I said the words softly, but in a harsh, kind of urgent whisper, and aimed them right at the back of Howard Fletcher's head. I was surprised by how much intensity and feeling I was capable of squeezing into so few words, and I was positively thrilled by Howard's reaction. As if the words had actually hit him, he staggered forward, and made a yelping, swallowing sound. When he turned around and looked at me, his face was crimson.
"Huh?" he said, like a dummy.
We were standing in the middle of the hall-way, right between classes, with hundreds of kids running past us on both sides. There was yelling and screaming, pushing and shoving, cursing, giggling, talking, whistling and every-thing going on all around us, but neither one of us was paying any attention to it at all. We were like two tiny islands in the middle of a raging river, looking at each other, paying attention to each other only. What was truly amazing was that out of all that noise he was able to hear anything at all.
In fact his silence was beginning to get to me, so I decided to prod his attention a little. "I said : Hey, you wanna -- "
"Shhhhh!" Howard shook his finger in my face, spraying me with saliva as he cautioned me to be silent. He wore those incredibly thick reading glasses, and behind him his tiny black dot eyes were darting from side to side as he stared with suspicion at the students passing us by. He had a natural stooped posture, with bony, rounded shoulders, which always made him seem as if he were peering up out of a hole. Out of the corner of his mouth, barely moving his lips, he spoke to me in a conspiratorial whisper. "Someone might hear."
I nodded in solemn agreement.
Howard Fletcher was a kind of yucchy-looking guy. And he was -a creep, too. He was tall and skinny, had a milky white complexion, pale blond hair, and watery blue eyes. The clothing he wore, and none of it was ever very fashion-able, just sort of hung on his body, never seeming to fit very well. But he was a brain, a smartass, and most of the teachers adored him.
"Hey," he said after a moment of thought. "Is this some sort of joke?"
As the color began to fade from his face, he groped for words. "Well, then ... before -- what did you, I mean before -- "
"I was serious."
"You mean you really wanted to -- " he gestured helplessly with his hands. " -- with me?"
"Fuck," I whispered, giggling as I watched the word stagger him a second time. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Yes, I do."
"But why?"
I licked my tongue sensually around my lips. "You've got something I want."
Howard glanced down at himself in disbelief. "I've got something you want?" His al-most colorless eyebrows arched up quizzically, and he pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger. Peering intently at me through the thick lenses, he asked : "What can it be?"
Playfully, I gazed at his crotch, pushing my tongue wetly out between my lips. "You don't really want to discuss that right here, do you, Howie, baby?"
"Oh. ..." I watched him become aware of the others in the hallway with us. Up to that moment, I don't think he realized where we were or what we were really discussing. Rising up like the mercury in a thermometer, the flush of embarrassment colored him from the base of his scrawny neck to the ragged blond tufts of hair on the top of his head. With a look of pure terror in his eyes, he shook his head rigidly from side to side. "... no."
I glanced off to the side of the hallway. "Let's go over by the radiator. We can talk there."
There was a garden and courtyards at the center of the school building, and the windows in the hallway looked out onto them. In front of the windows were these huge, old-fashioned radiators, very high and wide, completely en-cased in metal covers. Perfect for leaning and doing homework on, the radiators were a natural gathering place for kids between classes. Usually very crowded, the radiator I pointed out was momentarily empty, and we hurried toward it, pushing our way through the crowd.
"Felicity!" someone called out to me. "Felicity Browne! Wait up a sec!"
At the sound of that voice, Howard turned to me with a look of shger panic in his eyes.
"Wait for me by the radiator," I whispered, urging Howard on, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'll get rid of him as soon as I can."
The caller was Wayne Silber, the gorgeous stud who sat behind me in English. Tall and handsome, with dark brown hair and large brown eyes, I could see him moving through the crowd toward me. At his side was Billy Newton, Wayne's best buddy.
"Hey, there, Felicity," he said, sliding up against me, wrapping his arm around my waist. "How ya doin'?"
Wayne was constantly on the make for me, and I found that kind of exciting. Even though we've talked a lot together, and once we cut English together just to make out, we've never gone any further than a little superficial fondling. He kisses great, and really knows how to use his tongue. I let him feel-me up, but only on top of my clothing. Maybe someday... .
"Okay. How you doin'?" I asked back. "What's happenin'?"
"Nothin' much." He nodded at his friend, then winked suggestively at me. "What do you say we cut English again this afternoon? I feel like gettin' it on."
"Sorry, baby. Can't make it. I've got other plans." I purposely glanced over at Howard, patiently waiting for me by the radiator.
"With him?" Wayne's voice rose with squeaky incredulity, his lips curling with distaste. "What kind of plans can you have with a creep like him?"
I winked suggestively at Wayne. "Got a history exam coming up next class," I lied. "I rubbed my ass back and forth across his thigh. "Howard is going to help me to pass."
"When me and you gonna get together again?"
"Soon," I told" him, slipping out of his grip, leaving him with a throbbing hard-on. "Give me a call."
"Sure will, baby." Wayne nodded confidently. As I walked away from them, I could hear Wayne say to Billy: "... I fucked her, you know."
He didn't actually. He didn't even come close to it. But if it turned him on to brag about it, why should I care. I've already made up my mind to let Wayne fuck me one day. It's just a matter of time before it. finally happens. If he wants to brag about it before it happens, let him. Sooner or later I'm gonna fuck every man who ever turned me on. Wayne, at best, is only going to be one of many. So let him brag.
By the time I finally got back over to him, Howard seemed disturbed. The hallway had emptied out somewhat, and the few students who passed him by were greeted by his withering stare. He trained his eyes on me, mustering up what little courage he had left.
"You were talking to him about me, weren't you?" he accused. He paced nervously back and forth in front of the radiator. "What did you tell him?"
I slumped against the radiator, directly in his path, so that if he wanted to continue to pace he would have to go around me. I arranged myself in such a way to thrust my tits up tautly against the thin material of my white blouse, making it evident that I was wearing nothing under it. My hip jutted out at a suggestive angle, causing the hemline of my short skirt to inch up my naked thigh. I enjoyed teasing Howard, even though he was hardly a turn-on, and I found myself aroused. But, of course, I was always aroused. The crotch piece of my panties became sticky.
"I told him you were going to help me pass a history exam." My lips pursed into a kiss, and I blew it at Howard. A shiver went through my body.
He leaned forward over the radiator, his head hunched down between his shoulders. Waiting for the two giggling girls to pass, he asked :
"Is that what this is all about?"
I winked at him. "No."
"Well, then, what is this all about?" he asked, exhaling in exasperation. His black eyes swished from side to side. "Why did you say that -- word to me before? What do you want from me?"
"Cal Jessup."
"Ahhh ... Cal." Nodding several times, Howard pushed his glasses up his hooked nose. "I see. ... I see."
Cal Jessup was the captain of the high school football team, and was probably the sexiest boy in the whole goddamn school. He was also something of a "brain," and, for a reason I could not possibly understand, his best friend was Howard Fletcher. When he wasn't being a Saturday morning hero on the football field, or busy going out with all those chicks who hung on his arm, Cal could usually be found with Howard, playing chess together or discussing some point of philosophy or literature. It was easy to see that the way to Cal Jessup was through Howard Fletcher.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
The hallway was almost empty now, and even though we were speaking together in a subdued tone, Howard's voice seemed loud. A pretty young girl,, obviously late for a class, glanced up at Howard as she hurried past. Howard shuddered, then cautioned me to speak softly.
"I want you to arrange a meeting between Cal and I," I said. "That's all. Just tell him that I find him a turn-on, and make the arrangements for us to get together. I'll handle the rest."
Howard nodded. "What's in it for me?"
I smiled. "Anything you want."
His eyebrow arched up. "Anything?"
"Anything."
"And what you said before, about me ... fucking you, that was true? I could even do that to you if I wanted to?"
"Anything means anything you can think of."
Howard nodded in appreciation. "That's all right. Certainly better than Ella's deal."
That surprised me. I grabbed onto Howard's shoulder and shook him. "Ella who? What are you talking about?"
"Ella Lou Lambert," he said smugly, tap-ping his glasses against his forehead with his index finger. "You didn't think you were the only one who ever thought of this plan, did you?"
I had, of course, but I wasn't about to reveal that to Howard. "Of course not," I said. "How naive do you think I am? Besides, who is this Ella Lou whatever her name is? What kind of deal did she offer you?"
"She was a senior last year," Howard explained. "She graduated. She wanted me to do the same thing as you : set up a meeting between Cal and her."
"Did you?"
"Of course."
"What did she offer you?"
The color rose up in Howard's face. He looked around to make sure the hallway was empty, and he leaned over the radiator. "I'll whisper it in your ear."
"Go ahead."
"A ... hand-job," he said, his face turning a bright scarlet.
"That's all?"
Howard nodded.
"Did you enjoy it?"
Howard grinned. "You bet!"
"What do you want me to do?" I asked, still leaning over the radiator. Grinning with perversity, I jammed my tongue into Howard's ear. He yelped and pulled back, turning a more in-tense shade of red. I said : "Fuck you? Would you like me to fuck you? Suck your cock? Let you play with my pussy?"
He beckoned to me with his finger. "I'll whisper it in your ear. And you'd better never ever tell anyone about this!"
"I won't." I gestured impatiently. "What do you want me to do?"
Putting his lips to my ear, so close that I could feel the heat of his embarrassment against my face, he said:
"I want you to take your panties off and ... sit on my face with your naked pussy."
A shudder of excitement went through me. "Ohhh. And what are you going to be doing?"
"While you're sitting on my face," he said, his voice quivering with emotion, "I'll be ... be playing with myself."
I grinned at Howard. "That's dirty. I never would have suspected it of you."
"Will you do it?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Jesus."
"When?"
"Are you free tonight? I could meet you somewhere."
bed and everything."
Howard looked doubtful. "Is it safe?"
I fluttered my eyelashes. "I do it all the time and I've never been caught."
"Oh." Howard closed his eyes and then re-opened them. "All right, tonight. Nine o'clock?"
"Fine."
"I'd better go," Howard said. He glanced down at his wristwatch. "We'll be late for class."
"One thing," I said, stopping him. "How come you're doing this? I thought Cal was such a good friend of yours. Isn't this kind of disloyal?"
"Cal can get all the girls he wants," Howard explained. "He has to fight them off. I'm not that lucky.` I've got to take whatever I can. With things like they are, I'd be a fool not to take advantage of this situation."
I nodded with new respect for Howard, seeing him in a new way. "You are a man full of surprises," I said. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."
I got a good feeling about -Howard then, watching him as he hurriedly disappeared down the hallway, late for his next class. About halfway down the hall he stopped, hesitating for a moment. He turned around and looked back at me, his face flushed red with embarrassment, and then he made a deliberate turn to the left, entering the Boy's bathroom. I had a feeling it was going to be an exciting night.
* * *
"It's safe to put the light on," I said, slip-ping from the darkened hallway into the darkened room. I'd made so many nocturnal visits to this office that I knew where everything was without having to see them. Still, Howard was pretty nervous. I said : "There's no night watchman to see the light."
"No!" Howard cried sharply. He pushed me deeper into the room, closing the door behind him. In the darkness I could smell him sweating, and I could hear his wet, ragged breathing. "Someone might see!"
"Howard, there isn't anybody in the building but us."
"It's best to be safe."
"With the lights out," I asked, "how are you going to see my pussy when I squish it all over your face?"
Howard shuddered. "Oh."
"Here, just to make you feel better, I'll even draw the shade on the door so no light shines out into the hallway." I pulled down the shade and snapped the lock on the door. "Now can I turn the light on?"
"You sure it's safe?"
"No, I'm a masochist; I want to get caught." I flicked the light switch.
"Oh!" Howard cried, suddenly appearing. He scrunched down into his clothing, peering out from behind his thick glasses. "I guess so. ... Are you sure it's safe?"
"Howard!"
"All right, all right," he said, fluttering his fingers, urging me to keep my voice down. He looked around at the room, squinting through half-lidded eyes. "I'm just a little nervous."
"You've got nothing at all to be nervous about," I said, taking him by the hand. His hand was trembling, and he tightened his fingers against my flesh. I led him over to the bed. "Here, sit down. Relax and make yourself ... he-he ... comfortable."
It took him a moment or two before he caught it. When he did, Howard's head snapped up, and he stared at my face. His jaw dropped down in disbelief.
"You mean take my clothing off?" he asked shrilly. "You mean we're going to do it ... naked?"
I shrugged. "Why not? It's more fun that way."
He clutched at his baggy clothing. "But I've never been naked with a girl before."
I felt just the faintest flicker of compassion. "How old are you, Howard?" I asked.
He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Sixteen. Why?"
"That's old enough. Take your clothes off."
"What!"
"Oh, Howard." I sighed with exasperation. "I'm trying to enjoy this, too, you know. Try to think of me. I'm a person. I'm not just the body you're going to use. Why can't we both enjoy this?"
Howard cleared his throat. "I'm very sorry, Felicity. I'm sort of new at this yet. I guess I'm ... embarrassed."
"We'll do it slowly." I stepped back away from the bed. "Here, let me show you this."
I was wearing the same skirt and blouse that I had worn to school-that day. Reaching down to the hem of the skirt, I very slowly raised it. I did it to tease and excite him, watching how his eyes got wider aid wider the higher the skirt was hiked. I kept on raising it until it was all the way up, until Howard could see that I had removed my panties. T was standing with my legs spread wide, and Howard was staring at my naked, blonde-haired pussy.
"Oh ... oh!" he said. I watched the color drain from his face. His glasses slid down his nose and his eyes bulged myopically out of their sockets as they strained to see. "Oh my goodness!"
I wiggled around, grinding my hips, doing a few bumps and grinds. "Do you like it?" I asked.
"Oh, yes! Very much." Howard leaned for-ward, staring down, returning his glasses to the bridge of his nose. "It's so hairy!"
"Would you like to touch it?"
Howard blinked twice in rapid succession. "Could I?"
"Of course."
He stuck out his hand stiffly, bending it down, curling the fingers. But he didn't touch me. He kept his hand outstretched, six inches away from my flesh. So I helped him. I waddled forward, my skirt pulled all the way up, and I plopped my pussy down onto his hand.
"Oh my God!" he cried, his fingers curling into my oozing slit. "It feels so good! So wet!"
"That's because I'm turned on," I confessed. I squirmed my pussy against his probing fingers. My eyes closed tightly, and I found myself holding my breath. I was very excited. "Play with my pussy."
"Oh ... yes!" he cried. "I will!"
I stood there, with my legs spread wide apart, while Howard's exploring fingers slid up and down between the thick, hairy flap of my cuntlips. I was wet from clit to hole, and his fumbling was only exciting me further. He touched my clitoris, pressed into it, but obviously didn't know its function. His fingers slid back down to my cunthole, and he began to press himself up into my body.
"Oh, that's it, Howard!" I said. I grabbed onto his hand, and pressed it up into my wetness. I could feel my cuntlips sliding around his fingers. Wetness oozed into his palm as I pressed my cunt down hard upon his upturned hand. "Finger me, Howie ... finger me! Push your fingers up into my pussy!"
Eyes closed, legs spread wide apart, I rocked from side to side, then forward and back, letting the incredible sensation of Howard's thrusting fingers fill up my body the way they were filling up my cunt. The muscles in my thighs clenched, and the spasming canal of my pussy gripped tightly around his wet, sliding fingers. My tits were swollen with pleasure, and the nipples pushed stiffly through the thin material of my blouse. Holding my skirt high above my waist, I rubbed the backs of my hands across my breasts, exciting my passion even further.
"Take your cock out!" I urged. I opened my eyes and let Howard see all the real passion smoldering in them. "I let you see mine ... now let me see yours!"
"But -- "
I reached down and touched his cock through his pants, letting my skirt flap down on one side. Howard gasped when I touched him, and the fingers in my pussy stiffened with excitement. I stroked his cock from tip to base, exploring its length and thickness through the material of his pants. An incredibly intense heat radiated out.
"Your cock is big," I said, surprised at its more than adequate length and width. It seems that I'd misjudged Howard in more than one way. "That's nice."
"Is it really big?" he asked, taking his index finger from my cunt just long enough to push up his sliding glasses. "Really?"
"Yes, it is." I pulled down his zipper and thrust my hand into his pants. I pulled his cock out. "You sound surprised."
"I didn't know. No one ever -- aahhhh!" he said, as my fingers curled around the naked throbbing shaft. I began to stroke him up and down, masturbating him, feeling him throb and pulse against my palm. "Oh, Jesus, that feels so good ... So good ... Oh ... oh!"
Howard began to come. All it took was my hand on his naked prick, by his own admission only the second time ever in his life, and he was spewing out his hot sperm all over the floor.
"Oh ... Jesus!" he moaned, his face turned crimson with shame. "I didn't mean ... oh! ... ooohhh!"
My reaction was instantaneous. The moment I felt his cock throbbing, felt the hot, wet splatter of oozing come rolling across my fingers, I bent forward, trying to suck his cock up into my mouth. But I'd moved too quickly, and his sperm splashed on my cheek, scalding me with excitement. I could smell the heady aroma of male come, and it nearly drove me wild. The second blast caught me on the lips, just as my mouth was opening wide. I felt it oozing down over my lips and teeth, into my mouth. I licked my tongue up and wiped it through the warm, salty blob. I licked it clean, then sucked his still pumping cock into my mouth. I could feel his sperm gushing out across my tongue.
"I'm ... sorry," Howard moaned, holding my head between his hands, thrusting his cock in and out of my mouth. I could feel him softening between my lips. "I-didn't mean to ... too soon ... Too soon!"
I sucked his cock until it was dry, until no more sperm oozed out, and it was shrunken and shrivelled across my tongue. Moving my head back, I let Howard's lifeless cock pop out. It flopped against the open zipper and stained his pants.
"Go over on the bed," I told him.
"Felicity," he said, tears in his eyes, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. ... I didn't mean -- "
"Go lay down on the bed."
He blinked. "You mean -- "
"A deal is a deal. I'm gonna sit on your face."
Howard staggered over to the bed, his head spinning, his eyes blurred and obviously out of focus. He was mumbling to himself, shaking his head, flopping the limp pink sliver of his prick up and down.
"Should I take off my pants?" he asked.
"Do whatever you want." I began to unbutton my blouse. "I'm not finished with you yet."
"You're really going to do it?" he asked. "Even with this?"
"I'll take care of that," I assured him, wetness oozing down the insides of my thighs.
"Felicity?"
"What!"
"Leave your skirt on," he said, his face scar-let. "When you're doing it to me ... leave your skirt on ... please."
I grinned as I felt a swell of pleasure surge through my body. "Yes," I said, understanding. "I will. And you leave your glasses on. I don't want you to miss a thing."
Howard stripped off his pants and shoes, leaving on his black socks. He lay down on the bed, his shirt pulled up, his body pale and scrawny, thin legs splayed out. Through the pale blond hair of his crotch, his cock flopped wetly across his thigh.
"I'm ready," he said.
I climbed up onto the bed, straddling his head with my thighs. I lowered myself onto his face, giving him a show first as I masturbated my clitoris and pulled apart the gummy lips of my cunt. Then I settled onto his face, pressing down with my pussy. I could feel my wetness oozing all over him, over his nose and lips, seeping down into his mouth. His tongue pressed up, slithering between my hairy flap, stabbing up into my quim.
Rocking back and forth, smearing my discharges all over Howard's face, I could feel my excitement mounting to the critical point. My cuntlips made a sticky sound as they opened and closed, and I rubbed my swollen clitoris back and forth, against the edge of his nose. As I began to come, I smiled to myself. Howard's cock was rigid again.
That was one thing about young boys : in-credible recuperative powers. I made him come three times. Once in my mouth again, and once in my cunt, when we fucked.
Chapter Two
From the bed I- could see Bonnie. She was in the bathroom, but framed in the doorway, looking at herself in the mirror. A brush was in her hand, and she was stroking it through her thick black hair, cocking her head to one side, and then the other. All she had on was a blue nightgown, kind of flimsy and transparent, and with the light streaming in from behind her it was almost as if she were naked. She had big, firm tits with long brown nipples, a flat belly, fat ass, and a bush of jet-black pubic hair. I could hardly believe she was only fifteen years old, a year younger than I, and still "technically" a virgin.
"Hey, Bonnie," I called out.
She didn't turn away from her reflection in the mirror. The steady, measured strokes of the brush through her hair continued without a ripple.
"What?"
"You. want to play the `game?' " I asked, watching very carefully how it would hit her.
A shudder went through Bonnie. She pressed her thighs together. Only the smallest hesitation marred the fluid movement of the brush. I could see she was squinting, taking a good hard look at herself, then she glanced briefly at me. She wanted to know if I had seen.
"I don't care," she said, her voice too casual, too controlled. She scrunched up her nose, rubbing at an imaginary smudge on her cheek. "It doesn't matter to me one way or another."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure about what?"
"That it doesn't bother you."
She laughed stiffly. "Don't be silly," she said, the brush running through her hair a little more rapidly than it had a moment before. "Why should it bother me? Ha. But if you re-ally want to know what I think is silly, it's calling it 'the game'! It makes it sound, I don't know -- "
"Adolescent?"
"Well, yeah, exactly."
I laughed softly to myself. "Say, I'll bet you can't guess who I made it with last night."
Bonnie continued to brush her hair. "I couldn't possibly guess. Is there anyone who you haven't made it with yet, Felicity?"
That was Bonnie's way of getting even. "A few. But I'm working on them. Come on, guess."
"Oh, I don't know. Mr. Carmichael."
"Yuck!"
"I don't know; this is silly."
"Howard Fletcher."
"Howard Fletcher?" she echoed sharply. She
actually looked away from the mirror, turned her head so that she was facing me through the bathroom door. A look of distaste wrinkled her lips. "Were you desperate?"
"Actually, he was quite good. I was surprised. He's got a big cock."
"Really?" Her big brown eyes glittered with interest. "Howard? How big is it? Tell me what it looks like."
I measured it for her between my upheld hands, exaggerating by a good three inches. That only made her eyes glitter all that more brightly. Seeing instantly where her head was at, I quickly told her, in graphic detail, about everything I did with Howard. I didn't leave out anything. I could tell her pussy must have been juicing down her legs. Without her realizing it, we were already playing the game.
"What made you pick Howard?" she asked finally, after she had extracted all the details.
"To get me Cal."
"You made it with Cal?" she asked, her voice rising in excited disbelief. Her eyes were wide with a combination of jealousy and arousal. "With Cal Jessup. You lucky bitch."
"Not yet," I reminded her. "But soon enough."
"When?" Bonnie asked, brushing her hair hurriedly, as if now she wanted to get it over and done with. "You bitch. You've got to tell me all about it."
"I will," I said, grinning.
"Oh." Bonnie blushed, then looked back again at the mirror, trying to pretend I wasn't there. "Oh."
Telling was how Bonnie got off. She doesn't know it yet, but I think she had the makings of a good voyeur. I have a feeling that's why she is still a virgin, even though she's been going steady with the same guy for more than six months. She wants to lose her cherry, and might, too, if it wasn't for all the stories I tell her about my sex life. She kind of lives through me, through my experiences, through the "game" we play. Maybe if she didn't have me to tell her exactly what I did, with whom, and how it felt, she'd be out there herself, getting laid. One day she would; she was ripe for fucking.
"Hey, Bonnie!" I called out. I reached be-hind me and flattened my pillow, pressing it down against the mattress. I snuggled under the covers. "How long you gonna be? It's late."
"Just a sec," Bonnie said, counting to her-self. "I'm almost done. Then I just gotta pee."
"Well ... hurry up." I reached under the cover and touched my cunt. I was wearing a nightgown, and nothing else. I gathered up the material in my hand until the hem was pulled all the way up and I was touching flesh. I slid my hand over the furry mound of my pussy, pushing the fingers down between my legs. I began to masturbate. "I'm getting tired and I want to ... sleep."
"Oh. Oh ... okay. I'll just be a minute." She closed the bathroom door, causing me to smile. Bonnie was such a model of contradictions and self-deceptions. A moment later the toilet flushed and the door reopened. She said : "Should I leave the bathroom light on?"
"No, you can shut it."
"I just thought maybe as a night light ..."
"We don't need it, Bonnie."
"Oh. Okay." She shut the light. I could hear her coming across the room toward the bed. "Gee, it's. really dark in here."
"Come toward the sound of my voice."
"Don't be silly. I know exactly where -- ouch!"
The bed shook. "What happened."
"I hit my fucking toe!" she said, hobbling. The mattress depressed on her side as she sat. If I stared very hard at where I thought she was, I could almost make out her silhouette in the dark. She seemed to be bending over, rubbing her foot. "I really smacked it."
"Bonnie, are you going to come to bed or not?" My finger pressed down against my clitoris. The bud was hard and swollen, and wetness was already gathering between the lips. I arched up slightly, into the pleasure I was giving myself. "I'm getting very turned on."
"You're not supposed to say that!" she retorted sharply, her stubbed toe forgotten. "You're not supposed to say anything at all. You know the rules."
"I'm sorry." I yawned. I fingered my cunt-hole. "Gee, I'm getting sleepy. Are you coming to bed?"
Softly, very softly, Bonnie said: "Yes."
I felt her climb into bed, the mattress rippling under her weight, the warm presence of her body only inches away from me. Her body was very stiff, tense, and she lay down lightly, gingerly, as if the pillow was going to detonate under her head.
"Your mother knows what time to wake us?"
"Yes," she said tightly, with exasperation. "I told you a hundred times already. Why is it so important, anyhow? I mean, where do you have to go run off to on a Saturday morning?"
"I'm expecting a telephone call at home."
"Oh? Who from?"
"Cal."
"Oh. ..." An unmistakable quiver of excitement went through her voice. "Cal's going to call you in the morning?"
"Uh-huh. I think we're gonna get together tomorrow night." I chuckled in the darkness. "Thank you, Howard Fletcher."
The movement was slight, but undeniable. Bonnie had changed her position on the mat-tress. If I listened carefully, I could hear the soft, starchy scraping sound of material being drawn over naked flesh. To mask it, Bonnie coughed and cleared her throat, then shifted her weight obviously on the bed, hoping the squeaking sound of the springs would cover over what she was doing. I could feel her thighs spreading open. A wet, soft, kind of popping sound murmured against a back-ground of silence. Bonnie was masturbating.
"Are you going to let him fuck you?" Bonnie asked, finally. "Are you?"
"Howard?"
"No!"
I giggled softly. "Of course. Why else would I be going to all this trouble? Of course I'm going to let Cal fuck me. I'm going to let him do anything he wants to my body."
The sound of cuntlips going squish-squish got louder. She said : "I hear ... I hear that Cal has a . . cock that hangs down to his knees."
"So I've heard."
"Do you know if it's maybe true or not?"
"I'll find out tomorrow."
"Will you ... tell me about it?"
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to be able to see. A dim light outlined the frame of the curtained window, and a musky haze inched in under the bedroom door. Some-where, very faint and distant, I could hear Mr. and Mrs. Paine listening to television. Across the pillow from me lay Bonnie, her eyes tightly closed, a thin film of perspiration on her deeply concentrating face. Under the flatness of the blanket, I could see the movement of her hand between her spread thighs.
"Do you want me to tell you about it?" I asked.
"Yes ... yes, I do." Her breathing was short and wet sounding, ragged. "Please."
"I will."
Bonnie grunted softly and pretended to laugh. "Say, Felicity, I was just wondering." Her voice was thin and strained. "Have you ever ... fucked with a guy who had a big cock? You know, an unusually big cock."
Sarge immediately came to mind. I said: "Oh, yeah. Once. Well, more than once really, but one time in particular. This guy had a cock ... Jesus!"
"Was he very big?"
"Like a horse."
"Oh! But, I mean, like how big?"
I thought about Sarge for a moment, about his incredible cock, how it felt in my pussy, how it felt shooting thick hot streams of sperm into my mouth. I began to get very turned on. The only place I hadn't let him fuck me was up my ass, and I was still sorry about that to this day. What an experience that would have been!
"How big?" I finally responded. I thought for a moment. "It's hard to say, really. Ten, eleven inches, I guess. Maybe more. Say ten inches to be safe."
Through the mattress, I could feel Bonnie shudder. "You measured it?"
"Honey, I did everything to it but measure it. I was too busy playing with it, and on it, to take much of a clinical interest. Let's just say, based on my `professional' experience, that it had to be at least ten inches long! You don't see many like that."
"Oh!" The sound of masturbation grew louder, less masked. "Who was he? Tell me about him!"
I closed my eyes and began to think about Sarge again. My index finger slipped out of my cunthole and slid up to my throbbing clitoris. The lips of my pussy were sloppy with wetness, and they lay open like a flap, exposing the bud of my clit. I pressed my slippery index finger down upon it, masturbating myself slowly as I spoke. I didn't want to come just yet; all I wanted to do was turn myself on. And if any memory could do that, it was Sarge's.
"I never really found out his name," I began, picturing him in my imagination, remembering how strikingly verile he seemed in his uniform. "He was a Sergeant in the Army, and I only met him once. There was just that one day, that one meeting, that one time when we were ... together, but it was enough. I'll never forget him as long as I live."
"Tell me about him, Felicity!" Bonnie al-most begged. "Before I go out of my mind!"
"I met him last year," I said, "when I was fifteen. I had only lost my cherry a few months before, and hadn't had that many sexual experiences. Oh, I had a few guys, and I really knew sex and all that pleasure was where it was at for me, but I hadn't yet began on my campaign to fuck as many men and boys as I could. But I was thinking about it! I was getting there.
"Anyhow, I played hooky from school one day, and I got on the Long Island Railroad and rode all the way into Manhattan. You know me, I love movies and everything, so I planned to spend the day in the movies, trying to see as many films as I could. But then I met Sarge." A shudder went through me. "He changed my mind soon enough."
"Where did you meet him?" Bonnie urged. "What did he look like?"
"I met him on line for a movie. It was The Exorcist. Sarge was standing behind me on the line, and we just sort of got to talking. I told him I was afraid of the movie, but I was dying to see it. He offered to sit next to me -- for moral support -- and I, of course, accepted. He was so exciting looking, so rugged and verile, craggy face, a kind of rough handsomeness, very masculine. An older man, too, in his early forties maybe, with just a little bit of gray in his dark, dark hair. He was very soft-spoken and polite, confident and sure of himself, and very charming. After the movie he invited me to dinner -- dinner, mind you! Not a drink! And we did a lot of talking. He asked me if I was a virgin, and I said I wasn't, and then he told me he wanted to make love to me." I was reliving it in my thoughts, in my memory, but my body was reacting as if it were only happening for the first time. My cunt oozed wetly, my thighs tensed and lifted. My finger flit back and forth across my clit. I said: "I told him yes. I told him that I wanted him to make love to me."
"Oh God!" Bonnie quivered. "Where did he take you? To his room?"
Not caring if she heard, or if I was abiding by our silly rules, I slipped my free hand up under the hem of my nightgown, drawing it up my body until I was cupping my breast. While I fingered my clit with one hand, I pinched and squeezed the swollen orb of my tit, flitting the nipple back and forth until I was quivering.
"A hotel room," I said presently. "He took out a room in a hotel and then invited me up. We had a drink on the sofa and he told me about his special ... problem."
"His problem?"
"His cock. Having a cock like he had can be a problem, I guess. He told me not to be afraid, that he would be gentle and careful, and would penetrate me very slowly. If it hurt, he promised he would pull out."
"Jesus ... Jesus! And then what happened? Were you scared?"
I giggled softly, my eyes closed as I remembered. "Frightened? Hardly. I went completely berserk with passion. Just the thought of a cock like that -- so long and fat and hard -- pushing up into my cunt ... into my mouth ... it just drove me wild. I couldn't get his clothing off fast enough."
"Tell me about it," Bonnie begged. "Tell me!"
"His cock was unbelievable ... incredible ... longer and thicker and more incredible than anything you've ever seen in your life. I could put both hands on it, one on top of the other, and still there was a part of it I couldn't touch ... Jesus."
"What did you do then?"
"I began to suck it."
"Oh!" Bonnie said sharply. In the darkness, I could see her body stiffening, arching up slightly, the blankets slipping down over her firm young tits. Like me, she had her hand on her breast, only slipped under the material, and she was squeezing her nipple between two fingertips. I could hear her other hand working in her sticky wet cunt. "Oh ... oh! And then ... and then what happened?"
"We were still sitting on the sofa," I said, working my clit a little more excitedly than be-fore, aware of a different kind of pleasure surging through my body. "I just leaned over and began sucking his cock. I couldn't wait to get it into my mouth! It was so huge ... so fat! I had to stretch my lips all the way, so wide ... until they hurt. My jaw ached! It was like ... like putting all the fingers of your hand into your mouth at once! He was that huge ... that thick! Jesus ... Jesus!"
I joined my index finger with the middle one, and slid both down the oozing slit between my cuntlips. Hesitating just a moment, I thrust the two digits into my hot quim. I could feel them stroking up inside of me, thrusting in and out, a pale shadow in comparison to the bloated shaft Sarge had rammed into me.
"I was sucking his cock," I said, fingering my pussy as I spoke, "and I was jerking him off at the same time. I had both hands wrapped around his dick, and I was pulling him up and down. At the same time, I had him in my mouth, pushed all the way into the back of my throat, with my lips straining down his prick in my attempt to get him even more deeply in. I was running my tongue all over his cock, over the head, up and down the sides, my mouth filling up with saliva, it dribbling down over my chin, all over his cock, oozing between my fingers as I jerked him off. I could feel my hands banging into my lips, making them all thick and puffy, while the head of his prick was hammering against the back of my throat! Oh! Oh!"
"Did he come?"
I shook my head, my eyes closed tight. "No, not then, not that time when I sucked him. That happened after we fucked."
"Tell me about that!" Bonnie asked.
"Oh ... it was good. It felt so good ... so hard. It hurt ... but hurt good!" I slipped a third finger into my pussy, aching for a thickness, a hardness that wasn't there. I had to settle for my fingers. My fingers and a memory of Sarge. "We got undressed and went into the bedroom. We sixty-nined for a while, making sure that my cunt was wet and lubricated enough to take his cock. Then ... then" -- my body shuddered with the memory -- "we fucked!"
"Hurry ... hurry!" Bonnie moaned. "I'm tired, Felicity ... I'm tired! I want to sleep!"
"Soon ... soon," I answered, calming her, soothing, prolonging her excitement. "I climbed on top of him, throwing my legs over his hips, pressing him back down on the mattress. I reached down ... I reached down and I took his cock in my hand and I inserted it between my cuntlips! I pushed the head of it up against my cunthole, forcing it up inside my body. Then I pushed down -- and he went in! Just a little bit, but he was in. ... Ohhh, it felt so good ... so hard ... like he was going to split my pussy in two. I just kind of pushed down on it, making it go in deeper and deeper and deeper! I could feel it stretching my cunt, pushing the lips wide open, forcing that canal inside of me to stretch itself over his cock as if my pussy was made out elastic. ... The deeper he went in, the better it got. It hurt .. . but it was a nice hurt. It made me think about coming!"
"Hurry, Felicity!" Bonnie implored. The wet swishing of her fingers in her unpenetrated, virginal, black-haired pussy was loud and clear, its message unmistakable. "Hurry so we can ... sleep!"
The game, I thought, one part of my thoughts distracted. Always there is the game!
"By the time his cock was more than half-way into me," I said, drawing the memory to a close, distilling its pleasures for Bonnie to experience, "I knew I was going to come. I was going to come from the sheer thickness and width of his cock. Just the very thought of it in me -- the unbelievably good way it felt! - made me want to come. I tried to hold it off until he was all the way in ... but it felt so good ... so tempting. It kept on going deeper and deeper, getting better and better --"
"Hurry!"
"Finally he was in," I said, breathing deeply, sweat running down my naked body, causing the nightgown to stick to my flesh. "Sarge was all the way in ... all ten or twelve inches or whatever it was-it was all the way in ... shoved all the way up inside of my pussy! I began to come... . I began to come. Just like that ... just when he was all the way in ... when I felt his balls pressed up against the tightly straining lips of my clutching pussy ... I began to come! God, what an orgasm it was! The best ... the best I've ever had. Each time he thrust it in, or pulled it out, or moved his incredible cock in any way, I would have another orgasm. I can't remember how many times I came ... I lost count after seven or eight." I shook my head and shuddered. "What a cock that Sarge had. What a god-damned cock."
I stopped then, to catch my breath, to recapture the gritty texture of that remembered pleasure. I could have gone on. I could have told Bonnie how it felt when he began to come in me, or how it felt when I took him in my mouth afterwards, how I sucked him long and hard again and took his second load down my throat. I could have told her how I was sorry that I hadn't let Sarge fuck me up the ass. But I didn't. She had taken enough of my memory. It was time for her to experience her own life.
I yawned stiffly. "Gee," I said, "I'm getting sleepy." I could feel Bonnie trembling next to me on the mattress. "I think I'll go to sleep."
Bonnie's voice was very tight, very strained. "I think I will, too."
"Good night, Bonnie."
"Good ... night."
"You're sure your mother won't forget to wake us?"
"Felicity!"
"Oh, Jesus, good night. Yawn-yawn." I turned over on my side, curling the pillow under my head. My eyes were wide open and I stared into the darkness. I made a yawning sound. "Good night."
"Night."
I lay there, on my side, with my eyes wide open. I listened to the sounds of Bonnie pretending to go to sleep. She tossed and turned a few times, then settled down and didn't move at all. After a few more minutes, she made a snoring sound. But she was as wide awake as I. We were playing the "game," Bonnie's game. And I wasn't about to turn down a little free female sex. The next best thing to a cock is a cunt.
After I'd waited a reasonable length of time, I turned slightly on the pillow, looking back over my shoulder. My lips were very dry, and I licked them with my tongue. As silly as the game was, I found myself very turned on.
"Bonnie ..."
Silence. Sounds of snoring.
"Bonnie ... are you awake?" I listened, my eyes straining through the darkness, my body suddenly tensed. I could feel sweat rolling down my back. My crotch was oozing again. I turned completely around and looked at her sleeping form. "Bonnie ..."
Closed, her eyelids fluttered, and at the corner of her lip there was a nervous twitch. She continued to sleep, her lips blowing in and out as she breathed.
I reached down and touched her, put my hand on her warm, tensed shoulder. Her body quivered, as if an electric current were surging through our bodies. Under the blanket she stiffened, but made no sound.
"Bonnie ..." I whispered, shaking her.
She continued to sleep.
I was breathing harshly then, deeply, and my fingers were trembling with genuine excitement. Slowly I moved them, rubbing them lightly, gently, barely touching her, sliding my hand down from her shoulder until I was touching the base of her firm, fifteen-year-old breast. In her sleep, Bonnie's body shuddered. I moved my hand up her tit, slowly, slowly, all the way up, until I was cupping her breast between my outstretched fingers. I rubbed my fingers up and down, fondling Bonnie's tit and erect nipple through the gauzy material of her pale blue nightgown.
In her sleep, Bonnie Moaned.
"Bonnie ..." I said again, knowing she would not hear me. I rubbed her thick brown nipple back and forth between my thumb and middle finger. The nightgown opened down the front, crisscrossing over her tits, tying at her waist. I reached down to undo the tie. I stopped, lifting my hand away from her body. Leaning over her, I whispered : "Be right back...."
My eyes were adjusted to the dark, and I could see with no difficulty. I slipped out of bed, shuddering as my naked foot touched the floor. I walked quickly across the silent bedroom, taking long, hurried strides, stopping at the closed door. I snapped on the lock -- just in case Bonnie's parents decided to tuck us in -- then turned and went back to the bed. When I reached over her a second time, I discovered the nightgown was untied. It must have come open in her sleep.
"Bonnie...." I said softly.
She didn't stir.
The nightgown lay across her slowly rising and falling breasts, and I found myself holding my breath as I reached out for it, feeling it between my fingers. I drew the veil away from her tits, exposing them to the cool night air. The blanket covered her to the waist. I flipped it back, exposing her completely. Draped over the dark, furry mound of her cunt, gathered in flowing, loose folds between her widely spread thighs, the lower half of her nightgown clung to her sweaty flesh. I flipped the material back from her body, first the right half and then the left. Bonnie lay stark naked on the mattress, sound asleep.
I bent down and sucked the nipple of her right tit into my mouth. Bonnie reacted with a fitful shudder which shook her entire body, and a low moaning sob of pleasure, issuing from her sleeping lips. At the same time, I ran my hand down her belly, over the wide, curving arc of her thickly piled mound, until I was cup-ping her cunt. I buried my fingers between the lips of her pussy, instantly finding her elongated clitoris. Massaging it the way I did my own, I began to masturbate Bonnie.
When I'd gotten her nice and juicy, and could push three fingers down to the first joint in her hymen-capped cunthole, I let my lips slip from her nipple. I licked my tongue down Bonnie's fluttering belly until I reached the edge of her cunthair. Already the aroma of her aroused femininity was evident, and I sucked the fragrance up into my nostrils, letting it in-flame my passion even further. I pushed my tongue through the clotted, thick tangle of her pussy hair, over the edge of her mound, stabbing it between her fluttering cuntlips. My tongue searched out and found her clitoris, and as I flit it back and forth in a sudden, savage assault, I could feel my mouth filling with her warm, flowing juices.
It was about that time that Bonnie began to "awaken." I dropped my cunt down over her mouth, and for the next forty minutes or so we lapped each other from one orgasm to another. When neither of us could stand coming any-more, we kissed good night and really went to sleep.
In the morning, neither of us mentioned our Lesbian lovemaking. That wasn't part of the game.
Chapter Three
Cal Jessup had a nice cock. It didn't hang down at his knees, as rumor had it, but it was a good seven inches long and respectably thick. The nice part, though, was that I had it in my mouth.
His parents were out for the evening, and Cal and I were sixty-nining on the bright orange shag rug in their living room. There was a fireplace against one wall, and in it a small fire was burning, casting out the only light in the house. Cal and I were stark naked, our bodies twisted hotly around each other, eating each other's crotches in a crazy, flickering half light. We were both stoned out of our skulls on dynamite grass and cheap wine, and were thoroughly enjoying ourselves. My body was in-credibly sensitive, and each time I squirmed my pussy down onto his face, Cal would thrust his tongue up into my cunthole.
"Hey," he said, drawing his slobbering face away from my pussy, "you wanna come like this?"
My lips were pressed down to the base of Cal's belly, pursed tightly around the base of his cock as I completely deep-throated him. I was snorting oxygen in through my nose, and fighting back the sensation of gagging as his prick pierced deeply into my throat. My jaw was pressed flat against the top of my chest, and my tongue lay flat and still under his cock shaft. Saliva puffed out my cheeks and continued to roll down my gullet each time Cal ground himself deeply into my face. At the sound of his voice, I slowly began to slide my lips and teeth up the length of his shaft until he popped free of my mouth.
"Do you?"
"Yeah."
"All right."
I slurped back down Cal's cock until I had reswallowed him completely. Although we hadn't spent too much time talking, most of our conversations had been like the last one. Conversation wasn't one of Cal's strong points, and I was beginning to suspect he wasn't all that bright, either. I had a feeling that Cal Jessup was all cock and little else, which was perfectly acceptable to me. Especially while I had that cock neatly trapped between my lips and teeth. Besides, I hadn't really arranged this meeting through Howard, to talk with Cal. The only part of his body which interested me, frankly, was his cock.
I quickly amended that the instant I felt Cal's tongue spearing into my pussy. Cal was lying on his back, and I was flat on top of him, my cunt pushed up tightly in his face, his cock rammed into my face. My thighs were open wide around his upturned head, my knees digging into the pillow which propped him up. Cal's arms came up and around my hips, and he was holding my ass cheeks between his tightly clenched fingers. Pulling my body against his lips, I could feel his tongue slithering up and down the length of my slit. He thrust his tongue in hard against my oozing flesh, raking the tip across me, drilling it against my asshole, pushing it up into my cunt-hole, and lapping it against my clitoris in a single fluid motion. He lapped his tongue hard, with obvious relish and experience, and certainly knew a hell of a lot more about a clitoris than his friend, Howard, did.
His fingers slid down from my ass cheeks into the cleft of my cunt. Using both hands, he pulled apart the hairy blonde lips of my pussy, completely exposing my clitoris. With the ac-curacy of a striking snake, Cal's tongue twisted forward, hammering my clit mercilessly into the slick wet flesh of my crack. He slapped at my clit with the side of his tongue, rolling it over the trembling bud, and then rolling it back again the other way, slashing at the nub from the other side. The wider apart hestretched my cuntlips, the higher the clit rose, until it was tapping against the edge of his teeth. It must have given him an idea, for Cal closed his mouth, catching the trembling button between his teeth. Grinding his jaw back and forth, from side to side, and lapping at my clit with his tongue as he scraped it, I thought I was going to lose my mind in ecstasy.
Instead, I reached down between Cal's legs and collected his balls in my hands. I moved my mouth up and down the length of his cock, running my lips and tongue from the swollen cap of the shaft right down to the thickened, trunklike case surrounded by his wiry, copper-colored pubic hair. With my hands, I pulled apart the fleshy sac of his testicles, running my fingertips over the lumpy, elusive balls floating within. Just the slightest pressure caused Cal to squirm and moan, his ass lifting up from the shaggy orange rug, his cock drilling ever deeper in. Saliva oozed from between my lips, dripped down his cock, and trickled between the cheeks of his ass. His anus glistened like a leathery brown mouth.
As I was sucking his cock up and down, licking the shaft and tip all over with my fluttering tongue, I slid my index finger down between the cheeks of Cal's ass. I pushed the fingertip up against the wrinkled hole of his anus, watching excitedly as it clenched closed, catching my flesh in its ridgelike folds. From the way his tongue was jerking in and out of my pussy, I could tell Cal had already grasped my intention, and the idea turned him on. Slowly, sucking his cock as deeply and as hard as I could, I watched my finger disappearing into his anus. I found it incredibly erotic.
I pushed my finger all the way in, right down to my fist, then pulled it slowly out. Cal went to pieces under me. His thighs began to tremble, flopping excitedly back and forth, and he began to fuck his cock fiercely into my hot mouth. In my pussy, his tongue was thrust all the way up, his teeth digging into the sensitive flap of the lips, as if he were trying to fuck me with his tongue. As his tightly gripping fingers dug into the straining cheeks of my ass, he hammered his tongue into my crotch, shuddering and moaning each time I reamed him.
"Oh ... Felicity!" Cal moaned, lifting his lips away from my pussy long enough to give vent to his swelling excitement. I could feel his head shaking from side to side between my grinding legs. I needed something to excite me, now that his tongue had momentarily paused, and I thrust my cunt down against his face, rubbing my throbbing clitoris against the point of his chin. The rolling of his head turned my insides to jelly, and the sound of his moaning cries of pleasure made my cuntlips quiver with tiny vibrations. "Felicity ... Felicity ... Oh, it feel so good ... You're gonna make me come if you keep on doing -- ohhh ... Oh!"
I found that tiny little thing up there in his rectum, that gland or whatever it is, and I began to flit it back and forth with my fingernail. Cal reacted as if I were tickling him with electricity. His body danced and quivered, and he pounded my tonsils with the blunted end of his battering-ram cock. I tightened my mouth around his shaft, forming a tight wet cylinder through which he had to pump his dilating prick. Over my lips and across my tongue he slid, the head of his cock thudding so power-fully into me that it caused my head to rock back from the impact. Saliva oozed down all over his crotch, completely coating his cock, al-lowing it to slide effortlessly in and out, in and out, in and out.
Feeling his own orgasm threatening, with all the instincts of a good lover, Cal drove his tongue onto my clitoris. There was a directness to his technique now, without any of the frills, just a good hard tonguing. His tongue rippled like a blur, up and down, up and over, back and forth, until my clit felt as if it were going to explode from my rapidly swelling pleasure. Back and forth he slashed, stinging me, prod-ding me, causing my gushing slit to bubble up in his face.
"I'm gonna ... I'm gonna come!" Cal cried, smearing the words into my dripping snatch. His legs were lifted up from the floor, pointed almost straight up at the ceiling. As he screwed his dick between my lips, his legs pumped up and down, as if he were riding an invisible bicycle upside-down. Each time he thrust in, his balls arced up and hit me in the chin. "Soon, Felicity ... soon! I'm going to come very soooo -- oh!"
His cock began to get very hot in my mouth. I could feel his excitement rising. Throbbing powerfully, like a pump that was building up pressure, I could feel his rigid flesh twitching across my tongue. Across the back of my throat, his cockhead began to swell, and each time he drilled himself into my mouth, he did so a little harder, a little faster, a little deeper. I forgot about the gland I was fingering, and I resumed the in and out pistoning of my reaming index finger. Pretty soon I had my mouth and my finger coordinated, so that each time my lips rolled down his cock, my finger thrust up his ass. As I dragged my head back, letting my tongue lick him all over, I withdrew my finger from his rectum. I only had to do that six or seven times to him before I had Cal coming down my throat.
"Oh ... mother!" Cal cried, sperm exploding from his prick with all the power and velocity of a solidly landed fist. In thick hot blobs his come splattered into my mouth, coating my teeth and tongue, dripping from the roof of my mouth and sliding silently down my throat. His sperm was hot and salty tasting, very pungent and thick, as if it were clotting on my tongue. I squished it around in my mouth, gulping it down, letting it puff out my cheeks as it sprayed into me faster than I could drink. Oozing from the corners of my lips, I could feel it dripping down my face and neck, feeling cold and slimy. Cal continued to moan, his tongue doing wild things all over my pussy. "Mother ... mother ... I'm coming ... I'm -- oh .. . I'm coming!"
The moment his sperm pumped into my mouth, scalding my sensitive flesh with the heat of his inferno like seventeen-year-old balls, I found myself coming. I had been on the verge all the long, I realized, skillfully guided to the edge of release by his coaxing tongue. All I needed was a little something extra to push me over the edge. A mouthful of hot scum was enough to do it. I came all over Cal's tongue, smearing my cuntlips all over his face. The cheeks of my ass ground against his forehead, and I came so hard that I trapped his spewing cock between my lips, as if to squeeze out every last remaining drop of come. We licked and sucked each other dry, and then fell away from each other, panting sharply, the glinting fire reflected in our glazed eyes, and in the dulled, sweaty film which covered our bodies.
For a long while I just lay there, flat on my back on that soft orange rug, with the wetness between my widely spread thighs drying and cooling and getting sticky. The flavor of Cal's sperm coated the inside of my mouth, and reeked in my nostrils. Under my top lip, between the lip and the gum, my dry, swollen tongue found a fugitive blob of sperm. It was all dried and rubbery, like a lump of hardened glue, and I flit it back into my throat with my tongue, swallowing it. A final, almost residual quiver of pleasure fizzled in my pussy as it went down, as if the idea of male sperm was at least still exciting. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cal. He was between me and the fire, also flat on his back.
"That ... that was great," he said after a long time. "Felicity ... that was just great."
I tried to nod, but I couldn't muster the energy. Even smiling made my face feel as if it were cracking open.
"Thanks...." I answered thickly.
"I've been with a lot of girls ... a lot! But that was the best. The dying best."
Love those words, I thought, my face splitting into a wide grin. Getting laid a lot, I long ago realized, just wasn't enough for me. I loved to blow men's minds. I wanted to overwhelm them. Every man I've ever fucked or sucked with was going to remember me, of that I was sure; remember me for as long as they lived. I was the girl in their lives who really loved sex. I was outrageous!
"You were pretty good yourself," I re-turned. "I'm surprised. Usually guys our age don't know anything, not even where to put it. I guess you've had a lot of practice, huh?"
"Oh, yeah, sure." Cal nodded confidently. "Of course. And I agree about kids our age -- even a lot of the girls-they. don't know nothing." He cleared his throat. "Of course, I've had a lot of older women. ... Now there's who you can learn from."
"Older women? Like who?"
Cal shrugged, tiredly drawing up one knee. "Ah ... I don't know if I should tell you. I don't want this getting -- "
"Bullshit! Just as I thought, you were bull-shitting me. I should have known."
"I was not!" Cal said sharply.
"Then tell me. What's the matter, you afraid?"
"It's not that ..." he said, softly, his pride obviously stung. "It's -- well, probably you wouldn't even know half of them."
"So tell me one I would know."
"My Aunt Jodi."
That brought my head up from the floor. I stared across the room at Cal. "You fucked with your own aunt?" I asked.
Cal turned his head toward the fire, as if embarrassed. "She's not really my aunt. I mean she is, but she isn't a blood relative. She's my uncle's wife."
"And you fucked her?"
"She practically raped me!" Cal said defensively. Then he must have remembered some-thing which pleased him, because he laughed once. "Yeah ..."
"How old is she?"
"Forty-two, forty-three. Something like that."
"Is she pretty?"
"Sort of."
"Good body?"
"A little thin; tits getting kind of droopy. But a great ass. And what a mouth! Jodi loves to suck-cock. My cock."
"Is she better than I?"
Cal laughed again. "Felicity, nobody ever blew me the way you did. You're the best."
"I agree. But what you said still don't prove anything. How do I know you even have an Aunt Jodi ; I've never met her. Tell me about someone I know."
Cal thought for a moment. "Most of them you don't know. Friends of my parents ... women I've met ... a couple of waitresses. There's Mrs. Tyson -- "
"Who's she?"
"The lady next door. Say, do you know her? Thirty-five, long light brown hair, big tits? She drives a yellow Mustang."
"No."
"What about the checker at Fairfield's Market? You know, the one with the red hair, freckles?"
I shook my head, responding negatively to Cal's seemingly endless list of conquests, more than surprised at their number. I had no idea Cal was so experienced. Why he's probably made it with more older women than I've made older men. I made a mental note to do some-thing about that. I was facing some pretty stiff competition. I was going to have to pull off something spectacular.
"No, I don't know her, either."
Cal exhaled tightly. "There is one."
"Who?" I asked, propping myself up on one elbow, facing Cal. He had turned onto his side, with his back to the flickering fireplace, the sofa pillow folded under his head. Looking at his cock, the way it hung limply down, curving slightly, the tip lost in the thick shag pile of the rug, I probed further. "Tell me her name."
He nodded in agreement. "But you've got to promise not to tell anyone ever. If she ever -- "
"I promise."
"Ms. Fuller."
"No shit!" My cunt quivered wetly. Ms. Fuller was the youngest, the sexiest teacher in the school. She had a gorgeous complexion and long dark hair which she wore all high and full and fluffed out, like a lion's mane. As far as anyone knew, she was single, liberated, and sometimes had her boyfriends meet her in the parking lot after school on Fridays. There were always a lot of different men, and rumor had it that she went away with them for the weekend. I found it difficult to believe that Cal Jessup had made it with her. Ms. Fuller was out of his class. "I don't believe you. You're bullshitting again."
"I swear to God it's true," Cal said, holding up his hand like a boy scout. "I wouldn't kid you, Felicity. Go ahead, ask me anything you want about her."
"What's her first name?"
"Gloria," he snapped back.
I didn't know what her first name was, and as far as I knew, no one did. We knew it was Ms. G. Fuller, so it might have been Gloria. But it might have been Gail or Gwen or any-thing else. That wasn't proof. I needed some definite piece of evidence. I wanted to believe Cal, it turned me on to think that he made it with Ms. Fuller, and secretly I suspected he was telling the truth. But I needed the proof.
"Where does she live?"
Cal told me, describing her apartment in intimate detail. He told me what school she went to, what degrees she held and from where, he even told me how old she was. Unless he had a very vivid fantasy life, Cal had to be telling the truth.
"All right," I said, fairly convinced, "tell me something personal about her ... something that only someone who fucked her would know."
"You mean, how she fucked, what she likes, the way she gives head? Something like that?"
"Something like that."
Cal thought a moment, his forehead fur-rowing in concentration. He started, his lips opening slightly, his eyes snapping up brightly.
"She's got no pussy hair," he said.
My own cunt quivered wetly. "What?"
"Ms. Fuller -- Gloria -- hasn't got any hair on her cunt. None at all."
"You're full of it. What do you mean she hasn't got any hair? Why not?"
"She shaved it," Cal said smugly. "She shaved it all off. She's got a hairless pussy."
"Did she say why?" I asked, now totally believing him. The story was too incredible not to be true. The son of a bitch did fuck Ms. Fuller!
"Yeah, she did." I could see that he was very pleased at having convinced me. "At first, she said, she shaved it off for sanitary reasons, you know, cleanliness and all. But then she told me that she enjoyed sex more without it. She said it made her pussy more sensitive." The flush of arousal crept into his cheeks, and I could tell he was remembering his experiences with her. "She liked it when she got fucked -- and these are her words -- because she could see the cock going in and out better without the hair in the way. And she liked it when I ate her, because my tongue could get right down into it ... into her crack ... so I could lick her hard little clitty and make her come." Cal cackled gleefully. "God, the way she used to wrap her legs around my head! Christ, I thought I was going to smother."
"You turned her on, huh?"
"I had her creaming for my dick."
"You like sex, don't you?"
"I love it! Are you kidding?"
"You know we've got a lot in common."
"Ha!" Cal said, obviously amused by my observation. "That's a good one. How do you figure that?"
"Well ... you like sex and so do I. We've both had many sexual experiences ... some of them with older partners. We're more experienced than others our age. We haven't got their hang-ups about sex. You see what I'm getting at?"
From the expression on his face, I could see that he didn't. Cal seemed genuinely puzzled.
"But you're a girl," he protested.
I shrugged my shoulders. "So?"
"So, it's all right for me to do it, because I'm a guy." He spoke to me very carefully, as if he were trying to make me understand,. as if I were crazy or stupid or something. "But it's not for you. You're a girl."
I shook my head numbly. "I don't see the point you're trying to make."
"Look, Felicity, it's very simple. I'm a guy," he said, touching his chest. "I'm supposed to fool around. It's expected of me. I'm supposed to be sewing my wild oats and stuff like that." He shook his head. "But women ain't supposed to do that. Not good women ... not decent women."
I couldn't believe my ears. "What are women supposed to do?"
"Save themselves," Cal said simply. "Save themselves for when they get married."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Of course." He couldn't understand my con-fusion.
"And you're going to marry a virgin, right?"
"Oh, absolutely." Cal nodded firmly.
I shook my head sadly. "You were right, Cal."
"What do you mean?"
"We don't have anything in common."
For some reason, my answer disturbed Cal. "What does that mean?"
"Cal ..."
"What?"
"Come and fuck me up the ass."
"What did you say?"
"Come and fuck me up my ass," I repeated, putting it on a level he could understand, one he could deal with. That was all I ever really wanted out of him anyway; maybe that was all he was good for. I was correct before when I sensed Cal wasn't much of a conversationalist. All he was, all he would ever be, was a cock. I said : "I'm getting tired of talking. We didn't get together to talk, did we?"
Cal grinned, his cock instantly snapping to attention, as rigid and swollen as it had been before he came in my mouth. At least there was one level on which we could communicate.
"No, we didn't. You really want me to fuck you up the ass?"
"Sure."
"I never fucked no woman in her ass before," he confessed, almost awed by the prospect. "None of them ever wanted me to."
"Well, Felicity Browne wants you to do it."
"Aren't you afraid it's gonna hurt?"
"No. I'm more afraid of never finding out how it feels."
"What does that mean?"
"Forget it." I beckoned to him with my hands. "Cal, come and fuck my ass."
Cal climbed to his feet like a dumb, obedient dog. Tall and well-built, with broad shoulders and a tiny waist, his cock looked enormous jutting stiffly out from his flat belly. Looking up at it from the floor where I lay, a flutter of uneasiness made me wonder if my decision hadn't been too hasty. Seven fat inches is a big cock.
"How do you want to do it?" he asked, absently stroking his prick as he waited for my instructions.
"Give me a hand up." I extended him my hand, and Cal pulled me effortlessly to my feet. From the coffee table I picked up one of the joints that were left, lit it, inhaled deeply, and handed it to Cal. This would need a little fortification. I said : "Let me think ... "
Cal toked, then handed the joint back to me. I sucked down more smoke. Into my glass I poured a little more wine. Without swishing it around in the glass, I swallowed it straight down. I took another deep toke on the joint.
"You got any Vaseline in the house?"
"Yeah."
"Get it."
Obediently, Cal turned and left the room. I smoked some more of the joint and drank some more wine. By the time he came back, with the jar of Vaseline in his hand, I was wrecked out of my mind. The walls of the room were elongated, and the ceiling very high and far away. I felt this incredible current of energy flowing through everything, flowing through me.
"Put the Vaseline all over your cock. Rub it all over. Grease your prick up."
I watched him doing it, finishing off the last few tokes of the roach. "You want me to lubricate your asshole?" he asked.
"Not with that." I turned and walked over to one of the chairs bobbing up and down on the shaggy orange sea of the living room floor. The way the light from the fireplace was flickering made me feel as if I was tripping. I said : "With saliva."
"Huh?"
"Lick my asshole."
Cal sucked in his breath, as if something sharp and penetrating had struck him. His voice was soft, subdued, quaking with emotion.
"Oh ... yes!"
I climbed down on my knees, lying forward across the cushion of the chair. My legs were spread wide, and the cheeks of my ass were pulled tensely open. A cool, sensual tickle of air fingered my anus.
"Lick my ass," I said, closing my eyes, waiting for the pleasure to come. The silky material of the chair felt cool against my feverish face. "Lick my ass ... and then fuck it!"
I heard Cal drop down to his knees, crawling across the rug as he came to me. I felt his hands -- how hot they felt! -- on my ass, rubbing me, touching me, stroking up and down my back, teasing me between my thighs. His fingers tightened on the cheeks of my ass, digging into my flesh, gripping me as he might a foot-ball, lifting me, moving me, positioning me for his assault. I could feel his breath on my spine, and then, beginning at the top of the crack, I felt his tongue. He wiggled it down between the tautly stretched cheeks of my ass, teasing my anus with its thrusting prods, leaving a trail of saliva which stretched from my back to the underside of my cunt. The feeling was so sensual, so exquisite, I had to dig my finger-nails into the material of the chair to keep my-self from being swept into a sudden orgasm.
"Lick me, baby!" I moaned, wiggling my rump in his face. "Lick me, baby ... lick me! Wet me all up, baby. Wet me up and then fuck my ass ... Fuck my ass, Cal ... fuck my ass!"
He held the cheeks of my ass apart with his fingertips, and he speared his tongue all the way in and out of my anus. He lapped it up and down, then greased up the inner canal by curling his tongue into a cylinder and ramming it up my rectum. I could feel his saliva pouring into me, so warm and sticky, like the sperm which would soon be pumping into me.
"Enough," I said, barely holding on, teetering on the brink of a monumental orgasm. "Now ... fuck me!"
I smiled when I felt Cal fumbling behind me. The head of his cock was hot and thick, searing my flesh as he thrust toward my asshole. He found it at last, and between the Vaseline and the saliva, he slipped effortlessly into my rectum. Holding onto my hips for leverage, Cal thrust his cock all the way up my ass. I began to come almost instantly.
For Sarge, I thought. For Sarge.
Chapter Four
Babysitting can be a very erotic job. At least the way I babysit it is. I can't believe that people would be willing to pay me to have the free roam of their house, to do in it absolutely any-thing I want. That's as crazy as being a prostitute, another job that fascinates me. Can you believe getting paid for fucking? If there were ever two jobs I was destined to have, those are the two.
I don't want you to get the impression that I'm an irresponsible babysitter. I'm not. I'm very careful, very conscientious, and fully appreciate the significance of my responsibilities. But, once they are met, I see absolutely nothing wrong with taking advantage of the job's benefits and opportunities. If a house is empty, who's going to know if I had my boyfriend in? Or that we fucked on the sofa or on the dining room table for that matter?
I can't remember how many times I did exactly that : had a boyfriend in, or two, and fucked all over the house. Or the other wild things I've done babysitting. One of my favorites is to spend the whole night walking around the house stark naked, going through all the drawers and closets, reading the mail, maybe trying on the woman's bras and crotchless pan-ties or see-through nightgowns. And then I'd masturbate, watching myself in the mirror, getting off on the unfamiliarity of my surroundings. Or, wilder yet, I'd go into the bath-room and sift through their dirty laundry until I found a pair of the husband's shorts, and then I'd masturbate, getting off on the raunchy aroma of his sweaty crotch.
Once in a while I was very lucky, and I found things I'm sure no one would ever want their babysitter to know they have. Things like vibrators and dilclos and other sexual devices -- all of which I sampled whenever I discovered them at the back of a closet or in the bottom drawer of a dresser. Frequently, I've run across pornographic books or pictures, and I'd spend the rest of the evening carefully going over them and masturbating.
Last November, the people I sat for had about a half a dozen reels of pornographic films. It took me more than two hours to figure out how their projector worked, but it was worth it. I spent the next two hours watching every one of those films, masturbating in a very creative way. I used two vibrators on myself : one was shoved up my cunt, and the other one was pressed down against my clitoris.
Sometimes it's nothing that elaborate. In one woman's jewellery box I found a pair of Ben-Wa balls. The reason for the rocking chair in the bedroom became immediately obvious. The en-tire night was spent in that rocking chair, as I rocked myself from one incredible orgasm to another.
If I'm feeling particularly perverse, I've been known to play practical jokes on my clients. Once I stuffed a pair of my panties into the inside pocket of Mr. Brendan's gray tweed sports jacket. I was bombed out of my mind that night, and I was really feeling horny. Everytime I masturbated I flowed so copiously that the crotchpiece of my panties was soaked completely through. I decided to see how many times I could come, and how wet I could make my panties. In the end, I got so turned on, I re-moved the panties, wadded them together into a kind of floppy dildo, and pressed them up iside my cunt. I masturbated with the panties, pulling them in and out of my pussy. When I finally stopped, the panties reeked of cunt. I stuffed them into the inside pocket of Mr. Brendan's coat, curious to know how he would react when he found them. I never found out. The Brendan's never invited me back to sit.
Another one of my things is to leave sexual "clues" all around the house for the husband to discover; things which would tell him what I'd been doing in their house while I was sitting. I'd shove things up my creaming cunt -- things like the handle of his brush, the paperweight of his desk, his pens or pencils, the handle of his hunting knife -- and leave them around for him to find. I'd fantasize that he'd pick the object up, the same object I'd thrust in and out of my pussy to make me come, and the telltale fragrance would catch his attention. He'd put it to his nose and sniff -- and he'd know exactly what I'd done with it. And then he would go into the bathroom with the object and masturbate, sniffing it, sniffing my cunt, fantasizing sexually about me.
A variation of the above is to leave clippings of pubic hair on his pillow or in the unused pairs of briefs in his underwear drawer. I only tried this once because I didn't like chopping up my pussy hair, and because I figured very few men would notice the hairs. If they did, they'd probably only brush them away, or conclude that their wife. was becoming a lazy housekeeper.
The most complicated stunt I've ever tried, happened the time I found a Poloroid camera. I was babysitting for the Ginelli's, last October. Standing in front of their bedroom mirror, stark naked, and posing obscenely, I took a shot of myself in the mirror. A few moments later I had a graphic photograph of myself in living color, fingering my cunt with one hand, snapping the Poloroid with the other.
Then the complicated part began. I picked up the book I was reading and I carried it and the photograph into Mr. Ginelli's den. From his note pad I tore a sheet of paper, and wrote on it: 1. Take book 2. Take photo. In pencil I put a check mark next to each number. I opened the book to the middle, and slipped in the picture of me giving myself a finger fucking, and the note I had written. Then I closed the book and left it on Mr. Ginelli's desk. When I went home later that night, I "forgot" my book.
I returned the next night, just before dinner. Mrs. Ginelli was in the kitchen preparing dinner. No, she didn't know about my book. Maybe her husband did. He was in his den, doing some work at his desk.
When I walked into the den, Mr. Ginelli, who was in his late twenties, turned a bright scarlet. I asked him if I'd left my book there the night before. He handed it to me with a trembling hand after he suddenly "discovered" it in the bottom drawer of his desk. I'd left the book on the top of his desk. Without saying anything, Mr. Ginelli suddenly blurted out that he hadn't even thought to open the book.
But I know he had, and I know he had seen that photograph of me fingering my cunt. To this day, I am certain, Mr. Ginelli still masturbates thinking about me in that picture. And to this day, I'll bet he's sorry he hadn't thought to make a copy of the shot. Who knows? Maybe he did make a copy. Maybe he's looking at it right now and jerking off. Maybe he's coming on the picture. Things like that make me hot.
If all else fails, and there is nothing in the house to excite me or turn me on, there's al-ways the old standard : the telephone.
I strip all my clothing off, get comfortable on the sofa, begin to masturbate, then pick up the telephone and, dialing at random, make an obscene telephone call. I call up some man and talk dirty to him ... tell him exactly what I'm doing to myself, and exactly how it feels. Nine times out of ten, any man I reach is more than willing to listen and talk back similarly to me as well. And more than a few have joined me in my masturbation, telling me just as vividly how it felt when they pumped their cocks up and down, telling me how it felt when they were coming.
About the only thing I haven't done while babysitting was seduce somebody's husband. Well, that's not exactly accurate. It was the only thing I haven't done up until tonight. But tonight even that was ending. Tonight I was going to seduce Jason MacLean, the man for whom I was babysitting.
I had no reason to seduce Jason except that I wanted to do it. He certainly wasn't the best looking of all the husbands I sat for, or the worst. That wasn't why I was doing' this. I was doing it because I wanted to get fucked by an older man. Jason MacLean just happened to get in the way of my sex drive. Now I was going to ride it all over him. The poor man didn't stand a chance against me. He didn't even know what was going to happen to him. This was either going to be one of the best nights in his life or one of the worst. It all depended upon how together he was.
He wasn't very together when he and his wife returned home from their night out. All he looked was tired. Tired and beaten.
"Hi, Felicity," Maureen MacLean said, waving me a tired hello as she opened the front door. Just behind her, over her shoulder I could see Jason, yawning, and seeming more tired than she. "I'm sorry we're so late. It was a fabulous party."
"Hi, Fil," Jason said, the only person who ever addressed me as anything other than Felicity. Maybe that's what it was which made Jason different. "Jesus, what a party. I'm stoned."
"Jason I" Maureen said sharply. She scolded him with her eyes and indicated me with the tilt of her head.
"I mean I'm very drunk," Jason quickly amended. "I'm very drunk." He looked at me, pursing his lips. "You don't believe me, do you?"
I giggled. "Not a word."
"Jason!" Maureen cried again, closing the front door, her fingers locking it out of habit. "Mind yourself. Felicity is a young girl."
Jason shrugged. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm just a terrible liar. I'm too honest. Lying is too complicated. Too many details to remember."
"Still, Jason ..." Tall and elegant, with flowing blonde hair and cold green eyes, in tight control, Maureen sat gracefully down on the sofa, crossing her legs without causing a ripple in her skirt. "As adults we have a certain moral responsibility not to corrupt the innocence of youth, regardless of our own personal weaknesses."
"I'd hardly call smoking grass a weakness."
"I meant it metaphorically."
Jason smiled and turned to me. "You weren't corrupted, were you, Fil?"
I giggled again. "No, I don't think so."
"And you have heard of grass before, right?"
"I've never tried it, but some of my friends smoke. I've seen plenty of it around, though."
Jason bowed comically to his wife. "I rest my case. No damage was done. Virtue is its own reward." He winked at me. "Thank you, Fil."
"Still, I think the principle is sound," Maureen added, refusing to give the point. "As adults we do have a responsibility to present good models for our youth. If we can't live up to a perfect standard of behavior, we should at least try and encourage our youth to do better. Would you encourage your children to poison their bodies with alcohol and drugs?"
Jason exhaled tightly, his stab at joviality poorly missing the mark. "I see your point now. I guess you're right. I'm sorry."
"Maybe you should say that to Felicity."
He turned to me, shrugging kind of awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Fil." He flashed a brief smile, then settled down and looked tired again. And beaten. He yawned.
I felt sorry for him.
"How was Edward?" Maureen asked me.
"Oh, fine ... fine. Eddie's a good little boy. He went right to sleep, no problem at all. I checked him five or six times, but he didn't wake up once."
"He's a good baby," Maureen said proudly.
"He is."
"I'll bet you're tired."
I smiled and felt like yawning. "I am kind of, I guess."
"Well, you just take it easy and relax," Maureen said, looking at her wristwatch. I knew she was trying to work out how much money she owed me. "As soon as I've got this figured out I'll pay you. Then Jason will drive you home."
Instead of relaxing, I headed toward the bedroom. "I'll just go and get my coat and check Eddie one last time."
"Good girl, Felicity," Maureen acknowledged.
When I returned with my coat on, Eddie checked and found sleeping, his teddy bear tucked under his arm, my pay was ready. Maureen had determined it to the penny, right up to the last quarter of an hour. Jason had fallen asleep in the hall chair, and he was snoring softly, his chin on his chest.
"I'll wake him," Maureen said. She walked over to Jason, bent low and called his name. "Jason ... Jason! It's time to drive Felicity."
His eyes blinked rapidly, and he ran his tongue over his drying lips. He grimaced, as if he were tasting something sour.
"Okay ... I'm awake. You ready to go, Fil?"
"Ready."
Maureen walked us to the door. "Are you sure you're awake, Jason?" she asked.
"I'm awake."
"I don't want you taking any chances --"
"I'm awake." His voice was a little sharper than it could have been. Then, a little more softly, he added : "I am. I really am. I'm wide awake."
"I always like to make sure," Maureen said, a new hard edge under her words. "It's better to be safe than sorry."
Nodding and yawning, Jason opened the front door. "I'll be back in about a half-hour or so ..." he began, searching through his pockets for his car keys.
"I don't think I'm going to wait up."
Jason's eyes narrowed. "But -- "
"I'm sorry, darling. I'm very tired and it's very late." Maureen yawned. "I'm sure I'll be sound asleep by the time you get home."
"All right, Maureen," Jason said tightly.
They exchanged a look, a feeling that wasn't difficult to read. Maureen leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
"Good night, darling," she said.
"Good night."
"Good night, Felicity. Thanks again for everything. We'd never get out of this house if it wasn't for you."
"Good night, Mrs. MacLean," I said.
It was cloudy and cold, and the wind stung my face and snuck up under my coat. I pulled it tightly around me, walking a little more quickly toward the awaiting car. The motor was purring, spitting out white puffs of exhaust into the still air.
"I realize this is an inconvenience," I said, trying to make conversation while I waited for Jason to unlock the front door on my side.
"Don't be silly. I don't mind."
"I only wish there was some other way for me to get home. I hate dragging you out in the middle of the night. Thanks." I slid into the front seat, slamming the door to shut out the cold.
Jason walked around the rear of the car. I reached across the front seat and opened the door for him. He sat in behind the steering wheel.
"I really don't mind." He yawned again, and took the car out of idling and released the hand brake. He covered another yawn. "Really."
"Jason...."
"Yes?"
"I don't want to sound pushy, but are you sure you're all right to drive? You do seem a little tired.
Jason laughed softly. "You too, Fil?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he said, effortlessly guiding the big car away from the curb. "You have a legitimate right to be concerned. But you've got nothing to worry about. I'm an excellent driver."
"I know."
"And as for falling asleep behind the wheel, it will never happen; not to me, anyhow. I'm so terrified by driving that I couldn't possibly fall asleep. I'm too rigid with anxiety."
"You don't like to drive?"
"I hate it. It terrifies me, literally. The only reason that I'm such a good driver is that I'm petrified of making a mistake. I'm so alert nothing gets by me."
"If you don't like to drive, why do you have a car?"
"You can't get anywhere on this Island with-out a car. You know that. Otherwise I wouldn't be driving you now."
I pressed him a little further. "Why did you come to the Island then? Couldn't you live somewhere where you wouldn't have to drive a car?"
"What about the kids?" he countered. "We moved out here for them; so they'd have a de-cent place to live and grow up."
"What about you? What about what you want?"
Jason took his eyes off the road just a second to glance over at me. He seemed perplexed, as if the thought had never occurred to him.
"Sometimes a person's just got to do what he's got to do. Do you understand that? It's part of what being a man is all about."
"Is it?"
"Oh, sure. Sure."
"I didn't know."
There was a silence for a few minutes, and I used it to study Jason from my special vantage point across the front seat from him. Framed in the doorway of his car, the silhouette of night a curtain for his profile, I saw how average Jason actually was. His pleasant but undistinguished face, now lined in conscientious concentration, studied the potentially treacherous road which lay in the shadows ahead of him. Brown eyes, and a closely trimmed head of neat brown hair capped his furrowed fore-head. His height was average, but he was just beginning to put on a few extra pounds. The bulge of his belly seemed just about to spill over the top of his belt. His suit was a dark gray, his tie a solid navy blue, and he was wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, his tie pulled slightly down. He was like ten thousand other men I've known or seen passing me in the streets. Like a million of them. Or more.
"Would you like to hear the radio?" he asked. "Maybe some music?"
"No, that's, okay. I like talking. Do you mind?"
Jason smiled, but didn't take his eyes from the road. "No, I don't mind. I like to talk ... when I've got the chance." He laughed softly, a personal joke.
"What do you do for a living?" I asked.
"Nothing special. In an office, part of management. A supervisor, I guess you'd call it.
Nothing special or big. Lower Management."
"Who for?"
He named a huge conglomerate.
"Do you like it?"
He laughed, and I had a feeling he thought he was talking down to me. He said: "Does anybody enjoy his work? It puts bread on the table, what can I say?"
"Some people enjoy their jobs."
"The lucky ones. Or the rich ones." He thought for a moment. "Besides, I didn't say I hated it. I can tolerate It. It's not the worst job in the world. Look around. A lot of people are a lot worse off than I am. Look around."
I laughed softly, trying to re-ignite the flick of an earlier mood. "Say, let me ask you this. If you had a choice, what would you do with your life? What would you be?"
"That's easy," he said without hesitation. "An actor."
"An actor. I would have never thought that of you."
Even in the darkness, I could see Jason blushing. "I don't know. It is kind of silly, I guess. I ... uh ... fooled around with it a little in college. Nothing big. No major parts. But -- I don't know -- there was something about it ... something that happened to me when I got on that stage. It was a very -- exciting, very fulfilling experience." He exhaled tightly, his blush deepening. "Do you know what I mean?"
"Sure. I understand. Did you ever pursue it?"
"Oh, no." He laughed softly at my naivete, safely amused. "Acting wasn't even my major. I just did it on the side. Besides, I never did anything big. I never had any professional experience. Just those few times at school. I was too old by then to change course."
"You should have at least tried."
He. shook his head. "No. That was not real -- not ever real. It was just -- fun, I guess. You can't make a living doing that. I realized that even then. A man's got to be practical, have both feet on the ground. I've got responsibilities to fulfill."
"What about the responsibilities you have to yourself?"
"A man can't always be selfish and think of himself only. I've got my son, my wife to provide for, to take care of. That's my job."
The big dark car pulled off the expressway, and began to weave through the sleeping streets of my town. I was almost home.
"Did you ever get anything you wanted in your life?" I asked, leaning back against the door as I watched Jason. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled coldly in anticipation. "Anything?"
He laughed. "Fil, you're a very strange girl."
"I know it. But answer my question, any-way."
"My wife. My son. Our house. My job. Lots of things. Plenty of things."
"Stop the car."
Jason turned and gave me a quick glance. "What?"
"Stop the car. Pull it up -- over there."
Conscientiously, he parked the car. "Fil, is there something wrong? Are you sick?"
"I want to kiss you," I said, without moving.
He thought it was a joke. "Don't be silly."
"I want to make love to you, Jason." I leaned forward, toward him. "I want to make you happy."
"What are you talking about?"
It came to me then, my reason for seducing Jason. I had to give him something of his own. He had to be shown how to be selfish, how to enjoy himself more. Someone had to give him some memories.
"I want to make love to you," I said. I slid across the seat until I was sitting right up against Jason. In unconscious defense, he had retreated as I approached, until he was pressed up against the door, with nowhere else to go. I said : "Right here ... right now! Right here on the front seat of this car."
"You don't know what you're saying --"
"I do, though! I want to fuck you. I want to suck your cock --"
"Felicity!"
"I want to feel you coming inside of me ... in my pussy ... in my mouth!"
I kissed him passionately on his open, protesting mouth, forcing his words back in past his teeth as my tongue speared between his lips. I ground my face tightly down, squirming my tongue all over the inside of his mouth, tasting the warmth of his saliva, exploring all the exciting newness of his slippery flesh. I touched his tongue, prodded it, and for a moment I thought it was coiled to strike back at me. Instead, Jason caught me by the shoulders, and pulled me back, away from him.
"Fil, I'm married! My wife -- "
"Is home sleeping!"
He shook his head, running out of arguments, weakening. "It's wrong...."
"I'll never tell."
I kissed him again, and this time Jason kissed me back. The thick wet wedge of his tongue battered its way into my mouth, leaving my lips all swollen with passion and slick with his saliva. His tongue went berserk inside my mouth, like an animal free of its cage, touching me everywhere, exploring every crack and crevice, my teeth and tongue, sliding over the roof of my mouth, thrusting frantically down my throat.
I ran my hand down his belly, grabbing for his cock. There was a frenzied, accelerated tempo to our passion, as if it had been held in abeyance too long, as if we were making up for time lost. A kind of madness seized us, an al-most desperation. I stroked his cock boldly through his pants, exploring its length and thickness with my practised fingers, sizing it up, knowing what it would be like without having to see it. I fumbled with his belt, and broke a fingernail pulling down his zipper. My hand was in his boxer shorts in an instant, and a heartbeat later, his cock was pulled out, my fingers wrapped around its six-inch length. While our mouths kissed hungrily, I squeezed his cock as hard as I could and I jerked him off until my arm ached.
Jason was just as busy. With his back pressed into the door, he was sort of facing me, one leg up on the seat, me leaning over it to kiss and fondle him. He placed both hands on my tits, first feeling me up through my coat, then roughly opening the buttons, he squeezed my tits through my blouse. His fingers pumped in and out, with his palms grinding down, crushing my swollen nipples.
I broke off the kiss and sucked his cock into my mouth. Running my lips up and down the throbbing shaft, easily taking all of him into my mouth, I felt Jason's hands on my breasts, fondling, pinching, prodding me into an almost mindless passion. I tightened my lips hard around his cock, molding my lips around the ever changing contours of its shape, taking him from tip to root in a single swallow. Up and down I went, up and down, faster and faster, my tongue swirling across the pulsating head of his cock. Saliva dripped down the shaft, oozed out of my mouth, stained the front of his suit.
Fingers fumbling with the buttons of my blouse, Jason finally got it open. My tits tumbled out free and loose, swaying tensely in the darkness. His hands were all over them, lifting them, rubbing them, flitting the nipples, squeezing them in and out as if they were grapefruits. He pressed. down into them with his hands, rotating them in one direction, and then in the other. He molded them into a single mass, stretching the fingers of one hand to contain all that flesh, squeezing into it as if it were a single tit. I could feel both my nipples rubbing together, against each other. It almost drove me out of my mind.
Somehow he ate me. I pulled off my panties, pulled up my skirt, and climbed over him, shoving my naked pussy into his face. Jason slumped down on the seat, licking up at my crotch, while I half stood, bent forward over the car seat, my spine against the roof, my ass pressed against the steering wheel. It was unbelievably awkward and uncomfortable, but in-credibly erotic. I came in about three seconds.
And I kept on coming, all the time he licked me, even while I slid my oozing cunt down his face, over his chest and belly, and impaled it on the hot throbbing shaft of his prick. His dick sliced into me like a knife, and I sat down hard onto Jason's lap, feeling his cock going deeper and deeper up my hole. He came like an ex-plosion, as if he hadn't come in years, gushing a torrent' of scalding sperm into my spasming quim.
"Fuck me, Jason!" I cried, looking right into his face, pumping my cunt up and down his cock. Come spewed like lava into my crotch. "Fuck me, Jason ... fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me!"
Chapter Five
"I don't know," Bonnie said, shaking her head. "I haven't been fucking all that long. Really."
I was standing in front of the mirror in Bonnie's bedroom, running a hairbrush through my long blonde hair. More interested in how well my make-up was applied, and how firm and high my tits looked in my new red sweater, I hardly paid any attention to Bonnie's anxieties. Bonnie was a worrier. Since she had already agreed to go through with it, I had no reason to get upset. In the end, as always, Bonnie would respond just as she always did : with a raw sexual hunger, devouring as much pleasure as she could cram into her fifteen-year-old-body. Bonnie was like a young lioness, possessing awesome talents, yet completely unaware of her own potential. In her own special way, Bonnie needed me.
"You'll do all right," I assured her. "I know you will."
"But I've never done anything like this be-fore."
"Neither have I, so we're even."
Bonnie was pacing back and forth. "But at least you know him. You've been fucking him for months now -- "
"A little bit more than a month."
"That's not the point."
I put the hairbrush down carefully. "What is the point? And stop that pacing. Do you want your mother to come in and see you like this?"
Bonnie sighed, then stopped. "No," she said subdued. She walked over to the dresser, her head still down. "I'm. scared, Felicity."
I put my arm around her and held her tightly. "You have nothing to be afraid of. Believe me. Would I do anything to hurt you? Look, he's a very nice man ... kind and gentle and very considerate."
"And married."
"So?"
"What if we get caught? What if his wife finds out?"
"I told you : Maureen is in Boston for the weekend. Her mother is sick. We have the whole house to ourselves. What could be safer?"
Bonnie shook her head with a kind of helplessness. "I don't know what to think. You make it sound so great, so fantastic! So how come I'm so scared?"
"You're not scared," I explained. "You're excited. You're tense. You're like a fighter be-fore a big fight, you want to get to it, you want to show him how good you are. You want all that ... pleasure."
"Do I?"
I coaxed Bonnie toward the bed where our coats lay. "Of course you do," I said, handing Bonnie her coat, slipping into my own. "Think about it for a moment. Try and imagine what's going to happen." I was telling her, telling her. "You and I, Bonnie, naked -- and with a man! The three of us at once! Something none of us have ever done before. Think of all the things we're gonna be able to do: you and me, sixty-pining, Jason taking turns fucking us. Eating your pussy, his cock in your mouth, fucking me. So many incredible things, Bonnie!"
"Oh, I'm getting wet."
"And who's our partner? A thirty-year-old man! Not some dumb high school kid. A married man with years of experience in fucking ... in licking pussy! Think about that, Bonnie."
While I let Bonnie think about it, I made some last minute adjustments on my hair with the hairbrush, splaying the long blonde strands over the shoulders of my faded denim jacket. If I said so myself,- I looked very foxy in my jeans, jacket and red sweater.
"You ready to go?" Bonnie asked.
"Yes," I said, smiling at her. A study in self-deception and contradiction. "Let's go."
Mrs. Paine was waiting for us at the foot of the stairs as we began down. "Oh, there you are," she said. "I was just going to call you. Your father is ready to go."
"So are we."
"I just want to thank you again, Mrs. Paine," I said, smiling girlishly at her as she walked us to the door, "for letting Bonnie come with me tonight babysitting. And for having your husband drive us."
"Oh, that's no trouble at all, Felicity," she assured me. Mrs. Paine liked me, even if she had no idea who I really was. She was constantly embarrassing Bonnie in front of me by urging her daughter to be more like me. She smiled vacantly. "I just want to be sure again that they won't mind you bringing Bonnie along with you tonight."
"Oh, no, they would never mind," I solemnly convinced her. "I told them that Bonnie was coining, and they said, sure, bring her along. It's fine."
Mrs. Paine smiled and nodded. "That's just fine. I'm such a worrier. A mother's lot, I guess."
"G'night, Mom," Bonnie said, pecking at her mother's cheek with her lips. "See ya later."
"You be good now, you hear," she cautioned. "I don't want to hear.any complaints from the MacLean's about you."
"I don't think you will," I said. I stretched up on my toes and kissed Mrs. Paine on the cheek. "Good night, Mrs. Paine. Thanks again."
"Good night, girls!" she said, framed in the doorway, light spilling out from behind her. She waved goodbye to us as we walked across the lawn toward the car parked at the curb. "Oh! And are you sure about coming home tonight? Are you sure it's -- "
"Ma!" Bonnie protested.
"Mr. MacLean has already said he would bring both of us home. He's more than willing to do it."
"Well, just in case," she screeched as we got further away, "we're just a telephone call away. Your father would be more than willing to come pick you up, Bonnie, no matter how late it is."
Bonnie looked at me, shook her head, and sighed.
"Good night, Mrs. Paine," I called, waving from the back window of the car as it pulled away. "See you later on I"
"What was that all about?" Mr. Paine grunted from the front seat.
"Ma's usual last minute crazies," Bonnie said.
Mr. Paine nodded, apparently familiar with the syndrome. He grunted again.
"You sure you know where it is?" Bonnie questioned her father. "You took the ad-dress with you?"
Mr. Paine looked hard at his daughter through the rearview mirror. "You know," he said, "you're getting to sound more like your mother everyday." He grunted. "I've been living on this Island for twenty-five years, how my own kid thinks to give me directions. If I don't know how to get there, nobody knows!"
Bonnie sighed, looking at me with a feeling of helplessness in her eyes. I grinned back at her, and she understood it as commiseration.
"You know what you are?" Bonnie said to me presently, her voice in a hushed tone. "Outrageous."
"Why?"
"I'm probably the only fifteen-year-old girl who ever got her parent's permission to go to an orgy. Or had her father drive her to it." She nodded, and for a moment, I thought I read something else in her eyes. "You're responsible for this."
True to his claim, Mr. Paine got us to Jason's house in less than twenty minutes. Twenty minutes after that, the three of us -- me, Bonnie, and Jason -- were sitting around the living room, getting ripped on Columbian.
"I didn't think you'd smoke grass," Bonnie said, sounding somehow reassured. She held the roach clip to her lips, sucking in air as she drew on the smoldering nub of the joint. "I never think of older people as smoking for some reason. I'm always surprised when I find out that they do. It makes it -- I don't know -- kind of cute."
"A lot of people smoke marijuana," Jason explained, still very tense even after two joints. This was a big step in the history of his life. He said : "A lot more than anyone suspects, I'll bet. And I'll wager some of them no-body suspects. If it's ever legalized, I have a feeling we're all going to be surprised when some very prominent men and women admit to being potheads."
"I'll smoke to that," I said, lighting a third joint. I wanted to get them both wrecked, stripped of all their collective hang-ups and inhibitions. I wanted to mold their moods; I wanted them to do what I wanted. Tonight was going to be special. Lungs full of the smoke, I handed the joint to Bonnie. "Here. More smoke, less talk."
Bonnie held her head. "Whew, I'm so stoned. I don't hardly know what I'm doing."
"Smoke up," I urged. "One good thing about older people when they smoke. That quality of the grass goes up a thousand percent. Not like the cheap shit we've got to buy, right?"
Bonnie sucked down the smoke. "Right."
"Give it to Jason." I nodded in approval. "Right. We could never afford to buy grass like this, could we, Bonnie? This is too rich for us. But what a high!"
Bonnie giggled. "Whew!"
I kept up the chatter of conversation until the joint was all smoked up. Making certain that Bonnie and Jason smoked most of it, I directed myself to maintaining a light, easy mood. Everyone's guard had to be down for my next move. It had to seem natural, effortless, in the long easy flow of being stoned.
"Hey, Bonnie," I said, leaning my body against hers on the sofa, purposely grazing the firm side of my breast against her naked arm. The move was accomplished so crudely that Jason could not help but notice, which was my intention. When I had both their attentions, I electrified my tone and said: "Let's play the game!"
Bonnie looked at me through the thick haze of smoke clogging her brain. The quiver of some emotion, some protest crossed her expression, and then was gone, forgotten. I watched her trying to concentrate.
"We can't play that here," she finally said.
I pressed my tit harder against her arm, watching the tiny black hairs which covered it prickling excitedly. Through the scratchy woolen material, my nipple stiffened and elongated, making a visible bump on my red sweater.
"Sure we can," I cooed.
"But -- " Bonnie pointed uncertainly at Jason, who was slumped in a chair, watching with glazed eyes. "He's here!"
I put my arm over her shoulder, leaning closer to her, whispering intimately into Bonnie's ear. My lips, moistened and glistening with saliva, were a fraction of an inch away from Bonnie's ear. I spoke softly, sensually, blowing a warm stream of air against her neck. -
"We're gonna play a special game," I said.
"Special?"
"Played a special way."
Bonnie looked confused. "How are we going to do that?"
Slowly, slowly, very slowly, I stretched my tongue out from between my lips, and with a light, gentle, breezelike caress, I licked my tongue all around the sensitive ridges of Bonnie's ear. The flesh on her neck shrivelled up into tiny cold bumps, and she shivered.
"Oh... oh."
"I'm going to tell you about something that happened to me," I said, speaking softly, blowing into her ear so that the fine film of saliva left would cool and evaporate. "And while you're listening ... and watching ... Jason and I are going to be acting it out! We're going to be putting on a show for you ... a show you're free to join any time you want."
I punctuated the promise with a sudden wet stab of my tongue, thrusting it deeply, thrillingly into Bonnie's ear. She shuddered fitfully, her dark eyes closed, her thighs grinding tightly together.
"Let's play!" she moaned.
I stood up. "First we've got to get undressed. The three of us... . All of us naked. Then we'll play. Come on ... undress."
Bonnie stood, and then so did Jason. We faced each other in the middle of that living room, and we watched each other undress. Jason was shy and still intimidated, but Bonnie was eager, powerfully into the mood, stripping her clothing off excitedly. She was the first naked, and Jason could not keep his eyes off her. Her body was full and supple, firm and youthful, with a rich dark patch of pussy hair. She offered to help Jason undress.
"You'd only get preoccupied," I advised her, stepping out of my red bikini panties. Now I was as naked as Bonnie, our bodies in striking contrast. I was like a reversed mirror image of her : where she was dark, I was pale ; where she was black, I was blonde. Only our tits were alike : big and firm and round, swaying pendulously from side to side, hers tipped with long brown nipples, mine with pink. I ran my hand lightly down her neck and across her shoulder. "You'd only get preoccupied and then we'd for-get to play the game."
Bonnie shivered. "Can we hurry? I want to play."
"Easy ... easy," I said, soothing her, relaxing her. I fondled her breast, lifting the heavy orb with the tips of my fingers. Gravity pulled the tit back down, until all I held between my fingers was her nipple. I twirled it gently as I spoke. Relax. We're going to begin ... right now!"
Leaving Jason standing there alone, his hairy crotch partially hidden by his cupped hands, I guided Bonnie back over to the sofa. I urged her down.
"You sit right here and watch," I said. "Masturbate if it turns you on. But all you've got to do is watch." I turned to Jason. "From the dining room bring a straight-backed wooden chair."
Puzzled by my instructions, Jason nevertheless turned to obey. A moment later he re-turned with the chair. I made him place it in the middle of the living room floor, directly in front of the sofa. It was no more than three feet from Bonnie. She had a front row seat. I instructed Jason to sit in the chair, and he took his place without a word. With legs spread wide, obviously relaxed, he began to absently masturbate.
"Oh ... oh!" Bonnie said. She spread her thighs and slipped her hand down to her pussy. Watching the slow, almost casual up and down slide of Jason's hand on his cock, she ran two fingers in and out of her cunthole. "Oh."
I took my place, on the far side of Jason, standing and facing Bonnie. I spread my thighs wide, opening the lips of my cunt until my clitoris was visible. With both of them watching me, I pressed my middle and index fingers directly on top of my clitoris. The flap of my cuntlips reclosed, folding over the tips of the fingers. I began to masturbate.
"It happened one summer night," I began, placing my left hand on Jason's shoulder as I spoke. "I was sleeping on my bed ... naked .. . on top of the covers because it was very warm. My window was open wide so that if there was a cool breeze, it would blow through the window and chill my nakedness. I was sleeping soundly ... dreaming perhaps ... stoned ... or maybe I was masturbating. Something happened ... something changed ... and I awoke.
"In my room, sitting in a chair just like this one, was a man. A strange man." I watched Bonnie shudder, her eyes closing and then re-opening, dreamlike. Her finger slid up to her clitoris and she rolled it sensually. "He was naked ... stark naked ... but he was sitting in the chair ... tied in the chair with heavy rope. He was incapable of moving, incapable of harming me in any way, and I felt no fear of him. It did not even seem strange to me that he was there. All I felt ... all I felt was ... aroused! My pussy was wet and hot ... oozing excitement ... and I wanted to masturbate. I wanted to fuck."
Staring at Jason's cock, Bonnie opened her mouth, running her tongue slowly, sensually across her lips. A shudder rippled across her naked flesh. Around and around her finger twirled, her pussy going squish-squish!
"What happened then?" she asked. "Tell me.... Show me!"
"I watched him from bed for a long time," I said. I pushed two fingers up into my cunt, making the heavy, blonde-haired lips flutter in and out. "All he did was sit there silently, passively, with a smile on his face. Shadows were all around. Pale moonlight filtered softly in through the open window. His legs were spread wide and his cock stood thickly, power-fully erect ... like a beacon ... a magnet ... drawing my fingers to touch it!"
Eyes open wide, a film of perspiration covering her naked breasts, Bonnie watched me as I reached down and touched Jason's cock. I wrapped my fingers around the hot, throbbing prick, one at a time, until I grasped him firmly in my palm. Jerking him off slowly, up and down, I continued my story.
"I got up from my bed finally," I said, pumping my hand up and down Jason's cock. He moaned softly, excited by the strangeness of what was happening. Bonnie watched, her dark eyes rolling up and down as she followed my hand, holding her breath as she listened. "I walked across my bedroom, circling the chair, looking down at that strange naked man ... lusting for his thick, hard cock. I looked deeply into his eyes, and then ... and then I reached down and touched his cock!"
"Oh ... oh!" Bonnie moaned, her legs spread wide open on the sofa, two fingers hammering away at her wet, glistening slit. "How did it feel? Tell me how it felt! Oh ... ohhh!"
"It felt good ... exciting ... hard .. . thick!" I cried, dropping to my knees in front of Jason. He spread his thighs to accommodate my kneeling form, thrusting his legs out in front of him, straddling my body. Slumping down in the chair, until the cheeks of his ass jutted off the edge of the seat, his cock stood straight up in the air. I grasped his shaft with both hands, interlacing my fingers around his prick, and I jerked him off that way, using long, exaggerated strokes. I said : "His cock felt hot ... scalding ... burning my palm with lust each time my fingers rubbed over the bumplike lip of his cockhead... . It felt so good it made me want to take it into my mouth! .. . It made me want to suck him!"
"Did you, Felicity? ... Did you?" Bonnie stretched out her left leg, her foot elongating, her toes straining forward, and she made con-tact with Jason's thigh. While I jerked him off with all my fingers, and Bonnie rubbed her clit and cuntlips, she ran her foot back and forth across the quivering muscle of his hairy thigh. "Did you suck his cock, Felicity? Did you?"
My hands fell away from Jason's cock, and for a moment it stood alone, the imprint of my fingers still on it. I leaned forward, licking. my tongue around my widely parted lips, and I brought my mouth all the way down, until I was almost touching his prick. With my lips spread wide, my tongue within striking distance of the red-tipped, twitching shaft, I went on.
"Not at first," I whispered, sucking them in closer, deeper. "At first I just looked at it .. . measured it up with my tongue ... wondered how it would taste in my mouth. I wondered how it would feel to run my tongue up and down its sides ... I wondered if he would come in my mouth, pumping out his thick ... hot ... sperm between my lips. When I could stand the suspense no longer, I bent forward, opened my mouth wide ... and began to suck him o$!"
I pushed my lips all the way down to the base of Jason's cock, and then I closed my mouth around his hard-on. His cock was hot and it throbbed against my tongue. I began to deep-throat him.
"Suck him, Felicity ... suck him!" Bonnie stretched her foot all the way out until she was touching the base of Jason's cock with her toes. As my lips rode up and down his fleshy pole, Bonnie stroked the root of his shaft with her foot. Her toes were covered with saliva. "Suck him, Felicity ... suck him for me!"
"I felt her mouth on my cock," Jason began, picking up the thread of the collective fantasy, the perspective suddenly changed, but somehow not different. "Her lips were soft and large ... her tongue thick and sensual ... lapping up and down ... stroking my cock from my balls up to the tip! ... Oh, God -- it felt great ... So sexy ,... so wet and slidey ... warm ... pulpy ... I just sat there ... not able to do anything ... not able to stop her even. I was completely helpless ... She could do anything she wanted to me ... Anything!"
With his words ringing in my ears, exciting my passion in a strange, new way, I found my-self sucking Jason's cock deeply, drawing it up hard between my lips. I curled my tongue along the undershaft, swishing it from side to side as I pumped my mouth up and down. Sucking on it as if I were trying to pull it right up out of his groin, I could feel my cheeks hollowing, my mouth caving in around his prick, squeezing it between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Saliva flowed down around his cock, bubbling out around my pursed lips, drenching the heavy brown hair which covered
his crotch.
"Hurry ... hurry!" Bonnie cried, pushing a finger into her asshole, exciting herself any way she could. Hurry...! I want to play!"
"When I'd sucked enough," I said, my head rearing up from Jason's crotch, saliva spraying out like transparent lace, "I staggered to my feet, holding onto his cock as if to anchor me in my excitement." I staggered to my feet, straddling Jason's outthrust legs. Facing him, I squatted above his hot, drippy cock. "I wrapped my legs around him, guiding his cock with my fingers, and I pressed the tip of the shaft between my oozing cuntlips. Slowly ... slowly ... I lowered myself onto his cock. Deeper and deeper it went into me ... until it was all the way inside my pussy ... until we were fucking!"
In a single fluid motion, I impaled myself on Jason's cock.
He gasped, stiffened.
"Fuck him!" Bonnie implored, trying to wedge her toes between the lips of my cunt. She had one finger in her asshole, and two more in her pussy, and she was rocking back and for-ward on the sofa, alternately skewering the two holes. "Fuck him ... fuck him ... fuck him ... OH... oohhh-hh!"
"Up and down I pumped my pussy," I said, pumping my pussy up and down Jason's cock. "Up and down ... up and down ... His cock going in and out... . All the way in and all the way out ... Hot and thick and round-feeling in my belly .. pushing up deep inside of me ... filling up my cunthole ... Ahhh! Ohhh ... Oh ... oh ... Up and down ... in and out ... deeper and deeper! I could feel my cuntlips wrapping around his cock ... I could feel the hair on my crotch tickling my ass when I pressed down on his prick. I could feel his cock -- Jesus ...! I could feel his cock going up inside of me . creeping up the inner walls of my pussy ... with my wetness leaking down all over his balls ... all over his -- "
"Oh ... uuhh!" Jason moaned, his head thrashing from side to side across the back of the wooden chair. His eyes were closed tightly, and his face was drenched in perspiration. He pistoned his cock into me, slamming his thighs into the cheeks of my ass, sending up vibrations throughout my whole body. Again and again he hammered his cock at me, drilling him-self deeper and deeper until he was almost lifting me off his lap with the thrusts. "Fuck me, Fil ... fuck me ...! Oohhh! Ahhhh!"
"In and out I pushed him ... in and out!" I cried, my tits slapping Jason across his face as I humped myself around his swollen cock. "The pleasure getting better ... my cunt getting hotter ... wetter ... Getting so good ... getting so good that I begin to-think about coming!"
"Enough!" Bonnie cried, springing from the sofa, fusing the many realities. She dropped down on her knees between Jason's widely spread thighs. I' could feel her hot, eager breath snorting up at my cock-stuffed pussy. "Enough ... enough!"
"Oh Jesus!" Jason cried. "Jesus!"
I could feel Bonnie's tongue licking all over my crotch, running up and down the length of Jason's plunging cock. She held me by the cheeks of my ass, pulling them apart, her face pressed up between my thighs, her mouth open wide, and her tongue licking all over the hairy flesh. Jason's cock plowed into me, and then, half a. stroke later, in pushed Bonnie's tongue, slithering up inside my pussy. When Jason's cock drew back, Bonnie's tongue remained where it was, nuzzling frantically against the swollen bulb of my clitoris. In and out Jason humped, fucking me while Bonnie sucked my clit. A moment later she was gone, and I felt her tongue pushing up inside my asshole.
"Oh my God!" I pressed down hard into her face, feeling her tongue go all the way up in-side of me. Jason, pulling down on my shoulders, grinding up with all his might with his thighs, leaned forward and sucked the tips of my breasts in between his lips. Up and down his tongue lapped, his teeth chewing into the long pink ends of my nipples. Pleasure was shooting through my brain, making me see stars. "Oh my God ... Oh my God!"
And then it was all gone, the tongue in my ass, the cock up my cunt. On the last upstroke, Bonnie dropped down under me, pushing me up with both her hands. Her tongue slithered from my anus. I fell forward onto Jason, my tits squashed into his face. At the same time, I could feel Bonnie's fingers, wrapping them-selves around Jason's drippy cock, literally pulling the pumping shaft from my wet, clasping maw. From the sound of Jason's sudden, piercing groans of pleasure, and the bobbing pounding of Bonnie's head under my ass, I knew she was sucking his cock. Bonnie had pulled Jason's cock from my leaking pussy, still warm from the grip of my flesh, and had swallowed him up into her mouth. Although it was completely coated with my juices, Bonnie was sucking on Jason's dick.
"Oh ... Jesus!" Jason moaned, grabbing my tits with both hands, rubbing them up and down all over his face, licking at them with his excited tongue. Between my legs I could feel his hips pumping up and down as he drilled his cock into the wild new sensation of Bonnie's sucking mouth. "Oh, God -- it's like a dream!"
A heartbeat later, something new was happening, and I thought I was going to go out of my mind from the powerful, rending pleasures which were assaulting my senses. His cock was out of Bonnie's mouth; and was being guided carefully in her hand, all wet and sloppy with my cunt juices and Bonnie's saliva, to the rim of my anus. She rammed it up into me, stretching wide the elastic brown entrance hole, filling my anus with Jason's searing, impaling shaft. I pushed myself down hard onto it, and he jerked his crotch up to greet me. With all the bluntness and fury of a battering-ram, Jason battered his cock in and out. He was fucking my ass in long, deep strokes.
"Oh ... oh!" I cried, arching my spine back, my long blonde hair dangling behind me. I was holding onto Jason's hair with both hands, my sweaty tits bouncing and jiggling, swollen nipples pointed up at the ceiling. Jason's cock had turned into a pillar of fire inside my tortured flesh, and I could feel his hammering presence in an almost direct line which stretched up through my spine and pierced my brain. I danced and quivered, like a helpless marionette, like a tiny bug mounted on the point of a pin. "Oh ... oh ... oohhhh ... God!"
Still Bonnie wasn't finished, and, before I knew what was happening, the rod was out of my ass, and she had reinserted it into my pussy. Up it slid, a slicing, effortless penetration, hot and thick, rubbing itself electrically across the sugary, quaking walls of my contracting passageway. I could feel his balls, the prickly, sticky hairs on his groin just grazing the fluttering lips of my pussy, and then the cock was out again, reinjected up my rectum. In and out Jason's cock plunged, rammed up my pussy, drummed into my ass. In and out Bonnie laced it, running her lips and tongue up and down the blurred shaft, slurping it greedily. Then back into- my ass ... back into my pussy!
She kept it up until I was coming, coming wildly, mindlessly, in total abandonment, an unending string of orgasms. Bonnie kept it up until Jason was coming, his hot, burning scum spewing up my cunt, into my asshole, rolling down her drinking throat, smeared like sticky paste all across her spermy lips.
Chapter Six
It was a beautiful Friday morning, and a shiftless summer breeze billowed in through my open bedroom window. The sky was a high, cloudless bright blue, and the sunlight was clean and warm. Lawns and trees shimmered with green, and the smell of freshly cut grass was in the air. I could even hear birds singing. Christ, it made me feel lazy!
I stretched sensually, the flowered pink sheet sliding down over my naked tits. I always slept naked, especially during summer and spring. There was something positively erotic about cool, satiny sheets against warm, naked flesh. It made you want to masturbate.
The dread of school intruded suddenly, shattering my good mood. I moaned sourly, shaking my head. Summer and graduation were almost upon me, forcing me to make choices no one had ever really prepared me to make. Do I work, get married, go to college? Like bees, all these responsibilities buzzed around in my skull.
I turned my head on the pillow and looked out through my window at the endlessly blue sky. Like a silver. needle floating on the wind, I watched the sunlight glinting off the wings of a passing jet. It was still rising, pointed almost defiantly up at the sky, overcoming everything, even gravity. If I had a million dollars, I would have gladly given it then just to be on that air-plane, going anywhere. I felt trapped inside my life, inside my own body, peering out through my blue eyes at the real world.
I shook my head, smiling at the easy drift of my mood, perhaps having taken a hint from the restless summer breeze fanning my discontent. That settled it. I couldn't face school to-day. I had to get out of here, get away, escape! Reality was closing in on me, and I was afraid I would be trapped inside it. I had to get away somewhere -- just to get away.
Even the thin summer sheet seemed to weigh me down, and I kicked it off with "my feet. It fluttered high in the air above me, and then slowly settled back down, coming to rest in a long flat lump across the foot of my bed. I looked down at my naked body for a moment, at my widely spread thighs, at the high, full mound of my cunt, covered with thick blonde strands of pubic hair, at the twin pink-capped tips of my breasts, pressed together between my arms as I stretched again. Kicking my legs high in the air, I vaulted out of bed with renewed energy and enthusiasm. Instead of the dull monotony of school, the day lay ahead of me like a great, exciting adventure.
Walking naked through the empty house, I wandered into the kitchen. Since both my parents worked in Manhattan, driving to and from work together by car each morning, I was left pretty much on my own. Mom always left me some money on the kitchen table, for any expenses I might have, along with a little note.
In the middle of the kitchen table was a fruit bowl, and I plucked out a shiny red apple. Rubbing it on my naked rump to make it even more polished, I took a big juicy bite from the apple. The sweetness oozed out from the corners of my lips, and I wiped it with the back of my hands as I read Mom's note. It was a list of chores to do around the house.
I crumpled up the note, tossed it- into the open trash pail in the corner of the kitchen for two points, and picked up the money. Taking another bite of the apple, I counted the money. There were nine dollars, a five and four ones. In my secret hiding place at the back of my closet, I had saved fourteen dollars of my own. Combined, I had twenty-three dollars, more than enough money to take a train ride on the Long Island Railroad and go into Manhattan. If I left early enough, I could go to two or three movies before I had to be home for dinner that night.
Two more quick bites, and I'd eaten as much of the apple as I wanted. With a carefully con-trolled flick of my wrist, I tossed the chewed up fruit at the corner pail. It sailed gracefully through the air, smacked wetly into the wall, bounced off the rim of the pail, and fell with a moist splat to the floor. I cursed to myself as I bent to pick it up, and I cleaned the sticky spots on the floor and wall with the dish sponge.
Sucking the apple residue out from between my. teeth, scratching my ass, I straggled into the living room, put on the stereo, playing it as loud as I wanted, and I slumped onto the sofa. The telephone was on the table next to me, and I picked up the receiver and dialed Bonnie's number. Mrs. Paine answered.
"Good morning, Mrs. Paine," I said brightly. "I hope I didn't wake you?"
"Oh, no. I've been up since six, making breakfast, getting my husband off to work and my children off to school."
"Oh, did Bonnie leave already?"
"Miss Sleepy Head? I should say not. She's just getting up now. I had to threaten to drag her out of bed." She sighed with disapproval. "Kids."
"Can I speak to her a second?"
"Just a minute ; I'll call her to the phone." She cupped her fingers over the mouthpiece and cried out: "Bonnie! Telephone!" Then she came back on with me. "You won't be long, will you, dear? She still has to get dressed. I don't know what time she'll get to school."
"No, I'll only be a moment." I looked down at my pubic hair, running my fingers absently through the thick blonde strands. "I've got to leave for school myself in a minute or so. All I have to do is ask her about some homework."
"You're all ready for school?" Mrs. Paine asked.
"Oh, sure. Since early this morning."
"Oh my. ... Why couldn't Bonnie be more like you? I swear. Where is that girl? Bon -- Oh, here she is now." I could hear her hand the telephone to Bonnie. In the background, she said: "And don't be long, Missy! You're late enough!"
"Mal Awright, for christsakes!" There was a moment or two of silence, then Bonnie came on the line, her voice somewhat more subdued. "Hi; good morning. Sorry about all that."
"Forget it. Is she around?"
"She's in the kitchen, making my breakfast. No matter how late I am, she still makes me a well-balanced breakfast. I hate well-balanced breakfasts."
"How'd ya like to skip school today?" I asked.
"Ow."
"What the matter?"
"I can't. I've got two goddamn tests today. French and History. I was up all night studying for the goddamn things."
My enthusiasm was dampened somewhat. "Can't you cut out anyway? Make up the tests?"
"No chance. I've been fucking up most of the year, and now I've really got to bust my ass and get my grades back up. If I don't it's gonna be a shitty summer."
"Damn. You sure?"
"Please, Felice, don't tempt me. I'm weakening, and I know if I go, it's going to really fuck me up. Don't even ask again."
I sighed. "I can dig it. Damn."
"Were you going to go any place in particular?"
"An orgy."
"You're kidding!" She laughed, but her voice was uncertain. "Really?"
"I wouldn't kid you. I took a chance and called Jason at home. Maureen has the school car-pool this week, so we could talk. It took me about three seconds to convince him not to go to work. Jason told me he has a friend who is into swapping and orgies, and he told him about this place in Brooklyn where there's a year long, around-the-clock orgy always going on. It's like a private club or something. You've got to pay twenty-five dollars fee and you're in."
"Gee. ... That sounds incredible."
"That's where we were going just now. 1 figured I'd call you and ask."
"Gee, that really sounds great." Bonnie's voice got kind of quivery because she was whispering. "A perpetual orgy. Far-fucking-out. Say, do you think there'd be other single chicks there? You know, chicks who, uh, dig other chicks?"
"I'm sure. Lots of them."
"Say, Felice ... you know, I've been thinking ..."
"Oh, no," I, said quickly. "Get it right out of your head. You are going to school ! You're not going to put failing on my head. I won't let you come now."
Bonnie sighed. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."
"I know I am."
"Only one thing...."
"What?"
Bonnie's voice was positively seductive. "Would you tell me about what you did?" "The next time I sleep over."
"I can hardly wait...."
"And maybe we can get together with Jason again, and we can show you what we did."
"Felicity, stop." From the quivering in her voice, I could tell Bonnie was really turned on. "I haven't got time to masturbate. I've got to go to school!"
"I'd better go. Jason'll be waiting for me."
"Bitch."
"Bye-ee."
I hung up the receiver, and for a moment my spirits were still buoyant. And then I realized I really wasn't going to an orgy, and I got disappointed. I slumped on the sofa. Now I couldn't even count on Bonnie for companionship. I would have to spend the day alone.
Wait a minute! I said to myself, slapping my hands together. I jumped up from the sofa. I'm not going to let this get me down. I'm going to have a good time whether Bonnie is with me or not! And I don't have to spend the day alone, I added, smiling.
From my bedroom stash of grass, I rolled one very lumpy, poorly executed joint. I never really learned how to do that well, and have depended on others a lot for it. One of these days I'm going to learn how to roll them well. But I smoked it anyway, and I got just as stoned as if an expert had rolled it. Maybe that's why I never learned.
Back in the living room, I dialed the number of a local taxi service. The phone rang twice, and a gruff-voiced man answered.
"I'd like to have a taxi pick me up in a half hour," I said. "... To the Long Island Railroad station ... No, the one here in town. ... Yes. ... In a half hour. ... My address is ..."
I washed quickly, brushed my teeth, picked a nice, sexy perfume, and skipped back into my bedroom to dress. The outfit was simple, comfortable, but very effective : my short blue skirt, white blouse, and pale blue cardigan sweater. To compensate me for having lost Bonnie's companionship, I decided not to wear any panties. And, since I never wore a bra, it was like practically being naked. I get very turned on when I wear a skirt without any panties. I love the way the breeze blows up my skirt and plays between the lips of my pussy. Christ, thinking about it was turning me on.
I dressed quickly, brushed my hair, then took a few minutes to put on a little eye make-up. At sixteen, I didn't need to wear any other make-up except a little lipstick now and then. Among other things, I am blessed with a nice clear, healthy complexion. Frankly, I think it's one of my greatest assets It makes me look wholesome. Just think what that does to some guy's head when he finds out what I'm really like. Foxy.
I was just spraying on my perfume when I heard the taxi's horn out front. I ducked my head through my bedroom window, and shouted for him to wait a minute. In about three minutes, I finished putting on my per-fume, brushed my hair, got my money from my hiding place, peed, and checked myself in the mirror. I was all set to go, ready for my next ... adventure.
The driver tried to flirt with me, but I ignored him, and after a few minutes he gave up. I opened the taxi window, and let the summer air blow through my long blonde strands. The way it tickled against my neck made me feel sensual. It made me feel free, with its perfect mixture of warmth and cleanness, and I was glad I wasn't going to school. But mostly, it made me glad that I was me and not somebody else.
It was still early, so I knew there would be plenty of trains heading into New York. Still, I waited where the conductor usually disembarked from the train, and when it pulled in, I asked him.
"Change at Jamacia," he said.
I smiled, and he held my hand elegantly and helped me on board. He even called me "little lady." He was an older man, with chubby pink cheeks, pure white hair, and a smile which made me suspect he truly enjoyed his job. In his own way, I think he was flirting with me.
"Thank you," I said, fluttering my eyelashes at him.
I'd made his day, of that I was certain. It made me feel good.
The train wasn't crowded at all, and I realized I'd missed that narrow margin which separated me from the morning rush hour. Twenty minutes earlier, and I would have stood all the way to New York. On this train -I had my choice of seats. The cars were more than half empty. I walked through two cars, into the last car, and found a seat near the window, at about the middle of the car. No more than ten or twelve other passengers shared it with me, and they were scattered in seats all over, never more than two concentrated in any one place.
Sitting on an aisle seat, across from me, about four seats down, was a man dressed in a sports jacket, blue shirt and tie. He was very good-looking, in his early thirties, and we made immediate eye contact. His eyes were hazel, with long dark lashes, and they didn't flinch when our gaze met. He was giving me the once-over and didn't care that I was aware of it.
I smiled at him, then put my leg up on the seat across from me. My short skirt fell open, exposing me completely. He was looking right up between my thighs at my naked pussy.
Let him deal with that, I thought smugly.
I trained my eyes coldly on his face, smiling at him so that he knew what was happening wasn't an accident. I wanted to see how cool and confident he truly was, and how much of it was the easy safety of flirting with a stranger. Just to really get his balls, I slowly licked my tongue around my lips, grinning at him.
His reaction couldn't have been more manifest if I'd smacked him across the face. He did a double take that I thought was going to give him whiplash. His long dark eyelashes fluttered, and his sexy hazel eyes bulged out. The total pretense of his act was severely undermined when his mouth fell open, and he turned a bright scarlet from the top of his collar to the hairline of his perfectly combed hair-style.
I almost laughed. It made me' feel ... I don't know ... sort of powerful, I guess.
Then I was really bitchy. I spread my thighs even further apart, hiking my skirt so that he had the best possible view of my entire crotch. He could see everything : my pussy, my ass cheeks, the insides of my thighs, and, as I got wet and turned on, my cuntlips pulling apart, and my clitoris. The bitchy thing I did was not look back at him. I knew, after his initial, genuine reaction, he'd be desperately trying to get my attention again, to either try to make me forget what just happened, or to try and instantly seduce me.
I gave him the opportunity to do neither. Giggling to myself, I took my book out and began to read. The only time I looked up was when new passengers came into the car. Fortunately, none of them came anywhere near to where we were sitting, so I never had to change my position. Except, of course, for the few times when I reached down furtively between my legs and rubbed my cunt. I gave my-self a few, quick masturbatory clit twirls, and then I returned my hand to my book. One time when I did that he moaned. I hoped he was coming in his pants.
But I wouldn't look at him.
After I'd done this for about two or three stations, I began to get very turned on by the incredible thing I was doing. My cunt was sopping wet, juice oozing down between my cuntlips, trickling down between the cheeks of my ass, making a stain on the inside of my skirt. I was so hot I actually fantasized about masturbating right there, in front of him, just to let him watch me coming. But then I got to thinking: why waste the orgasm? If I was going to come with him, why not get together and do a good job of it? True, he was a phony; but so were a lot of people I've come across. And he was a real physical turn-on. It wouldn't be the first time I fucked a man just for his cock.
Satisfied that I'd punished him -sufficiently for not being what I wanted, I allowed myself to look up at him. I stared straight at him for two or three seconds before I realized he wasn't looking at me. Not looking in my eyes, that is. He was, however, staring at my cunt. Staring intently, actually, and fondling his cock through his pants. I watched him watching me for three or four minutes before he looked up from my pussy at my face. When our eyes met a second time, I thought he was going into cardiac arrest. His second reaction was identical to the first, except this time I stayed with him through all the grimacing, slumping in his seat, and color changes. He metamorphosed back to his Mr. Cool role finally, as if nothing at all had happened. As a reward, I smiled at him and fluttered my lashes.
We spent the rest of the trip fondling our crotches and making sexy, impatient faces at each other. He grabbed his cock boldly for me, outlining it in the material of his slacks, proudly displaying his considerable length and width. I put both hands down into my cunt, pulling open the cuntlips, fingering my clitoris. Once I slid my middle finger in and out of my cunthole, and I thought he was going to fall right out of his seat. After that he kept on getting up from his seat, walking a few steps down the aisle from me, nodding his head with a beckoning tilt. I knew what he was getting at -- a quick fuck in the tiny bathroom -- but I'd have none of that. I wanted to be fucked good and proper, in a bed. And I wanted to be eaten. I was really in the mood for a good, long, wet pussy licking.
Before I knew it, it was suddenly all gone. We pulled into the Jamacia station, and the train emptied out. I followed right behind him, confident that we'd make our plans just as soon we got out on the platform. Instead, he met an-other man, a business client it seemed, and they walked off together, talking. He didn't even have the courtesy to look back. The prick. My first instincts had been sound.
For one single moment of panic, I felt suddenly lost. Then that very positive thing inside of me translated that into : I wasn't lost, I was free. I was free to go out now to find my next adventure. What would it be? With whom? That man over there? That gorgeous black stud. Jesus, he gives me a thrill in my cunt. Or maybe it'll be that chick? With a feeling like that going on inside of me, I was confident I was going to have a memorable day.
Since it was so beautiful, so fantastic a summer day, I decided to get out of the train station and walk through the streets of Queens. I strolled down a large wide avenue, walking slowly, sizing up every potential lover I passed, waiting for the magic to happen. When I reached the subway entrance, my ultimate destination, I purchased a newspaper. If nothing happened to me by the time my subway ride to Manhattan was over, I would at least have gone through the newspaper, and I'd have a list of movies I could see ... if nothing else happened. But I knew something was going to happen. Something incredible. I could feel it in my bones ... in my pussy!
I waited on the almost deserted platform, and got on an almost empty subway car. Directly across from the door was a seat, the first one I saw, and I headed for it. As luck would have it -- and luck was definitely with me this day -- the seat was a perfect selection. I sat in it, facing the doors.
The train sped through two stops. On the third, the doors directly across from me slid open, and I found myself staring out at the empty platform. But not quite so empty, as I was soon to find. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a man walking on the platform. He was walking very rapidly, walking up toward the open door across from me. The odd thing was that he was walking parallel to the train, instead of toward the train to board it.
He stopped in the middle of my door, looking right at me, and he stepped back, away from me, until he was up against the platform wall. Then he exposed himself.
The door slid closed. The train pulled out.
At the very next station, leaving my unread newspaper on the seat behind me, I stepped off the subway car onto the platform. Heading for the first flight of stairs I saw, I climbed them, then crossed over to the other side of the platform. The train on that side went in the opposite direction from the train I'd just been on. It was going back, back to the last station.
Waiting for that train to come gave me a pain in the middle of my stomach. By then I was incredibly turned on by my own wickedness, and I was so afraid something was going to happen to prevent it. The goddamn train wouldn't come. I must have waited five minutes, pacing back and forth, up and down, like a cat in heat. Which was exactly what I was.
The train came finally, and I jumped on it. I immediately crossed the car to the far side, and I stood at the door, looking through the window at the platform on the opposite side of the station. When the train pulled into the next stop, the view would be identical. Or would it? Would he still be there? God, let him be!
The train pulled out with a clanking jolt, al-most knocking me off my feet. I grabbed for the white pole at the side of the seat, and I stood staring out of the window at the black tunnel swiftly rushing past. The train whined and screamed, like some great dying beast, rocking and swaying me, as if trying to shake some sense into me. But I beat it. I used, in-stead, the incredible vibrations which were humming up from the floor. I stood there, with my legs open wide, my naked, sopping cunt, oozing wetness down the insides of my thighs, and felt those vibrations quiver up my legs and converge in my pussy. J used those goddamn vibrations to turn me on!
With another clanking jerk, the subway train's speed was reduced, and I knew we were pulling into the station. I suddenly got cold feet, and I turned away from the door. I walked over to a door on the other side of the car, the door that was going to slide open so that I could get out. If he was still there, I didn't want to know until I got off the train. I didn't want the suspense shattered by a peek out of the window. He was either there, or he wasn't. If he wasn't, it would only be a matter of time before I had my next adventure. And if he was there ... I was going to fuck a pervert!
The train pulled into the station, and I held my breath and crossed my fingers. Slowly the doors slid open. I stepped off, with my back to the opposite platform. If he was there, would he remember me? Would he run the instant he saw me? The train pulled out, and it was too late for questions. I turned around.
He was there.
Directly across the platform from me, he was standing there, as if he hadn't moved, as if he were waiting for me to return. We looked across the thirty feet or so of empty space which separated us. A wave of raw sexual excitement shook my body from head to toe. I could almost feel his eyes on me, moving over my body, searing into my flesh with some in-tense, dark emotion. What was it? Fear? Anger? Suspicion? Or was it lust?
A minute passed. Two. Neither of us- moved. We just stood there, across from each other, watching, waiting... waiting ... until it happened.
He exposed himself again.
Standing, with his back against the station wall, he parted his long dark coat. For a second he did nothing else, and I realized he was waiting for me to react. It would be a whole series of small steps leading up to the one big step. Each one was a test: my test.
He touched his cock through his pants. Moving his hand slowly, deliberately, so that there could be no mistake on my part as to what he was doing, he placed his hand right on top of his cock, and he rubbed it through his pants. He stroked it up and down, squeezing into it, staring at me, waiting for me to react, waiting for me. to turn and walk away in embarrassment. But I didn't.
He pulled down his zipper slowly, licking his lips nervously with his tongue, and, just as slowly, he pulled out his cock. It was long and quite thick; I couldn't wait to feel it shoved up my ass. He grabbed it tight in his fist and he began to pump it up and down. He was jerking off for me, turned on because I was watching him, impatient to put on a good show for me.
He stood there, feet spread wide apart, his cock and balls pulled out of his open zipper, the pink flesh a stunning contrast against his dark pants. Up and down he pulled his cock, jerking it rapidly, out of sheer excitement and fear -- fear that he'd have to stop before he could come for me. Bright red his face turned as he strained to please me, grunting with the effort, beads of perspiration clearly visible even from where I was. Up and down his fingers flew, up and down, up and down, faster and faster, until --
He began to come. I could hear him moaning. Sperm squirted from his cockhead, spewing out as if under some incredible pressure. Thick, milky white blobs, sailing through the air, wobbly, stringy, wet, making a short graceful arc from the tip of his prick, plopping with a splat on the dusty station platform.
I waited until he was finished.
"Stay there," I said, my voice ringing out in the silence of the empty station. "I'll be right over."
Chapter Seven
I chewed hurriedly on the cardboardy-tasting cheese sandwich I had just bought, one eye on the door, the other eye on the clock on the wall behind the counter. I swished the cheese lump down with a gulp of warm grape soda. Through the door I could see the whole length of the Terminal. The bus wouldn't be leaving for a while yet, I knew. Still, I wanted to be there before it got crowded. When he got on, I was getting on right behind him.
I took two more bites of my sandwich, then a bite of pickle, just to inject some moisture into the wad I was chewing. It wasn't enough, so I gulped down some more grape soda.
"Check!" I called out, swallowing. There was a mouthful of grape soda left at the bottom of the vee-pointed paper cup, so I drained it. "Can I have my check? I've got to catch a bus."
"Easy, lady. Easy," the man behind the counter said. He was tall and slender, with a sallow complexion, and a slow, carefully measured gait. His belly bulged out abnormally, making him look something like a bowling pin, and he had his dirty white apron tied above his waistline, only accenting the curiosity further. "Take it easy. You'll catch yourself a heart at-tack."
"I've got to catch a bus."
"Lady, I've been working this counter for thirty years. More than thirty years. I ain't never caught a bus yet. Thirty years, and I'm still in the same spot." He nodded, the parable spoken.
"Please. I'm gonna miss my bus."
From out of his shirt pocket he took his pad and stubby yellow pencil. "Let's see. You had -- "
"A cheese sandwich and a grape soda."
"Drink. It's a grape drink. We don't got grape soda."
"And a grape drink."
"That's all?"
"Yes."
He scribbled something with a few whips of his pencil.
"Thank you," he said, handing me my bill. He shuffled off toward another customer at the far end of the counter. "Call again. Pay the Cashier."
My cheese sandwich and grape soda had cost me two dollars and twenty-five cents. It was the anticipated, typical bus-terminal-lunch-counter-rip-off, but what was I going to do? Not come back and eat there the next time I took a bus to Boston? I swallowed my indignation, which was almost as difficult as swallowing that cheese sandwich, and I paid the bill. But I didn't leave a tip.
The buses were on the left side of the terminal as you come out of the luncheonette, all lined up in slits on an angle to the curb. To get out to them you had to go through a door. All the doors were numbered, and the number corresponded to the number on the ticket. Mine was twenty-six : door twenty-six. Door twenty-six was the last one, all the way at the far end. On the door was a dirty, hand-penciled sign which read : BOS-NY. Then, right under that, obviously added on at another time, for it was written in wiggly script in a different color ink : Harvard Tour. That was me.
It was a beautiful, warm summer night out-side, and I was immediately glad to get out of the smelly, noisy, air-conditioned terminal. The heat came up from the ground like an old lover, caressing my naked thighs under my skirt, cooling the sweaty crotch of my panties. I love early summer nights. They're always so full of promise and potential. Shading my eyes from the yellow glare of the lights, I tried to see the stars, but we were right in the heart of the city. Later on, I told myself, when we're out on the dark, open highway. I'll see plenty of stars then.
My bus was standing at the curb, an enormous silver thing with wide dark, sinister windows wrapping completely around it. The front of the bus clearly resembled a huge, hideous face, and I was positive it was by design. I think it was for scaring Volkswagens. Inside the monster's left eye, I could see it had devoured our bus driver, as he was sitting there in his seat, reading a newspaper.
A twinge of panic gripped me. Was anyone else on board?
I few quick steps took me up to the closed door. I stood there a moment or two, waiting for him to acknowledge me, but he didn't look up from his paper. Only after I had rapped on the door with my knuckle several times did he look up. He stared at me and shook his head, no.
What the hell was he saying no about? I wondered. I knocked again.
He shook his head again and pointed at his watch. I stamped my foot and got ready to really give his door a bang. He opened the door. "You can't get on, Miss."
"Why not?"
"It's too early."
"Huh?"
"It's too early. You've still got seven more minutes before I can let you board. You can't get on until 9 :09. It's only 9:02 now. You gotta wait."
"But you're on board."
"I'm the driver."
I tried another tactic. "But it's hot out here," I complained, leaning visibly into the cool, air-conditioned air spilling through the open door. "Can't I come in and cool off?"
"Sorry."
I knew it was hopeless. "Okay."
"Sorry, Miss. Rules. You know."
"What time did you say I could board?"
"9:09. That's in seven -- make it six minutes from now." He tapped his watch. "It's 9 :03."
"And what time do we depart?"
"Thirteen minutes after that, at 9:22."
"Thank you," I said, understanding him.
He closed the door and went back to his paper.
I went back to where I was standing before, up against the wall on the platform, out of the flow of moving passengers. From where I was standing I could watch the bus, and could see who was getting on board, but I was still close enough to get right on behind him. I was also in direct line with the huge clock hanging from the platform ceiling, so I could watch the next six minutes tick off without missing a second.
The crowd of passengers in front of the bus began to fill in, finally forming into an irregular line. He wasn't on the line yet. I kept looking over my shoulder, peering through door number twenty-six, sifting through the crowd, looking for him. He'd be along soon enough, I was confident. It would all work according to my plan. I hoped.
Unless he misses the bus. Unless he decided to go back tomorrow morning with the others. Unless he meets someone.
He showed up at 9:14, alone. I breathed a sigh of relief. With knees quaking, I watched as he walked directly to the bus, and crisply boarded it. Since no one was behind him, I walked slowly to the bus, giving him plenty of time to get a seat. Can't be too obvious. I waited just outside the bus door. Plenty of time. Plenty.
Finally, when my nerves were calmed, and I was reasonably composed, I boarded the bus. The driver was still reading his newspaper. He glanced up at me.
"Going to New York?" he asked, not giving any indication that he remembered me.
"Yes."
"This is the right bus, then. You with the Harvard thing?"
"The tour. Yes, I am."
"Okay. Just take any seat. Welcome aboard." He folded his newspaper and tucked it away, somewhere in front of the dashboard. He looked at his wrist watch. "We will depart in five minutes at exactly 9 :22."
"Thanks."
I took two steps into the aisle, and I saw him. He was sitting near the back of the bus, on the left side, a window seat. He was staring out the window, looking both thoughtful and tired. Just looking at him started my cunt to quiver and ooze. But what really turned me on was that the seat next to him was empty.
The closer I got to him, the more handsome he seemed. Except for one time at lunch, when I stood next to him for about two or three minutes in line, this was as close as I'd been to him. He was wearing a tan, summer weight jacket, chocolate-colored slacks, and a white shirt which seemed as crisp as it had this morning, when I first saw him. Brown eyes, and dark brown curly hair completed the pat-tern, as did his 'evenly tanned complexion. I judged him to be eighteen or nineteen years old. From the fancy gold watch on his wrist, and the expensive cut of his clothing, I knew he wasn't unfamiliar with money. Probably his parents, I decided.
Prodded on by the suitcase of a woman be-hind me, I took a deep breath, and walked the rest of the way down the aisle. I stopped at the empty seat next to him, staring down at him. He made no attempt to look up. All he did was stare out the window, thinking.
"Uh, excuse me ... sir."
He turned, surprised, obviously brought back from somewhere else far away. His long brown eyelashes blinked twice, and his slender, sensually shaped lips pulled into an automatic smile.
"Yes?"
"Is this seat taken?"
He had a leather briefcase on the seat, and he jumped to remove it.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't thinking. No, no one is sitting here, The seat is vacant."
I hesitated. "Would you mind if I --"
"Oh, no, no, of course not." His smile softened, personalized, was directed at me. "Sit down, please."
"Thanks." I sighed to myself. "Here, why don't you give me that," I said, pointing to his briefcase. "I can put it up here on the luggage shelf. You won't be comfortable with that on your lap."
He handed it to me. "Thanks."
I sat down, immediately aware of his presence, of the warmth of his thigh next to my leg. My body was tingling just to be so close to him. Masking it through a plastic, casual smile, my 'heart was pounding and the air in my lungs was screaming. So far, so good. Now the hard part next.
He coughed self-consciously, his body suddenly very rigid. Staring out of the window, his pointed at the platform outside.
"We'll be leaving soon," he said.
"9:22."
"What?"
"That's the time we'll be leaving. 9:22."
"I see. He scratched his chin. "You, uh, live in Boston?"
"No, New York."
That relaxed him somewhat. "Oh, how do you like that," he said, finding something to hook onto. "I come from New Jersey. Where in New York do you live? Manhattan? Don't you just love Manhattan? God, I think it's fantastic. Fantastic."
I told him where I lived. "It's on the Island," I explained. "Long Island. Where in New Jersey?"
"Eatontown."
That made us even. I never heard of his town.
"You like Boston?" he asked, his body still tense, but softening, settling back down into his seat. "Do you come often?"
"My first time." I exhaled, crossing my leg casually, thrilled at the way his eyes were watching me. "Actually, I really didn't get much of a chance to see the city, so I have no opinion."
The door to the bus swung closed, 'and the growling motor of the bus caught. I could feel the tiny vibrations coming up through the seat and floorboards. Grinding through several gears, the bus lurched backwards, and we began to back out of the terminal.
"Here we go," he said, probably just to have something else to say to me.
"9:22."
"I beg your pardon?"
"What do you think of the city? Boston, I mean."
"Oh, it's fabulous. Just fabulous. Different from Manhattan, certainly. But just as fantastic. In its own way." He rambled on, stumbling toward the point he was trying to make. "Great architecture ... schools. Many great schools. Some of the best in all the world." He cleared his throat modestly. "In September, I'm going to be going to school here."
I grinned. "Let me guess. Harvard, right?"
"Right!" he beamed. "How did you know?"
"I've been thinking of going there myself."
"The tour! Of course." He nodded and smiled at the same time. "That's how you knew."
"That's part of it. ..."
Amused, he asked: "Oh? And the rest?"
I tapped my finger nervously against my lips. "Can I make a slight confession?" I said, giggling nervously.
"Ah, a confession," he said, positively charmed. "I can hardly wait to hear."
"I've been watching you most of the day," I told him truthfully, a natural flush tinting my cheeks. "I planned to sit here, next to you. And if you ignored me, I was going to pick you up."
"Really?" he said, sounding both surprised and delighted by my revelation. "You were going to pick me up? Why me?"
I shrugged, trying not to feel self-conscious. "Because I think you're a superlooking dude, and I wasn't going to let you get away without me telling you that."
He was thrilled. "Why, that's very nice, thank you. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I -- thank you. I think you're very nice, too." He tittered happily to himself. "Ha!"
I blushed. "I just wanted to let you know that was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. Being liberated isn't always easy," I told him.
"How wonderful," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "How unbelievably fantastic. I'm completely overwhelmed. Completely."
"I'm so embarrassed."
"Don't be silly," he happily remonstrated. "You had the courage of your convictions. What you did takes nerve, and I congratulate you on that. I don't know how many times I wished I had the courage to do exactly what you did."
"Well, see now," I said, glad that that part was over, "maybe next time you won't be so shy. It works, I guess." I thought for a moment. "Doesn't it?"
He laughed almost giddily. "It works."
I slumped dramatically in my seat. "Thank God."
"Hi ... hello. My name is Eric Holeman."
"Hi. I'm Felicity. Felicity Browne. With an e."
"Felicity ... What a pretty name."
I shrugged. "Ehh."
"Felicity means --"
"Happiness; yes, I know."
Eric laughed in sympathy. "I guess you must have -- "
"Yes, all my life."
"I could see it could be a problem." He grinned, fully at ease now. "So, Felicity, are you happy?"
"As much of the time as I can be."
"That's a good philosophy."
"It's the only one that makes sense."
"Ha!" he said, pointing his finger. "You're going to major in philosophy, right?"
I laughed. "Hardly. What are you going to take?"
"Business Administration."
"Ah, Corporate Management, High Finance."
"Something like that."
"Do you have any idea what you're going to do when you get out?"
"I've thought some. Naturally, Dad's always got a spot open for me." He shook his head. "But I don't know if I want that. I'm kind of feeling as if I should go off on my awn. You know, kind of really prove myself." That same faraway look twinkled in his eyes. "Or, maybe I'll go on to Graduate School. I don't know. It's really hard to know what to do, isn't it?"
"The only time you ever really know what to do about something is after it's done. Somehow that always seemed a little unfair."
He nudged me softly with his elbow. "Are you sure you're not a philosophy major?" He grinned.
"I'm sure," I said, nudging him back with my thigh.
"Ah, but this is all so silly, really," he said. "So premature. We haven't even begun yet, and we're already making postgraduate plans. As a matter of fact, I only graduated from high school last Sunday."
"How come so late? I graduated at the end of June."
He shook his head. "I didn't mean that exactly. I meant to say, I only had my graduation celebration last week. I actually graduated back in May."
I asked him the next logical question. "Was there a reason for the delay?"
"Dad was in Libya," he explained. "The business."
Despite myself, I was impressed. "What school did you graduate from?"
He told me, but I don't remember the name. It was some very fancy-sounding private school. No,. it wasn't a school ; it was an "Academy." I remember that was the last part of it. Something or something Academy.
"What school did you go to?" Eric asked.
This was it, I thought, exhaling tightly. The final step. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"I don't go to school anymore," I said.
"But I thought you said you graduated in June?"
"I did. Last June. I graduated last June, but I'm going to college this September."
Eric nodded. "I see. You took a year off. What did you do? Go to Europe?"
"I got a job."
"Fascinating. What kind of employment?"
"I am a hooker," I said.
Eric laughed. "That's a good one."
"Eric, it wasn't a joke. I really am a hooker."
He shook his head, as if he really couldn't understand. "I don't think I quite follow you. Are you saying `hooker,' as in prostitute?"
"Yes, hooker. I am a hooker. That is my job."
"I don't understand, Felicity ..." he said, his face taking on a sickly uneasiness. I could almost read his thoughts, his sudden new suspicions. "And you say this isn't a joke?"
I tried to sound very casual as I explained.
"Unlike your parents, my family couldn't afford to put me through college. Tuition was just too high. I was accepted last year, but I didn't have enough money to come until this year. So I've worked for a year -- as a prostitute."
He nodded slowly, digesting the words with care. "I see. ... But why did you become a -- hooker? Surely there must have been other jobs?"
"That would make me as much as tricking does? Fora sixteen-year-old girl just out of high school? Where was I going to make that kind of money, except by selling pussy. 0ooppps ... sorry. Trade jargon."
"That's all right," Eric said, trying not to blush. "I've heard the word before."
"But -- " I pressed my thigh tightly against his leg, "if she is willing to sell herself, a sixteen-year-old girl just out of high school can make a lot of money, if she plays her cards right. A lot of money."
"How much? About."
"Enough for me to be able to pay all four years of tuition, in advance, and still have enough left over so that I won't have to work while I'm going to school. Now that's a lot of money."
"I suppose."
I put my hand on his knee. "Now, don't tell me you're going to get all upset and tell me all that silliness about middle class morality. This is 1975, and I am a liberated woman. No man is going to tell me that selling my body is any-more immoral than any other business. I have a commodity ... and I sell it. Just like the automobile industry." I remembered what he'd said about his father and Libya. "Or the oil companies."
I must have said it vehemently enough to cause him to back down. If he had been thinking that, he wasn't any longer.
"I agree," he said solemnly. "You're absolutely right." Eric sat and thought for a moment. "I imagine at times it must be quite . difficult."
I grinned. "Yeah, but sometimes it is fantastic!"
"So it wasn't just for the money, then?"
"Oh, it was for the money, all right. But I can't help it if I like it. Can I?"
Eric pressed his thigh back against my leg. "You admit you like it?"
I ran my hand up from his knee, and I grabbed his hard, throbbing cock through his chocolate-colored slacks. Eric gasped at the contact, looked quickly around the bus to see if anyone had seen, and then lifted his hips and pressed his cock hard into my hand. He began to hump himself back and forth, in and out.
"Honey," I told him, "I love it!"
He shook his head, the dazed look still in his eyes. "I still don't understand, Felicity," he said, touching my knee, fingers searching for the hem of my skirt. "What has any of this got to do with me?"
Turning towards him, with my back to the aisle so that no one could see what I was doing, I slid my hand down into Eric's slacks, into his underwear. I slid my fingers up and down his naked cock.
"I told you before," I said, "that I found you a turn on. I decided I wanted to fuck with you."
"Christ!" He pushed his hand all the way up under my skirt and touched my panties. "And I want to fuck you. I have money. When we get to New York we can get a room in a hotel --"
"I don't want to wait."
"What?"
"I want to fuck you right here, on the bus." I smiled at him as I squeezed his cock. "Later on, when it's dark and everyone is sleeping. Then we're going to fuck!"
Eric looked uneasy as he looked around at all the passengers on the crowded bus. "How are you going to manage that?"
"Just leave it to me."
About an hour before we pulled into the bus terminal at Forty-Second Street, in the middle of the night, when the bus was dark and silent and sleeping, Eric and I fucked. We fucked in his seat, while I sat on his lap, my skirt and a blanket the only things covering us. I don't think any of the passengers around us knew what was happening. But the driver knew. He watched the whole thing through the mirror.
For more than three hours before that, I kept Eric's interest by giving- him frequent handjobs, and by telling him lurid sexual stories supposedly based on my "adventures" as a prostitute. I made up the filthiest, most raunchy things I could think of, and I said I did them. Eric absolutely believed every single word I spoke. Why shouldn't he? He had his finger in my pussy. That was proof enough. Between feeding his fantasies, my expert fingers on his cock, and an occasional finger I let him push up into me, I kept Eric on the verge of coming for hours and hours. It got so I found I could almost "play" him, like a musical instrument.
When the last of the lights went out in the back, and I was certain the passengers in our immediate vicinity were sleeping, or trying to sleep, I turned from Eric, indicated to him to be quiet, and pulled the heavy blanket down from the luggage rack above us. The blanket was made of a dark, woolly material, and I spread it open over the both of us, covering us from our necks down.
Safely hidden from view, Eric unbuckled his pants, and slipped them down over his thighs. Next, off came his briefs, and he was naked from the waist down, his long, slender cock standing stiffly up in the air. I reached under my skirt and pulled my panties down. The crotch was so wet I could have wrung it out. I stepped completely out of them. We were both naked enough to fuck finally, and we went at it like animals.
I sat on Eric's lap, with my back to him, squatting squarely down onto his long, tapered shaft. Like the thrust of a rapier, his cock pierced me deeply, going all the way in, all the way up my cunthole. I could feel his balls under the cheeks of my ass. My cunt was very hot and wet, and the canal of my pussy gripped his cock like a tight fist.
I leaned back in the seat, against Eric, and he did the same, slumping and thrusting his legs out in front of him. I straddled his thighs, literally sitting on his lap. By leaning to one side, I was able to kiss him, our tongues mingling sensually, while his cock vibrated in my grinding pussy. His left hand stretched down over my shoulder, and while we fucked, Eric masturbated my clitoris. We didn't bother to pump and thrust, for we were aroused way beyond that point. We just sort of squeezed each other to orgasm.
Eric came straight up into my pussy. It was one of the most satisfying orgasms of my life.
Chapter Eight
"Next!" the woman at the desk called out, not bothering to look up. "Next!"
I was next, and I jumped up, application in hand. Three people started for my seat as I wove my way through the crowd to the desk. I slapped my application down.
"Not over there!" the woman snapped. "How d'ya expect me to reach it."
I picked it up and handed it to her. She tugged it from my hand and dropped it down on the desk in front of her. Never once did she look up.
"Secretarial, Executive, Domestic or Clerical?"
I stared at her. "What?"
"Secretarial, Executive, Domestic or Clerical." She tapped her pencil impatiently against her fingernails while she waited for me to answer. "Well?"
"Lady, I have no idea -- "
"What kind of job are you looking for?" she said it with a kind of slow, almost weary patience. "Secretarial. Executive. Domestic. Or Clerical. Which one?"
"Clerical -- "
"Clerical!" she said, her hand reaching automatically out, selecting one of four rubber stamps lined up at the top of her desk. She hammered the stamp into the center of a used up stamp pad. The inked stamp swung out toward my application.
" -- or Secretarial," I added.
Her hand stopped in midair. "Which is it?"
"But I can do both."
"Don't matter. Y'gotta pick one or the other."
"Oh ... oh -- Secretarial."
"Secretarial!" she said, and with blinding 'speed she returned the stamp in her hand to the desk, picked up the first one, and hammered it into the stamp pad. Snap, went her wrist, and she pounded a pale pink S on my application. "Down the corridor, first left, door at the end of the hallway." She held the application out.
I took the application from her. "What did you say?"
"Down the corridor, first left, door at the end of the hallway." She didn't even bother to look up at me. "Next!" As I turned reluctantly from the desk, I could hear the woman addressing the next client. "Secretarial, Executive, Domestic, or Clerical?"
Apparently, that was her whole job.
I kept repeating the refrain over and over again to myself, damned if I was going to ask her another thing. I went down the corridor from the desk, made a left at the first branch I came to, and then walked down a very long, brightly lit hallway. At the far end of it was a single white- door, with a functional metal doorknob. I stood for a moment in front of the door, wondering whether to knock or walk in. I knocked.
"Come in," a woman's voice called out.
I opened the door and stepped in, and then stopped in midstride. I was greeted by a very strange sight. The room was a small, window-less square, completely devoid of any color. The walls and ceilings were bleak white, the floor a drab cement gray, and there wasn't a single picture, ornament, or decoration anywhere in the room. All there was in the room was a small black desk, located in the middle of a blank far wall, and a woman sitting behind the desk. The woman was wearing a black dress. She had long black hair.
"Secretarial?" she asked, looking at me from over the top of her glasses.
"Yes. I mean, the woman outside -- "
"Can I see your application, please?"
I walked across the room toward her, looking all around me at the blank, empty walls and ceiling. It was like I was stoned, only I know I wasn't. Maybe I was in the Twilight Zone. I handed her the application.
She turned it around, adjusted her glasses, and issued a tight flash of a smile when she saw the pale pink S on my application.
"Ah, you've come to the right office." She nodded with approval, studying my application, ignoring me. Her face had a sour, pinched look to it. "Have a seat, Miss ... Miss -- Felicity."
"Browne," I said. At the side of her desk there was a black plastic chair on chrome legs. I sat in it, feeling very intimidated. "Felicity is my first name. Felicity Browne."
"Huh? What?" She dipped her head down for a moment, studying me for an instant over the top of her glasses. "Oh, yes, of course. I see. Miss Browne. Felicity is your first name."
"Yes."
"That's an odd name. Felicity. What does it mean?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "It's just a name."
"Odd, though, isn't it? Felicity. Felicity. Not your common name, is it?"
"No."
"See a lot of names in this business, a lot of weird ones." She tapped my application. "Never came across this one before."
"Blame my mother."
"Let's see now, Miss Browne," the woman said, her black eyes burning a hole into my application. She was pretty, in a harried way, �with a drawn, slender face and frame, and long thick black hair. She wore no make-up, and her black dress only accentuated the thinness of her body. The bifocals she wore balanced on the tip of her long nose made her look older than she was. I guessed her to be in her early forties. "Just what kind of job are you looking for?"
"I want something interesting," I began, tickjng the prerequisites off on my fingers. "Or glamorous. I want a good salary, good benefits, good working conditions, and a nice boss."
"I'm sure you do. More realistically, how-ever -- "
"Oh, I'm quite serious," I assured her.
"Miss -- uh -- Browne," she said, her glance shifting from my face to the application, then back again. "How old are you, please?"
"Eighteen"
"And how much previous job experience have you had?"
"None, but --"
"Hardly loftly qualifications, wouldn't you agree?"
I didn't agree. "I graduated in the top ten percent in the state," I said, "I was accepted to one of the best colleges in the world -- and I turned it down! I can take one hundred and twenty words a minute, can type accurately eighty-five words a minute, and I graduated with an Academic diploma. On top of all of that, I am a very attractive, well-dressed young woman." I tapped my foot impatiently against the gray concrete floor. "And you're going to tell me I'm not qualified?"
"Honey, things are rough all over."
I thought of one other thing. "Oh. And I'm only interested in fee-paid jobs. You know, the kind in which the person doing the hiring pays you."
That made her look up. She studied me for a full thirty silent seconds, her pale, thin lips pursed thoughtfully.
"Nobody pays fees anymore," she said.
I smiled. "They will for me."
"You're awfully confident, aren't you?"
"Yes, but I'm good. I'm unique."
The woman nodded solemnly. "You know there's a depression going on in the job market?"
"Not for the kind of job I want."
Our eyes met for the first time, and for a moment or two we just looked at each other.
"I see," the woman said.
She sat studying me for another few seconds, then slid her chair back. It made a hollow, scraping noise on the gray concrete floor. She stood up, her long black dress swishing crisply as she walked around the desk. I turned in my chair and watched. Her shoes clicked loudly. The tall slender woman dressed in black walked over to the white door and locked it. Then she turned around and faced me.
"I'm beginning to understand," she said, unbuttoning the buttons of her dress. She was naked under it. "I know the type of job you want."
* * *
Graduation had come and passed, and I felt no difference at all. Certainly no wiser. And all the problems I had before were still there, diploma or not, and I could no more deal with them then than I could before. So what was it all for? I wondered. I'd been accepted to college, and I'd told my parents I'd go, but I was never certain it was a wise decision. I had to have a little breathing space, some room to think.
I moved out of my parent's house on the Is-land and found myself an apartment in midtown Manhattan. The little money I had saved was quickly used up, and since I had no desire to turn to my parents for help, it became necessary for me to get a job.
Of course, as I told Janet -- that was her name -- not just any job. I wanted something special. Something commensurate with my very special needs ... and talents. First of all, I wasn't looking for just any boss. The man I worked for had to be young, handsome, rich and generous. I didn't want to be just a secretary. What I wanted to be was more of a companion to my employer; a very "private" sexretary.
Jobs like that really aren't very hard to find, if you know how to look for them. Janet told me executives were always on the lookout for a secretary who doesn't mind sleeping with her boss -- of course, all inquiries are always "unofficial," as one businessman to another. If employment agencies could ever advertise that fact in the classified section of the Sunday Times, they'd do a land office business.
But I was hip to it right up front, and 'after I paid my "fee" to Janet on the floor of her sterile white office- -probably the only human god-damn thing that ever happened in that room -- she began sending me out on "special" job interviews to employers who 'were interested in my kind of working conditions. Believe it or not, even though I had so much going for me, it wasn't all that easy.
The first few I went to just wanted someone to fuck, but they really weren't interested in paying for it. What they were really looking for was some horny housewife who would accept a rotten salary, and consider the fucking a fringe benefit. That wasn't my idea of a job. Besides, they all wanted a free sample. I told them when they gave me a free sample of the money I was looking for, I'd give them theirs. And, worst sin of all, they were not good-looking at all. They looked like typical business-men, and if anything turns me off, it's that kind of a man.
I explained what I was looking for to Janet a second time, not at all bothered by having to pay a second "fee." Things began to get a little better after that.
The next one I met was Sid Something. I don't remember his last name. Sid, who was single, twenty-nine, and very good-looking, owned a magazine subscription business, selling over a million dollars in telephone-solicited magazine subscriptions. He had more money than he knew how to spend, but he was so busy running his business he had no time to spend it. He was looking for a woman -- because they were ruthless in business, he said -- to run his business so he could enjoy himself. Besides being a quick learner, dedicated and fully willing to follow his business techniques, the woman who got the job would also have to be Sid's mistress, which was perfectly all right with me. Sid was a very sexy man.
We fucked in his office the day I applied for the job, and we were both satisfied -- in all respects. It really seemed as if I'd found the job I was looking for. Sid was going to pay me a percentage of his annual gross, and a bonus whenever I increased sales. Then he made the mistake of mentioning that a good way of boosting the morale of his sales force might be for me to fuck with them on a regular basis -- to stimulate their incentives, he said -- and the deal fell through. I had no intention of being the company whore. If I couldn't have one man -- the top man -- then I didn't want anybody.
Mario was my next potential employer. I never found out Mario's last name, nor the kind of business he was in. But I had a feeling I knew what it was anyway. The job they were interested in filling was simplicity itself : just be pretty, and available, whenever Mario gets in the mood. Otherwise, my time was my own, to do as I wished. Besides a bank account of one thousand dollars a month, deposited under my name, I would have a luxury apartment, furnished by a professional decorator to my taste. And all I would have to do to get all of this was to put out whenever Mario got horny.
I would have jumped at the job even if Mario was a creep, but when I met him, and saw that he was tall, dark, and breathtakingly handsome, I couldn't believe my good fortune. It was almost too good to be true. I said I'd take the job, and was pulling my panties off, in the same breath. Mario was so beautiful, so in-credibly sexy, I couldn't wait to get into his pants.
Mario turned out to be a genuine weirdo. First he wanted me to urinate on him, and then he wanted me to beat him with a whip. Even that wasn't so bad. I figured it was his money, right? If that's what he was paying for, who was I to judge his sexual preferences. Of course, when he further explained that he wanted to do those same things back to me ... and worse ... I said : "Goodbye, Mario!" Believe me, I was grateful just to get out of there.
My next appointment was with someone called Mr. Edmund Curtis. For some reason, whenever anybody spoke about him, they al-ways called him "Mister," as if it was. a part of his name. Even Janet called him that. Mr. Edmund Curtis.
"Mr. Edmund Curtis will see you now," the stunningly beautiful blonde woman said to me, gliding elegantly out through the high wooden doors. She was easily one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in my life. "You may go directly in."
I slipped past the smiling blonde woman, pushing through the tall wooden doors, entering a small interconnecting foyer. The floor was a highly polished parquet, and on the two walls, facing each other, were a mirror and a painting, both approximately the same size. At the far end of the abbreviated room there was a second set of high wooden doors, identical to the ones I'd just come through. What would he be like? I wondered, walking toward those doors. Obviously, Mr. Curtis was a very wealthy man. It was an understatement.
My wildest fantasy could not have prepared me for what would soon follow. Stepping through those doors into Mr. Curtis's office was like Alice stepping through The Looking Glass.
The first thing which struck me was the office itself. It was enormous, easily the size of a banquet hall, and across the far wall, from floor to ceiling, was a spectacular view of Manhattan. The room was Spartanly furnished, a chair here, a sofa there, a table all alone in the middle of the floor, adding to the feeling of immensity. I had a feeling that was the impression the room was supposed to make. On the floor was a rug of bright, brilliant blue, stretching out in all directions unbroken, filling up the room like a vast, empty sea. All the way at the far end of the room, like a smudge etched in against the breathtaking panorama of New York City, was a desk. Sitting behind the desk was Mr. Edmund Curtis.
"Come in, Ms. Browne," he said, beckoning to me. "So glad you could make it."
As I walked toward the high-pitched, almost squeaky sound of his voice, I was struck by one or two other ... oddities. There were three other people in the room in addition to Mr Curtis, and all of them were women. Like the woman outside who'd let me in -- and like the receptionist, too, come to think of it all of the women were incredibly beautiful and sensual. One of the women, a redhead, was stark naked, sitting on one of the sofas in the middle of all that blue rug. She was combing her patch of deep orange pubic hair with a tiny comb, whistling as she worked, her legs splayed out widely. I walked right past her, and she looked up at me, neither smiling nor talking, showing no expression at all, only whistling. Then she went back to combing her pussy hair.
The most striking thing in the room -- and again I sense this was by design -- was Mr. Edmund Curtis, himself. The closer I got to his desk, the more impressive the view behind him got. The ceiling in the room must have been eighteen or twenty feet high, giving you an al-most intimidating sense of space. By the time you were actually in front of the desk, the Manhattan skyline loomed awesomely over his shoulders, giving you the feeling that there were no windows separating you from that in-credible, mindfucking vista. Everytime I looked at the view, feeling myself swallowed up into it, and then shifted to make eye contact with Mr. Curtis, I sensed a definite feeling of vertigo. I felt dizzy, as if I were going to fall.
"We have checked you out," Mr. Curtis said. His face was small, and delicately featured, and he resembled a poet more than anything else. His eyes were brown and so was his hair, which he wore long and rather straggly, combed down over his forehead as if to mask the fact that he was balding. The most curious thing about him was his dress. He was wearing an old, faded denim jacket, and a soft looking flannel workshirt, open at the collar so that I could see the line of his undershirt. Although his legs were hidden by the desk, I assumed he was also wearing jeans. I guessed he was in his early forties. "We have checked you out, and we find you quite suitable for our organization"
On top of everything else, that really blew my mind. "What did you say?"
"We have investigated your background, Ms. Browne, and find nothing which would prevent your joining us. In point of fact, all we have learned suggest our relationship will be a most profitable one for both parties."
"You `investigated' me?" I asked in disbelief. "What does that mean?"
"Come, come, Felicity," Mr. Edmund Curtis said, shaking his head brusquely. "You're an intelligent, sensible woman. Haven't you been able to figure it out yet? Consider, a moment!"
"Mr. Edmund Curtis is the twenty-seventh richest man in the world!" one of the three beautiful women in the room said. "He is a millionaire many times over."
"As such," another of the women said, "he has decided to live his life, and run his vast, international empire, in a manner which might seem unconventional to most people."
I looked at the third woman, but she continued to comb the hair on her cunt. She didn't even look up.
"I'm an eccentric millionaire," Mr. Edmund Curtis said, when I turned around. "I'm just rich enough -- joint, Millicent! -- to be able to do anything ... anything I want."
Millicent, the naked redhead, dropped the comb and ran across the room, her large, firm tits flapping as she moved. She ran over to the desk, went around behind it, and from a wooden cigarette box which rested right next to Mr. Curtis's hand, removed a perfectly rolled joint. The cigarette box was filled with them, hundreds of them. She held the joint to her lips, lighted it, sucked down the smoke, then held the burning joint in front of Mr. Curtis's lips for him to smoke.
"Not for me, Millie," he said, waving away her hand. "It is for Fil -- that is what Jason calls you, is it not? Fil, short for Felicity."
I blinked, feeling weirder and weirder. As if she were a robot, or a slave, the redhead carried the joint around the desk, and held it out for me.
I shook my head. "No, thank you."
"Try it," Mr. Curtis urged. "I think you might like it. I know, after all, that you smoke. You should try some of this, Fil. It's my own private stash. You will not find grass of this quality anywhere else in the world."
"I'd rather not."
"Why not?"
"I'm rattled enough," I said honestly. "Be-sides, I don't like mixing business and plea-sure."
Mr. Edmund Curtis smiled. "An admirable characteristic. You will do well in my organization. You have all the right instincts and a first-rate mind. Millicent, get rid of the joint -- give it to Barbara. Barbara, you take it and enjoy; get stoned. Millie, like a good girl, come over here and suck my cock."
"Yes, Mr. Curtis," the redhead said.
I wasn't going to be shocked. "You haven't told me yet what kind of business you're in. Or what kind of job I'm applying for."
"Oh, I'm in all kinds of businesses," Mr. Curtis said, rolling his chair back away from his desk, turning it sideways as he prepared for Millie. "And I have no idea how'll I'll use you yet, or in what capacity. Suffice to say, we will find a place for you in some endeavor most suitable to your special abilities."
"Mr. Edmund Curtis," the third woman said, "has a business style which reflects his life's philosophy. Mr. Edmund Curtis will not work with men. In his entire organization, only the most beautiful, most sensual, most voluptuous women are employed in all positions and capacities.
"There are only three conditions for employment : One. You will do absolutely anything Mr. Curtis asks of you, immediately. Two. You will always be available to Mr. Curtis in any capacity, but especially sexually. Three. Mr. Curtis will always be addressed by the title, `Mister.' It can only be : Mr. Edmund Curtis, Mr. Curtis, or Mr. Edmund."
I was stunned. "And what do I get?"
"Anything you want," Mr. Curtis said.
I turned back to Mr. Curtis, and received my next shock. He was sitting in his chair, his el-bows resting on the arms, his hands folded together, fingers laced and resting against the point of his chin. From the waist down he was naked, and Millicent was sucking one of the most enormous cocks I have ever seen in my life. It had to be a foot or more long.
"Oh ..." I began to look away. \
"Oh, no, stay, Felicity," Mr. Edmund Curtis said, beckoning me with his small, gracefully elegant fingers. "I enjoy it when women watch me performing sexually. I'm immensely proud of my abnormal sexual equipment. It was most beneficial in helping me to amass my fortune."
"My God ... " I said, shaking my head. "That is ... incredible...!"
Mr. Curtis smiled, and I could tell he was pleased. "Yes, it rather is, isn't it."
Millicent was on her knees between Mr. Curtis's thighs, attacking the telephone pole of his cock with all the ferocity of a dog chewing up a bone. She licked his cock all over with her tongue, smearing it with a glistening coat of her saliva. Holding it between both her hands, she stroked it up and down with blinding speed. At the same time she kept on inching her lips further and further down the swollen shaft of his prick, rolling her head from side to side, moaning and sobbing in frenzied excitement. Her long red hair was wild and tousled, like rippling flames shooting from her skull.
"Before ..." I began, forcing myself to only look at Mr. Curtis's face. Yet, behind him, so clear and close and enormous, was that incredible vision of looking down on skyscrapers. I didn't know where to turn, where to look. I was literally numb. "Before ... you ..."
"Yes, go on, Felicity," he urged. "This is the place where we all can say what we feel. Say it right out. Don't be intimidated."
"Before ... you said something about pay. I -- I didn't understand."
"Mr. Curtis does not pay his employees with salaries in the conventional sense," that third woman explained. "Actually, we are not employees at all: we are family ... Mr. Curtis's children."
I looked at him.
"And as children," he explained, thrusting his huge prick into Millicent's wide open, straining mouth, "you can have anything you want.... Anything. A trip to Europe ... a new wardrobe ... your own luxury apartment ... any lover, male or female, which money can buy. For I am a wealthy ... wealthy Father ... with nothing but millions and millions of dollars to spend on the ones he loves the best." He grunted softly, lifting his thighs, spearing his prick more deeply between Millie's greedy lips. "All I ask in return is loyalty ... and an everpresent willingness in my children to re-turn my ... love."
A shudder went up my spine. "And I can have anything I want?"
"Whenever you want," the third woman said. "As frequently as you want."
I looked deeply into Mr. Edmund Curtis's eyes. "I'll take the job."
"You're hired. Felicity, would you be so kind as to disrobe, please. I think I should like to fuck you now. You may lay forward, across my desk, and I will fuck your pussy from behind, standing." Mr. Edmund Curtis thought for a moment. "I should think, too, I would like you to be licking Gloria's cunt while I'm fucking you, so would you mind, please, Gloria; thank you. No, you don't have to undress. Just pull your skirt up and take your panties off. Oh, and be sure to stand with your legs wide apart so I can see right between your cuntlips. Thank you. Oh, and that's enough now, Millie. I'm going to need it to fuck Felicity. You may lick my asshole while I'm fucking her...."
My head was spinning, but I was naked in three seconds.
Chapter Nine
"Eat me, Monte!" I cried. "Eat me!"
I was in bed, lying flat on my back, with my legs up and open, thrown over Monte's broad, fleshy shoulders, His head was bent low, between my legs, and the overhead light was glinting off his sweaty bald head. The sharp, wet point of his tongue was spearing into my pussy, stroking up the slit of my cunt with such expert finesse that I thought I was going to go mad from too much pleasure. Of all my men, chubby little Monte really knew how to lick a crotch. He was one of the best cuntlappers I've ever met in my life, and that included women.
"Oh, God!" I moaned, rolling my head from side to side on my pillow, splaying out my long blonde hair. My eyes were closed tightly as a wave of pleasure began to swell in my pussy. I arched my spine, thrusting my cunt hard into Monte's lips. Reaching down with my hands, I ran my fingers over his slick scalp, longing for something to grab onto, needing to gnarl my fingers in the locks of my hair so that I could yank him up into my pussy. The muscles in my thighs quivered as I squeezed down with them, grinding Monte's head between them as I tried to crush my pussy all over his face. "Oh, God, Monte -- eat me ... eat me ... Oh ... oh God -- oohh!"
He had his fingers buried between the oozing lips of my pussy, folding back the thick, hairy outerlips, pulling open the tiny pink inner lips. My cunt was completely exposed to him, and my swollen, tortured clitoris was an almost helpless victim under the terrible assault of his fiercely slashing tongue. He was battering me with a numbing, steady hammering at my clitoris, nothing fancy, just good hard cunt licking. Back and forth, his tongue rippled, up and over my clit, then back and over. He kept his tongue stiff, almost rigid, digging the tip of it into the fleshy base of my clit, then snapping the bud back, over his stinging tongue. It was still vibrating with pleasure, when he did the same thing in reverse, and the vibrations grew even more intense. One level of pleasure was laid right on top of the next.
Moving my hands from the top of his head with a kind of helpless frustration, I ran my fingers up and down over my tensed, naked thighs. My nails were sharp, raking my flesh, raising thickening red welts. I buried both hands in. my crotch, rubbing my pussy as Monte licked it. His tongue was wet and thick, lapping against my fingertips as I pushed them down between the lips of my cunt. For a moment we battled for possession of my clitoris, my fingers sliding over the saliva-drenched button, and then his tongue withdrew, with all the graciousness I had come to realize was a genuine part of Monte's multifaceted personality.
With an easy and natural fluidity, his tongue slithered down between my cuntal flap, slicing up into my unsuspecting cunthole, catching me by delightful surprise. My cunt-hale spasmed closed around the wet invading lance of flesh, but it was too late. Monte was al-ready in, thrust completely up inside of my grinding pussy.
"Oh, God -- do it, Monte! Do it to me!" His tongue was like a flickering flame in my pussy, flipping from side to side, stinging the canal of my cunt with each quivering thrust. My own fingers were busy grinding down the bud of my clitoris, pressing the fleshy node down as hard as I could. The combined pleasures, like two prongs in a closing pair of pincers, fused in my cunt, driving my excitement higher and higher. Round and round my fingers flew, deeper and deeper Monte's tongue drilled. The lips of my cunt were tense, smearing wetness all over his face as I humped myself up and down. "Tongue me, Monte ... tongue my pussy ... Oh-hhhh -- that's great ... that's -- ah ... greAaat!"
Pulling my cuntlips further and further apart with his tiny fingertips, I lost almost all ability to squeeze my cunthole closed around his prodding tongue. My crotch lay vanquished, all resistance gone from my body, and I just lay there with a kind of helplessness, wondering what he was going to do to me next. In and out his tongue jerked, filling and emptying my cunthole, filling the already saturated passage-way with his warm, runny saliva. I could actually feel his teeth, like sharp impressions in the sensitive lips of my cunt, digging into me as he pulled me closer and closer around his mouth. His nose was wedged between the lips, and sometimes, as I masturbated, and my fingers would slide from the slippery bud, I could feel his nose thrust up inside of me. I humped my hips up and down, doing anything I could to give me more pleasure.
"Soon ... Monte ... soon!" I told him, sweat drenching my body as my fingers twirled faster and faster, and I humped my cunt harder and harder. My left hand was free, and I scratched it all the way up my naked body, until I dragged my long nails up over my swollen left tit. I cupped the quivering mound in my hand, squeezing in and out with all my strength. Starting at the base, stretching my fingers all around the orb, I drew my pinching fingers up the curving arc, until I had the nipple trapped in my pulverizing grip. I twirled the nipple back and forth, rolling it like a piece of dough, nipping it so hard I began to see stars. "Soon ... soon ... Oh Jesus, don't stop doing that ... don't! I'm gonna come ... any second ... any second -- Oohhh!"
Taking the cue from the urgency of my worsts, Monte did something which completely blew my mind. Withdrawing his tongue with a sudden, surprise jerk, he left my cunt suddenly empty. But only for an instant. In the same sliding reversal, he brought his tongue to the outer entrance to my cunthole, then, shifting directions, he stroked upward, until he was licking my clitoris once again. At the same time, he moved his hands quickly from my cuntlips, slid his fingers under my thighs, and flipped my legs over backwards. Before I knew what was happening, I was lying on my back, with my legs straight up in the air, my cunt pointed at the ceiling, with Monte licking down at my clitoris. With just a slight bit more pressure from his hands, he forced my legs all the way back, until my feet were somewhere be-hind my head. I was literally almost standing on my head.
"Oh ... oh ... ohhh!" I moaned, almost delirious with pleasure. I was looking straight up, between my legs, at Monte, who was now above me, the round pink top of his head jutting out over the edge of my furry blonde cunt. My head was pressed down into the mattress, my chin almost touching my chest, and breathing was difficult, for my stomach was doubled over. Like searing hot pokers, his fingers dug into my flesh, pushing my legs all the way down, until my toes were touching the surface of the mattress behind my head. I was so close to my cunt, I could actually hear the sound of Monte's tongue slithering up and down, his loose flowing saliva splashing down on me. I could even smell my cunt -- I was so close to it, hot, wet and raunchy, the same kind of smell which greets me any time I lick another woman's pussy. I grabbed onto my tits with both hands, squeezing into the rubbery mounds, the nipples so brittle with pleasure I thought they were going to snap off. I closed my eyes and held my breath, grinding the. muscles of my cunt, giving the pleasure I felt in my loins an opportunity to build, to swell. My tongue licked itself around my twisted lips. "Don't stop!" I warned sharply. "Don't stop ... don't ... I'm going to come ... I'm going to come ... I'm coming!"
The orgasm began, a tiny dot in the center of my cunt, a small hard pebble dropped in a calm lake. Ripples fluttered out, small at first, then growing larger and larger, until the center of my cunt was a churning hurricane of pleasure. Further and further the pleasure spread, the ripples turning into waves, the waves massing into an enormous tidal wave of sensation which threatened to engulf my entire body. Wider, higher, sharper, more threatening the swell of release grew, intensifying until I thought I was going to scream from the in-credible heights of pleasure. Then, at its highest peak, when the watery mountain of sensation was a strident squeal screaming shrilly in my brain, the pleasure was clawed down by gravity, and it shattered incandescently inside me, a billion wiggling fingers of orgasm dancing all over my flesh. It was an awesome explosion.
"I'm coining!" I screamed, clawing my fingernails all over my tits, pumping my feet up and down. Up and down Monte's tongue lapped, the pace never slacking, the pleasure never lessening. My orgasm bubbled up from my cunthole, spewing wetness all over my crotch, and Monte pressed his lips to it, drinking it down. It was a fantastic orgasm, and it just kept on going on and on, getting better and better. "Oh -- God! -- oh ... Don't stop -- don't ... Oh, Jesus ... I'm coming again ... Oh ... oh! ... Again ... again ..."
As usual, even after he had accomplished his purpose, Monte was a conscientious lover, letting me down slowly, gently, guiding me from the incredible heights his tongue had urged me to scale. Softly ... softly his tongue moved, lapping my shrinking clit, licking it with slow, measured strokes. He was bringing me down a step at a time, until my senses had contained themselves once more, until my flesh no longer felt tingly with electricity. My breathing was slow and labored. My body was drenched in sweat.
"Monte ..." I said, shaking my head. "Monte, that was beautiful. You are a true artist. One day some grateful woman is going to make a plaster cast of your tongue and mount it. You're a virtuoso of cuntlapping. The best. The best around."
Monte shrugged off the compliment with a shake of his head, wiping the combination of saliva and cunt juice from his lips with his meaty pink fingers. He was sitting back on the mattress, his arms extended behind him, his pink, hairless chest rising and falling. The enormous mound of his belly jutted out in front of him like a flesh-colored balloon, propped up by his short, chubby legs. Hidden under his overlapping stomach, and between the folds of his thighs, a tiny, almost useless prick quivered.
"I'm just a man who enjoys his work," he said, trying to pull an elusive hair off his pedigree tongue. "That's my whole secret of success."
"I'm almost ashamed to take your money. It's you who've given me all the pleasure."
"Oh, don't be silly. At my age, I'm grateful that I can still satisfy a woman. Besides, if I don't come to you, who am I going to practice on? Alma?"
"Your wife?"
"For forty-two years. I was married when I was fifteen years old. Never once in all that time has she let me lick her."
I exhaled slowly. "She doesn't know what she's missing."
"If I never came to see you girls, I'd never know how to do it. What you just got was forty years of practice."
Rolling over on my side, I ran my hand up under his belly. His prick and small and limp. I tried to pull it up and down.
"Are you sure you don't want me to do you? I'd feel a lot better if you did."
He wiped the sweat from his bald head. "Na, it's a waste of time. Stuff like that isn't important to me anymore. What is important is being able to give pleasure. That's how I get pleasure now: by giving it. I'm happy that I can make you happy." He slapped his thigh with an open hand. "Ha! Listen to that, will you. I'm telling jokes. I'm happy to make Felicity happy."
Monte could always make me smile. "You're crazy, Monte, do you know that?" I said. "But I love you."
I remained with Monte while he dressed, talking to him, listening to the endless supply of stories he was always willing to tell. He had led such a full life in so many ways; I almost felt envious of him. For an old man, he had a lot of guts. I only wished I could have his sense of perspective if I ever survived to be his age. There was a goal worth shooting for.
Wearing the pure silk bathrobe he gave me as a gift, I walked him to the door. In clothing, Monte always looked so different. The only parts of his hairless pinkness which were visible were his pudgy hands and fingers, and his pink bubble head. I handed him his fedora, and he dropped it lightly onto his rose-colored dome.
"See you next week?" I asked.
"Maybe next week I fuck you," Monte said with a determined nod. "If not, I'm gonna try."
I smiled at him. "It'll be my pleasure."
I kissed him goodbye, then watched him through the door while he waited out in the hallway for the elevator. When the elevator doors closed, I closed and locked the front door. Whistling while I worked, I cleaned up the living room, emptying and washing the ashtrays, clearing away the glasses. Then I went into the bedroom, and cleaned up in there as well, re-making the bed after changing the wet, sex-smelling sheet.
Still whistling, I went into the living room, fixed myself a drink, got myself a joint, and smoked and sipped alternately. With my legs stretched out in front of me, I dialed my answering service.
"Anything?" I asked.
"Two. A Mr. -- "
"New listings?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I don't feel like going through this now. Any regulars?"
"Mr. Domino."
"Oh, Max. I haven't seen him in a while." I sipped my scotch. "When is he set up for?"
"Friday morning, 11:45."
"Ugh. Why so early?"
"Sales meetings all afternoon, convention at night. Want me to call him back and cancel?"
"No, that's all right. Say, what's my schedule for the rest of the day?"
"Mr. Mason and Forzano at six -- "
"What time is it now?"
"Four-twenty-three."
"Shit. I've got to be getting ready. Anybody else after them? Jeez, I hope not."
"Mr. Pendergast at midnight."
"Shit. I forgot about him." I sighed. Long day. Oh well. "All right, in that case, then, hold all my calls for the rest of the day. Don't even book anything else until tomorrow."
"What should I say?"
"Tell them I'm out of town."
"On all calls?"
"Absolutely."
I hung up and relit my joint, smoking it down until I could no longer hold it comfort-ably. Then, with an ease of luxury which would have been appalling a few months earlier, I crushed the joint out and threw it away. I no longer had to bother with roaches. I didn't even own a clip anymore : that's how well things have gone for me. The ultimate decadence.
I fixed myself some lunch, watched an old movie on television for a while, then let the bath run while I cleaned up again. Full of soapy, sweet-smelling bubbles, I smoked an-other joint while soaking, then I took a cold shower to rinse off. After I'd dried myself and. brushed my teeth, with only a towel wrapped around me, I washed my hair in the kitchen sink, a habit I have never been able to break.
Opening the sliding double doors of one of my closets of clothing, I selected something sexy and appropriate to Verne's horny tastes. I didn't know who his friend was -- this Mr: Forzano -- only that Verne was bringing him. Someone from work, I think I remember he told me last time.
I had a sneaky feeling that Verne was really a gay "inside," only he didn't know it yet. That could be why he was bringing a friend along with him to share his pleasure. I certainly wasn't going to tell him. What Verne was, or wanted to do, was his business. Besides, if he is leaning toward homosexuality, maybe this will be a pattern developing. Maybe it would develop to the stage where he would bring his male "lovers" into the sessions with him.
Now that would turn me on. For some reason, the thought of two men making love makes me wet. I love watching gay men making it with each other, and I'd jump at the chance to join them. I think most women are like that, though. Just like most men get turned on by watching two women making Lesbian love. I've got a couple of clients who pay me regularly just to watch me make it with a chick. But this thing with Verne ... that's something else. That's something worth cultivating. I'm going to be especially nice to them when they get here. It's good business.
Of course, I thought further, I could be completely wrong about what I'm thinking about Verne. I'm no psychiatrist; for all I know, I might be off the wall. In that case, I'll just en-joy the session for what it will be : an opportunity to get laid by two men simultaneously.
At five minutes to six the doorbell chimed, and I answered it. It was Verne and his friend. Rich Forzano was broad and burly, with a barrel chest, and arms like an ape. If the rest of him was like that, I had a feeling I was going to have a good evening. I had a feeling I was going to have a good evening regardless of anything. At heart, I think I am basically a nymphomaniac.
"Jesus, Felicity," Verne said, hugging his arm around my shoulder, "you look great. Didn't I say she looked great, Rich?"
"Yes."
"I always say you look great. To everyone -- to everyone. This is my girl, Felicity -- By the way, Rich, Felicity means happiness. Did you know that?"
"I think you mentioned it."
"What a girl," he went on. "What a girl. Look at that body. Did you ever see a body like that in your life? What an ass. What tits!"
We settled onto the sofa, Verne and I, and Rich sat across from us, feeling ill at ease and out of place. I smiled at him, called him by name, and suggested he come and join us on the sofa. Blushing, he came over and sat on the far side of the sofa, next to his friend.
"I just had to bring him," Verne said, speaking to me, indicating Rich. "I just had to show someone everything I said about you was true. I wasn't bullshittin' them."
The perennial hostess, I climbed to my feet. "Who's having what to drink? Verne, you're having the usual, right?" Vodka, Seven-Up, a twist of lemon.
"You know it, baby."
"Rich," I said, smiling, relaxing him, "what'll you have, honey?"
"A -- a beer will be fine, thanks."
I fixed the drinks, and got a beer from the refrigerator. I carried it in on a tray, and I placed it down on the floor in front of the sofa. Then I inserted myself between the two men, like a piece of meat between two slices of bread. Rich responded a little stiffly, as if I were frightening him, but Verne reacted predictably. He hugged me to him, kissed me on the cheek, and squeezed my tit.
We talked for the next half hour or so, mostly about sex, and mostly by Verne, bragging about his sexual conquests. Among other evidence, it was things like that which made me suspicious of him. He always had to try so hard at being a man. It didn't bother me, though, for I liked Verne. In fact, it made me feel especially good. I was glad I could make him happy.
Even though he nursed his one beer, Rich did manage to loosen up somewhat. He could talk to me directly for one thing, and look me in the eye without getting all flustered. Not only was he participating in the conversation, on two occasions he led them, volunteering in-formation about himself, and about his sex life.
I got up for another round of drinks, and when I got back, Verne and- Rich were sitting very close to each other on the sofa, talking in a subdued voice. Verne was obviously explaining something, for he was making a point, shaking the index finger of his left hand under Rich's nose, his other hand unselfconsciously resting on his friend's shoulder.
"Secrets?" I asked, slipping back in between them.
Rich blushed and shook his head.
"Well, as a matter of fact," Verne offered, "we was discussing blow jobs. I was just telling Rich here about what a fantastic blow job you give."
Looking at Rich, amused, I said : "Oh?"
His blush deepened.
"Why bother telling him about it?" I asked. 'Why don't we go inside and show him how it's done?"
The three of us marched into the bedroom, Rich a little more solemnly than his friend. Verne, of course, was the first one naked, the combined effects of his total openness and honesty, and his unconscious need to brag.
"Look at that cock!" he said, pointing to Rich's crotch as Rich pulled down his briefs. Rich's hard-on was long and thick, and his face was scarlet. The more he seemed to blush, the harder, thicker and longer his cock got. Verne kept on pointing to it. "Will you look at that cock, will you! Felicity, I know you like long hard dicks, that's why I brought ole Rich with me. Just take a gander at that!"
"I'd much rather take a look at yours," I said, and I bent over and began to suck Verne's cock. In many respects, I'm a very loyal person. I sucked his cock up and down, from root to tip, lapping my tongue back and forth across its circumcised head. My back was almost at a right angle to his body, and I held myself up on my stiff arms, my hands on my knees. Up and down my face moved, lips squeezing tight around his prick, soft moans of pleasure and encouragement just managing to escape. "Mmmmm ... mmmmm ... Mmmmhhhh!"
"Suck my cock, Felicity!" Verne urged, his legs swaying from side to side in pleasure. I could feel his fingertips on my naked back, stroking my warm flesh up and down. "Oh .. . suck it, Felicity ... suck it. God, didn't I say this chick could blow!"
It was in the middle of a downstroke that I felt something happening behind me. My lips were gathered tightly around Verne's cock-shaft, my tongue wedged under 'his prick, when I felt something wet and moving between the lips of my cunt. It was Rich, of course. While I was sucking Verne's cock, Rich was licking my pussy.
"Will you look at that!" Verne cried out, his body stiffening, his rock-hard prick moving in and out of my lips with a tense urgency. "He's eating your pussy, Felicity. I can actually see him -- watch him! -- eating your pussy!"
Rich's tongue started at the base of my cunt, and he licked up, wedging his tongue between the lips. I could feel his tongue slide across the grasping hole of my cunt, moving further past it, licking all the way up through the cheeks of my ass until he licked my anus. Then he licked back down in reverse, stinging my clitoris with the snap of his departing tongue. Up and down his tongue snaked, until my entire crotch was dripping with his saliva.
"Oh, God -- this is great!" Verne exclaimed, grabbing onto my head with both hands, fucking his cock in and out of my sucking lips. His hips rippled excitedly, his naked thighs slap-ping against my face. "This is great ... great! ... Better than I hoped! Better than I ever dreamed!"
Rich straightened behind me, pressing his loins up between my widely spread thighs. I could feel his cock sliding into me, filling up my cunt with his thickness and great length. He continued to push it until his cock was thrust all the way up inside of me. Then he began to fuck himself in and out of me, his balls swinging between my thighs. Holding onto my hips for support, he fucked me with long, deep strokes, sinking his cock from tip to base in my wetness.
"I can see him fucking you!" Verne cried, pulling on my hair with both hands, dragging my lips up and down his cock. "I can see Rich fucking you! His cock ... going in and out ... in and -- I'm coming ... Oh, God, oh ... I'm coming!"
Verne's sperm gushed hot and thick into my mouth, swirling against my teeth. Then, a moment later, as if on signal, Rich began to come in my cunt. There were two cocks in me, be-longing to two different men, filling me from two separate ends. Sperm pumped down my throat, and sperm coursed up through my pussy like a river of lava, each fire drawn to the other.
I saw then what I truly was to them ; not just to Verne and Rich, but to all of them, to all of my clients. I was the thing through which they got their pleasure, the part which joined them. I was their connecting link.
* * *
When Mr. Edmund Curtis asked me what I wanted in payment for working for him, the choice had been an easy one for me. All my life, all I've ever wanted to be was a prostitute.
Mr. Edmund Curtis, through his vast wealth and great power, made that possible by setting me up in my own business. Not only that, he provided me with an income for life, which makes me the world's only independently wealthy prostitute.
So, if I'm not tricking for the money, it becomes obvious that I've become a prostitute for the sheer pleasure of it. I do it because I like it!
