by the hard lines of the pencil. He wondered what it was doing there. He sniffed its rubber end and felt an electric thrill in the pit of his stomach at the knowledge that it had been in her pussy, that she'd been masturbating with it.
He smiled to himself as he sniffed it. The little bitch, putting on that Little Miss Innocence front and all the time playing with herself and sticking objects up her hot little cunt. He wondered if she'd done it with any of his things, and he grinned even more broadly as he saw the letter opener on the table by her elbow.
It was a waste, really. She should have some boy's prick in her. Well, she probably did that, too, and she probably didn't understand why none of the boys could keep up with her desires. He'd like to get his his great big cock in that tiny little cunt. He'd like to give her a ride that she'd never forget and prove to her once and for all the superiority of experience and control over youth and eagerness. My God, how he^ like to get his long cock in it!
He hunkered closer and breathed more deeply still of her, but there was no way he could get his tongue close enough to even touch it to her delightful little cunt. Her thighs were in the way for that, but it was quite possible for his finger to reach her. He watched her face for a sign she might be awakening, and then he touched her little girl slit with the tip of his middle finger. She was slightly damp and burning warm, and when he touched that finger to his tongue he had to close his eyes and suck on it for it was that delicious.
Of course he returned for more, touching her clitoris very lightly, and she kept right on snoring. He felt the silken texture of her pubic hair and the firmness of her labia, and still she slept, not even disturbed by the touch of his heavy breathing on the exposed undersides of her thighs. She felt distinctly warmer right at the portal to her vagina, but she gave Joel a terrible start when she moaned as he touched her there. Excuses raced through his mind as he hung there, poised, but then there was no need for them as she settled back to sleep, and he softly exhaled and probed just his fingertip inside her eager cunt.
Yes, there she was very wet. In sleep her vaginal muscles remained closed, damming up the sweet nectars she'd secreted while she was masturbating and leaving her well-lubricated for a continuation of the pleasures she'd been enjoying. He got it in her very tight hole to the first joint and was able to work it back and forth a little and get it very wet before he carefully extracted it and sucked on it again, further increasing his excitement.
He had to fight the urge to giggle as he slipped his finger into her again. It went much more easily now, but still she remained completely unaware of how he was stealing from her, and of all that she was missing. Another time, another place, and he'd wake up the hot little bitch in more ways than one. He slipped it in farther, until his hard knuckles were touching her incredibly soft little thighs, and rotated it just a bit as he drew it out again. Shamelessly he sucked his finger, and shamelessly he contemplated on just how far he could go without waking her up. It would be fine to get at her sweet little titties and her saucy little ass, but then again, what more could he want besides this? He slipped his finger in again, and with his other hand he squeezed and stroked his hard, pulse-pounding cock.
What kind of dreams was he bringing to her by his very slow, very steady finger-fucking?
He remembered how he had once played with his wife while she was asleep and of how frighteningly hot she'd been when she had at last awakened. Would she be able to come in her sleep, or would she wake up as he had when he'd had wet dreams as a boy. She was dreaming, there was no doubt about that, for she was stirring a bit in her sleep and making little noises. And there was no doubt that she was getting hot, for her sounds and movements were most sensual, and her cunt was getting very wet indeed. He pushed his finger in farther, as far as it would go, and watching for her every reaction, he ventured to wriggle it slightly.
"Oh, honey, do it," she muttered, so softly he almost missed her words and the giddy thrill that accompanied them. But she didn't wake up, and he was further emboldened to see just how much further he could take her without waking her up.
Her clit was noticeably bigger by then and he massaged it softly with the ball of his thumb as he moved his finger inside her. She was quite tight and would milk an enormous ejaculation from him, but she was not a virgin. A pencil or a letter opener or, most likely, a high school boy had broken her cherry so that he had no fear of damaging her with his finger, but what a scandal there would be if he was discovered even doing this. The thought of it made him shiver, but the thought of his fully mature cock in her, tearing her perhaps, made him continue. Shaking, he drew his finger in and out of her odorous slit, getting his face close enough to her so that he could smell her strongly and even hear the little wet sounds he was making in her cunt, and blowing his warm breath directly on her clitoris.
"Feels so good," she murmured.
"Oh, yeah," he whispered back to her unhearing ears, "old Joe'll make you feel real good, cutie-pie."
"Do it," she moaned in a little, pleading voice, and then completely paralyzing him by placing her small hand on his head.
He did not have to look at her to make sure she was awake, but he nevertheless did so and saw her sleepy eyes glazed over with desire for him and showing very little fear. In her somnolent innocence she was only hot, and all the fear was in him. For a dreadful instant he saw his job, his reputation, even his son being taken away from him and he had the wild thought of killing her, strangling her before she could set up the slightest hue and cry. Thoughts like that are born in liquor, and he willed away the effects of all the alcohol he'd consumed and sought to reason his way out of this very sticky affair he'd gotten himself into. All hot and sleepy and confused, she was no match at all for him, drunk as he was, and he was able to muster a good deal of confidence as he spoke to her.
"Is this always what you do when someone hires you to baby-sit for them, sit around and masturbate?"
"But I didn't," she said, looking charmingly worried now.
"It was perfectly obvious to me, so don't lie. And don't try to tell me you didn't ask me to touch you like this," he said, his voice stern, his caress continuing soft.
"I fell asleep. I. . ."
"Fell asleep playing with yourself. You're just lucky you did it here and not at someone's house who is less understanding about the sexual problems of a youngster like yourself."
"I didn't mean to, Mr. Thatcher," she said, taking her hand from him and trying to close her legs, her voice strained to the breaking point by her mixed sexual excitement and fear.
"If you didn't mean to finger-fuck yourself," he smiled, "you wouldn't have done it. Now, tell me and don't lie to me. Did you come?"
She nodded, close to tears, her teeth pressing into her full underlip, and he was thrilled that she was able to experience an orgasm.
"And you want to come again," he said, and again she nodded, looking at him in a most adoring and fearing way through her long, dark lashes.
Moving his finger more surely, separating her legs a bit, he smiled and said, "That can be arranged, Joyce. I know how to make you come harder than you ever have before. I'd do that for you if I was absolutely sure you'd never ever say anything about it to anyone in this world."
"Oh, I wouldn't," she ardently said, and he believed her, but still he had to make sure.
He was enjoying himself now, and enjoying every one of her tormented little actions as he said, "If I show you one of the nicest, most beautiful things a man can do for a girl, you must promise you'll never tell anyone, not your aunt or your best girl friend or anyone."
Her body gave a big jerk and then it was twitching and squirming almost uncontrollably as she panted, "Do it, I won't tell anyone, I promise, Mr. Thatcher, just do it. Please ..."
He jerked his finger out of her and gave her clit a pinch that made her groan and leap, and then he lowered his head and clamped his lips about her clitoris and sucked it, hard. She went wild, clutching his hair in both her little fists and making strangling sounds and digging her heels into the cushion of the chair to squirm her cunt up against his mouth. It was all instinctive on her part. She may have been fucked before but he was all but certain no one had ever gone down on her and that he was the first to suck and lick and wallow in her sweet little cunt.
He'd always heard that there was nothing in the world like eating a virgin, and she was close enough to being a virgin for him to know the truth in that now. Her cunt was so small and tight that he felt he could engulf the whole thing in his mouth, and her actions were pure abandon now as he forgot all about the techniques of cunnilingus he'd learned at the hands of whores and just did all he could to get his fill of this rare delight. Her legs were nubile, but so thin he could almost encircle them at the knees with his hands as he lifted them and drew them farther apart to get at more of her, and he made urgently contented buzzing sounds there as he sought for the very best of it. She groaned very loudly when he thrust his tongue up in her vagina, and panted out hot words of confused passion to him.
"That's so good I can't stand it and I'm going to come all over you, Mr. Thatcher, oh, please don't stop, please I'm going to come, I love you!"
"Hush," he panted back at her. "You'll wake Matt."
"Nothing wakes him up," she babbled, and grabbed him by the hair again and tried to tear it out by the roots as he resumed eating her.
He dragged her forward till her ass was on the edge of the cushion and dug in with his tongue and his hands, the latter squeezing hell out of her sweet little buttocks, the former stabbing and licking at the perfectly wonderful flesh he was sucking into his mouth. She was coming, and he was making her do it, and he felt very close to coming himself as she squealed louder and louder, repeating her love for him even when he was biting her clitoris to bring her to an unforgettably high climax. No, she would never forget this, nor would he, and to make doubly certain of that, and to give her a kick she might never know again, he pulled her ass up farther and stuck his tongue in her butt-hole.
She went wild, reaching yet another high plateau of pleasure, and as he returned to licking her cunt he was ecstatically glad he'd overcome his inhibitions about anilingus and given them both that added thrill. He would have sucked her longer, would have eaten her sweet cunt forever, but she squirmed away, groaning.
"I'm going to faint. I love you so but I can't stand it any more. Let me up. Please, Mr. Thatcher," she begged.
"You'd be surprised how much you can stand," he laughed, and made a dive for her cunt again.
"No, I've got to get up," she said, and showed she had a good deal of energy left by squirming out of the chair and hurrying off, her buttocks showing from under her little skirt, both hands cupped over her loins.
Joel Thatcher chuckled and shook his head and said to himself, "Well, you've finally gone and done it, you ass. And was it worth it, and will she keep quiet about it? Probably yes to both, but still it was the stupidest fucking thing you could possibly have done. No, it wasn't worth it. Should have fucked that goddamned Hazel. It's all her fault, really, but the fact remains, Joel Thatcher, you were the one who did it to little Joyce, and even though she wanted it, you're still in one big batch of trouble."
With pussy all over his face, he lurched to his feet. Wash his face first, that was the thing to do, and get the smell of little girl cunt out of his nostrils and douse his fogged head with cold water to be able to think himself out of this. His legs were cramped from crouching on the floor for so long and numbed from the whisky, and he lurched into the wall several times on his way to the bathroom.
He looked at Matt on the way and saw him sound asleep, and hot shame washed over him at the thought of what he'd done to this other child. Poor Joyce would always have a thing about cunnilingus now and about older men, and the guilt for her fixations would be directly on his head. He was thinking about confessing to the authorities, thinking about paying for a psychiatrist for her, when he entered the bathroom and saw her seated on the toilet, and the sight of her with her skirt up about her hips and her loving eyes gazing up at him made him forget about everything but having more of her.
"'Scuse me for barging in on you," he said and smiled.
She grinned like an imp, showing yet another side of her, and said, "Gee, after doing that to me I shouldn't be afraid of letting you see me wee-wee."
He knelt and took her hand and said, "Honey, you should never be ashamed of anything we do together. You should just be careful and not tell anyone. Okay?"
She smiled and nodded happily, her eyes filled with tears of joy, and lifted his hand and pressed it to her lips. He came closer on his knees and cupped her beautiful little face in his hands and mashed his cunty, whisky-smelling mouth on hers, and when he thrust his tongue between her incredibly soft lips she hesitated only a moment before she was sucking it and giving him her tongue in return.
He squeezed her legs gently, from her knees to her ass-cheeks, and tried to engulf her mouth with his. She in turn did her best to keep up with the demands of his kiss, and from the way she was trembling he felt she would be capable of yet another orgasm, so soon after the first he had given her. He wanted her to have it.
He broke away from her sucking, clinging lips and looked into her face with its drooping eyes and swollen mouth and reddened nose, and he worked his thumbs in the hollows of her thighs as he said, "I'll bet you want to come again about now."
"I've gotta wee-wee so bad I don't think I can," she panted, looking soulfully at him, clutching spasmodically at his hands.
He laughed and said, "Honey, I know you can. You just show me how pretty your titties are and I'll personally guarantee to make you come again."
"No, they're too small," she said, blushing even through the high color of her passion and trying to cover her little bosom with her hands.
He pulled them aside and began on the buttons of her blouse, smiling warmly and saying, "I'm not a man who likes cows with udders, I'm a man who likes girls with pretty little titties, and I'll be damned if I'll let you hide them from me now that I've kissed your pretty little cunt. Just lean back and relax. I know what's good for you, don't I?"
She leaned back, but she didn't relax. Resting against the porcelain commode, she was breathing heavily and looking longingly at him and clutching at her hips to keep her hands from stopping him as he opened her blouse and lifted her bra.
They were tiny, the smallest he had ever seen, with hardly any swelling of her breasts. They looked deformed for they were all nipples, almost as flat as a boy's chest save for those very large pale' rose-colored nipples that jutted out of her slender young body. Awed, he took them between his thumbs and forefingers, and only when she moaned and squirmed did it strike him that these nipples which comprised almost her entire bosom were the most sensitive part of any female's breasts. He grinned and came forward to suck on them, working his hips in between her knees and feeling how frail and warm and soft she was under his strong big hands.
"Jeez Christ, but that feels good," she said and moaned, and tried to get her hand down between her legs.
When he realized what she was doing he dragged her hand away and started doing it himself, working his fingers around inside her labia while he continued to suck on her hot little nipples. Of course he could easily get one in his mouth in-its entirety, and once there he could make it seem to double in size by sucking on it and licking it with his tongue. With the increase in size came a corresponding increase in sensitivity, and moments after he'd started sucking on them he had her going real good again. Being entirely in his power, she was very easy, but this made her nonetheless desirable to him, and in fact he felt that nothing could detract from the excitement of awakening this delectable young girl to all the many and varied pleasures of sex. Everything he did to her was a new thrill to her, and thus to him at the same time, and he felt rejuvenated and reborn by each of her passionate reactions to his able love-making.
"I can't help it. I can't help it," she groaned, very miserably, arid then stunned him by starting to urinate in his hand.
He stopped the movements of it and even stopped sucking her nipple, but still she went on, moaning apologies and thrusting her nipple deeper into his mouth, squirming her streaming cunt against his hand in a way that made it perfectly clear she was coming again. Despite the hot liquid that gushed over his hand, despite, the smell of it, he became fully aroused again and rubbed her hard and sucked her nipple hard before he lifted his face and gazed into her twisted features and panted. "That's it, baby. Come for me again. And never forget this. Never forget me," he said.
Chapter Four
The girl sprawled obscenely open there on the toilet seat while beside her Joel washed his hands and face in the basin. She was all his; he could do whatever he wanted with her for as long as he wanted just as long as he didn't get carried away and frighten her, Nand just as long as she was impressed by the need for total discretion. That should be easy, for this one had the look of survival about her, as if she knew which side her bread was buttered on. As long as he was good to her, as long as he let her continue to think she loved him, she'd keep her mouth shut.
He smiled down at her, clothes disarranged and looking at him with total adoration, and he felt more confident still. A relationship lasting months or even years was well within the realm of possibility, and what a wonderful thing that could be, with him supplying her simple needs for pretty clothes and safe, mature sex, and her reciprocating by keeping him eternally young. If he handled her carefully he could teach her about sex in the proper way, and even when their affair was over she would forever be grateful to him for being the one to show her all that existed in her cunning little body. She might go the way of Lolita, with kids and a dreary house in suburbia and a beer-swilling husband, and be sustained only by the remembrances of the gentle but masterful man who had given her so much in exchange for so very little. He would teach her about fucking and about birth control and all about oral sex, and he might even learn a thing or two himself when it came to such things as anal sex. Oh, yes, this little affair could work out just fine if he played his cards just right.
Then the little minx surprised him yet again. She reached her little hand up and he could feel it trembling as it touched the bulge 'in his pants, and there was a trembling in her voice too as she said, "It's so big."
He laughed. "And it's all me. Want to see it?" She quickly nodded and, most gratifying to him, began to open his trousers herself. With his hands on his hips he turned to face her where she sat on the toilet, and that was the only help he gave her in getting his cock out. She was clumsy at his tight trousers, but this only served to bring his erection to a full state of hardness by the time she had it out.
"It's so big!" she said again when it was out and pointing right at her face, and indeed to Joel his familiar penis seemed outlandishly large.
But he laughed and said, "It's only average-sized. When you're older and more experienced you'll find lots of guys with bigger pricks," he said amazed at his calm manner that came through the tremendous excitement he was feeling from her small white hands on his organ, and from the look of hewildered desire on her pretty face. "And, big as it is, it's not too big to go inside you, Joyce. Not tonight, perhaps, but some time soon whenyou're just as ready."
"I want it now," she said, and closed her hands on it in a way that made him gasp and almost come. "I know it'll fit in me."
He fought for control and panted, "Can't tonight. No rubbers or anything." He was trying to remember the penalty for statutory rape. He was wondering if it applied to oral sex acts.
"But it's so bigj" she insisted, exploring it with her hands and showing no signs of fear at all. "And since you made me feel so good, I ought to do the same for you."
"Keep that up and you will," he gasped, and grabbed her by the head, wanting more than anything else in the world to make her suck it and at the same time appalled at the thought of making a cock-sucker out of her before he'd even fucked her.
"Come!" she said, most imperatively, and began jacking him off very fast. He really felt she would have taken it in her mouth all on her own, but then at the last moment, just when he was starting to shoot, he clasped her head to his loins and, panting and gasping and heaving, spurted out great jets of hot sticky come. His prick moved between her hand and her cheek and it was as exquisite as any cunt he had ever known, and her mouth pressing hotly against his trousers-covered loins was deliriously good. He came and came, almost sobbing in his ecstasy, and she stayed with him to the end as he panted out instructions for her.
"That's it, baby. Milk it all out of there. Nnnng, it feels so fucking good to get it all out, all of it, and it's so good for you to do it. So good, so good, so good. Oh, baby, take care of me like this, and I'll sure take care of you."
She got up, his prick still in her hand, and she smiled bravely at him and went on tiptoe to kiss him, and her lips were very sweet but he could see his come all streaked whitely in her hair and this made him feel like the worst kind of pervert. He held her as he would a child and he tried to mutely atone for his sins by kissing her with utmost gentleness, but she would have none of that. She'd been treated like a woman, and now she was trying to act like one with a big cock in her little hand and kissing him with all the ardor she'd ever seen in the movies. He was touched by her enduring adoration for him and stirred by her innocent wantonness, and he at last exercised his good sense and tried to draw away.
She wouldn't let him go. Though he protested, she laughed and continued to cling to his wilting cock, not caring a whit about his sperm on her face and in her hair. "Lemme go now, Joyce. Lemme wash up and get out of here. I've got things to do."
"I'll wash it," she said, dragging him to the sink by it. "After all, I got it all messed up."
"Honey, you don't have to," he implored, very embarrassed now in the face of her continued interest in his depleted condition.
"It's really a pretty thing, isn't it," she said, turning on the warm water and lathering it up with soap. "I can't imagine why some girls are so afraid of them."
"As long as you're not," he said, starting to enjoy the luxurious little bath, and slipping an arm about her waist.
She washed it thoroughly and patted it dry, and even bent and pressed her cheek to it, and then she surprised him once again by saying, "Do you have to wee-wee? Just a little?"
"Yes, a little. But why?"
"I want to see how you do it. I've always wondered."
He laughed to hide his embarrassment and said, "I just do it. That's all."
"I want to see you do it. I want to help you. Let me. After all, you helped me pee."
She was so persistent about it and so openly interested that in the end he gave in to her. It was odd then, very odd, and more than a little exciting to stand there over the toilet bowl talking to her while she held his prick in her hand.
"What was it you have to do tonight?" she asked, her eyes on the object in her hand.
"Uh, I've got to take some money to somebody." It was amazing how she knew how to hold him; she must be more experienced than he'd thought.
"So late? Is it one of your charity cases?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said, not sure who the money was for by then.
"Take me with you."
"What? I can't do that. I can't leave Matt alone."
"Then take him along. Put him in the back seat of your car. He sleeps so hard he'd never wake up."
"I don't have my car, I have my camper, and I'm not about to go hauling him or you around in the middle of the night."
"A camper? That's all the better. He'd be real comfortable there and we could have all sorts of fun in the front. Take me with you? Please?"
It was completely out of the question, but then so was everything else that had happened between them that night. Against his better judgment, but enjoying it all immensely, he bundled his sleeping son up, moved him to the pickup, covered him warmly in the camper's bed and started back to East Grange with Joyce at his side.
It was a wild experience, hurtling through the night like that. She hadn't put her panties back on and he hadn't let her cover her titties with her bra, so he had easy access to her hot young body. She had access to his, too, playing with his cock as he drove, kissing him about the ear and face, and tickling her fingers under his shirt. He showed her how to kiss his nipples and he told her how wonderful it felt to have her do that; and he was very tempted to simply push her head on down to his lap and get her young mouth on his painfully engorged cock.
With his finger he made certain she was in a high state of excitement before he asked, "What do you know about blowing a guy, Joyce?"
After a pause, she said, "I know how to do it. Would you like me to?"
Joel was greatly relieved that he wouldn't be the first to sully her in this respect and at the same time jealous of whomever it was she'd done it for in the past. He rubbed her head and said, "I sure would like that, honey. Why don't you show me what you can do?"
She giggled once, like a little girl going on a roller coaster, and then she bent down between the steering wheel and his chest and blew on him. Her breath was a nice warm tickle on the swollen end of his cock, and although he wanted much more, he was more touched by her inexperience than ever. Poor sweet thing, she was taking her blow job quite literally, using her mouth on him only to deliver her breath, and not the oral caresses he yearned for.
He should congratulate her on a fine job and stop her, but on the other hand it was more than a little pleasant just as it was, his cock being bathed by her breath, her head nestled against his chest while he stroked her silken hair. He reached the glove box and got his bottle of whisky, took a drink and put it back, and he said to himself, "Now, look. You're in this thing just about as far as you can go, and there's not much reason to hold back now that you've brought her this far. Furthermore, if she doesn't start in on you, it'll just be someone else soon."
He pulled her up and took his eyes from the road to say, "I don't know who you've blowed before, but that isn't exactly the way to do it. This is," he said, and mashed her mouth on his, and stuck his tongue as deeply between her lips as he could. Ending the kiss, he had to swerve to get the camper back on the right side of the road again, and he said, "Blowing a guy is like French kissing him, honey. You've got to get close to your work . . . real close. Try again?"
"I'm supposed to put it right inside my mouth?" she asked.
"Remember how I sucked you here?" he smiled, and moved his finger on her clit. "Remember how good it felt?"
"I'll do it," she murmured, and ducked right down and was as good as her word. Her little girl tongue eagerly bathed his big man cock. His balls knotted and twisted in ecstasy.
Understandably she was clumsy at it. She sucked too hard and scraped him with her teeth, but still he enjoyed it enormously. Wincing now. and then, he drove on at eighty miles an hour, drinking from the bottle and rubbing the head of the teenager who was trying so hard to please him, the man she thought she loved. Thought she loved? She did love him. This was her first love affair, and even if he was twenty years her senior the love she felt for him was very real. It all had to be right, for him as well as for her.
"Go easy," he said. "A guy is very sensitive down there. That's better. Just suck slow and easy, and cover your teeth with your lips, baby. Ahhh. That feels so good. You feel that ridge that goes all around the head of my cock? Go around it with your tongue, luv. Don't be afraid. I'll never come in your mouth. Oh, God. Exquisite. Joyce, that is absolutely exquisite. You're going to make some guy quite a wife, girl. No, don't stop. Please, not yet. Suck it real slow and easy. Mmmm. Slide your lips up and down it. Baby, you're going to be the best cock-sucker in the world by the time I get done with you. And underneath it. That's where it's really sensitive. Feel that soft ridge under it? Just run your tongue up and down that for a while. Jesus, I must have died and gone to heaven. You like corn on the cob? Pretend that my cock is an ear of it and see if you can nibble off the kernels without using your teeth."
She laughed at this, a laugh of sheer exuberance and excitement, and she held it in her hands as she worked it over with her lips, smacking a kiss on it now and then and appearing to be quite hungry for it. When he told her what a fine job she was doing he meant every word of it, and during the course of it he idly wondered how many men in her future would want to thank him for showing her the way to pleasing a man with no inhibitions whatsoever. She took it in her mouth again with no reluctance, and his only regret was that he couldn't see her lovely little virgin's face with cheeks all sunken in and lips so tightly wrapped around the thick length of flesh that was his much used cock.
"Better take it a little easy, honey, or I'll shoot right in your mouth, and you probably wouldn't like that at all. Some women do, though. They say you have to acquire a taste for it," he said, stroking her head, rubbing the back of her neck, soothing her. "They also say that a man's come is really very good for a woman to swallow. Lots of good hormones and other sexy things in it that make the woman develop into a sexier person. Not that you're not sexy enough, you little doll. Even though you're not even grown up all the way, you're just outrageously sexy, Joyce. Never lose that, honey. Oh, easy, baby, easy. I'm so fucking close to coming I don't know which way is up. Go easy, real easy, or I'll drop a load in your mouth that'll rattle your tonsils. I've known women who really go for the taste of it, and maybe you will someday, butthere's time enough in the future for that. Mmmm. Better stop now, honey. Really, you'd better quit or I'll just have to come."
She sucked on, slowly and more carefully now, and he continued to rub her head as he said, "It's okay, Joyce. Just because I kept on licking your sexy little cunt until you came, there's no reason for you to do the same with me. Oh God, that's good. I'm so close, so close. Really, honey, you can quit any time and finish it by hand, even though that wouldn't be half as sweet as . . . Oh, God, coming in your mouth. Joyce, I can't help it, I'm coming in your lovely little mouth!" he groaned, holding her head down there now as the good stuff burst and burst from him. "I can't stand it! I don't believe it! It's so fucking, fucking good and you're sucking up every drop of it and swallowing it and you love it, love it, you just love it!"
She began coughing and choking, as well she might, for he felt as if his balls had pumped a quart of the hot sticky stuff into her mouth, and he let her up. Some of it was drooling out the corner of her mouth but she was unaware of this as she hugged him and kissed him and tried to climb into his lap.
The steering wheel was in the way and his cock in her hand was slowly wilting, but still she instinctively tried to mount him as he drove, his head spinning from the effects of the terrific orgasm. It was either the act of fellatio itself or the suggestion he had planted with his words, but whatever it was, the girl was once again all hot and ready. Joel was physically depleted or he would have stopped and fucked her despite his fears, but his mind was still filled with desires. Drunk as he was, he fully appreciated the rare possibilities afforded by having an overheated nymphet at his command, and he had to take full advantage of the situation.
"Get up on your knees on the seat facing me and I'll teach you how to fuck, honey," he said.
"Fuck, I want to fuck, I want to fuck," she panted, as she did as he instructed her.
With her knees as far apart-as the seat would permit, she held up her little skirt for him,-providing a fine view of her slim young loins illuminated by the moonlight and the headlights of an occasional passing car. How childish she looked without the pads of hip and belly flesh that he had always associated with the desirable female animal, without the big hairy triangle of fur that was supposed to be so beautiful. There in the moving lights he was looking at the female at her best, the essence of womanhood before the grosser aspects of the female developed and obscured the true underlying beauty.
Her pubic hair was just a tuft, barely enough to provide a man with the dry lubrication he needed to make coitus most pleasant. She was so spare as to be almost bony, and her little body had hollows which in an older woman would be bulges, and he felt of her bones and her hollows and of the sweet flesh under that tuft with his big, rough hand.
He was purposely a little rough with her because that was how the other men that followed him would be, and because she obviously liked it. When he pinched or squeezed her a little too hard, she moaned as if in pain but arched her body at him, shaking all over and wanting more of him, not caring what passing motorist might catch a glimpse of her body so obscenely writhing beside him. He chuckled.
"So you want to learn how to fuck, eh?" he asked, sliding his finger in and out of her tight little cunt.
"Teach me. Oh, teach me."
"For you, baby, anything," he said. "Hold your cunt open for me."
"L ... like this?" she said, doing an admirable job of parting her labia, and holding her little skirt up with her forearms against her sides so that the view would not be obstructed for either of them.
"That's right," he said, driving with his left hand and running his right up and down the very smooth flesh of her inner thigh. He stopped his hand with his fingers on her right ass-cheek, his thumb against her cunt. It was still quite wet. As he moved the ball of his thumb there, he said, "First thing you've got to know about fucking is that you've got to be all wet and lubricated and nice for your guy, so his cock will slip in as easily as this." He slid his thumb in her vagina, and she moaned and squirmed her pelvis forward to meet it. "That's it," he said, sliding his thumb in and out, getting it wetted to the wrist. "You've got to move around when you're fucking. You can't expect the guy to do all the work. You move now. Show me how you can move."
She moved pretty well. He couldn't see all of it because he had to keep one eye on the road, but he could feel the lithe gyrations of her quivering little body and the clinging tightness of her cunt as it was slid up and down on his immobilized thumb. He could smell her, a mixture of healthy young girl perspiration and virgin cunt juice, and this served to add to the slowly reviving physical desire in his loins. (By God, she actually was rejuvenating him!) He could hear her, panting and gasping as if her movements were much more of an effort than they appeared to be, and he could hear each of her words through her labored breathing.
"I love it when you fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"You've got a dirty little mouth, Joyce," he chuckled. "And that's all to the good. As they say, if it turns you on, do it. Go out of your head when you fuck. Say anything you want to. I like it too."
"Fuck, I'd like to have your big old tasty prick up inside me fucking hell out of me. I like to fuck, love to fuck and suck your cock and have you shoot all that sticky goop in my mouth and lick my cunt and love me half to death and make me feel so fucking fucking good. Oh! Oh! Oh! I'm coming, coming again, just for you, just for you!"
He finished her off with a bang, taking great delight in giving her more than what she'd bargained for there at the end, fucking her very hard and fast with his thumb and digging his fingers into the cheek of her ass and managing to get one of them a little ways up her anus so that she had to scream and squeal and shout through the delirious end of it.
She collapsed on him then, panting heavily and mumbling words he could not understand. He drove on, with her limp hand on his cock, feeling of the nubbin that was her right nipple, not thinking about tomorrow and feeling very pleased with the world. He could take a nip from the bottle from time to time without disturbing her sleep, and this he did until they were at the outskirts of East Grange, where he put the bottle away.
He was almost at the Aces Up when he realized that it, like every other place in town, would be formally closed at this hour. He could get in the back way, of course, but chances were that Hazel wouldn't be there, and she was the reason he had had to return to East Grange. He made a sloppy U-turn that woke Joyce up and headed for Art Cole's trailer house.
"Where are we?" she said, rubbing her eyes.
"Just running a little errand. Go back to sleep, kiddo."
"I'm hungry," she said, a child once again.
"There's some crackers and cheese and cookies back in the camper. Go back there and have some while I finish my business, but for Christ' sake don't wake Matt."
He gave her a fond pat on her bare ass as she crawled back through the boot, and she reciprocated by leaning back throughit and giving him a long, tonguing, womanly kiss in his ear, and then he told her to eat something while he did his business, for the Cole trailer was in sight.
He parked eight feet from the door and almost fell down as he got out. He was very drunk; he hadn't realized it before. And it was cold, the coldness reminding him that his prick was hanging out. Swaying in the road, he got it back inside his trousers and swaggered up to the door. There was music coming softly from within and low lights on, and when he knocked at the door Art Cole's voice cautiously asked who it was.
"Joe Thatcher. Open up. I got something for Hazel," he said.
The door was opened. Art peered around it, apparently naked, quite tousled and looking most ineffectual now. Warmth poured out of the trailer, and with it the distinctive odor of marijuana smoke. "She's tied up now. Whatever you got, I can give it to her," Art said.
"I pay my whores in person, Art," Joel grinned, feeling vastly superior to this broken-down ex-pug.
Hazel appeared behind him, elegant hair-do broken down, make-up badly smeared, looking like the most jaded of harpies. "Well, look who's back, and loaded to the eyeballs. Did you bring me the bread for my pillow, Joey?"
"I got it," he said, slapping his wallet.
"Then, come on in and have a party with us," she said. "Freddy's looking after the place and we've got some interesting friends over. Come in before you pass out."
"I'm not drunk," he lied. "And I sure as hell didn't come back here to fuck you. Money's more important to you than fucking, so here, have some." He took out his wallet and disdainfully plucked out the bills he'd taken from his desk and tossed them over Art's shoulder at her, then turned on his heel and left. She caught him by the camper and grabbed him by the arm to turn him around.
"Joey, don't be mad. I was only kidding before. Come on back inside. We've got that dyke and her chick in there loaded to the gills, and we need a stud like you. I need you."
"You need the money," he said, trying to pull away again.
"It won't cost you a cent this evening. You can ..." She stopped in mid-sentence and looked past him, and when he turned to follow her line of sight he was chilled by the sight of Joyce there. She had come out of the back of the camper and she looked incredibly young as she tried to smile winsomely through the mouthful of cookie she had.
"Well, hello," Hazel smiled. "What have we here?"
"Just a ... a hitch-hiker I picked up," he said. "Joyce, get the hell back inside. We're leaving."
Hazel watched her go. She said, "She's a pretty little thing. Don't go getting yourself in trouble, though, 'cause I want to see you again. Next Friday?"
"Sure, sure," he said.
He took her hand from him and he had to kiss her good-bye before she'd let him go, and her lips were flaccid and tasted artificially perfumed sweet. In the pickup, roaring away, he breathed one great sigh of relief and cursed the liquor in him that had made him drive all this way on a non-existent errand. How stupid of him to think he owed her that money, and then to simply throw it away. Not very banker-like at all, but then on Friday nights he was not a banker at all. He turned his anger on Joyce, sternly admonishing her for getting out of the camper, but when she came forward through the boot looking so adorably contrite he had*to forgive her and kiss her and hug her to him, knowing that everything would be all right as long as he was just a little more careful in the future.
Chapter Five
Joyce did it again. He didn't know if it was the mere fact of her youth or if she was indeed a very special female, but whatever it was she had the ability to almost instantaneously alter his mood from one of gloom and anger to one of joy and excitement. She was as affectionate as a puppy and still had the innocent curiosity of a child, and this led her to open his trousers and take out his cock and make it hard as he drove.
It was her, not just the sinfulness of the situation, but her alone who had this ability to do such good things to him and he knew that in his way he would always love her, if nothing else for the reason that she had proved to him and was still proving that he was young and vigorous and desirable to someone other than the whores he'd been associating with. She was a wonderful little girl, one in a million, and it was his incredible good fortune to have found her. He fully appreciated her and he knew perhaps better than she how much she should appreciate him. She showed her appreciation, however, by sucking him off without being told.
She did it eagerly and steadily, practicing what he'd already taught her and taking any further suggestions he made to heart. She tried some things on her own, too, and he found this to be utterly charming. He was so proud of her, and of himself.
Fifteen minutes out of East Grange, he said, "Looks like you've already acquired a taste for come, baby. Keep that sucking up just a little longer and I'll shoot off in your mouth for you again."
He had been fingering her as he drove, his wrist nestled in the shallow groove of her ass as she knelt on the seat, and he continued to move his middle finger in the juicy tight folds of her cunt as she raised her head and said to him, "I just love your come. I love sucking your cock, too. But what I'd love best of all is if you'd fuck me now."
"Honey, that's something we really shouldn't do. We could get in a lot of trouble that way. You could get pregnant and everything."
"But I don't care if I get pregnant. I just want you so darned much."
"Now, now. That's no way to talk. Think of what your aunt would do if you got pregnant," he said, feeling a little sick at the thought of it. "I couldn't marry you. I'm much too old for you.
And we'd never see each other again."
"But we could do it without getting me p.g. I'm almost due to have my period, and girls aren't supposed to be able to get pregnant then. C'mon. Please? You've got to now that you showed me how."
How thrilling it was to have this lovely little creature begging him to fuck her and climbing all over him in her eagerness. He felt as dashing and desirable as the crop dusting pilot he pretended to be on his Friday nights, but not quite so irresponsible.
He said, "No, Joyce. We'll do it some time soon, but not tonight. Not till I get some rubbers for me or some birth control pills for you."
"You're mean," she said, and flung herself away from him.
She sat on the far end of the seat cushion, arms crossed over her breasts, scowling into the night, and he tried to placate her. "Honey, there'll be plenty of time for that. Really, you've done enough tonight, and a car is no place at all for . . . for fucking. We'll get a motel room soon where we'll be comfortable and I'll get some lubricating jelly so it won't hurt you. You know it hurts lots of girls the first time. Joyce, this is your first time, isn't it? I mean, has any other boy ..."
"No," she snapped. "No one's ever even hardly touched me before and then I go and let you do all those things to me and suck your thing and everything and you won't even fuck me. You're mean, just plain mean," she pouted, "and I don't love you, I hate you."
"Now, Joyce, that's no way to talk." He couldn't have her hating him. If there was anything worse than a woman spumed, it would have to be a woman-child spurned. "We can't tonight, but I'll make that up to you soon."
"Go 'way," she said, knocking his hand aside when he tried to reach out and pet her perfect little leg. "If you're not going to do it tonight, after getting me all ready for it, then you're not going to do it at all."
"If that's the way it has to be," he said, and returned his hand to the wheel.
Five miles later she said, "Do it tonight or I'll tell."
The little bitch, he knew she was bluffing. She'd get in almost as much trouble as he would if she did tell, and furthermore it would bring their affair to a very abrupt end. Logic and the banker in him told him it was only an empty bluff, but then again, his understanding of children was something less than his understanding of grown-ups and he was in a poor position to call the bluff of a person he couldn't fully evaluate. It called for compromise, not confrontation.
He pulled the pickup off on a side road and parked, turned to face her and said, "Joyce, listen to me and understand my position. The first time we fuck I want it to be perfect. So do you, I'm sure, but you're very much aroused now and I understand that about you, and I want to do something about it, something good. I want you to have one more orgasm, a really big one, and then take a nap while I drive you home, and tomorrow wake up and think about how lovely it will be when the time is right and we can be real, complete lovers. All right?"
It was his mentioning that they would be lovers that did it. As he said that word the cross lines on her face dissolved and her eyes again were showing her adoration for him, and she came to him in a rush and squirmed her hot little body in his embrace, ready to do anything he suggested.
"I'm going to eat you, honey, just like I did back at the house, but better," he murmured at her ear. "I'm going to spoil you. I'm going to suck your cunt so good you'll forget all about fucking tonight."
"But, honey, I want you to . .." "Quiet, now, goddammit. I'm in charge here, not you, and don't you forget it. I'm gonna eat your cunt, baby, like no other man in your life ever will, and by the time I get done with it you'll be begging me to quit for the night. Now, move over there and give me some room."
He moved the seat back and when he turned back to her she presented him with yet another vision of erotic loveliness. Leaning back against the door, her head cramped forward, she had her legs spread wide for him and was holding open her cunt-lips just as she'd been taught. Her fair, fair skin gleamed in the moonlight and her glossy hair shone beautifully, but she was like an awkward, knobby young colt, with none of the smoothly flowing curves of womanhood, and he found this to be incredibly exciting.- He fell on her with his mouth, making her moan and whimper, and then making her cry out as he nibbled hard on her succulent little cunt.
He knocked her hands aside and spread her cunt even more widely. It had been but hours since he'd tasted it and already he'd forgotten how delectably exciting it was. He licked and slobbered his way up and down the length of it, reveling in the cries and contortions this elicited from her and in his steeply rising excitement he got down on the floor on his knees and got her legs over his shoulders, the better to get at her with tongue and lips.
This was his woman, he had created her, at least sexually, and there was nothing he couldn't do to her. He slipped his thumb in her cunt while he sucked her clitoris and he jerked off her clitoris while he delved in her cunt with his tongue, and he drove her crazy with it.
He had her coming really good, with one orgasm coming on top of the next. Even when he paused from time to time to take a sip of whisky he still kept her coming by means of his finger, and then made it happen harder to her when he stabbed her again with his whisky-burning tongue. He was very much aroused himself, and getting more so all the time. What a thrill it was to straighten up and look at her, panting and sweating and writhing under no more stimulus than his middle finger, while he sipped his whisky. He was in complete control of her again, manipulating her as easily as if she was a machine. He pinched her clitoris and she heaved herself up off the seat, shaking her head wildly and baring her teeth in an awful, wonderful groan. He flipped open her blouse and tweaked and twisted one of her nipples and she hoarsely screamed.
He laughed. "Had about enough, little girl?" he asked.
"Oh, stop. Stop or I'll just faint," she moaned, ever writhing, ever exciting him more.
"But I thought you wanted to get fucked," he said. "I thought you wanted this in you," he smiled, and came closer to rub the swollen head of his cock against the juicy little cunt he'd been so voraciously sucking. "You want that now?" he said, rubbing the length of her slit with his big greasy cockhead.
"Yes, but wait, let me rest a minute," she panted. "Dear God, I never knew I could feel like this. Just let me rest now, for just a minute, of I'll explode."
"Oh, I wouldn't fuck you now," he said, grinning down at where his cock was getting just as wet as her cunt. "Look, Joyce. See how big it is? Hell, I don't think I could get that in your tight little hole even if you changed your mind again and wanted me to. Look, Joyce. Look at us together."
"It's so big," she whimpered, looking down. "It feels like it'd fit, but I just know it wouldn't. Wait. Please. Let me rest and then we'll . . . Oh!"
She cried out when he held her by the leg and shoved the head of his cock in her. She was incredibly tight, just as he'd known she would be, and now that he was in her she realized the pain he had spoken of and her former eagerness fled from her. Gasping out protests, almost crying, she tried to squirm back from him on the seat, but there was no backing off now. He was too close to coming to be denied, and the sight of his immense cock splitting that frail little body was entirely too thrilling for him to come in any other way than this.
"Noooo!" she yelled, as he shoved another two inches of big fat cock in her. He knew the worst of it was past for her, and that once she relaxed just a bit the rest would come easily for her, and most thrillingly as well. He watched her struggles and listened to her protests, enjoying them both in something of a sadistic way, and knowing that at any moment it would all change for the better for the girl. He worked his huge cock in and out of her incredibly hot and unbelievably tight, grasping baby cunt, going a little deeper each time, getting her a bit more stretched, getting himself a bit more lubricated, and he somehow managed to keep from ejaculating prematurely.
When he had his full grown cock in her baby cunt right up to the hilt, he paused and looked at their union, and he gloated over how widely he" was splitting her. He drew it back, almost out of her, and she clutched his hands on her legs and moaned, "Nooo," and when he slid his throbbing cock back in she emitted a strangling sound and managed to get her heels against his buttocks.
"You like to fuck, do you?" he said, stroking slowly and evenly.
"God, I love it. Oh, I love to fuck."
"And did it hurt you?"
"Yes, but I didn't mind. I didn't yell because of that. Oh. Oh, it's so good!"
"I'm the best goddamned fucker in the world, the best by far you'll ever have, kiddo, and I'm gonna prove it now, I'm gonna fuck you black and blue."
He started heaving at her, very hard now, not caring at alL about hurting her. He even wanted to hurt her, anything to make this a truly monumental experience for her, as monumental as it was for him. She screamed and he could see why, for his backward strokes were drawing out wedges of her inner cunt flesh, his forward strokes shoving them back in. He was thankful for the whisky he'd drunk, for it served to dull his senses just a bit, and they needed dulling, for her cunt was so exquisitely tight and hot that under other circumstances he'd already have come. As it was it built and built in him, added to by his balls slapping against her little ass, and by the little balls of her nipples between his fingers, and by the positively insane sounds and squirmings she was making.
"Move your ass," he triumphantly panted. "Move your ass when I fuck you, just like I showed you."
She tried valiantly, even though there was no hope of getting much movement what with the way he was pounding her against the cushions. His big prick was moving very easily in her tiny twat and the pain was all gone and she was feeling everything that a woman should feel but that few actually do. He was feeling tremendously good too, and he was pumping hard in the home stretch toward a big, big climax when she grabbed him by the hips and pulled at him and started urinating.
He had literally fucked the piss out of her, and she was making no effort to hold it back. With her arms and legs opened out like the petals of a flower, with an expression of almost religious ecstasy on her face, she let her urine gush out from between them. He had heard of losing oneself completely in sex, and now he was witnessing it, and even as he wondered at what awesome feelings were taking place in her totally discharging body, he felt his own begin.
He wasn't even moving when he started to ejaculate. He just felt it swell and rise and burst in him with such startling sensory force that it plunged him into action and, gasping and panting, he raggedly heaved himself at her again and again, shooting and shooting and shooting in her until there was nothing left in either of them to give.
He rested atop her, wanting nothing more in the world than to go to sleep there, and roused himself with difficulty to take his wilting cock out of her. They both watched the long, slow, seemingly impossible emergence of it, and both groaned in unison as it finally popped out. From where he was, he could see her battered but sated orifice slowly closing.
Behind the wheel again, he lit a cigarette and revived himself at least temporarily with another nip of whisky. The girl was already asleep. God, the workout he had given her. And God, how sweet it would be to climb in the back and take a nice long snooze, but of course that was out of the question. He had to get home, had to get back to reality now that this, his most fantastic night out, had run its course.
He almost fell asleep before he'd finished the cigarette, and rousing himself he poked his sticky prick inside his pants, zipped up and started the truck. Not a sound from Matt, and that was a blessing, considering how much racket Joyce had made. She was snoring, all sprawled out on the seat and probably getting cold, but he didn't take off his jacket for her because he was shivering, not just from the cold but from the exhaustion he was starting to feel in earnest now. To keep awake he took mouthfuls of whisky and swilled them around, then spat them out the window. He kept the window open and the heater off, for warmth was a sure way to oblivion just then.
It was four-thirty when he got home. In less than an hour the first light of dawn would be showing, and at any minute the paper boy might come by and see him, a stranger in a strange pickup, carrying bodies into the house of Joel Thatcher. But he didn't worry about that. Everything had gone so extraordinarily well that evening that nothing could possibly go amiss now. He carried Matt in first and tucked him securely in his bed, then returned and shook Joyce awake, too weary to carry her. She stumbled along at his side, clinging to him, telling him she loved him through her yawns. He had to shake her hard to get her awake enough to understand that she was to undress and get into bed.
"Okay, Mr. Thatcher," she yawned, and despite his incredible weariness he smote his head in anguish at her form of address. He began helping her undress.
"Joyce, I didn't mean for all this to happen. Hell, I didn't mean for any of it to. You must be quiet about it. You mustn't tell a soul. I'll make it all up to you if you just keep it a secret. Promise?"
"Mm-hmm," she purred, and offered her lips to him.
He had to kiss her, and at that moment it seemed far more sinful than anything else they'd done, for she was naked and he could see and feel just how pubescent she really was. Quickly he got her under the covers. She was asleep at once.
In the living room, he at last turned off the television set. Her purse, a cheap plastic thing, was on the floor, and he picked it up and went to his desk with it and stuffed in twenty dollars. He reflected on how much he'd given Hazel for absolutely nothing and he added another forty. Then he felt somewhat better when he left.
To keep awake on his drive to his hidden Chrysler, he sang all the ribald songs he knew and worked a little more on the whisky. He fell asleep in the camper bed which had been hardly mussed up at all by his son.
Chapter Six
Joel Thatcher felt bad when he got out of his Chrysler that Saturday shortly after noon. He felt bad in more ways than one. Despite the amphetamines and the vitamin concentrates he had taken when he at last had responded to the alarm in the camper, he was quite hung over. His stomach was rumbling ominously and his head was throbbing, his mouth parched to burning from the cigarettes he'd smoked, and he was still just a little drunk from all the rotten whisky he'd poured inside himself. But those were only physical afflictions and he would get over them just as he had survived worse hangovers... at least he thought he had had worse ones. The truly bad feelings stemmed from his perfectly abominable performance with that poor little girl child who had so innocently come into his lair for the purpose of caring for the son of Roseville's most respectable citizen.
In his confusion and illness he hoped most of the awful things he'd subjected her to were figments of his drunken imagination, but he knewJ that wasn't true. He had done it all, and he'd have done more if the liquor and the hour hadn't gotten to him. He had half expected to see a patrol car waiting for him when he drove up, and in a way he wished it had been there for then all his atonement would have begun at once and after a*few years in prison he might have discharged his debt to society, but of course never to himself. He had sinned so grievously as to never be able to make up for it, far worse than Kathy had ever done before or after she'd left him. If he was stood up against a wall and shot, if he was lynched by the decent townspeople, he deserved nothing better. Still he had to face them, had to face his life, and even had to face poor Joyce, and try to brazen things out. Not for himself, for he was beyond any hope, but for his son, that young human being whom God and society had entrusted to his care.
But why the hell was he feeling sorry for Joyce? She was an oversexed nymphet who had probably fucked and sucked half the boys in town. What the hell, hadn't he found her masturbating? Wasn't that a sign of depravity in her? And not even eighteen! Oh, he knew she'd lied about her age. He was struck by the full force of that on his drive from the old barn that morning. Her breasts weren't malformed, they were just unformed, a sure sign that she was closer to fifteen than eighteen. He did feel sorry for her for she did have a problem, but his anger at her for entering into it so easily outshadowed any sympathy he had for her, and furthermore his sympathy should be limited to the immediate family, to himself and his son.
Where was his son? He paused, leaning on the front door jamb for support, and scanned the peaceful green neighborhood for any signs of him, cocked a ringing ear for his youthful laugh. He was jolted out of his frowning, head-achey search by the feeling of a hand on his.
"Hi, Mr. Thatcher."
He turned and it was Joyce, smiling conspiratorially up at him from the coolness of the house. She had used lipstick and eye-liner in an obvious attempt to look older, and he felt even sicker at the sight of what he himself was responsible for.
"Where's Matt?"
"I said he could go to the park with his friend. He'll be home soon. How do you feel? You don't look so good."
"I'm fine. You shouldn't have let him go like that." It was hard to admonish her for anything after all he'd done to her. It was hard to even focus on her through his bleary eyes.
"Oh, he's a big boy. And with him gone, it'll give us a little time alone," she smiled, and drew him into his house by his coat-sleeve.
"Listen, I want to explain about last night," he faltered. "Whatever went on should not have gone on and the only reason it did was because I was so . . . so . . ."
"So ready for me, just like I was so ready for you," she joyfully exclaimed. Oh, she was such a little doll, such a sad little exquisite doll. "Mr.
Thatcher, it was just wonderful, every bit of it, and I know it'll get better and better, all the time. Don't you? Can I call you Joel, just when we're alone?"
"Yes, but we're not going to be alone any more," he said, shrinking back from the inept caresses from this tiny child woman he had defiled, and feeling a different kind of sickness now at the look on her face. "Joyce, we can't see each other any more."
"Why not? Did I do something wrong?" she asked, sadly.
"No, no. You were perfect, really," he said, squirming up against the hall wall. "It's just that ... it's just that it would never work. You deserve so much better."
She rolled her eyes. "I guess from what you say, it can't get much better than it' was last night. Wow. I still feel it. Do you?'?
"I feel. . . tired. And ashamed of myself. Joyce, I took terrible advantage of you last night, and I am terribly, terribly sorry. I. .."
She jumped up and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, shoving her little tongue in his mouth just as he had so disgustingly taught her to do. Far from feeling as hugely erotic as it had the night before, now it felt only cold, a cold which penetrated to the depth of his loins, those loins that he would never use again, ever.
He wrenched away, and before he could explain it all to her, she said, "Yech. I like the whisky taste better than the morning after taste, but it's still good. And I still love you. D'you love me still? Just a little?"
Pulling at the arms about his neck, he said, "Yes. I do love you, Joyce, but as a human being, not as a woman. Look, you're far too young for me. We could never get together on any sort of a permanent basis. Let's look back on it as we should, as a lovely experience that we both profited by and that we'll always cherish and that we must keep entirely to ourselves, down deep in our hearts."
She drew back, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing, erred again in spite of his good intentions and because of his awful hangover, and she pouted, "You big mean banker, you would have to mention profits. Heck, you didn't have to leave all that money in my purse."
"Honey ... I mean, Joyce, it wasn't meant that way! Honestly, I just left it there, well, impulsively, hoping you'd buy yourself a pretty dress or something. Don't for goodness sake think it was a . ... a fee for . . . for services rendered. It was just ... a gift," he lamely finished.
"Well, okay," she said, affording him enormous relief. "I'll keep it and I'll buy the grooviest dress in town. You'll be so proud of me."
"Joyce, listen," he said, taking her firmly by the arms. "What happened last night was the start of it and the end of it. I had a perfectly lovely time, but it can never happen again. You had a good time too, I know you did, and I want you to look at it all as .. . as a class in school where you learn something, where you're at least exposed to something that will last all your life. Think of it that way."
"I will," she declared, with utmost sincerity.
"Even if we never have another minute alone together, I'll remember last night all the rest of my life, and I'll love you all the rest of my life."
She kissed his mouth, rank and foul-smelling as it was; she kissed his hand, that hand that had led the way to her defilement, and she brushed past him and ran down the walk. Poor little thing, he thought, still able to commiserate with others even from the depths of his hangover. She would survive, somehow. She was a survivor, or at least he hoped she was. It was too much to think of her going right down the drain now as most young people would.
He was heading for a shower and a nap when Matt returned, and then he had to play father again. Usually it wasn't playing. Usually he really enjoyed his son, or so he thought, but there were times like this when he would have gladly traded him for a peaceful shack in Tahiti. But he did the father bit and found time for a nap afterward, and in the late afternoon he worked some more of the booze and nicotine and sin out of his system by digging weeds in the back garden, which had long been neglected by the gardener. Throughout the afternoon and evening he vacillated between terrible, lasting depressions and brief, giddy periods of wild exhilaration, and when he went to bed promptly at ten, he immediately fell asleep.
On Sunday his body had cleansed itself and he only had to contend with his mind. His mind was particularly hard to cope with during the sermon at church, which dealt with the virtues of Love of God, and which he scarcely heard, even though as a church elder he occupied his usual front pew. He was thinking too much about the monstrous pedophilia which resided in him to be able to think about what the preacher was spouting.
By then he had come to the conclusion that his aberration was one of long standing, that for years he had subconsciously been fighting an urge to go after young girls. It had been with him all the time, for years, and it still was, even right there in church. Coming in, he had ogled the spindly, knobby legs of little Joannie Gallagher, the freckle-faced gamin who was years away from even having a menstrual period, and even as he sat there he was very much aware of the presence of Shirley Longo behind him, an exquisite little blonde beauty, his goddaughter and all of thirteen. Those and the other youngsters he had seen while walking Matt to church didn't arouse him to the point of an erection, but he had very definite sexual thoughts about them. That could not be denied.
In an experiment meant to hopefully purge himself of those thoughts and to see just how bad his aberration was, he allowed his mental libido to wander, with the preacher's dronings as the background accompaniment.
Did Shirley have even one pubic hair, and if so, was that the indication that she could respond to his kisses there? What exactly did her little cunt look like, and what had Ed and Edith told her so far about sex? Would she be as easy to seduce as Joyce had been?
What would Joannie look like in ten years? Would she be as slutty/sexy looking as her mother? What would she look like now with her clothes off, sitting on his lap, receiving his caresses and being swayed by his oily tongue? What all had he said to Joyce, and how much of his seduction of her had been due to his persuasive language?
And what about Mary Hostedter, who was without question, at least in his mind, the neighborhood bang? Did she talk of love to the boys who screwed her and felt her up, or was she completely mindless, a young neurotic just as he was an old one. He thought of the first girl he had ever fooled around with and of what disdain she was regarded with in the eyes of him and the other boys who diddled her, and he felt closer to her than ever before in his life, though for the life of him he couldn't even remember her name.
Was Joyce like that? Had she been letting every dirty-handed boy in Roseville feel of her alabaster smooth skin and stick his piddling little pecker in her hot little cunt? Was that the way she was? Did she tell them all she loved them, and did~she come for all of them as she had come for him? Oh, no. She might have experimented with them, just as she experimented with masturbation, but most certainly she had never experienced anything even approaching the long, tortuous series of cataclysmic orgasms that she had with him. He would remain forever special with her, no matter what she'd errantly done with the lads around town. -He looked back over his shoulder in search of some pimply faced youth who might have laid with her on some shabby couch, and although he saw two of those at a glance, his eye was caught by a youngster he was unfamiliar with, unusual in this town that he essentially owned. It was a boy of about eleven, or was it a girl about twelve? It was hard to say, what with hair styles as they were nowadays. Either way, it was a beautiful child, one that he could still see in his mind's eye even when he was dutifully looking at the droning preacher again. And either way, the child's beauty had aroused him anew, making him think how sweet it would be to toy with her if she was a girl, how sweet it would be for a jaded woman such as Kathy to toy with if he was a boy.
At that age it made little difference, really. They were so young and smooth and unsullied and so unaware of the sexual difference in animals that either sex could turn them on under the right circumstances. Aberrant women could teach little girls that cunnilingus was nothing but great good fun and preying male homosexuals could gently but sternly lead boys into cocksucking and pederasty that would stay with them all their lives. He looked again over his shoulder and decided it was a boy, one with round apple cheeks thaj; would resemble the pert little cheeks of his ass, and between either set of cheeks the real pervert could coax and cajole a big, fat cock.
God, how utterly, utterly disgusting! His long-suppressed aberration had gone so far as , to include little boys as well as little girls! He should be hanged. He should shoot himself before he contaminated someone other than Joyce. Not that it wasn't bad enough that he had done to her what he had, but somehow it was different with her. After all, she had enjoyed it all the way, even when he had hurt her just a little. (He inwardly winced at that remembrance.) She was in the most logical examination just a little slut, a future bar-fly of America, and if he hadn't gotten to her first, someone else soon would have. But to even harbor any thoughts about boys, that was too much to bear. He had to banish those, at once, and to do so he first tried to actually listen to the sermon and, failing that, thought about Joyce.
No, he had done her an injustice. She was just as sweet as the next girl her age, just as curious about sex, just as susceptible to the smooth blandishments of an older man such as himself. Especially himself, for he was well aware of the lofty position he held in the community and of aU the fringe benefits that went with it. Mature women, cultured women were ready to lay themselves down at his feet because of his success and status, so how could a mere slip of a girl like Joyce be expected to resist him?
He would have to do something about her. About her? Hell, he would have to do something about himself. Psychiatric help was the answer. Of course he couldn't go in Roseville, not only because the little burg didn't have a psychiatrist, but also because everything one did there became general knowledge, in time. He'd have to go to the Tri-Cities, if he went at all, if he didn't rape some child first, if Joyce hadn't told on him yet. He had to do something, and soon.
The sermon was over. He realized it when the rest of the congregation began singing. He stood up and sang with them, even his well-praised baritone sounding incredibly false this day, and he felt an enormous surge of relief as he was at last able to file out of the sanctified walls of the church and into the open, natural light of day. He was breathing in the clean air, feeling good and glad for the mental purging he'd gone through in his pew when a hand on his arm made him turn around.
There she was, big as life and not looking at all as child-like as she should, standing there with Mrs. Knudsen, giving him a most cloying smile. She had on a pure white eyelet dress and black patent leather shoes, and her hair had been atrociously curled and her face made up in a pitifully amateurish fashion. She was trying to send him a message through that crooked smile and through her blue-blackened eyes, and he denied it, turning instead to her aunt.
Mrs. Knudsen was a buxom woman in her mid-forties, with an immense bosom and a pelvis that could have accommodated a water buffalo. Her flaxen hair was dyed, her stingy lips stained a permanent red, and she talked in a whiny monotone that, for the first time, he realized had always irritated him.
"So nice to see you this fine Sunday morn, Mr. Thatcher, and looking so good and healthy. I'm feeling better, thank you, but not much, and I tell you the truth I wouldn't of even come to church 'cept my Joycie said she'd come and here I am, pleurisy and all. Don't she look pretty in her new dress, and all thanks to you and your generosity. Lord save me, I'd give a lot, though I don't have much to give in the way of material things, if I could get into a dress like that again. I could once, though it's hard to believe, looking at me now, but then we change as we grow older, and at least I finally got over any vanity I ever had. And say wasn't that a fine sermon Preacher Martin give today? Why, it makes a person think, and that's a fact. Goodness and mercy, that's the way of life, and I'm proud as can be that my Joycie heard it right from his mouth."
Joyce winked and half smiled at him, and despite himself he felt a stirring in his loins.
He forced it aside and smiled at Mrs. Knudsen, still talking to him. "... declare that I feel better just hearing those good words. I'm not a complainer nor never have been, but when the pleurisy lays hold on you there's not much you can do except suffer. Lord, I'm sorry I couldn't be Master Matt's companion last Friday but I'll tell you, I thought for a while I'd never rise from that bed again. I wouldn't be up today but for Joycie and Preacher Martin. But I think for sure I can make it just fine Wednesday night when you play your Bridge game. If not, Joyce can come, and the money goes in the same place in the end, and Lord, how we need it. I hate to talk about money here on these sanctified grounds, but it's with us everywhere these days. Not that we're poor, Joyce and me, because we always have something to put in our stomachs, but it's the little things, like this dress Joyce bought with her baby-sitting money, that's what comes hard."
It wasn't baby-sitting money, it was whoring money, and Joel had the urge to tell the garrulous old bag of suet that. He told it instead to Joyce, through the language of their eyes, and she liked what he told her.
"... only time will tell, but with trust in the Lord, I know we'll survive. I know you've got to go, can't stand here gabbing with your son's companion, and so we'll run along. Honest, I'll do my level best to get over on Wednesday, but if my medicine don't work then my Joycie will come by to look after little Matthew. And what a dear little boy he is, isn't that so, Joyce? A regular angel, going to grow up just like his Dad, God bless him. Is he still in Sunday school, Mr. Thatcher? I'd love to see him and give him that great big hug he missed last Friday night at bedtime."
"And I know he'd love to see you," Joel lied smoothly and smiled. "It would be a lovely surprise for him if you were there instead of me to greet him when he comes from Mrs. Frederickson's class. Do you feel up to that, Mrs. Knudsen?"
Of course she did. Like Joyce, but much more practical, she knew on which side her bread was buttered, and her petty avarice prevailed over her debility, leaving Joel alone with his little child love.
They gazed at each other, their lust faintly disguised.
"Like my new dress?" she asked, swinging her shoulders.
Grinning, he shook his head. "It's a Roseville dress, a Sunday-go-to-meeting dress. It's not what I thought you'd buy with the money."
"Something sexy, that's what you want. Okay. That's what I want too. I'll buy it tomorrow and show it to you. I didn't have to give all the money to her."
Joel took out his wallet, just as officiously as if he was in the bank, doling out a loan, and as he counted out some bills, he said, "Let's see. From six Friday till one Saturday, that's nineteen hours at three dollars an hour, which makes your baby-sitting fee fifty-seven dollars." He held it out to her.
"But you paid me," she said, charmingly confused.
"I paid you for something else," he smiled, frankly lascivious. "Take this before someone starts looking, and keep it all to yourself. Buy yourself something sexy with it, and save the rest. Go on. Take it."
She did, looking guiltily around, and then she gave him that impish grin of hers. "You mean you're gonna pay me when we make out?"
"Why not? You need the money, and I have it."
"Do you get it from the bank or something? Or are you really that rich?"
"Never mind where I get it. You just take it. You just earn it."
"I will," she assured him, and took a look around for Mrs. Knudsen, then stuffed it down the front of her dress, between her non-existent little child tits.
Turning away, he said, "I hope to see you Wednesday."
She tossed her elaborately whorish curls and said, "If not before."
Walking in step with his son, hearing about the reasons behind Jonah's trip in the whale, Joel Thatcher cursed himself up and down for his awful weakness. It wasn't a weakness so much as it was a sickness, like the incipient alcoholism he had fought all his life. He conquered that, each time he had his last drink on Friday night, never to touch another drop until the following Friday, but he didn't know if he could conquer this thing that plagued him now.
His alcoholism was in his head, and he could handle problems in his head because he was a logical, thinking man. But his penchant for youngsters, Joyce in particular, was a matter of his gonads, not his brain, and as sophisticated as he was, he was only a man, and a very primitive one indeed when it came down to matters below the belt.
He thought about all the dreadful consequences of a discovery of his affair with little Joyce, and then to thwart his growing sense of frustration he turned to being as fatalistic as he could, telling himself that whatever the consequences were, they were worth those few super intense moments of feeling really, truly alive.
Chapter Seven
No matter how difficult times had been in the past, Joel had always managed to lose himself in his work. That Monday, however, he could not concentrate on banking, and the day dragged. Incredibly, he made simple clerical errors in the course of his duties as president of the Roseville First National Bank, and several hours of his day were spent staring at the ceiling of his office. Even though he made a conscious effort to concentrate on his work, his errant thoughts wandered from imagining exactly what she was doing at any given moment to exactly what it would be like in prison.
When he closed his eyes he could see her pretty face and elfin body, and all it took was this to give him an erection. He was at once horribly ashamed of his raging desire for her and tremendously proud of his renewed vigor, and he alternated between praying for guidance and playing under his desk with his erection. At home that night he had a long, solitary think about it all while Matt was out playing, and he came to the conclusion that theirs was strictly a sexual affair, with no love involved, and that therefore he could handle it, at least insofar as his getting her out of his thoughts.
He conceived a plan to this end and implemented it; he went to the bathroom and purposely thought about her while he masturbated, like a schoolboy, and he emerged greatly relieved, though a little chagrined. During dinner then, he could think about her rationally and hold an intelligent conversation with his son, but during their nightly post-dinner chess game those more wicked thoughts about her returned, along with his erection. And that night his dreams were very troubled, yet very sweet.
He resolved to have a better day on Tuesday. Over breakfast he firmly told himself that he would not doodle her name or speculate on what kind of a life they might start together in Uruguay, and at work he was strictly business until ten o'clock, when the bank opened its doors. That was when Mrs. Perkins came in and told him that there was a young woman outside who wanted to see him about starting a new account.
"Have Mike handle it," he said.
"I tried to, but she said she was a personal friend of yours and wanted you to help her,"
"I'd better see her in here," he said, fearing the worst. "Send her in."
His worst fears were realized, it was Joyce, and she was looking so shockingly bad that he wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Her hair was even more badly curled and the make-up was thick on her face, and she was wearing one of those awful ankle-length maxi-coats made of red plastic leatherette. Her smile as, she was shown into his office was enough to turn his stomach.
When the door closed he said, "Good God, what are you doing here?"
Wide-eyed, she said, "I came to open up an account with what I had left over from buying me some new clothes. What do you think of my coat?"
"I think it ought to be burned. And I think you ought to get the hell out of here ... right now ... and get back to school."
She wrinkled her little nose. "School. I hate it. They have such kids there. Well, I guess I can see why you don't like my coat, but what do you think of the rest of what I got with the money you gave me?"
She had sauntered around the side of his desk as she spoke, unbuttoning the long coat as she came, and she was just a yard from him when she opened it up and showed him the rest of her outfit. On top she had a tie-dyed tank shirt, nothing more than a man's underwear shirt splotched with colors, and below she was wearing red leather hot pants, which were in reality only shorts. A beaded belt and black plastic boots, knee-length, completed her ensemble. She was without a bra and her tiny-tot tits poked ludicrously at the thin cotton fabric. The shorts had been made for a woman and they were loose on her, and her thighs failed by inches in filling the leg holes. Posing with one knee forward, like a model, she was nothing but a parody of a woman.
"Well? Is this sexy enough?" she said. "It sure as hell is," he growled, and slipped to his knees on the carpet to go to her.
He ran his hands right up her legs and inside her shorts, feeling right away that she wasn't wearing any panties, and his hands were followed by his nose and mouth as he nuzzled and nibbled up under the very high cuffs of them. She rumpled his hair and moved her legs wider apart to give his eager mouth better access.
"They're hot pants, the latest thing. Do you like 'em, honey?" she asked.
"Yeah," he muttered into the musky warmth of her groin, "but I'd like 'em even better if you'd take 'em off."
His hands were occupied in seeing how much of her buttocks they could encompass or he would have done it himself. As it was she took her time about it, and at last he had to tear open the last button and haul them down, saying, "This is no time to tease me, you little idiot, we've got to hurry. My God, the door's unlocked. Get out of those shorts and take that silly coat off while I lock it. I must be insane, I must be insane."
Her laughter tinkled. "I thought you were the big cheese here. I figured you could have a regular orgy here in your office and nobody would even dare come in."
"Well, you figured wrong. You must never come here again," he said, just as sternly as he could. Then his voice cracked and nothing further could come out as he turned and saw her.
In just the skimpy shirt and boots she could have been either a boy or a girl. Of course she had no penis and her little cunt was showing through the dark tuft at her loins, but her limbs and hips and torso were entirely genderless. Not sexless, but genderless. Her legs were downright skinny and the bones of her pelvis showed, and looking at the golf-ball-sized lumps on her chest he knew for certain she wasn't past sixteen. But she smiled at him with all the assurance of a thirty-year-old, and she sauntered over and very frankly groped him through his pants.
"Boy, you've really got a big one," she said. "Let's see it."
"Not here," he moaned, even as she was unzipping him and fumbling her cold little hands inside his pants. "Good Lord, we simply can't do anything here in the bank."
"Ooo, just look at it!" she squealed when she had it out. She gave it a few fast strokes as she was bending over and then she popped his big cock right inside her mouth and made a yummy sound as she sucked it.
The feelings surging through him were so strong that he had to lean back against the door for support, and there he gazed adoringly down at her frail body, at her bobbing head, and murmured, "Jesus H. Christ, that feels good. I don't care if the whole Salvation Army band comes marching in right now. You are the damnedest, sweetest, most beautiful littlegirl cocksucker in the whole world." Smacking her lips as they came off his rock-hard cock, she said, "And I just love being a cocksucker, your cocksucker and nobody else's, but I'd rather fuck than suck. Let's."
With his much-used cock in her hand, she led him to his desk, and there he was able to take her in his arms and kiss her, just as passionately as any woman had ever been kissed. The feeling of her gum-smelling mouth on his, her scrawny undeveloped body pressing against his cock, those were enough to transport him to heaven. When he ended the kiss he was ready to declare his love for her, but before he could catch his breath she began giggling.
"What the hell's so fucking funny?" he said, completely puzzled.
"If I'd of kissed you in the dark I wouldn't have recognized you 'cause you don't smell of whisky and all."
Clutching her to him, he snarled, "Whisky and little kid pussy, that's what I smelled like Friday night, because I'd been drinking whisky and eating pussy ... your pussy ... and I want some more of it now."
"Are you sure you've got the time?" she teased, rubbing his huge cock all over her frail belly and loins.
"I'll make time. I'll make you come, too."
"I thought of a way I wanted to try it. Gee, it's just about all I've been thinking about. Could we do it on your desk?"
"Not a thing in the world to stop us," he said and turned from her to clear papers and pens and calendar from his desk with one sweep of his arm.
He started to lay her down on it but she said, "No, please. Let me do it my way, if it works that way. Will it work with you on your back?"
"It sure as hell will," he said and chortled, and jumped right up there and stretched out on his back. "I know something else that'll work in this position, too. Get your pretty little ass up here and let me see if your cunt tastes as good as I remember it does."
He had her squat down with her knees at each side of his head and practically sit on his face. In that position he could feel with his hands how warm and soft her spindly infant body actually was, and he could give her tiny cunt a really excellent tongue-washing, and perhaps best of all, he could look up through her pubic hair and see her smiling down at him, writhing over him, and roaming her hands over her body from her thighs to her titties. He would have been content to keep it up all day long, forgetting all about the throbbing erection that stuck stiffly out of his trousers, but she stopped him.
"More," he panted, as she backed off.
"Oh, no," she laughed. "You're in a hurry to get back to work and I'm in a hurry to get your big fat old prickie into me again."
She wouldn't let him help. With her frail body centered over his loins, she held her little girl cuntlips open as far as she could with one hand and she took his enormous throbbing cock in the other. She wasn't as wet as the other night for he hadn't licked her nearly as long, and she therefore winced a few times while making the insertion. As before, he didn't think his huge prick would actually fit in her childish slit, and he winced himself when she started easing her weight down on it. Any pain was ignored as she worked his pulsating member all in with a series of wriggles and twistings that illustrated the suppleness of extreme youth, and before long she was resting her sweet little child ass on Joel's rugged, hairy loins, all flushed and radiantly, childishly beautiful, and Joel's big fat full-grown prickie was not to be seen.
"Now let's see if I can remember everything you taught me about fucking a full grown man while we were going to East Grange Friday night."
With hands on hips she began to move, up and down and around and around, just as he'd told her to move on his thumb. That had been a fine rehearsal, he was an excellent teacher, and now he was reaping rich rewards from his prize child pupil. She could really move for a little kid. She would grind her small hips for a while and then snap them, so sharply that at times his tremendous cock felt like it was being pulled out by the roots. She moved up and down and she made him feel absolutely wonderful, and all the while she kept her tiny hands on her hips and she smiled at him more and more broadly. He tried not to move, for she did not want him to; she wanted to do all the work that day, and he let her do it, right up until the end. But when he began coming he couldn't hold still. Stifling his groans, he arched his body up off the desk, and with each of the huge gushes of his fiery come inside her unbelievably tight canal he groaned anew and pulled her small frame down harder on him. It was a wonderful, racking orgasm, and for the small amount of effort he put into it he was quite exhausted when it was at last over with.
"Hey, was that ever groovy," she said, climbing off. "I think I'll just ditch school and come down here and open an account like that every single day."
"No, I couldn't stand it," he said and moaned. He jumped up. "You've got to get out of here. How long have we been at it?"
"According to your wall clock, about four minutes. And already you're kicking me out. Shame on you."
"I'll have my big fat prick in your pretty little pussy for four hours on Wednesday night. Your aunt can look after Matt and I'll cut the Bridge game short and meet you some place and we can go to a motel. Would you like that?"
"Groovy, but I don't know if she can make it. She really is sick."
"And you really do need the money," he said and grinned, "to buy some more sexy clothes. Wait a second. You've got to go now, but before you do, take this, and no back talk."
He pressed fifty dollars into her hot little hand and she kissed him and told him he didn't have to do that. He said, "I'll do what I want with my money, and I can't think of anything better to spend it on than sexy clothes for you, little girl. Take it. Come on, get dressed and I'll walk you to :he door."
She kissed him at the door and said, "I like your sexy clothes, too, but I don't know what your customers would think of them." By the time he'd gotten his raw and smarting penis zipped back in his pants, she was gone.
Joel got little done during the rest of that day, the only really constructive thing being his making a solemn vow that Wednesday would be absolutely the last time he would have anything to do with Joyce, his child mistress.
Chapter Eight
Joyce went slightly wild with the fifty dollars that day. Of course she didn't go to school at all. She stayed downtown and splurged on the sexiest things she could find, all for Joel Thatcher, the man she loved, and who in turn loved her, though he wouldn't say it.
She bought a curly blonde wig, something she'd always wanted, and a pair of outrageously long false eyelashes. She bought a very sheer and daring black nightie with matching panties, two well-padded bras, and half a dozen pairs of expensive panties, one of which had a long slit edged with ruffles that ran through the crotch. She bought oodles of make-up and two bottles of extremely sexy perfume, and she felt that her man would approve of every one of her purchases.
It, was almost frightening that she could love him so much, and that s^ie was able to please him so very much while at the same time deriving such enormous pleasure from it herself. But their affair wasn't wholly sexual, of course. The sex was certainly there, and it sure was a lot of fun, but their relationship went much deeper than that. And it wasn't just his loneliness that had made him fall in love with her, she was sure of that, for he'd been so tragically alone for the past ten years.
It made her feel sad to think of all those lonely nights he'd suffered through, but at the same time it made her feel good, for by this she knew that she was a very special woman indeed. From all the women who had passed through his life, he had chosen her, and as young as she was, this alone made her a woman and no longer a child. She felt good all over that he had her, that his tragic loneliness was at an end.
Weli, the tragedy of his life wasn't entirely at an end, for she was well aware of the fact that they couldn't get married yet, but at least she'd be there to share in that tragedy for the next two or three years. Even then people would talk about his marrying an eighteen-year-old, but they wouldn't talk for long because Joel Thatcher could really do no wrong in Roseville. What was more, she would show them all just what a fine wife and stepmother she could be. He'd be so proud of her and the babies she would bear him, and in turn she would simply love him half to death.
Going home on the bus with her packages, the mere sight of the bank gave her a nice warm glow down between her legs. It was so like him, solid and respectable on the outside, and filled with excitement within. All the rest of the way to her stop she smiled dreamily out the window and thought about him, while under the packages in her lap she moved her fingers in the leg hole of her hot pants. She felt like a queen walking the last four blocks, and she felt a lofty sympathy for her neighbors who were condemned to spend all their lives in these shabby row homes, while she went on to a bigger, much better life.
Mrs. Knudsen was in bed with her inhaler when Joyce got home, and Joyce was able to slip the packages in her room unobserved. She would have to arrange for Joel to keep her special sexy clothes at his house. Oh, there would be so many little deceptions they'd have to carry out until they could finally bring their love out for everyone to see. She hid them under her bed, watched television for most of the evening, and on the way to bed took out a pair of the red panties and put them on. In bed she masturbated while she tried to remember every moment they had had together, and although her orgasm had her writhing and thrashing on the bed, it wasn't near as good as those she'd had with Joel. She slept very well.
When she woke up she was feeling so sexy that she started to masturbate again, but then reconsidered and stopped, for that was a childish thing to do, and furthermore it was like being unfaithful to Joel. She wore the panties to school, even though they were somewhat soiled and odorous by then, and school was even more incredibly dull than it usually was. She couldn't concentrate at all on what her teachers were saying, and her fellow students were so crassly juvenile that she very simply couldn't stand them. She had to learn something, though, for Joel was deserving of a cultured and educated wife. Then again, he could well afford to send her to a finishing school for a few months where she could learn all she needed to know about being a banker's wife. She certainly couldn't learn the ridiculous subjects she had to take while wearing his special sexy panties, for they had a decided aphrodisiac effect on her that had her squirming in her seat all day and wishing she hadn't resolved not to masturbate.
The day crawled by, and when school was out the time went even more slowly until at last the Chrysler's horn beeped, and an invisible hand clutched her in the belly. She hurried out to it, wig and perfume in her purse, the lingerie folded inside her school notebook, and sat down beside Matt in the front seat, trying not to let the boy see the love that shone so unmistakably in her eyes for the man behind the wheel. Joel seemed tense and uncommunicative, undoubtedly because he was just as horny as she was. She wanted so much to be alone with him but there just wasn't an opportunity with his kid around, and there wasn't even the opportunity for a fast kiss before he left for his Bridge. (That was another thing she'd have to learn.)
Only when he was gone did she recall that she was there to look after his son, and then she was struck by the fact that in the not too distant future, she'd be his stepmother. She wouldn't have to do much caring for him then, for he'd be fifteen or so years old by the time she was legally ready for marriage, but she'd be good to him. Being so close to his age she could understand his problems and really relate to him well. She'd do everything in her power to make sure he wouldn't resent her, as lots of step-children did. And who could tell? Perhaps he might someday be her second husband, for after all, Joel was over twenty years older than she was, and if not that, perhaps she'd let Matt sleep with her once Joel was over the hill.
But that was a terrible thought and she was ashamed of herself for thinking it. She tried to put it out of her head but she couldn't because he was right there in front of her, doing his homework, and looking so much like Joel that she thought her heart would break. She had to face facts, it was a possibility, and when looked at objectively it had all the makings of a really classic romantic triangle, with her at the main apex of it. Oh, the things she could teach him, and it wouldn't really be incest at all.
She went in the living room and turned on the television, hoping it would help pass the time. It wasn't much help. She remained as tense and nervous as Joel had seemed, and for the same reason, that persistent itching between her legs. She scratched at it several times, first looking cautiously at Matt to ensure that his nose was still buried in his book, but that afforded very little relief. The only thing that could help her was under some dumb Bridge table, and she devoutly hoped it was burning as much as her cunt was just then.
She counted the minutes and at last persuaded
Matt to go to bed at a quarter of ten, and then she hovered outside his room until she was sure he was asleep. As she went to get ready for Joel, she felt so excited that she was afraid she'd be sick. And there in a glass cabinet was some liquor, just the thing to steady one's nerves, or so she'd heard. A
sip or two of that would set her straight, and Joel wouldn't mind. Heck, he would probably have whisky on his breath and not even notice she'd had a little herself. She had tasted wine and beer before but never whisky, and the drink she took from the expensive Scotch bottle had her gagging and choking. Eyes watering, she went to undress, looking warily back at the bottle.
But that was another thing she'd have to learn, for every gracious hostess took a sociable drink, and it wouldn't be good for Joel to drink by himself. The trouble was that she hadn't mixed it, and so quite naked she took the Scotch bottle to the kitchen, found some ice and some root beer, and carefully made herself a drink that tasted all right. She carried it around with her as she completed her dressing for bed, feeling very much at home now in the luxurious house, just as it should be.
In the cute little shortie nightgown, she stood before the big mirror in his master bathroom and applied her make-up. She put it on a little heavily because the lights would be dim and she didn't want her exotic coloration to go unnoticed. The wig looked just beautiful on her. It made her look years older and had her thinking thoughts of them getting married even before she was eighteen. She used the perfume liberally, applying it as she should, to the warmest parts of her body, and it logically followed that she used a good deal of it on her loins. Then she stepped back and surveyed herself in the mirror.
She was stunning. At last she could see what it was about her that had attracted her lover. She turned this way and that, posing, practicing most alluring smiles, and presenting her body to be revealed at the best angle for him and smoothing the diaphanous black nylon over her wonderfully slim waist. She untied its sash and opened it and didn't like what she saw, and hurried back to where she'd dropped her clothes and got her padded bra. It was black, and it looked just right through the flimsy material of her nightie. She strutted back and forth before the mirror in the living room and decided she was perfect, save for her rather thin hips and legs, to which time and growth was the only answer. And then, feeling real good and quite relaxed, she took the whisky bottle, her Scotch root beer highball, and a glass for Joel to the end table and curled up with a magazine to wait for him.
She was on her second highball and getting a little peeved at his tardiness when she heard his car drive up, and at once all her excitement returned, with a rush so great that she felt close to coming. It was difficult for her to remain where she was seated. She wanted to run to the door and meet him. But she stayed where she was, knowing how stunning she looked in the subdued lighting she had so carefully created. She was right, she did stun him, he stood in the entryway of the living room paralyzed, his mouth hanging open.
She batted her long lashes at him and said over the rim of her highball glass, "Hiya, lover, howsa cardsh game go?"
He exploded. "Just what in hell are you doing dressed up like that? My God, what if Matt got up? What if somebody came by? And what in the hell are you doing with that whisky bottle?"
Terrified and hurt, Joyce tried to hang onto the remnants of her poise. "I thought you . .. would you . .. like a li'l drink?"
In two long strides he was towering over her. She didn't even have time to set her drink down before he grabbed her by the shoulders and jerked her to her feet, spilling the icy root beer highball all over the front of her and making her gasp all the louder. More of it sloshed out of the glass as he shook her and snarled, "You empty-headed little tramp, this is my home, Matt's home, and I won't have you turning it into a bordello. Do you know how stupid, how ridiculous you look? Don't you realize the risk you took dressing up like that?"
"B-But you t-t-told me to buy some sexy things for you," she said and blubbered, tears gushing forth from her eyes.
"And drunk to boot!" he cried. He ripped off her wig. "Now, scrub that crap off your face and get dressed. I'm calling a cab and sending you home, for good."
"Don't make me go," she wailed. "I love you, Joel."
"God almighty, what have I done? Get dressed. You're getting out of here before this thing goes any farther whatsoever."
He released her and as she staggered back the glass fell from her hand and broke on the floor, a final blunder on her part that she felt utterly destroyed whatever chance she had of keeping him. She covered her face and began weeping in earnest, knowing how terrible she looked then with her hair straggling down and her make-up running and the previously sexy black nightie all plastered to her shaking body by the cold, cold Scotch and root beer. She wanted very much to die as she peeped out through her fingers and saw him glaring sternly at her arid knew that she'd lost him forever.
Still she wept as he looked down at the whisky and then picked it up and drank from it as easily as if it was water. When he came toward her she started to back away, and when he grabbed her wrists she resisted him, not wanting him to see what a pathetic little creature she'd been turned into by his wrath. But he jerked her hands aside and looked at her tear-streaked face, eye-liner running, one false eyelash hanging loose, her lipstick smudged. He sneered at her and that was somehow worse than his anger.
"So you think you're really a sexy tomato, eh?" he said.
She shook her head and tried to lower it] but he caught her by the chin and made her look straight into his eyes.
"You're about as sexy as.a scarecrow. You're nothing but an awkward bundle of sticks, and for the life of me I can't imagine what I ever saw in a kid like you. Walk around the room, sexpot, and let's see if there's anything at all sexy about you."
She didn't walk, she stumbled about under his scornful scrutiny. She knew how awful she looked and this was most humiliating to her, but she had to do it because he had told her to and she loved him despite this cruelty he was inflicting on her. He laughed at her and shook his head and sat down on the couch to have another pull at the bottle, but he wouldn't let her stop. She had to go on promenading as a caricature of what she'd hoped to be, and had to try to move in the exaggeratedly slinky walk that he laughingly instructed her in.
"Can you see yourself in the mirror? Do you know how stupid you look?"
She nodded, although she didn't have to look to know.
"Joyce, you're not ready for sex for another five years. Stick to frigging yourself. That's more your speed."
"No," she said in a tiny, squeaky voice. "I don't want that. I want you. You're the only one in the world who can . .. satisfy me now."
"Oh, bullshit. Satisfy yourself, child," he' said. "B-But I want you so bad. I'm just dying for your big hard cock."
"All hot and bothered, eh?" he chuckled. "Then go ahead and do a job on yourself, because you and I are through."
It took all her courage, but she managed to say, "If you don't.. . love me, I'll tell."
"I figured you'd get around to that. Tell me, who's going to believe you if you tell? Hmm? Not a soul, that's who. Go fuck yourself, Joyce."
She took him literally. She stood there blinking at him for a moment, then began rubbing he* crotch. It was even more humiliating than parading for him but she had to do it, knowing as she did that it was the aftermath of another of her masturbations that had started the whole thing between them. It didn't feel good at all and it seemed doubtful now that it would change his mind, but at least it quieted him down and, after all, it was her last hope.
He shifted on the couch and made a quick adjustment at the crotch of his trousers and hope soared in her. She ventured a small smile and slipped her hand down inside her wet panties. Her cunt was still wet from her previous manipulations while she'd been waiting for him, but still there was little if any sexual pleasure she was deriving from her masturbation. The pleasure she got was all from his slowly increasing interest and from the crooked smile forming on his face that she tried to mimic.
"Feel good?" he said.
"Mm-hmm," she lied. "But not as good as you do."
He shook his head. "Better get used to this, or fucking the little boys at grade school."
"Only you, Joel. For all my life, only you."
"Balls. You'll lay down with a thousand men before you die."
"I would if you told me to, but I wouldn't like it. I'd do anything you told me to, Joel. And I'm sorry I said I'd tell on you. I never would."
"Damn right you wouldn't. Pull down those pants and let's see how you're doing."
He stopped her when she had them at her knees, and then she had to stretch them tight there as she spread her legs, the better for him to watch her pulling and rubbing at her clitoris and inserting her fingers in her childish hole. She felt only faint twinges of physical pleasure, even though her expression was registering considerably more. She was wondering if she'd have to try to feign an orgasm for him, and wondering if any of this was doing any real good, when a real surge of sexual excitement coursed through her. It stemmed from the movement of his hand going to his loins and outlining his erection through his pants.
She took a sinuous step toward him, massaging her tiny cunt all the while, and said, "Even if you and me are all through, I sure would like to see your big fat prickie again. Can 1 take it out for you?"
He shook his head, and he did it himself. It looked monstrously big in his hand, and as he began stroking it a feeling of the deepest possible desire for him welled up in her. It wasn't just a need to have that big old prick inside her, it was a need to have all of him inside her, forever, making her as good and as bad as he was, making her whole again.
She came forward, timidly, like the wood nymph inexorably drawn to the satyr, and she reverently knelt at his feet. The big hair-surrounded object in his slowly moving fist dominated her field of vision, backed up by his handsome and cruelly smiling face. She leaned closer and pursed her red-smeared lips and blew her breath on his pulsating cock, and her reward immediately came in the form of a drop of crystal clear fluid that oozed up out of the single eye of it. With a fearful questioning in her eyes, she came tremulously forward until she could feel the warmth rising from his loins to her face, and then she experienced a feeling of great inner bliss as she was allowed to take his throbbing cock in her mouth.
Looking up at him, she tried to thank him with her eyes, and he laughed and tousled her hair and said, "Can't get enough grown-up cock, can you, kid? Well, all right. I'll just have to see if I can give you enough to last you for a long, long while. Lay down on the floor with this pillow under your ass, baby."
She obeyed him very quickly and then lay there in an agony of longing for him and fearing that she might do something wrong again while he leisurely undressed. She had never seen him naked before and, towering over her as he was, he looked like a hairy old giant. His penis looked like that of a giant, too, long and thick and sticking out and up, and she was shocked at the sight of his heavy hanging balls. They looked ominous and alien, like a parasite attached to his body, and it was hard for her to remember that she loved the stuff that they contained.
In her haste she had neglected to completely remove her panties, and now he dropped to his knees between her outspread legs and simply ripped them off. Grinning disdainfully at her, he covered her tiny body with his and quickly and unerringly thrust the head of his enflamed cock against her little girl cunt. She didn't have time to part her labia properly before he shoved it all the way in. The pain was intense, and she winced but did not cry out, for she could see that this too-quick insertion had hurt him as well.
It hurt too each time he savagely hauled his big dick out and in, for she wasn't nearly as well lubricated as she had been in times past with him, but even through the pain "she could feel the huge pleasure continuing to burst and surge in her now that she again had him where he should be, inside her frail body. He was putting his full weight on her, it seemed, and she could scarcely breathe, and even this burden was adding to her pleasure. When he backed off it was only to tear open her nightie and jerk up her bra so that he could take her unformed nipples in his huge fingers and twist them, hard. They were so sensitive that she screamed sharply, whereupon he clamped his hand over her mouth.
"Not another sound out of you," he panted. "No matter what, you're not to wake Matt."
She nodded with her panic-stricken child's eyes, for he seemed like a madman. It was hard to recall him as the gentle, loving man she knew him to be, and then when she realized that it was only his huge desire for her that had him in this state the joy surged in her and she began coming. Under his considerable weight it was difficult to move as her emotions demanded, but she managed to do it. Twisting and writhing like a snake, she was even able to get her tiny ass briefly off the pillow as she came and came, right through the pain, having to bite her lip to keep from screaming out her undying love for him. He was fucking her so very hard. She could feel the muscles of his buttocks and back tensing to rock under her feet and hands as he slammed his tremendous tool into her exploding child cunt over and over, panting raggedly and undoubtedly coming himself. As good as their times together in the past had been, they were nothing compared to this. Every part of her tiny body was coming at once, and there was no way she could have stopped it if she'd tried.
And then it seemed as if her guts were spilling out, for quite unexpectedly he jerked his huge cock out of her little hole completely and got up on his knees, and with a few rapid strokes of his fist on his reddened cock, he began shooting his gobs of come on her belly, on her tits, on her nightie and on her face. It was sticking in her eyes and cloying on her lips and still she came, arching up higher now until her gushing infantile cunt was pressing up against his convulsing balls.
He stopped, panting, looking down at his wilting cock in disgust, and said, "Goddamn, you're bleeding. I hope to hell I ripped you."
"My period," she gasped, "must've started. Joel, I'm sorry. Joel, I love you."
"Shut up," he snapped, and grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up to a sitting position to stare at his enormous cock, still huge, and stained pink and glistening. "Eat it," he said, and before she could catch another breath it was in her youthful mouth and she was sucking it.
Her blood, her juices on it disgusted her, but she dutifully did as he wanted. It was the only way of showing him just how deeply she loved him, the only way of winning him back again. Her menstrual flow was starting in earnest now, she could feel herself leaking on his rug, and she tried to hold it back. As she sucked and swallowed, his gnarled old prick tasted better, and then it was better yet when she felt it growing hard. Cruel as he could be, he loved her too, and he would always return to her, of this she was certain.
"Get it up. Get it up, dammit," he snapped at her, and she increased the ardor of her sucking kisses. She hurt, from the cramps that accompanied her menses and from the terrible pounding he'd given her poor little cunt, and that latter pain was such a cleansing ache that it approached the feeling of an orgasm, and she joyfully did her level best to comply with his needs.
When it was as hard as before, he pushed her off it and told her to get up on her hands and knees, that he wasn't done with her yet.
She said, "Honey, I'm starting in to bleed .pretty bad. Maybe I'd better get..."
"Shut up and do as I say, damn you."
She did, wondering at how deep his love and desire for her was that he could want to fuck her bleeding cunt now. He put his fingers in it and she waggled her ass and spread her legs farther for him, already feeling another orgasm of anticipation. She felt his rough fingers at her tiny little asshole and she didn't like it and wanted to roll away from the creepy alien caress, but she could not. And then she felt the head of that enormous cock of his there and she knew what he was going to do, knew that he didn't love her at all but only wanted to humiliate her and she did try to get away. He wouldn't let her. As easily as a bull holds a cow, he had her powerless to squirm away while he pushed and shoved his huge old organ into the impossibly small orifice of her childish anus.
"Gahhhhh! Nooooo!" she couldn't help but scream as he actually forced the end of his dick inside her asshole, but then she could scream no more as his hand was again clamped over her mouth and he was pushing farther, deeper, burning and tearing her little child flesh and inflicting a newer and totally disgusting pain on her poor, tormented little body.
He began pulling his prick out and she relaxed her tensed sphincter muscle and could have fainted with the relief she felt at that long, long thing being extruded ever so slowly from her violated little body. But then she had to tense and whimper and weep again as it was pushed back in her, no matter how - she tried to expel it. Relief was permitted her again as he took it out, and again he added to her torture by pushing it back inside her, just when she thought she'd be free of it. The tensing was exhausting during his insertions, and the relief she felt on his backward strokes was equally exhausting, but in a different way, and soon Joyce's arms had failed to support her and she was mashing her face against the carpet. Still he drove on, and it became too much of an effort to even try to resist him. She relaxed, held up by his body, not caring if she defecated or not, and as if by magic the awful searing pain dwindled and slipped away from her, making her feel wonderfully peaceful and good.
"Move," he snarled. "Cry, you tight-assed little bitch."
She moved, but she didn't cry. She didn't have the energy to do more than rotate her ass in slow circles, and she didn't have the slightest inclination to weep any more. Oh, the wonderful man, the man she loved, the man who loved her so much he had showed her this new wonderful way to feel good all over. How she adored him for it, and how she would pay him back tenfold for all this great good pleasure and love he was giving to her.
Summoning up her strength, finding increasingly more of it as her pleasures mounted, she began moving her tiny little ass more smoothly, meeting his strokes and looking back between her legs at his hairy and heavily swinging balls there between her blood-stained legs. She still felt some pain from it all, and she was able to feel it quite sharply each time she clenched her sphincter muscle a little, but even the pain was good now for it served as a perfect counterpoint to her pleasures. She was coming constantly, and by tightening her infantile ass around his full-sized cock and feeling the sharp stab of pain, it gave her a brief return to the reality of the world before she allowed herself to be taken back to heaven. It was good, it was wonderful, and then it became so perfect when his hands tightened on her hips and he laboriously shot flood after flood of hot sticky come in her ass that she began crying, blubbering, and finally collapsing on the carpet with his heavy old body flattening her frail little torso out like a deflated balloon.
Chapter Nine
Joyce was miserable the next day at school. Her menstrual period and the attendant cramps were most intense, and her vagina and anus felt as if they'd been reamed with sandpaper. Still that was not the worst of it, for physical pain was something she'd been trained to be inured to from childhood. It was the mental anguish that she couldn't handle.
What kind of a man was he to do that to her? He had to be the worst possible kind of a pervert to brutalize and sodomize her as he had, and though she could think of nothing worse that he might ever do to her, this was only because her limited experience could not comprehend anything worse than a man putting his huge old penis in a girl's fanny. And how deep was his perversion? Could it be cured by a head shrinker? Could she cure it with love? Or would it get progressively worse? It was awful to have a pervert for a lover.
It depressed her even more to face the fact that at the time she had enjoyed it, and this made her as big a pervert as he was. No, that wasn't true. She hadn't liked it a bit, and the only reason behind that frighteningly intense orgasm she'd had at the end was because she loved him and anything at all that he chose to do was all right, was good, was wonderful. He could kick her, beat her, chain her, brand her with hot irons, anything as long as he didn't leave her as he had threatened.
She was sure that was only a threat, certain that he could no more stop seeing her than she could stop seeing him. Old as he was, that same bright flame of enduring love burned within his breast, just as it did in hers, and he could never leave her, no matter how many reasons there were for ending their relationship. That thought sustained her as she plodded her way through the days that followed, enduring her pain with the stoicism of the long-suffering and nurturing herself with the enduring hope of the very young.
By Friday her period was almost over and the pain was only a memory. She was very selfishly pleased that Mrs. Knudsen was still laid up with her lung congestion and her confidence was restored to the point that she put on the sexiest of her new panties and her other new bra as she waited for Joel to pick her up. He was prompt as usual, and he looked as elegantly powerful as the President of the United States as he drove her to his house.
All the pain and anguish she'd suffered through in the past days since she had seen him was gone, washed away by the mere presence of this man she loved so completely. She was content to just be in his presence. He didn't have to speak to her or even look at her, just as long as he was there. She knew him so well that he didn't have to speak to her. She understood exactly what he was feeling and what he wanted to say to her. First he wanted to apologize for the previous evening when he had got so carried away. Second he wanted to tell her he wasn't going out to do his charity work that Friday night, but would spend a quiet evening at home with her and Matt.
Finally he would assure her that he did love her and that he needed her love until such a time as the perversion born of his loneliness could be cured by her love. She would reply to each of these things with love, with understanding, and with this feeling for him that was so strong that even if he surprised her with yet another of his perverse practices she could enjoy it just as much as she had enjoyed the sodomy. Their love was so strong that words could not express it, and there could be no perversions between lovers such as they.
He didn't come around and open the car door for her when they were at his house, but that didn't matter. He couldn't be perfect. In the embarrassment of the anticipation of his totally unnecessary apology, he was almost curt with her. But she waited patiently, demurely, truly enjoying what amounted to their first lover's quarrel, and looking forward to the heady joys of their first reconciliation. When he told her to follow him into the kitchen she went along behind him like a benevolent and forgiving queen. He faced her, trying to look stern, and spoke in his banker's voice.
"I'll be late tonight. Don't look for me until morning. You know the rules, and in addition to the ones I've already laid down I feel I must add that you are not under any circumstances to touch the liquor supply in this house. Take good care of my little boy. Good night."
The tears were welling up so quickly and the lump forming so rapidly in her throat that she could barely speak. She stammered, "B-But, Joel, I. . . You can't just. .. Oh, please . . ."
"Joyce, anything that's gone on between us in the past is quite over and done with, and may I remind you that you've emerged from it unharmed, not pregnant, and well paid for your time. In the future we will resume our former relationship of employer and employee and you will address me as Mr. Thatcher. Is that clear?"
She nodded, wholly miserable. "Yes, Mr. Thatcher." And then he was gone.
Rooted to the spot, she watched him drive away and then blindly returned to the care of her charge. He was busy with his homework, a miniature of his father, caring more for facts and figures than for love and life. It was no wonder Matt's mother had run off, for who could stand living with such a cold, unfeeling bastard as he was. She hoped she was happy, wherever she was. Of course, Joel didn't care if she was lying dead in a gutter somewhere. All he cared about was his dumb job and raising his son in his image. She had a mental picture of a few years hence when Matt would be telling Joel how he had broken some poor girl's heart and both would be enjoying the anecdote immensely. It was a shame that little Matt had that kind of a future to look forward to. In fact it was downright depressing, and Joyce defiantly decided that what she needed was a drink of whisky to get her out of her blue funk.
The root beer and Scotch whisky tasted damned good, and she sipped it steadily while she sat watching Matt and reflecting on the perfidy of his father. He had said she was as sexy as a bundle of sticks, but that bundle of sticks that was her had sure gotten him in a rutting mood. And in his superiority he had called her stupid, but she couldn't help it if she hadn't had the fine education of Joel and his son. The little bastard, he had everything in the world ... including Joel ... and she.had nothing except her used and soiled body. For the first time she seriously considered telling people about all the ways Joel Thatcher, their idol, had taken advantage of her. She didn't care what the consequences were as far as she was concerned, for her life was over, but the frustrating thing about it was that he was right, that no one would believe her without concrete proof that Joel had deflowered her and taught her to be a cocksucker and even fucked her in the ass. He had her coming and going, the bastard, and there was nothing she could do to even get even with him.
She turned and glared out the window into the gathering dusk, contemplating ways and means to go about torturing Joel to death once she had him completely in her power. She would have him in her power someday, no matter how long it took, and then he'd suffer, oh how he'd suffer. She even thought of burning the house down, with herself and Matt in it, and then contrition so overwhelmed her for her thought of making innocent little Matt suffer that she quickly turned her head to look at him.
Just as quickly, he lowered his head to his books. Studying him, she detected a flush of pink on his cheeks, and then she realized that from where he was sitting he could look up her skirt. She was wearing the panties with the slit in the crotch and to him it probably looked as if she was wearing no panties at all. And just like his perverted and oversexed father, he was lusting for her, young as he was. Of course she could be wrong, and to check this she turned away once again. She looked at the mirror over the fireplace and in it she saw him furtively raise his eyes, then his head, and lick his lips as he gazed at her with disgusting adoration in his clear blue eyes. If not in the eyes of his father, at least in young Matt's eyes she was indeed a sexy tomato, and her status as this was something to be taken advantage of.
She yawned loudly and he quickly lowered his head. She took another drink and set the glass down, stretched lazily in a way that opened her legs and elevated her skirt and gave him an even better view, and leaned back with her eyes almost closed. She fidgeted and shifted in her feigned sleep, elevating one knee and facing him more directly, and settled back to watch his reactions through slitted eyes.
He scribbled a little, glancing up at her in a most guilty fashion. He looked around as if someone might be watching him, even as he was watching her. He looked straight at her, dropped his pencil, and began rubbing his prick under the table.
Watching the horny little bastard ogling her and playing with himself somehow served to excite her and it became increasingly difficult to pretend to be asleep. Slowly then, very slowly, she opened her eyes, and she was looking squarely at him before he realized she wasn't asleep at all.
He became so suddenly flustered that he all but knocked the table over in getting his hand out of his crotch, and she had to laugh at his blushing consternation. Still smiling, she beckoned to him with a crooked finger, and he foolishly tried to pretend he did not know her meaning.
"Come here, Matthew," she said.
"I'm, uh, doing my homework. Almost done, too," he said.
"You were doing more than that. Come here. Come here or I'll tell your father."
She could see him swallow hard as he hurriedly fumbled about under the table, but when he rose his ineptness was apparent for the sharp bulge of his erection showed. It wasn't that massive long ridge that she'd seen in his father's pants, but just a little tent, at the apex of which was a small spot of liquid staining his pants. He looked wretched shambling forward at the summons of her moving finger.
"What were you doing there, Matthew?"
"Homework. Gee, I told you, I was just doing my homework."
"Mm-hm. And what were you looking at?"
Eyes wide, cheeks aflame, he said, "My books. What else?"
"And do your books always do that to you?" she said, and reached out and touched the peak of his little tent with her fingertip.
He jumped back, but she drew him forward again with her crooked finger. She went to touch him again there and he leaped back, and now the smile was gone from her face and her words were no longer soothing as she said, "You hold still when I say so, you little brat. You may be able to get away with things with my aunt, but you can't with me. Now come here. Now!"
He looked to heaven for help, then took the step forward that put his loins within range of her hand. The tent had deflated in his embarrassment and she used her thumb and two fingers to probe for and find the hidden pole of it.
"That's better," she said. "Now, answer my question. Do you always get a boner when you do your homework, or was it something else that did it?"
He shook his head, already looking as miserable as Joyce had ever been because of Joel. Stroking it, pulling it out upright again, she said, "You are to answer me when I ask you a question. What gave you this boner, Matthew?"
"Looking . .. looking at you."
"Oh? You like to look at girls?" She took a drink to calm herself, for the hardness of his innocent little prick was very exhilarating to her. "You're just like your father. You know, he likes to look at girls too. Especially me. He looks at me all the time he can. And he gets a big old boner, too, lots bigger than yours, but not as . .."
"Don't say those things about him! He wouldn't!"
"Why not? You did, and like they say, you are your father's son. Now take down your pants and let me see it."
"Like heck," he said, trying to back off.
She held him by his penis. "You will," she said, "or your father will hear all about how you looked under my skirt and jerked off under the table. What would he say to that?" She let him think it over for no longer than ten seconds and said, in a much more friendly tone, "Just take your pants down and show me what you've got. After all, you've seen me and so I should be able to see you, too. You don't have to be shy. I won't hurt you," she said, stroking, pulling all the time, making the wet spot widen.
He was torn. He wanted to, if his fidgeting and the state of his prick were any indication, but his modesty prevailed. After several seconds Joyce clucked in irritation and leaned forward to unbuckle his belt, zip down his fly, and pull his trousers and shorts down while he stood there with his face in his hands, moaning in his misery.
It was only about four inches long and it was skinny, and his balls were quite compact compared to those heavy eggs of his father, and he was almost hairless, but nevertheless the sight of it was hugely exciting to her and she was quite sincere when she said, "Oh, that's a nice one. Matt, it's so pretty and it feels so nice in my hand. Does it feel nice to you?"
"I don't know. I don't know," he groaned.
"I know this'll feel nice," she purred, and leaned forward and kissed it, made him gasp, and then sucked its entire length right up inside her mouth. It was very smooth to her tongue and tasted salty and of something else she couldn't instantly identify.
She hadn't meant to give him this. She'd really had no plan at all other than to somehow pay him back for all his father had subjected her to, but once she'd seen his pretty pink virginal prickie she'd been quite unable to keep from kissing it, and once she'd felt its taut satiny texture with her lips she'd had to suck it in all the way she could. And this was all the way. She could handle every bit of it, until her nose was against his sparsely furred belly, and it was delicious. Soon, far too soon, it would be as huge and gross as his father's, but now it was just right, nothing at all to be feared, something only to be enjoyed.
She enjoyed his balls, too. They were hard, like a pair of small walnuts encased in a stingy little purse, and it felt very nice to roll them around in her hand. She squeezed them, experimenting with how far she could go with them, and could soon tell just where his threshold of pain was. She enjoyed his skin, too. It was smoother, silkier than hers, or so it seemed, but without that underlying layer of fat that was a difference between boys and girls. She could feel his beautifully sculpted bones under it and the healthy tautness of it, and when it became moister and warmer it felt even better. He had a good smell about him, of clean perspiration blended with good soap, and she breathed it in through her nostrils in great, dizzying lungsful.
His little buttocks were a delight to touch. They were indeed little, smaller than hers, but they were nice and round and soft and sensitive enough so that she could make him jump and jerk by squeezing them unexpectedly. Yet another enjoyment for her was his reactions, panting and jerking spasmodically and making little sounds that she knew were not as mournful as they sounded. But most of all she enjoyed his cock in her mouth, hard and stiff, very clean and sweet, just the right size for her. She sucked it hard and she washed it with her tongue, and her enjoyment was such that she was about to reach down and bring herself to an orgasm with her hand when he groaned very loudly and began shooting his little boy come in her mouth.
The force of it was much stronger than when Joel did it, but the quantity of each spurt was not so great and she could manage it easily without choking. The taste of it was not as pungent, it was almost sweet, and Joyce milked his penis with one hand and squeezed his balls with the other to get every bit she could, for it was deliriously good and she wanted to get all of it, just as quickly as she could. She was aware that the humming sound in her ears was being generated by herself and that Matt was making the weeping noises.
She stood up and took him in her arms and kissed him passionately, taking his sweet little penis in her hand and rubbing it against her thigh, under her skirt, and she was shocked to discover that he was crying.
"Matt, what's the matter?"
"I don't know," he blubbered.
"What's the matter, didn't you like it?"
"I don't know. Jeez, I don't know anything."
"Your father likes it," she cruelly teased, very pleased by the way she could manage both his prick and his balls with one hand. "What's the matter with you? Do you just like to look up girls' dresses?"
"Just leave me alone," he said, trying to twist away.
Joyce was no larger than Matt and probably no stronger physically, but she had the advantage of authority and she used it well when he tried to break away from her. She grabbed him by the ear and twisted it hard enough to make him yelp, and she spoke harshly to him.
"You're staying right here. Get your clothes off, every stitch, and then you can see what you wanted to."
She helped him. While he stood wringing his hands she popped a few buttons on his shirt in taking it off and then steadied him while he got out of his trousers and shorts, shoes and socks. He looked so cute, so smooth and hairless and so much like Joel that Joyce had to hug and kiss him like a big doll and to reassure him that everything would be fine.
- "It's okay if we play around a little, Matt. Nobody will ever know, and it'll feel so good. You know I've always liked you and I know you're sort of interested in me. Come on. I'll teach you how to kiss. I'll teach you a lot of things, if you're good." "But I don't want to," he whined, trying to cover himself.
"You want to help me off with my clothes?" she purred.
That struck home. The shyest of smiles flickered on his pretty mouth, and he managed to barely nod his head.
She kissed him and he was almost unresisting, and then she stood smiling before him with hands on hips and said, "Take off my blouse first."
He did so with trembling fingers, and that was almost as exciting to Joyce as the way she was fondling his little genitalia. He faced her again and followed her instructions in reaching around her for her bra hooks, and she spoke warmly to him as he fumbled about.
"We're gonna have such fun tonight, Matt, and lots of other nights too if you're a good boy and don't tell anybody. Come on, take it off, so you can see my beautiful titties. There, aren't they pretty and nice. Feel of them. Go on. Is that nice? They're not big and floppy like some girls' are. Gee, it feels nice when you do that.. It makes me feel like you feel when I play around with you like this. Mmm, you're getting all stiff again, and that's so nice. Kiss 'em, honey. Just like I kissed your little prickie."
He crouched down and did so, and Joyce nestled his head against her chest and enjoyed it thoroughly. His hair was much longer than his father's, almost like a girl's, and it felt good to run her fingers through it while she taught him about sex.
"Just suck 'em real nice and slow, Matt. And don't bite. Use your tongue some more, honey. Oh, you're .. . Ow! You little brat, I told you not to bite me. I'll get you for that. Mmmm, that's nice. You're being such a good boy I'm going to let you take off my skirt now."
She had him get down on his knees for that, and it was very satisfying to look down past where she was playing with her-titties and see him there on his knees, looking so much like his father. She wouldn't let him take off her panties, since they were so sexy, but she parted her legs widely and opened the slit in the panties and let him look.
"Get yourself a good eyeful, Matt. That's what a really hot pussy looks like. You want to touch it?" He nodded his head eagerly and started to reach for her, and as much as she needed a touch there, she stopped him. "Answer me, do you want to touch my pussy?" "Uh-huh." "
"Answer me right, Matthew. How do you answer your teachers at school? Now, do you want to touch my pussy?" "Well, yes, ma'am."
She patted his head. "Good boy. You may touch it . . . with your tongue."
He looked up at her in surprise and she smoothly said, "Just stick out your tongue and touch it, Matt. Like I did with your prickie. Go on. It tastes real good."
Very warily, he thrust out his tongue. He came cautiously forward, blinking his eyes rapidly, and when he was almost there she grabbed his head in both hands and mashed her cunt on his upturned face. He struggled to get away but she held him tight, and while he choked and coughed against her cunt, Joyce squirmed and squealed to a fast, giddy orgasm. She was feeling good all over when she at last pulled him to his feet and kissed him hard on his mouth, savoring the taste of her own hot pussy juices even though he did not.
As he wiped his mouth on his hand she held her glass to his face and had him take a big drink, and said, "You're so good at that you made me come. Did you like it?"
"Well, I don't know," he said.
"I didn't like sucking cock at first, but I just love it now. Let's do it to each other both at the same time and see if you like it better that way."
"Is that... sixty-nine?"
She laughed. "You know an awful lot for only twelve years old. I'll show you how to do it. We'll do it in bed like you're supposed to."
She made them another drink first, and it took her a while because he was right there at her side and she couldn't keep her hands off him, especially as he began to warm under her caresses and lose more of his fears about touching her. She took him to the master bedroom, with both of them giggling and sipping the drink as they went, and she faced him beside Joel Thatcher's huge but solitary bed.
"I should have my panties off for this. You take them off. But no hands, you've got to do it with your teeth."
He agreed with little argument. She had him so hot again he'd do anything she said by then. She felt very regal standing there sipping her drink while he groveled about with the lace in his teeth, looking up at her as adoringly as she'd once looked at his father.
When he rose triumphant she took them from his teeth and gave him a drink and, rubbing her perfumed garment on his chest, said, "Aren't they soft?"
"Yeah. Yes, ma'am," he panted, mouthing kisses at her face.
"Hold still and I'll show you how they feel on." She had his foot through one leg hole before he said, "Hey, don't." She just laughed and slithered them up his legs. She pulled his prick and balls out through the slit and smacked a few kisses there before she pulled him down on the bed.
For a while they just rolled around on it, and that was great fun for she had imagined herself in that bed many times in the past and now it was good to get familiar with it. But it was more fun to get familiar with little Matt. During their wrestlings she got him to kiss her pussy on his own, and she felt more and more pleasure in feeling the warm smoothness of his young, sturdy body against hers. His little fanny was a particular joy to her and when they started sixty-nining in earnest, she had both hands on it.
She rolled them over so that Matt was lying on his back and she was on top of him, squeezing his buns and sucking his prick while he reciprocated. He was not truly lying there, for that word denotes a position of repose, and he was anything but restful. He was thrashing and writhing under her, and from this Joyce soon learned how to control his actions. She didn't suck his prick steadily after that, but only enough to keep his passions raised to a fever pitch. She helped this with her finger, "working it into his little asshole and then being further able to control him by simply wriggling it. In this fashion she was able to reach orgasm two more times, while preserving Matt's precious semen for better things.
After the second of these.she rolled off him, leaving him reaching and pleading for her, while she finished their drink. She said, '"'Did you like that?"
"Boy, I'll say," he said, crawling all over her and making her feel very loved.
"I told you you would. And now I suppose you want me to teach you how to fuck."
"Would you, Joyce? Would you really?" he asked happily.
"Sure, but get me a drink first," she said, handing him the glass. "Mix it just like I did, and hurry back."
He went bounding off, his little boner flopping out through the panties, and Joyce leaned back on the bed in all contentment. If Joel didn't want her, Matt did. Of course she was sure that Joel really did want her, and this was just a temporary mood he was in. She could get him to take her back as his girl friend. This experience with Matt assured her of that. And once she was back in his arms she was now confident she could get him to eventually marry her. If not, if worst came to worst, there was always Matt. Somehow, one way or another, everything would work out just fine. After all, one only had to look at how completely she had won Matt. He'd do anything she said, and before long, Joel would be doing the same.
Matt returned, and she laughed, "You really look silly in my panties. Sorta cute. Give me my drink and go get my other stuff."
"Aw, Joyce. What for?"
"Because you're going to put them on, that's why."
"Like heck."
She took him by his prick and smiled at him and said, "Go and get them, Matt."
It was as simple as that, and some day it would be just that simple to get Joel to do her bidding. She sat propped up on the big bed which would some day be hers and sipped her drink while he left the room and returned with his arms full of her clothing, looking quite chagrined. She played with herself to show him how ready she was for him to fuck her while she instructed him in dressing in the unfamiliar clothes, and she teased him to a point where he was laughing as well as blushing. "How do they feel on you?" "Really funny."
"They look funny too. I think you make a better boy than you do a girl. But then again, with my wig and some make-up .. ." "Aw, cut it out," he said.
"Don't be so silly, Matt. Lots of boys dress up in their mother's or their sister's clothes once in a while, just to see how it feels. The only reason you haven't is because you don't have a mother. Oh, look at the way my skirt fits you. Come here and let Mama see what's making it do that."
Fondling him under the skirt, she said, "Think you'd like it if I was here all the time, Matt? We could have lots of fun together then." He squirmed around. "I guess so." "Don't you know? What's the matter, don't you like me?"
"Well, sure. Just lots."
"Your daddy loves me. Did you know that?" It was time he knew that, especially if they were to keep their fun and games a secret from Joel. But he reacted to her honesty with a grim scowl, and would have turned away from her had she not held onto him.
"Now what's the matter?" she asked.
"My father doesn't love you. He's not going to marry you, is he?"
"And what if he did?" she snapped. "And he does love me, very much. He told me so lots of times. I'd be a good stepmother to you, Matt. .. real good."
He grumbled something and she grew really angry, jerking him around by his prick, and then she realized what was troubling him. "You're jealous of him, aren't you? You're in love with me yourself."
"Lerame go," he pleaded, and broke away.
He was at the door and she had yelled his name three times before he stopped. There he stopped and came trudging back, looking pathetic in her clothing. She did not let herself be moved by his phony contrition, but kept on glowering at him and pointing at a place on the floor beside her. When he was standing on it, she pointed at her lap and said, "Lay across me there, you nasty little brat. Go on or I'll kick you out of the house and let the neighbors see you in those clothes."
He lay down and looked fearfully over his shoulder at her as she took another drink. She pulled up the back of her skirt and patted and rubbed his ass, and when he squirmed on her lap she could feel his hard prick hot against her naked thighs. She pulled down her panties and thought about- how cruel Joel had been to her, and she delivered a resoundingly hard slap to his little round bottom. He kicked and cried, but she didn't let up on him, spanking him harder and harder and ignoring his tearful pleadings as she recalled how Joel had hurt her, physically and emotionally, and she continued until his ass was bright pink and he was crying steadily.
"Don't be such a sissy," she snapped. "You're as bad as your father. Get over there on the bed and lay down on your back, you little Papa's boy, and stop that crying or I'll give you something to cry about."
She laughed at the way he winced when he lay down, and she came over to straddle his loins, facing him, and watched him sob and squirm when she placed her weight on him and pressed his sore bottom even harder against the rumpled bedspread. His prick was under her, too small but very hard, and by just squirming about on him a little she was able to get the knob of it inside her before he realized what was happening. When he did, his cryings immediately stopped, a look of surprise came over his face, and he heaved himself up under her to get the rest of his smooth little cock inside her.
She gasped, for as small as it was, it seemed to fill her as completely as Joel's did, without the attendant pain of those first few strokes. This didn't hurt at all, it felt good all the way and Joyce couldn't get enough of it. She pinned him down with her weight and, thrashing insanely on him, squatting over his loins as Joel had taught her, but moving in a way that was pure instinct. Several times his young prick slipped out because it was so short, and when it did she cursed Matt and quickly got it back in, then tightened her cunt muscles on his cock to keep it in her, and at the same time to increase the wildly good orgasms that were sweeping through her.
"Joyce, I'm . .. arrghhh . . . I'm . . ."
"Tell me you love me!" she screamed, shaking him by the hair of his head, squirming her cunt wildly on him as she lost her ability to go up and down on him as she should. "Say it!"
"I love you," he groaned, and then made no sounds save for grunts and squeals as it became apparent that he was coming too.
"Not yet! One more time!" she cried, thrashing anew, desperate for one more thrilling peak before she wore him out completely.
"Stop! Stop!" he wailed, and in his final struggles, gave her all the help she needed to reach her goal.
She continued to lay on top of him, too exhausted to move. It was so good to be loved as she was, and she felt so much at peace. In just a few minutes she'd get up and together they'd straighten up so Joel would be none the wiser. As she lay there, gathering her strength, she decided to keep Matt's training going right and have him fetch her a warm, wet towel before she got up. He'd do it. He'd do anything she said, from then on. She thought about the things he'd do and the things they'd do together as she rested on his strong young body, and she felt very good indeed.
Chapter Ten
When he set out from the house, Joel Thatcher had had no inclination at all of doing any of his regular Friday night hell-raising. He went out as usual, though, in an attempt to reverse the process which had so complicated his life. If he could just get Joyce back into her proper status as a baby-sitter, it would then be an easier step to ease her completely out of his life and let him regain his sanity. How could he have done what he had? The sexual acts themselves, those might be excused because of the fact that he was, after all, a highly sexed individual, but to do such things with a gum-snapping teeny-bopping child and to encourage her to fall in love with him was beyond belief.
Now he felt he had the situation under control, but it would be touch and go in ensuring that. Just treat Joyce as what she was, a youthful employee in need of a strong hand, and keep her impressed with the lie that she'd get in as much trouble as he would if the secret of their affair ever came out, and the whole dirty and frightening business would remain at an end. Thank God she wasn't pregnant, that would really ruin him. He wondered what he might possibly do to get her out of town, to a girl's school perhaps as another of his charities, and for the ten thousandth time he wondered how in the world he'd let it go that far.
Out of habit he drove to the bam where the camper was, and once there he decided to change his clothes and go on into East Grange. He wasn't at all in need of a woman, he could do without that for a long time, but a few drinks and a hand or two of poker would relax him while passing the hours until he could return to Roseville at around midnight, there to pay Joyce off and send her home in a taxi.
It was the right thing to do. As soon as he was in his more casual clothes and heading the camper on east, he could feel much of the tension of the past few days leaving him. It was too bad Roseville wasn't bigger. Then he might be able to set Joyce up in an apartment and enjoy her in relative safety. But no, even that would be too much of a risk to take. In the future he'd confine his seeking of sexual outlets to those that existed in East Grange.
There were plenty of girls to choose from, though none as young and hot as little Joyce, and there were the other diversions if a man wanted to whet his appetite for the whores. And in a few more years, when Matt was past the difficult years of puberty and he was slowing down, he'd pick himself a wife and settle down to the good life. Or he might stay single, cash out his interest in the bank, and go to Mexico where he could have all the young stuff he wanted.
He was realistic enough to know now that there was a streak of pedophilia in him, and at the same time he was wise enough to be able to control it. Once Matt was gone, he wouldn't need to exercise such complete control as he planned for the next few years, and he'd appreciate young stuff even more in his old age. Wondering about the appeal that Joyce and others had in his eyes, he suddenly frowned at the thought of her alone with Matt. As wild as she was, she just might try something with him. It was absurd to think about, but if she so much as touched his son sexually, he'd kill her. She wouldn't. Wild as she was, she was also smart enough to know better.
He had to keep his head that night and so he waited for his first drink and cigarette until he was at the bar of the Aces Up, and there they tasted very good. He was sipping his whisky straight and thinking about ordering a second when Hazel came up beside him.
"Hi. Can I buy you one?"
"I've never refused yet, but I'm surprised you have any money left at all after the way you were throwing it around last weekend."
He patted her fondly on the ass and said, "I had a damned good week, and I don't believe in putting it away for a rainy day. When the rains come, I'll just fly away."
"Fly away to Roseville?" she smiled.
He felt that he managed it well, that his own smile didn't falter, and he laughed back at her. "There's better places than Roseville to fly to. Mexico, South America, why don't you get out of this crumby place and, come with me, kiddo?"
"I'm doing fine here. Of course, I could always do better. I like money. Naturally, you do too, being in the banking business."
"Me? Whatever gave you the idea I was in banking?" He felt cold and a little ill, but he continued to smile at her.
"Art told me," she said.
"He couldn't be more out of line. Me in banking, that'll be the day."
"I don't think he'll like you calling him a liar."
"But I'm not a banker. I'm just a lousy crop duster," he said, getting quite nervous now. He wanted to order another drink, but more than that, he wanted to leave. He looked at his watch and said, "Will you be free later? I thought I'd step across the street for a hand or two of cards and .. ."
"I think you'd better come back and see Art first and straighten him out about what you do for a living."
The way she said it made him follo, w her, and then he wished he'd had that second drink.
Art Cole was in his posh little office, its walls lined with photographs of his days as an athlete, and he grinned up at Joel in a very confident manner.
"Tell Art who you are and what you do for a living," Hazel said.
"He knows," Joel said with forced irritation.
"Art, what is this?"
"Sure, I know who you are," he said in a raspy chuckle, and picked up a paper from his desk and began reading from it. "Joel Thatcher, age thirty-seven, 21 Cedar Road, Roseville. President, Roseville First National Bank, and major share-holder. Salary estimated at thirty-five thousand dollars plus. Divorced, one child, Matthew, age .. ."
"That's enough," Joel interrupted, controlling his cold rage admirably. "What is it you want of me?"
"That shouldn't be too hard to figure out, for a smart banker like you," Hazel said, grasping his arm and leaning against him.
He pushed her away, gently but firmly. "All right then, how much do you want. I'll pay to keep my activities quiet because the bank's customers wouldn't like a scandal involving me, but believe me I won't pay much."
"We're not asking much," said the ex-boxer. "But aren't you going to ask how we found out about you?"
"That's unimportant. What matters is paying you sleazy blackmailers off and getting your guarantee you won't bother me any more. How much do you want?"
"We talked about you, Hazel and me, and we figured you weren't no crop duster. You have the smell of money around you. A coupla times we were going to follow you when you left here but we never got around to it until the other night when you were here with Joyce."
"My baby-sitter," he said, as casually as he could.
Hazel began tittering in a most distressing way, and Art said, "She's a real cute kid. How old is she, about fourteen?"
"She's eighteen, and how much is the pay-off, Cole?" he said. To himself, he said, Steady, old man. Make like you're holding all the cards on a million-dollar pot.
"Joyce Harrelson," Cole read from the paper, "age fourteen, foster child of Anna Knudsen, 1421 Thirty-first Street, student, tenth grade. Tsk, tsk, tsk. She's very young, isn't she. And it says here she spent a coupla hours at your place last Wednesday night, just havin' a fine old time. Want I should read it to you?"
Joel shook his head, defeated but still in possession of his poise. "All right. How much money do you want?"
"Five thousand," said Hazel.
"That's ridiculous. It's out of the question. I'll give you a thousand dollars in exchange for your promise not to bother me again and that'll be the end of it."
"You'll give us five thousand," said Cole, "and you'll give us the use of that little girl for the night."
"Are you out of your mind? I wouldn't even think of such a thing."
"Think about it now," Hazel said, taking him by the arm again. "We just want her for a little show, very mild, nothing near as heavy as you did with her. She'll probably dig it a lot."
"Joyce in one of your dirty shows? God, how sick are you? I'll pay you the thousand dollars just out of a sense of caution, but that is definitely all." Art Cole stretched widely and got up. He came around the desk, and for the first time Joel noticed how thick his stubby fingers were as he used one of them as a pointer in Joel's chest. He said, "Look, Joe, or Joel, you made some mistakes and you can afford to pay for them. The girl can, too. She pays with a little screw, you pay with a little cash. It's as simple as that. We'll take your personal check for the bread, and we'll have your little sweetie over here tonight, and tomorrow it'll all be over and we won't bother you any more. Is that a deal?"
He seriously considered it for just a moment, but for no longer. If they went very easy on Joyce, it might be just the thing to get her out of his hair, but then again he knew they were never easy on the unwilling participants in their shows.
He shook his head. "It's out of the question," he mumbled.
He didn't even see Cole's hand move. One moment he was standing there hanging onto the last shreds of his bargaining power and the next he was bent double, retching and gasping, and vainly trying to tell Cole not to hit him again. The short, stout boxer straightened him up with a hand on his throat and then whipped his open hand back and forth across his face with a precision bom of years of practice at the speed bag. Stars flashed around Joel's buffeted head and although he wasn't really weeping, the tears were literally knocked from his eyes. It seemed like he kept it up for a full three minutes, and through it Joel was unable to defend himself, much less land a blow. When the physical ordeal was at last over, Cole had to hold him up.
"Now, is that a deal?" he repeated.
Joel quickly nodded, and wiped at the blood flowing from his nose.
They took Joel's camper back to Roseville, the three of them, and arrived shortly before eleven. There was plenty of time to get Joyce back to East Grange for the show Hazel planned, for it wouldn't start until after midnight. At the back door, Joel asked them to wait while he got Joyce, since their appearance might alarm her.
Hazel said, "Do you think we're dummies? We're going in with you."
"All right, but please don't disturb my son. I'll help you into the camper with Joyce and then just go. But you've got to have her back by tomorrow, and in good condition, or her aunt.. . her foster mother is liable to find out."
"We're not interested in your boy," Cole said, "and as far as Joycie goes, don't worry, she'll be as good as new by morning. We'll give her a pill as soon as you wake her up and she'll never hardly know what went on."
Joel was concerned when Joyce was not in the guest room bed, and then much more concerned when he found Matt absent from his room. He ran down the hall toward where the lights were shining from his bedroom and stopped midway through the door, stunned by the sight of Joyce and Matt, her naked and him wearing her stained and rumpled clothes, sleeping with their arms twined about each other.
From behind him, Cole said, "Hey, lookit that, Hazel. Maybe we are interested in the boy."
Chapter Eleven
Hazel drove the pickup back to East Grange,, with Joel in the middle and Cole by the other window, holding a .32 Llama automatic in his side. Joel was very frightened on the way, so much so that he had a drink from the bottle in the glove compartment. When the presence of his whisky became known, Hazel and Cole passed the bottle back and forth until it was empty, forcing Joel to drink more than his share, and by the time they pulled up to the back door of the Aces Up, he was fighting the effects of the alcohol as well as his terror. The smell was strong when they opened the back door, for Joyce had thrown up. He tried to tell them that something serious could be wrong with her.
"Naw, it's just the booze she was drinking. Scotch and root beer and the pills, no wonder she got sick," Cole said. "Help me in with them."
Joyce was able to stagger along almost under her own power, leaning heavily on the stout arm of Art Cole, and Joel came behind them, carrying his son. The boy looked very innocent in his sleep, but the effect of innocence vanished when Joel looked down at his attire. It was Joyce's fault, all of this, but it was his fault too, and he swore he'd make it up to Matt. He still had hopes the sedative they'd given him would keep him totally unconscious, but he had his doubts. Perhaps the boy would come out of it with only vague, dream-like memories. If things got too bad he would stop it, no matter what. He would have cut and run right then, but Hazel was right behind him with the gun at his back, and pointless heroism was not for him.
He pleaded with them again in the room next to Cole's office, but they wouldn't listen to him, not even when he offered them more money. At last when he was told to put his son down on the bed which had been the stage for several sex shows he had witnessed, he was unable to do it. He began to argue more loudly, and Art Cole silenced him with a fast jab deep in his stomach. He hovered close to unconsciousness and felt his son being slipped out of his arms, and as he was helped out of the room by Hazel, the last sight he had was Matt sleeping peacefully on the bed, and Joyce sitting up beside him, shivering and looking very uncomprehending of the entire situation.
They took him to the very back of the room, tied him up in a chair, and put a gag in his mouth. He wanted to speak if only to tell them to take him elsewhere or at least to blindfold him. Hazel knew what he was trying to say. He could tell by the way she looked. But she wouldn't loosen the gag, and they left him like that. He worked at the ropes while he looked around at the place, focusing on objects to keep his mind off what he felt certain would be a horror show. The room was fairly large. It had once been another gambling room, but it had been converted into a show room because, Hazel once told him, the profits were better. It had about fifty seats in it of the kind used in movie theaters, and they faced a black velvet curtain behind which was his son and his baby-sitter. There were two doors, one leading to Cole's office and the other leading to a gambling room. He worked at the ropes until his wrists were raw, and continued to work on them as people started drifting in from both doors.
Most of those coming from the front of the place were men, and several of them were pretty drunk. Women and men both trickled in from Cole's office. They were well dressed and had undoubtedly come from the Tri-Cities in response to Cole's telephoned invitations. They were a convivial group, and several of them knew each other. Judy, the black whore, circulated among them with a box of marijuana cigarettes, and another girl went around and took orders for drinks. Judy checked his bonds a few times and in so doing drew even more attention to him. Some of the slowly growing audience thought he was part of the show, and indeed he felt like he was, and they came over and talked about him and examined his bonds. He tried to get them to loosen the gag, but Judy prevented this, and she encouraged them to do whatever they wished with him.
One couple was particularly interested in him. The woman was the bolder of the two. She took great delight in opening his trousers and taking out his penis, laughing at his frantic struggles and muted protests. While others watched she played with it until, in spite of his efforts, it came up long and hard. Then, to add to his shame, the man with her got down on his knees and sucked it. He sat still then, concentrating as hard as he could on asexual thoughts, but it would not go down under the most expert caresses of the man's tongue, and if it hadn't been for the appearance of Art Cole before the curtain, he would have been forced to have an ejaculation.
"We got what we think'll be an interesting show tonight, folks. You won't be sorry you came. We've got some interesting young performers for your entertainment tonight. They're strictly amateur, but they're good-looking and they're talented, at least from what I've seen of them so far. How young are they? See for yourselves."
He backed toward the side of the stage, drawing the velvet curtain aside as he went, and revealing an empty chair and a bed, on which were Joyce and Matt. Behind and over the bed were mirrors which gave the audience an even better view of them than looking directly at them. Joyce was naked and Matt was still dressed in her clothes, but with a wig on now that made him look like a girl even to his father. Mercifully, Matt was barely conscious. He lay on the bed almost motionless, his head lolling, while Joyce passionately necked with him. He was totally unaware that he had an audience, buzzing and chuckling, but Joyce knew it. She knew that people were looking at her in what appeared to be a youthful Lesbian embrace, but she didn't seem to care very much about that or about her nudity. She looked at the avid faces in the audience with fear and embarrassment in her eyes, and that was not all that was there. Unmistakably, Joel could tell she was more sexually aroused by far than she'd ever been with him, and in addition to this glaze in her eyes there was the heavy-lidded look of the drugged. Her movements were slow and somewhat uncoordinated, giving the scene an adagio effect.
The audience was rapt by it for several minutes, for both of them were beautiful children, and in spite of himself Joel could see something definitely erotic in their languorous and one-sided embrace. If it went on like this, Matt would come out of it relatively unscathed. Joel was starting to relax and accept the inevitable when a woman rose from the audience and hurried to the stage. He'd seen one show there that involved audience participation, but it had not been with unwilling performers, and now he resumed struggling furiously with his bonds.. He recognized her as the Lesbian he had seen the week before, and he relaxed somewhat as she made straight for Joyce, and he breathed a sigh of relief when she pulled her off his son and kissed her.
It was a very passionate kiss. Seated on the bed, the buxom woman enveloped Joyce in her arms and fixed her open mouth firmly on hers. Her hands roamed over the frail nude body, trembling as they went in the joy of contact with such fine feminine flesh.
Joyce was apparently aware that it was a woman kissing her and she wanted no part of it. She twisted and pushed against the Lesbian's big bosom, but in her drugged condition she was no match at all for the woman on the bed with her. Matt lay there completely oblivious to it all as Joyce squirmed about and tried to keep her legs together.
Cries of "Eat her," and "Go down on her, Kate," came from the audience, and the Lesbian broke away from the kiss to smirk at them and say, "I'll give you a show, you bastards. By the time I'm done with her she won't be of any use to you at all."
Her bragadoccio was met with jeers and laughter while she continued to caress and fondle the girl, and when it died down she called out, "Oh don't worry. I'll leave some for you. Olive, come on up here and we'll put on a double dyking show for them."
The pretty blonde got to her feet and headed for the stage. She was young as well as pretty and she swayed as if she was a little drunk, and as she went for Matt, Joel began struggling very hard and yelling so loudly that his voice could be heard even through the gag. Heads turned in his direction very briefly as the blonde began shaking Matt to wake him up. Even Joyce peered out at the audience, and he had the feeling that she knew he was there. Frantically, he tried to shout to her, but he succeeded only in making more muffled noises and in bringing Judy to his side with automatic pistol in her hand.
"Don't make no fuss now," said the black prostitute, "or I sure will blow you another hole in your head." He became silent, and as she sat in the chair next to him he tried not to think about what he was watching on the stage while he continued to work at the wrist ropes.
The Lesbian named Kate was getting even more ardorous with Joyce. She had her sitting up and was loudly kissing her little titties, and had succeeded in getting her hand in between Joyce's legs. Joyce's struggles were much abated, and when the Lesbian lifted her head and kissed her again, Joyce's mouth came open voluntarily. Cautiously massaging between her legs, the Lesbian slowly backed out of the kiss, and a murmur of approval went through the audience when Joyce's tongue came out to follow after Kate's. Tangling tongues, Kate was still able to briefly smirk at the audience.
Beside her, Olive was having a terrible time with Matt. Neither shakings nor kisses were doing any good in awakening him beyond the trance-like condition he was in. Probably in hopes of awakening him through means of sexual excitement, she reached under his skirt, and moments later a look of sheer incredulity came over her face. She whipped up the skirt and from the leg hole of his panties withdrew his penis, partially erect, and the object of hoots of derisive laughter from the audience.
Kate stopped in the middle of a torrid embrace with Joyce to peer over at Matt and shake her head, but Joyce ignored him, preferring instead to hug and kiss the Lesbian and to grind her little cunt against the Lesbian's leg. Her skirt was up high, and it could be seen that she was not wearing any panties. Returning to kiss the eager Joyce again, she had no difficulty at all in getting Joyce's hand in hers and guiding it to her cunt.
Meanwhile the blonde, distraught at the discovery of her partner's gender, allowed him to fall back on the bed, much to Joel's relief, and she moved toward the feminine embrace taking place on the bed. She watched them longingly and she stroked Joyce's bare legs, and Kate paused in her passionate love play to exchange a few words with her. The blonde smiled. She looked a little nervously at the audience, and at another word from Kate she got up from the bed and began disrobing. She had an incredibly lovely body, and between watching her and the way Joyce was continuing to respond to Kate's attentions, Joel could not help but feel a growing heaviness in the region of his cock. It was still out of his trousers, and he exercised a great deal of will power in maintaining his self-control.
The blonde drew whistles and a spatter of applause when she removed her last garment, and she responded to this with a smile and a turn of her lovely ass to the audience, and went to get behind Joyce on the bed. The girl was sandwiched in between the two Lesbians then, moaning and writhing in an incredible show of sexual excitement, while Kate kissed her nippies and Olive her throat. Joyce's tits were Olive's to play with as Kate crouched low on the bed to kiss the girl's tummy, and now the cries for Kate to perform cunnilingus on her were almost unanimous.
She looked back over her shoulder at the audience and lustily licked her lips, then turned back to Joyce, simultaneously lifted and parted her legs, and gave one and all their first good view of the girl's cunt. She lifted her skirt up about her waist then and showed herself in vivid contrast to the small pink organ of the girl. She knelt lower, her ass in the air, and began nibbling around Joyce's cunt, and Joyce's movements became more feverish.
With her head nestled between the blonde's breasts, she writhed and clutched at the bed clothes and babbled incoherent words that Joel recognized as please for satisfaction. She groaned as hoarsely as a man when Kate finally began flicking her tongue in her slit, and when the Lesbian grabbed her by the ass and began wallowing her face in Joyce's cunt, the girl's groans became screams and her quivering body was arched up off the bed, and it was obvious that she was coming.
Obvious too was the fact that Joel's will power was failing, that he was slowly but surely getting an erection. It was obvious to Judy, as well, and she broke away the last remnants of his self-control by laughing and giving it a few strokes with her hand, and then it was up as hard as it could be. She called out the name Leon and the man who had briefly performed fellatio on him turned, smiling. Joel shook his head vigorously, but the man got up and changed seats with Judy, and then it was his hand that was wrapped around Joel's cock, slowly and steadily moving, moving, moving. Joel tried to kick him and Judy turned and handed the man the pistol, and Joel quieted down.
On the stage, Joyce looked as if she was coming continuously, even when Kate stopped licking her hot little cunt and used her hand on it. Joel was terribly aroused by then and he could do nothing at all to fight it. Man or woman's hand on his prick, it felt wonderfully good, and he became as interested in the show as any in the audience as Kate dragged Joyce to a supine position and instructed her Lesbian partner to do what she had been doing. Olive came about to kneel at the side of Joyce's panting, squirming body and use her fingers and tongue between the girl's wide-spread legs, while Kate stood up and straddled Joyce.
She picked up her skirts and fully exposed her big white ass, quite shapely for all its size, and her heavily thatched cunt. Then she knelt and with both hands opened out her heavy labia until her cunt was a huge open wound, and centered it an inch over Joyce's grimacing mouth. Joyce would have turned away from it, but there was no place to turn and her glazed eyes remained open to look at the glistening wet flesh as she continued to orgasm.
The audience was buzzing with excitement then and three or four men rose to go to the stage for a closer view. Kate was speaking to Joyce, but Joel couldn't hear what was being said, in spite of turning an ear in the direction of the stage. He could hear it when Kate turned to instruct Olive to stop eating Joyce until the girl reciprocated, and then he could see it very clearly when Joyce lifted her head, tongue extended, and licked that angry purplish flesh.
Perhaps she had meant to give it one fast swipe of her tongue, in exchange for the resumption of Olive's licking her, but Kate didn't permit that. She grabbed her by the hair and dragged her head up until her face was completely obscured by her wide crotch, and after a moment or two of struggling, and of having her cunt licked by Olive, Joyce's hands went to Kate's buttocks and the young girl was performing cunnilingus in earnest. Kate looked in triumph to her audience, and they applauded her, and by then Joel was so hugely aroused that he would have joined in, had he been able.
Kate rolled off her and lay down, breathing heavily and rubbing her crotch, and then it was the blonde's turn to enjoy the girl's tongue. Joyce looked totally confused as Olive hurriedly crawled up beside her and stretched out her lovely body there, taking Joyce by the head and guiding her mouth to her loins, speaking softly to her all the while. Joyce, more or less of her own accord, rolled over on her belly between the long, shapely legs and nuzzled about in her cunt, and Kate then got astraddle her again and heavily rubbed her cunt on Joyce's spare little buttocks. She did it in a way that in turn ground Joyce's cunt on the bed, and from Joyce's writhings it appeared that she was still coming.
She had to have been given some kind of a potent aphrodisiac, and there was even more aphrodisiac in the air that she breathed, for the marijuana smoke was heavy and even Joel could feel its effects on himself. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to remember to keep working at his slowly loosening bonds, while at his side the homosexual continued to caress his throbbing prick, seeming to know just how slowly to go in order to keep him hovering on the brink of a climax.
The blonde's fine body went through a series of undulations that the audience applauded as she came, quite vigorously, and then shouts went up for her to absent herself from the bed and give someone else a chance at the completely enflamed girl. Kate gave them the finger and the howling increased, and Joel leaned forward in his chair as far as he could as Kate rolled Joyce over and began dyking her, rubbing her big, hairy cunt on Joyce's smaller, hotter one. Her big ass cheeks were reddened and quivering with the lust that had risen so steadily in her, and the air was now redolent of the smell of hot cunt. She got up farther on Joyce's body and rubbed her cunt on her titties, leaving Joyce to claw and clutch at her little cunt to keep up the fires in her young body. And meanwhile, Olive had taken notice of Matt.
To Joel's horror, Olive emulated Kate, getting astride the recumbent boy and rubbing her opened cunt on his face. He scarcely stirred. Kate loudly told her that wasn't the way to do it at all, and they changed places. Kate was harsh about it, grabbing him by the ears and grinding her cunt on his face, laughing and telling him he wasn't nearly as good as Joyce had been. Semi-conscious, he struggled to get out from under her and fought to keep from being smothered with cunt, and she continued to keep him a prisoner like that, apparently very close to coming by then. Olive would have come again, but one of the more eager of the men argued with her and then pulled her from the bed, and he was loosening his trousers as Kate came, contorting her body over Matt's face and knocking his wig askew and clenching her buttocks very hard in the throes of her delight. Joel was trying to scream at her to stop, all to no avail, and she writhed and came for a long time before at last rolling off Matt, leaving him gasping and coughing weakly.
As the Lesbians gathered up Olive's strewn clothing, the man laid down on top of Joyce. He was a smallish man, and this made his cock seem larger than it was. He hugged her and slobbered over her and he rubbed his cock over her belly and loins, naked and completely un-selfconscious. Taking his cock in his hand, he guided the knob of it against her cunt, and Joel could not help but recall the delight he had felt each time he himself had worked his cock into that immature orifice. But the man did not work it in; he tensed the muscles of his ass and slammed it in, and despite the huge heat that burned in Joyce and despite how thoroughly she had been prepared by the Lesbian's kisses, she screamed, and the name she screamed was Joel's. As the audience burbled its cruel delight, he strained harder than ever at his bonds, and the man who was still fondling his painfully extended cock apparently took this as a sign that Joel's lust was further increasing.
He leaned close and said, "Wouldn't you like to be up there now?" Then he bent over Joel's lap and sucked in his prick, and Joel strained anew, now to keep from coming.
The initial pain Joyce had felt had gone, and she was enjoying the savage thrusts of the man's prick more and more. With her arms about his back, she had her feet planted firmly on the bed and was heaving herself up under his weight to meet each of his hip thrusts. A louder buzz went up from the crowd as the man's cock plunges became more vigorous still, and the man properly divined the cause for their interest and raised up in anticipation of witnessing the man's climax. It was close to coming, but the next man could not wait. He was a large man, and he tossed off his drink and quickly opened his trousers, pulling out a prick that was much larger than the one already moving in her.
With this huge cock in hand, stroking it, he got on his knees on the bed beside her and began rubbing it over her mouth. Her mouth was open in her gaspings and outcries, and when he pushed it inside she became silent as she sucked loosely on it. In the madness of the drug-induced and seemingly endless orgasm, she could not properly suck it, however, and so the man had to hold her jaws closed and move his gnarled cock in and out of her mouth in a fucking motion. He did this steadily, grinning at the audience and then at her as the man with his cock inside her cunt ground and strained and heaved his way to a climax.
The instant the first man was off her there was another to take his place, but he did not fuck her at once. First he knelt on the bed and began licking the first man's still hot come from her streaming cunt, and even over the titters and jibes of the crowd could be heard the wet slurpings of his tongue. Joyce escaped long enough from the big prick in her mouth to smile down at him in a ghastly, exciting way for just a moment before the man at her head roughly stuffed his cock back inside her mouth, and then the cunnilingus had the salubrious effect of getting her to suck him off in earnest.
Matt stirred. He half sat up, supporting himself on one elbow, and he clumsily wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. With the wig sitting cock-eyed on his head, he looked even more ludicrous in the female clothing, and a man standing by the bed laughed and yanked it off. Matt turned to look bleary-eyed at him and the man grabbed a handful of Joyce's blouse and ripped it off him. Matt cowered back, fear showing in his eyes for the first time, and as the man pursued him across the bed Joel strained again at his bonds. They were giving but slightly, and even if he got loose he did not know what he could do to save him, but he had to try for his son's pursuer had the look of a madman about him.
The man caught up with Matt at the edge of the bed and tussled with him, and of course the boy was no match for him. He tore at his clothing and cuffed him about until Matt was fully awake and weeping, and then to Joel's immense relief a woman came to Matt's rescue. She was middle-aged and a little stout, and there was a great deal of authority in her voice as she berated first Matt's attacker and then those in the audience who came to his verbal defense. Matt clung sobbing to her while she held her ground.
The men working on Joyce conversed briefly, and the larger man took his cock from her mouth, and she writhed about and held out her arms in a pleading gesture that encompassed them both. They talked with her and helped her into a position on her hands and knees, with the man who had been licking her cunt lying with his loins under her head, the other kneeling behind her. The prick of the supine man stood straight up. It. was partially concealed by her lankly hanging hair and then by her mouth as she was pushed down to accept it. The other man began rubbing his cock against her exposed cunt from behind, and then began working it inside her. It was a massive thing and the going was slow, but it was steady as well and she seemed to be trying to cooperate in getting it in her super-tight twat.
Matt, still sobbing slightly, was in the protective arms of the woman. She had sat down on the bed, with him in her lap, and was kissing and hugging him and talking to him in a low, soothing way as she took off more of his clothes. She was wearing a cloth coat, and as she unbuttoned it Joel saw that it was the only garment she had on. Of course Matt saw this too, and his attitude changed from one of concern over himself to one of eager interest in her breasts. Each one was almost as big as his head, and together they were big enough to hide his face completely when at her urging he burrowed in between them, with the woman rolling the big pillows of soft flesh all about his cheeks. She pulled him up and talked softly to him and kissed him, and he looked ruefully at the audience, more aware of their presence than Joyce was, but still not comprehending what was going on. But her words must have been smooth, as smooth as her caresses over the diminutive male body, for presently he slipped down on her and began kissing about at her loins. He seemed a little afraid of it, which was more than understandable, and she had him hurry on to the core of her heat by the simple expedient of placing her hand on the back of his head and steering, not pushing, his mouth to her cunt.
The loud cries from the man who was fucking Joyce indicated he was reaching a climax. He was making Joyce's body buckle with each of his stallion-like plunges, and straightening it up with each of his withdrawals. One of these was done too vigorously and his cock came all the way out, sending a small gusher of come shooting up between her legs, but in moments their combined frantic fumblings had it back in again and he was surging hard to make up for the moment's lost pleasure.
As sexually aroused as he was, Joel was sickened at the apparent insatiability of Joyce. She was a wreck of her former self, sweating and sperm-spotted and surely exhausted, but still she was going on, keeping up with the big man and then forging ahead of him as his efforts flagged with the passing of his orgasm. When he at last pulled it out of her the mingled juices in her cunt spilt forth and ran down her little legs by the spoonful, and she reached back and cupped her hand over her cunt and rubbed it, all the while continuing to suck on the other man's enormous prick. He then came, before the man who'd been fucking her could get all the way off the bed, and again Joyce showed the huge heat within her by growing quite frantic over the cock that was erupting hot ropes of sticky come in her mouth. She sucked over it and bobbed her head, and jerked it off with her hand as the man lay back moaning on the bed, his semen coming in such stringy quantities that it was running out of the corners of her mouth.
"I've gotta have some of that," the man at Joel's side said, and began to fellate him again. Joel didn't fight the man chewing on his cock, he could not. He simply let it happen as it had to, feeling drugged himself by then, and went on working at his bonds in slow motion.
The woman pulled Matt up and kissed him, and kept on kissing him while she lay back on the bed. He looked very small on her big white body, squirming and writhing on top of her until with her help he got his prick in her. He began pumping it hard in her, but his efforts were unpracticed and uncoordinated and even to Joel they looked rather comical in comparison to her languidly sensual response. He felt she was in good hands, comparatively speaking, in the best of a bad situation and he was able to relax a little and even enjoy the caress of the homosexual's mouth around the knob of his prick.
Joyce wasn't doing bad for herself either, the little slut. As oversexed as she was, she was in her glory with this endless supply of cock that was coming at her now, at a time when her already loose morals had been broken down completely by the drugs and the sex. Already there were two more men at her, both of whom were naked and possessed with stout pricks which rubbed against her as they pulled her up off the bed and sandwiched them in between her. The one before her flexed his knees and got his cock up under her, and when he straightened his legs, Joyce was lifted off the floor with the help of the man behind her. With her arms slung around his neck and her legs wrapped around his hips, she wriggled down until his cock was all the way inside her, and she threw back her head and laughed in her delight as the man bounced her up and down by flexing his knees repeatedly.
The other man placed his hands on her bobbing ass, his huge cock pointing up at it, and the crowd cheered. He smiled at them and moved closer to her, until his prick was touching her moving ass as the man inside her stood in one spot and jogged her. She looked down at herself, and then behind her at the man who was by then pressing up against her quite closely, and reaching around her to feel of her little titties. He pressed on, and her eyes grew wide and she tried to look under and behind her as the man's massive cock began burrowing its way into her tiny little anus.
Between them then, she went into a frenzy of writhing, her leg slipping off the first man's hips while he continued to jog in place. They dangled down, her legs, and then she lost her hold on his neck, and the only thing keeping her feet off the floor was her tight position between them, and the two big full grown cocks in her frail little undeveloped body.
The men began working as a team, each of them in turn surging upward in her with considerable force, as smoothly coordinated as two lumberjacks felling a tree. Her arms dangled limply from her sides and her legs jerked about like a marionette's. Her eyes were closed, and Joel would have thought she had lapsed into unconsciousness save for the wide drunken grin on her swollen lips. She was orgasming still, way down deep inside her in a way that he would never know and could only observe with awe, and even as she was transported by the experience which had transcended the sexual, Joel's body was being wrenched by a very down-to-earth orgasm produced by the active mouth on his over-extended cock.
The man was sucking very hard, pulling more of Joel's sperm out of him than his balls could keep up with. Each ejaculation was a wracking one, felt in every nerve of his helpless body in the most dizzying of sensations, and each felt as if it drained his balls completely empty, only to be followed by another of equal magnitude. And writhing in the chair that was his prison, he saw that Matt was coming too. The plump little buttocks of the boy were tensing rhythmically and he was moving like a frantic little monkey atop the body of the big woman who lay there with a broad smile on her face, accepting all he could give her and undoubtedly able to handle considerably more. At the peak of Joel's orgasm he could not help but feel a great sense of pride in his son, cast into this unwanted situation and managing to perform so well for a boy his age.
Joel's ejaculations mercifully ebbed, and he became aware that the ringing in his ears was the noise of the crowd. Smiling stupidly, he slumped down in the chair, and the homosexual arose, wiping his grinning mouth, and looked around him at the crowd, at the stage. He bent over Joel and kissed him on the forehead, and Joel was too spent to even turn his head away, and then the man stepped out in the aisle and began undressing, his eyes fixed on the stage. There was little activity there now. The players were exhausted, and there was more action going on among those who had remained in their seats as the aphrodisiacal effects of the marijuana and the lewd show became more personalized. The man stripped naked, dumping his clothes on the seat of his chair, and not until he was striding toward the stage did Joel come alive and start to heave and jerk insanely at the ropes which held him there.
Joyce had been dumped unceremoniously on the bed, and Matt was resting much more comfortably than her on the big cushion that was the naked body of the woman. His round little ass, looking very white and pure, was the most elevated piece of anatomy in their languorous embrace, and it was here that the homosexual's left hand came to rest. His right was on his super-sized cock, moving slowly, keeping it hard. He patted Matt's ass, massaged it, bent over it and kissed it, and while the boy stirred contentedly in his half-sleep, Joel pulled with increased urgency at the ropes which held him. He felt the ropes give an eighth of an inch during the time that the homosexual was using his lips and his tongue on the twin globes of Matt's ass, but that was not quite enough. He pulled harder and the rope chafed a fresh wound on his hand, and then was cinched tight by his cramped knuckles, and the man on the bed got up on his knees behind young Matt.
His super prick looked deformed. Stiff and stout as it was, it had a downward curve to the shaft of it, the head of it was bent up at an angle, and the shape of it was even more grotesque in contrast to the healthy plump ass against which it was being pushed. Matt scarcely stirred when his ass cheeks were being parted by the man's thumbs, but his body gave a little jump when the man pushed deeper, and the audience cheered him on. He pushed harder still, depressing Matt's body down on that of the woman, and suddenly Matt came to life. Instantaneously he came fully awake and aware of what was about to happen to him, and he squirmed and struggled madly to escape from it. The man pushed harder still and Matt screamed, and Joel fought back the nausea rising in him, knowing that he might strangle if he threw up against that tight gag in his mouth.
Then exquisite relief illuminated Matt's features as the man slowly withdrew his revolting prod, and his struggles stopped, only to start anew as the man shoved it in again. The homosexual was grinning broadly, oblivious of the crowd as he held tightly to Matt's hips and worked his cock back and forth, obviously deriving a great deal of pleasure from Matt's sporadic struggles, and the woman helped him by holding Matt with her hands and knees, surely feeling each thrust of the sodomist transmitted to her clitoris through Matt's pubic bone. Matt was crying out constantly, his eyes screwed shut one moment and wide open the next, his handsome young face turned ugly by the ordeal he was being subjected to, and Joel swore that somehow he would make this up to his son, though he knew inside that his vow was a hollow one.
The homosexual pumped on, and Matt's contortions increased, much to the man's satisfaction. Matt was gasping and heaving just as hard as the homosexual when at last the man's balls began contracting, pumping a heavy load of his life juices inside the ass of the little boy.
His withdrew his long gnarled cock, and a beatific smile crossed Matt's face as he settled down on the woman again, but it did not last long for there was another man coming from the audience to take the homosexual's place. He didn't bother to remove his clothes, but simply dropped his pants and got up behind Matt, and at the first touch of his hand on Matt's ass, the boy started and came awake, smiled back over his shoulder and hiked his ass so high in the air that Joel could see that his little prick had become stiff once again. As he accepted that second full grown cock in his child's ass, the smile returned to his face, even more warmly, and he began moving his ass in time with the man's strokes.
Tears coursed down Joel's face, and then he had to avert his eyes as two more men hurried onto the stage, stripping as they came. He heard laughter and voices before him and he was aware that the audience was standing up now, and though he did not want to he could not help but look at the stage again. He could only catch glimpses of it, for those in front of him partially blocked his view, but what he saw was more than enough.
The man was still buggering his son, and now he changed positions. Holding the little boy's slender waist, he sat back on the bed, pulling Matt off the big woman under him. She had saved Matt before, if only for herself, but now she made no move to help him, lying there quite relaxed and all spread out, her great, hairy pussy at last having had its fill of his stiff little cock. The naked boy looked so small, being pulled back onto the grinning man's lap, scrambling for a foothold or a handhold and looking shocked as his own weight made the thick shaft of the man's cock go deeper still in his small body, and his little prick, no larger than the man's finger, stuck straight up in the air.
It served as a beacon for the homosexual who had performed fellatio on Joel and who had been the first to bugger Matt, and he hurried back to the bed and would have bent his head down over it had not an altercation begun. A youngish woman had come up on the stage, tall and ash-blonde and wasp-thin, and wearing nothing but a very brightly patterned bra. Backed up by a short, husky, perpetually smiling Filipino, she spoke angrily to the homosexual, calling him names as she pointed out that he'd had his turn with the boy and if he wanted anything further to get it from the girl.
As she argued, wild-eyed and looking as if she was up on speed, she continually rubbed hard at her crotch, enflamed from either overexcitement or an infection. The homosexual argued back, but his arguments grew very weak indeed when from the pocket of the Filipino came a knife. The swarthy, grinning man didn't use it, and Art Cole was quickly there to see that the argument remained verbal, but it served its purpose and the queer left, grumbling, looking back over his shoulder at the stage as he returned to the audience.
During the brief argument Matt had remained where he was, a prisoner on that man's awful big cock. The man had sat there on the bed, leaning back on his hands and taking it all in, and moving his hips a little under Matt's ass. The boy's face was very red and he was moving constantly, looking for a place where he could support his body with his hands, ever shifting, as if he was uncomfortable.
As soon as the homosexual had left, the emaciated-looking blonde smiled and licked her lips and went for Matt's prick. She got on her knees between Matt's and the man's legs and went down further to rest on her elbows as she took the little thing first in her hand and then in her mouth. She must have sucked hard, for at once the boy was groaning and writhing, feebly trying to push her head away, and when that failed, trying to squirm his body away, but of course that would not work, not with the way he was impaled on that spot by the huge man pole stuck up his little boy ass.
Joel strained at the ropes, not knowing if his son was laughing or crying under this double attack on whatever could be left of his innocence, and he was still straining when the queer approached from the other side, grumbling, and got down on his knees and began sucking his limp prick once again.
Poor, poor Matt, he was feeling both pleasure and pain in a harsh blend that might forever leave him scarred, if he survived it. Joel felt the same conflicting feelings from the biting ropes on his hands and from the disgusting mouth of the queer gumming at the shaft of his cock, perverted and yet so soft that it was inexorably succeeding in making his prick hard again. But what he felt was as nothing compared to what his son was being subjected to, for there was both pain and pleasure from behind where the penis was tearing his skin and at the same time, stimulating previously unknown nerve endings, and from before where the long blonde was sucking his cock and digging her nails into his thighs. Matt showed every bit of the conflicts in him, grimacing and shouting for help one moment and looking entirely ecstatic the next, and ever moving, ever moving. He was giving the man under him a very wild ride. The man was no longer moving, not even touching Matt with his hands how, but only leaning comfortably back while the little boy leaped and writhed and squirmed on his big vein-corded cock, driven on by the mouth and the claws of the brassiere-clad hoyden.
Thin as she was, she was plump in only one place, and this was her cunt. On her knees, with her back to the audience, it was clearly exposed as a fleshy pillow extruding out from between her spare buttocks. It had been shaved and the split in the pillow was there for all to see, pink and wet, a long furrow that was ridged with irregular red lips, and despite the torment Joel was going through, he could not help but feel the errant desire to jam his stiffening cock right in the center of that pillow of hot flesh.
It attracted the woman's companion, too, for he began opening his trousers preparatory to fucking her while she was absorbed in sucking Matt's little prick. It was undoubtedly what she wanted, for she was very hot, reaching back between her legs to scratch at it from time to time. But the Filipino was not the only one in the room attracted by that grossly displayed cunt. Before he could insert his short, thick organ into her, Kate the Lesbian was back, hanging onto his arm and, pleading with him, with Olive right behind her, heavy-lidded, smiling, dragging on a marijuana cigarette.
Words were exchanged and then money, and the Filipino relinquished his place on the bed to the big, dark-haired Lesbian who wasted no time in getting what she'd paid for. She grabbed Olive by the arm and spoke quickly and decisively to her for a moment or two, and when the stunning blonde nodded dully Kate flopped her big body down on the bed, on her back, and squirmed up under the skinny blonde's body. Her hands grabbed those thin buttocks and pulled down, until she had succeeded in mashing the wet cunt down on her upturned face.
The skinny blonde didn't like it. She reacted violently, stopping her fellation of the writhing, gasping boy and cursing as she tried to escape from the clutches of those big, soft arms, but the Filipino was there, knife in hand and his smile in place, to convince her it was the right thing to do. Looking cross, she returned to sucking Matt's hairless little prick, and in moments it became apparent that Kate's hungry Lesbian mouth was doing its job, that the hoyden was enjoying it, spreading her thin legs and settling down under the guiding hands of the homosexual woman.
Kate, when she had the blonde responding properly, let go of her with one hand and gestured blindly, commandingly to Olive. The beauteous blonde took a last deep drag on the roach of the cigarette and dropped it to the floor, shrugged at the audience and started forward to where Kate's finger was pointing, right at the big, hairy cunt that was exposed under her upraised skirt.
The Filipino stopped her. He spoke a few words to her and she smiled dreamily. He spoke again and she shrugged and took the money he offered her, the same that Kate had given to him, and smiling over her shoulder at him, got on the bed on her knees and elbows and began licking the cunt of her Lesbian companion.
It exposed her cunt from behind as the skinny blonde's had been, but her knees were right at the edge of the crowded bed, and the short Filipino man could stand four square on the floor and have his cock right on a level with her cunt. He held her by the hips, soft and nubile, and caressed the globes of her ass, looking as if he appreciated the creamy softness of those mounds in comparison to those leaner buttocks of his companion, sucking Matt's cock and being eaten by Olive's companion. He spread her labia with his thumbs and placed the head of his dark greasy cock there and began working it in with short little jabs that rocked her on her knees. The power in his thrusts increased until his jabs were transmitted all down the line, from his body to Olive's ass, from her ass to her mouth, from her mouth to Kate's cunt, from Kate's cunt to her mouth, from Kate's mouth to the skinny blonde's cunt, from the skinny blonde's cunt to her mouth, on Matt's cock. There the movements instigated by the grunting Filipino at the end of the line stopped, for Matt's movements were all his own. He was going quite wild by then, squealing and writhing and gyrating on the man's lap, clutching one moment at the ash-blonde head at his loins and the next behind him at the big, hard body on which he sat.
The man under him was coming. The cords of muscle were standing up in his neck and he was moving again, no longer letting Matt do all the work but straining up under him, lifting his ass off the sweat-soaked bed and throwing back his head and shouting with strangled laughter at the way Matt was frantically trying to keep up with him and still retain that sucking mouth on his little fledgling prick. And then Matt was coming, his movements becoming even more uncoordinated, thrashing and contorting as the pleasure overwhelmed any residual pain. The skinny blonde was too, grinding her cunt down on the face of Kate, still sucking Matt, so hard now that her already hollow cheeks further caved in. And Kate was coming, reaching down and tearing at Olive's hair as if she was terrified at the prospect of the lovely blonde quitting at a time like that. Olive couldn't have quit, for the Filipino was rocking back and forth on his heels, driving his erupting cock into her very strongly, and Joel thought he could hear her muffled cries of orgasm even over the roaring approval of the crowd.
Coming together, all in a line, they all began wilting together, and as they did, as Joel saw that his son was again surviving the onslaught of these perverted people, he could relax again for a bit, and in relaxing could not help but appreciate the cock-hungry mouth of the man on his knees in the aisle. His mouth felt good, very good, and under different circumstances, if he had not been bound, he might have touched the back of that bobbing head and told him he was doing well, that he was close to bringing him to a second orgasm.
The bed was a tangle of human limbs and Joel was sure it was over, and it seemed as if most of the audience had had enough of the cruel lewd show as well. But there were a few who set up a clamor for more, and Art Cole appeared on the stage, holding his hands out for order, and smiling with benevolent pride at them.
"Hey, quite a show, wasn't it?" he said.
"Yeeeaaa! More!"
"I don't think the kids can take any more, not without..."
"Booooooo . .."
"Quiet down, folks," he said, smiling. "They can't take any more, not without some help. Who wants to have me wake them up and introduce them to Duke?"
"Yeeeaaa! Do it! Get him, Art. We want Duke! We want Duke!"
"Okay, but it'll cost. Not much, but it'll cost. Hazel will go around and collect ten bucks a head from those of you who want a little more entertainment while I go wake up Duke. Judy, see what you can do about waking up our little gal."
Joel had been pulling hard at the ropes, having seen Duke in action before, but shamefully, when Art Cole indicated that Duke would be performing only with Joyce, he couldn't help but relax further under the soft administrations of the man's mouth on his cock. Kate didn't relax, though. She roused herself from the tangle on the bed and put up a vigorous protest, then a tearful one as Art got her wrist in a submission hold and led her weeping from the room, with Olive trailing along behind her, clothes in hand, looking quite content with it all. Not many of the crowd left with them, most of them remaining in the improvised show room and crowding closer to the stage, making it more difficult for Joel to see what was occurring.
Matt seemed forgotten as Judy came and helped Joyce up into a sitting position on the bed. She held her head and talked to her while she poured something from a cup into Joyce's mouth, with the girl weakly resisting but failing in this, so most of the liquid she swallowed, with some of it running down over the corners of her mouth and onto her poor, bruised little tits. When her eyes came open they were very glazed.
Hazel, having collected from the remaining observers, came to the stage to help. She took off her skirt and panties and knelt between Matt and Joyce, held open her labia and began rubbing her fingers through her cunt. When she then fondled Matt's genitalia with those wetted fingers, Joel began to struggle again, for her actions foreboded that his son was not to be spared the attentions of Duke.
Hazel told the skinny blonde to emulate her and this she did, and Matt didn't mind. He had no idea of what might be in store for him. He lay there, half awake, smiling, while first Hazel, then the skinny blonde, then Judy transferred their pungent cunt juices from their overripe cunts to his diminutive little boy prick and hairless balls, and then Art Cole brought Duke out.
That is, he brought the big German Shepherd dog to the stage doorway and Duke, on the end of his leash, brought Art on the rest of the way. The big dog, trained for these acts, followed his long black muzzle to the bed, sniffing at the cunts of the three mature women and lolling out his big red tongue. The skinny blonde screamed and retreated to the arms of the chuckling Filipino, Hazel ruffed Duke's ears and allowed him to swipe his tongue in her cunt once, and Judy, when the dog came to her, grabbed him by the ears and let him lick her lavishly while she rolled her eyes at the audience in greatly exaggerated delight. Matt looked stupidly at the big, slavering brute, frowning slightly as if in disbelief, and Joyce, fully awake now, clambered about and tried to hide from it behind Hazel's big body, probably the worst place she could have picked as a sanctuary.
Then at a command from Art Cole, the dog gave up in his lappings at the Negress' cunt and turned on Matt. The boy was terrified and he screamed and fought and tried to scramble away from the hairy animal on the bed, but Duke came on, unperturbed, and between his growls and his forelegs succeeded in getting the loudly weeping boy down on his back where he could lap up the female juices which had been smeared on his young male loins. Matt rolled frantically about, kicking at the air, afraid to beat at the animal's head with his puny fists, and the dog continued to hold him while he snuffled and licked over his prick and balls.
In the mirror Joel could see that the dog was ready to rut, that the point of his red penis was extruding farther and farther out of its hairy sheath, and his muscles cracked and snapped as he pulled at the ropes that bound him. The hubbub, the laughter was so much that the queer relinquished his mouth grip on Joel's slowly deflating cock and looked up over the seats, then rose to see the source of all the clamor, his organ large and long before Joel's face.
In desperation, Joel leaned forward and nudged it with his head to get the man's attention, and when he looked down, Joel did his best to communicate his wants to him with his eyes.
The homosexual nodded and smiled "I'll see if I can help the boy. You really are fond of him, aren't you?"
Joel nodded frantically and the naked man left and hurried up the aisle to elbow his way through the crowd but by the time he got there there was little need to help Matt, for Art Cole had turned the dog on Joyce. Still the man went on and took the sobbing boy in his arms and cradled his head against his chest, petting him and talking softly to him.
Cole had unsnapped the dog's leash, and when he came at Joyce she shrilled a long scream as she leaped from the bed and tried to run from him. The door through which Cole had led the dog was locked now, and as she wrenched at the handle the dog made her leap and scream anew by sticking his cold snout in the shallow crack between her tiny buttocks. She turned, eyes filled with horror, hands up against the door, and then dissolved into sobbing, crouching over and trying to push him away as his big tongue came out to lick and lap at her nearly hairless loins.
She managed to break away and she might have escaped up an aisle, but the crowd turned her back. She tried to fight her way through them, away from the bright-eyed dog with the hanging tongue who followed after her, ears up, panting, but the assemblage of voyeurs picked up her ninety-pound body and held it kicking over their heads before depositing it back on the stage.
Duke was right there, responding to Art Cole's brief commands like a sheep dog, herding her up against the wall where he again got his tongue at her cunt, and when she squirmed away, herding her onto the bed. It had cleared of the others and Joyce was alone on it, on hands and knees, scrambling around and trying for a route to escape from it while the dog quickly circled it, cutting her off at every turn. The homosexual continued to hold Matt protectively in his arms, one hand around his boy cock, talking to him, petting him, while the boy averted his gaze from the animal's attack on his baby-sitter.
And then at a command from Art Cole, Duke bounded onto the bed. It seemed for a moment that Joyce could get off it, but he cowed her very thoroughly by snarling at her and all she could do was lie there, squirming backward on her back, while he came forward, over her. His penis was fully out of its sheath then, longer than Joel had remembered, and tapered from a stiletto point to a thick shaft at the hairy foreskin. He hunkered down on the screaming, sobbing girl, snarling at her ear, and his penis could no longer be seen as his hips started working forward.
He was holding her very effectively with his forepaws and from time to time his tail would ludicrously wave, signifying that he was making progress, and Joyce's shorter, sharper cries corroborated this. She tried to roll away but could not. She tried to push him off her but could not. She tried to shout for help, but no one was there to help her save Joel, and he was all but helpless himself.
And then her cries diminished and she was silent, save for her sobbing, and then this too fell away and, shockingly, her arms went around the shaggy beast and her legs stopped their kicking and encircled his rapidly pumping body and she was being fucked by that filthy, awful, slobbering brute and enjoying it, yes, enjoying it, even as Joel had seen other women, women he had thought were totally depraved, enjoy the bigger than humen penis of that animal. For all the fucking she'd previously had, she was eager for more, this time from any penis available, even that of a dog, and Joel could no longer look. He turned his gaze to his son, in the shadows of the stage, and saw the queer stroking his head and murmuring to him as the boy nursed on the man's snarled cock.
And then Joel got his left hand loose. It was cramped and partially paralyzed, and he tried to quickly restore circulation to it by clenching and unclenching it, but that was not enough to get the use of it he needed in order to untie the knots that still held him. In desperation he rummaged through the pile of clothing left by the homosexual, hoping there would be a pen knife in the pocket of his pants. He found instead the pistol, and though it felt inordinately heavy and clumsy in his badly scraped left hand, it also felt very satisfying there, something to cling to, something to use. He tried to aim it at the homosexual on the stage, but the people were in the way. He thought of blasting a path through them with it, but he knew he'd be overpowered before he could get to his target. He couldn't even train it properly on the dog, who was by then driving the infant Joyce quite wild with his humpings. He even tried to aim it at Matt, hoping in that way to save him from homosexuality, but in no way could he shoot his own son, nor could he even see through the sights by then through his tear-filled eyes. At last, as the only possible way out of this awful situation he had created, he turned the weapon to his temple and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Twelve
"I will declare," said Mrs. Knudsen's voice, "Mr. Thatcher, you got to be the most luckiest man in the world to be just sitting here enjoying the sunshine, and that's a fact. You got so much to be thankful for, just being alive. Like Dr. Peacock says, a little more rest and quiet and you'll be 'most as good as new, and we all know you're such a strong man, such a good man, that being deprived of one of your senses surely won't hold you down. Why, it's still you that us and ever'body in town leans on, no matter what. I will declare, that phone never stops ringing with people calling to see when you'll be fit to take some callers. I think you are now, but you know best, just like always, and if you think this recuperation time should go on a little longer, why then, so be it. But you don't look bad, not at all, far as I'm concerned. You always was the handsomest man in Roseville ... if I'm not steppin' out of line in sayin' that ... and you always will be, no matter what, dark glasses and all. Now let me see a smile. Please, Mr. Thatcher, just a little one, or I'll declare I won't go fix the children their breakfast. Things just ain't so bad, and ever'body knows it but you. Oh, my. I'm not doin' a thing to cheer you up. But I know what will. A good strong cup of coffee, that's what a man needs to start the day off."
It was a speech he'd heard with variations a thousand times in the past month, and far from achieving its intended purpose it always served only to deepen his gloom. He was well aware of how fortunate he was, by any standards except his own, just to be alive. He knew that sightlessness was not the end of his world, but he also knew his world had ended, on that night four weeks before when he had seen his son take a large, forced step into the world of homosexuality, a step which he himself had forced. Joel was, in a logical and rational way, glad that he had pointed the gun at his eyes rather than at his brain, as intended, for he knew that even a blind man can be of help to those he loves. And he did love his son, no matter what he'd done to him.
He heard footsteps on the patio and he cursed his blindness for he could not recognize who was approaching, not until Matt's clear voice greeted him with a cheery "Good morning."
"Is today the day you're going to go down to the bank, Pop?"
He smiled in the direction of the voice and said, "Not today. Maybe tomorrow."
"I wish I could do that with school. Go just when I felt like it."
"Don't tell me you don't like school any more."
"It's okay. Especially Geometry. Mr. Craig is just about the swellest teacher I ever had. I sure like him."
"Good teachers are hard to find, but don't get too dependent on him. You'll have a new set of teachers next semester."
"Yep. Hey, you want me to help you to breakfast?"
"No, I think I'll stay here on the patio for a while and enjoy the early sun."
Alone again, Joel continued to brood. What went on in his son's head? Throughout all the hassles and lies and help from the police, throughout Joel's recovery, Matt had never said a word about the dreadful events of that night in East Grange. Was the poor boy keeping it bottled up within himself, or had the awful memories been erased from a brain too immature to handle them? He might never know, for the close relationship that father and son had once had was gone, no matter what outward appearances were, and could never return.
"Hi, Joelie." It was Joyce's voice, wheedling and snide, and charged with a tone of false desire for him. "How's the town's leading citizen today?"
"I'm fine, Joyce. How are you?" The little bitch, would she never forgive him for betraying her? Could he ever forgive himself?
"Oh, I'm dandy," she said, adjusting his dark glasses, for she knew how he hated for anyone to fuss over his empty eyes. "And I got all my homework done last night. Matt helped me. He's so smart. He's so cute, too. He reminds me so much of you. He looks more like you every day. I just wish you could see that."
"I do too," he said, as evenly as he could.
"Poor Joelie," she said, patting his head, and making him hard-pressed to hold still. "If I do my homework all week, can I go out on Friday night?"
"Ask Mrs. Knudsen, she's your guardian, not me."
"Yes, but you're the head of the household, at least as far as I'm concerned. Gee, you were so good to take us in."
"Joyce, let's not get into that. You know I needed you. You know you're not living here just to keep you quiet about what happened that night."
"You mean that night in East Grange? Gee, I'd almost forgotten about that. You know, that's where I'm going this Friday, if it's all right with you. Is it?"
"It is not! It is . .. Joyce, I can't stop you, but I can say that going back there is the worst possible thing you could ever do."
"But I'm horny," she said, the smirk in her voice quite visible to him. "It's either that or sneaking off to your bed at night, and you won't let me do that, you old meanie, you."
"God, I can't, Joyce! Don't you see that?"
"I see more than you do," she said, and tickled him under the ear.
He struck out at her, furiously, and flailed at empty air as he heard her laughter retreating from the patio.
Had he erred in taking in Joyce and Mrs. Knudsen? He'd had no choice, really. As unstable as she'd been before, the night in East Grange had pushed her closer to the brink of irrationality as well as total nymphomania, and he had to have her close, had to be good to her, if only to keep her quiet. And there was more than that. He knew it, though he wouldn't admit it to himself except on those occasions when he simply couldn't fight it down. He was horny himself, terribly so, and while her presence only served to increase that, it also made him inwardly revel in the fact that he was still alive, very much so, with a body that was if anything more needful for a woman since he'd thrown away his sight. With her around he could at least fantasize, and he did this often as his only means of escape from the wholly guilty thoughts that pervaded his long days and nights.
Even then he had an erection, brought on by the mere touch of her, and maintained by the aura of her fragrance that still hovered in a cloud that only he could be aware of. The sexual feelings in him were so strong that he had to cling to the arms of his chair very tightly to keep from rubbing his crotch, and as he did, it happened to him again. The hand touched him, groped him, grabbed him by his cock and was gone, too quickly for him to catch it. He sat there in a sweat, breathing heavily and not knowing if the unseen groper was still watching him, not knowing who it was in his household that teased him so, tortured him so. It was probably Joyce, using this as another means of getting even with him. It could be Mrs. Knudsen, taking out her menopausal sexual rebirth in that strange way. And it could be, it just might be, his own son.
