Teenyboppers, jailbait, had always been Jim Wallace's special weakness. Young and curvy and willing. Underage girls who would permit him to experiment with the secret places between their legs. Promiscuous Lollipoppers who would encourage him to enjoy their sexual favors. Young things who were anxious to experience not only sexual intercourse, but who were eager to discover "sixty-nine," anal seax, and group sex.
But those were dreams . . . secret lusts that Jim carried deep inside him. He had too much sense to fool around with girls that young. But, yes, he would look. There was nothing wrong with looking. He could look at them in their micro-mini skirts, feast his eyes on their bare legs, hunger to feel their breasts, their tight little behinds. But as long as he confined his desires to merely looking and wishing, they couldn't lock him up, could they? Just thinking about it, that wasn't a felony, was it?
But then the trouble began . . .
Sometimes an opportunity presents itself that is too tempting to decline. Young stuff that is so readily available, so hot for sex, that laws are swiftly forgotten. And it happened to Jim ...
A Vietnam veteran, drifter, girl-wanter, Jim is hitchhiking his way to Pennsylvania, wanting to hunt up former friends. A seventeen-year-old college girl, Candy Mason, offers him a lift, and Jim's sexual merry-go-round begins its course.
The girl's saucy figure, the way she flaunts her sex, sets their destination back by several hours. She's eager to lift her dress and take down her panties; and, following a few drinks at an out-of-the-way roadhouse, Jim seduces the teeny-bopper in the back seat of her car.
So he's gone over the brink, lived a dream, screwed someone sweet and young and tender.. And he's unleashed a monster, he discovers too late, for his predilection for young stuff, some of the girls no more than fourteen, leads him straight down the path to doom.
-The Publishers
1
She was tender, all right. About seventeen, the way Jim figured. Seventeen and she had hot pants. And what made him so certain about the hot pants was the fact that she'd stopped to offer him a lift. Any time a young girl, driving alone, picks up a hitchhiker, well, she wants to get fucked!
"Where did you say you were going?" she asked him, breaking into his thoughts.
"Rivertown. It's about fifty miles this side of Pittsburgh."
His gaze swept from her young face to the exciting slope of her teenybopper breasts. No bra on, he saw. He could make out her nipples, little buds of delight which were pushing outward on her pink cotton pullover.
She maneuvered the Volkswagen through some heavy truck traffic, then jockeyed back to the inside lane.
"You go to school down there?" she asked.
He told her no, and he was amused that she thought him that young. He'd been out of school several years now, finished a hitch in Vietnam, worked briefly for a Chicago metal firm, then for a wholesaler, and lastly, for a shirt factory.
"The metal firm went out on a long strike," he explained, "so I quit 'em and joined this wholesaler. Only he had some back accounts and went bankrupt. And after that, there was this shirt factory, and they closed up and moved to Tennessee."
"Looks like you're doomed to welfare," she said with a light, easy smile.
"Sort of." And he appraised her body once again, marveling at the curvy swell of her breasts, imagining how nice it would be to suck on them, to suck hard and deep and to hear her moan in response.
"So what are you going to do in Rivertown?"
"He struggled to take his mind off her hot young titties. "Look up some friends. Maybe get a job." He glanced briefly at the stretch of interstate highway before them. "I used to live there a long time ago," he added.
"Are your parents-"
"They're dead," he said, answering her question before it was phrased. "What about you? Where you headed?"
"For home," she said. And home was a tiny suburb, not far from Gettysburg. She had completed her first semester at Kent, thought college was a drag, and didn't know if she was going back or not.
"I just think there's more in life than college," she offered.
Like picking up hitchhikers and giving 'em a .fast fuck? he wondered to himself. "So what will you do?"
"If I don't go back to college?"
"Yes."
"I don't know. Just goof off for a while, I guess. Try to figure out what I want."
He was silent, again feasting his eyes on her. Ripe and young she was. Dark, shoulder-length hair, a pleasing smile, lips that a guy could kiss for hours. Real pretty.
And those bouncy, sweet-to-suck titties! Not king size or freakish, just a juicy, joyful mouthful. And finally, and what made his dong stiff and pulse for action, was the tops of her bare thighs.
She wore a dark brown corduroy mini-skirt, and from the bottom of the skirt to the crotch of her panties could be no more than two inches. It was that short! Which left her pretty thighs plentifully exposed.
He ached to touch the silky smoothness of her thighs, to run his hands up between her legs and discover how moist her young pussy was. But he was a little hesitant to make a pass-at least not just yet. She was jail bait and he wanted to be a hundred percent certain of his ground before he made a move.
"Were you waiting very long back there?"
"No. I've been pretty lucky about getting rides."
And he had been. Three rides had enabled him to travel from Chicago to Pennsylvania, where twenty minutes later, she herself had picked him up. And this, given a ride by a teen-ager, was the best deal of all, he thought. But how did you fuck a girl in the tiny back seat of a Volkswagen? Especially with all the suitcases and junk she'd piled back there?
They drove for another hour, exchanging unimportant bits and pieces of their pasts, and he kept his gaze riveted on her legs and titties almost continuously.
Then, with nightfall descending rapidly on them, she said, "Are you getting hungry?"
Hungry to eat you, he thought to himself. But out loud he answered, "Not really."
And this of course was- an outright lie. He was damn near starved to death. But he was also next to broke, and a buck and some change divided by two wouldn't buy shit.
"You could eat something, couldn't you?" she said, slowing down for a roadhouse.
"Really, no," he answered. "But if you want to stop, go ahead. I can wait out in the car."
She pulled into the gravel parking lot and turned off the ignition. Her eyes sparkled from the glitter of the neon atop the roadhouse.
"You don't want to sit out here," she said. "Why not? I can catch a little shut-eye."
"You don't have any money, do you?"
"A little. But I'm not hungry."
"Liar."
"Honest. I'm not hungry."
"So go inside with me anyway. I don't want to go in alone."
She wouldn't listen to his protests, so he finally climbed out of the Volkswagen and lumbered after her.
The view from behind was even better than the one in front. She had a delightful little wiggle. Her mini-skirt, tight as it was, didn't conceal the hot bounce of her ass either. And damn if he wasn't aching to lay her. And when they came out of this joint and went back to the car, well, he wasn't going to put it off any longer.
The inside of the madhouse was as dingy as the outside. Dimly lit, smelling of stale beer and too many smokes. There was a bar, lined with the usual regulars, and a pool table at the rear, a few booths along the outside wall, and of course, the juke box.
He and the girl found an empty booth and sat down. Presently, the bartender came over for their order. Three hamburgers and a pair of beers.
"I told you I didn't want anything," he said, after the bartender had left.
"The treat's on me," she smiled.
He resigned himself to her generosity, uttering a simple, "You women!"
She wrinkled her nose at him, patted his leg. The contact was brief, but the touch of her hand instantly electrified his senses. He wanted to do the same, put his hot hands on her smooth, bare legs, give her a squeeze. But he knew if he succumbed to his desires, touched the teen-ager's loving thighs, that he wouldn't be satisfied with just a squeeze. He'd want to feel her up-all the way!
When their sandwiches were delivered, he wolfed them down, then drained his beer. He felt much better, now that his appetite had been appeased. But now another part of his anatomy was demanding attention, the half-stiff cock inside his denims. And this sweet young thing beside him could answer all his wild, erotic dreams.
They had another beer, then another, and the bartender never once questioned her age, which, as far as Jim was concerned, was just fine. He wanted the girl to get a little high, for it would make his conquest all the easier. '
She handled the beer with apparent experience, he noted, and he couldn't help but wonder what other kind of experience she had. He'd heard that most of the college girls screwed like mad. This one was probably no different, he thought. This, in spite of her innocent, girl-next-door-smile.
The third beer produced a warm glow in the both of them. A lazy warmth that sent them to the edge of silliness. Her laughter had a light, schoolgirl-like tingle to it and the laughter spread to her pale blue eyes.
She was easy to like, too. No airs about her. Very ordinary. Very natural. Fun to be around, and he wondered if he was, perhaps, falling for this little teenybopper here in the booth with him.
He didn't bother to analyze his feelings any further, mainly because something else was bugging him-wanting to get into her pants.
The beer, of course, provided him with more impetus. And their common laughter had drawn them slightly closer together so that now their legs were touching each other.
He decided to push his luck. Put his hand under the table, play with her leg. And this he did. But he kept up a line of patter, cracking her up about the goofy styles in women's dress.
"I like 'em nice and short," he said, "the way yours is."
He casually dropped his hand to her bare thigh. "Middies for biddies, and if you've got nice legs"-he stroked her warm, tender flesh-"nice like yours, then I say show 'em."
"Thank you," she said, smiling, half-grinning, and doing nothing about his roaming hand. "Now if I could just get my father to think that way everything would be fine."
"He doesn't approve?"
"Heavens, no! He thinks every girl in a mini-skirt is a whore. Ill have to change clothes before I go home because if he saw me in this, wow!"
He continued stroking her warm, smooth thighs. He was encouraged by her lack of resistance, knowing that in mere minutes he was going to fuck her.
"I don't think your father and I would see eye to eye."
"I'm afraid not," she said, spreading her legs slightly.
He dared to move beneath her skirt He was only inches away from her panties. She pretended not to notice him, sipped desultorily at her beer.
But now the bartender was watching him. It was a tip-off to leave, too. Get out of here before the bartender wanted her pussy, or if he was a do-gooder, caused trouble.
He nudged the girl, made a motion with his head that they leave. She paid the check and they hurried back to the car.
"I feel good," she said, fumbling with the key.
"I could have drunk a few more beers and been on cloud nine."
"Me, too. But that big-nosed bastard behind the bar was getting ideas."
"So were you," she teased.
"But my ideas were different," he said, moving against her.
"I doubt it." She unlocked the car. "You were thinking the same thing he was-how to make out."
He didn't deny it. He smelled her hair, kissed the top of her head, and held the door open while she climbed inside. He closed the door, came around to the other side, climbed in himself.
"Well, how do we?" he asked.
"How do we what?"
"Make out." He glanced over the seat. "You got enough luggage in here for six girls."
She laughed. "I can see you never went to college."
"What's college got to do with making out?"
"You learn how to put square pegs in round holes."
"Ha, ha! But I don't have a square peg."
"Ha, ha, again! But I do have a round hole." She started the car. "And in a very few minutes, sir, we shall put the round hole to good use."
He felt as silly as she was. "With my square peg?"
"Yes, with your square peg." He didn't ask where or how, assuming she had ideas of her own. But he hoped she hurried.
She whirled the Volkswagen around with surprising expertise. Seconds later, she was roaring down the highway. But where was she headed? he wondered. Was she putting him on? Or was she really going to put out?
He didn't let matters die down. He put his arm around her, moved as close as the split seat allowed, and once again began to play with her legs.
"That feels nice."
"It's supposed to."
"It also causes accidents."
He ran his hand up further and further. His index finger found the silky texture of her panties. His prick swelled with joy. He watched her face.
She bit her lip, made little grimaces that were a mixture of joy and impatience. "Can't you wait?" she asked.
"I don't think so. Where you taking us?"
"Any place. Just so it's dark."
"What about in there?" he said, pointing ahead to a dirt road that spurred to the right. , She slowed the car, swung the wheel, and suddenly they were bouncing over stone and ruts and mud. Her driving ability continued to amaze him, and especially so when she jerked the tiny car into another hard right, taking them into a plowed-up wheat field.
She switched out the lights, climbed out of the car. She began pulling suitcases out of the back seat, piling them on the ground or in the front seat. He helped her. Then, grinning at one another, both a bit breathless from all the exertion, they climbed into the empty back seat.
"I didn't think it was possible," he said, drawing the young girl into his arms.
"Anything's possible if you put your mind to it. Including square pegs and round holes."
He kissed her and she was as delicious as she looked. Lips of honey and youth, of passion and softness. Lips that yielded to the pressure of his kiss, that parted ever so slightly, hinting of the pleasures within.
She moaned softly, which excited him all the more. He put his hand between her smooth young thighs. Her thighs yielded just as her lips had: parting slightly, inviting him inside.
He thrilled to the feel of her panties: warm and silky, excitingly moist. He searched out the wettest spot of all, began to massage this area, and swept her into another long, possessive kiss. She reacted rapidly. She squirmed beneath his expert fingers. The moan in her throat became more intense.
His cock stiffened to full hardness. His balls churned maddeningly. He wanted her youthful cunt and damn if he wasn't going to have her!
He rubbed her pantied pussy a little harder. Her crack sucked inwards on the nylon, defining her nest with surprising clarity. She kissed harder. Her lips parted widely, seeking his tongue.
He slid his hot tongue slowly into her mouth. At the same time, he pulled the crotch of her panties aside and sought her quivering bare flesh.
Their tongues met. His mind exploded. So did hers. Both of them moaned in delight. They squirmed. He began to probe deeper between her legs, and she moved to give him the access he needed.
Then, and for reasons he couldn't immediately understand, a pang of guilt and fear struck at his heart. What would he do if the police suddenly happened on the scene? Fucking around with an under-aged girl! And now he wondered if she was even of college age. Maybe she was putting him on. Maybe she was only sixteen or so. Then what?
"Why'd you stop?" she asked suddenly.
He swallowed his fears. "I thought I heard something," he lied.
She sat up and listened. "I don't hear anything."
"Maybe this isn't such a good place," he suggested, staring at the black night outside the Volkswagen.
"Don't you want to make out?" she asked, sounding a bit hurt.
"Sure, sure. But..."
"But what?"
"I just don't want to get caught, that's all."
She leaned back against the cushions. She snaked her teen-aged arms about his neck. A sly smile came across her youthful face.
"I think you worry too much," she said softly.
"It's not that," he lied.
"Or maybe you think a square peg won't go in around hole."
He gave her a half-hearted smile and tried to put down the vague fears that threatened his pleasure. But he was worried and there was no use denying the risk of fucking a teenybopper. It might be the best piece of ass in the world, but if he got caught... well, it wouldn't be quite so nice. On the other hand, how could you look down at a moist, fuzzy, teen-age slit and tell yourself no?
He decided he couldn't deny himself. To hell with the cops! To hell with everything!
He slid her mini-skirt up as high as it would go. He stroked her bare thighs, dug his fingers into her hot, yielding flesh. He pinched her lightly and then his fingers raced between her slightly spread thighs and went straight to the crotch of her wet panties.
This time he drew her panties downward. What he discovered surprised him. Her pussy hair was so fine, so sparse, that at first glance he thought she was without any. It was as though he were staring at the wet pussy of a hairless twelve-year-old girl. But her youth, instead of worrying him, now excited him.
He lifted her ass, drew her panties down to her ankles, then off. He sucked in his breath. His eyeballs swelled in anticipation, but so did his cock!
He was all over her with his hands-stroking her small, flat tummy, tracing finger paths through the corn silk of her lovely, young ass, then carefully poking his finger inside the hot, wet darkness of her fuckable cunt.
The instant his finger entered her pussy, she seized his wrist and forced him to plunge his finger in deeper.
"Ohhh, is that ever wonderful!" she moaned.
He pushed still deeper, working his finger in as far as it would go. Her pussy clamped together on his finger. She was small in there, he thought, but not so small that she wouldn't find room for his throbbing seven-inch prick!
He began to slide his finger back and forth inside her pussy, slowly at first, then a bit faster.
At the same time, he used his other hand to explore beneath her sweater. Her cushiony, pink-nippled tits awaited his touch, his mouth.
They were suck-size, exactly what a guy would expect out of an average teenybopper. And, of course, not unlike every other guy who played around with a young girl, he wondered how many other guys had been there before him.
It didn't make him jealous, knowing that others might have sucked and fucked her. As a matter of fact, he found the thought mildly exciting. And she had, indeed, been played with ... of that he was certain. She knew how to raise up, giving him a better shot at her breasts; she knew how to bend her knees to make her pussy all the more vulnerable.
"Pinch my nipples," she whispered.
He did.
"Not too hard," she warned.
He let off on the pressure. He felt her nipples harden, grow hot. Her teen-age breasts seem to swell beneath his hand.
"They're nice," he told her, barely recognizing his voice.
"I'm glad you like 'em," she said weakly. And now she was squirming her hips, wiggling like a fish out of water, working his finger around and around inside her slippery pussy.
He couldn't simply play with her titties any longer. He had to suck on them. Suck them, taste them! He slid upwards. He plunged his mouth over one of her luscious tits. She moaned loudly, raised up.
He gobbled her tit like he was starving to death. He sucked so hard that he wondered if he was hurting her. But if she was hurting, it was a pleasant hurt, a hurt that made her moan and roll her eyes and wiggle her ass and go about half-crazy with desire.
He went faster and faster with his finger. Her young cunt was on fire. Her juice had lubricated her pussy to the point that it was soaking wet.
Her fingers dug into his back. Sweet moans of delight began in her throat and reached out for his ears. Her breathing grew more rapid. And now he remembered a familiar phrase: If they're big enough, they're old enough. And damn if she wasn't ripe and ready for fucking!
But before he could complete his thought, she fumbled for the fly in his denims. She got his fly open and struggled to get a firm hold of his cock.
He lifted up slightly, rolling to her left. She grasped his stiffness, pulled it out of his pants.
She said: "It doesn't feel like a square peg. It feels like a round one."
He smiled in the darkness, still playing with her cunt, licking her hot boobies. Her small hand felt good. She worked his foreskin back and forth, stroking the underside of his cock, tickling the frontal side of his balls.
"I don't know if it's square or round," he mumbled, "but I think I oughta put it some- where."
"So do I," she gasped. "And I think you'd better do it right now!"
It was awkward, cramped, self-defeating with all their clothes on. But at the same time, perhaps because she was so young and willing, because they were both so hot, it was the greatest! Or so he thought.
He couldn't get his prick inside her cunt quick enough. And once this was accomplished, once he had crawled between her wide-spread thighs, his emotions ran amok. And so did hers!
"Ohh, but is that wonderful!" she exclaimed.
He pushed his massive, throbbing cock in still deeper. Her pussy lips yielded, stretched. Her hole sucked on his length. He was drawn to her young bottom.
He grasped the cheeks of her ass, slid his prick out of her young pussy, then pushed it back inside.
"Don't take it out!" she pleaded.
But he wanted to tease her, get her so fucking hot she wouldn't know her own name.
He repeated the act, burying his cock deep inside her throbbing pussy, then drawing it all the way out, positioning it at the opening of her slit.
"Damn you!" she hissed. She grabbed the head of his dick and plunged it into her pussy. She raised her ass. In the same motion, her legs flew out at space, scissored his waist.
"Okay, smart ass," she grinned. "Now let me see you do it."
He tried to move and found he was trapped. She was surprisingly strong too. He could move his pelvis an inch or two, but all his efforts failed him when it came time to tease her. He couldn't get his cock out of her pussy, no matter how hard he tried. And suddenly he decided he wasn't going to try. It was just fine where it was! "Well?" she said.
"I give up. Square pegs in round holes, you win."
She ground her hips slightly. Her ass worked against the seat cushions of the car. His cock felt the massage of her pussy lips that caressed his dick.
The thrill of what she was doing to him was indescribable. Jacking him off with her cunt, she was. Holding him prisoner, working her quivering cunt back and forth over his throbbing dick.
Her eyes watched his reaction: the sweat that broke out on his forehead; the strain of his facial muscles; the dreamy pleasure that swam in his eyes.
He clutched her baby-soft ass. His face, he flattened against her bare breasts. She hugged him fiercely. And now her hips began a dance of wild rhythm that threatened to drive him out of his mind.
Kid though she was, she knew how to fuck, how to explore the side roads of pleasure, how to milk the sex act for all it was worth. She skinned him again and again, her hot young pussy slipping back and forth over his swollen cock. No longer could he control his emotions. He was sex unbridled, dying to shoot his come into her lovely teenybopper cunt, her thighs, permitting him to fuck her at will.
He stabbed her with all the might in his body. He knifed her tender young pussy with his huge cock, drawing an uncontrolled moan from her soft, red lips.
Her eyes swam as she experienced thrill after thrill. "Fuck me!" she begged. "Oh, fuck me hard!"
Her words excited him, and he saw that it didn't make any difference how young a chick was, for when she got hot, she lost her senses. But there's nothing wrong with that, he thought. I've lost my senses, too.
And now he was too excited to even think. Push it in, pull it out. Fuck the kid! Give this young-assed teenybopper the thrill of her life. Give her what she wants.
He slipped the meat in and out of her as fast as he could. And for a youngster, he was surprised how capable she was. Pumped like a regular wildcat, she did. Wiggled her ass, slapped her belly against his groin, shook convulsively, sucked in every inch of his throbbing cock, and searched for more.
They worked as a team, and this was what made it so wonderful, he thought. Other girls-so many of them-did little to help. They just laid there and let you fuck them. But this little hot-twatted teenager was something else! Like a pro. Loving his peter. Loving every thrust, every inch. Crying with joy.
She raised her legs still higher, drew her knees to her chest. He was able to penetrate her cunt another inch or so.
"Ohh ... it... it feels so ... so good! Y-Yes! Oh, but yes!"
She was getting ready to pop her nuts, he thought. But that was all right, too. He was also ready to pop his. Couldn't hold off much longer. Had to shoot his juicy load of come into her young crack or blow his mind!
He got a good, firm grip on her soft white ass. His strokes came faster. The car shook, the whole world shook.
She pumped back in response. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. A violent shuddering took hold of her lower body. A crazy, joyous shriek came from somewhere in her throat and grew to a passion-wracked crescendo.
Faster and faster went his cock. His balls swelled to the bursting point. The juice inside him bubbled for release.
"Give it to me!" she screamed. "Give me your juice! Quick!"
He couldn't speak. He was too hot to utter a word. Just a spasmodic jerk of his head. Telling her ' with an insane nod: Yes, I'm coming, sweetheart. Right smack into your pantin' little pussy!
He reared back, then made a pounding plunge into the teenager's juice-filled slit. A hot jet of love cream shot to the bottom of her cunt. Another spurt burst from his cock, and then another and another. And, at last, it seemed that her whole cunt was filled with the cream of his orgasm. And if there was anything better in this world than fucking, Jim had little idea what it might be.
For another minute or so, Jim and the joyous teenybopper rocked together, exacting the last thrill from their wonderful fuck. Neither wanted to release the other; neither wanted to break the wondrous silence.
He felt up her lily-white ass, kissed her bare breasts, rubbed noses with her, kissed the dew of moisture along her upper hp. In degrees, his stiff cock grew small, limp. Still, they clung to each other, heard the excited but diminishing beat of their breathing.
At long last, running her hands through his hair, measuring the look in his eyes, she said, "That was pretty cool."
"I thought it was pretty hot."
She kissed the tip of his nose. "It was that, too."
He returned the kiss to her eyelids. "One of the best," he told her.
"Not THE best?" she said, pouting quizzically.
"I'll think about it." He grinned at her, awed by her youthful beauty, and thinking himself quite the fortunate one, wondering how many hitchhikers experience so thrilling a ride.
"Do you think you can remove yourself so that I can put my panties on?" she asked.
"I don't know if I have enough strength."
"Try," she smiled.
He uncoupled himself, zipped himself, then watched her slide on her tiny panties. He didn't want her to smooth down her skirt, but all good things have to end, he thought sadly. Minutes later he was helping her repack the back seat of the car.
When they were back on the highway, he lit smokes for them, and she said: "Know what?"
"What?"
"We made out and we don't even know one another's names."
"Crazy!" he said.
"That's your first or last name?" she asked. "Both," he answered. "Crazy-Crazy. That's something." He laughed. "Jim Wallace, at your service, Miss...."
"Mason. Candy Mason."
"I like that."
"I don't. I think it sounds crappy."
"You don't know what's good," he said. "Candy is something you suck, something you lick, something you eat."
"And you're a dirty old man," she said, her grinning eyes still on the road.
"A dirty young man," he corrected. And now suddenly serious, she clasped his hand and said, "Jim, I like you."
His reaction was automatic. "I feel the same about you, Candy. You're good to be with." And he cuddled against her, contented and happy.
In the darkness of the bug car, miles and time slipped by them, time which would never return.
He dozed off, for how long he didn't know, but too soon, it seemed, she shook him gently, taking him out of the warmth of his sleep. "Here's your Rivertown," she said. He shot her a sleepy, blank expression. "My what?"
"Rivertown. It's where you wanted to go, isn't it?"
He blinked his eyes, shook the sleep from his senses. They were parked in front of the Rivertown bus depot, and the street was empty.
She scribbled on a small pad of paper. "This is my address, Jim. After you get settled, if you feel like writing . . . well, you can drop me a line."
Wasn't she being a little abrupt? he wondered. He pocketed the slip of paper. He said:
"Want to go inside the bus depot and get some coffee before you go?"
She smiled sadly. "No, I better not. It's pretty late and I want to reach home before morning."
He tried to think of something further to say, but his sleep-fogged mind refused to function with its usual sharpness. And yet, he didn't want her to leave. There seemed to be some things that needed saying before she drove off, something to soften his sense of regret.
But that was it. Suddenly he was climbing out of her mud-spattered car, looking a bit forlornly at the young girl behind the wheel, managing a clumsy farewell.
"G'bye Candy. I-I'll write. Okay?"
"Sure, Jim. You do that."
He blew her a kiss, took a final glimpse of her flashing bare thighs, the sparkle of her eyes. And then the door was slammed, she waved, and the bug car shot down Main Street, rounded a corner and disappeared. He felt as if a part of him had died.
2
It was too late at night to call up old friends, so he spent the night in the bus station, jawing with the manager, drinking too-strong coffee, and thumbing through a pile of tabloids.
When daylight broke, he went to a restaurant and had breakfast. From there, he went to a public library restroom, washed and shaved. By ten o'clock, perhaps ten-thirty, he was searching through the Rivertown phone book, looking up old friends. But this was when the disappointment set in. He discovered that his old buddies had, for the most part, moved up north, were in the service, or in college.
He realized, and too late, that hitchhiking here had been a stupid act, at best. There was nothing here in Rivertown but memories. The town had changed, people changed, and he was a stranger amidst strangers. But worse, he was broke.
He started asking around about jobs, but found there was very little work in Rivertown.
"Unless you want to work for that kook Ramsey," the pharmacist at the Rivertown drugstore told him.
"Who's Ramsey?"
"Runs a gas station and general store out on
Bridgewater Road. Doesn't pay anything, though. That's why he's all the time looking for help."
Jim quickly decided that this was no time to be quarrelsome about wages. With only a handful of change in his pocket, he couldn't afford to be particular.
"Think he might need somebody right now?" Jim asked the druggist.
"Probably does. Between him and that wild daughter of his, they can't keep help more than a few days."
"She'll rape you if she gets half the chance," the druggist continued. "Biggest delinquent in town, and everybody knows it but her old man. Him, he thinks she's a regular little angel."
Jim listened with interest. He liked young stuff and after fucking the teenybopper who'd driven him here, he found old desires wide-awake. So maybe a few weeks of work, even if it didn't pay anything to write home about, would be worth his time.
He asked for directions to Ramsey's place, thanked the pharmacist, and set out for Bridgewater Road.
An hour later, he found the place. Nothing much, and just about the way the pharmacist had described it: a dilapidated gas station and a dinky garage. Adjacent to this, a ramshackle two-story frame building, which housed the store, such as it was, and their living quarters.
He found Clay Ramsey out behind the gas station, burning trash. He had a reedy thinness about him, but the taut, leathery expression he wore suggested that he was tougher and meaner than his physique indicated.
Jim walked up to him, introduced himself, came right to the point: he needed work.
Clay Ramsey looked holes through him. He didn't appear to like what he saw, for he grunted and said, "I ain't got need for no floaters."
Jim quickly defended his motives. "I'm not a floater. This is where I used to live." And he explained to Ramsey why he was here, about Vietnam, the whole bit.
"You ever pump gas or work in a grocery store?"
Jim lied and said he had. Up in Chicago and before he went in service.
"Job don't pay much," he warned Jim.
"I'd appreciate anything at all."
"Well, I suppose I can use you, all right. But thirty's all I can pay."
Jim started to tell Ramsey to shove his job up his ass. Thirty dollars a week, shit, that was out of the Great Depression. But before he could protest, Clay Ramsey added:
"There's room upstairs over the store. You can have that. And you can take your meals with us. We don't eat fancy-like, but you won't go hungry."
Jim weighed the offer. It wasn't the greatest, but since the old geezer was including room and board, it was passable. He could stay here long enough to save up some money, then head east and get a better job, or maybe go back to Chicago.
"I'll take it, Mr. Ramsey. And I think it'll work out just fine."
Clay Ramsey grunted noncommittally. He poked at the trash fire and went back to the station. Jim followed him.
"There's just Kathy-Mae and myself," Ramsey said, lighting his pipe. "I run the station and she takes care of the store."
Jim briefly wondered if Kathy-Mae was the wild child that the pharmacist had spoken of. Ramsey suddenly provided the answer.
"Kathy-Mae quit school when her mother died, and I'll tell you-what did you say your name was?"
"Jim, Jim Wallace."
"Yeah. Well, Jim, like I was saying, I'd be lost without Kathy-Mae around here to give me a hand. Just the best little girl a father could have."
Jim remembered the pharmacist's words: "Biggest delinquent in town, and everybody knows it but her old man. Him, he thinks she's a regular little angel."
"You're lucky to have her," Jim said, knowing that this remark would please Ramsey.
"You can say that again." He looked down the road. "Ain't much doin' right now, Jim, and if you got a hankering to take the job, why, I'll take you on over to the store and introduce you to Kathy-Mae, and she can show you where you'll bunk."
"Suits me," Jim answered.
Ramsey locked the register, then led the way. "This might work out all right, Jim. Fellows I had before, all they wanted was the price of a drink. Afraid of work, too."
"Well, I'm not afraid of work," Jim said. "That's good. And like I say," he said, glancing over his shoulder at him, "Maybe it'll work out okay."
The inside of the store was a mini-version of an old general store: dimly lit, high-ceilinged, jammed with merchandise, with only very little aisle space. Groceries, cold cuts, and a beverage area occupied about two-thirds of the store, and the remaining space was crowded with hardware, stationery, magazines and paperbacks, a few cosmetics, and, of course, a counter or two of yard goods. A hundred sundry items hung from the walls; no space was left unused.
Ramsey shouted, "Kathy-Mae, you in the back there?"
Suddenly a girl of about fifteen or sixteen emerged from behind a curtain, leading to the rear of the store. Her straight blondish hair hung past her shoulders, which was the first thing Jim observed; the second thing was her cute, saucy shape: the curvy ass and the tiny waist, her not-fully-developed titties-noticeable, nice, naughty.
"Kathy-Mae," Ramsey addressed her, "this here is Jim Wallace. He's going to be staying with us for a spell. You can show him where he'll bunk down, all right?"
The yoUng girl nodded shyly to her father, smiled faintly at Jim. She had a comic book rolled up in her hand, which fit the picture of an innocent young teenybopper. She chewed gum, her Scotch-plaid dress was little-girl in length, and one knee sock had slid down until it was several inches below the other.
But she caught the direction of his gaze and lifted her leg to straighten the sock. This motion, though it took only a few seconds, offered him a titillating view of her thighs: tanned, firmly filled out, damn nice!
He forced himself to look away. He didn't want old man Ramsey getting suspicious, and if he took that much pride in his daughter, he'd be quick to take notice of Jim's every move.
"You want me to take him upstairs now?" she asked her father.
"In a minute," Ramsey said. "I want to show him the place, first." And for the next ten minutes, Ramsey walked him up and down the narrow aisles, pointing out the merchandise.
"You got a little bit of everything," Jim said, glancing over his shoulder to see if the girl was still behind them-which she was.
"Well, I've found it pays to keep a wide line of things. There's a housing development down the road a piece, and I've found that if you try to have what they want, it'll keep 'em from goin' in town with their business."
He took Jim back to the register. "We do some cash business," Ramsey said, "but most of it goes on the books." He pointed to a large ledger beside the register. "The fellows out here work at the automobile plant and they get paid every other Friday, which is when they usually square up with me. Get some dead-beats, but most of 'em pay up pretty regular like."
Suddenly a car drew into the gas station. Ramsey said, "Kathy-Mae, you take Jim up to his room. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Jim nodded to Ramsey, then zigzagged back to the narrow aisle that led to the stairway. Kathy-Mae swished her cute ass in front of him, causing Jim to excite with desire. It was wrong to feel this way about young girls, he supposed, but when they were this sweet, this luscious, he forever wanted to fuck them; and how, he wondered, was a guy supposed to suppress strong feelings like that?
"Watch you don't trip on these steps," she cautioned him. "They're awful steep."
He had to admit she was right. The steps were dangerously steep in their slope. But this steep angle was just great! Especially when a curvaceous teenager, wearing an extremely short dress, climbed the steps ahead of you.
The view knocked his eyes out, literally. The bare backs of her thighs were visible all the way to the edge of her frail white panties. He saw the lovely cheeks of her ass, the promising dark pouch between her legs, and if he'd have had a camera, sonofabitch if he wouldn't have snapped a picture of it!
By the time they reached the top of the steps, his cock was stiff.
"It's in here," she said, leading him to a room at the end of the dark hallway. She opened the door and went inside. He followed after her, hoping she wouldn't notice the bulge in his pants. "My room's next door," she offered, and before he could reply, she went to the window and raised the window shade.
But with a sudden zip and clack-clack-clack, the shade had shot loose from her hand and spun to the top of the window. She pulled a small wooden chair over to the window, stood on it, and stretched for the shade.
Once again he was struck by the loveliness of her youthful legs. He had swept to her side to steady the chair and he found himself looking up under her dress once again, staring unashamedly, nearly tempted to tip-toe for another inch of height, then kiss her lovely young ass.
If she knew he was looking, she gave no clue. And when the end of the shade slipped from her fingers and she had to reach for it again, he was able to steal another look. Her panties were a little too tight for her, apparently. They barely covered the crack of her pussy and he saw some of her pubic hair. But that wasn't all he saw. The material of her panties was gathered deeply into the crack of her ass, so he was able to see most of her bare ass.
His cock was on fire when she climbed down from the chair, and he was so hot that he could have pulled it out, right in front of her, and jacked off on the spot. Or better yet, said: Let's fuck!
But, of course, he did neither of these lustful deeds. She was, from a legal standpoint, jailbait of the worst possible kind. She had an overly protective father, she wasn't more than sixteen, and if you fucked around with her and got caught-hell, a judge would give you twenty years, probably.
"What d'you think of it?" the girl asked him. He glanced hurriedly at the room: the tiny dresser, the aged double-bed, the threadbare rug.
"It's-it's fine." He smiled weakly and she read his displeasure.
"I got some pictures you could hang on the walls," she offered. "And there's an extra lamp I could bring in."
"I don't want to put you to a lot of extra bother," he said, his eyes swimming up and down her ripe young body.
"It's no bother," she shrugged. "Might as well make it like home."
He smiled appreciatively, thinking: Home was never like this.
"You don't have no suitcase or nothing?" she asked.
He told her the way it was. His luggage, together with all his books, was stored in a Chicago express office. "I thought I'd wait until I got settled before I sent for it."
"You'll need some work clothes, then, or something."
"I don't want to put you to no bother," he said.
"It's no bother. I like to do things."
He tried to read a meaning into that. What things? Fuck? Stand on a chair and let some guy stare at her half-bare ass?
"What size d'you wear?" she asked him.
"Really-I don't want to put you out."
"Will you shut up and tell me what size you wear?"
There was a long, ripe pause as he stood there.
He slowly gazed upon her, with her little sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice hands on her hips, an impish smile crossing her red mouth, and he wished he could sweep her into his arms and fondle her body.
"Well?" she said.
He told her his sizes.
"I'll get you some towels, too," she said, and she disappeared, and he heard her clip-clopping down the stairway.
Minutes later, she returned, bearing work uniforms, fresh underwear, towels, some toilet articles. "After a while, I'll get you some pictures to put on the walls, and if you want, I got a little portable radio you can use."
"You sure think of everything."
She shrugged, embarrassed by his gratitude. "And the bathroom, it's across the hallway." She stacked the towels neatly in the small dresser, set the toilet articles on the nightstand, and smoothed out the bedspread.
Once again he was trapped into looking at her lovely, curvy bare thighs. His balls churned with itching desire. How nice it would be, he thought. Open my fly, pull my cock out. Stroke it a few times, make it as hard as iron. Then move up to her. Move up to her real quietly. Then, before she knows what's happening, pitch her dress over her ass, pull down her panties, and stick it between her legs and into her cunt.
His thoughts so completely ran away with him that he unconsciously felt himself. But suddenly she straightened up, turned, and said, "Well, I'll get out of your way so you can change, if you want."
He swallowed his desire, trying not to be obvious about how he felt, but knowing he must be very obvious indeed with his pecker sticking straight out.
But if she noticed it, she gave no indication. And he wondered if her naivet� was manufactured or genuine. She was only fifteen or sixteen, he reminded himself, and maybe what the pharmacist had told him was an exaggeration, pure gossip. Maybe this sweet little Kathy-Mae who exuded such perfumed innocence was just as he saw her.
"See you later," she said, heading for the door.
He stared hungrily after her swishing, tight little ass. "Okay, Kathy. And thanks."
She waved and closed the door.
Well, he thought, I think I like all this. And even if she's too young to fuck, there's no law that says a guy can't look. Meanwhile, I can stash away some dough.
He showered, put on the clean work clothes she'd given him, and he was about to go downstairs to the store when there was a rap at his door.
It was Kathy-Mae again, this time bringing him something to eat. "Pa thought you might be hungry," she explained, setting a tray of sandwiches and beer on his nightstand.
"Tell him thanks," he said enthusiastically. "I sure am hungry."
"You like beer, I hope."
"Love it!"
"So do I." She sat on the edge of the bed, a few feet from the tray. She was looking wistfully at the beer. "But Pa thinks fifteen's too young to be drinking high-powered beer."
He wolfed down part of a ham sandwich and he saw that she was still staring at the beer.
"Sometimes I sneak one," she said suddenly.
He started the second half of his sandwich, not oblivious to her hints. She wanted some of his beer.
"What if your Pa found out?"
"How's he going to find out? I'm not dumb enough to tell him, y'know."
It was all he wanted to hear. He said, "Drink some of mine, if you want."
She accepted eagerly, taking several deep swallows. She paused, wiped her mouth, then once again tilted the bottle to her rosy lips.
He allowed her to drink about half the bottle and he made no attempt to stop her. It would be easy to get her drunk, he thought. Get her drunk and fuck the hell out of her. But in order to do that he'd first have to get rid of her old man.
"I'd better be getting downstairs," she said, getting up off the bed and smoothing down her dress. "We usually get busy about this time."
"I'll finish this and be right down," he promised.
"Take your time." She made a few steps toward the door. "And Jim, I'm-I'm glad you're with us. I mean-well, it's kinda like having a brother."
His dark eyes settled on her luscious tits. He didn't feel very brotherly. He said, "Kathy-Mae, that's nice to hear. And I'm glad to be here."
She offered him a warm, meaningful smile and he recognized the signs of a crush. Already she was fond of him and if he cared to risk the consequences, he was sure she would let him fuck her.
He spent the rest of the afternoon doubling back and forth between the gas station and the store. Clay Ramsey showed him how to check out the cars that came into the station: look under the hood, check the water and oil, make a quick inspection of the battery, give them a clean windshield, then collect for whatever gas that had been pumped into their tank. All with a courteous thank you and come back again.
But the gas station did less business than the store-or at least that was Jim's conclusion that first day. And that was just fine, for it caused Ramsey to order him to spend most of his time in the store. And there was nothing wrong with that. Not with a lovable, fuckable teenybopper to keep him company.
She threw him moon eyes most of the afternoon, and that was fine, too. And, naturally, there was an opportunity here and there for little familiarities. Like when they were forced to pass each other, going down the narrow aisle to wait on a customer. He had to brush her little behind or "accidentally" bump her tits. And once, when she had to get by him to reach the cash register, her hand brushed his half-stiff cock.
He wasn't sure whether this was intentional or not. All he was sure of was that it felt good. Not simply good, but terrific!
Towards the later afternoon, a food truck delivered a shipment of boxed breakfast food. Some of the cartons were stored in the tiny back room, but the bulk of it had to be placed on shelves.
Kathy-Mae slid an aluminum stepladder down the aisle. She climbed atop the ladder so that she could reach the shelves where the breakfast cereals were stored.
"You hand 'em up to me, okay?" she said.
His mouth watered. He gazed at the teenager's curvy legs. The view was even better than the one on the steep stairway, or when she'd been in his room adjusting the window shade. He could see everything-her panties, .little tufts of pussy hair that peeped out from the elastic edging, the dark, luscious crack of her ass. '
"Are you going to stand there all day?" she said, waiting for him to hand up the cereal boxes.
He forced himself to look away and reached down into the huge cardboard box on the floor. He grasped several boxes of cereal and began handing them up to her.
But he couldn't take his eyes off her marvelous legs, her huggable ass, her kissable young pussy. Reaching for the cereal, handing it up to her, this was done in blind automation. All his worldly attention was concentrated between the teeny-bopper's slightly parted legs.
A lump grew in his throat. Another lump grew in his pants. He ached to touch her, run his hands over her smooth, firm flesh, stroke her young legs and thighs.
He forced himself to speak. He said, "Maybe I shouldn't say this, but white is my favorite color." She didn't realize he was staring at her wispy panties. She said, "What's that suppose to mean?" And then, as she continued to study his face, she saw where he was looking, and said: "You're not supposed to be looking."
"How can I help it?" He grinned devilishly.
"Stop staring, and hand me the rest of those boxes."
He obeyed part of her command, handing her the boxes. But the looking part, looking up her dress, wondering what her pussy would taste like, that continued.
It was wrong, wrong by all the rules in the book, for a twenty-five-year-old man to look up the dress of a fifteen-year-old girl. But he wondered how many men-twenty-five or fifty-five-would turn their eyes away, especially when the teenager was as curvy and well-developed as this one. And especially, also, when you knew that fifteen-year-old was permitting, even encouraging, you to look under her dress.
He had a big hard-on and he didn't care whether she noticed it or not. In fact, he was kind of hoping she would notice it. Maybe if she saw his stiff cock protruding from his pants, maybe she'd know what to do about it.
When she finally descended from the ladder, he made sure that he stood close enough to her so that his cock made contact with the crack of her ass. She couldn't help but feel it, but she gave no indication of whether she enjoyed it or was repulsed.
Later, she stacked some canned goods on one of the lower shelves, and he noted she was once again careless about her legs. She was in a squat position, legs slightly parted, and he had no difficulty seeing her panties nor the dark shadow behind them.
Some fifteen-year-old girls did this because they didn't know any better. They simply hadn't learned womanly mannerisms of keeping their skirts down and making certain that their legs were kept together. But this one, physically developed beyond her tender years, was something else. She was exposing herself because she wanted to. She wanted him to look, wanted to excite him, wanted him to climb the walls.
By late afternoon, he was so hot that he could have come in his pants. The sight of her, the hunger to fuck somebody so young, the knowledge that she would probably welcome his stiff pecker, was driving him crazy. The only thing that prevented him from feeling her up right there in the store, or taking her into the back room, bending her over a milk case and giving her the meat, was his concern for the consequences.
It was this-worrying what might happen if he got caught-that made him decide to leave her alone. As willing as she might be and as nice as her young cunt might feel, it just wasn't worth the risk of going to jail.
So he cooled things. He paid less attention to her cute remarks and wiggling ass, tried not to look when she managed to expose herself, made a point of keeping a safe distance from her when she had to pass him in the narrow aisles of the tiny grocery store.
After six o'clock, Ramsey closed the station and the store and the three of them went upstairs for supper. Kathy-Mae was surprisingly adept at cooking: liver and fried onions, home fries, creamed peas, and an Italian salad to rival the best.
During the meal, Kathy-Mae played kneesy under the table with him. He tried to ignore her familiarities, engaging in conversation with her father. And Clay Ramsey loved that, for he was a born talker.
Jim also learned that there was another Ramsey daughter: Linda, who was in her freshman year at a downstate business college. Ramsey held high hopes for her, and although he was not unaffectionate to little Kathy-Mae, it was obvious that the older daughter was his favorite.
"Linda'll go a long way," Ramsey said proudly. "Works hard. Got a good head on her." But suddenly his eyes darkened and he looked at the floor. "Only thing is, there's this boyfriend she has. Big thing with them, going together. And if they get too serious-well, y'know how those things are, don't you?"
Jim nodded, but he quickly changed the conversation, saying how great the meal was, and complimenting Kathy-Mae on being the "best little cook in Pennsylvania."
Kathy-Mae blushed. But at the same time, her little tits swelled with pride. And I'd like to suck on 'em, Jim thought. Not fuck her, because she's too young for that, I guess. But just tease her a bit. Tease her and tease myself.
But he wouldn't permit himself to think of this too long. He drew Ramsey into a long conversation about the business; meanwhile, Kathy-Mae cleared the table and did the dishes.
The two of them, he and the old man, sat in the front room, drinking beer, getting acquainted, enjoying a restful fraternity. He rather liked old Ramsey and he could see that the man was lonely, in spite of his two daughters. But the death of his wife was a sensitive subject, apparently, for he mentioned it only briefly.
They gabbed and drank beer until the eleven o'clock TV news was completed, then decided it was time for bed. Kathy-Mae, who had been sitting in the kitchen reading a comic book, closed it and turned out the lights.
Ramsey's bedroom occupied the front portion of the apartment, while Kathy-Mae's was separated from it, being on the opposite side of the hallway. Jim's, of course, was adjacent to Kathy-Mae's.
He was in his room, had peeled off his shirt, when Kathy-Mae quietly opened the door.
"I forgot to say goodnight," she said, standing just inside his room.
Excitement flared between his legs. His eyes roamed up and down her hot young body. She wants to get fucked, he thought. She didn't come in here to say goodnight. She came in here because she wants me to grab her and fuck her. But his resolve to be cautious held firm. He said:
"G'night, Kathy."
A small pout flew across her face. She studied him briefly, apparently debating what she should do.
"What I came to tell you about," she said, looking over his shoulder, "is that that tape over there-" She pointed to a crisscrossing of masking tape that was plastered against the wall, about three feet up from the baseboard. "In case you're wondering what it is, I put it there."
Jim didn't know what she was getting at. He hadn't noticed the masking tape before and couldn't understand why she was mentioning it now.
"The creep that worked here before you came, he made a hole in the wall. I didn't know it was there-I mean, not right away-and this guy, he used to peep through the hole and watch me when I was getting undressed. When I found out about it, that's when I put the tape over the hole." She smiled vaguely. "I thought you might want to know."
Jim didn't say anything, but he was thinking. Thinking plenty. Like, what was the tape doing on this side of the wall? Where it belonged was on her side of the wall. But maybe there was tape on both sides of the wall, he thought. And now, as he stood still and stared at the spot she had pointed out, he heard her say:
"I'll see you tomorrow, Jim."
He half-turned, mumbled abstractedly, and as soon as she had gone from his room, he undressed, turned off his lights, and knelt in front of the spot that was taped up.
Slowly, making sure he was extra quiet, he pulled up an end of one of the strips and peeled it back. Then another strip. Finally, the third and last.
A ray of light poured into his darkened room. It was as he had supposed: there was absolutely no tape on her side of the peephole. A half-inch hole and all he had to do was look! And there were only two conclusions about this: either the fifteen-year-old girl was extremely dumb and knew no better, or else she had hot pants and planned it this way, planned it so he could peep through this hole and watch her.
He took a pillow from his bed, threw it on the floor, sat on it, and pressed his eye to the peephole. Kathy-Mae was standing in front of her dresser mirror, brushing her hair. She was still dressed, but unless his guess was very wrong, in another minute this luscious, wiggly-assed teeny-bopper would be quite undressed!
He was excited before it happened. And suddenly the young girl put down her hairbrush, yawned, moved a few feet closer, and began to take off her clothes.
Without thinking, Jim's hand closed around his cock. He pulled it out of his shorts. Eye to the peephole, he watched the teenybopper stripping down for bed. Jim found himself stroking his huge, stiff pecker. He was going to see it all, he thought. He was going to watch this delicious young cunt take off her clothes, and he was going to do something he hadn't done since high school days. Right here on the floor!
3
She was about six or seven feet away, giving him a perfect view of everything: from the top of her blond head, and on down her lustful, teenaged body to the tips of her toes.
He had stopped speculating whether this was planned or not; he was just too damn excited to care.
Kathy-Mae loosened the fastener behind her dress, grasped the hem of the plaid outfit, and slid it over her head.
Jim was stunned. Stunned and so hot he couldn't breathe! He knew this luscious bit of jailbait had a nice shape, for he had witnessed that much when she was climbing the stairs or stacking canned goods in the store. But he never realized she'd be this nice.
She was in her panties and bra: white skinned, curvy, tempting enough to eat! Fifteen years old, but voluptuous beyond words. Her swollen titties were begging to get out of her brassiere. Her brief white panties scarcely contained the delights between her legs. They were tight, extremely narrow in her crotch, and cut quite high on her teenybopper ass.
She flung her dress over a chair, stretched her arms in the air, and Jim stroked his cock a bit faster. No wonder, he thought, that girls this young get fucked. Maybe the law said that fifteen was too young for fucking, but if that was the case, then why did Mother Nature make them so juicy and tempting? Just to drive a guy nuts?
The girl sailed back to the mirror and did something to her hair. Jim found himself staring at her round little ass. His dreams and desires ran away from reality. He saw himself pulling down her panties and shoving his cock up the crack of her ass. He imagined he heard her moan, but the moan was his own, as he stroked and re-stroked his fast-lengthening cock.
Kathy-Mae threw down the hair brush, pivoted slowly, then came to the bedside. She reached behind her to unfasten the clasp of her bra. Jim waited anxiously, every cell in his body tingling with delight.
Suddenly the teeny hopper's bra fell loose. She lowered the straps and flung-the bra over the bottom of the bed. Her blood-red nipples stared at Jim-or so it seemed to him. Begging for his approval, asking for the passion of his hot, wet tongue.
But his approval was automatic. With his eye pressed to the small peephole, her cute, bouncy titties enlisted all the sexuality he could muster. His balls were never more swollen, nor was his cock ever this hard. The little bitch had him going-and plenty!
He was more certain than ever that Kathy-Mae knew he was pressed to the peephole. She was parading around half-naked, flaunting her titties, shaking her ass, as she traveled back and forth from the dresser to the bed, and she must be doing it for him.
Watching her, he wondered if she would take off her panties before she crawled into bed. He was dying to see her pussy; crazy-anxious to know if she had a lot of hair or just a little, wondering whether the lips of her slit were pink or reddish or flesh-colored.
But Kathy-Mae wasn't about to remove her panties. At least, not yet. Her lovely boobs were sore from their entrapment inside her bra, and now that the bra was tossed aside and her tits were free, she wanted to massage some of the soreness from them.
Jim watched her, his eagerness as swollen as his cock. She grasped a tit in each hand and squeezed gently. Her eyes swam, her lips parted. Jim's hand went faster on his cock.
Kathy-Mae's self-massage was doing more than ridding her of her soreness. It was exciting her! Her little nipples were hardening, forming small telltale erections.
Suddenly she let go of her grapefruits and went for her nipples. She began pulling on them, jacking them off. Her nipples grew larger-berries ripe for plucking and sucking!
Jim let go of his cock briefly, and played with his balls. If she could play with herself, then he could do the same..
Kathy-Mae went faster with her fingers, tweaking and pinching her nipples, causing her cute, bouncy titties to swell and swell and swell. And how long had she been doing this to herself? he wondered. Probably since she first sprouted titties, around ten years of age. And before that, before her tits were big enough to play with, she probably played with that little crack between her legs.
Perhaps the young girl read his mind. In any event, she suddenly released her swollen titties and clutched herself between her legs.
Jim's hand went back to his cock. Kathy-Mae had inserted her tiny fingers inside the elastic ribbing of her panties. Her legs were parted slightly, and as her eyes became suddenly glazed, Jim knew that her finger had reached and then touched her pussy.
Her fist, balled up, filled the entire front side of her panties, and from her motions, Jim knew the little teenager was fucking herself.
He felt less and less concerned about the law, about the fact that she was tender jailbait. Her hot teenybopper body demanded attention, needed it! Her crack was on fire. She craved a good fuck, so the hell with the law.
And Kathy-Mae apparently thought the hell with everything. She'd given herself over to her finger, let passion take its course. It felt too good to stop, nor was she intending to.
She frantically tore off her panties and Jim very nearly went through the wall. Her young pussy was less than a foot from the wall. He could see wet drops of excitement on the lips of her pussy. Love juice. Her cream. And hair? Just a nice bush. Not too thick, and blond, like the hair of her head.
She spread her legs wide apart, faced the peephole, and began playing with her clitoris. She used the tip of her finger and worked with obvious expertise.
Now the fifteen-year-old arched backwards and squatted slightly, so that she appeared to be sitting on an invisible chair. She divorced her finger from the rosebud of her swollen clitoris and inserted it into the hot, wet darkness of her cunt.
She sank her finger inside, all the way to her knuckles. Her mouth popped open. Her eyes were more glazed than ever. Hot, she was. Just as hot and excited as any fifteen-year-old can get.
And now pumping herself. Pumping her finger in and out of her hole. A finger-fuck. A teeny-bopper jacking off.
He could not contain himself. Not for another minute. He had to do likewise. Juvenile as it might be, he had to jack off.
But she was just as swept up in her sexual hunger as he was. Fucking herself. Working her finger back and forth just as fast as she could, pretending that some boy was on top of her, in between her outstretched thighs, and fucking hell out of her.
- She squeezed her eyes shut and sailed higher and higher. Her stomach muscles gleamed with sweat. Spasms of near-orgasm gripped her. Her ass pumped upward as her finger pumped downward.
Suddenly, Jim heard the teenager moan. Her finger took its deepest plunge. Her thighs squeezed shut on her hand. Her lips clamped together.
Euphoria lit up in her face.
At the same instant, Jim felt the hot gush of his- gism. It soared up from his balls, flooded the vessels of his cock, and came spurting and shooting from the head of his dick, enough of it to fill a cunt to overflowing. His creamy come splattered the wall, streamed to the floor, and puddled in front of his knees.
She, too, had got her nuts off. Now the spasms were ebbing, and she was catching her breath.
He came away from the peephole, cleaned up the mess he'd made, and formed a conclusion: He was going to fuck this little nymph on the other side of the wall. Fuck her good and proper. Maybe it was against the law, he thought, but try and tell a stiff cock about the law!
Much to his dismay, fucking the little teenager was a problem. Her old man hung around like glue. Never went anywhere during the evening and seldom left the gas station or grocery store during business hours.
Jim thought about giving the kid a fuck in the back room behind the store. Just a quick one, to see what it was like. But that was a problem, too. Salesmen and customers popped in unpredictably. And there was no telling when old man Ramsey might leave the gas station and come into the store.
So there was nothing he could do but bide his time and wait. Walk around with a hard-on and content himself with an occasional feel. And Kathy-Mae didn't seem to mind these liberties he took. When she squeezed him in the narrow aisleway of the store, and he happened to pinch her soft, round ass, she just rolled her eyes and smiled.
Naturally, her apparent willingness to lay around caused him to become bolder. He felt her up more frequently, reached under her skirt and goosed her on one occasion; and on another day, when he chanced to catch her bent over a milk case, and she'd worn a low-cut sweater, he saw the top of her boobies and was unable to resist the urge that prevailed. He flung his hand inside her sweater, cupped the hand around one of her brassiered titties, then squeezed gently.
She giggled, said something about his hand being cold, and before he could get inside her brassiere, see what her bare titties felt like, a customer came into the store. And after that, another; and then a salesman. So he had to give up the quest-at least for that morning.
His desire didn't lessen, however. He was determined he would fuck her, that it was simply a matter of time and place. And from her actions, the short, sexy skirts she wore, flaunting her bare thighs, jiggling her titties in front of him, Jim was positive she wanted to be fucked.
Their evenings were much like the first one. Beer, old man Ramsey bragging about Linda, the daughter who was in college, or yak-yakking about the sad state of the country. Kathy-Mae remained silently in the background, and Jim had to content himself with stolen glances.
The peephole in his room offered him stolen glances of another kind: watching her undress or play with herself. But this was no longer enough. He wanted to do more than simply look at her; he wanted to feel the warm smoothness of her bare flesh; he wanted to smell the exciting secrets between her legs; taste her juices, lick her tits; hear her sigh and moan. But how? How and when?
And then, on the second Thursday after he arrived, the opportunity presented itself. Ramsey didn't feel well. He thought it was the flu, he said. Nausea, headache, and a feeling of dizziness.
Jim suggested he remain in bed.
"Kathy-Mae can manage the store, Mr. Ramsey, and I'll take care of the station."
"You sure you can handle things?"
"Sure, we'll get by."
"All right, then. But if you get too busy down there, you come and get me, y'hear?"
Jim told him he would. Then he and Kathy-Mae went downstairs. He pinched Kathy-Mae's ass, kissed her on the neck, then went out and opened up the station.
The first hour was rough. Guys going to work, stopping to fill up. The store was rushed, too: kids getting school supplies, mothers rushing in for that forgotten milk or lunch meat or loaf of bread. But by ten, things had quieted down, and Jim slipped into the store to see what Kathy-Mae was doing.
He found her occupied with a comic book. She was sitting on a milk case, her legs propped on another, her skirt up around her panties, and she didn't try to cover herself when he came back of the counter.
He looked briefly between her legs, saw the pink of her panties, then wondered about throwing her a fuck. It was quiet upstairs, so was her old man asleep or what? He decided to find out.
He tip-toed up the stairs, eased the door open and looked inside. The TV was playing softly and Ramsey was asleep on the couch.
Great! he thought. Now I can make her. Introduce her to Mister Peter. Show her where Mister Peter goes. Spread her legs and stick it to her.
She was still absorbed with the comic book when he returned to the store. He went behind the counter, stood a few feet away from her, and stared between her parted legs. His prick started to thump. Just a glance at the silky pink of her panties and, goddam nit, he was ready to explode.
Kathy-Mae, too absorbed in her comic book, or simply playing it coy, failed to acknowledge his presence. She flipped the pages, slapped her gum around in her mouth, and closed and re-opened her milky-white thighs.
Jim moved closer. He dropped his hand to her bare knee. She looked up nonchalantly, said "Hi," then went back to her comic book.
He looked between her legs. Little tufts of blond pussy hair peeped out from the edges of her thin pink panties. His cock jumped.
Now he let his hand slide along the inside of her thigh. He tickled her bare flesh with the tips of his fingernails. She chewed harder on her gum.
His fingers roamed nearer to her crotch. An inch separated the tips of his fingers from the bush of her pantied cunt. He could no longer restrain himself, however. He had to touch her, and did. Right in the seat of her panties. Right in the dampness that kissed her cunt.
She looked up with a start. "Just what do you think you're doin'?"
There was no belligerence in her tone or expression, so he said, "Trying to play with your pussy."
"Is my father-"
"He's asleep." He continued to play with her panties, poking at the spot that covered her young pussy.
She was clearly aroused by his ministrations, no longer able to look at her comic book, and not quite certain what to do. ' "Feel good?" he asked.
She nodded.
He fingered her some more. She began to squirm. Now to get inside her panties, he thought. And motion followed desire.
He worked his finger around the edge of her flimsy pink panties. She didn't resist him and ooh'd and ah'd when he finally touched the moist lips of her teenybopper pussy.
"You like?"
She nodded again.
He slid his finger up and down the outside of her cunt, not roughly, but with just enough pressure to continue the arousal.
She went a little bit insane, gripping the milk case tightly, mouthing down on her lower lip, half shutting her eyes. She squirmed against his finger, making him certain that boys by the bushel had done at least this much, if not more. Her pussy lips swelled with excitement, and Jim prayed silently that no one would come into the store. He was going to fuck this young chick and he was going to do it now.
He shoved his finger inside her cunt. She coughed and choked and swallowed her gum. Her eyes watered, and Jim grinned, and worked his finger deeper and deeper inside her warm, slippery cunt.
He could have just about popped" his nuts at this point. His hotness was enormous. The wondrous thrill of probing the youngster's willing twat was more than his excited prick and balls could stand. But he fought down his desire to come. His jizz belonged in her young pussy, not in his shorts.
Kathy-Mae loved what he was doing. Her eyes had glazed with pleasure and now she was breathing through her mouth.
"Let's go in the back," he suggested.
She readily agreed, climbed off the milk case, took his hand, and they went behind the curtained doorway.
The barren back room was a storage area more than anything else: uncrated canned goods, empty egg crates, and case upon case of returned pop bottles; and it appeared, on first glance, that it would be impossible to fuck her back here, except by standing up.
But Kathy-Mae's vision-or experience-closed in on a stack of empty burlap potato sacks. They were in a corner, between two stacks of pop cases.
She spread them out, then drew him down.
He snuggled beside her, hugging her, kissing her anxious mouth, groping under her skirt, stroking her smooth young legs and thighs, fingering her panties.
"We'll have to do it quick," she said.
"I don't care," he said. He pulled down her panties and touched the soft down of her pussy hair.
"Heavens, how I love your hand," she whispered.
He slipped his middle finger into her cunt, worked it around.
"This is what I want," she said boldly, and reached for the fly of his pants.
He raised his hips slightly, enabling her to get inside his pants and shorts. She grasped the head of his dick and pulled it out.
"You got a nice one," she said, not trying to disguise her experience. "Nice and big and hard."
He twisted to the thrill her small hand was bringing him. She was sliding his foreskin back and forth, slowly, tickling the mouth of his prick with the tip of her fingernail.
A buzz of excitement grew in his balls and spread all through his loins, then shot back to his dick. He rammed his finger deep inside her young cunt. Her love juice soaked his knuckles, streamed from her pussy and coursed down the crack of her ass.
"Do it to me, Jim," she begged quietly. "Put it in." She pulled on his prick, leading it to her greedy, wet slit.
He swung between her legs, now drawn toward her stomach. His cock and balls dangled at the mouth of her pussy. She grasped his cock like a baseball bat and pushed it into her fiery cunt.
A wet hotness enveloped him. Never in all his life had a cunt felt so thrilling. She was everything a man could want: willing and eager, pretty beyond words, an eroticized child with the worst case of hot pants that he had ever encountered.
"Fuck me, Jim!" she moaned. "Hurry!"
He sank his cock into her, all the way to his swollen, hairy balls. A billion thrills engulfed him, engulfed her.
He slid out an inch or so, then slid back. In -and out, back and forth.
"Go fast!" she urged him.
He quickened the fuck. Out of her slit, into her slit, a jab for him and a jab for her. A fuck for my honey, a fuck for me.
She drew her legs back as far as they would go. Her creamy ass bounced against his muscular flanks, and it was difficult to say whether she was leading the fuck or he was.
He pumped furiously, driving his cock in harder and harder, faster and faster.
She was too hot to speak. All she could do was shake her head-yes! yes! yes!
And his stuff was coming. He was coming much faster than he wanted, but it couldn't be helped. He was too hot, too damn excited.
But it didn't matter, he discovered. She was as hot as he was. Ready to pop her nuts, ready to gush her juice in with his.
"I'm coming, honey!" she shrieked. "I-I'm- ohh, Jim! J-Jim-I-I-I'm-" Suddenly, a loud, low moan broke from her throat. She thrust her ass up in the air.
Jim dueled her: his prick, her cunt. His jizz came out like a bullet. He grasped her bobbing ass, banged his cock to the bottom of her young cunt, moaned, and then they sank back to their rough burlap bed.
He didn't stay in her very long: too much chance that someone would come into the store.
"I like to do it longer," she complained, as he climbed to his feet and zipped up his pants.
"Me, too," he said, "but what are y'gonna do. I mean, if somebody comes-"
She giggled. "Somebody did!"
"You can say that again," he said.
"All right, I will. Somebody did come."
He kissed her wet lips, pressed himself against her hot young body. "And it was soo good," he said, following the kiss, "that I might want to do it again."
"Suits me," she answered. "I can do it just as often as you can." And then with a smirk: "Maybe I can do it more than you can."
"We'll have to see."
"Anytime you want," she said. "Anytime at all."
She proved good on her word, too. Jim discovered that his fifteen-year-old mistress would fuck him anytime he wished, which as events proved out, was fairly often.
The fuck sessions were, of necessity, quick ones, but that did not detract from their pleasure. If old man Ramsey was particularly busy in the station, Jim would manage a quickie in the back room, sometimes standing up, sometimes bending her over a milk case, and sometimes on the burlap.
Kathy-Mae was unusually cooperative. Most of the time, she wore no panties. All he had to do was lift her dress, part the lips of her young cunt, and shove in his stiff cock.
When, for one reason or another, he couldn't fuck her in the store, they sometimes managed it upstairs: a fast one when the two of them were supposed to be grabbing a sandwich, with old man Ramsey running back and forth between the gas station and the store.
All of this, fucking the fifteen-year-old in her father's shadow, was risky as hell, and he knew it. But she was so goddamn nice, so ripe, so hot, so willing and eager to fuck, that logic went out the window. He fucked her every chance he got and he knew he would continue to do so for as long as he could.
At night, they would frequently sneak into the bathroom and lock the door. They would embrace and kiss and feel each other up. On such occasions, she wore a thin nightie, with nothing underneath. He would wear a robe, and that was it.
In scant seconds, she had the robe parted and was playing with his peter, fondling it, making it hard. He, at the same time, would raise her nightie and finger her cunt. Seconds later, he would straddle her legs on the wash basin. Then, she in a sitting position, he standing up, the fuck would begin. Soon, he'd shoot a load of his hot come into her constricting, sucking pussy, and then they'd steal back to their beds.
Once, when the old man had to go to the bank, they locked up the store, raced upstairs, and fucked for nearly an hour. On that occasion they removed all their clothes, and Jim was able to suck her precious, lovely titties as he fucked her. He was able to covet her bare flesh, feel its indescribably curvy wonders, stroke her ass, palm her tits, fuck her until he was too weak to move.
But with all their fucking and playing around, jacking each other off, trying this and trying that, Jim had carelessly overlooked the most ecstatic thrill of them all: to eat her. To eat her moist young pussy and to let her suck his prick.
The problem was: how to approach her. Women and older girls were more sophisticated about such things, and, therefore, more willing. But a tender young thing such as Kathy-Mae might be repulsed by such an action.
But desire overruled logic. Jim had to find out what it was like to suck the fifteen-year-old's pussy, and there was only one way to find out: suck it!
On the following day, when business grew slack, and old man Ramsey was busy tuning up a Ford pick-up, Jim went into action. He coaxed the girl between two aisles of stacked canned goods. Kathy-Mae had a puzzled expression. "We can't do anything here."
"Some things we can," he said. "Nobody can see us unless they come down the aisle."
"But-"
"Don't be afraid. We can hear if anybody comes in the store."
She bridled, and more so when he assumed a kneeling position in front of her.
"What are you fixing t'do?" she asked.
"Pull your dress up," he ordered.
"Do what?"
"Pull your dress up, goddamnit!"
His scorn worried her, apparently. She obeyed his command, grasping the hem of her short navy-blue jumper and drawing it up to her waist.
She was naked beneath the jumper, of course, and as he looked up at her inviting blond pussy, he was overwhelmed by the obsession to suck and suck and suck.
She immediately sensed what he was about to do, and though he couldn't fathom whether she was pleased or displeased, he noted that she did spread her legs wider apart.
He raised up and poked his tongue out. Kathy-Mae kept her head rotating, making certain that no one was coming into the store. Jim reached his goal. His hot eager tongue slipped inside the youngster's moist cunt. Kathy-Mae let out a surprised gasp.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing. I-I just didn't think it would feel that nice."
He was glad that nobody had ever sucked her pussy before. At least he was first with something. "Do it some more," she urged. "I like it."
Not half as much as I do, he thought. And greedily, he plunged his face into her furry offering. He kissed her pubic hair, licked her hot tummy, the insides of her smooth, milky thighs, and the musky wetness of her delicious, teenaged crack.
She went deliriously, wondrously mad when he dipped his tongue into her honey-pot and began to suck. Mad and crazy and overjoyed. And the deeper his tongue probed her cunt, the more she moaned. He felt her coming, felt her shooting off, felt her relax, only to re-excite as he sucked on and on and on.
He sucked every last drop of joy juice from her quivering, baby-sized cunt, and he made her so weak that she could scarcely support herself.
"I never dreamed it would feel so-so cool," she gasped, "I mean, it-it's the greatest!"
"Sure it is." He wiped his mouth and straightened his shirt.
"But what about you?" she asked, glancing at the lump in his pants.
"What about it?"
"Want me to take care of you?"
"How?"
"With my hand, how else?"
"I had something else in mind."
"You mean-" He nodded. "Will you?"
"You know I will," she said, "if that's what you want."
He nodded again, then opened his pants.
His dick sprung out, larger, redder, more swollen than he ever remembered it. Kathy-Mae looked at it with a trace of apprehension. She glanced over the top of the canned goods, assuring herself that they were still safe.
"Maybe we oughta go in the back," she said.
He agreed, and at this point he would have agreed to anything.
In the back room, she went immediately to her knees. She looked fondly at his stiff cock, grasped it at its base and slowly parted her pretty, teenybopper lips.
He was not sure what to expect out of her, whether she was sucking his cock out of pure acquiescence, or whether she was stricken with a genuine desire to also please herself. But the instant that the contact of girl-mouth and man-cock was accomplished, he knew that their desire was mutual. The initial hesitancy vanished and she began sucking on his cock as though it were a lifeline to heaven.
She sucked greedily.
He grabbed her by her blond head. He guided her down to the base of his cock, so that the tip of his organ was halfway down her throat.
She didn't gag and she loved every inch of him, sucking him off like crazy. Tremors of delight built from the curl of his toes to the tingle of his scalp. Delight piled upon delight, joy rushed through every cell in his body.
"Suck it, baby! Suck my cock!"
"I am," she moaned from the side of her mouth. "I'm sucking you off, Jim. Sucking your cock!" She used her tongue. "Are you going to come?"
"You bet your sweet ass I am," he said. She sucked some more. "D'you want to come in my mouth, Jim?"
"Can I?"
"I want you to, honey. I want you to squirt your juice all around, on my tongue, down my throat-just everywhere!"
Her words, her slobbering, sucking mouth drove him up the wall. His cock was ready to burst. The juice was coming. Coming up out of his balls. Out of his balls, into his cock, into her hungry, young mouth.
He moaned like it hurt him, but it was the most exquisite pleasure he had ever felt. And then another moan, louder.
"Ohhh! Kathy-Christ! Suck! Suck it out! Ohhh! Ohhh! Y-Yes!" He screamed in joy. Kathy moaned. And suddenly, out and beyond the sweet darkness of erotic joy, there was another moan, not his, not Kathy-Mae's.
"What a fuckin' helluva thing for a father to have to discover."
Kathy-Mae fell away from Jim's dripping cock. Jim froze with fear. Old man Ramsey, a murderous rage in his dark, shiny eyes, stood just inches away. He held a meat cleaver in his fisted hand. He moved slowly toward them....
4
Clay Ramsey viciously backhanded Kathy-Mae. "Get your ass up them steps, young lady! Get in your room and stay there."
Her face now stinging-red from his slap, Jim's jism still at the comers of her mouth, she scrambled to her feet and mounted the stairs two at a time.
Ramsey looked after her. Then, the cleaver still in his right hand, he directed his dark steely eyes upon Jim, who was now zipping up his pants.
"I oughta kill you," he spat.
Jim stood silent. His feelings vacillated from shame to fear. If Ramsey swung the cleaver, he'd have to move fast to escape its terror. Swing right and hope that Ramsey missed, then leap at him and try to overpower him.
But Ramsey held his ground. He said:
"And the law'd be behind me, y'know. Court's got no feeling for your kind. None at all."
Jim continued his silence. He knew that there was little which could be said in his defense, and he also knew that anything he did say would only anger Ramsey all the more.
It was this, his silence, his penitent expression, lowered eyes, which braked Ramsey's violent outburst.
He flung the cleaver behind him. "But it takes two, doesn't it? If Kathy-Mae wasn't half-ways willing, it couldn't have happened."
Jim didn't know what to say. His awkwardness grew.
"But that's the bad blood in her," Ramsey went on. "Like her mother. Just no damn good." He paused. Now his eyes narrowed. "Didn't know about her mother, did you? Thought she just up and died, didn't you?"
Jim was again confounded by what to say. He had accepted Ramsey's earlier explanation-that his wife died a few years ago-and hadn't thought it proper to probe deeper.
"Well, she ain't dead. She's alive as you are. Off in California, last I heard. Shacked up. Shacked up with that fuckin' soap salesman she run off with."
"I'm sorry-"
"Don't be. Maybe it's the best thing that ever happened to me."
"Well-"
"And Kathy-Mae's gonna be just like her. Got the same hot bitch look in her eyes, swings her ass the way her mother does, and don't give a hoot in hell for books or learning." His expression re-hardened. "But that don't mean I wanna see her fuckin' around right in front of me. I can't take that and I don't intend to."
"If you want me to leave-"
"That'd be the best thing. Get your things together and clear out. But,-" a shrewd gleam came to his narrowed dark eyes-"since you're a goddamn girl-killer, or think you are, maybe there's a use for you around here." He grinned craftily, but Jim didn't find any warming reassurance that the trouble was over; in fact, the old man's sly ambivalence led him to believe that the trouble had only begun.
Ramsey continued, "You could help me with Linda."
"Linda?"
"My own daughter. She'll be coming home this weekend right after her mid-semester exams are over." The glint in his eyes grew brighter. "She and that smarty-assed boyfriend of hers are getting too damn serious, if you ask me. And that's what worries me." He brooded briefly. "But I think jjou could fix things. I think you could fix things just fine."
Jim didn't see what he was getting at.
"I want you to move in," the old man said.
"To what?"
"Move in. Take her over."
The scheme of the old man's thinking was suddenly apparent, and he didn't care to become involved.
"If it's all the same to you, Mr. Ramsey, I'd rather not. And I can get my things together and be out of here in ten minutes."
"You sure could," his aged adversary said, "and that'd be the easy way, wouldn't it? But things ain't gonna be that easy. You fooled with Kathy-Mae and, by God, you ain't gonna up and run off. And if you did and I went to the police and told 'em what happened-well, they'd be looking for you, wouldn't they?"
The taint of fear was fresh. And perhaps more unnerving than the threat of Ramsey's cleaver. They could lock him up for a long time for fooling around with an underage girl. He knew it and Ramsey knew it.
"But there's no call to bring the police into this," Ramsey added quickly. "You help straighten out Linda and I reckon I can just up and forget about what took place between you and Kathy-Mae." He waited, anxiously studying Jim's reaction.
By way of concession, Jim said, "What makes you think I can help?"
Ramsey said, "I just know." He got two bottles of beer from the cooler, opened them, and handed one to Jim. "I know my girls and I know what they're like. Kathy-Mae's empty-headed and boy-crazy, and there ain't no hope for her. But Linda-well, she's a darn side brighter. Brighter and got a future. And that makes her worth saving, and the way I look at it, if you play up to her, she'll up and forget this other boyfriend of hers, and my worries'll be over."
"And you think it'll be that easy."
"I know it will. I told you I know my girls and I know just how fickle Linda is."
"Maybe I'm not her type."
Ramsey fed on his beer. "You are."
"What if it doesn't work?"
"It will," Ramsey said confidently. "She'll take to you like a duck to water. And Homer whatever-the-hell-his-name-is will be out." He sat on the butcher block. "What d'you think?"
Jim shrugged. He couldn't refuse the old bastard. Not without stirring his temper anew and risking a brush with the law.
"I can try," he said, without enthusiasm.
"Sure y'can." Ramsey glowed. "Y'can and y'will." He sucked more beer into his throat. "But you can't be bashful-like with her. Linda likes the forward kind."
Jim looked up sharply. How forward did Ramsey intend him to be? Was he suggesting that he be sexually forward? He decided to ask.
"D'you mean . . ."
"I mean what I say," Ramsey cut in. "You ain't gonna turn her cheek on this Homer fellow by just using your big blue eyes. You're gonna have to court her the way courtin's done, and if that includes taking her to bed, then, by God, that's what you'll have to do."
Jim couldn't hide his surprise.
Ramsey explained, "This might sound like a helluva thing for a father to say, but the truth is, getting in her pants ain't gonna ruin her life. But if she up and marries before she's ready, quits school and gets chained down to some city asshole like this Homer guy, well, that can ruin a lot of things. Fuck up her life pretty good. And I'd rather see somebody like you fuck up her hole than somebody like him fuck up her life." He took a long swallow of his beer. "Doesn't that make sense?"
Jim was forced to nod his agreement, for as offensive, as gross, as the old coot's remarks might be, the logic was sound. Still and all, a father telling you it was perfectly all right for you to fuck his daughter seemed beyond belief.
"You really mean all this?" Jim asked, wanting to confirm what he'd heard.
"Sure, I mean it. She's getting too all-fired serious about this sonofabitch, and I wanna put a stop to it."
"Ever think of having a talk with her?"
"With Linda? You must be out of your cotton-pickin' mind. She's the stubbornest critter you ever saw. Tell her to do one thing and she'll turn and do another." He scratched his backside. "There's only one way to break up her and this Homer, and that's the way I already told you. Just take over."
Jim remained skeptical. The old man had over-simplified things. There were sane arguments why it might not work and fewer reasons to say it would Work. But Ramsey was just as stubborn as the daughter he had described, and it was useless to try and influence his thinking.
Ramsey set down his empty beer bottle. "Now we can be right friendly about all this. Forget about Kathy-Mae and what y'did. Or else ... we can be kinda unfriendly, if y'know what I mean."
Jim knew exactly what the old bastard meant. Play ball or expect trouble.
"And if you take a notion to slip away when my back's turned," he went on, "it won't make a particle of difference to the police. Cause wherever y'go, sooner or later, they'll latch on t'you." He paused. "You understand, Jim?"
"Yes sir," he said meekly. "I understand."
"That's fine," Ramsey said, gloating victoriously. "Now what say to another beer?"
His sleep was torn by worry that same night. He hadn't wanted to become involved in Ramsey's family problems, but involved he was. Deeply involved. Right up to his asshole. And there was no way out. He had to follow Ramsey's orders or risk the consequences.
He blamed his predicament on Kathy-Mae, of course. If she hadn't been so luscious, so available, so utterly irresistible, he wouldn't have got fucked up the way he was. Monkey around with jailbait, and this was his just reward, it seemed.
So now he had learned a bitter lesson, he told himself. And he wasn't going to mess with her ever again. She could go fly a kite, her and her blond fuzzy pussy. He wasn't having any. He'd simply stay away from her. Give her the freeze.
But less than twelve hours later, his resolution died. A new load of canned goods was delivered. And soon after he began stacking the cans on the shelves, starting with the bottom shelf, then working up, he felt Kathy-Mae's presence, looked up, and there she was: smirking slightly, wearing a short little-girl dress, one that looked as though it belonged on a ten-year-old, and absolutely naked underneath. No panties. Just a warm, moist, furry-haired cunt to stare at-hopefully, to resist.
He greeted her on the briefest of terms, sullenly turning back to what he was doing.
"Are you mad?" she asked. "Nope."
"You act it."
"Just using my head."
"I like it better when you use other things."
"That's over with. Your father and I had a long talk."
"About me?"
"About a lot of things." He tore open a carton of vegetable soup. "And from now on, we're behaving ourselves."
She was silent. But she didn't budge from her stance. He sensed her standing beside him, her short, flared dress exposing her lovely pink slit. A wild child of the boldest sort, and he experienced a compulsion to look. To look and look and look.
"What did he say about me?" she asked.
"I think you know," he said coldly, still fighting the compulsion to stare at her pussy. "Didn't he say anything to you?"
"Damn right, he did. He whipped my ass good. Said I'd wind up in a bad girls' school if I didn't mind my habits. But he's all the time telling me that."
"Then maybe it's time you start listening to him."
"Oh, I listen, all right." And she left the statement dangling in the air, letting him finish it in thought: That she listened, yes, but that, in practice, she did as she pleased.
But her juicy, tempting body wasn't going to tempt him, he told himself. No matter how she phrased the invitation or how erotically her young pussy quivered in his face, he had the power to resist. But the fallacy of his resolve was simply this: while his mind had the strong will-power to say no, he discovered that his cock had no will-power at all. It grew hard and stiff. An invisible force compelled him to glance up at her tender, willing-and-waiting pussy; and when this pretty, young child said: "Pa's awful busy in the station, right now," he dropped the canned goods in his hands and rose to the occasion.
Rose to the occasion? He was on all fours and he simply raised his face, nuzzled it between her anxious thighs, then dipped his hot, wet tongue into her moist honey pot.
"Mmmmmm, I like that!" she sighed.
He was too busy lapping her cunt to answer.
"I'll watch the door," she said. "You keep sucking."
That he did. Hard and deep. Sucking her little pussy as fast as he could. Sucking out the drops of joy juice, sucking out her creamy come, making her go wild with joy.
"I sure do love that," she said, raising her dress higher. "I could have you do that for hours and hours."
He sucked harder, making sure he didn't miss a single drop of her creamy outpouring, and when he felt her rising and trembling, wiggling her curvy ass for still another orgasm, he took out his cock, jerked it back and forth, and squirted his jizz all over her loafers, coming at the same instant she did.
After she had wiped off her shoes and he had wiped off the head of his dick, she said:
"That was fun!"
And while he could not disagree with her uninhibited enthusiasm, he was disappointed in himself. Disappointed that he had been unable to resist her. Disappointed that this young snatch, barely into puberty, could command all his senses. But he later rationalized he was getting his due. He had agreed to help Ramsey with this hair-brained scheme of his, so why shouldn't he fuck the fifteen-year-old if he could? Besides, having already been caught in the act, Ramsey could do no more than catch him again, and if he hadn't shot his ass off the first time, it wasn't likely he would do so on other occasions.
This bit of reasoning was, of course, lacking in all logic. But it was exactly the kind of self-deception that man practices to justify his wrongdoings, which in Jim's case, meant that he was going to fuck the teenybopper as often as he was able.
There was another problem also. He hadn't popped her cherry. She'd been making it with boys since she was ten. So there was no reason for feeling guilty. And if he and Kathy-Mae wanted to screw ... well, why not?
They went at sex like it was going out of style. Twice that afternoon, once during the evening.
The following morning she jacked him off in the hallway, before they went down to the store. After the milkman made his delivery, at about ten, she went down on her knees and sucked Jim's prick. He shot a big load of jizz into her mouth, and after that he was so weak he could scarcely move. No more for today, he told himself, but Kathy-Mae had other ideas.
She played with his dick until it got hard again, then lowered her short-shorts, climbed up his frame, and made him fuck her. It was quite an effort, doing it standing up, and trying to come when he thought he was bone-dry. But in the end, it was worth the effort. It felt terrific! And it felt terrific for her, too. And their exhaustion was a delightful euphoria which defied description.
All this fucking and sucking should have been enough for them, he reasoned. Enough for anybody. But that afternoon the old man had to go into town: to the bank, to the wholesaler, then to an auto parts store. He wouldn't return until suppertime, he said, and maybe after.
To little Kathy-Mae, this was a signal to fuck, to do every wild pleasure that the devil invented. And the instant that her father's car pulled away from the station, she unzipped Jim's pants and started to rub his cock.
Jim was sure she was wasting her time. Surely his cock wouldn't harden again-not this soon-he thought. And he told her so.
But she grinned devilishly and said:
"Betcha you're wrong."
And her hands proved she was right. She played gently with his balls, tickled their undersides, then ran her slender fingers up and down the crack of his ass. He trembled with delight. And soon his cock was throbbing to life, growing stiffer, bigger.
At her insistence, and despite the risk, he hung a Closed sign on the door, and they went into the back room and stripped off their clothes.
She wanted to suck him off again, she said, and she wanted to do it while he was sucking her. This was fine with him. He enjoyed lapping her quivering, hot-lipped pussy; and he loved the madness that her lips and tongue brought to his thumping cock. She licked the soreness out of it, sucked away the crusted semen of previous orgasms, and soothed him with the gentle warmth of her experienced tongue. .
"You taste good," she said, licking a drop of come from the slit of his prick head.
He lifted his face from between her firm young legs. "So do you."
She gobbled his dick with more fervor. It hurt, but pleasantly. He watched her red lips plunging up and down his thick shaft. Her titties bobbed with her joy. Her hair flew in every direction and she couldn't go fast enough to suit herself. She was a born cocksucker, he thought. She loves to mouth a man's dick, and there were no two ways about it.
But, by the same token, his own perversion was just as absolute as hers. He loved to dive between a girl's legs and suck her pussy. And when the girl was jailbait, he zoomed to joys unknown. And if his sucking could make the girl come, which it always did with this fifteen-year-old, then his pleasure was even greater.
They continued in this way for another four or five minutes. Kathy-Mae came twice and she was approaching the hot plateau of still another orgasm. He, in turn, knew that her sweet teenaged tongue was about to make him come. She sensed his passion and said:
"Fuck me, honey! Get on top of me and fuck me!"
He obeyed like a beaten dog. He climbed over her, sank between her luscious legs, aimed his dick, then shoved.
One never got tired of fucking, he thought. You never got used to the ultimate pleasure: the wild, joyous thrill of sinking your dick into a young girl's cunt. Each time was better than the last.
They clutched like mad when they came. Tore at one another's bodies, embraced, kissed, hugged, thrashed wildly, moaned their joy, then fell limp and exhausted, kissed again, whispered how wonderful it had been.
Nor was it the end of their orgy. For an hour later, she led him upstairs, took him into the bathroom, lifted her dress, bent over the bathtub, and directed him to fuck her in the ass.
He played with his prick, made it get hard, but then discovered he couldn't get it in her tight asshole. There was no Vaseline, so he went to the kitchen, smeared some butter up and down his cock, then returned to the task at hand.
With some coaxing and ass-wiggling, he finally managed the insertion. Just the tip of his dick, at first. But with supreme efforts, more pushing and maneuvering, he managed the head of his dick, then the rest.
He balanced himself by grasping her thighs. He secured leverage from the bottom of the tub, then commenced to pump. She moaned so loudly that he thought he was hurting her. But when he stopped, she kicked the tub and told him to keep going.
He started stroking again, marveling at her capacity for sex, getting it in the ass and loving it, wanting every inch he could offer.
He got his hands on her tits and pulled at them while he was pumping his dick into her asshole. Her pleasure sky-rocketed. She screamed with joy. She reached behind her, dug her nails into his flanks, and squeezed with happiness.
"Ohhh, how-how g-great! Shit!" she screamed.
He sank into her hot, bouncy ass, all the way to his balls. The last inch of him disappeared between the round, kissable cheeks of her young behind. Thrill mounted thrill and he could no longer control himself.
"I think ... I think I'm gonna . .. ohhh, Kathy! Kathy! Kathy, I'm coming!" he shrieked.
The crack of her ass squeezed hard on his cock. She moaned in unison. Her ass wiggled wildly and then the hot stuff was pouring through his dick, shooting into her ass, overpowering them with the thrilling joy of it all.
And afterwards, when she was sponging his limp dick with a warm washcloth, when his physical resources were as limp as his dick, he said:
"Well, I guess we've tried everything."
"That's what you think," she said, grinning impishly. "I know a whole lot of things we haven't tried. I've been saving 'em up for a surprise."
"I don't think I'll live for another piece of tail," he said, leaning heavily against the bathroom wall. "I've had it!"
She grinned girlishly, then clicked her tongue. "You just had a little," she said. "The best part's still to come!"
5
On Friday night, Jim's work was cut out for him. Linda was home from college, and he found her taller and more slender than her kid sister. But she wasn't any the less appealing, he decided quickly. He liked long-legged girls with lively dark eyes, and her modestly proportioned titties and ass were nothing to be ashamed of.
Homer, her boyfriend, was visiting with his parents in upper New York; he would join her late Sunday afternoon, she explained.
"Which is perfect," old man Ramsey whispered to him while she was out of the room. "With him out of the way, y'got an inside track. And I can tell, from the way she's been looking at you, you won't have much trouble."
Jim didn't reply, but he continued to think Ramsey's scheme a bad idea. He didn't care to be involved in this sort of underhandedness and he doubted" it would work anyway. But Ramsey didn't want to hear any protests at this late date. He was certain that Jim could capture his daughter's feelings, thereby alienating her from Homer, the boy she wanted to marry. All simple enough, according to Ramsey, but as Jim envisioned it, it could very well be one huge fuck-up!
"Linda," old man Ramsey said to his daughter, "bein' as your feller won't be here for a few days, and bein' as Jim here ain't seen much of our town, why don't you take my car and show him around?"
"I'd like to," she said, stacking the last of the supper dishes. "That is, if he wants to."
Jim shared a brief secret glance with old man Ramsey. He said:
"It's all right with me."
She flashed him a smile, then glanced down at her clothes. "I'll go get changed."
Jim nodded, and even before the leggy beauty was out of the room, old man Ramsey was rubbing his hands together, grinning slyly. But Kathy-Mae, who was now hanging up the dish towels, had heard her father sponsor the invitation, and she was not smiling. She said:
"Want me to go along with them, Pa?"
"You got work to do," he snapped.
"It's all done," she protested whiningly.
"Then I'll find more."
"I never get to go nowhere," she sulked.
"You can go plum to bed if you don't quit that sassin'."
She stormed out of the room. A minute later, she locked herself in the bathroom.
Ramsey said, "I reckon three's a crowd." And then he grinned.
Linda Ramsey handled her father's '65 Plymouth with surprising expertise. She chatted constantly, pointing out the local landmarks, such as they were, driving from one thoroughfare to another.
He reminded her that he'd lived here several years ago, and told her where.
"But things have changed an awful lot since then," he said.
"For the good or the worse?" she grinned.
He stole a glance at the curvy silhouette of her breasts. He answered:
"I'd say things improved."
She missed the double-entendre, down-shifting the Plymouth, swinging cross-town, and heading east.
"Feel like a drink?" she asked. He said yes.
"I know a place not far from here. Place jumps. And they don't ask for an ID."
The suggestion sounded promising. Apparently she was planning to drink something harder than beer, which could make his efforts somewhat simpler. He hoped.
Barney's was the name of the place, a sprawling log-cabin type of structure, just beyond the city limits. Its neon-lit parking lot was jammed with cars, and Jim noticed that many of the cars were occupied by young couples, who, at that moment, were doing some damn purposeful necking.
"Looks like somebody's having a good time," he commented, searching her face for a reaction. But Linda let his remark glide by, stepped in front of him, and entered the smoke-filled confines of Barney's.
She was an obvious frequenter of the place, for the bartender waved to her when they entered, as did several of the young people present. It was noisy and crowded, and for a brief while it looked as though there'd be no place for them to sit. But a table at the back was suddenly vacated and they sat down.
A uniformed waitress took their order: whiskey and water for him; rum-and-coke for the girl.
When the waitress delivered their drinks, then departed, Jim took the evening's first direct, head-on look at Linda. She was strikingly attractive, exhibiting the sharply chiseled features of a young glamour model, though not nearly as aloof. And her dark eyes, now shaded with violet, were a pretty match for the lavender-and-purple pants-suit she wore. So with her smiling rod lips properly moist and her bright, animated eyes appraising him, as they were, he felt somewhat proud.
But being with so pretty a girl, one so completely self-possessed, tended to unnerve him slightly.
But his pretty companion made no big thing about her looks, he noticed. She didn't play with her hair, nor glance from table-to-table, perusing the men, nor make the customary trip to the powder room, designed to attract male stares. No, her attention seemed devoted solely to him, he decided. So maybe the odds were looking up.
She consumed her rum-and-coke rather swiftly, he observed, and he lost little time in signaling for another round. And some five minutes later, still another.
She was an inquisitive one, wanting to know how long he planned to stay in Rivertown, did he like working for Pa, where would he go if he left Rivertown, and, finally, had he a girlfriend.
He considered this last question significant. And more significant than this, he noted that she had barely mentioned her boyfriend Homer. He noted also that the third drink had made her a bit giddy. Her eyes sparkled more brightly, her speech was a trifle thick, and when she attempted to flick the ash of her cigarette into the tray, her aim was far from the greatest.
Obviously, the more she drank the better his chances were. So, on the merit of this conclusion, he ordered her another drink. She was entirely aware of his machinations, however, for she said:
"I think you're trying to get me drunk."
"What's wrong with that?"
"That depends."
"Depends on what?"
"On a lot of things."
"Such as . . . ?"
Her smile was laden with doubt. "I think you know."
He pretended not to know, shrugging, then casually changing the subject, asking her some questions about college life. She leaped at the bait, began telling him about her dorm, then the academic spectrum, and, of course, something of her social activities. It removed the finger of suspicion from him and enabled him to pry a few more drinks on her. By the time the sixth drink was gone, so were Linda's sensibilities.
He helped her to the Plymouth, and though she wouldn't have stumbled and fell, had he released her, she was damn high. But not high enough to be incoherent; just warmly flushed with drink, silly, giggling over most anything, and about as uninhibited as he could hope for.
Fortunately, he hadn't consumed quite as much as Linda, so it was he who would do the driving-in more ways than one.
"Wanna take a little drive before we go home?" he said.
"I don't care. Whatever you wanna do, that's what I wanna do."
Jim thought, I'd like to fuck you. How about that?
And where to drive? Or more specifically, where to park? He didn't have enough money for a motel, having spent more than he planned in the tavern. So if he was going to take her some place and try to put a fuck into her, the question remained: where?
He started driving, all very aimless in his direction. But when they were about six miles out of the county limits, his gaze suddenly riveted upon a roadside billboard. His headlights picked up a dirt lane that travelled toward the huge sign, before veering sharply to the right.
He slowed down, appraised the shallow culvert, and decided he could cross it without getting hung up. Linda, who'd been leaning against him, woke from her short snooze.
"Where are we?"
"In South Africa." He maneuvered across the culvert.
She pounded his thigh, playfully. "I think you're up to something." She grinned. "Me?"
"Yes, you."
He followed the dirt lane, then swung in behind the billboard. He cut the engine and turned off his lights.
"I just thought we'd talk for a while. . . ."
"Behind a billboard?"
"That's the best place there is." He grinned broadly, then swept Linda into his arms and kissed her.
He expected some resistance, a mild protest, maybe something about being engaged to Homer, saying that it wasn't right. But the drink or the desires of her body washed away whatever resistance she might have had. She seemed perfectly willing to be kissed by him; in fact, she even wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
He broke from the kiss only briefly. He mustn't give her time to think or recognize any caution lights. So he kissed her again, deciding that her warm, desirable lips were a real prize. Moist, but not sloppy; hot, but not frantic. And as he rolled his mouth against hers, felt the pressure joyfully returned, he felt something else: her breasts-hot, pear-shaped protrusions, which molded themselves to his chest.
He ground himself slightly against her, increasing the thrill of the kiss, the contact with her breasts. But there was no need to excite her by degrees, feel her up, try and get into her panties. She was already hot. And she proved it by dropping her hand to his lap.
He sucked in his breath when her nimble fingers began shaping the cloth of his pants around his dick. It felt so good he could have soared to outer space. And when she began stroking his dick back and forth, doing it in a very meaningful fashion, he was tempted to tell her to unzip his pants and do it right. But let her do that herself, he thought. Let her pull down on the metal clasp, part the fly of his shorts, then grab his naked dick and play with it.
While waiting for this delicious moment to arrive, he sucked on her lips, nibbled at her throat, and massaged the curvy warmth of her wondrous tits.
"I like that," she murmured, pressing her ample tit against his grasping hand. "Squeeze harder!"
He increased the pressure, and now he was fumbling around with her clothing, seeking an entrance to bare flesh. But the pant-suit proved troublesome. It was high on her neck, belted at the waist, and the fastener to the bottom of the outfit completely eluded him.
She permitted his hands to roam where they might, but she did not help him find the mysteriously elusive openings to her garment. Meanwhile, she was pumping furiously on his trousered dick.
"How the hell d'you get into this thing?" he said, still fumbling for the opening.
She giggled drunkenly, deciding that it was more fun to tease him than to help him.
But he was not to be denied his goal. He struggled to work his hand under the belted top. He succeeded in inserting his hand, not too much . trouble there, but then he got hung up at the wrist.
Linda, still giggling at his frustrated efforts, continued to pump furiously on his dick.
"You could help," he said disgustedly.
"I am helping," she smirked. And her eyes darted to her hand, which was still stroking his stiff cock.
"That's not what I mean."
"But don't you like what I'm doing?" she said coyly.
"Sure, but-"
"And doesn't it feel good?"
"Sure, but-"
"Then, how can you sit there and say I'm not helping you?"
"Linda...."
But she wouldn't listen and she wouldn't stop playing with his dick, and suddenly he realized that the fondling his dick was getting was a hundred times more thrilling now than when she started; in fact, it was a little too thrilling. He was getting too hot too soon, and as she smirked and pumped away on his throbbing, swollen cock, what she was up to hit him.
She wanted him to come! She wanted him to pop a load right in his pants! The bitch was trying to trick him!
He fought to unloosen her hand.
"Linda! Linda, let go!"
But she wouldn't let go. She wouldn't let go and she wouldn't stop what she was doing.
"Linda, for chrissakes. . . ."
She pumped faster. And she fought off his hands. And her silly, drunken giggle died, replaced by a determined, intent stare.
He seized her wrist, frantically trying to stop her before it was too late. But it was already too late, he discovered. He'd passed beyond the point-of-no-return. The tug-of-war between willpower and utter enjoyment was no contest. The thrill of her hand was too great for the mind's refusal. But nevertheless, he summoned a last-second protest, moaning to her to stop.
"Linda! L-Lin-Ohhh! Ohhh, my God!"
Hot jizzum spurted out of the head of his dick. It shot through his shorts, soaked the front of his pants, seeped through to her hand. He clutched her, dug his nails into her crotch, bit on her neck, moaned, swooned, and very nearly sobbed. It was that great.
But it was the death of something, also. The death of his dick. And the edge of the sexual frenzy was gone. His limp member, throbbing to diminishment, had never dipped its shiny red head in her hot cunt. All was wasted-or so it seemed.
"Why the hell did you have to go and do that?" he asked, still bewildered by the turn of events.
She had released his peter, removed a Kleenex tissue fronV her purse, and was now wiping her hand.
"I felt like it," she said tonelessly. "But I hope I didn't ruin your pants."
"Not at all," he said sarcastically. "They're using Jizzum to replace detergents. Stops pollution. I do it all the time."
She giggled and dabbed the Kleenex at the front of his pants. But this token ministration didn't accomplish anything. He was too soaked for help, and if he had ever felt more stupid, more helpless than this, he couldn't remember when it was.
"You're not mad, are you?"
"No, I'm hopping-mad with joy. This is my thing. I mean, it's the way I get my kicks, shooting off in my pants."
She laughed: laughter tinkling with mischief.
He sagged slightly, leaning to the door on his side, resting his head on the headrest, staring at the moon.
"You are mad," she announced.
He was silent for a few seconds, but when she poked a finger in his ribs and said, "Aren't you?" he replied:
"Well, let's say it wasn't what I had in mind."
She played with the buttons on his shirt. "What did you have in mind?"
"You know damn well what I had in mind," he snapped, still staring at the moon.
"Sure, I do. That's why I did it."
"You were too obvious, right from the start. Pushing all those drinks on me, driving way out here in the country. And all the time, thinking you were getting away with something."
He was irritated by her tone, by her attitude, and if this was woman's liberation, as they called it, she could stick it up her ass!
"You guys are all alike," she continued. "You knock yourself out, scheming, trying to figure how you can get a chick to go to bed with you. I mean, how dumb can you get?"
He sat in brooding silence, wondering whether he ought to slap her in the mouth. The cock-teasing little bitch had it coming.
She went on, "Why doesn't a guy just ask? Why does he have to trick and scheme and try to put something over on the girl?"
"Why don't you shut up?" he said suddenly. And now he switched on the ignition and started the car. Old man Ramsey could have his bitch-goddess back in his lap. He didn't give a shit if she married ten Homers, and if Ramsey wanted to make trouble, let him.
But even before he could throw the car in gear, she reached down and switched off the ignition.
"I wasn't through talking."
"As far as I'm concerned you are." He reached for the keys.
She seized his wrist. She snapped, "If you wanted to fuck me, why didn't you ask?"
He was startled. He gazed at her in mute amazement. "Huh?"
"Why didn't you ask?"
He got a grip on his voice-box. "Just like that, huh?"
"Why not? Why be a fake about it? Isn't sex what life's all about?"
He heard himself say, "You're crazy."
"No, I'm not. I just don't like to be put on."
"Nobody put you on."
"Like hell, you didn't." And now she was grinning.
But her grin, along with her sudden show of haughtiness, only angered him further. He wanted to tell her to go fuck herself and he had to bite his lip to keep from doing it.
"I think we'd better start back," he said solemnly, again reaching for the ignition key. "It's getting late."
Suddenly she wrapped her slender warm arms around his neck. She kissed him on the mouth, spearing her tongue deep inside. Her tongue clashed hotly with his, causing not a small thrill in the area of his loins. At the same time, she dropped her hand, opened his jizz-dampened pants, and searched for his pecker.
He could have told her she was wasting her time. His peter was as soft as warm butter, and even if the flesh was willing, which it wasn't, the spirit was not. He just didn't care any longer; he wanted to take her home.
But he didn't reckon with her determination. Nor with what she was going to do. And though he tolerated her playing around, French kissing him, rubbing his dick, he was certain it would lead to nowhere; and he was about to tell her to stop, when she suddenly lowered her mouth to his genitals and began to suck him off.
To say that he was pleasantly surprised would have been an extreme understatement. Her lips were like warm syrup. Her tongue rolled up and down the length of his prick, licking every square inch of him, giving him the quickest rebirth he had ever experienced.
Rebellion vanished. He loved what her mouth was accomplishing with his prick and would have protested loudly had she stopped. But he wanted it to feel even better than it did, and for that reason he pulled his pants completely open, raised his ass slightly, then buried his hands in the fuzzy curl of her hair.
She was fantastic, he thought. Not just fucking herself in the mouth, the way the amateurs did, but employing a little imagination: cupping his balls, alternately licking and sucking, nibbling the head of his dick, then tonguing its slit.
It felt so good, so wonderful, that he simply reclined in the seat and let her suck to her heart's content. He didn't attempt to feel her up; he just wanted total concentration on getting blown.
But she didn't go all the way. She stopped suddenly, raised her head, looked at him, and said:
"Do you want to come in my mouth or do you want to fuck me?"
He was dumbfounded. Dumbfounded by the frankness of her proposal, by the bluntness of her words, and dumbfounded at himself, so torn by indecision.
But it was she who broke the silence and made the decision. She said, "How about if we finish this part some other time? I'd rather-rather have it down below."
Before he could reply, she unloosened her outfit, opened a clasp at the side, and lowered the pants suit. She was wearing bikini panties: little ones with colored flowers. But he only had a glimpse of them, because they were quickly skinned down to her ankles, and she bared her furry bush for his inspection.
But there was very little inspection, really. He was too hot for any delay. His seven-inch prick, stiff and hard in his hand, was quivering hungrily for the sticky heat of her young pussy.
He was so hot, and so was she, that they decided to do it right here in the front seat.
She stretched out on her back, one leg draped over the front seat, the other dangling under the dashboard. He climbed from behind the wheel, worked his way between her beckoning thighs, and pointed the top of his dick due south.
"Give it to me, Jim-honey. All you got!"
He gave her a thrust of his stiff peter. The lips of her pussy sucked at the head of his dick. He shoved, his dick plunged deeper, and a moaning song of happiness burst from Linda's throat.
"You're something," she groaned and moaned. "So big. So nice and big."
What adjectives to tell her, he wondered. That her cunt was glorious and thrilling and just about the best he ever felt? Was that what he should tell her?
"Say something. Jim. Tell me."
"What?"
"How it feels. Does it feel good? L-like it. . . like it does for me?"
He worked his fingers between the seat cushions and the young girl's ass. He squished his prick back and forth in her warm, tight pussy. The feeling was heavenly, so heavenly that he could have shot his cream right then.
But he mustn't come this soon, he warned himself. It was too super-wonderful to end it quickly. He must fuck her as long as he could-a small boy prolonging the luxury of his ice cream cone or all-day sucker.
For that reason, he controlled his breathing and constrained his rhythm. He moved his ass in a clockwise fashion, working his dick around in the depths of her cunt, feeling areas of her velvet pouch which, perhaps, had never been touched by a prick.
She let him know that this might well be the case, moaning almost hysterically, rotating her ass in cadence with his own movements, slapping her belly against his every now and then, uttering:
"Jim, you're the most! Honest, I never felt anything so wonderful in all my life."
He kept fucking. Gently, though. Stirring her in new places, re-visiting the old. Soaring to the verge of orgasm, then backing off, holding back, only to re-excite himself several seconds later.
"You still didn't tell me how it feels for you, Jim. I want to hear."
"Wonderful," he panted. "Just wonderful."
"Am I the best?"
The old question, he mused. But wasn't she? Wasn't she the very, very best? He thought so, and he told her:
"Linda, I never knew anything could feel. . . like this." He shoved her the meat harder than before.
"I'm glad," she said softly. "Real glad." Then she pushed him away, without warning. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. But let's try it another way."
"How?"
"Let me sit on your lap."
"Huh?"
"Sit up."
He did as she suggested. His pecker pointed to the roof of the car. But seconds later it was pointing upward to her cunt. She had straddled him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and then, watching the enjoyment flood his eyes, slowly lowered herself down on his swollen prick.
When the joyous union was complete and her cunt was fully stuffed with his throbbing cock, he thought he would go out of his mind with the sheer ecstasy of it.
And that which followed was just as wild. She commenced raising and lowering herself, fucking his prick, completely dominating him.
She picked up speed. Her bare ass rose and fell, cupped hotly by his sweaty hands. Her tits, which were, unfortunately, covered by her pants-suit top, bounced against his face.
"How does this feel?" she asked, riding him hard.
"Great!" he said breathlessly.
But suddenly she climbed off him and reversed herself. She reached between her legs, grabbing his prick, then re-inserted it in her throbbing, dripping pussy. He helped her, raising slightly, pushing forward. Then it was in!
"Push," she ordered him.
He nudged his stomach against the sheen of her lovely young ass. His prick entered the hot confines of her pussy.
"Harder!" she commanded.
He lifted his hips and jammed her with greater force.
"That's it!" She leaned forward slightly, resting on top of the dashboard. He seized her tiny waist, and by alternately raising and lowering her to his prick, their wondrous fuck re-commenced.
Without a doubt, this was the most thrilling position he had tried with her. She was light, easy to move, and both of them could take the initiative at will.
It proved a mutual attack. Her delightful bottom bounced up and down on his groin, sending wave after wave of thrill over his body. But by the same token, he was able to meet her plunge, raising his ass off the seat, sticking his prick upward, stabbing her cunt again and again and again.
Her moans grew louder. Her plunges grew more frantic. He, too, lost his senses'. Fuck her, he thought. Fuck her cunt, give her the meat, fuck this guy Homer right out of the picture.
"Jim, I think I'm ... I think I'm gonna come. I can't... I can't hold off much longer. I'm. ..."
He rushed to join her. His balls churned. Hot sperm rose to his cock.
"C'mon," he urged. "Come, baby. Come!"
"Ohhh, darling!" She screamed. "JIMMM!" She came down hard on the spearing length of his huge cock.
At the same instant, he lunged upward, impaling her thrashing, juicy cunt at its greatest depth. Hot jizzum spat from his cock. Shudders of joy swept over him.
"My God!" he exclaimed. And it wasn't over yet, for a spasm of jerks caused him to fuck the last drop from his balls, pushing, pulling, seemingly trying to jam even his balls into her greedy, lovely cunt.
She was equally frantic. Her snapping pussy refused to release his throbbing prick. She had to have the last fraction of an inch, the final drop of creamy jizz, the last grunt and groan.
But at last it was over and he patted her lovely ass, kissed her back, then helped her off.
"I needed that," she said, and her candor continued to startle him.
He replied, "So did I."
They dressed, lit cigarettes, listened to the car radio for a minute or two, and the way she was gazing at him, he knew that he was IN. Homer had been squeezed out of the picture, he told himself, and with another fuck or two, she wouldn't even recall his name.
He put his arm around her. He'd give her a bit of a snow job, waltz her with words. He said:
"This is the best night I ever had. I mean, you and I, going out, and then this." He held her hand. "I think quite a lot of you, Linda."
He exchanged smiles with her. He knew her mind was working overtime, too. Probably thinking how she could give Homer the Dear John bit. But matters weren't quite as he thought. She said:
"I didn't want us to get serious, Jim."
"Well, no," he stammered, trying to hide his surprise. "I meant-"
"That's the trouble with people nowadays," she rushed on. "They forget that screwing's a lark. I mean, it's a ball, right? You get your gun off, have a few laughs, and get rid of the edge that you had. But that doesn't mean the whole world has to collapse. I mean screwing's great. But just because a girl lets a guy do it to her, that doesn't mean she's necessarily nutty about him." She paused. "Am I right?"
"Well, sure. But-"
"You take us. I like you or I wouldn't have done it with you. And you must have thought a little bit of the same way. But we don't have to lose our cool over it ... do we? It happened, it was good, and that's that."
He got the picture without any further blueprinting. She didn't take sexual intercourse seriously. It didn't necessarily relate to love, not in her book; and if he was to accept her brash candor at its face value, getting fucked was simply another of life's necessary physical functions and not much more romantic than taking a shit!
He started the car, and this time without protest.
"I hope I haven't hurt you by what I said," she offered, when they were again back on the main highway.
He masked his disappointment as best he could. "Not at all," he said detachedly.
"I mean, it was fun and all that, but I wouldn't want it to interfere with the plans Homer and I have."
"You don't have to apologize. I understand."
She sat closer to him, dragging desultorily on her cigarette, seemingly at peace with the world.
"You're all right, Jim. I like you."
Which was a pail of shit, he thought. He was a prize chump. He had set out to seduce the girl, thereby expecting to squeeze her boyfriend out of the running. Instead, it was she who had seduced him, and Homer was ahead by thirty lengths.
"I should have jacked off," he said under his breath.
"What?"
"Just talking to myself."
"But what did you say?"
"I said it sure is a pretty night."
She looked beyond the windshield and stared at the moon. "It sure is," she agreed. "But you know what I wish?"
"What?"
"You won't get mad?"
"Why should I?"
"Well, what I wish ... I wish Homer were here now. Tonight."
"So do I," he said moodily. "I always wanted to be a chauffeur, anyway."
6
Saturday was a bitch! The store and the station did twice their usual business; Jim had to hump it for ten solid hours. On top of that, old man Ramsey was bugging him about Linda. Had he done any good? Did he think he could break up her and her boyfriend? And when?
Jim put him off. He didn't want to say he'd failed miserably, so he said he was still working on it.
"You mean you didn't do nothing?"
"I didn't say that. We talked."
"Just talk?"
"What can you do in a car?" he lied. "Besides, if she's real serious about him, I'm not so sure I can do anything."
Ramsey grew pissed. "We've been through that before. You ain't backing out of this. We made a deal."
Jim felt a sudden chill. There was real menace in the old bastard's face and he wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"I know about our deal and I'm not backing out," he said. "All I said was you can't do nothing in a car."
Ramsey clenched his fists. He spoke through narrowed lips, not unlike a late movie western villain. But he meant every word he spoke.
"I want results, no excuses."
"Look-"
"Tonight, you'll have a place. I'll see to it."
Jim wanted to cut him off, tell him the truth: that he'd already been inside Linda's panties, that it was futile, that her mind was made up: she was going to marry this Homer guy.
But the cold determination in the old bird's eyes changed his mind. That, and a simple coincidence: a sheriff's deputy coming into the store.
The deputy said, "How's business, Clay?"
Ramsey's countenance changed from anger to one of pleased surprise. "Ace Callahan!" he shouted jubilantly. He ran forward to greet the deputy. "I ain't seen you since . . . since that last time we went hunting together. And that's been-"
"Pretty near a year," the huge, red-faced deputy finished. He opened the pop cooler and helped himself to a bottle of orange drink.
"So where you been keeping yourself?" Ramsey asked.
"Mostly over near Harrisburg. But I bitched for a transfer, and that's why I'm back."
"Then we can do some more hunting."
"Shit, man, that's the only reason I came back to this god-forsaken hellhole, to shoot us up a few coons."
There was loud laughter between the two men. Jim, who had been standing quietly in the back room, now melted out of sight. He wanted no part of Clay Ramsey's deputy sheriff friend; in fact, with things the way they were, and with a cop-bastard now on the scene, Jim wished himself dead.
He went upstairs to his room and slumped across the bed. He was exhausted, disgusted, and not a little bit worried. He could hear their boisterous conversation downstairs and he wondered how long it would be before big-mouthed Ramsey would tell the deputy sheriff about Kathy-Mae and what he'd caught her and Jim doing.
He drew a pillow over his head, hoping to muffle the boom of their voices. To some extent, he succeeded. But the cool cover of darkness was only temporary, for Kathy-Mae had quietly opened the door, slipped inside, and she was now beside the bed reaching down to pinch his ass.
He came up with a start. Seeing her, his alarm was total.
"You'd better get out of here . . . and fast!"
She never moved a muscle. She'd been cool toward him since the arrival of her sister, denying him her impish smile. But now that they were alone, she seemed bolder than ever.
He came up to a sitting position. "Maybe you didn't hear me. I said you better leave."
But she wasn't moving. Just standing over the bed, grinning at him.
"You're a big ol' fraidy-cat, aren't you?"
"You're goddamn right I am. And I'm gonna stay that way."
"Pa won't get mad, long as we're just talking."
She leaned to one side, cleverly throwing her hip toward him, being as provocative as she could.
"Talking is where the trouble starts," he said, trying not to notice how short her skirt was. "So you better go."
"I'll bet you wouldn't tell Linda to go, would you? You and her probably did it, didn't you?"
He didn't want to be nasty with her, but he answered almost automatically, saying:
"I don't see where that's any of your business, Kathy-Mae."
The verbal harpoon didn't phase her. She said, "But you probably did, huh?"
"Kathy-Mae!" He sighed, completely exasperated by her.
"I just came in to ask you something," she said, suddenly looking downward. "What?"
"Well, I was gonna ask you how I can get out of going to this birthday party my girlfriend is having tonight. It's gonna be a drag and I don't wanna go."
"Tell her you're sick."
"Oh, I could do that easy enough. Pa's the one that's bugging me to go. Just cause Cissy's parents do a lot of trading in our store, he says I gotta go."
"Well, then maybe you'd better." There was no point in further aggravating her father, and he told her so.
"I suppose you're right," she said morosely. "But it sure is gonna be a drag."
He didn't say anything further, hopeful that she would now leave. But when she made no move toward the door, just stood there silent and brooding, he reminded her what her father might say if he found her there.
She said, "You worry too much."
"I've got a right to worry." He avoided the sight of her curvy shape.
"Not as long as they're downstairs talking." She grinned wise-owl fashion.
"And they could quit talking mighty fast."
"But by that time I'd be out of here."
"It's still not smart."
"Jim, you don't know my Pa. When him and Ace start bulling, they're at it for hours sometimes."
He didn't take issue with her on that count, but he still wished she would leave his room.
"Where's your sister?" he said, wanting to move the conversation in another direction.
"On the phone. And we don't have to worry about her, either. She's talking to Homer, and that could last a whole year."
"I wasn't worried about her, as you put it. I was just wondering what she was doing."
"I'm beginning to think you want me to leave."
He forced a smile. "That's about right."
"Okay," she conceded cheerfully. "I'll go. But first you got to tell me if you like 'em."
"Like what?" he asked naively.
"These," she said, and before he could protest, she jerked up her skirt and proudly exhibited her black, bikini-cut nylon panties. "I bought 'em when I was in town this morning. D'you like 'em?"
He was speechless. Bare from the waist down, she was, except for these wispy little panties; and they were so skimpy that they failed completely to conceal her pussy hair. It curled forth from the edges of the panties, spewing in all directions. And the thin ribbon of material, which was designed to conceal the crack of her pussy, concealed nothing. Her moist pink cunt-lips were exposed to his gaze.
The sight floored him. He couldn't gather his. wits, couldn't move. The exciting smell of her junior-size cunt mesmerized him. Her cutely shaped lower body held him captive. And then she said:
"Wanna touch 'em and see how they feel?" He was stupefied. She pushed her cunt toward him.
"Go on," she urged. "See if you like how they feel."
He obeyed as if in a trance. His hand went out to space. Blindly, he found the pouch of her filmy panties. They were wet. Wet and hot.
"Feel nice?" she asked.
He nodded, still transfixed by the warmth of the fifteen-year-old's tender crotch. Her juices seeped through the thin material and wet his fingertips.
But then the booming laughter of the two men downstairs broke his pleasant euphoria. He said:
"You're gonna get me killed, girl. You better get out of here."
"But, Jim-"
"Jim, hell! I don't want no more trouble with him, so you clear out of here before there is trouble."
But she was shameless. Shameless and bold and hot and she had to be screwed. She slid her panties down to her knees.
"Honey, we could do it quick," she begged.
"No," he said, with a catch in his voice, and his eyes still focused on the gold of her cunt. "You've got to go."
"Just stick it in once," she pleaded, "and then I'll go. I promise."
"Kathy-Mae-"
"Please, Jim. Please."
He stared hard at her young cunt. She'd arched her back slightly, which caused her pussy to project upward and outward. Then she placed her hands down there and eased the lips of her pussy apart. She said:
"C'mon, Jim. Just put it in for a minute."
The soft, pleading tone of her voice was irresistible. And so was the golden fleece of her anxious pussy.
He listened for the sound of the two men talking. They were still re-living old times. He could almost make out the words, something about the time they fished and hunted in Canada.
"Are you gonna do it to me?" she said anxiously.
He unzippered his pants and took out his pecker. "I'm not taking my pants off or anything," he advised.
"I don't care."
"And this is gonna be one-two-three. You understand?"
She nodded. "You want me to sit on you?" -
"Yes." He moved to the edge of the bed.
She lowered herself slowly, working her nimble fingers in the necessary fashion, taking the tip of his hard cock and placing it at the mouth of her soft, young, extremely wet cunt.
It amazed him how well they fit together, he and this curvy, fifteen-year-old bit of jailbait. Blended for sin. United in fuck.
He fucked her like a jackrabbit. No holding back, no foreplay, just a good, hard, quick fuck.
But that was all right with her. She needed pecker, a stiff one, and she wasn't particular about the manner in which she received it.
He plowed into her as hard as he could. His final thrust raised them up. In the same instant, she clamped her legs around his waist and squeezed him with all her juvenile might.
"I came, Jim! I came! Oh, I came!" She was never more happy, ringing him with an ecstatic embrace. "I came and you came."
He was as pleased as she. Pleased that their short union had been so wild, so mutually satisfying
She kissed him, tears of joy brimming from her smiling eyes. They hugged each other like a pair of re-united sweethearts. And finally, when safety was again a consideration, he raised her from his lap, and assisted her to draw her panties back to their starting point.
"Will you go now?" he asked good-naturedly.
She said yes. And there was a smile and great pleasure on her young face. She gave him a final kiss, squeezed his pecker in fond farewell, then went out. His parting thought was: There's nothing quite so tasty as forbidden fruit!
When supper was completed, Clay Ramsey played Cupid right to the hilt. He produced a fifth of gin, a bottle of Wink, put on the FM stereo, and turned down the lights. He was about as obvious as a snowstorm, and when he announced that he was going into town to bowl with "the guys," wouldn't be back until quite late, the cards were stacked, the stage was set.
"And you don't have to worry about Kathy-Mae," Ramsey whispered to Jim, before he went out the door. "She's gone to a birthday party at her girlfriend's, and I doubt if she'll be back before midnight." He zippered his jacket. "So make the most of it."
"I'll try," he said weakly.
"You better do more than try," Ramsey warned. "This Homer'll be here tomorrow, so if you're gonna accomplish anything, it's got to be done tonight."
When the door was closed and he heard Ramsey's car pull out, Jim tore the seal on the fifth of gin, poured drinks for himself and Linda, added ice, then settled down on the couch with her. But to his utter surprise, Linda climbed to her feet, hurried to the window, peeped out. Then, in a loud voice, she shouted:
"It's all right, Kathy. You can come out now."
The shock was like a cold fist smashing him in the jaw. Kathy-Mae had emerged from a closet. She stood in the center of the living room, a large grin on her young face.
"I thought you went to a birthday party," Jim said, nearly tipping over his drink.
"That's what we wanted Pa to think," Linda put in. She lowered the volume on the stereo.
"And I didn't wanna go to that stupid old party," Kathy-Mae pouted, dropping heavily onto the couch.
"So why should she go?" Linda crossed the room and picked up her drink. "If a party's a drag, I say to hell with it. Right, Kathy?"
"Right!"
"Besides," she said, sitting between Jim and her young sister, "we're gonna have a party of our own. Right, Kathy?"
"Right!"
She kissed Jim's throat and squeezed his thigh. Then she said, "Kathy,. I think you better get another glass. I mean, if we're gonna teach you how to drink and we're gonna have a party .. . well, we'd better get started, huh?"
Jim was stricken by a mixture of sexual excitement and puzzlement. This crazy house and these crazy girls were full of the unexpected. Nothing seemed to escape their perverse imaginations, and he could only wonder what bizarre experience he would now endure.
He soon found out. When kid-sister Kathy-Mae returned with a glass, a rapid drinking bout began. The name of the game seemed to be Let's get
Drunk. The girls gulped the 90-proof gin with only a splash of water. And little Kathy-Mae, who was an apparent stranger to strong drink, made faces with every swallow; but it didn't prevent her from consuming four quick drinks, all in rapid succession.
Jim warned the girls what they might expect, gulping the stuff so quickly, and he himself refused to join the race, preferring a more casual pace.
"We're not chicken," Linda teased, swirling to the music from the stereo. "Are we, Kathy?"
"Chickens we are not," the fifteen-year-old announced loudly. She swung around, her back resting against the arm of the couch, her legs curled beneath her.
"I'm not a chicken," he offered. "I'm just using my head."
"You," Linda said, pointing her half-filled glass at him, "are a shit."
"My friends call me Mister Shit."
"Okay," she said, weaving slightly, "on and after this date, I, Linda Ramsey, the party of the first part, will address you, the party of the second part, as Mister Shit. How's that?"
"I'll drink to that."
"Can I have another?" Kathy-Mae asked her sister.
"You can have all y'want, sis. Get loaded, 'cause when that bottle's empty, the party begins." She swirled recklessly, and her short white skirt flew up around her hips, giving him a glimpse . . . again ... of her lovely legs and pantied ass and cunt.
Kathy-Mae swished more of the colorless gin into her mouth. She, too, was now on her feet, flirting with her ass, prancing to the music, throwing her skirt around, giving Jim more than a casual peek at her jailbait bottom and her flesh-colored nylon panties.
His pecker responded to the visual thrills the two girls were offering him and he could feel it pounding for action. But he couldn't loosen up. Two of them, sisters at that, made it awkward. And, really, he didn't care for the younger one being around just now; he wanted to try a few things with Linda, give her more of the hearts-and-flowers routine and hope it would break up her and her boyfriend Homer. But it was obvious that this bit, the two sisters and himself, was planned. His own scheme was shot full of holes; meanwhile, the girls probably had a scheme of their own.
Ten minutes later, the last drop drained from the gin bottle, Linda staggered and said:
"Okay, it's time for the party. Right, Kathy?"
Her young sister, weaving considerably, leaning against the stereo, said, "Right. Time for the party."
Linda looked at Jim. "First, everyone's gotta take off their clothes."
Jim grinned his surprise. This wasn't the way he did things. But Linda wasn't waiting for his approval. She'd kicked off her loafers and was now pulling her sweater over her head. Kathy-Mae was quickly following suit. She'd unclasped her skirt, released it, and it had dropped to the floor. Now, still able to exude a certain childish innocence, smiling coyly, she stood before him in her kissable, flesh-colored nylon panties.
"You, too!" Kathy-Mae ordered.
"I'll catch cold," he stalled.
The girls advanced on him. Linda was stripped to panties and bra and was now working to unclasp her bra. But Kathy-Mae was waiting to see if Jim was going to cooperate. She said:
"I think we'd better help him, Linda. He's chicken."
Suddenly Jim decided to play the game. He didn't know what these two hellcats had in mind, but whatever it was it sounded like fun. He unbuttoned his shirt and flung it off.
"That's more like it," the younger sister said. She undid her bra and bared the sweetness of her child-woman breasts.
Jim climbed out of his pants. He had a big hard-on and it was bulging out the front of his shorts.
"Wow!" Linda exclaimed. "Look what we got." She grabbed his dong and gave it a playful squeeze.
Jim licked his lips and slid his T-shirt over his head. Meanwhile, Linda had divorced her kissable titties from her brassiere. Both girls were now nude, except for their panties, and Jim was down to his shorts.
He looked at the two nymphets, wondering how many of his former friends would believe him when he later described this night. The youngest one, a spattering of tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose, just as hot a hellion as he'd ever known. And her sister? Bold as they made them. Bold and beautiful, bored by anything remotely conventional, anxious to prove that sex was one grand kick, unrelated to love-honor-and-obey a guy named Homer.
The girls wiggled their asses. Pony-tailed, as delicious looking as warm cookies, nippled titties bobbing for approval, little Kathy-Mae said:
"When I count to three, well take off the rest. Okay?"
There was a round of agreement. Kathy-Mae counted:
"One, two, THREE!"
They tore at their remaining garments. Kathy-Mae skinned herself out of her panties in less than three seconds. Linda, apparently more tipsy than her sister, lost her balance and nearly fell. So it took her something like ten seconds to slide her panties over the curve of her ass. Jim was the slowest of all, perhaps because he was so busy staring.
Yes, he'd seen it all before, but never under such ideal conditions. Always before there was the threat of being caught. Things had to be hurried and many, many pleasures had to be surrendered for haste.
But now there was time. He could feast his eyes on this prancing bit of jailbait, only fifteen years old, and there was no concern for old man Ramsey. Ramsey, as he'd promised, would be gone for most of the night.
"Are you going to just look at us?" Linda asked, picking up her panties and trying to throw a ringer on the nearest lamp.
"What's wrong with looking?" he said, his eyes roaming from one juicy cunt to the other.
Kathy-Mae looked at his pecker, which was sticking straight out, as springy as a diving board. She said:
"I think it's fun to look."
"Sure it is," her older sister said, her voice a shade lower than usual. "But it's more fun to touch." She moved within reach of him, grasped his pecker, rubbed it back and forth. "Don't you agree, Jim?"
Jim's reflexes refused to get together. Speech and action and thought simply wouldn't agree. His gaze swept from Kathy's bobbing, juicy, suckable morsels to Linda's. He didn't know which way to look, what to touch, what to say. Linda's hands were performing lewd acts on his swollen pecker, and she was making little twists with her upper torso, causing her pretty boobs to shake in his face. Kathy-Mae, meanwhile, had clasped her hands behind her head and was slowly gyrating her hips.
He knew he was in for the wildest night of his life. He knew that the booze had made them quite high, particularly the younger one; and he was certain that they would do anything he desired.
"Let's do it in the bedroom," Kathy-Mae suggested, still bump-and-grinding her young cunt for Jim's thrill.
"Let's not," Linda said. She worked Jim's prick back and forth. "We've got more room out here. And for what we're going to do, we'll need lots of room!"
Jim couldn't keep his hands still. He began low oh Linda's backside, feeling up her upper thighs, then her deliciously rounded ass. When he did this, coveted her ass, she flexed her buttocks, causing the cheeks to jiggle beneath his hands.
He liked that. She knew the tricks. All of them. And all the while, she continued to lightly fondle his balls and prick, sending one wondrous tremor through his body and then following it with a dozen others.
Kathy-Mae, who was standing but a few feet away and was shaking herself, making her tits bounce around, moved closer. Her sister said:
"C'mon, Kathy. Do something."
"Anything?"
"Anything. Get behind him."
Jim heard the words and thrilled to what was going to happen. He was still stunned, of course, by the girls' total lack of shame, by the fact that, as young as they were, they could perform like this in front of each other. But logic mattered not; it was far too late for that.
Kathy-Mae circled him. He felt her small hands on his ass. Then he felt her firm tummy pressed against him. Her little bush tickled the crack of his ass. And now she began to move her cunt, rubbing it into the space between his legs, endeavoring to reach his balls.
"While you're doing that," Linda said, "I'm going to do this." And she took his pecker and began to rub it against the lips of her warm, wet pussy. At the same time, she put one of her arms around his neck, drew him close and slapped her breasts against his chest.
Jim sighed uncontrollably. He stroked her ass more meaningfully. But Kathy-Mae was demanding attention, also. She'd been rubbing her snatch against his ass, feeling up his balls, kissing the small of his back, and now she wanted some of the caressing that Linda was getting.
Jim divorced his left hand from the older girl's ass. He reached behind him, got a firm grip on the fifteen-year-old's baby-soft behind. He slipped his index finger up the crack of her ass, then pressed. Meanwhile, Linda pressed forward.
"I never got it from both ends at once," he grunted happily.
"You are now," Linda announced, fingering his cock, teasing him with the hot proximity of her wet cunt, watching his eyes. "You're getting the works!" , "Put it in," he said urgently.
She didn't answer. Nor did she put it in. She wanted to play awhile longer, tease him to the limit. And Kathy-Mae, so hot that she was breathing irregularly and whimpering with joy, was not unable to control herself. She was dry-fucking his ass as fast as she could. She had seized his waist, hugged him like a small baby, and was humping him the way one dog does another.
Jim tried to get his finger into the little one's cunt, but Kathy-Mae was moving so rapidly, so frantically, that it became impossible.
"I think my little sister is getting her gun off," Linda said, gazing over Jim's shoulder. "And as long as she is, I think I should."
Jim was so hot he couldn't speak. He shook his head.
Linda parted the lips of her cunt. She bent her knees slightly, took his peter in her hand, and guided it slowly to the mouth of her wet cunt. Jim shuddered with insane pleasure. The tip of his cock was resting just inside her pussy.
But suddenly little Kathy-Mae slammed her young cunt against his ass. The dramatic impact caught him off-balance. He was catapulted forward. The entire length of his swollen, throbbing cock rammed up Linda's cunt. She let out a scream. She writhed against him. He tried to regain his balance but Kathy-Mae's pitching, rolling, thrashing cunt again smacked his ass.
"Ohhh, my God!" Linda moaned.
He started to tell her he was sorry, that it was Kathy-Mae's fault. But suddenly he realized that the painful thrust of his cock was what she wanted. She wanted to be hurt. She wanted his cock to cut her in two. Anguish was pleasure, hurt was joy. And she proved it, moaning aloud, gasping:
"Ohhh, sweets! It feels .. . ohhh, so wonderful!" Her cunt squeezed hard on his prick. Her hips churned against his loins. Her titties bore down on his chest.
"Fuck her, Jim!" the fifteen-year-old urged him from behind. "Fuck her hard! That's the way she likes it."
Jim couldn't believe his ears: a kid sister telling some guy how he should fuck her sister! But these were wild times and wild girls, and it was a case of being in the right place at the right time.
He took a firm grip of Linda's hips. He undulated back and forth, shaft in, shaft out; and as he rode her, fucked her and made her eyes glaze, her kid sister continued to pump her fuzz against his ass.
"Let's do it on the floor," she whispered in Jim's ear.
Jim looked questioningly to Linda, who was writhing back and forth on his cock. She nodded to her sister's suggestion.
Jim withdrew his cock. They lowered themselves to the floor and started anew. This time it was Kathy-Mae who grabbed his dick and started to play with it. Meanwhile, Linda began to suck his nipples with her hot lips and finger-fuck herself while she did it:
The delirium was maddening. The two girls were driving him frantic with desire. The fifteen-year-old's hand was a warm and delicious thing, wetting his cock as though it were her very own little puppy dog. She handled it with loving care, marveling at its size and color, gazing hungrily at it as though this were the first time she'd ever seen it.
But Linda was driving him up the wall, also. Her teeth were clamping gently on his nipples, tensing just enough to bring a sense of pain, and yet not enough so that it was unbearable. It was a masochistic joy that tripled the pleasure of Kathy-Mae's busy hands.
Once again he found himself a prisoner of his own hot desires, and conflicting desires at that.
The older one's delightful nibbling and sucking was drawing him in one direction, but Kathy-Mae, who was practicing jack-off-a-cock, was drawing his attentions in yet another direction.
"Let's give him a real suck job!" Linda said suddenly.
Jim started to protest. He wanted to fuck 'em, dammit. But Kathy-Mae liked her sister's suggestion. She smiled brightly and said:
"Okay, let's!"
Before Jim could appraise what was happening and react to it, the two sisters were fast at work. Linda's tongue went in his ear and Kathy-Mae's tongue went to his cock. And Linda didn't simply remain in his ear. Her wet lips roamed across his cheek, touched his lips, then worked on his eyelids. Joyful shivers ran through him. Then she went to the other side of his face, licking the rim of his ear, nibbling his throat, then descending to his nipples. She kissed and nibbled and licked and sucked, and by the time she returned to his mouth and began French kissing him, Jim was wild with passion. Young Kathy-Mae was something else. She licked the rim of his cock, savoring the taste, then her long pink tongue curled around the shaft, licking it around and around and around.
She brushed back the hair of his balls, then lowered her young mouth over his swollen cock. Her cheeks puffed with the sudden engorgement of his organ: a youngster with a mouthful of candy jawbreakers, he thought.
"Suck it, honey," he moaned in delight.
"What the hell d'you think I'm doin'?" she mumbled from the corner of her mouth.
He pushed up. He wanted to get more of his cock into the youngster's mouth. Let her taste all there was, he thought. Suck, baby, suck!
But now Linda, who'd been so busy sucking his lips and ears, wanted to suck what Kathy-Mae was sucking. She moved her head downward. Her long hair tickled his belly. And then there were two heads down at his loins! Kathy-Mae was licking the base of his cock and Linda was sucking the head of it.
Jim dug his nails into the carpet. The ecstasy was paralyzing in its wonderment. His response was total.
He reached out and grabbed a tit: Linda's. He pulled on it, pulled and squeezed.
"Play with mine, too," Kathy-Mae complained.
Jim reached downward, stretched, and managed to find Kathy-Mae's tit. He fondled it, surprised by how hot it was.
Both girls reacted with loud moans. They liked having their tits played with, but no more than he liked having his cock sucked. And this was the first time, he realized, that two young girls had ever worked on him at the same time. The first time in his life!
But the thrills were too much. His jizz wanted to come out. He wanted to come. He warned Kathy-Mae.
"But I want you to come in my mouth," she murmured. "Now!"
Her words triggered the expected. The come began to boil upward. He shook with the onset of an explosive orgasm. The girls hovered over his cock, waiting for it, wanting it.
Suddenly it spurted out. Kathy-Mae sucked up the first mouthful and then her sister pushed her aside. She, too, wanted a taste of his come, and it felt so good that he didn't care who sucked him or how long.
Then each of them were sucking and licking at the same time. His cream spurted on their faces, in their mouths. Some of it dribbled down their chins, some of it got on their hair. But no one cared. It was wild and terrific and fun, and when Jim finally let his body relax, he felt as weak as a new-born babe.
"I don't think I'll ever forget this night. Not in a hundred years," he said.
Linda licked his jizzum from her lower lip. She said:
"You make it sound like the night's all over with, Jim. And as far as we're concerned, the night's only begun!"
7
The two teenagers proved true to their word. The night had only begun, and during the next three hours he experienced an orgy that he didn't think possible.
Stripped, excited anew, the three of them crossed to a bedroom, stretched out on the large double-bed, and proceeded to fuck themselves silly!
Kathy-Mae demanded to see Jim fuck her older sister. She loved to watch, she explained, and Linda loved to put on an exhibition. So that part worked out just fine. He climbed on top of Linda and fucked her in conventional fashion. Kathy-Mae crawled close and watched. And while she watched, she was not indisposed to playing with herself. Jacked herself off at least twice, Jim noted; and Linda came once, while Jim endeavored to hold himself back.
But then Kathy-Mae wanted Linda to get on top of Jim and see how that worked.
"Are we supposed to be giving your kid sister a course in how to fuck?" Jim quipped to Linda.
"Don't be nasty," she scolded him. "Kathy just likes to watch." And then she added: "D'you care?"
"Hell, no. Matter of fact, I kinda like it." And so another phase of their fucking began: Linda straddling him in a sit-up position, working his erect cock into her eager pussy, then pumping for her life.
The fifteen-year-old got up on her knees and finger-fucked herself with wild abandon. The faster her sister fucked, the faster she played with her cunt.
Finally, so hot that she had to participate, Kathy-Mae said:
"It's my turn, Linda. Let me do it to him."
He didn't think Linda would stop. He reasoned that she would want to finish what she started. But to his surprise, Linda was cooperative. She climbed off of him, making room for her little sister.
Kathy-Mae was so hot, so excited, that she had difficulty inserting his prick. Linda came to the rescue. She worked her capable hands between their bodies, found his dick, and maneuvered it into her sister's pussy.
When the union was successfully affected, Kathy-Mae shrieked with joy, fucked like a mink, and moaned so loudly that Linda had to put her hand over her mouth.
The movement was mad. The bed bounced so forcefully that Jim was afraid it might collapse. But it held. And the bed was apparently better made than he was, for after two minutes of wild thrashing and fucking, Jim could no longer hold back. He shot a big load of hot, creamy jizz into the youngster's yawning pussy, and was then so tired that he could have died.
But Linda wouldn't let him die. She pulled his prick out of her kid sister's pussy, and began to suck it as fast as she could. At the same time, Kathy-Mae, still convulsing from post-joys and post-tremors of her delicious fuck, now went after her sister's cunt. Linda didn't try to push her away.
He watched Linda lap the final droplets of jizzum that crested at the tip of his dick. She was on her stomach, legs spread wide apart, and her little sister had buried her face in the former's cunt, and was licking it as fast as she could.
Jim thought himself incapable of any re-excitement . . . there was a limit, after all, to what a man's genitals could tolerate . . . but stirred by the action of Linda's long pink tongue, stirred by the sight of Kathy-Mae sucking off her sister, Jim's prick again hardened.
Soon, he had to join them. He wanted to suck off the fifteen-year-old and after some mild body contorting, he managed it: a crazy chain of sucking that saw him taking care of Kathy-Mae, while she tongued her sister, and while her sister mouthed him. It was crazy, delirious, wonderful.
They did this for about ten minutes. Then Linda broke up the chain, persuaded her little sister to lie on her back, and crawled on top of her. She rubbed her pubis against Kathy-Mae's, exciting them to new heights. Jim couldn't take his eyes off the spectacle and was unconsciously playing with himself.
Both of the girls experienced an orgasm. Then they forced Jim to lie down and they knelt near his face.
"We want you to eat both of us at the same time," Linda announced.
"It's a good trick if you can do it," he said. "You can do it," Linda smiled. The girls clasped one another. Their pussies nearly touched. Then they lowered their crotches toward his mouth. He flung his hands out, grabbed asses, then began playing windshield-wiper with their eager twats, lapping one, then the other.
At length, both of the girls dribbled their come into his mouth, and that should have been the end. But it was not. Linda complained that she wanted to be fucked in the ass, something that she'd never yet enjoyed.
He thought of protesting, but when Linda assumed a doggy position, poked her sweet, innocent, provocatively rounded ass in his face, he couldn't resist.
He wet his cock, mounted the pretty college girl, and slowly worked it into her tight but heavenly asshole. He didn't think he could manage a total insertion, but Linda wouldn't have it otherwise.
"I want all of it," she moaned, twisting her ass around. "Every single inch."
He pushed hard. Kathy-Mae helped. His prick slid between the cheeks of her ass. Delicious chills stole through their bodies. Little gurgles of delight bubbled from their mouths; and after much effort, all of it joyful, his entire prick was buried into her asshole.
He began a slow grinding. He was surprised how great it felt, the hot throbbing that filled his cock. And Kathy-Mae, overjoyed by what she saw, was stirred to play with herself. She had poked two fingers into her little cunny and was now working them in and out.
Five minutes later, Jim shot another load of jizzum. It filled her asshole to overflowing and then dribbled down her thighs. Kathy-Mae and Linda emitted some joyous moans, indicating that they matched his nut-popping almost to the second.
He wanted to quit at that point, for he was totally exhausted, but the girls wanted more. Kathy-Mae wanted to get it in the ass, like her sister had. He argued that he was dead, through for the night. But neither girl would accept his resignation so lightly. They insisted on fondling him, giving it a try.
But this time the old white warrior wouldn't respond. He'd had it... at least, for tonight. And their naked ministrations, their lewd dancing proved to no avail. Even their foul language failed to make his dick rise, and when they stretched out on the bed, spread their legs, exposed their cunts to him, begged:
"Please fuck us, Jim-honey. Please," he was still beyond response.
"Girls, I got to hit the sack," he pleaded.
"You're no fun," Kathy-Mae pouted.
Linda said, "You know what I think, Kathy? I think he's frigid."
"Frigid, your ass!" he snapped.
"He can't take it," the fifteen-year-old laughed.
"Right," her sister agreed. "Just can't take it."
"I can take it," he argued, rising to his feet, collecting his clothes. "But I'm no superman."
"Too bad," Linda said, finger-fucking herself. "I guess we'll just have to get someone else."
"Do that," he said, slightly irritated by their taunts. "Fuck the whole world if you want."
"You know," Linda said, still massaging her pussy, "we just might do that."
Jim stalked out angrily. He was too exhausted to care what they did. All he wanted was sleep and quiet.
His awakening the next morning was not unlike the resurrection of a wet dishtowel. He felt horrible, headachy, nauseous and incredibly weak. And it was rainy and overcast outside, which only heightened his physical and psychological gloom.
A cold shower put some sting into his body, and a cup of black coffee cured the aches and pains. But the melancholy stupor he felt was not so easily chased away. He had failed to deter Linda; she was still firmly resolved to marry Homer ... or that was his impression from seeing them hug and kiss after Homer had arrived. He'd been at the window, staring gloomily at the rain, when Homer pulled up in his Japanese sedan. He witnessed Linda running out to Homer's car, saw her throw open her boyfriend's car, saw their muted embrace. So the situation, like it or not, was hopeless.
He postponed meeting Linda's boyfriend and remained in his room. There was chatter in the other rooms: old man Ramsey up and about, Kathy-Mae gushing excitedly, and of course, Linda and Homer.
Presently, Ramsey tapped on his door and came in. He'd brought more coffee.
"Didn't know if you'd be up yet, or not. Got some coffee, too." He set the tray down, drew up a chair.
Jim knew what the old guy wanted to hear: some good news. He wanted to hear that Jim had made out with Linda, that maybe he had arrested her and Homer's affair somewhat. But there was no use in building dreams out of unwarranted optimism. Ramsey was holding a dead line; Linda simply wasn't taking the bait. And Jim told him.
"I didn't think it would work." Ramsey said forlornly, staring more at the floor than at Jim. "But I guess it was worth a try."
Jim was silent, wondering if Ramsey was going to stand firm on his earlier threat to turn Jim in to the state troopers.
"I really tried everything," he explained. "But I guess she's so wrapped up in this guy . . . well, she's just not interested in anybody else." And that statement needed some qualifying, he thought, for Linda was interested in others, apparently. But that interest was solely sexual and it had to be differentiated from what she felt for Homer. But it wouldn't help to tell this to her father, so he remained silent.
Ramsey said, "It sure breaks my heart. I mean, her getting herself messed up, getting married so soon. Throwing away her college, and, dammit, I wanted her to amount to something. I had hopes she'd-" He broke off, choked up.
Jim was embarrassed. He didn't want to be witness to Ramsey's personal grief and he hadn't realized that the old guy's feelings were so intense.
"Well, you did your best, I suppose," Ramsey said, regaining his voice. "So I can't hardly hold it against you, can I?"
Jim didn't answer.
"I just wanted you to know," he said, pushing his coffee aside, "that I was just popping off the other day. I was mad and-"
"You had a right."
"Maybe so. But I wouldn't have turned you in to the police. Kathy-Mae's old enough to know right from wrong, so she's more to blame than you are. Anyway, in this crazy, mixed-up world, who's to say what's right and what's wrong?"
Jim didn't know what to say. But suddenly he felt sorry for the old guy. He was so humble, so defeated, so despairing. He'd worked hard to be both a mother and a father to his girls and he felt that he'd failed.
In his compassion, Jim. desperately sought to cheer up Clay Ramsey. But hackneyed pleasantries were no match for the old guy's heavy gloom. His despair was as real as the rain and there was nothing that Jim could do to dispel it.
During the afternoon, Jim submitted to an introduction to Homer Worthington. He was tall, startlingly slim, and though his boyish good looks were appealing enough, Jim found his grin a bit distracting. It was a perpetual grin, too agreeable, too pleasant, and if it were not for Homer's youth, Jim might have likened him to a politician.
After the amenities were dispensed with, Clay Ramsey disappeared, Jim settled in an overstuffed chair to read the Sunday paper, and Kathy-Mae donned a raincoat and went to her girlfriend's. The lovers were in and out of the living room, and finally settled on the couch, across the room from Jim.
They moved like Siamese twins, always linked together, and Jim found their syrupy exhibition very trying. And when he could no longer tolerate their moon-eyed adulation of one another, he left the room and resettled in the kitchen. They remained in the range of his vision, however, and from the open doorway he could see them holding hands, whispering into each other's ears, occasionally kissing. Frequently, Homer would giggle, and it occurred to Jim that the fellow was a good deal less mature than his twenty or twenty-one years. Childish, really.
But his immaturity, being the doltish clown, didn't lessen Linda's slushy affection for him. His callow good looks had won her heart, apparently. She thrived on his childish, soppy utterances and there was not a thing that Jim could do to alter her emotions.
He left the kitchen, went downstairs, and hunted around for Ramsey. He found him, sitting in the closed-up gas station, sipping desultorily on a stale beer, watching the rain.
"Looks like it's going to rain all day," he said idly.
Ramsey grunted.
"Guess the farmers need it, though," he went on.
Nothing from Ramsey.
Then he said, "I don't know what she sees in him, Mr. Ramsey. He's like a big kid."
"She must see something in him."
"I guess so," he conceded unhappily. "And sometimes it doesn't take much." He stared hard at the rain. "Worst of it is, her mind's so damn made up. She wants this Homer and that's that."
Ramsey shook his head dismally. He knew he had to accept the fate that was dealt him, that there was not compromise. But he didn't have to like the end result. And there was some compensation in being able to say:
"Well, I ain't going to worry about her no more. If that's what she wants, she can have it."
Suddenly, a flash of inspiration hit Jim. "Say that again."
"Say what?"
"What you just said."
"I said if that's what she wants, she can have it."
A smile crossed Jim's face. His eyes were distant but bright.
"You think of something?" Ramsey asked hopefully.
"Maybe, I don't know. But ..." He took his eyes off the rain. He stared anxiously at Clay Ramsey. "Want to leave me borrow your car for the rest of the day?"
"You gonna take her out?"
"No, nothing like that. But I've got this idea...."
"And you want the car?"
"Yes."
"Take it, man. Use it as long as you want." He handed Jim the keys.
Jim pocketed them. He donned a rain slicker. "How's the gas?"
"I just filled it up."
"Good." He buttoned up. "I better take a few dollars, just in case."
Ramsey hit the register, handed him some bilk. "What are you fixing to do?"
"I'll tell you about it when I get back."
"Can't you tell me now?"
"I could but I don't want to build up your hopes ahead of time. I don't know if this is going to work or not. It's just a shot in the dark."
Ramsey grew excited. His eyes lit up. A trace of smile worked at the comers of his mouth. "Jim, if you can do any good-"
"Cross your fingers."
"Christ, I'll cross everything. Even my goddamn balls!"
The rain and the Pennsylvania mountains were a bitch, and Ramsey's car wasn't the most. The brakes needed work, she missed when he gave it too much gas, and it had a bad shimmy when he tried to exceed fifty. But this old heap would get him to the other side of Gettysburg, and that was the important thing.
Basically, his idea was very simple. Just a bit of psychology. A girl named Candy, that's what it was all about. A girl named Candy, who had given him a lift in her little Volkswagen, who had later made love to him, and who had invited him to remain in touch with her. And if Candy could be persuaded to come up to Rivertown for a few days.. . .
"Now what good would that do?" he could hear Ramsey ask him.
"Maybe plenty," he'd tell the old guy. "That is, if I know anything about the feminine mystique."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Jim continued the conversation with himself. "Linda's a woman, that's what. She's a woman and she's got womanly pride, womanly ego. And like all women who are young and pretty, she has to constantly prove it to herself."
Ramsey's face would be a blank, of course, Jim would have to explain it better.
He would say, "If there was another girl around, maybe I could make her jealous."
"How? It's Homer she's nutty about, not you."
Jim would say, "I know that, I know that. But I know how women are, see. They have to compete. Got to be the best. And if I can get Candy to cooperate, help me put on this act, I'm thinking that maybe Linda'll get interested enough to see if she can outpoint Candy and win me over. And when Homer sees what's happening, he'll blow his cool and tell Linda to pound salt."
Ramsey would raise his cap, scratch his balding head, and say:
"Sounds like a crock of shit to me."
Which if might be, Jim thought, as he fought the slashing rain and headed east. But it was better than nothing. Besides, it would be good to see Candy again. Maybe they'd even fuck.
When he was within local telephoning distance of Candy's home, he drew into a gas station and called her.' Fortunately, she was there. She sounded pleased to hear him, surprised, of course, and how soon would he be down to visit her?
He said, "If it's all the same to you, Candy, I'd rather meet you somewhere outside. I'm just not up to meeting parents and relatives just now."
"But I'm all alone," she said cheerfully. "Mom and Dad left for Florida early this morning and I was packing to go back to Kent. If it hadn't been for the rain, I'd have already left."
The news cheered him. He said, "Give me directions."
"Okay, Jim. Where are you right now?"
"In a phone booth, lovely one." He smiled at the mouthpiece. "And I'm cold and wet and oversexed. What can you do for me?" -
"I can do plenty for you. Only tell me what phone booth."
He told her, and minutes later he was back in his car and on the way.
Forty minutes later, he found her street, her house. It was a large, square brick home, not pretentious, but neat, substantial and well-maintained.
Candy beckoned him to the side door. And when he entered the tiny hallway, she flung her arms around him, kissing him long and fervently.
"You are wet," she said, breaking abruptly from the embrace, and surveying his rain slicker, then the wetness that had been conveyed to her gown.
"Water's always wet." He grinned and skinned out of the raincoat.
She took the coat from him and hung it up. She returned to the room, bouncing toward him in some crazy little furry slippers, her thin gown held away from her body.
He laughed quietly. "You look like you're pregnant."
She held the gown six inches out from her abdomen. "That's 'cause you got me all wet," she said. She tip-toed, kissing his mouth, and they rubbed noses.
"Why don't you take it off?"
"I can't. I don't have anything else on."
"I know it, pretty-eyes. That's why I said take it off."
"Do you really want me to?"
"Sure, why not? I don't want to be responsible for you catching pneumonia or something."
"Okay, I will." And with a sudden unwrapping of the tiny belt, she stepped out of her gown, naked and lovely: a sweet, seven teen-year-old muffiniface of a girl, whose body was the most delightfully proportioned thing he'd ever set his eyes on.
"C'mere, you," he said, standing apart from her.
"Do you like me?" she asked, her eyes roaming from his fly to his face. "What do you think?"
"Is my shape nice?"
"The best."
"My things aren't too small?" she asked uncertainly, meaning her breasts. "They're just fine."
"And the rest of me?"
"Out of this world." She came closer. "Do I make you hot?"
"Crazy hot."
"Is your thing hard?" she asked, looking in that direction.
"Like a poker."
"Then take it out and fuck me, Jim." And with that, she fell into his open arms.
He filled instantly with sensuous longing for her; and however enjoyable their first encounter had been, he knew this would surpass it, even before it began.
She was long-haired, dark-haired, as tempestuous in body as she was in face. And there was nothing hidden this time. Nor was he handicapped by the narrow confines of a Volkswagen's back seat. They had lots of time, apparently, complete privacy, and voracious appetites for sex. So this would be the best, he thought. The best ever.
"Can I undress you?" she asked.
"Be my guest."
She stepped up to him, her enchanting breasts swaying and bobbing to the slightest motion of her body. She began to unbutton his shirt and he was tempted to play with her tits. But deny yourself, he said silently. Hold back on the wondrous realization of how soft and warm her young breasts are. Anticipate just as long as you can.
She shed him of his shirt. Next her nimble hands worked at his belt buckle. Then the snaps.
He felt the thunderous pulsations of his cock, felt it swell. His pants bulged out.
"Want something?" she teased, gently touching the outside of his pants, the bulge.
"Golly, yes, I want something. I want you."
He helped her, kicking off his loafers, stepping out of his pants! His shorts bulged obscenely but he didn't care. Candy reached for the bulge and gripped it firmly.
He sighed. And damn if it didn't feel nice.
"You're big," she remarked, watching his eyes. "Big and hard and ready."
"And it's all yours," he said huskily.
"You better believe it." She released him briefly, pulled his T-shirt over his head, drew an imaginary circle on his chest, kissed it, then went for his shorts.
He still had not touched her, though, Christ, he certainly ached to. But he continued to suffer the sweet agony of deprivation, knowing that that would make realization all the more wondrous.
But Candy was not going to deny herself. She lowered his shorts, looked happily at the arch of his elongated cock.
"Is all that for me?"
"Every inch of it." He tilted her face up to his. "Can you take it?"
"I don't know," she said, brushing her juicy, swollen breasts against his chest, "but I'm goddamn sure going to try." She took his hand and led him to the divan. They kissed and touched and fondled, and she said, "What'll we do first?"
"Whatever you want."
"Let's just do it the regular way, first, okay?" She pitched backwards, spread her legs, and exposed her cunt to his gaze.
His cock throbbed and seemed to swell another inch. Impulse demanded that he crawl on top of her and fuck hell out of her. But the lovely sight of the teenybopper's hairy cunt, her moist lips wet with her juices, the crack open and waiting, her pleading eyes, made him want to do something else. He wanted to suck that delicious little pussy of hers. Suck it and suck it thoroughly.
He dove like an out-of-control submarine. His hot tongue speared the crack of her cunt. She shuddered and moaned and clamped her legs tightly around his neck.
I'm trapped, he thought. Trapped between her ! legs, forced to suck her pussy. But that was all right. That was just fine. And it was exactly what he wanted.
He sent his tongue in and out of her slit, first slowly, then rapidly. Her juices flowed freely and the salty taste of her lovely box stimulated him to new heights.
She clawed at the couch. Then she clawed his back. The heels of her feet pounded his ass. She lurched up, her greedy pussy wanting more and more of his tongue.
He sucked her off three times in all, and then he crawled on top of her, stuck his dick in her and fucked.
He was too hot to hold off. This first fuck was for himself, he thought. The second one would be for her.
But she was prepared for a quick come, even wanted it, for when he pleaded that he had to come, couldn't hold back, she said:
"It's all right, honey. Go ahead and come. I want you to come. We'll both come."
She pumped her black-haired box, bounced her sweet ass up and down on the couch, and he shot his hot cream into the teenybopper's straining cunt.
They wiped up, smoked cigarettes, then started again. He sucked on her breasts until they were as pink as a baby's bottom. She was the passive one during this phase of their love-making, offering her tits to his mouth, enjoying it to the ultimate.
"You've got the most wonderful, educated tongue," she told him. "Not too rough?"
"Just right."
"I'm glad it pleases you," he said between laps. "It does," she said with emphasis. "You can suck me just as long as you like."
"Here or down below?"
"Both places," she sighed. "Just don't stop."
He lapped at her breasts for quite a while. Then she insisted on crawling over him and lowering her breasts to his cock. The feeling was terrific. So terrific, in fact, that he wished he could fuck her between her tits. And this simple wish soon became transformed into action. He was moving his prick gently between her squeezed-together breasts, when she said:
"That feels nice." She hunched lower. His cock slid in deeper. He worked it back and forth.
"Anybody ever do this to you?" he asked.
It was a blunt question, he thought tardily. But she didn't mind answering. She said no, that no one had ever done this particular thing to her. Jealousy found its way to his innards and he wanted to ask her just what they had done, whoever "they" might be. But he didn't want to hit a discord, not now, anyway. So he reared back, then thrust forward, fucked her tits with his cock.
It grew more thrilling to him, as he went on, and she told him that he could come if he wanted to. But that wasn't his wish, at least not now.
"Why not?" she asked, squeezing her tits tighter and tighter around his cock.
"Because I want to fuck you again," he said.
"You already did."
"But I want to do it again."
"Hog!" She laughed.
"A horny hog," he added.
"Okay," she said, crawling off of him, "c'mon and fuck me then."
She had tumbled down on the carpet, legs fanned, tits pointing to the ceiling, her crack again ready.
He strode toward her, lowered himself, and suddenly, she rolled over, throwing her butt up in his face. He slapped her ass. . "Ouch!"
He slapped her delightful ass a second time. "Turn over," he ordered.
She looked over her shoulder at him. "Maybe I want it the other way."
"In the ass?"
"No, you jerk. I mean between my legs."
And this was all right with him. A stiff prick that found its way between her parted little-girl thighs, then, and with her help, nosed its way into her snapping cunt.
God, but it was good! he thought. Dog-style. Humped over her round ass. Shoving it home.
Candy's bottom rose and fell. She let out a hysterical moan, arched her face upward and screamed for more cock.
"Give it to me, Jim! Give it to me! More! More!"
Her words spurred his excitement. He fucked harder, deeper. He thought his cock would come up through her mouth, that was how deep he had shoved it.
But they didn't finish that way. She came twice, told him to hold off awhile longer, then told him to climb off so that they could try something else.
She wanted to fuck face-to-face, sitting on a kitchen chair. He told her nobody but a damn fool would fuck on a kitchen chair, and Candy said:
"That's us, sweetheart. C'mon, put it in."
So they fucked in the kitchen, on a chair.
After about fifteen minutes he plunged his cock into her hot pussy hard and let go with a stream of instant-ready gism. She heard him moan, felt the hot tingle inside her pussy, and scissored his hips with her bent legs.
She kissed him. Her tongue leaped into his mouth. Her ass bounced up and down on his groin.
Afterward, they showered, toweled each other, then padded to the front room for refreshments, some smokes, and talk. He was fond of her, he realized, and growing fonder all the time; in fact, he was so taken up by the pretty college youngster that he completely forgot why he was here. He remembered after she said:
"So how's everything in Rivertown?"
"Oh!"
"Did I say something wrong?"
"No, but I forgot."
"Forgot?"
"What I had to see you about."
He settled back on the couch, legs curled beneath him, Candy close at his side, and then he told her about old man Ramsey's deep concern for his daughter's welfare, his worry about a premature marriage to the boy named Homer. She wouldn't listen to her father's advice, Jim explained to Candy, and nothing else had worked. He did not tell Candy that he'd screwed Linda and her kid sister; it just didn't seem wise. But he did tell her of his plan, explaining how badly he needed her help.
"What do you think?" he asked, when he was finished.
"Sounds kind of far-fetched to me. Downright hairy."
"But it'll work, I think."
"I don't know." She wrinkled her brow. "You think that if I make out with you and do it in front of her, she's going to get jealous and make a play for you, right?"
He nodded.
"And then you're going to encourage her a little bit, and this Homer's going to get pissed and take off?"
He nodded weakly.
"Crazy, Jim. Right out of the hypodermic needle, if you ask me."
"You won't do it?"
"I didn't say I wouldn't do it. But I think it's stupid. Unless she's a complete idiot, she won't fall for it."
"Well, will you at least help me try?"
She shrugged. "What have I got to lose? I mean, it's crazy and it won't work, but if you want me to do it, I will." She kissed his nose. "And who knows, maybe it'll be fun."
"That's my girl!" He kissed her passionately.
"I'll have to miss the first couple of days of the new semester," she said.
"You don't mind?"
"Sure, I mind. But if you put that cigarette down and give me another fuck, maybe I'll get over it.
8
It was nearly midnight when he and Candy reached Rivertown. Ramsey let them in, there were introductions, and then Jim briefed the old man on his plan.
Keeping his voice low, so that the girls, who were now asleep, would not hear him, Ramsey expressed the same skepticism as had Candy.
"But like you say, Jim, it's worth a try."
They had hot coffee and lunchmeat sandwiches, and then Ramsey offered a suggestion of his own.
"I got a cabin just over the ridge, Jim. Go up there every now and then and do a little hunting. What I was thinking, maybe the four of you could go up there. Give you more privacy, you know, and maybe give this scheme of yours a better chance to work."
Jim had to agree. Kathy-Mae performed wonders on Jim's cock, but her presence at the wrong time could very well screw up what he had in mind. Too, the old man being around might put the brakes on things.
"What I could do," Ramsey began, "is sort of suggest it in the morning. You know, say, 'Why don't you young folks pack a picnic basket and take a hike up to my cabin?' And if I know my Linda, she'll jump at something like that. And you could take along her portable record player and something to drink." His eyes crinkled in sly amusement. "How about it, Jim?"
He beamed his approval. He looked at Candy. She said:
"Whatever you decide is all right with me."
"Sounds like a winner, Mr. Ramsey."
"Fine." He rubbed his hands together. "Now we'd better see about finding your girlfriend some place to sleep."
Jim wanted to say, "Let her sleep with me," but he wasn't sure how well that would set with Ramsey.
"What I can do," Ramsey went on, "is give you my room for a few nights. I can sleep on the couch.
"Nonsense," Candy put in. "You let me sleep on the couch."
But Ramsey wouldn't hear of that. Nor would he agree to Jim's suggestion that he would take the couch.
"Well, the way I see it, you're trying to make Linda jealous and have her go after you, right?" Jim and Candy nodded.
"Well, why not start tonight?" He paused. "If you don't want to do this, just say so. But, well.. . why couldn't Candy and you. ..."
Jim knew what he was trying to say, and it was perfectly all right with him. And judging from the expression he saw in Candy's eyes, she too understood.
"If you don't want to do anything like that," Ramsey said apologetically, "there's no need to."
"I don't mind," Candy said shyly, "if Jim doesn't"
"Well...."
"Jim, you don't have to do it this way if you don't want to," Ramsey said again. "I just thought. . . well, when my Linda discovers that you and Candy slept together . . . well, we'll be off on the right foot. She's bound to feel something."
Jim didn't say anything, but he had to agree with Ramsey's logic. Homer was spending the night in a nearby motel because there weren't enough beds in the Ramsey house; and now here was Jim, bedding down with another girl. Linda would be furious.
"I guess it's all right," he said weakly. "But I hope things don't backfire." . "Backfire?"
"I mean, I hope she doesn't get too mad. If she does...."
"Well, you're the psychologist, son. If she gets mad, you just get her un-mad."
Jim swallowed his doubts. He bid Ramsey good-night, took Candy by the hand, and led her to his bedroom.
Loosely speaking, they didn't fool around too much. Six fucks was what he counted, and they didn't fall asleep until nearly three in the morning.
The first fuck was wonderful. They tore off their clothes, assumed conventional positions; he astride, she on the bottom. Then, having concluded fuck number one, they had a smoke, and went for number two.
This was in her mouth. Fiery, quick, intense. And men there was another rest, while Candy fingered herself and Jim mopped the sweat from his forehead.
Fuck number three wasn't really that at all. She wanted to see Jim jack off. He told her she was crazy.
"But I never saw a guy do it," she explained.
He told her she hadn't missed anything.
"How do you know, if I haven't seen it?"
She coaxed him, rubbed his peter until it stiffened, and then begged him to continue. He finally acquiesced to her wishes. He felt a bit ridiculous in the beginning, but as his cock grew harder and harder to his swift stroking, his embarrassment vanished.
She gazed on with avid interest. And it was more than curiosity that was being satisfied, for the exhibition had aroused her considerably. She began to rub her tits, move her ass on the edge of the bed.
"I think I'm going to come too," she whispered, breathing rapidly.
Suddenly he shot a load of jizz into space. It splattered on the floor. He writhed in ecstasy, twisting and turning his cock, jerking it back and forth, exacting the last possible drop, the last possible thrill.
Candy, meanwhile, fell backwards. She had two fingers jammed in her cunt and she was thrusting them in and out at a furious pace. Then her face contorted, her legs drew up, and after a series of wonderful shudders, she went limp, .
They fell asleep for a half-hour or so, but the noisy exhaust of a passing truck awoke them, and minutes later they were kissing, feeling up each other, getting hot all over.
It led to more fucking. She wanted to do it by the window. She wanted to see the street lights playing over their bodies, see and hear the squish-squash of his prick and her cunt, as the fuck went on and on and on.
His capacity seemed endless on this magic night of sex and more sex. She stimulated him beyond the limits of credibility. She summoned a sexual drive from him and from herself that was total. And so there was another fuck by the window, one in front of the mirror, and a sixty-nine job to drain him completely. He was thoroughly exhausted then and fell asleep in her arms, his face pressed deeply into her breasts, and neither of them awoke until noon of the following day.
To Jim's disappointment, Linda did not appear jealous or angry over Candy's presence or the fact they had slept together. When they were introduced over the morning coffee, Linda was as cordial as could be. And when she learned that Candy was going to Kent University, a common ground was established, the yak-yak began, and Jim couldn't get a word in edgewise.
"Do you like Kent?"
"I think it's great. There's so much community life."
"I once thought about transferring there."
"You should. You'd like it."
And on and on. And all Jim could do was idly play with the coffee spoon, chain-smoke, read and re-read the morning paper.
Ramsey came up from the store, saw that everyone was well-acquainted, and brought up the idea of the picnic: going up to his cabin.
Predictably, Linda loved the suggestion. Homer was down at the motel, she'd pick him up, and she was sure he'd also like the idea. But first there was shopping she wanted to do, she said. She glanced at Candy.
"Why don't you go with me?" she offered.
Candy was delighted by the invitation. She smiled. "I think I will. I'd like to see the town and maybe there's something I need."
Jim grimaced. He didn't want the girls being this friendly, for it could very well defeat his scheme-that is, if it wasn't already defeated.
After the girls were gone and Ramsey had gone downstairs, Kathy-Mae bounced on the scene. She whizzed past him without speaking. He approached her at the sink and pinched her ass.
She said, "Keep your hands to yourself."
"What's wrong with you?"
"You've got two girlfriends. You don't need me.
He let out an exasperated sigh. Nothing ever worked out the way it was supposed to. Linda was the one who was supposed to get pissed; instead, it was little Kathy-Mae.
He put his arms around her and kissed the lobe of her ear. "I don't want you to be mad at me," he said tenderly. "I want us to be friends."
But Kathy-Mae was thoroughly incensed. She stiffened, pushed his hands away, then whirled away from him.
"Kathy...."
"Why don't you go fuck yourself!" she screamed, and then she went running to her bedroom.
He stood silent. Her outburst unnerved him and he wondered if the rest of the day was going to be as disappointing as this. If it was, then his scheme was doomed to failure.
It was nearly three-thirty before the foursome climbed into Homer's Toyota and started for' Ramsey's cabin. It had been earlier decided that they would drive as far as the terrain permitted, then hike the rest of the way. And Homer, as Linda predicted, was highly enthused by the idea.
"Brings out the Boy Scout in me," he joked; and as Jim glanced at the sallow-faced youth beside him, heard his boyish laughter, it occurred to him that that's what Homer was: a Boy Scout! A slender bean-pole of a lad, whose cow-licked forehead and coltish manner branded him with immaturity. So it was understandable why old man Ramsey felt as he did. Homer and Linda were too young for marriage; it could only spell tragic consequences.
So he had to do something, he reminded himself. Get Linda to make a play for him, throw a wrench in their lovebird thing before it was too late.
When they finally reached the cabin, they were exhausted. The last mile of the trip had been on foot: a steep, uphill climb that none of them were used to. And, of course, there were provisions to be carried along-the steaks and potatoes and plates and six-packs and bourbon, not to mention several blankets-and that made their hike all the more arduous.
But after they'd pitched off their packs, removed coats and muddy shoes, gathered around the fire that Jim started, squatted on the cabin's hardwood floor, refreshed with cold beer, their exhaustion was quickly forgotten. Communal laughter abounded in the tiny cabin, spirits ran high, and some of Jim's earlier confidence returned.
They each drank two beers. Then the steaks were grilled over the fireplace, more beers were christened, and the laughter grew louder. Linda wrapped the potatoes individually in aluminum foil and packed them around the hearth. Candy, meanwhile, unpacked the plastic bags containing the salad ingredients. So there was a smell of broiling steak, the smell of fresh salad, and the smell of sex. And amid all this, laughter, loud music from Linda's record player: the ribaldry of youth.
The steaks were succulent, tender morsels that needed little carving. The baked potatoes, overflowing with melted butter and sour cream, were a gourmet's delight. The salad, thick with tomatoes and radishes and bits of onion, generously bathed in Italian dressing, was surely a chef's pride.
After the delicious meal was finished, Jim brought out the bourbon.
She was beside him, her arm around his waist. She looked up into his eyes. "Right, Jim. Live dangerously." She stretched, kissed him, then took the glass of bourbon that he'd handed her.
Linda and Homer shrugged off their doubts and accepted the drinks that Jim passed to them. Linda said, "What're we going to use for a wash?"
"The beer, you dope," Jim said. He opened four more cans of beer and passed them around.
"Heaven bless my stomach," Linda said warily.
"Don't be a chicken," Homer put in weakly. "Close your eyes and down the drain."
And so this was how it started. Little chug-a-lugs: gulps of hundred-proof bourbon, chased by hasty swallows of half-cold beer. And it didn't take long, not in the glow of a warm fire, before the four of them were half-crocked.
Jim managed to remain in control of his senses, however. He was silly and he knew it, staggering slightly and he knew that. But he also knew what he had to do: somehow incite Linda to make a play for him, thereby causing trouble between her and Homer. He whispered to Candy:
"Let's go into our act."
"Huh?"
He compressed his lips in mock exasperation. "Start loving me up. You know, like we planned."
She was a little thick from drink but she quickly remembered now. They were seated on the floor, in front of the fireplace, and she inched closer to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, pressing her breasts against his forearm.
He kissed her warmly, rolling his lips against hers, turning slightly so that her breasts were crushed to his chest. Linda and Homer, who were dancing to something slow and dreamy, were also kissing
At this point, Jim decided to become bolder. He snaked his hands under Candy's cotton pullover, reached upward, cupped her brassiere. He played with her tits for several minutes, all the while kissing and nipping at Candy's lips. He sensed that Linda and Homer were watching them, stealing glances as they danced from one side of the room to the other. But was this exhibition doing any good? That is, was it accomplishing its purpose: to make Linda green-eyed enough to make a move.
"Keep it up," he whispered to Candy. "I think it's working."
Candy nodded. She dropped her hand to his lap and fumbled for his penis. She didn't unzip his fly, but she gathered the material around his prick, shaping it to the cylinder it was, and then she slowly worked it back and forth.
He was certain that Linda was watching the spectacle. And he was certain of something else: Candy's hand sure felt wonderful!
Suddenly Linda and Homer stopped dancing. They squeezed into the arms of a wicker chair and began to neck. And Linda appeared to be the aggressor, wiggling her tongue between Homer's lips, squirming so that her breasts played on his chest, and doing some finger-walking on his thighs.
Jim felt his fly go down. Seconds later, Candy had his prick exposed. She was playing with it, getting it good and hard, driving him slightly batty with thrills.
Candy saw that he enjoyed it and ground her breasts against his hands. "Do something for me," she whispered.
He did. He began pinching her nipples, not hard, but just firmly enough to produce a thrill in her and to make her nipples stiffen.
"I like that," she cooed. "I like it a lot."
He continued the caress. Meanwhile, Candy stroked his prick more meaningfully.
Suddenly, Jim said, "Let's have another drink."
Candy released his peter. He, in turn, drew his hands from under her sweater. Candy said: "I'm all for it."
Jim climbed to his feet. They passed the bottle around, taking healthy gulps, doing it without wash. The effect was staggering. They'd already consumed an excess of drink, so that this, large gulps straight from the bottle, was like being hit with a bomb.
But he knew he was a bit more experienced than the rest of them and would be able to keep his wits. And he was positive, now, that his plan was working. Linda was becoming jealous of Candy, and it was very apparent when she broke in on their necking session to suggest they have a drink.
Linda re-affirmed his suspicions when she put on another record and asked him to dance. She glanced coolly at Candy.
"You don't mind, do you, Candy?" she asked.
"Heavens, no. He's all yours."
Jim gloated. He saw a brief look of pain cross Homer's face when Linda swept into his arms, and he decided to make the most of it. He held Linda as close as he could. He ground her titties against his chest, molded his pelvis against hers, and made sure that she felt his rapidly hardening prick.
"Boy, am I dizzy!" she exclaimed. "That stuff is wicked."
"So are we," he said mischievously, and he nudged her suggestively, cradling his prick between her legs.
"You know what I wish?" she said quietly. "What?"
"I wish that thing in your pants was inside me.
His prick throbbed. To hear a girl say that was vastly exciting. He answered:
"I wish I was inside you, too."
"I like it when yOu fuck me," she whispered in his ear.
His face warmed. She was getting him worked up fast, a real bitch. And Homer was getting hot under the collar, no doubt about that. He was off in a corner, gabbing with Candy, swigging spasmodically from the bottle, and the sidelong glances mat he was shooting at Linda weren't pleasant ones.
Jim decided to agitate Linda. He said, "Maybe we ought to cool it."
"Why? Is your girl getting jealous?"
"I wasn't worried about my girl. I was worried about your fianc�."
She gave him a blurry-eyed glance. The drinks had slowed her mind, apparently, so her rebuttal didn't come as quickly as he anticipated. She said:
"You don't have to worry about Homer, my friend. Homer-Homer and I-we have an understanding. Do you know what I mean?"
Jim shook his head.
"Well. . . Homer and I ... we love each other. Not just a little bit, either." She had trouble phrasing her words. "Now just because-just because you and I, we swap off and dance together, that doesn't mean I stopped feeling the way I do about Homer. Am I right?"
"Dancing and fucking aren't the same thing," he said reproachfully. "Homer'd be pissed if he knew you and I played house. And I think he's pissed right this minute. I mean, I got a big hard-on and it's pressed against your pussy, in case you didn't know it, and I don't think your boyfriend cares for that shit. Not one little bit. And that's the trouble with being engaged."
She flashed a broad grin. Her eyes were having difficulty with focusing, and she was drunker than he had thought. She said:
"You're wrong, Jimmy. You're so wrong you don't even know what you're saying."
He let it go at that. She was stoned and he had accomplished what he'd set out to do: namely, agitate her into trying something, simply to prove him wrong.
As they danced, she reached down and shook hands with his cock, jerking it as though she were milking a cow.
He told her it felt good, which it did, but he again stuck the knife in, twisted it a little, and reminded her about Homer. You just couldn't do those things when you were engaged, he said, and that was the whole trouble with being engaged in the first place.
The additional agitation he had offered provoked her all the more. He was stupid, she said. With all that she had told him, didn't he understand that sex and love didn't necessarily relate?
"What do I have to do to get that through your thick skull, lover-boy? Fuck you right in front of Homer?"
It was a delicious thought. His pecker responded to the suggestion with a little jump; and he was certain that Homer-boy wouldn't take such shit sitting down. He'd blow his cork and that would be the finish to his and Linda's love match.
They danced into the darkness on the other side of the room. Linda said, "You didn't answer me."
"What do you want me to say?"
"That you want me to fuck you," she whispered huskily.
"Nothing doing," he said with pretended reluctance. "I'm not going to be the cause of any trouble between you and your boyfriend. I'd never hear the end of it."
"I guess there's only one way to prove anything to you," she said, sighing tiredly. "You're just a slow learner."
He allowed her to open his fly and pull out his cock. And he made sure that their bodies were faced toward Homer. He wanted Homer to see that it was Linda, not himself, who was the aggressor.
Homer grimaced slightly, but Jim couldn't be sure if he was grimacing because Linda was playing with his cock or because Candy was now doing the same thing to him.
This last bit startled him. It was his intention to make Homer jealous and a full-scale swap was something he hadn't figured on. But that's the direction things were taking: Linda was jacking off his cock and Candy was doing the same thing to Homer.
Unsure of what to do, he finally decided to go along with the act, simply to see How it ended. He let Linda draw him off to a comer.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was strictly French, with her clever tongue fucking him in the mouth: going in and out, in and out.
At the same time, she hadn't forgotten to play with his dick. She gripped it lightly, having made a narrow vise with her fingernails. She applied just enough pressure to simulate a tight pussy, and then she held her hand rigid while he pistoned back and forth.
Soon, he raised her sweater and began to play with her tits.
"That's what I like. Mmmm!" She swayed slightly, pushing her breasts against the hot palms of his hands. "Only let's not waste time."
She unfastened her slacks, slid them down her velvety legs, then stepped free of them. She peeled everything off except her peach-colored panties.
"Those are for you to take off," she said, not the least bit embarrassed by Homer and Candy's presence. She wiggled back to his arms.
He did not bridle. He'd consumed plenty of drink himself, which lessened whatever inhibitions he possessed, and his prick was a little bit too hard to say no. And, besides, what better opportunity to give Homer the shaft.
He took off his pants and upper clothing, stripping to his shorts. His big stiff cock protruded from the fly of the shorts. Linda licked her lips. He, swooning from the cute bobble of her teenybopper breasts, licked his lips.
They swayed toward each other. Linda rolled the elastic of her panties down below the bones of her hips. Her panties were reduced to a narrow strip of nylon. Her pubic hair peeped over the top.
Jim clasped his hands behind his head and did a mock bump-and-grind. His cock leaped out at her. She caught on and did the same: a pumping motion that was not unlike the thrust that occurred during actual intercourse.
They moved closer together, thrashing, pumping, almost touching one another, but holding back. Their warm giggles and drunken laughter added to the lewd ribaldry, but it did not deter the actions of Homer and Candy, who, when Jim glanced toward them, were happily exploring each other's nearly naked bodies. Homer had wedged a finger or two inside of Candy's cunt; she, in turn, was sampling the size of Homer's hairy balls: an act which brought a look of shivering pleasure to his face.
The stops were pulled, apparently, and Jim decided to do whatever came naturally. He'd make Linda moan and scream and shudder with delight, he thought. And he'd make Homer so fucking jealous that he wouldn't be able to see.
He grabbed Linda: a convulsive hug that swept her against him, crushing her bare breasts against his chest. Her red-hot nipples set his passions afire. Below, her nylon panties became the target of his stiffening cock. He rammed it against her.
"Take 'em off," she pleaded.
He rolled them over her ass. She shook herself and the panties puddled around her ankles.
He drove his finger up her cunt. She moaned drunkenly, then kissed him. Her tongue was wired for sex. It was like a wet prick, just as stiff: hot, constantly probing.
His senses went on a rampage. His hands flew over the dreamy, saucy contours of her young ass. He was a sculptor, she his model; and he had to feel her ass, test the sweet warmth and curvature of her flesh, tingle with joy, and then in all the creative talent that he might possess, transmit this lust to marble or granite or clay, or what-have-you. But, in this case, there was no statue to behold, and the lust that traveled wildly in his ringers was transmitted only to his cock.
He jerked off his shorts. His big cock sprang free, ready for whatever orgy might evolve. Again, in a manner that was absolutely maddening, she licked her lips.
Then, moved by some invisible thermostat of sex, she kneeled down in front of him, tilted her face, opened her mouth. He had only to step forward to feel her mouth enclose around his thick, fuck-mad cock, and what a hungry, encompassing mouth she had!
Unfortunately, Homer did not immediately witness Linda blowing him; and the reason was all i too clear, for Candy had apparently decided to ape everything that he and Linda were doing. Now, Homer's back was to them, and Candy was busy sucking his cock. She, too, had removed her clothing, as had Homer. They were on a bear rug, living it up.
It was great, he thought. Just great. But there was one thing wrong. He felt a deep, unmistakable jealousy. He didn't like to see Candy hung all over Homer, whatever their common motive. And it hadn't bothered him, this part of it, until he saw Candy sucking off the callow-faced beanpole. Then, his jealousy became unreasonable.
But Linda's hands and mouth made him suddenly forget what was happening to Homer and Candy. The hot joys that her tongue brought to his cock were something else.
He moaned. He dug his fingers into her forearms.
. "Let's fuck," she said, removing his cock from her mouth.
He didn't need a gold-plated invitation. He lowered himself to the floor, pulled her over on top of him. She worked his cock into her cunt. She again licked her lips. And then she began riding him.
Her ass rubbed against his balls: joy of joys! And she rode slowly, a rotating movement that guaranteed every inch of his prick was deep inside her.
Every sense in his body went to work. His eyes drank in the dizzying sight of her juicy, young breasts, bobbing in his face. His ears were alerted to the little gasping sounds that came from her throat, as well as the slip-slop of prick and cunt kissing hello. Too, there was the stimulating magic of smell; a musky-aroma that exuded from her pink cunt and told him how very, very hot she must be. But the most thrilling sensation of all was the one of touch: the exquisite joy that came from having your prick gripped by a teenager's hot, throbbing pussy.
"What a wonderful feeling!" he choked. "Man!" He sucked in his breath. "Fuck me, babe! Fuck the shit out of me!"
Her teeth clamped over her lower lip. Deep concentration was written on her face. She raised and lowered her pussy, gyrated in a small, tight circle, drove him crazy.
Then she started to feel what he felt: a joyful madness. A delirium that threatened to make him faint. A series of thrills that was the zenith of all thrills. A fuck to beat them all.
She began to ride him as though he was a wild bronco. And that he was. He raised, thrust his cock deeper and deeper, pistoned faster and faster.
But she rode it out. Rode it out and fucked him in spades.
"Who's fucking whom?" she grunted.
"We're fucking each other."
"Say that again."
"We're fucking each other?"
"Yes."
"You get hot when you hear that word, don't you?" he asked.
She was too carried away for words. She merely nodded and pumped faster.
"We're fucking," he said, watching her face. "My cock is fucking your cunt. It's going in and out. We're fucking. Doesn't it feel good? Doesn't my big, stiff cock feel good when it's going in and out of your pussy like this? Doesn't it?"
"OOhhh, Jim! Say it, honey! Say it! Ohhh, yes. Say it!"
"Fuck me, Linda. Fuck my cock! Hurry! Harder!"
She became a wildcat. She lurched drunkenly. Her pelvis pounded frantically. Her joy was desperate, heavenly.
"I'm coming, honey! You're making me come, your cock is-ohhh! Ohhh, Jimmm!" She clutched his bare body. Her tits lunged against his chest.
He surged deep inside her. Crazy thrills washed over him. His balls screamed with joy. He, too, was coming; and before he could put it into words, the hot cream of his cock was spurting into the teenybopper's snug little cunt.
She moaned with ecstasy as spurt after spurt of jizz struck the velvety walls of her pussy. Unintelligible gasps came from her mouth. Moans of thrilling enjoyment came from deep in her throat.
"Ohhh, Jim!" She cried his name over and over, so happy she thought she would faint. Up and down, she moved, in softer and softer undulations, seeking the last drop of his come, prolonging the thrills to the very last second.
At last they were still. They cuddled, nip-kissed, and whispered words that expressed their mutual satisfaction. And it was terrific, he thought.
But from the other side of the cabin, lit by the dying fire, he saw and heard that Candy and Homer were also enjoying themselves, which was, perhaps, an understatement of gross proportions.
Homer was on top of Candy, pressed between her V'd thighs, dicking hell out of her. Her legs were balanced on his shoulders, enabling him to get the deepest penetration possible.
Jim felt the return of jealousy. It bothered him that this string bean was fucking his girl, and as an afterthought, he wondered why he considered Candy his girl. Did his feelings for her run deeper than he supposed? And why? he asked himself. She was just another fuck, wasn't she? A girl who'd given him a lift. A fuck, a suck, just a broad.
But this oversimplification didn't decrease his jealousy. He liked her a bit more than he cared to admit, and if his luck followed its usual course, she probably felt otherwise about him; in fact, hearing her gasp, seeing her wiggle her ass, seeing her thrill to the fuck that Homer was presently giving her, made him certain of this, and turning to Linda, he said:
"Don't look now, girl, but I think you lost your boyfriend and I lost my girlfriend."
Still very naked, nestled in his arms, Linda was unperturbed by the sight of Homer fucking Candy. She said:
"Doesn't it get you excited, watching someone else?"
He didn't know exactly what to say. It was exciting, seeing a teenybopper getting the hell fucked out of her, but not when the teenybopper happened to be a girl whom he liked so much. But Linda persisted that she didn't have to worry about Homer. She again repeated their "understanding." She could screw around, Homer could do likewise, and these illicit interludes with other mates would not jeopardize their forthcoming marriage.
"Well, I guess that's that," he said dismally.
"What do you mean?''
"Just talking to myself," he said, without explanation. And what it amounted to was a total failure in the attempt to break things up between Linda and Homer. Old man Ramsey would simply have to accept things as they were.
9
It was hours before the crazy evening was over, and Jim finally got what he really wanted-Candy alone with him in his own bed. "To hell with Linda and Homer and ole man Ramsey," he said to himself as he cradled the young girl in his arms. "If they want to monkey around like a bunch of nuts, let them. This chick is for me. And he held Candy closer as she smiled, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
In the morning Jim woke with a hard-on and began to worry. Ever since all that excitement yesterday his prick had been stiff and his mind full of sex thoughts. As though he hadn't had enough!
He remembered how he had fucked Candy and how she had sucked his cock and he had eaten her. He thought he was going insane. Here it was only eight o'clock in the morning, and he was ready to start the whole gang-bang again. Maybe there was something to what Linda kept telling him-that watching other people enjoy sex was an excitement all its own.
Jim remembered how he had licked Candy's cunt and loved every moment of it. It had been the softest, sweetest thing. He hoped that when he got around to working again-and they were legally married-he wouldn't fall asleep on the job dreaming about this dreamboat of a gal.
Beside him he saw Candy sleeping on her stomach facing him. Her mouth was open slightly and he recalled how his prick had fit all the way inside. He pulled back the covers and saw his big hard-on and her round ass. At home he had dirty magazines and pictures that he looked at while he jerked off, and now, beside him was this beautiful girl who sucked his prick and acted as if she loved to fuck him. And on top of that there were Linda and her little sister. What in hell had he ever gotten into? Jim didn't know and he decided, then and there, not to think about it and enjoy it. There were three girls available for his pleasure-Candy was the best, the most beautiful, the one he really loved. So why not take her while the taking was good?
Boy, what a piece of ass she was! And she was all his. His prick began to itch, and he reached down to stroke it.
He wished he could stop fucking. He wished he could do something constructive like play tennis or go swimming, but here he was jerking off and looking at Candy's beautiful, young, fresh ass. His heart beat faster and he thought that if he were home alone he might go out and sexually molest some girl, maybe get sent to jail as a sex criminal. He wondered how many husbands would be in jail if they didn't have wives or girl friends to fuck.
While silently jerking off a new dirty thought came to his mind. Last night Candy had sucked his cock while he was asleep. Didn't that give him the right to do something to her while she slept? He rose to his knees as he kissed her lightly at the base of her spine to see if she'd awaken. She didn't.
Okay, where should he ram his ravenous cock? He rose to his knees and thought. He could spread her legs a bit and put it in her pussy or he could fuck her in the mouth. He like the second idea better, so walked on his knees and touched his prick to her lips. She twitched her nose and licked her lips, at the same time touching his cock with her tongue. A thrill bolted through Jim and just as he poised himself for the thrust to her throat, he realized she might awaken, become frightened and bite his prick off. That would be a disaster; he'd better take her pussy-it had no teeth.
He crept down and carefully spread her legs. She said something in her sleep and moved her head to the other side. He looked at the blonde wool and pink floppy lips of her pussy and remembered how they had smelled and tasted last night. Her cunt had a strong, meaty taste and was delicious. He had to admit that last night's sex had been the most fantastic experience of his life. He would be very nice to this little girl and her pussy. He needed her like a junkie needed drugs.
He held his cock in hand and advanced to her cunt, staring at the cheeks of her cute ripe ass. Just as his cock touched her dry pussy lips he had a thought so audacious that it stopped him cold.
Why not fuck Candy in the ass? Why not? Didn't she blow him last night-and Homer too-she wasn't exactly a virgin. The one thing he wanted most at that moment was to break into her beautiful ass.
He felt her asshole and his finger told him that it was very tiny, but he knew it would be possible to fuck her there because he had read that it was a custom among the Greek people to fuck wives in the ass. Not wives, really, but the women who would become their wives, their fianc�s.
Latin people, the Greeks, Italians and Spanish, place a high premium on virginity-especially the older folk. The men want their wives to be virgins when they go to the bridal bed. It is a kind of make-believe. A man engaged to a girl will fuck her in the ass for months, resisting the temptation to take her pussy in order to be sure that he will go to the altar with a virgin. It is an ancient custom that still persists in many countries.
Jim wondered if he should grease up his cock first to help it in easier. He stepped out of bed, found his tube of sun tan lotion, squeezed a huge white gob on the palm of his hand and rubbed it all over his straining cock. The lotion smelled good-something like a field of flowers. He smeared an additional amount on the head of his cock because that part would have to do most of the work. The thought of fucking Candy in her beautiful ass made his mouth dry and mind feverish.
He tip-toed to the bed, walked on his knees to a spot between her legs and bent over her. He rested one hand on the bed, held his greasy cock with the other and lowered it toward the crack in her ass. At first touch her ass felt soft, like marshmallow. His cock slipped into the crack and stopped abruptly at her asshole. His head pounded with lust. Candy moved her head on the pillow and there was only one thing left to do.
Jim gritted his teeth and thrust his hips forward. Candy opened her eyes wide and screamed as his fat prick ripped into her. She tried to crawl away but he grabbed her underneath and his prick bore deeper until his peckerhead was in all the way. She shook and tried to toss him off, whimpered and tried somehow to burrow into the mattress, but he snorted and lunged forward. His prick tore in and he removed his hand so it would slide in all the way.
Her hole was much tighter than Candy's pussy and offered his prick strong stimulation all along its length. Only about two inches remained outside of her. Jim concentrated all his weight and strength on her asshole and reamed in the rest of the way. When he felt the cheeks of her ass against his loins he stopped to rest, letting his prick soak inside her.
"It's a helluva way to wake up in the morning," Candy wheezed.
"I couldn't help it," Jim apologized. "I was horny and your ass looked so good I couldn't resist."
He thrust his free hand underneath her and touched her pussy. It was damp now and he realized she had liked being fucked in the ass. She sure was some terrific lay!
He stuck two fingers in her cunt, gave her tit a squeeze and began to withdraw his prick. The suction was terrific. He pulled back slowly and then jammed in again. He looked down and saw his prick sticking inside Candy's beautiful ass. With a heart full of passion he began to stoke her ass. He liked this hole because of its snugness and realized he now had the possibility of three different sex experiences with Candy; her mushy, maniac cunt, her mouth and her tight asshole. They ought to keep him occupied for the rest of his life. She was getting into it now, her ass meeting him stroke for stroke. Both of her hands were on the pillow, pushing her body back at his prick. Again and again he stormed into her asshole while her pussy juice was as thick as paste on his fingers.
Candy closed her eyes and smiled into the pillow. She had been wondering how she could tempt Jim to fuck her in the ass, and before she had figured it out he had done it on his own. He was proving quite creative.
She wiggled her ass as Jim thundered in again. Without removing his cock he maneuvered her to a kneeling position and fucked her like a dog. He pulled her to the edge of the bed. He stood on the floor, and then fucked her that way. Candy crouched on the bed, her ass high in the air. She reached behind her and caught his swinging balls. She let them tumble in her hand for a time, then felt for his prick. Wrapping her thumb and forefinger around it, she felt his balls slap against her palm and the prick impaled her again and again. They both had orgasms that way; Candy, on her fingers; Jim as he ate her ass like a water cannon.
In the shower Candy washed Jim's prick and when she was finished she knelt down and gave him another blowjob. After he came in her mouth he made her lay down in the tub so he could eat her again. When his hunger for the taste of her pussy was finished, he crawled on top of her and fucked her again; his semi-soft cock rested in her lazy pussy. After a time they realized neither could come again, so they finished their shower and Jim shaved while Candy combed out her hair. It was time for lunch and since they had both missed breakfast they were starved, particularly in view of their spirited activities.
They dressed as Candy watched slyly while Jim tucked his soft prick into his white jockey shorts. He realized that since they had been in this room they had been more often naked than dressed. They were becoming very familiar and casual with each other, but for Candy the familiarity in no way bred contempt. On the contrary she wished they could be naked always. As they left the room she regretted not being able to see his prick, ass and smooth hard stomach. She didn't know that he was hoping he could get a hard-on so they could go right back to bed and start fucking all over again.
Ole Man Ramsey was standing at the foot of the steps as they came down. Candy and Jim took one look at the old man and started to laugh. He broke into a big smile. There was a big bulge in his pants.
"Yep, kids, you're right. That's what it is. It's a hard-on. And with all the sex that's been going on in this place it's time I did something for myself. I'm going right over to see the widow Young this very minute. She's been dying to get into my drawers for years. It's now-or never. Yipee!"
The kids laughed as Candy moved toward the stove to turn on the coffee pot while Jim hovered close behind her, his fingers busily engaged in feeling both her pussy and her twat. They felt a lot of happiness for the future.
